“You need to find the crown. And soon. For the nonce you can say the Burgrave is ill, and that he cannot be seen in public. Yet in seven days he must appear. It will be Ladymas then, and he must lead the procession. His position as head of the church demands it. He must also be wearing his crown when he does so.”

“A replica can be made. No one will know the difference.”

Exactly, Malden thought. That was what Bikker had suggested.

“Without being plain, which would be unwise just now as we are not alone,” Cutbill said, referring to the watchmen still in the room, “you and I both know that would not work.”

Vry scowled but said nothing.

In the spy hole, Malden pursed his lips. He wondered what that could possibly mean. A replica crown seemed a perfect solution—yet Cutbill and Vry both seemed to think it would not do. But why?

“I’m sure you have your watch scouring the city already, searching for the crown high and low. But I guarantee they will not find it. Whoever committed this crime is clearly intelligent enough to keep it out of sight.”

“They’ll go house-to-house then, looking for it.”

“You don’t have enough watchmen to carry out even a cursory search in that time. Whereas I—”

“Yes?” Vry demanded.

“—have a network of informants and observers who see everything that happens in this city. If I investigate with the fullness of my powers, I can find the crown, and return it, safely, to the Burgrave.”

The bailiff glared at Cutbill with pensive rage.

Cutbill opened his ledger to the place he’d left off.

Then he stood up from his lectern, crossed over to his desk and took up a fresh quill.

With a sharp knife he trimmed the nib. Then he stirred it in his inkwell.

He sat back down at his lectern.

And began to make entries.

Anselm Vry was still staring at him.

Cutbill doesn’t make an offer unless he knows what the answer will be, Malden remembered.

“No,” Vry said.

Malden had not been expecting that.

The guildmaster of thieves did not react visibly.

“No. Too long, Cutbill, you have clutched this city like a hawk clutching a mouse in its talons. You have the temerity to think you are invulnerable. Well, I will show you better. I will find the crown myself, before Ladymas. I will find whoever is holding it, and I will torture them until they give me your name. And then I will return here, and I will finish you, and all your works. I will eradicate you.”

Cutbill made another notation in his ledger.

“Did you hear me, you glorified cutpurse?” Vry demanded. A vein stuck out from his forehead. Even in the dim light streaming through the spy hole, Malden could see it pulsing.