An Obstacle Removed

The Thieves Guild, written by J. Kerr, chapter eighty eight, an obstacle removed. The craft Gild complex was not a place of beauty. It was a testament to the raw, unpolished bones of the city, a sprawl of gray stone and slate roofs that smelled of wet mortar, hot iron, and the sharp, acrid tang of flux. Unlike the soaring arragon needle of the Merchant Tower or the manicured organic fortress of Harvest House, this was a machine that built the city, and right now the machine was seized up in a state of paranoid lockdown. Vesper moved through the outer workshops. He did not skulk in the shadows. He walked down the center of the main thoroughfare, the bright yellow of his tunic flashing like a beacon. It was a simple statement, I am one of you. Nerves were still raw after the rampage of Carche's forces. He drew stairs from the smiths and masons standing guard at every choke point. They gripped their heavy hammers and cold chisels, not as tools but as weapons, their knuckles white. But as Vesper passed, they didn't attack. They lowered their eyes. They stepped back. He scanned the grounds, ignoring the few nervous apprentices hurrying between buildings. He wasn't looking for a tavern. He described Bertram that way solely to calm carch down. Bertram was worse than a drunk. He was a man loyal to a fault and forged in the discipline of the old regime. He would be securing his perimeter. He would be preparing for the next wave from wherever it came. There near the south gate, bordering the charred, smoking ruins of the flats, a group of guards in the dirty yellow of the Craft Guild were re enforcing a barricade. They moved with purpose, hauling heavy timbers and bags of sand. In the center of them stood Bertram, pointing at a structural weakness in the wall, barking orders with the sharp, percussive rhythm of a man used to being obeyed. He looked tired, his face gray with the fatigue of a long siege, but his eyes were clear, hard and focused. To Vesper, the entire project seemed pointless and absurd. Orion was dead. The real danger to the Guild was from someone wielding influence, not an army those days were pasted. Vesper adjusted his cuffs, checking the slide of the stiletto in his sleeve. This would be harder than a tavern brawl. He needed to isolate a man surrounded by loyalists who looked ready to die for him. Vesper stepped into the open, keeping his hands visible, palms open. He walked straight toward the barricade. Halt, that's close enough. A guard raised a heavy crossbow. The bolt leveled at Vesper's chest. Bertram turned. He narrowed his eyes, recognizing the face Blades were a secretive group. But Bertram knew Vesper, as they were both part of Orion's inner circle. A flicker of relief crossed his face, quickly replaced by suspicion. Vesper, I heard you were dead or turned. I am neither. I have been securing our future. Vesper stopped ten paces out. His voice was calm, pitched to carry over the sounds of the heavy labor. Our future. Orion is dead, murdered by that dog of Carches. And now Kirch sits in his tower and dictates terms. Where were you when the guild master fell? Bertram spat on the cobblestones. I was doing what oryin commanded. I was removing the pieces that catch and his merchant lackeys could use it against us. He took a step closer. The crossbow wavered. I bring word, Captain, about a guild council and our dangerous future. Vesper dropped his voice to an intimate register. Bertram stiffened. He knew Vesper's skill at navigating both secret passageways and secret knowledge. He also knew that Vesper had been one of Orion's most effective weapons. Speak it, then, Bertram stepped away from his men. Not here. Orion's last order was for his ears only, But it appears you'll have to do it. Concerns removing a certain obstacle. Vesper glanced meaningfully at the nervous guards. He saw the doubt war with hope in Bertram's eyes. The captain was smart, but he was also desperate. He needed a lifeline. He needed to believe that Orion, the man he had served faithfully for years, had a final plan to save them all. Bertram hesitated, then turned to his men. Hold the line. I'll be a moment. He stepped over the barricade, walking toward Vesper with a heavy, measured gait. He didn't draw his sword, but his hand hovered near the hilt, a reflex born of long years of service. A group of merchant Guild members approached. They weren't a threat, they were simply managing their own business, but they were close enough that Vesper was delighted to see Bertram point to an alley. We will talk there where we won't be disturbed or heard. He led Vesper to a narrow passage between a tannery and a storehouse. Understood, they walked into the alley. The noise of the street faded, replaced by the dripping of a leaking gutter and the heavy, cloying scent of urine and old leather. It was tight, shadowy and private. Perfect. Bertram put his back to the brick wall, crossing his arms over his yellow tunic. Talk what is this obstacle, Vesper smiled. I fear the obstacle. Vesper stepped inside Bertram's guard. As the captain tried to draw his blade. Vesper's left hand clamped over Bertram's mouth, stifling the shout, while his right hand drove a thin needle points to letto up under the captain's ribs, seeking the heart. It was the same strike he had used on the guards at the bridge. Efficient quiet final Bertram jerked, his eyes, going wide with shock. He tried to struggle to pull his sword free, but Vesper's weight pinned him against the tannery wall. Vesper leaned in close, his lips brushing the dying man's ear like a lover. Fear not, the guild will thrive without you. Bertram slumped, the light fading from his eyes, the fight draining out of him with his blood. Vesper held him until the body went heavy, then gently lowered him to the cobblestones, arranging him to look like he was sitting, perhaps resting against the wall. Tired from the long watch, Vesper wiped the stiletto on the hem of Bertram's cloak and sheathed it. He checked his own yellow tunic, no blood. He walked back out to the street, blinking in the light. Where is the captain? He is reviewing the documents I gave him. He said he was not to be disturbed. Vesper did not break stride as he headed away from the complex, his voice bored and dismissive. He turned the corner, vanishing into the labyrinth of the city. Before they could check the path was clear his only barrier to being named the guildmaster Craft was lying in his own blood in an alley. The podcast Alchemy production