face of the man he’d killed.
Or rather, the woman. Her face was painted to the favor of a skull. She had been one of Morgain’s female warriors. Croy had never killed a woman before-not even in self-defense.
But he had his orders.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I didn’t want this job, Malden thought. I never asked for it. Surely, this is Cutbill’s punishment upon me. Yet what did I do to him, ever? I worked in his employ, helped to make him rich.
Now he had to clean up the mess Cutbill had left behind.
Loophole had been one of the guildmaster’s favorites, one of his oldest cronies. He was well loved in the guild of thieves. If he was to hang, the guild would tear itself apart-the thieves would blame Malden for the oldster’s death, and they would remove him from office, in a rather pointed fashion.
Malden had no choice but to stop the hanging. He gestured for Velmont to follow him, then hurried out into the night.
The brazen doors of the Ladychapel stood open. Yellow light spilled out across its marble steps. Malden walked in to the smell of incense and the heat of braziers, and for a moment he was dizzy, his thoughts swirling in his head like a whirlpool.
At the altar, Pritchard Hood knelt with his hands clasped in prayer. A single priest dressed in green vestments stood behind the altar, hands lifted in supplication. Behind him a gilt cornucopia glared in the light of a hundred candles.
The air in the church was thick and still. Malden felt like he was wading through molten glass. He was barely aware of Velmont walking behind him.
Pritchard Hood did not stir as Malden approached. The priest stared at the thief, perhaps expecting Malden to desecrate these holy precincts. As bewildered and frightened as he was, Malden knew better than that. He did not know to what extent Hood truly was a zealot, or if he merely had taken up faith in the Lady as a shield, or as a political gambit. It didn’t matter. If he did something rash now-like spilling blood on the altar-he would have a thousand new enemies to contend with.
“Pritchard Hood,” he said.
The bailiff turned slowly, as if still lost in communion with his goddess.
Malden scowled. “You’ve taken an innocent old man.”
“I would hardly call Loophole innocent,” Hood said with a chuckle. “He’s one of the most infamous thieves in Skrae.”
“He’s an old man. He hasn’t stolen so much as a farthing from you or anyone in this city.” Malden crossed his arms in front of him, careful not to let his hand fall to the hilt of Acidtongue where it lay on his hip.
“He got his name by crawling through an arrowslit in the barracks building on Castle Hill. He stole money from the Burgrave’s men.”
“That was twenty years ago.”
Hood smiled, showing all his teeth. “The Lady never forgets evil done unto Her people. You would know that, Malden, if you had any religious instruction. Those who live good lives, by honest means, are rewarded by Her. Those who do evil are punished by Her servants in this world. Servants like me.”
Malden shook his head. “The Bloodgod’s justice is more to my liking. That comes to the poor man and the rich alike. All are judged and tortured for their sins in the pit of souls. Sadu needs no servants to wreak his vengeance for him.”
The priest started to tremble as Malden spoke. “That name is never spoken in this house,” he insisted. “You violate the very stones of this church with your tongue!”
Malden ignored the priest. “Let Loophole go, Hood.”
“Is that a threat, Malden? It means nothing to me. Your thief will hang at dawn tomorrow. And his last words will indict you. The Lady wills it, so let it be done.”
Bile rose in Malden’s throat, but he knew he was beaten here. He could not strike down Hood in the church. Even if he did, it wouldn’t guarantee Loophole’s freedom. But he had to do something. The entire guild of thieves would be watching him. There was no more time for delay, or appeasement, or begging for patience.
As he walked back out of the Ladychapel, he saw there was no more time for thinking either. Half a dozen men stood on the steps, making a rather poor attempt at looking nonchalant. He knew them all-they were thieves, burglars and sharpers and robbers. They were the ones who had never had any confidence in his leadership, and they were here to show him how low his reputation had sunk.
They were all armed.
“Velmont,” Malden said quietly, “can I trust you?”
“What color’s your money?”
“It’s gold, Velmont. Bright gold.”
“You can trust me jus’ fine.”
Still-two against six.
“Gentlemen,” Malden said, nodding at the six.
One of them stepped forward. His name was Tock, and Malden had recruited him into the guild personally. The guild’s recruiting methods were not always gentle. Tock had reason to hate Malden long before Cutbill fled town. “You look tired, Malden. The strain of leadership getting to you?”
“They took Loophole tonight,” Malden said, trying to appeal to camaraderie.
“So we heard. Now there’s a man who deserved your protection. But where were you when he was taken? In a bawdy house, they say, holed up in a private room.”
Malden didn’t bother to explain himself. Cutbill never would have. Of course, Cutbill would have had armed bravos waiting in the shadows, ready to strike as soon as Tock made a move for his knife. “I’m going to get him released. You can help me with that, or you can try to stop me.”
One of the six drew a long cleaver from his belt. Tock opened his hand, palm level with the street. This wasn’t just a bunch of angry thieves, then. It was a crew-organized, if they’d bothered to work out signals. Able to fight as a unit.
Malden and Velmont had never fought back-to-back. He had no idea how the Helstrovian thief would do if it came to that.
“I’ll say again, you can help me,” Malden told Tock.
“You got a plan, Malden?” Tock asked.
“Always,” Malden lied.
“You going up to Castle Hill, to the gaol? You going to sneak in and get Loophole, sneak out again with him over your shoulder?”
Some of the six laughed at the idea. Until that moment Malden had been considering the very thing. Now he needed to rethink.
“No,” he sighed. “That would be folly.”
“Then what’s your grand scheme?”
Malden closed his eyes. And heard singing. The priest inside the Ladychapel was leading the evening hymn service, and Pritchard Hood, his only constituent that night, was lending his voice.
“Ah,” Malden said, because suddenly he had it. “I’m going to say a little prayer.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
It wasn’t easy getting the word out so late in the evening. The honest people of Ness (such as they were) tended to lock their doors after dark and go to sleep early-candles were expensive, and after a long day of work everyone just wanted to rest. The streets weren’t safe after dark, no matter how deserted they might be. Malden
