apprentices working at all hours, taking their places at the workbenches or sleeping in their communal beds in shifts. Therefore Malden had to be careful as he ran along the roofline of a fullerâs shed and then up the brick side of a sifting tower beyond. If he was seen now he could get away easily enough, but any honest citizen who spotted him up on the rooftops would know he was at no legal business. They would call out âThief! Thief!â and the hue and cry might alert his mark. That would ruin everything. The mark might run off, forgetting his scheme, thinking it too riskyâor at the very least he would be overly cautious, expecting someone to come up behind him at any moment and put a hand on his shoulder. That would make Maldenâs work difficult. It could also make it dangerous. The mark would be armed, and desperate enough to attack at the first sign of trouble.
No, if he was to take this man, he needed to have the advantage of surprise. It was the best lesson heâd learned from Cutbillâif your mark knew you were coming, the game was already fouled. Better the mark never saw him coming. Never, in fact, guessed that anyone was on to him.
Morricentâs regular was a wheelwrightâs apprentice named Pathis. Heâd reached the grand old age of thirty without ever advancing in that careerâeither he was too lazy to apply himself, or his master had no faith in his abilities. Trapped in employment of the most menial kind, knowing he was too old now to ever make a change, he must have spent every day scheming, trying to think of some way to get enough money together to start a new life. Perhaps Pathis had never heard of Cutbill, nor that there was already an organized army of criminals in the Free City. Certainly he had no idea that freelance larceny was frowned on by the powers that be.
So when an opportunity came along, an easy way to make some quick coin, Pathis had jumped at the chance. It might have been the first enterprising thing heâd done in his entire life, and it might well be the last. The shop where he worked stood next to a hire paddock, an empty lot between two workshops that was rented out to farmers bringing their livestock to market. He must have seen the vast number of animals that went through the paddock every day, and thought of the price each one would fetch. Of course, it wasnât easy to steal sheep or cows or horses, since every animal was branded with its ownerâs mark, and no one would buy livestock from a thief without knowing its provenance.
No one, that is, who wished to butcher said animals for their meat, or sell them on to others. Yet two roads down from the wheelwrightâs shop there was a tannery. Pathis could hardly have avoided noticing that âthe reek the place (and all the others like it) gave off, of death and acrid dissolution, was what gave the Stink its name and low rents. Tanners needed animals all the time, and werenât likely to ask too many questions. Animals were their stock in trade. Dead ones, anyway.
And so one simple, ugly, brilliant, nasty idea had flourished in the otherwise barren garden of Pathisâs mind.
Malden climbed to the top of the sifting tower and had an excellent view of all the surrounding streets. He did not know if Pathis would come from his shop, or from his home down in the Stink, or from some tavern after building up enough liquid courage to carry out his foul employment. But from atop the tower Malden could be sure heâd see the would-be thief coming.
He did not have long to wait. Pathis appeared in Greenmantle Stair, coming up the hill from the Stink, not even bothering to keep to the copious shadows of that dark night. He looked exactly as heâd been described to Malden, and he already had his knife in his hand.
Keeping out of sight, Malden started to climb back down the side of the tower, toward a dark alley near the hired paddock. It was time to get to work.
Chapter
No, if he was to take this man, he needed to have the advantage of surprise. It was the best lesson heâd learned from Cutbillâif your mark knew you were coming, the game was already fouled. Better the mark never saw him coming. Never, in fact, guessed that anyone was on to him.
Morricentâs regular was a wheelwrightâs apprentice named Pathis. Heâd reached the grand old age of thirty without ever advancing in that careerâeither he was too lazy to apply himself, or his master had no faith in his abilities. Trapped in employment of the most menial kind, knowing he was too old now to ever make a change, he must have spent every day scheming, trying to think of some way to get enough money together to start a new life. Perhaps Pathis had never heard of Cutbill, nor that there was already an organized army of criminals in the Free City. Certainly he had no idea that freelance larceny was frowned on by the powers that be.
So when an opportunity came along, an easy way to make some quick coin, Pathis had jumped at the chance. It might have been the first enterprising thing heâd done in his entire life, and it might well be the last. The shop where he worked stood next to a hire paddock, an empty lot between two workshops that was rented out to farmers bringing their livestock to market. He must have seen the vast number of animals that went through the paddock every day, and thought of the price each one would fetch. Of course, it wasnât easy to steal sheep or cows or horses, since every animal was branded with its ownerâs mark, and no one would buy livestock from a thief without knowing its provenance.
No one, that is, who wished to butcher said animals for their meat, or sell them on to others. Yet two roads down from the wheelwrightâs shop there was a tannery. Pathis could hardly have avoided noticing that âthe reek the place (and all the others like it) gave off, of death and acrid dissolution, was what gave the Stink its name and low rents. Tanners needed animals all the time, and werenât likely to ask too many questions. Animals were their stock in trade. Dead ones, anyway.
And so one simple, ugly, brilliant, nasty idea had flourished in the otherwise barren garden of Pathisâs mind.
Malden climbed to the top of the sifting tower and had an excellent view of all the surrounding streets. He did not know if Pathis would come from his shop, or from his home down in the Stink, or from some tavern after building up enough liquid courage to carry out his foul employment. But from atop the tower Malden could be sure heâd see the would-be thief coming.
He did not have long to wait. Pathis appeared in Greenmantle Stair, coming up the hill from the Stink, not even bothering to keep to the copious shadows of that dark night. He looked exactly as heâd been described to Malden, and he already had his knife in his hand.
Keeping out of sight, Malden started to climb back down the side of the tower, toward a dark alley near the hired paddock. It was time to get to work.
Chapter
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