Den of Thieves by David Chandler Page B

had only come here to recover that which belonged to him. That which he was pledged to honor and uphold, in fact: the sword he counted as his soul.
    The counting house was built into the wall that surrounded the palace grounds, and had to be the most secure structure in the Free City, because it was where the Burgrave kept his gold when he wasn’t spending it. It was a vast trove, stuffed full of bags of coin, coffers overflowing with silver plate, great heaps of gems, and the jewelry of Ommen Tarness’s wife, the Burgravine.
    None of which was what Croy had come for. His swords had been taken from him when he was arrested, and brought here, placed with the most important relics and treasures of the Free City of Ness. Just behind the locked door he faced. Hilde had claimed she could get the key for him only if he brought her inside with him so she could see the treasures for herself. Lacking a better plan, he had agreed.
    â€œI seem to be having trouble finding the key,” she told him. “Perhaps you can help me look?”
    He knelt with his lamp and looked around the floor at her feet.
    â€œNo, you foolish man,” she said. “It’s somewhere in my dress.”
    He opened his mouth to speak, and then found he could not close it again. Hilde was unlacing her corset. “Well? You were so handsome yesterday in Market Square, Croy. So dashing. It made my knees tremble. And other parts of me as well. Of course, it might just be that I haven’t had a man all year. My mistress keeps me so busy. Maybe if the Burgrave could perform better his own husbandly duties, I could slip away more often. Oh, no, that’s exactly where I want you,” she said, as he began to rise to his feet. She giggled and put a finger on his shoulder, pressing him back down to a kneeling posture.
    â€œMilady,” he said, jumping up, “I fear I misheard you.”
    Hilde rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who doesn’t know what to do with a naked woman.” She twitched her shoulders and her kirtle fell to the floor. Underneath it she was wearing nothing but a chemise and knee-length hose.
    Croy blushed and averted his eyes. “Milady, I would never spurn, ah, true affection from your quarter, but . . . my heart belongs to another.”
    â€œYou’re . . . serious.”
    He bowed his head and tried to keep his thoughts pure. It was not easy with Hilde’s underthings rustling so close to his face.
    â€œHere,” she said, and pressed a long iron key into his hand. “Do what you have to, while I put all this back on. I have no idea how I’m going to lace up this corset without a big, strong man to help, but—oh, never mind.”
    â€œThank you,” Croy said, and quickly opened the locked door. Beyond was a tiny room with a barred window. For a split second he thought he saw a shoe outside the bars, but that was quite impossible—outside that window would be a sheer drop to the river Skrait, more than a hundred feet down. He turned to look around the room, expecting to have to search high and low for his swords.
    In fact, they were the only things present. Where were the religious relics the Burgrave was required to parade through the streets every Ladymas? Where the city’s charter, for that matter? Perhaps they’d gone to the same place as the city’s gold reserves. The swords lay perfectly alone on a shelf below the window, two long blades in shagreen scabbards. They were all he’d brought with him when he returned to the Free City. He hung them in their proper places on his baldric and stepped back out of the room.
    Hilde waited for him near the door, tapping her foot with impatience. “Come along,” she said. “I’ll take you through the kitchens so no one sees you. Though it would probably do my reputation some good to be seen in connection with you.”
    â€œI’m a wanted