Thief's covenant

to worry.”

“I always have reason to worry, Renard.”

“Of course. Widdershins, be careful,” he said seriously. “Don't do anything unwise.”

“Who, me?”

“Hmph. Mademoiselle Genevieve, it was an exquisite pleasure to meet you. Your establishment is lovely, though not nearly so much as its owner.” With another flamboyant bow, he swept from the room like an arrogant wind.

“An interesting fellow,” Genevieve commented blandly-too blandly, Widdershins might have said-as the door shut behind him. “Not at all what I expected from a thief. He was actually quite pleasant.”

“Don't even think it, Gen. He's not safe to associate with.”

“I associate with you, don't I?”

“Not that sort of association!”

“Ah.” She looked up suddenly, accusing. “Shins, you told him you weren't holding back on the guild!”

“I'm not,” the young woman insisted stubbornly, and then quailed beneath the barkeep's disapproving glower. “Well, no more than anyone else!” she protested somewhat less vehemently. “Really! It's expected of us, Gen! That's why the percentages are so high, because they know they won't get a full accounting!”

“Shins…”

“I'm doing them a favor! If I reported my take honestly, it would throw off their accounting system! They'd get too much from me. It would mess up their numbers, or they'd start expecting the same of everybody! It's my duty to hold back on them!”

Genevieve crossed her arms and began idly tapping a foot. It sounded like a small woodpecker, patiently chipping away at the floor.

Widdershins's face fell. “Who are they to tell me what to do anyway?” she mumbled petulantly.

“They're people who can get you in a whole mess of trouble if you don't do as they say, Shins.” Genevieve frowned. “And from the looks of things, they're going to get me in trouble too.”

“I'm sorry, Gen,” the thief breathed. “You're right. I'll pay up. I promise.”

“Good.”

Genevieve said nothing more, but by the time Widdershins departed later that night, the worry still hadn't entirely faded from the barkeep's eyes.

Lisette Suvagne, taskmaster of the Finders' Guild, second only to the Shrouded Lord among Davillon's thieves, prostrated herself on the worn carpets of the chapel. It was a posture, a reverence, an obedience she would offer to no man or woman-one that she loathed to the depths of her soul. She was fire, was Lisette. From her blazing red hair to her powder-keg temper to her burning ambitions, she was the embodiment of flame. Only her outfit, all greens and blacks, failed to promise a searing heat. Any mortal who had demanded such submission from her would have died in the asking.

But it was no mortal to whom she offered her devotion today. Here at the center of the guild's complex, in the looming stone shrine that smelled thickly of herbal incense, stood the city's only known idol to the Shrouded God from which the leader of Davillon's thieves took his own title. It loomed against the far wall, a stone icon slightly taller than a man. Though tradition held that the Shrouded God was one of the divinities of the Hallowed Pact, nobody in the modern day-not even the eldest of the guild-remembered his name. They called him simply by his title when they offered their prayers of thanks for a particularly rich haul or a narrow escape from the thief takers of the Guard.

The figure was clad simply, in sculpted images of soft boots, thick pants, and snug tunic centuries out of fashion. A heavy hood of thick black cloth-real, not hewn from the rock-covered the idol's head. Guild tradition mandated that none but the Shrouded Lord might ever look upon the face of their god-and even then only during the ceremony that established him or her as the guild's new leader. Terrible curses both ancient and powerful were said to guard against blasphemy, ready to strike down any who would dare peer beneath that hood; and though Lisette wasn't certain she believed in such curses, her faith stayed her hand no matter how great her curiosity grew.

Faith in her god, who watched over her, and faith in herself that one day she would be permitted to look upon him properly, as she took her rightful place as the next Shrouded Lord.

There was, perhaps, no honor among thieves-but in the form of Lisette Suvagne, there was certainly fanaticism.

For long moments, she remained hunched, arms outstretched, until her muscles quivered and screamed for relief. Only then, her prayers and her penance complete, did she allow herself to rise lithely to her feet. A final bow to her one true lord, then she swept from the room to go and confront the man who-for now, only for now! — dared believe he held equal authority over her.

She stalked through several short corridors, finally stepping through an open archway into a chamber of haze. A steel portal slid shut behind her with ghostly silence, and Lisette bowed at the waist-the closest she would ever come to kneeling before any human-before her mortal liege, the sovereign of thieves across the length and breadth of Davillon.

The Shrouded Lord.

“Rise, Lisette.”

She straightened and glared at the phantom before her.

No matter how often she saw it, the effect remained impressive. The chambers of the Shrouded Lord were thick with the musky smoke of several incense braziers that were never permitted to burn out and were larger by far than the one that perfumed the chapel. The great hood and ragged garb that was the uniform of the guild's leader blended perfectly with the haze, with the curtain before which he sat, with the cloths draped over his throne. It was impossible to tell where man left off and smoke or curtains began.

Brilliant. And also melodramatic almost to the level of cheap opera, but the thieves would have their traditions, no matter how theatrical. She wondered briefly, as she always did, which of her fellow Finders actually wore the hood. Nobody but the guild's own priests, who chose and oversaw the ascension of each Shrouded Lord, ever knew who spoke from behind that mantle.

“Report,” he commanded in a bored tone.

Though she seethed internally, Lisette's voice was all business. “Laremy and Golvar have reported an average of a seven percent increase in dues since instituting our new policies. Assuming we can sustain this rate until the archbishop's arrival, we should have no difficulty maintaining standard expenses for the duration of his stay.”

“And if not?” the Shrouded Lord asked.

Lisette shrugged. “Then we tap into emergency reserves for a few weeks. But I don't think the numbers can drop low enough from present levels to pose any real problems. In fact, I'd like to propose that we maintain these policies once de Laurent has departed. We-”

“Write it up and submit it. I'll consider it then.”

Bastard. “Of course.” She cleared her throat, irritated in part by the incense, as she gathered her thoughts. “In terms of specific payments-,” she began, but again she was interrupted. The Shrouded Lord raised a hand, a phantasmal gesture amidst the smoke.

“What's this I hear about Brock attacking one of our people?”

Damn the man! How does he learn these things so quickly?

“I've had to sic several of our enforcers on a number of our members, my lord, as part of the fund-raising. Perhaps you might be more specific?”

The misty form leaned forward in his chair, or at least it seemed to. She couldn't entirely tell through the smoke. “Don't be dense, Taskmaster. We both know who I'm talking about.”

Lisette frowned, absently fidgeting with the scabbard at her waist. “She was underreporting her take. I treated her no differently than anyone else!”

“Ah, Lisette. I believe, in fact, that Widdershins owes roughly a third as much as anyone else with whom Brock has ‘talked.' You know I prefer to use him only as a last resort, since he tends to break things. And people. Are you truly still so angry with her after all this time?”

I spent a year in planning the d'Arras job! she wanted to