The children scattered like crows when a boy throws a rock among them. They hurried back into the ruins, worming their way through gaps and crevices too small for an adult to pass through and were gone.

“We have work to do,” Malden said. “Come with me.”

Croy rose and brushed soot from his breeches. He followed along as Malden headed back into the Stink.

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Six

“Where are we going?” Croy asked as they headed up Midden Lane, where the city’s refuse was gathered and sorted and gleaned for anything of value. The smell was horrible, but Malden knew the watch never came down that road.

“A tavern I know.” He stepped in something foul and scraped his leather shoe against the cobblestones. Not that it helped much—in this district the cobbles barely protruded through a thick layer of scum that had hardened into a kind of paving. “There we’ll find bravos willing to sign on for coin. I need men who are good with weapons to fight Hazoth’s retainers—and Bikker, for that matter.”

“I’m going to fight Bikker,” Croy pointed out.

“Not on your own—not wounded as you are. Even Cythera could see you had no chance to take him.”

“And you think a band of common street toughs can? They won’t last a moment against Acidtongue.”

“Well, that’s what they get paid for. To die for some pointless cause. The place is just up here.” Malden lifted his chin and pointed. “They only have to live long enough,” he explained, “to convince the guards to lower the magical barrier. If they die once I’m inside, they’ll have served their purpose. The coin I give them can go to their mothers, or widows, or orphans, what have you.”

Croy shook his head. “No, hold, Malden. I’m quite serious. If you’re going to engage Bikker you need more than brave young men with stilettos. I can’t allow you to throw away lives just for a diversion.”

“It’s all I can afford!” Malden turned on the knight. “You need to understand something, Croy. I know you’ve never wanted for anything in your life. You’ve never had to want for anything since you were a babe. Any problem that might arise could always be met with a sword stroke or a purse of gold, and so you never had to learn about survival. Down here in the Stink that’s all we know. Those children back in the Ashes—they already know more than you ever will. They know when to hold their tongues. And when to cut someone’s throat. They know how to stay alive, and they don’t count the cost too dear.”

“You make them sound like bloodthirsty savages.”

“Yes! Because that is what they are. They are perfectly suited to the life they’ve been handed. I admit it’s an ugly life, but it’s theirs.”