Free Den of Thieves by David Chandler

scabbard was lined with glass, no doubt to keep the acid from burning its way through. The big man said, then, “So let us speak quickly to the boy, and then we can all be on our way. Boy,” Bikker called.
    â€œMalden. At least use my name.”
    â€œBoy,” Bikker said, walking over behind the bar and pouring himself a pitcher full of strong ale, “you are a thief, is that correct? This wasn’t the first time you ever cut a purse. Judging by the way you scampered up those rooftops, I imagine you’ve done this sort of thing before.”
    â€œListen,” Malden said, “the silver I took from you, it’s all—it’s here somewhere.” He reached down across his chest and realized that his sling and his fake arm had been removed. Looking up, he saw that Cythera held them—and his bodkin, too. “I’ll give it back, right? And everything else I took today, you can have that as well. Just let me go.”
    â€œBugger the silver! There’s plenty more where it came from!” Bikker shouted. He lifted his pitcher and drank lustily from it until foam drenched his beard.
    â€œWe don’t wish to punish you,” Cythera said. “We wish to hire a skilled thief for . . . well, our purposes must remain unspoken, of course. We wish to hire a master thief for a certain job.”
    More where it came from, Malden thought. More silver. Enough the brute didn’t even bother keeping hold of the pittance he’d had with him. More. “Are you?” he said. “Well, luck is with you, for I—”
    â€œCan you recommend anyone like that?” Cythera asked.
    â€œI—I can indeed,” Malden said, and raised himself up to his full height. “I know a thief with no equal in the Free City. One more than up to whatever task you set him.” He gave her his most dashing look.
    â€œYes?” she said patiently.
    â€œMilady, I am at your service.”
    She frowned. “No, I mean, what is his name, this paragon of thieves?”
    â€œIt’s—well, me.”
    Bikker laughed so hard he spilled his ale. Cythera’s face didn’t change, but her icy blue eyes looked Malden up and down and then flicked away.
    â€œWe don’t want a pickpocket, boy! We want a thief . A . . . a burglar, a . . . second story man, a—”
    â€œAnd I tell you, you’ve found him.” Malden brushed past Cythera—she gave a short gasp as he nearly touched her—and over to stand before Bikker. He had to look up to meet the swordsman’s gaze but he held it. “Why, just the other day, Cutbill, the master of thieves, expressed his deep admiration for my skills. He listened to the story of how I stole plate and silver from Guthrun Whiteclay’s house and said he’d never heard of a finer scheme enacted so skillfully. And he should know.”
    â€œCutbill.” Bikker glanced across at Cythera. “You’re one of his crew?”
    â€œIndeed,” Malden said.
    â€œOnly—we need this to stay between us. It can’t get back to him, or the world will know our business. At least, it will if it has the coppers to buy the information.”
    â€œDiscretion is my watchword. Though it does cost extra.”
    Bikker shook his head and quaffed more ale.
    â€œYou’ve seen how quick I am,” Malden insisted.
    â€œWe did, at that,” Cythera agreed. “He would have gotten away from you , Bikker, if I hadn’t been there to distract him. And the man we need will have to know how to climb. He showed us that as well.”
    The swordsman hunched his shoulders. He was half convinced, Malden knew, and he already had Cythera on his side. Time to close the deal, before Bikker could reconsider.
    â€œFor this job I will require the sum of one hundred and one gold royals,” Malden announced.
    Bikker smiled. “You haven’t yet heard what it entails. We might be