A little chill ran down Arvid’s back. “Perhaps another time,” he said. “It is late—”

The Marshal’s mouth quirked. “Not that late. Admittedly, the windows are more beautiful in the morning, with sunlight coming in the round one, but … I’m sorry to be blunt, but you must know that we know who you are. We honor you for saving our paladin, but … a thief—”

“I’m not a thief,” Arvid said. “Not all in the Thieves’ Guild are thieves.”

Marshal Perin smiled and nodded. “I understand. But still, you consort with thieves. Fortunate for Paksenarrion that you do, for then you were able to help her.”

Arvid shivered again. The memory of that time would not release him; he still saw her wounds heal, heard the gasps of the crowd, smelled the rank fear, felt the buffeting of those fleeing the scene. He had come prepared to ensure honorable burial for her … and she was not dead. The other one, he had killed quickly, efficiently, with the poisoned daggers he always carried.

Then Paksenarrion had wakened … alive, not crippled, and in behavior the same as she had been a few years before, when he had enjoyed playing the sophisticate with the naive soldier-girl. And said … that Gird might want to save the Thieves’ Guild. Ridiculous. He had not told that to the Marshal who first interviewed him about Paks. He wasn’t sure he’d ever tell anyone.

“I was glad to help her,” he said.

When they entered the School courtyard, cloaked in the blue shadows of summer dusk, Arvid glanced around, automatically noting ways in and out. Windows, drainpipes, gates … it would be easy, should he need to. His skin tightened. His room, one of five kept for guests on the ground floor, was small but clean and furnished with sufficient to his needs: bed, chair, table.

“The rockbrothers will try to steal the necklace tonight or tomorrow night,” he said suddenly.

Marshal Perin stared. “Necklace?”

“The one I gave Paks in Brewersbridge. They know it’s here—well, everyone with wit in Tsaia knows that.”

“But surely—”

“Guard it well this night, Marshal, wherever it is. Such a thing might redeem the kteknik’s place with his prince, or a dwarf’s with his king.”

“They said this?”

“They were talking of the necklace when I joined them, and said it plain out. I speak their language, you see.”

“If they are caught, they will know you betrayed them,” Marshal Perin said. “Dwarves, at least, do not take kindly to betrayal.”

“I gave warning,” Arvid said. “I told them I hoped not to see them before sunrise—and they know who I am. I do not know if it will stop them. This is a pleasant room for guesting in, but it is more likely to deter such thieves if they see me with drawn blade here and there about the place. Let them think a thief—as you think, and they also—was set as guard.”

“You … want me—us—to show you where the treasury is, and trust you to ward it?”