More Than an Ally

The Thieves Guild, written by Ja Kerr, chapter seventy one. More than an ally. The door to his library closed with the ominous, echoing thud they always seemed to do in these old stone buildings. It made the resulting silence that much more powerful. Whether it was dark or serene, Raylan wasn't quite sure what it was as he thought over his meeting with Mahler and Vesper and their report an alliance with Karch. The idea was so absurd, so fundamentally wrong, that Raylan's mind couldn't quite hold it. Karch was the enemy. He was the shadow that had always poisoned his relationship with his brother. No, his brother was at fault, but Karch was always all too enthusiastic at taking Larsen's harsh guidance and turning it into something darker, something sinister, something sadistic. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the old anger mixing with a new, baffling confusion. The child Raylan no longer existed. He was leading a guild, and Vesper's logic was cold, sharp and undeniable. A Lad was Polo's prisoner. Polo wanted to install his own man. Karch was cornered and desperate, and the entire fragile balance of ness rested on his vote, a vote he as guildmaster thief held on the council. He needed to think, no, he needed to talk to someone who wasn't a thief, or a killer or a guild master. He found himself walking, his feet carrying him down the hall, up one flight of stairs to a simple, unadorned door. He was acting on pure instinct. He needed an anchor, and the only one he could think of was her. He raised a hand to knock, then hesitated. It was late. What was he doing. He was the leader of the city's thieves, coming to a woman's door in the middle of the night like a lost boy. He knocked. A moment of silence, then the sound of movement. The door opened, a crack, then wider. Rebecca stood there, her black hair falling over one shoulder and shining in the candle light like a waterfall at midnight. For a moment, she looked confused, and in that moment, Raylin could see the Rebecca that was his age, the Rebecca who was in many ways struggling with the same things he was. He stepped back. He also saw that she was wearing a nightgown. It was the plainest thing one could imagine, just white linen, high at the neck and loose falling to her ankles. There was nothing provocative about it, and yet it was the single most arresting thing he had ever laid eyes on. His mouth went dry. He was suddenly acute aware of how she smelled clean and yet warm and something more complex. It was a smell he couldn't possibly describe, yet it filled every part of him. Raylan, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost. I I'm sorry to bother you. Get in here. She stepped back, pulling the door wide. He entered and stood awkwardly in the middle of the floor while she belted a simple robe. She walked over and sat on the edge of her bed with its sheets and blankets still pulled down in a mess. Talk and so he did. The words tumbled out, Vesper's arrival, the news about a lad Polo's plan, Carche's desperation, and the council vote. He paced as he spoke, the restless energy of the meeting, overcoming the unwonted and confusing thoughts of Rebecca. Rebecca didn't interrupt. She sat on the edge of her bed, her arms crossed, listening. She wasn't just hearing him, She was analyzing his words. She was analyzing him. When Raylan finally stopped, the room was silent save for the sound of his footsteps, which made himself conscious, so he stopped and stood looking at Rebecca. So you have to choose Polo or Carch, a presumably good man but with uncontrollable emotions that lead him to doing bad things, or a bad man but with a cold mind that doesn't know what the word emotion means. I can't choose Carch. Raylan started pacing again. I can't why, because he's a brute. They're all brutes, Raylan. That's what those that wheeled power are. No, it's it's more than that. Whenever my brother would give me some task to do, or some punishment for not doing it, Karch would be the one to manage it. He managed me, and he did it in the most sadistic and violent way possible. I've lost count of the bruises he's inflicted on me. He expected her to be shocked, to offer sympathy. She wasn't. Her expression hardened, but it wasn't With pity. It was with a cold, clear anger that was almost frightening. It was an anger for him. Good. She stood up. Good, What do you mean good? He showed you who he is. He's a man who uses power in a way that is understandable. He beats on the weakned cowers in front of the strong. That's why he is reaching out to you. Can you imagine what is going through his mind. He is asking this child that he had beaten for no reason, for help. Rebecca walked over and stood in front of Raylan, looking up into his eyes, her own face showing a fierceness that Raylan found inspiring and intoxicating. This is how you get back at him, Raylan, Not by hiding in your tower, not by wishing him dead. You walk into that council and you use the power. He doesn't want to admit you have the power he desperately wish, which you didn't have and he didn't need to rely on. Rebecca smiled and then patted him on the arm. You back his play, You get vesper on that throne, and you then own the man who beats you. But that's giving him what he wants, is it or. Is it containing him? You said it yourself. Polo is the real threat. He has allad, he has the Knights. If he gets the Craft Guild, he's a king. Cark is just a problem. This is a chance to use one problem to solve another. You vote with Karch, you install your guild's man vesper, and you keep Polo from winning. You will control two guilds, Polo will control two, and Karch is alone looking for someone to save him. She stepped back and smiled, a mischievous smile. And you know it won't be Polo. The words all made sense, but they still made Raylen uncomfortable. He simply wanted peace and goodness for everyone. These political moves were foreign to him, and to make matters worse. Even when he saw the political path, it still wasn't one he wanted to walk. He thought of the simple words he spoke to the Harvest Guild members in the Old Quarter. They entered scared and yet still hating the Thieves Guild. But he was honest and his actions backed up his words. And now they were working alongside the Thieves, their children playing together. This is I know you're a good person, Raylen. You don't want power, You want to help people. And that's why you're the only one who should have it. Men like Carch, men like Polo, they want it. That's what makes them dangerous, even when they think they're not you. You don't even think in terms of power. You think of it as just one necessary thing on the way to what you really think about. Her words hit him, settling deep in his chest. A necessary thing. Yes, it felt like a burden, but it also felt, for the first time, like a purpose. You're right, I'll do it. I'll go to the council. He looked at her, at this strange, fierce, brilliant woman who saw him more clearly than anyone. He was suddenly aware again of how close she was, aware of her smell, aware that their faces were inches apart, and that they were, in that moment connected in a deeper way than just physical distance. He liked her. He liked her in a way that was new, a way that made him want to to what. He had no idea. He just knew he didn't want to move, or, if anything, to move closer. He thanked her, his voice hoarse, and took a step back. She stood still, watching him, but then followed him as he stumbled toward the door. He turned and froze again, watching as she once again walked right up to him. She was so close. A small smirk played at the corner of her lips, breaking the spell. Are you going to stand there all night? Or are you going to go run your city? Guild Master? He let out a shaky breath, a small smile touching his own face. The tension was gone, replaced by something warm and familiar. Right run the city. He turned and walked out the door. He heard it click shut behind him. He walked down the hall, the weight of his decision settling on him, but it felt lighter. Somehow. He wasn't alone. He had an ally. He had Rebecca. The podcast Alchemy production