He sank back in frustration and anger and dropped his tools on the stone floor. What to do? What to do? He was not ready to give up. Sadu alone knew why he was being forced to this ordeal, to this series of gruesome tests, but there had to be some reason—he did not believe the master of this place would be such a sadist as to put him through so much just for grim amusement.

So there had to be some solution to the problem. Some simple, elegant answer that would lend itself to a man who knew how to think. Malden had always counted himself quite clever. He wasn’t very strong—a bad diet had seen to that—nor was he accounted particularly handsome. He had the kind of face that no one remarked on, or remembered for very long. What he was, was smart. Quick, like Bellard had said. His best weapon now was his brain, his ability to think this through.

There would be a solution. It must be in this room, since he was not permitted to leave. And it had to be something he could discover if he would just open his eyes. He looked around, trying to see what he had missed before.

He glanced over at the dwarf. He hadn’t paid the little creature much attention before. He had barely been aware of what the dwarf was doing. Now he gave the dwarf’s piecework his full attention.

The dwarf was sewing pieces of metal onto a pair of silk gloves.

Malden went over to him with his friendliest expression on his face. “My, those are rather fetching.”

The dwarf sneered. “They might fetch a fair price,” he said.

Malden could feel all eyes in the room turned on his back. He ignored them. “May I?” he asked. He picked up one of the gloves and studied it. The dwarf had sewn several dozen small tin plates onto the back and palm of the glove. They wouldn’t work very well as armor in a fight, but they would be perfect for his current purpose. So perfect, in fact, that he could see no reason for their construction other than to help pick the poisoned lock. Malden opened his purse and took out a handful of farthings—copper coins cut into four pieces each. “I’m not sure how much you—”

“It’ll do,” the dwarf said, snatching them from his grasp. He counted them quickly, rolling the coins in his hand. “Miserly thieves. Half what they’re fucking worth.” He held out the gloves and Malden took them. “Now, that’s just for hire,” the dwarf informed him. “I take them back when I feel you’ve had ’em long enough.”