The bodies of the three thieves he’d surprised lay sprawled on the floor there, facedown.

Doral’s face went white.

“They were busy at amassing this collection of your goods,” Malden said, and gestured at the valuables piled on the carpet. “I stopped them before they could make good their escape.”

The merchant stared hard at Malden with shrewd, half-closed eyes. “You’re no watchman. None of them would lie in wait for me like this.”

Malden chuckled. “Oh, no. Just a citizen looking after his neighbor. By way of profession, I am the agent of one of your fellow burghers. A man of some influence in the city, though he rarely appears at the moothall. You’ll know his name, if you think for it.”

Doral pursed his lips. He did not require much prompting. “Cutbill. The guildmaster of thieves.”

“You make his name sound like a curse. When the man in question is about to become your fondest friend.” Malden shrugged. “These three were none of his. They were private operators, of a kind he despises. They were smart enough to make note of your movements, and even to bribe your servants to sleep elsewhere tonight. They were not clever enough to evade me.”

The merchant shook his head. “Say what you want. What your master wants, rather. I like not this feigned civility from a man who threatens me with a knife.”

Malden shrugged off the man’s brusqueness. “My master wants nothing. He wishes to give you something you clearly need. Protection. Cutbill can make sure you are never bothered with this unpleasantness again. You see how easily unprincipled rascals made entry to your house. You see how close a thing it was, that you were robbed tonight. Why, if I hadn’t been here, you’d only now be realizing how much you had lost. There must be… let me see… fifty gold royals worth of plate and jewels here, and the clothing would fetch some good silver coins if sold to the right consigners. Why risk losing so much, when Cutbill can ensure the safety of your belongings for so little?”