David Chandler - Den of thieves

She shook her head. “He’s no servant of my master. And I am no retainer.” She seemed unwilling to say more. She brought him into a long hallway lined on one side with doors. More windows pierced the outside wall, their glare cut down by gauzy curtains that hung from the ceiling. Small tables and display cases stood between the windows, holding curios, some that Malden would very much have liked to stop and examine more closely, and others that made him flinch and look away. He saw one case that held a collection of severed human hands, while another was full of what appeared to be giant pearls. A stuffed and lifeless snake lay coiled on one table, holding a carved ball of white jade in its jaws. The purpose of such things-or if they even had a purpose beyond mere ornament-was lost on him.

At the far end of the corridor Cythera opened another door, which led into a library. Despite himself, Malden’s jaw fell open once again.

It was a comfortable, snug space, though several times larger than the common room at Cutbill’s lair. Sumptuous rugs covered the floor, and a fireplace filled half of one wall. Couches and chairs upholstered in leather stood here and there, where a visitor might choose to sit and read, and an enormous tapestry map of the continent hung from the ceiling showing all the cities, roads, and rivers of Skrae and the Northern Kingdoms in cunning detail. What really astounded Malden about the room, however, was the collection of books.

Books were expensive. They had to be inscribed by hand, then bound in costly hides. Illuminators and engravers were employed in their construction, and since very few people in the kingdom could read, there was a premium on their production. Even the Burgrave might have had only a single shelf of books in his palace, mostly devotional works praising the Lady.

Yet Hazoth had hundreds of books here-perhaps thousands. Far more than Malden could count. Thin folios and massive tomes, miniature librams that would fit in the palm of the hand, grimoires bound in carved wooden covers inlaid with gold and silver and bronze. Books adorned with gemstones, and others with leather covers tooled with a pattern of skulls and bones. Some shelves held loose papers in great sheaves, bound with string, or scrolls and palimpsests wound about ivory rods, or forms of printed matter Malden had never imagined-books built into miniature chests, or folded fans of paper, or books made of pentagonal signatures tied together with ribbon. Books that glowed with their own light, and books that looked like they had scuttled into the shadows at the back of deep shelves, as if afraid of the sun. Opened books sat on lecterns or scriptoria, written in languages and even alphabets he did not recognize. Ink pots of black and red and purple were arranged around one table, and quills from birds far more exotic than the typical goose or crow.

He had a chance to look at only a few of the titles inscribed on the spines of the books nearest to him, but they inflamed his imagination. A Season Within the Pit, Marloff’s Compendium of Diabolic Keys, The Book of The Names of The Dead, The Fraternity of Fame, Wand’ring Formes and Theyr Dispelment.

“How could he read them all within one lifetime?” Malden breathed.

“He’s older than you think,” Cythera said.

“Older even than she knows,” Hazoth replied.

Malden’s feet left the floor in surprise. He whirled around to find the sorcerer taking his ease in one of the leather-bound chairs. He was dressed in a simple black robe and matching hose, with a black veil down over his face. Malden was certain he had not been sitting there a moment ago.

“So you can read, boy? I’m impressed.”

Malden lowered his head in humility. “I have that gift,” he said. “Milord Hazoth, I beg your pardon for my intrusion. I assure you I would not have come here had I not been in possession of certain information, which-”

“Cythera,” Hazoth said, ignoring him, “perhaps things have changed since I was last abroad in the world. It is possible that manners have changed. Is it common these days for peasants to speak before they have been bidden?”

Malden looked up to see Cythera blush beneath the ink on her face. “Malden is no peasant. He is a free man, master. At least as long as he resides within the city’s walls.”

“Indeed?” Hazoth said, sounding surprised. “And that entitles him to come to my house and disturb my studies?” He rose from his chair and walked across the room to the tapestry map, as if trying to recall to himself where he was. “And if I were to, say, transport him instantaneously to-let us see-to here?” He pointed at a place close to the Western Reach, a region marked on the map as devoted to agriculture and possessing no towns large enough to merit inclusion at the map’s scale. “If he were to find himself in the midst of a bean field, on some petty viscount’s estate, with no way to return. What would become of him?”

Cythera glanced at Malden and shook her head a tiny fraction of an inch. He was not to speak now, that much was clear.

“He would be arrested for trespass by the reeve of that place,” she replied. “Most likely he would be forced to accept an oathbond, and would spend the rest of his life toiling as a common farmhand.”

“And then he would be required to pay proper respect when brought before his betters.” Hazoth reached under his veil and stroked his chin. “It would require a certain ritual to send him thence, however, and such operations take time. Far quicker, I think, to simply ensure that he does not talk out of turn again.” He brought his free hand up in the air and made a complex gesture.

Malden felt as if an iron pincer had gripped his throat. He tried to open his mouth and felt the invisible force constrict until he could barely breathe. It was much like the barrier outside that had held him aloft in the air, but worse-the barrier had been unpleasant, but this was actually painful. He had no doubt that if Hazoth so chose, he could cause the force to squeeze until his windpipe were crushed.

“There,” Hazoth said, and moved back to his chair. “Much better. I hadn’t finished speaking, boy. I had more to say, and now I can. I was going to say how impressed I was with you. Cythera has spoken quite highly of your abilities as a thief, but that is a subject I find uninteresting. I am far more admiring of your willingness to overcome your-quite natural-fear of anyone more powerful than you. Coming here today was an act of uncommon valor in a lowborn not-quite-peasant such as yourself. And valor is commendable, even in its cruder forms. Rudeness, however, is always unacceptable, and I will not have it in my house. Had you not impressed me so much, I would extinguish your life like that of a rodent I found in my larder, do you understand? But I have chosen to be merciful.” He waved his hand. “You may now say, ‘Thank you, Magus.’ ”

The hold on Malden’s wind was gone, as if it had never been there.

“Thank you, Magus,” he said.

“You are most welcome. There. Not so hard to be polite, is it? You may speak.”

“I apologize,” Malden said, his heart burning in his chest, “for my rudeness.”

“Quite all right. I believe you had a message for me. Say it now.”

Malden cleared his throat. “I’ve come to tell you that you are in danger. Anselm Vry, the bailiff of this city, is searching you out even now. He knows the crown has been stolen, and he intends to recover it regardless of who might be inconvenienced.”

“That’s all you came to say?”

Malden nodded. The sorcerer had not told him he could speak.

“Very good. It is ever so kind of you to come and tell me this. It shows good business sense as well. You were hired to perform a task and you were paid handsomely. I take it your coming here to offer me warning was all part of the service, hmm? You are acting out of pure altruism, and want nothing further as recompense. Surely you didn’t think this would earn you some more coin. After all, the gold I gave you already should last a lifetime for one of such humble aspirations of yourself. That is, if you haven’t already drank it all, or spent it on some shiny but worthless bauble. You may speak.”