A monolith about fifteen feet tall, inscribed with dread runes that time had weathered to illegibility, it had been a center for the worship of the Bloodgod centuries ago. The first Burgrave had ritually defiled it, however, and the people stopped coming. Too big and too heavy to be carted away, it waited out the years and the rain in mute witness. Even the bloodstains that once washed its lower half had faded away to nothing, and now it served only as a landmark, an unloved boil on the face of an unloved district. Neither Cythera nor Bikker even looked at it as they approached. Their eyes studied the shadows, the corners, the recessed doorways of the houses around them.

They did not think to look up. Malden stirred himself carefully—his limbs were stiff with immobility—and cleared his throat.

His two employers did not flinch. As one they turned their faces upward and looked upon him where he crouched atop the stone. Bikker looked annoyed. Cythera looked merely like she wished to be somewhere else.

He could sympathize. “Did you bring the gold?” he asked.

Bikker’s face softened. “You could at least have picked a less public meeting place.”

“Certainly. A dark alley, perhaps? Or maybe we could have met at the top of a cliff above the Skrait, so you could just push me in.”

“You don’t trust us?” Cythera asked. There was no hurt in her tone.

“I don’t trust him. He killed two just to draw attention.” Malden rose to his feet and paced back and forth atop the stone. It was just barely two strides across. “As for you—I can imagine why you took your little boat away. I don’t think any of us expected things to turn out this way.”

“If you mean we didn’t expect you to bungle the job,” Bikker growled, “you’re right, there.”

Malden laughed—though not loudly. “We all survived. I have the thing you want. As long as you have my gold, I think we did just fine.”

Cythera reached beneath her cloak and drew forth a bulging sack. It looked heavy in her slim hands, but she showed no sign of effort as she lifted it. “All the same, you’d do well to lie low after this. We drew more scrutiny than we would have liked. And they’ll be looking for the object.”

“Bah,” Bikker said. “They probably think it’s buried in the rubble. Come down here, boy, and give it to me. Then we’ll leave your gold. Then we’ll never see each other again, if you know what’s good for you.”