A Thief in the Night by David Chandler Page B

grave robber.”
    â€œAh. So it’s because of your deeply felt respect for the dead that you won’t go.”
    Malden wrestled with himself. He didn’t ordinarily lie to Cutbill. The man had a way of seeing through to the truth no matter how honeyed a tale one spun. This time, however, he found himself completely incapable of telling the truth.
    â€œYes,” he said.
    â€œVery good,” Cutbill said. If he believed Malden or not didn’t seem to matter. He wrote in silence for a while, then put down his pen and folded his hands in his lap. Malden had worked for Cutbill long enough to know what that meant. He was about to do something devious. “Malden. Would you do me a favor? Go out to the common room and ask Slag if he would be kind enough to come in here for a moment.”
    â€œCertainly,” Malden said. He was mostly just glad not to be the object of the guildmaster’s plotting. Outside, he found Slag constructing a boiled leather cuirass, laying long strips of hardened leather across a stiffened shirt and then affixing them in place with paste. When Malden approached him, he cursed volubly, but after a moment the dwarf came trooping along after him into Cutbill’s chamber. He had a scowl on his face, as usual, but he had always been an obedient employee.
    â€œThis had better be good. My glue’s getting tacky.”
    â€œIt will only take a moment, I assure you,” Cutbill said. “Malden here has turned up a very interesting piece of information. It seems there’s a barbarian in town who is forming a crew to go and open the Vincularium. I thought that would be of some small interest to you.”
    The scowl went slack on Slag’s face. “Huh,” he said.
    Malden rubbed at his chin. He’d never heard the dwarf stymied for a curse before. What was Cutbill up to?
    Slag failed to give the game away. He stood there looking pensive but said nothing more. Eventually Cutbill looked up and gave the dwarf a pointed look. “That’s all. You may return to your work.”
    Slag nodded and turned to go. He stopped before he reached the door, however, and turned to address Cutbill. “Sir,” he said. Malden had never heard the dwarf use an honorific before. Interesting. “Sir, if it’s all right with you. Well. You know I’m in here every fucking day, and most nights. I work hard, don’t I? And I serve you well. I haven’t even been sick a day for—how long?”
    Cutbill tilted his head to one side as if trying to remember. Then he stuck his thumb in the ledger book and opened it to a page quite near its beginning. “Seventeen years,” he said, after consulting a column of numbers.
    The dwarf nodded. “Aye. Well. I think, suddenly, I might be coming down with somewhat. Somewhat lingering.”
    â€œThat is unfortunate,” Cutbill said. The look on his face was not what Malden would call sympathetic, but then he couldn’t imagine Cutbill showing fellow feeling for anyone. “You’d better go home, then, until you feel well again. Take as much time as you need. I don’t care if it takes weeks and weeks.”
    â€œThank ye, sir,” Slag said, and left the room.
    When he was gone, Malden stared at the guildmaster of thieves. “What was that about? What’s he after?”
    â€œLike I said, Malden, you might do some asking around about the Vincularium. In this case, it might interest you to know who built it. Of course,” Cutbill said, and flipped back to his current page, “it matters not. Since you have already made up your mind not to go.”

Chapter Twelve
    C roy and Mörget set about at once outfitting themselves for the journey. There were so many things to buy—a wagon to carry their gear, supplies to make camp in the wilderness, lanterns and climbing gear for inside the Vincularium. Croy had rarely been as happy or excited as when he looked over the