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pecked apart by crows for squatting in the temple of a more respectable god like Perelandro.”
    “You’re a priest of this … Thirteenth?”
    “Indeed. A priest of thieves, and a thieving priest. As Calo and Galdo will be, someday, and as you might be, provided you’re worth even the pittance I paid for you.”
    “But …” Locke reached out and plucked the Thiefmaker’s purse (a pouch of rust-red leather) from the piles of copper and passed it to Chains. “If you paid for me, why did my old master leave an offering?”
    “Ah. Rest assured that I did pay for you, and you were cheap, and this is no offering.” Chains untied the little pouch and let its contents—a single white shark’s tooth, as long as Locke’s thumb—drop into his hand. Chains waved it at the boy. “Have you ever seen one of these before?”
    “No. What is it?”
    “It’s a death-mark. The tooth of the wolf shark is the personal sigil of Capa Barsavi—your former master’s boss. My boss and your boss, for that matter. It means that you’re such a sullen, thick-skulled little fuck-up that your former master actually went to the capa and got permission to kill you .”
    Chains grinned, as though he were imparting nothing more than a ribald joke. Locke shivered.
    “Does that give you a moment of pause, my boy? Good. Stare at this thing, Locke. Take a good, hard look. It means your death is paid for. I bought this from your former master when I got you at a bargain price. It means that if Duke Nicovante himself adopted you tomorrow and proclaimed you his heir, I could still crack your skull open and nail you to a post, and nobody in the city would lift a fucking finger.”
    Chains deftly shoved the tooth back into the red pouch, then hung it around Locke’s neck by its slender cord. “You’re going to wear that,” the older man said, “until I deem you worthy to remove it, or until I make use of the power it gives me and—so!” He slashed two fingers across the air in front of Locke’s throat. “Hide it under your clothes, and keep it next to your skin at all times to remind you just how close, how very close, you came to getting your throat slit tonight. If your former master were one shade less greedy than he is vindictive, I don’t doubt you’d be floating in the bay.”
    “What did I do?”
    Chains did something with his eyes that made Locke feel smaller just for having tried to protest. Locke squirmed and fiddled with the death-mark pouch.
    “Please, boy. Let’s not start out with either of us insulting the other’s intelligence. There are only three people in life you can never fool—pawnbrokers, whores, and your mother. Since your mother’s dead, I’ve taken her place. Hence, I’m bullshit-proof.” Chains’ voice grew serious. “You know perfectly well why your former master would have cause to be displeased with you.”
    “He said I wasn’t … circumspect.”
    “Circumspect,” Chains repeated. “That’s a good word. And no, you’re not. He told me everything.”
    Locke looked up from his little piles of coins, his eyes wide and near watering. “Everything?”
    “Quite everything.” Chains stared the boy down for a long, difficult moment, then sighed. “So what did the good citizens of Camorr give to the cause of Perelandro today?”
    “Twenty-seven copper barons, I think.”
    “Hmmm. Just over four silver solons, then. A slow day. But it beats every other form of theft I ever met.”
    “You steal this money from Perelandro, too?”
    “Of course I do, boy. I mentioned that I was a thief, didn’t I? But not the sort of thief you’re used to. Better. The entire city of Camorr is full of idiots running around and getting hung, all because they think that stealing is something you do with your hands .” Father Chains spat.
    “Um … what do you steal with, Father Chains?”
    The bearded priest tapped two fingers against the side of his head, then grinned widely. “Brains and a big mouth,