“Nay, son, we just scarpered at the first sign of trouble,” the old man replied. “That’s one of those things you learn how to do if you want to get to be an old thief. I’m glad to see you alive, though. We weren’t far away, and when we saw you coming in, we wanted to warn you but there was just no way, not without giving away our own position.”

“I understand. It was a close thing but I survived my encounter with the law. Did, ah, did Cutbill tell you anything of what it was about?”

Loophole frowned. “And why would he think to do that? His business is his own. And we don’t ask questions, the answers to which might get us in trouble.”

“Another sound policy,” Malden suggested. Some strange intuition gripped him then—a preternatural sensation that something was deeply wrong. He shot a hand down at his side and grabbed a scrawny arm. ’Levenfingers was trying to lift his purse. Malden laughed with glee. “In this mutable world I am glad to see some things don’t change.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Malden,” ’Levenfingers said. Lockjaw just scowled.

“So, have anything big planned?” Loophole asked.

His face was the picture of innocence. Malden shot him a shrewd look, but the oldster simply blinked as if he didn’t know anything.

Which told Malden what he needed to know. Cutbill might not have told them what had happened, but Malden knew perfectly well that they had asked the dangerous questions—they had just asked them very discreetly. How much they knew would remain a mystery, but it was next to impossible to keep a secret from these three. “Well, as a matter of fact . . . there’s a certain house on the Lady-park Common, a very special house—do you know the one I mean? I shouldn’t make it any more plain.”

“Then there’s only one you can mean,” ’Levenfingers said with a shiver. “Ooh, I wouldn’t want to be in that place in the dark. But good luck to you. No one’s ever tumbled that place and lived to tell the tale.”

“Even I wouldn’t try it,” Loophole agreed. “And I’d steal pearls off the queen’s throat, were she here now.”

Lockjaw mumbled something and then spat into the charred ruins.

Malden and the other two oldsters turned to stare at him.

“I said, ’ware the eye, and that’s all I’m saying,” Lockjaw snarled. “Now get inside, before someone sees you out here.”

“My thanks,” Malden told him. Then he headed down into the lair and was pleased to find that things had returned to a kind of normalcy. Bellard wasn’t there, of course, but the dice game in the corner was back in swing. More importantly to Malden, Slag was working at his bench, putting together some kind of collapsible fishing pole.