The priest started to tremble as Malden spoke. “That name is never spoken in this house,” he insisted. “You violate the very stones of this church with your tongue!”
Malden ignored the priest. “Let Loophole go, Hood.”
“Is that a threat, Malden? It means nothing to me. Your thief will hang at dawn tomorrow. And his last words will indict you. The Lady wills it, so let it be done.”
Bile rose in Malden’s throat, but he knew he was beaten here. He could not strike down Hood in the church. Even if he did, it wouldn’t guarantee Loophole’s freedom. But he had to do something. The entire guild of thieves would be watching him. There was no more time for delay, or appeasement, or begging for patience.
As he walked back out of the Ladychapel, he saw there was no more time for thinking either. Half a dozen men stood on the steps, making a rather poor attempt at looking nonchalant. He knew them all-they were thieves, burglars and sharpers and robbers. They were the ones who had never had any confidence in his leadership, and they were here to show him how low his reputation had sunk.
They were all armed.
“Velmont,” Malden said quietly, “can I trust you?”
“What color’s your money?”
“It’s gold, Velmont. Bright gold.”
“You can trust me jus’ fine.”
Still-two against six.
“Gentlemen,” Malden said, nodding at the six.
One of them stepped forward. His name was Tock, and Malden had recruited him into the guild personally. The guild’s recruiting methods were not always gentle. Tock had reason to hate Malden long before Cutbill fled town. “You look tired, Malden. The strain of leadership getting to you?”
“They took Loophole tonight,” Malden said, trying to appeal to camaraderie.
“So we heard. Now there’s a man who deserved your protection. But where were you when he was taken? In a bawdy house, they say, holed up in a private room.”
Malden didn’t bother to explain himself. Cutbill never would have. Of course, Cutbill would have had armed bravos waiting in the shadows, ready to strike as soon as Tock made a move for his knife. “I’m going to get him released. You can help me with that, or you can try to stop me.”
One of the six drew a long cleaver from his belt. Tock opened his hand, palm level with the street. This wasn’t just a bunch of angry thieves, then. It was a crew-organized, if they’d bothered to work out signals. Able to fight as a unit.
Malden and Velmont had never fought back-to-back. He had no idea how the Helstrovian thief would do if it came to that.
“I’ll say again, you can help me,” Malden told Tock.
“You got a plan, Malden?” Tock asked.
“Always,” Malden lied.
“You going up to Castle Hill, to the gaol? You going to sneak in and get Loophole, sneak out again with him over your shoulder?”
Some of the six laughed at the idea. Until that moment Malden had been considering the very thing. Now he needed to rethink.
“No,” he sighed. “That would be folly.”
“Then what’s your grand scheme?”
Malden closed his eyes. And heard singing. The priest inside the Ladychapel was leading the evening hymn service, and Pritchard Hood, his only constituent that night, was lending his voice.
“Ah,” Malden said, because suddenly he had it. “I’m going to say a little prayer.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
It wasn’t easy getting the word out so late in the evening. The honest people of Ness (such as they were) tended to lock their doors after dark and go to sleep early-candles were expensive, and after a long day of work everyone just wanted to rest. The streets weren’t safe after dark, no matter how deserted they might be. Malden had placed his hopes, though, on that segment of the population that made its living after the sun went down.
His thieves came first to Godstone Square, as they had before-alone, mostly. Some expressed quiet support for Malden’s scheme, while others, Tock the foremost among them, had come because they expected it to fail and they wanted to see Malden destroyed. Lockjaw and ’Levenfingers came and stood quite close to the Godstone. Whether they believed in what Malden was about to do or not, they owed Loophole that much. Slag, like all dwarves, was at his most awake after dark, when the sun didn’t burn his eyes. He showed up late, however, and grinned in apology to Malden-then held up ink-stained fingers to explain his tardiness.
Velmont moved pantherish through the crowd of thieves, looking for any sign of treachery. Malden had no doubt he found much, but for the nonce at least the knives stayed concealed.
The thieves were not alone for long. Coming in groups of six or ten for safety, the harlots of Ness arrived with some fanfare, the madams leading their girls in cheers of solidarity. Elody cheered the loudest, but Malden was pleased to find that Herwig had brought every working woman she could find. The House of Sighs must have closed its doors for the night, for the first time in living memory.
They were not the last to arrive. Malden’s agents had gone deep into the Stink, even to the poorest neighborhoods where thieves weren’t any safer than rich merchants. They had pounded on doors and called out the news in ringing shouts. He had expected a few graybeards and old women to heed the call. He was surprised to see a goodly number of cripples, the sick, and even matronly women who should have known better. Soon the square was so full the crowd spilled out into the surrounding streets, and window shutters flew open as the local residents looked to see what all the clamor was for.
Malden wasn’t ready to start, however. Not until Pritchard Hood arrived.
For much of an hour he waited, standing atop the Godstone just as when he’d addressed his guild, back when Ness had seemed a sane and safe place for a good-natured thief. He said nothing to the gathered folk, other than to welcome them and greet those he knew. He gave them no encouragement. What he was about to do was a solemn act, not the antics of a clown at a harvest season fair. Though never much of a believer himself, Malden was acquainted with the way the old priests of the Bloodgod had acquitted themselves. They had taken their rites most seriously, and he intended to do the same.
When Pritchard Hood did finally arrive, along with six of his burliest watchmen, they shoved their way through the crowd until they stood directly beneath the Godstone. Malden was intrigued to see that the watchmen carried not their usual polearms but mallets and picks. Interesting. It seemed Hood had a demonstration of his own to make.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Malden,” Hood shouted up at him. “This place has been ritually defiled. There’s nothing sacred about this piece of rock.”
Malden smiled down at the man. “You think Sadu cared when the priests of your Lady washed this stone with vinegar and sang their little songs over it? Do you think He even noticed?”
“I think He trembled in His pit,” Hood replied, looking around him. “I think He knew that His time was past, and that the age of the Lady had come.”
“Ah, but your sort always think that gods can be cast aside when they’re no longer wanted.” Malden looked around the crowd. He saw the rapt faces, the strange calm in their eyes. “When it’s politically convenient.” He made his voice boom out over the crowd so all could hear. He only wished he could do this in the daylight, so people could see better. Loophole would hang at dawn, though, so he had very little time to spare.
“True believers know that gods do not die,” he went on. “Sadu’s children have not forgotten Him. Here, in Ness, we’ve always been guaranteed our right to worship whatever god we choose. Even if it’s not in the Free City’s charter, every Burgrave has upheld the freedom of each man to choose his own god. You seem to disagree with that liberty.”
“There is only one goddess who can save Skrae now. What exactly do you expect Sadu to do for you tonight?” Hood demanded. “What are you going to ask Him for? To crack open the earth so the walls of the gaol fall and your old thief can run away? I’ll just catch him again. Maybe you wish Sadu to send demons to aid you.”