though. If we do it now, we’re refugees. If we do it tomorrow, we’re deserters, and they hang deserters,” he pointed out.
“Why don’t you just tell me where your lady’s at,” the boss said to him. “I’ll make sure she gets where she oughta be, eh?”
“Do you think me such a fool? I leave with her—and any of you that want to come. Any of you who want to live through the next fortnight, that is.” Malden shook his head. “The barbarians are fearsome enemies. Some of them paint their faces red, to show they’ve drunk human blood. Their women paint their faces like skulls, because they say it’s the only way to get the men to kiss them. Come with me, now, and we’ll travel together to Ness. There, Cutbill will grant you more than sanctuary. He’ll make you full members in our guild. He’ll shower you with gold.”
Malden was barely aware of everything he was saying and all the promises he’d made. He would have said anything to get the thieves on his side.
“Listen, boss,” Velmont said, “I think he’s tellin’ the truth—”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Vellie,” the boss told the thief. “It’s my decision to make. And I say we stay put.”
The crowd of thieves fell silent. Dead silent. Malden felt the blood in his veins jumping as his heart sped in his chest.
“I lived right here me whole life, and I ain’t runnin’ now,” the boss said. “War’s good for our kind. They send all the kingsmen out to fight, and leave us here, alone with all the pickin’s. No, we’re not leavin’. And if he won’t tell me where this lady is, and this knight’s pile o’ gold, I’ll find ’em me own way. Now. I believe I told you once already. Cut ’im.”
Velmont looked down at the knife in his hand.
“Sorry ’bout this, but it’s hard times,” he said.
Malden flattened himself against the wall. There was no escape.
Then Velmont took a step to the side—and slashed his knife across the throat of his boss. Blood flew from the wound and misted the far wall, as bright as the snail tracks there. The boss clutched at his neck but made no sound whatsoever as he collapsed. The other thieves drew back in terror, pressing themselves up against the far wall. They didn’t shout or make a peep of surprise or fear, though. These were men who’d seen murder before, men who knew when to keep silent. For a while the only noise in the cellar was the drumming of the boss’s wooden leg on the earthen floor. Eventually that, too, stopped.
Velmont turned to face his fellow thieves, gory knife still in hand. “He was a good boss, in ’is way, but he was gonna get us all killed. I’m sidin’ with the fella that wants to save our skins. Any man of you have a problem with that?” he demanded.
His question evoked more silence.
“Good.” He put his knife away. Then he bent down to offer Malden a hand up. “Now. Let’s talk about how I expect to get us all out o’ Helstrow, without marchin’ us through the front door.”
Chapter Nineteen
T he bridge across the river Strow began and ended within the walls of the outer bailey. No one crossed the river without the king’s approval—at least, not from above.
Underneath the bridge a complicated sparwork of stone beams held up the road surface. An agile man unafraid of heights could cross from one end to the other without having to climb up top.
Malden had both those qualities. It didn’t bother him in the slightest to hang from his hands by a stringcourse of granite, thirty feet above the foaming waters of the river. Velmont and his crew took their time about it, but managed to make the crossing without slipping. Yet when Cythera began to climb across, she made it a third of the way and then stopped, clinging hard to a stone pillar, her eyes clenched tightly shut.
Malden looked up. He could hear horses drawing heavy loads across the timber surface of the bridge. It creaked and rattled under the strain. He swung back over to where
“Why don’t you just tell me where your lady’s at,” the boss said to him. “I’ll make sure she gets where she oughta be, eh?”
“Do you think me such a fool? I leave with her—and any of you that want to come. Any of you who want to live through the next fortnight, that is.” Malden shook his head. “The barbarians are fearsome enemies. Some of them paint their faces red, to show they’ve drunk human blood. Their women paint their faces like skulls, because they say it’s the only way to get the men to kiss them. Come with me, now, and we’ll travel together to Ness. There, Cutbill will grant you more than sanctuary. He’ll make you full members in our guild. He’ll shower you with gold.”
Malden was barely aware of everything he was saying and all the promises he’d made. He would have said anything to get the thieves on his side.
“Listen, boss,” Velmont said, “I think he’s tellin’ the truth—”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion, Vellie,” the boss told the thief. “It’s my decision to make. And I say we stay put.”
The crowd of thieves fell silent. Dead silent. Malden felt the blood in his veins jumping as his heart sped in his chest.
“I lived right here me whole life, and I ain’t runnin’ now,” the boss said. “War’s good for our kind. They send all the kingsmen out to fight, and leave us here, alone with all the pickin’s. No, we’re not leavin’. And if he won’t tell me where this lady is, and this knight’s pile o’ gold, I’ll find ’em me own way. Now. I believe I told you once already. Cut ’im.”
Velmont looked down at the knife in his hand.
“Sorry ’bout this, but it’s hard times,” he said.
Malden flattened himself against the wall. There was no escape.
Then Velmont took a step to the side—and slashed his knife across the throat of his boss. Blood flew from the wound and misted the far wall, as bright as the snail tracks there. The boss clutched at his neck but made no sound whatsoever as he collapsed. The other thieves drew back in terror, pressing themselves up against the far wall. They didn’t shout or make a peep of surprise or fear, though. These were men who’d seen murder before, men who knew when to keep silent. For a while the only noise in the cellar was the drumming of the boss’s wooden leg on the earthen floor. Eventually that, too, stopped.
Velmont turned to face his fellow thieves, gory knife still in hand. “He was a good boss, in ’is way, but he was gonna get us all killed. I’m sidin’ with the fella that wants to save our skins. Any man of you have a problem with that?” he demanded.
His question evoked more silence.
“Good.” He put his knife away. Then he bent down to offer Malden a hand up. “Now. Let’s talk about how I expect to get us all out o’ Helstrow, without marchin’ us through the front door.”
Chapter Nineteen
T he bridge across the river Strow began and ended within the walls of the outer bailey. No one crossed the river without the king’s approval—at least, not from above.
Underneath the bridge a complicated sparwork of stone beams held up the road surface. An agile man unafraid of heights could cross from one end to the other without having to climb up top.
Malden had both those qualities. It didn’t bother him in the slightest to hang from his hands by a stringcourse of granite, thirty feet above the foaming waters of the river. Velmont and his crew took their time about it, but managed to make the crossing without slipping. Yet when Cythera began to climb across, she made it a third of the way and then stopped, clinging hard to a stone pillar, her eyes clenched tightly shut.
Malden looked up. He could hear horses drawing heavy loads across the timber surface of the bridge. It creaked and rattled under the strain. He swung back over to where
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