The Republic of Thieves

and dragged her forward. “The Sun commands you now! I burn away shadows, banish night, make your sins plain! Honest men rise as I rise, and sleep as I set! I am lord and father of all propriety. Who are you to defy me?”

“A thief among thieves,” said Oretta.

“Take my curse. The night shall be your day, the pale moons your sun.”

“I take your curse as a blessing of my heavenly patron,” said Oretta.

“Does this one speak for you all?”

“She does,” yelled the crowd of postulants. The Sun threw Oretta to the ground, not gently, and turned his back on them all.

“Now hear the words of Justice,” said the woman in the red dress, which was short and slashed. She wore a velvet mask like those used by the duke’s magistrates to conceal their identities. Justice pulled Nazca forward by her shoulders and forced her to kneel. “All things I weigh, but gold counts dearest, and you have none. All names I read, but those with titles please me best, and you descend from common dirt. Who are you to defy me?”

“A thief among thieves,” said Nazca.

“Take my curse. All who serve me shall be vigilant to your faults, blind to your virtues, and deaf to your pleading.”

“I take your curse as a blessing of my heavenly patron,” said Nazca.

“Does this one speak for you all?”

“She does!”

Justice flung Nazca into the crowd and turned her back.

“I am the Hired Man,” said a man in a brown leather mask. A shield and truncheon were slung over the back of his robe. He grabbed Jean. “I bar every door, I guard every wall. I wear the leash of better men. I fill the gutters with your blood to earn my bread. Your cries are my music. Who are you to defy me?”

“A thief among thieves,” said Jean.

“Take my curse. I shall hound you by sun or stars. I shall use you and incite you to betray your brothers and sisters.”

“I take your curse as a blessing of my heavenly patron,” said Jean. “Do you?” The man shook Jean fiercely. “Does this one speak for you all?”

“He does!”

The Hired Man released Jean, laughed, and turned his back. Locke nudged several other postulants aside to be the first to help Jean back to his feet.

“I am Judgment,” said the last of the newcomers, a man whose black mask was without ornament. He wielded a hangman’s noose. With this, he caught Tesso Volanti around the neck and yanked him forward. The boy grimaced, clutched at the rope, and fought for balance. “Hear me well. I am mercy refused. I am expedience. I am a signature on a piece of parchment. And that is how you die—by clerks, by stamps, by seals in wax. I am cheap, I am easy, I am always hungry. Who are you to defy me?”

“A thief among thieves,” gasped Tesso.

“And will they all hang with you, for fellowship, and split death into equal shares like loot?”

“I am not caught yet,” growled the boy.

“Take my curse. I shall wait for you.”

“I take your curse as a blessing of my heavenly patron,” said Tesso.

“Does this fool speak for you all?”

“He does!”

“You were all born to hang.” The man released Tesso from his noose and turned away. Volanti stumbled backward and was caught by Calo and Galdo.

“Depart, phantoms!” shouted Chains. “Go with empty hands! Tell your masters how slight a dread we bear for thee, and how deep a scorn!”

The four costumed antagonists marched back down the aisle, until they vanished from Locke’s sight somewhere behind the crowd near the chamber door.

“Now face your oath,” said Chains.

The female priest set a leather-bound book on the altar, and the male priest set a metal basin next to it. Chains pointed at Locke. Tense with excitement, Locke stepped up to the altar.

“What are you called?”

“Locke Lamora.”

“Are you a true and willing servant of our thirteenth god, whose name is guarded?”

“I am.”

“Do you consecrate thought, word, and deed to his service, from now until the weighing of your soul?”

“I do.”

“Will you seal this oath with blood?”

“I will seal it with blood on a token of my craft.”

Chains handed Locke a ceremonial blade of blackened steel.

“What is the token?”

“A coin of gold, stolen with my own hands,” said Locke. He used the knife to prick his left thumb, then squeezed blood onto the gold tyrin he’d scored from the cake business. He set the coin in the basin and passed the blade back to Chains.

“This is the law of men,” said Chains, pointing at the leather-bound tome, “which tells you that you must not steal. What is this law to you?”

“Words on paper,” said Locke.

“You renounce and spurn this law?”

“With all my soul.” Locke leaned forward and spat on the book.

“May the shadows know you for their own, brother.” Chains touched a cool, gleaming coin to Locke’s forehead. “I bless you with silver, which is the light of moons and stars.”

“I bless you with the dust of cobblestones, on which you tread,” said the female priest, brushing a streak of grime onto Locke’s right cheek.

“I bless you with the waters of Camorr, which bring the wealth you hope to steal,” said the third priest, touching wet fingers to Locke’s left cheek.

And so it was done—the oath of joining, without a fumble or a missed cadence. Warm with pride, Locke rejoined the other boys and girls, though he stood just a few feet apart from them.

The ritual continued. Nazca next, then Jean, then Tesso, then Sabetha. There was a general murmur of appreciation when she revealed her offering of stolen truncheons. After that, things went smoothly until one of the Sanzas was beckoned forth, and they stepped up to the altar together.

“One at a time, boys,” said Chains.

“We’re doing it together,” said Calo.

“We figure the Crooked Warden wouldn’t want us any other way,” said Calo. The twins joined hands.

“Well, then!” Chains grinned. “It’s your problem if he doesn’t, lads. What are you called?”

“Calo Giacomo Petruzzo Sanza.”

“Galdo Castellano Molitani Sanza.”

“Are you true and willing servants of our thirteenth god, whose name is guarded?”

“We are!”

“Do you consecrate thought, word, and deed to his service, from now until the weighing of your souls?”

“We do!”

Once the Sanzas were finished, the remaining postulants took their oaths without further complication. Chains addressed the assembly while his fellow priests carried away the offering-filled basin. They would give its contents to the dark waters of the Iron Sea later that night.

“One thing, then, remains. The possibility of a choosing. We priests of the Crooked Warden are few in