A Thief in the Night Read Online Free PDF Page A

tired he was seeing spots before his eyes.
    â€œYou were successful, I see,” Cutbill said. He made another notation in his ledger, then turned back several pages and consulted a figure.
    Malden didn’t question how Cutbill could know that before he’d even given his report. Cutbill had a way of always being three steps ahead of anyone he spoke to. “A new customer, and three new recruits.”
    â€œHmm.” Cutbill sounded vaguely amused. It was hard to tell—the guildmaster never smiled, and certainly had never laughed in Malden’s presence. But Malden was beginning to learn his moods all the same. “That makes ten new clients you’ve recruited in two weeks,” Cutbill went on. “I wonder what will happen if you keep operating at this pace. By way of a hypothetical, what would Ness look like if the entire population of the Stink were on my payroll at the same time, while every citizen in the Golden Slope was receiving my protection? Would we completely eliminate thievery in one fell swoop?”
    â€œPerish the thought,” Malden said. He scowled into the middle distance. “I can’t imagine a more boring possibility.”
    â€œHmm.” It was as good as a belly laugh, coming from Cutbill. It seemed the man was pleased with his work. Well, that was something.
    Once upon a time Malden had hated Cutbill with a passion. The old man had blackmailed him into coming into the guild, just as Malden had browbeaten the three thieves that night. But rather than just welcoming him in with open arms, Cutbill had exacted a ridiculous payment for the right to work as a thief in Ness. A hundred and one gold royals—a vast fortune—to be paid before Malden could earn a single copper for himself. He’d made that payment, though nearly died in the process. Other people had died, though no one the world would miss. Once the price was paid, Malden had believed he would go on hating Cutbill for what he’d been put through. He’d been convinced he would spend the rest of his life looking for a way to put the man in his place.
    And yet over the months that followed, something strange had happened. He actually came to respect the guildmaster of thieves. He would never go so far as to say he liked the man. Yet as he had watched Cutbill plot from his tiny office in the Ashes (as far as Malden knew, Cutbill never left the room), he began to see something of the man’s brilliance. The way he played the various factions of the city off one another. The way he kept his people out of harm’s way, and his thieves’ necks out of the noose. Cutbill could be a vicious schemer, and he was not above having people killed if they got in his way. Malden imagined the man had not a single moral compulsion in his slender skull. Yet by operating in such a ruthless fashion, Cutbill managed to save lives, to put money in pockets that had been empty, and to ameliorate some small portion of the city’s misery. It was almost enough to make Malden think the guildmaster had a heart after all.
    Cutbill gestured at the night’s takings. “You may take your cut from the bag. I don’t need to count it.”
    Malden stood up straight. That was a level of trust he’d never anticipated from Cutbill. He reached into the sack of coins and took out twenty small gold gravines. One part in ten of all he’d earned—the going rate.
    â€œJust write me a receipt, if you’d be so kind,” Cutbill said. He put his pen down for a moment and actually looked up. “You know, Malden, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I’m worried about you.”
    In the middle of scribbling his receipt on the desk, Malden managed to misspell his own name.
    â€œYou . . . are?” he asked, trying not to sound too surprised.
    Cutbill frowned. “You’ve been taking on these protection and recruitment assignments more and more often. I might