The Thieves Guild Friday Binge - Chapters 6-10

The Thieves Guild. Written by Jake Kerr, Chapter five, The Root and the Rat. The air in the rooftop garden was sweet, thick, with the scent of jasmine and damp earth. It was a lie. Polo knew that just beyond the living walls of Harvest House, the city smelled of ash and unwashed bodies and countless people plotting against him. But here in his sanctuary he could pretend that order still existed. The list Desma names. That's what we need, Guild captains with families and futures they want to secure. Esma stood by the entrance. He looked tired, older. He shared Polo's strain, and it made Polo glad his close friend and deputy was in this with him together. The Craft Guild is fractured, Sir. With Orion gone, the structure is crumbling. There are four captains remaining. Polo stopped his work and turned to Esmer. Only four. The guild is large, I would expect twice that Zmer sighed there should be, but many abandoned their positions when Kash took the tower. Others died, as I noted, only four remain. Name them Bertram, captain of the Tower Torren captain of the Guards, George captain of the lower quarter, and have her captain of the mines. Polo returned to his plants snip. Information is slim, but it seems that Bertram is loyal to the old ways of the guild. He was close with Orion. He will vote for stability. That means Rogers Torron is a soldier. He will follow orders if they are given with enough volume. I don't know much about George or. Have the miner. He is the closest to us in the mines and the furthest from Karch. We should start with him. It's a journey. I won't have time to meet with the other captains. Polo walked over to his deputy. He placed a hand on Esma's shoulder. Leave them to me. Go to the mines personally. Do not send a runner, take a carriage, take guards, take gold, find captain. Have convince him of the threat to his guild in this vesper Cretn. I don't care what you tell him. Just make sure he knows Rogers is the only man who will defend his interests, and if he refuses, he won't. The mines are isolated for a craftsman. He is probably closer to us than his own guild. He is a key piece Ozma. Esma bowed I leave immediately. Polo watched him go. He turned back to his flowers. The city was a mess, but a garden required pruning, and Polo had the shears. The craft district assaulted Quinto's senses. It didn't smell like the clean, dry dust of the plains. It smelled of sulfur flux and the acrid sweat of men who worked too close to fires. It was a place of stone and noise, and Quinto hated it. He walked with Jackson, his deputy, their white cloaks already graying in the soot heavy air. They were heading for the craft tower. Why are we doing this personally? We could send a summons. Because a summons can be ignored, and because I want to look Bertram in the eye. He is the tower captain. He controls the gates. If we want Rogers to win, we need Bertram to lock carsh out. Bertram was not at the tower. His men said he had gone to secure a barricade. Quinto nodded and headed in the direction the guard had pointed. A barricade the war is over. What use is a barricade? The guild is on edge. Their tower was taken to them. The war is not over, but this is good for us. Bertram will understand. He needs allies. They approached the location described to them to find a crowd had gathered, mason's in dusty aprons, smith's with soot stained faces. A solitary guard held people back from entering an alley. The air was thick with a low, angry murmur. Make way, Jackson barked, shoving a path through the crowd. Quinto followed him into the center of the circle. He stopped, what is going on. We're here for Captain Bertram. The guard looked stricken as he walked over to Quinto. Guild Master Bertram has been killed. It is horrible, struck down in an alley like a dog. Quinto strode past the man into the alley, followed closely by Jackson. Bertram was sitting against the wall of a tannery. His legs were splayed, his head lolled forward on to his chest. He looked like a man taking a nap in the shade, except for the dark, wet stains spreading across the yellow tunic over his heart. A guard stood watch field muster. Thank for God's we requested help from the night protectors. Quinto walked forward and put his arm on the man's shoulder. Our investigators will arrive soon. I'm sure what happened. I have no idea, Sir. I was called in by the boys building the barricade. Bertram went to find rest in the shade, and we believe he was robbed. The guard spat, probably. A thief angry over our guild's return. Jackson walked over to the body guards. Quinto walked over and knelt. He didn't touch the body. He looked at the wound. It was small, precise, A single puncture slid upward under the ribs. This wasn't a robbery. His bard is still in its sheath. His purse is on his belt. He looked up at the guard who found him Lance. She is with the crowd, awaiting the protectors. Quinto stood and left the alley. Someone clearly wanted Bertram dead. Who is Lance? Quinto scanned the crowd. A young guard stepped forward, I am, sir. Quinto peered at the girl. He was certain she had nothing to do with it. She seemed terrified. Tell me what you found. I entered the alley and he he was just sitting there. Quinto stood up. He looked toward the alley. It was secluded, narrow, a perfect place to quietly kill someone. This was an execution. Someone removed him Cotch maybe, or maybe it is someone within the guild. Maybe the rot in this guild deeper than we thought. He looked back at the dead Captain Bertram had been a rock of the Craft Guild, one of Orion's key men. With him gone, the foundation was cracking, and that clearly was the key. The vote is compromised. We need to find the other captains before they end up in alleys of their own. He turned on his heel, his white cloak snapping. Leave the body for his men. We have work to do. Chapter seven, The Ghost and the Liars. Hava did not look like a captain. He looked like a fungus that had been scraped from the underside of a rock. He sat at the long table in the main hall of Harvest House, squinting against the sunlight that streamed through the living canopy. Perhaps, if he were charitable, Polar would describe Haver as a ghost. His skin was translucent, pale as a grub, and his eyes were dark pits that seemed to absorb the room's vibrancy without reflecting it. He was the craft captain of the mines, a man who hadn't seen the sky for any length of time in years, until Esma dragged him out of the dark. He was eating with his hands. He tore into a roasted chicken with a savage, silent intensity, ignoring the fine silverware Polo had laid out. Polo watched him from the head of the table, a benevolent smile plastered on his face. It is good, is it? Not? Real food grown in the sun, not the salted rat meat they feed you in the deep tunnels. Havas stopped chewing. He looked up, grease shining on his chin. That's because the miners of the harvest Gille take all the good food. Even our chefs who serve them eat poorly. I'm there to help mend axes and picks and shovels, and they treat me like a dog. The bitterness in Havev's voice was a challenge to be overcome, and Polo intended on doing that first. If I had known such things, wouldn't happen. He turned to his right, where a guard was standing. Send a message to the mines. The craft guild members are to be treated as important guests. They are to have first choice of the food shipments. He turned back to have inform your chef of this. He is to serve his guild mates first. Hav turned back to his food. Good Polo took control of his frustration. He just put his own guild behind Have's maggots, and all he got was a good. Still, there were more important things to discuss. You have been called for a vote of your new guildmaster, Polo watched as have continued to eat. You are aware of the details. Yes, Deputy Asma filled me in. He said, I am to vote for Rogers. Food tumbled out of Havev's mouth as he spoke. Tell me why, Vesper, the merchant choice is a vile man and is under Carche's thumb. Rogers will protect the mines. He will stop Karch. He will ensure that your guild is independent and respected. Again. Rogers, this hero of the pit the same, so he fights. He held the bridge. When the merchants tried to burn the city, Have nodded slowly. He picked up a bone and cracked it between his teeth. I will vote for him. I have no love for the money counters and a harvest candidate brought forth by carsh. To Polo's horror, have spat on the grass next to his chair. He is a traitor. Polo's smile didn't waver. Indeed, Captain, Indeed, the news of Bertram's murder had traveled fast, but Quinto moved faster. He left the body in the alley and marched straight to the Guard barracks. He kicked the door open. The room went silent. Craft Guards, still edgy from the siege, jumped to their feet. Torren, the captain of the Guards, stood at the far end. He looked like a man who had been expecting a blow. He didn't reach for his weapon, but he didn't salute either. Quinto strode down the center aisle, Jackson at his heel. The white cloaks of the Knights seemed to blaze in the gloom of the barracks. Bertram is dead. His voice rang off the stone walls. I know Guildmaster Torreon's voice was steady, but Quinto saw the tension in his shoulders. We found him and are glad of the Protector's assistance. He was murdered, stabbed in an alley like a dog. This city is losing its order, Captain, and when order fared, the night step in. After Torreon's gratitude, Quinto wasn't sure his comment would be welcomed or seen as a threat. Either worked. He watched Torran's eyes. He saw fear, yes, but he also saw something else, hesitation. There is a vote to restore order. Rogers is the candidate of peace. He is the candidate of the Knights. He is the candidate of the Harvest. He is the only thing standing between this guild and Carchie's greed. I am aware of the vote, and I am aware of Rogers. He is a good man. Torran's words sounded more tentative than they should have. He saved lives. He is the only choice unless you want carsh to disband your guard and replace you with mercenaries. Torren flinched Quinto new force mattered here, but so did the quiet confidence of a man who knew how to use it. He waited, I will vote for Rogers. He didn't look Quinto in the eye as he said it. The Guild needs stability. It was a simple answer, an unenthusiastic answer, but it was a yes. Good see that you do. He turned and marched out, signaling Jackson to follow. He's lying they hit the street, or he's hiding something. He scared whatever killed Bertram has him spooked. But fear makes men obedient. He'll fall in line. They crossed into the flats, the devastation of the fires, fading every day, but still evident in the blackened walls and skeletons of houses. They found George in the back of a lumber yard, overseeing a shipment of timber from the far northern fields. The captain of the Lower Quarter was a weasel of a man, thin and oily. When he saw the knights, he didn't He beamed. Guild Master Quinto, to what way o the honor? Are we arresting looters? I have a list. We are securing votes for Rogers. Rogers, the hero, the savior of the flats, A marvelous choice. Inspired Quinto frowned. This was too easy. You support him, support him, I adore. Him, George exclaimed, his eyes wide and innocent. When I learned of the vote, I immediately thought of him. He brought order to the chaos. He stopped the fires. He is exactly what we need, a man of action, the hero of the pit, a man of the people. Quinto was thankful for the man's enthusiasm, but he tempered this with some skepticism. And how did you hear of the vote for the guild? Master man leaned forward? A weasley man from the bowels of the guild came to me looking to secure my vote. Imagine that I think he was a craftsman who cleans the sewers. Why guild loyalty can only go so far? Ah, of course Vesper had already been making the rounds. That would explain Torren as well. Clearly Vesper was overplaying his hand, Quinta smiled. George's enthusiasm was subdued, but real and honestly. With a choice between Vesper and Rogers, who in their right mind would choose Vesper. You speak wisely. The guild will thank you. And with that Quinto spun around and left the lumber yard behind. Well, it looks like Vesper is our best asset. He's turning his own votes against himself. Quinter smiled, We have the votes. Chapter eight, The dragons are awaking. The room in the thieves Tower was small, warm, and had all of the comforts of home that Darla had strove for. It was perfect in every way, with the exception of one thing, the presence of Prosper. He was curled in the corner, his red tunic stark against the gray wall. He wasn't screaming. Screaming would have been easier to handle. He was whispering, a relentless, rhythmic patter that sounded like water dripping in some dark cave. They know, they know, they know, they want to come home again. Who was they? I have an idea, Mahler said, interrupting the drone of Prosper's ravings. Please let me know what it is. I fear we'll never free Prosper from his own mind. I think these are all echoes from his shattered mind, But they are echoes of real converse conversations with the wizards. They have these fears and understanding of home. This home. Darla got it. So he thinks that something has made the wizards in the other nests realize that this nest is ready for them, ready for them to come home. I don't know, but that's the closest I can come up with Prosper, Who's coming home? Mailer's voice was firm, but Gentle Prosper's head snapped up. His eyes were wide, vacant blue holes that seemed to look through the walls, through the mountains, to a place that shouldn't exist. The eastern sky. The silence is ending. They know the age less One is dead, and the way is open. They will come. They will return to the high Stone. They will burn the memories. He scrambled backward, pressing himself into the corner, as if trying to merge with the stone. Hide. The dragons are waking. Dahla stood up, backing away. A chill that had nothing to do with the drafty tower traced its way down her spine. By the gods, maeler, could that be it? The dragons have awakened him? Will come here? Maela looked at the broken wizard. I don't know, but his words aren't just ravings. They seem to make some sort of sense, like he's warning us of something. Maela stood up and walked over to Darla. But whatever it is, he is consistent it is to the east. Do you think the magicians would know? Dahla had considered it likely, but they wanted nothing to do with ness. As far as they knew, the road was still closed. It seems like a possibility. They seemed to know so much more than us. Darla realized what they needed to do. Prosper had been struggling to say it since they had arrived. We need to return to find answers. Maybe it will trigger something in Prosper. But how are we to fight wizards, or at the least stop them from throwing us in a magical prison. Mailer began pacing. We can't fight them. She looked up, and for the first time in weeks, Darla didn't see the weary refugee or the domestic partner. She saw the blade. She saw the woman who had infiltrated the unassailable harvest house, who had lived in the vents and the shadows. Mahler's eyes were bright, her posture shifted, the lethargy vanishing, replaced by a predatory grace. We can't fight, but we can investigate. We can steal, We can watch, We can slip into the dark. We can wear red and ask questions. We can follow the streams, to the creeks, to the rivers, to the source of the water. Darla watched her. She should have been terrified. The idea of walking into a city of wizards, infiltrating the city of the wizards was suicide. But seeing Maeler like this it was electric. We will go, Darla said it as a statement of fact, because that what it was. We don't know the terrain, we don't know the language. Maela stopped and smiled as she looked at Darla. But we know how to hide. She reached out and took Darla's hands in hers. We go east. We find out if Prosper is crazy or if he's a prophet. If he's wrong, we come back and laugh about it. If he's right, we give a lard the warning he needs to hold the walls against. Maela looked up dragons. Darla looked at Prosper shivering in the corner. Then she looked at Maeler. The excitement in Maela's face was contagious. It was dangerous, yes, but it was better than waiting to die. We'll need supplies, rations, dark cloaks. Red is hard to come by, but it shouldn't be impossible. Yes, gather the supplies and pack the bags. Maeler walked toward the door. I need to talk to a lard. She grinned a flash of white teeth. He's going to hate this. Maeler slipped out the door, moving silent and fast, leaving Dalla alone with the raving wizard and the growing certainty that they were about to walk straight into some arcane hell. Darla let out a long breath. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out two travel sacks. It's okay, Prosper. The ageless one may be dead, but. We are not. Chapter nine, Vesper's Update. Karch's office in the Merchant Tower was a monument to stolen wealth. The carpets were thick enough to swallow a footfall, the tapestries were weaved with gold thread, and the wine on the desk cost more than a mason earned in a lifetime. Karch didn't necessarily enjoy such profane wealth. His taste was for power, But Larsen had left him with the proceeds, and who was Karch to let them to waste, and with the guild currently bankrupt, Enjoying what you had while you had the ability to do so seemed wise. Karch sat behind his desk, a glass of dark red Vintage in his hand, When Vesper entered, slipping through the door with his usual silence, Karch jumped, sloshing wine onto his cuff. God's, Vesper, make a sound when you enter. My nerves are afraid. Enough. Nerves are for men who don't know the outcome. It is done, Kuch. You can sleep easy now. Karch looked at Vesper, his eyes wide and not quite believing what he was hearing. You have the votes, all three of them. Torren is secure and George. George was angry. He hates Roger's more than he loves the guild. He will vote for me just to spite the harvest. What about Bertram? Karch was particularly worried about Bertram. He could sway the others. He's dead. Karch was going to ask what happened, but thought better of it. He was talking to a blade. I see. We have the guard. We have the lower quarter with Bertram gone and the mine captain absent. That is everyone, even if Polo scrapes up the mine captain, we have a majority. The guild mastership is mine. Karch didn't like Vesper's arrogance, and his claim of the guild mastership as his own was troubling, but Karch had no choice. Vesper wasn't just his best option, he was his only option. Still, there was a complication. It is not that simple. It is exactly that simple. We walk into the craft Tower, we hold the vote, we win. The vote is not in the craft tower. A runner arrived an hour ago from Polo. Vesper frowned. Polo doesn't dictate the venue. The craft Guild is sovereign. Polo dictates whatever he wants when there is no craft Guild master to object. He cited security concerns with the streets unsafe. He claims the craft Tower is compromised, which I'm sure was a gybaimed at me. Regardless, the Council of Captains will meet in Harvest House in four days. Vesper went still. He is afraid, No, he is terrified. He won't leave his sanctuary. Indeed, he is paranoid. He may never leave Harvest House again. Carch couldn't help but laugh. All that power, only to be trapped in a cage made of plants. Still, two votes, that is all we have. Torren and George. If Polo buys one of them, or if the miner shows up. The miner, I don't even think he exists. I've never seen him. Polo has reached and he has desperation. With just two votes, Vesper, it feels easy to tilt the table, a bribe, a threat, a sudden disappearance. Carch relax. We walk into harvest House the cat since cast the votes. I walk out as guildmaster. Let Polo hide in his garden. We will own the city. He looks out on. Karch stared at him. He wanted to believe, He needed to believe. He took a long swallow of wine, draining the glass. It better be. Vesper didn't reply. He just shook his head and walked out. Chapter ten, A Wolf in the House. Karch checked the lock on his office door for the third time. It was locked lately. The heavy click of the bolt didn't bring the comfort it used to. He walked back to his desk, stepping over a pile of ledgers he hadn't had the stomach to open. The Merchant Tower was on a precipice to the city. It looked flushed with health and power the guild that had conquered the Craft Tower, but Karsh knew the truth. It was bankrupt. If Vesper won the vote, Kash could seize the craft guild's assets and bury the merchant debt. He would be the savior. But if Vesper lost the snake, rogers would quickly understand that he now owned the Craft and merchant guilds. Kash knew the outcome of that future. A sharp rhythmic rapping came at the door, not a servant's timid knock, a soldier's demand. Kash smoothed his tunic, took a breath, and unlocked the door. Jasper stood there. He looked different than the uncertain boy Kash had interviewed weeks ago. He wore the heavy, polished plate of the Captain of the Merchant Guard, the blue cloak falling perfectly from his shoulders. He didn't bow. He walked past Kasch, his boots clicking on the marble, and made straight for the wine decanter Gildmaster. Jasper poured a generous glass of the vintage that cost more than Jasper's armor. I did not offer you a drink, Captain, and I didn't ask. He took a sip, grimaced, and set the glass down on a stack of urgent yet ignored papers. You summoned me urgently. I assume this isn't to discuss guard rotations. He turned his cold, ambitious eyes on Carch. So what does the ruler of the city need from his loyal dog. Karch walked behind his desk. He needed the barrier. He had made this boy, He had plucked him from the rank and file and given him a tower to conquer. But looking at him now, Karch realized he might have fed the wolf too much raw meat. I have a contingency that requires discretion. The vote for the Craft Guildmaster is in four days at Harvest House. I heard word gets around. You know. It's amusing how terrified the mighty Polo is of just walking around the city. It creates complications if the vote goes against us. If Rogers wins, then we lose our leverage over the craft guild. Jasper shrugged. It sounds like a challenge, but not a disaster. Karch squeezed his nose between two fingers. He was in a difficult spot. He wanted to use Jasper to secure his escape if he needed to, but he didn't want Jasper to know why he needed to escape. What it sounds like is of no concern to you, Captain. If the vote fails, I need to leave the city. Now that does sound like a disaster. Jasper smiled, and Carch suddenly realized he hated the boy, loathed him even but at this point he had no one else. There are complications which require discretion. I see I need a swift boat near Harvest House. We are to quickly move to the Great Gate, where we will dock in the Old Quarter. The Old Quarter. This is getting even more interesting. Shut up, Jasper, I need to get out the Main Gate as quickly as possible. That is the nearest dock without a guild affiliation. And where are you heading. Carch was on the verge of canceling the whole exchange with Jasper when the young man held up his hands. Never mind, I don't need to know. What I am more interested in, for that quite interesting scenario is who will be the master of the Merchant Guild. Karch suddenly realized Jasper's ambition, and with utter delight at the young fool's ignorance, he leaned heavily into it. I don't care, Jasper. You can run the guild, take this office, fix the window, play nice with Rogers. But if Vesper loses that vote, I need you to get me out of the city. Jasper's delight was so obvious it was nearly obscene. Consider it done, The captain stood up. I will make sure you escaped to safety while I Jasper never finished the sentence, but Karch smiled thinking over how Jasper intended it to end. Yes, you can sit in this office, you can wear the ring, you can call yourself guild master, and you will be Roger's slave. The podcast Alchemy production