Den of Thieves by David Chandler

were hidden. Malden was certain he’d seen only a fraction of the guildhall in his visits.
    In the main room, Bellard was throwing darts at a target on one wall. The permanent dice game was going on in the corner, but only two players had risen so early. There were others there, thieves like himself, pimps come to pay their tithe to the master, procurers dividing up their stash, and one fellow dressed in dusty traveling clothes that Malden did not recognize. There was something odd about the man, but in the dim light he couldn’t get a good look.
    The traveler was sleeping on the divan when Malden came in, but before he could take two steps into the room, the man bolted upright and reached inside his tunic, probably for a knife. His beady eyes twinkled in the candlelight as he shot them back and forth, and his lips pulled back in a sneer as if he expected Malden to attack him.
    â€œBe at ease,” Bellard said. The dust-covered man nodded, lay back down and immediately returned to sleep.
    Malden glanced over at Bellard, who nodded and said, “That’s Kemper. An unsavory character if there ever was one.”
    â€œHe’s a thief, like me?” Malden asked.
    Bellard cocked his head to one side. “Hardly. Little more than a sharper—a card cheat. A vagabond by nature, never stays in any one place for long.”
    â€œWhat’s he doing here? Is he one of Cutbill’s?”
    Bellard snorted in derision. “He’s no member of this guild but he pays his respects when he passes through. We wouldn’t abide his sort at all if we had a choice, as he’s wanted by the reeves of every village within a hundred miles of here. He’s called on an old tradition of sanctuary, though, so we must let him lie here until he thinks it’s safe to head out again. Of course, the tradition doesn’t preclude Cutbill from charging him rent.”
    Malden shrugged. Good to know such a tradition existed, he supposed—who knew when he might need it himself? Yet his business was with Slag, the dwarf, so he made his way quickly to the workbench and brazier at the far side of the room.
    â€œNeed somewhat?” the dwarf demanded, looking up as Malden approached. He was no less ugly in daytime, though of course the sun never shone down in Cutbill’s hiding hole. “Or you just wanted a kiss?”
    Malden smiled. “There’s a job I’m casing right now,” he said, “and it’s going to be tricky. I need a few things to see it out.”
    â€œIf I can’t build it, you’re not good enough to need it,” Slag replied.
    Malden listed his requirements and the dwarf nodded. He said he had everything in stock—the items Malden requested were not too exceptional—and would provide them for hire, for a price. The price was steep, but Malden could cover it with the coins in his purse, just barely. Good thing, too, as the dwarf expected payment in advance.
    â€œThat way, when your arse is killed on the job, I don’t have to go down into the fucking Bloodgod’s underworld to get what you owe me.”
    â€œYour confidence in me is inspiring,” Malden said. He waited for the dwarf to go to his storeroom and fetch the things. It took quite a while, so he played at darts with Bellard to pass the time. He managed to lose another tuppence before the dwarf returned. Malden had deft hands, but Bellard had the keener eye.
    The tools came wrapped in sailcloth that had been treated with tar to make it waterproof. It would keep the rust off. “Return ’em in the shape you found ’em, or there’s an extra fee,” Slag told him.
    â€œAnd so I shall. Farewell, Bellard. Farewell, all.” Bellard grunted a response but no one else even looked up as Malden headed back to the light of day. The three old masters were a bit more cordial, but he didn’t spend long speaking to them.
    He had some time to squander, so he walked all