A Thief in the Night by David Chandler Page A

while wearing as little clothing as Morricent did. One more trade secret. “Such a warmhearted fellow. Here, come help me chase away the cold.” Morricent’s hand was already under Malden’s tunic, plucking at the belt that held up his breeches.
    He grasped her wrist and pulled it gently free of his clothes. As he lifted her fingers to his lips, instead, and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, her eyes grew wide.
    â€œMilady,” he said, “nothing would please me more, save—I have business tonight, pressing business.”
    He released her hand. She closed it fast enough to keep from dropping the coins he’d slipped into her downturned palm.
    â€œGareth sent me to you, saying you might have some information for me.” Gareth was Morricent’s pimp. Not a bad sort, as they went—mostly his role was to collect the money his stable of women earned. He never beat them and was actually just a middleman for a wealthy gambler named Horat, who paid the city watch to stay out of the Royal Ditch. Horat, in turn, answered to Cutbill, whose interests ranged far and wide.
    â€œI’ll tell you anything you want to know, Malden, of course. You don’t have to pay for words .”
    â€œAh, but I impose on your valuable time. I understand you had a customer last night, a hairy fellow with a mole on his cheek just here.” Malden indicated the spot on his face. “Talkative cove. Wanted to brag all about something big he had planned.”
    Morricent nodded and leaned close to whisper. “He said he would take me someplace nice, next time. A room at an inn, even, with wine and sweetmeats, instead of a bare patch of wall and a sprig of mint to freshen my mouth after, like usual.” She shrugged. “I hear promises from that sort all the time, so perhaps I did not look sufficiently convinced. He wanted me to believe he was about to come into money, so I would fuss over him like a real lover. So he told me about this job he had lined up, told me all the angles, and I had to admit it sounded like a nice bit of work. Simple as sifting flour, he kept saying, and no crew to split the swag with.”
    Malden got the particulars from her, then bowed and took her hand again. “He’s one of your regulars?” he asked.
    Morricent nodded.
    More coins flowed into her palm. Silver this time. “After tonight,” Malden said, “you may see a lot less of him. Even if he does come back I’m afraid there’ll be no room at an inn.”
    Morricent’s fingers rubbed at one of the coins he’d given her. Malden knew what she was doing—even without bringing it to the light she could tell by the feel what denomination he’d given her. “Methinks I can get my own room now, and all the sweetmeats I like, and a bed for just me. Now that’s a rare enough thing to be treasured. Thank ye, Malden,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
    He was enough of a gentleman to wait until he was out of Pokekirtle Lane before wiping her white lead off his face.
    The job was going to take place that very night, halfway across the city. He had to hurry if he wanted to catch Morricent’s client in the act. This wasn’t a typical housebreaking either, and he had to think on how he would get his wrench into the would-be thief’s works.
    Malden always thought best up in the clear air of the rooftops. He moved quickly, jumping across alleyways and making good time across the sloped roofs of the Smoke, the zone of workshops and tanners’ yards that separated the wealthy uphill parts of the city and the poorer districts down by the wall.
    Some of the manufactories and smithies of the Smoke were open all night. The big furnaces there that smelted iron were never allowed to die down, because it cost too much to get them back up to heat once they were cold. Similarly, there were some industries so in demand that the shop masters kept their