Alone in the new hideout, Cery listened to the silence. When it was quiet like this, when Gol was out attending to business, Cery could close his eyes and let the memories rise to the surface. First there came sound of his children’s voices and laughter. Akki, the eldest, teasing Harrin. Then the gentle scolding from Selia.

If he was lucky he saw them, smiling and lively. But if not the memory of their bodies arose, and he cursed himself for having looked at them despite knowing the images would torture him forever. But they deserved to be seen. To be farewelled. And if I hadn’t seen them I might cling to that notion that comes to me, when I first wake up, that they’re still there, alive and waiting for me.

A rude, jangling noise interrupted his thoughts, but as he roused himself he decided it was all for the better. He could not let grief distract him from his task, or he might not get the chance to avenge them.

The sound was a signal that someone was approaching the hideout. Is this the Thief Hunter at last? Cery rose from his chair and paced the room slowly. The first sound had died away now, and a new sound replaced it. Each step of the stairway leading down from the bol brewery above the hideout would depress slightly under a person’s weight, setting off a mechanism that sent a clunk echoing through the rooms below. Cery counted the clunks, feeling his heartbeat quicken to match the beat.

He eyed the panelling behind which the closest secret escape route lay. It’s been over a week. That’s not very long. I’d want to plan carefully if I intended to kill off a Thief. I’d take as long as I thought I could get away with, researching my victim. I’d let them settle into their new hideout, and allow time for the guards to relax and get lazy.

He frowned. But I don’t want to spend weeks here waiting. If this isn’t the Thief Hunter… maybe there’s a way we can make him think he doesn’t have much time…

There was a pause, then a chime rang in a familiar pattern, and Cery let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was Gol’s signal.

Walking over to the other wall, Cery pushed aside one of the paper screens mounted on the walls to imitate windows and ease the oppressive feeling of being underground. Behind it was a ventilation grille in a shallow alcove. He swivelled that open and pressed the lever inside. Then he peered through some darkened glass to check that the approaching person was indeed Gol.

As the figure stepped into the corridor beyond the glass, Cery recognised him as much from his movements as his stature and face. The big man walked to the end of the corridor and waited. Cery moved back to the grille and lifted the lever up again.

A moment later the hideout door swung open and Gol stepped into the room. The big man raised his eyebrows.

“No visitors while I was out?”

Cery shrugged. “Not one. Mustn’t be as popular as I used to be.”

“I’ve always said it is better to have a few good friends than many bad ones.”

“Someone like me doesn’t have much choice.” Cery moved to one of the cupboards and opened it. “Wine?”

“This early?”

“The only alternative is to lose at tiles again.”

“Wine, then.”

Taking a bottle and two glasses from the cupboard, Cery carried them to the small table set between the luxurious chairs in the centre of the room. Gol sat down opposite him, took the bottle and began to work the plug out of the top.

“I heard some good news, today,” Gol said.

“Oh?”

“I heard that you’ve got a new hideout, and it’s more secure than any Thief’s in the city.” The plug came free and Gol began to pour some wine into the glasses.

“Is that right?”

“Yes, and that you’re not as smart as you think. There’s a way to break in, if you know how.” Gol held out a glass to Cery.

Cery feigned concern as he took it. “How terrible. I must get around to fixing that. Eventually.” He took a sip. The wine was sharp and rich. He knew it was excellent, but it didn’t thrill him. He’d never gained a true liking for wine, preferring a warming mug of bol. But it paid, in some company, to know how to tell a good wine from a bad one, and good vintages could be a profitable investment.

He put the glass down and sighed. “I think I know how Sonea felt, all those years ago, stuck in Faren’s hideout. Though I’m not trying to learn to control magic and setting the furniture on fire instead.”

“No, but it is still all about magic.” Gol took a sip of the wine and looked thoughtful. “I got to wondering about this Thief Hunter the other night. How good at magic do you think he is?”

Cery shrugged. “Good enough to open a lock.” He frowned. “He must be in control of it, since he’s been using it for years, if the rumours are right. It would have killed him a long time ago if he wasn’t.”

“Someone would have to teach him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then either there’s another rogue who taught him, or he was taught by a Guild magician.” Gol blinked as a thought occurred to him. “Maybe Senfel did, before he died.”

“I don’t think Senfel would have been that trusting.”

Gol’s eyes widened. “Have you considered that the Thief Hunter could be a Guild magician trying to get rid of all the Thieves?”

“Of course.” A chill ran down Cery’s spine. The late High Lord had hunted Sachakan black magician spies in the city for years without the Guild knowing. A vigilante magician trying to wipe out the criminal underworld leaders was not so outlandish an idea in comparison.

Well, when the Hunter falls into my trap we’ll find out.

“I wish it wasn’t going to take so long,” Cery said, sighing. He considered his earlier thought: that perhaps he could give the Thief Hunter reason to think he didn’t have much time. Perhaps let out some gossip that I’m about to leave Imardin.

Such a rumour was as likely to put the Thief Hunter off, though. The man must be prepared to take his time, as he’d been killing Thieves over many years. I’m the sort of bait that has to be patient. Nobody is going to attack a Thief without plenty of planning.

Was there some other kind of bait that the Thief Hunter might not be so cautious or patient in approaching? Something that could be left somewhere less protected without it seeming uncharacteristic and suspicious?

What would a magic-wielding vigilante rogue be tempted to hunt down or steal?

The answer came with a rush of excitement and Cery sucked in a quick breath.

Magical knowledge! Cery sat up straight in his chair. If our Hunter is a rogue magician, he must have learned magic outside the Guild. Even if he is an ex-Guild magician, he must lust after the great store of knowledge the Guild has. And if he is a vigilante Guild magician, he’s obliged to investigate and remove any magical knowledge that falls into the wrong hands.

“What’s wrong?” Gol asked. He cast about. “Has one of the alarms gone off?”

“No,” Cery assured him. “But I don’t think that’s going to matter any more. I’ve thought of an even better – and faster – way to lure our quarry into revealing himself.” He began to explain, watching Gol’s expression change from surprise to excitement to dismay.

“You look disappointed,” Cery noted.

Gol shrugged and waved a hand at the room. “I guess we won’t be needing all this now. Such a lot of work and money went into it. And we built in all those flaws, so you can’t come back and stay here later. Seems a shame.”

Cery looked around thoughtfully. “It is, I guess. Perhaps when all this is over, and people have forgotten about it, we can fix the flaws. But for now it’s no good as a location for our new bait. We need something less secure, so he’ll strike sooner.”

“I guess I had better go buy you some books on magic,” Gol said, putting his glass down.