into the palace earlier that year, he’d seen a quite large and beautifully gilded statue of Sadu inside. Still, such an ostentatious display was enough to comment on. The official religion of Skrae was the church of the Lady. Religious tolerance was unknown in Helstrow or Redweir-in those places anyone who publicly professed to worship Sadu could be arrested and fined. The Bloodgod’s followers had never quite died out, however-Sadu was too well loved by the common people, especially in Ness, where his worship was unofficially tolerated. Though the priesthood of the Bloodgod had been outlawed and exterminated, his altars and his images ritually defiled or broken, the people continued his worship in their own small ways, and the Burgrave had always been smart enough not to punish them too zealously for it.
Still, displaying his image was a risky act. “Devotion is on the rise,” Malden said. “Religion is popular again in Ness. This was always such a sinful place. I hope people don’t ruin it by becoming virtuous now.”
“They’re terrified,” Cythera said. “The people, I mean. I suppose they have good reason.”
“Even in Helstrow I saw men turning to Sadu for help,” he told her. “He didn’t seem to respond.”
The tiny image was not the only sign of faith at large in the city. The Lady was widely venerated as well. Green and white streamers fluttered from every balcony, showing her colors. They’d been placed there by Pritchard Hood to remind the citizens that their lord was out on a holy crusade and that they should remember him in their prayers. Hood made a daily speech to that effect in Market Square, though few stopped by to listen.
The new bailiff never missed an opportunity to appear in public and remind everyone he was in charge. Malden wished to know more about this man-especially how he could be bought. He and Cythera were walking toward a tavern where Malden expected to learn such things. When they arrived, he sent her in to get a bottle of wine and two cups, while he excused himself to use the alley. Velmont was waiting for him in the shadows back there.
The Helstrovian had much news, though none of it what Malden had wanted to hear. “This new bailiff’s taken his master’s word to heart, all right. Hood’s employed thief-takers-just bravos, in troth, but sharpish men who’ll get their catch, don’t doubt it. It’s just a question o’ time afore he’s got someone to hang.”
Malden cursed. “Who is this bastard? Where did he come from? The old bailiff, Anselm Vry, was a corrupt and ambitious man. Pritchard Hood must be the same to have got the office so fast.”
Velmont shrugged. “I asked a few fellas for his story, like you told me. They said Hood was an acolyte at the Ladychapel but never took priestly orders. Found out he was better wi’ the church books than at sayin’ prayers. He worked fer Tarness as an exchequer until recent days.”
“Any suggestion he was more creative with his numbers than the law would like?” Malden asked hopefully.
“Not as I’ve heard. Your Burgrave took notice of him somehow and snatched him up last year. Put him in a place o’ trust, and he’s prospered ever since. Now he’s top dog in this city.”
“We need to find out just how holy he really is,” Malden said. “You’ve done good work getting this much. Go, now, and find out what you can about these thief-takers. Maybe we can grease them, and save ourselves some real trouble.”
“Me hinges could do wi’ a mickle oil themselves,” Velmont suggested.
Malden nodded and spilled coins into the Helstrovian’s hand. In an instant Velmont was gone. Malden headed into the tavern and found Cythera waiting for him with a smile.
There was one consolation to wartime, at least. He had Cythera around as often as he liked. He resolved to spend the afternoon enjoying himself, and before he knew it the sun was setting. For the first time in his life-a lifetime spent working mostly at night-he hated how soon the sun sank in autumn time. “Come,” he told her, releasing her hands and draining his last cup. “I’ll make sure you get home safe before night fully falls.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she said, her eyes burning into his. They’d both had a bit too much to drink. Malden wondered if he would be invited to stay the night on the Isle of Horses. He could think of more romantic love-nests, but wherever Cythera was, he knew he could be happy.
He was laughing and holding her hand openly as they passed once more by the close where the image of Sadu had been put out. He wouldn’t have given it a second look had he not by accident trod on a piece of clay that shattered under his boot. He looked down and saw the arm of Sadu that held the flower. The idol had been dragged from its niche and smashed to pieces on the cobbles.
“Oh, that’s not right,” Cythera breathed, and bent to pick up the idol’s broken head. “Someone knocked it down. Who would do such a thing?”
Malden glanced up at the alcove where it had stood. Green and white streamers had been tacked up in its place.
Chapter Fifty-Three
It didn’t take long for the thief-takers to make their first catch. That very same night they discovered a thief in the Golden Slope. By dawn Pritchard Hood was ready to make an example.
Still, if he’d expected to draw a great crowd for the hanging, Malden imagined he would be disappointed with the result. A pall had settled over Ness since the Army of Free Men decamped, a miasma of fear and worry that kept voices hushed and spirits low. Even as the thief was marched up to the gallows and the noose tightened around his neck, the jeers and shouts of the gathered crowd were subdued and almost mournful. Considering this was the best public entertainment in the city all week, it was a sad showing. Malden barely had to push or elbow his way through the crowd to reach the base of the gallows.
The bailiff seemed unfazed by the dispirited crowd. His eyes were bright as he read out the charges. “Let it be known that one Janbart, a notorious rogue, is found convicted of stealing a pewter cup chased with bronze from the house of the guildmaster Harrit Fuller, said burgess of the city being absent from his home on night the last. Let it be further known that under the authority of Ommen Tarness, Burgrave, I have found this man Janbart guilty, and have imposed sentence of death by hanging on this day. Janbart! Have you anything to say before the sentence is carried out?”
Janbart was a scrawny man of thirty, old before his time and none too steady of hand due to a fondness for drink. He looked even worse than usual up on the gallows platform-wasted and pale, as if he’d spent weeks in the gaol awaiting trial, though in fact Hood had pushed through the formalities with unheard of swiftness.
Malden was certain the man had been tortured after his arrest. The way he walked up the steps to the gallows suggested his leg had been clamped in an iron boot, and screws applied to his foot until he gave Hood what he was after.
He didn’t have to wait long to learn just why Hood would do such a thing. The bailiff wanted more than a simple confession.
“Must I say it?” Janbart whispered. If Malden hadn’t been in the front row of the audience, he would have heard nothing.
“You must,” Hood told the convicted man.
Janbart bit his lips and looked out over the heads of the crowd. “I will say only this, let my death be a warning to them that would follow the crooked path. The…” Janbart paused, as if trying to remember words he’d been taught. “… the Lady, verily, gave me every chance to be honest, and I rejected Her. Yet the blame is not entirely within me. If it were not for evil companions, namely one Malden, who is the master of thieves in this city, I would not be here today. I blame this Malden for my lowly end.”
People all around Malden took a step back, as if afraid of being associated with him. Only Slag stayed close by his side.
“That’s better,” the dwarf said when the two of them stood alone. “Now I can see.”
A sack was placed over Janbart’s head. Pritchard Hood bowed his head in a quick prayer and then nodded at the executioner, who placed both hands on the lever that would release the trap door under Janbart’s feet.
“Janbart!” Malden shouted. “I’ll see to your wife and children, have no worries!”
The convicted thief’s head moved inside the sack as if he were trying to catch the sound of Malden’s voice. Perhaps he might have said something more.
The executioner pulled his lever, and Janbart danced on the air. It was over quickly-the rope had been just the right length, so Janbart’s neck snapped almost immediately.
