“I promise. Now put on the robe. And stop sniveling. It doesn’t befit you. After Ladymas things will be different, just dream of that.”

Enough. Croy had never been a keyhole-listener before. He did not relish gossip, or knowing other people’s secrets. He knocked and announced himself firmly. “Message for you, your honor. From the moothall.”

“Damnation—what do the shopkeepers want with me now?” Vry said behind the door. Croy heard footsteps approaching and he stepped back to allow the door to open. Vry poked his head out and extended one long-fingered hand. “Give it here, and be gone,” he said.

Croy grabbed the hand and hauled the bailiff out into the hallway. Vry started to shout for his guards, but Croy was quick enough to get an arm around his throat and hold him still.

“You’ve come . . . to murder me, Croy? It doesn’t . . . seem your style,” Vry managed to gasp out as Croy put pressure on his windpipe.

“I saw no other way to gain audience with you, Anselm. No, I’m here for exactly the reason I said, to deliver a message—though not from the masters of the guilds. Will you listen to me if I release you? I have vital information you require.”

“I’ll listen,” Vry choked. Croy let him go. “I’ll listen, then I’ll have you arrested. I don’t know how you managed to get in here, and I can only wonder how you expect to get back out with your head attached to your neck. What message could be so important that you would risk your life for it?”

“The sorcerer Hazoth has the Burgrave’s crown,” Croy said.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Croy shook his head. “You needn’t pretend. I know everything. And now so do you. The crown is safe, sealed in a leaden coffer in Hazoth’s sanctum. What he wants with it I have no idea. Now, I must be going.”

“You’re right,” Vry told him. “This is vital information. I don’t suppose you’d tell me how you came by it.”

“I’m bound to secrecy,” Croy said.

“Of course, of course.” Vry nodded in understanding. “Hazoth,” he said. He tapped his upper lip. “Can you get the crown away from him, d’you think?”

“By myself? No. But you can marshal troops enough to wrest it from him, certainly?”

“I suppose I can. I owe you my thanks, Croy.” Vry clapped him on the shoulder. “I only wish I could pay you back for this debt. But you know that the Burgrave’s word is law, and he has ordered your death. What can I do for you, that will not counter his decision? It’s not in my power to pardon you, much as I’d like to.”