The Thieves Guild Friday Binge - Chapters 72-76

The Thieves Guild written by Ja Kerr, Chapter seventy two. A vote secured, Vesper walked out of the Guildmaster's library, his mind a cold, precise calculator. During the entire journey back to the tower to see Raylen, Vesper had confidence in him. But confidence is not a guarantee. Thankfully the guild master had said yes now, time was their enemy. He found Mahler in the cavernous main hall, standing near the Great Hearth, her gaze lost in the flames, she looked up as he approached. He's in. He'll give us his vote. We need to leave now. He turned, expecting her to fall into step beside him. She did move. Vesper stopped and looked back. Mailer's face was a mask of calm, almost serene. He walked back to her what he knew. He didn't need to say anything more. I'm staying. His eyes narrowed. We agreed vengeance for Allard. This is the path. This is the first step on that path, or the third whatever, but it is the path. This is now your path, It's Cartch's path. I need to watch the tower. Darla is here, Prosper. She seemed to be searching for a reason for a logic that would satisfy him. But Vesper knew a blade and a romantic partner was a toxic combination. He cut her off. Vesper had no time for her domestic responsibilities, duties or desires. Fine, he didn't care about her reasons, only her utility. She had just made herself useless to the great doors. Ready to leave. This was cleaner anyway, fewer variables, wait Raylan's voice. Vesper turned. The guild master was descending the main stairs, shrugging into a dark, plain cloak. The uncertainty from the day before was gone. He carried himself with an authority that reminded Vesper of his first meeting with him. I'm ready, Vesper nodded. Apologies, guild Master, but you are not. Raylan raised an eyebrow. You're a target. You walk out that door, you're a dead man. If Polo or Quinto see you. To Vesper's shock, Raylan laughed. I just wandered through the upper quarter for days. I think I'll take my chances. Vesper didn't say anything, and Raylan added. Plus, I'll have you at my side. A low, cold laugh escaped Vesper's lips. You're not safer with me, guild Master, as I said, you're not ready, and what do I need to be ready? You need Felos and paused and then smiled again. He'll enjoy that. Even if I feel it's not necessary. We'll grab him on the way out. Raylan turned and started walking. Vesper glanced back one last time. Maela was still standing by the fire watching them. A new figure, Darla had emerged from a side hall and was now standing beside her, a hand on her arm. The sight bothered Vesper for a reason he couldn't explain, wasted talent, a lack of loyalty. It didn't matter, Maela had made her choice. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped out to Raylan chatting with the Mighty guard. Felo's a podcast Alchemy production. The Thieves Guild written by Jake Kerr. Chapter seventy three, The Summons. Carch stared at the boarded up window of his office, his jaw aching. He had been grinding his teeth for a full day, a day of silence, a day since he had sent Vesper and the girl on an impossible mission, and his entire world had shrunk to the confines of this one ruined room. His guild was bankrupt. His captains were either dead turncoats or cowering. His tower was a hollowed out monument to Larsen's failure, and Karch had intended to fix it. Yet still he waited. He waited for a blade to return with the vote of a boy. There was a light knock and a guard at the door. Guild Master Quinto to see you, Sir. Karch was about to answer, sent him in when the guard was firmly, if respectfully, moved aside and Quinto entered. As Quinto approached, Carch shook his head, an entrance worthy of sas Quinto frowned. Good, I hit a nerve. Carch thought. Quinto was immaculate in his knight's white. For a man of the plains, he sure seems to enjoy the finery of the night. Quartermaster. Karch wondered if Quinto's legendary independence and ranger of the plain's reputation was failing to the larger guild coffers and the comfortable furnishings that Sachs left him. I am simply being prudent, guild Master. Time is of the essence. Indeed, one can't let one's master wait. Quinto's jaw tightened, and Karch wondered how far he could push the man. My master is the city, and the city can't wait, Karch. Karch waved to a chair in front of his desk. Well filney in. Then, I assume you have news on the council. Will we be holding it at your guild? Don't you have a meeting room with a broad window overlooking the plains? That sounds delightful. Rather than sit, Quinto pacede. Yes, I am here to discuss the guild Master's council. But no, it will not be at my guild. The council will be at Harvest House. Of course it will be Carch sighed. And when will this take place? I am here to deliver the official summons. The guild master Council will convene tomorrow. Karch had expected the word, but it still hit him like a fist. Tomorrow, that is impossible. My guild is in no condition for such an important meeting, as you may expect. Larson left me a mess. I will need a week at least. The vote will be held tomorrow at Harvest House. Polo will host. Karch knew it was a lost cause, but he wanted to hear Quinto's response. Harvest House. We are voting on the craft guild master. We should meet at Kraft Tower. It is the only place where we can show respect for the guild whose future we control. It will be at Harvest House. The man was a damned brick wall. Karch tried a new tack, letting a whine of the politician enter his voice. My guild is scattered, The city is in chaos. Trader's Bridge is a memory. How am I even to get across the river. Your guild has boats, Carch, use them. I am not here to solve your problems. I will need to prepare. A day is not enough time. You have one day? Quinto turned to leave. Wait. Cartch's voice revealed the desperation he was trying to hide. Time. He needed more time, even ours would help fine. He spat, smoothing his tunic, forcing a mask of dignity. Tomorrow it is, but if we are to hold a council, we will do it with the respect. It is owed, as is the tradition. Quinto paused his hand on the door. We will dine first, all of us at one table. We will discuss the state of the city as guild masters, not as animals. The vote will be held in the evening after the meal. He held his breath. It wasn't truly a tradition. It was the tradition on Founder's Day, but this meeting was purely bureaucratic, not celebratory. Still, Quinto paused. Quinto seemed to weigh the request, his cold eyes calculating. He finally gave a single curt nod. Dinner and then the vote. Be there, Carch. The implied threat was as clear as a blade at his throat. Be there, or you will be replaced. Quinto left the door closed, leaving Karch alone in the suffocating silence. He had twenty four hours. He sank into his chair, his mind racing. It all came down to Raylen. It all came down to the miscreant boy. What if Vesper had failed? What if the boy had refused? What if he was already dead? What were his moves? He couldn't ignore the summons. To refuse was to abdicate Polo, and Quinto would have him declared rogue before the sun set. Prepare for battle. He almost laughed with what Jasper and a handful of thugs who had only stayed because he'd promised them a city to loot. He was bankrupt, He couldn't pay an army. Flee The thought was a bitter acid in his throat. Where could he go? The last time he fled, it was to Sachs. There was nowhere else for him to go. Even the outlanders would kill him, as they showed during his previous visit. He was trapped utterly and completely. He walked to a sideboard and poured a brandy, his hand shaking not with fear, but with a deep volcanic rage. His entire life, his legacy, his financial empire, it all rested on the loyalty of a hired killer and the word of a boy he had once paid to have beaten in an alley. He tossed back the brandy, the liquid burning a path to his empty stomach. He had no other choice. He had to trust Vesper. He had to believe the blade would deliver. A podcast alchemy production. The Thieves Guild written by Jake Kerr, Chapter seventy four. The gilded leash. The Quarter's polo had given him were beautiful. The walls were made of living woven wood, and the air smelled of green things and damp earth. It was Roger's thought, the most comfortable prison he had ever been in. He was a man of stone, of alleys, of the cold, hard certainty of the Old Quarter's pavement, and the warm life of the Lower Quarter's chaotic heart beat. This living, breathing fortress felt alien, as if the very walls were watching him. He was a hero to these people. He was the captain who had saved the pit. They smiled at him in the halls. They brought him food and wine, and he had never felt more trapped. He was waiting waiting for a sign from Allard, who was somewhere beneath his feet in a real cell, waiting for Rogers to take his place, waiting for the hammer to fall. It fell in the form of a polite knock. A harvest guard, one of Gan's men stood in the doorway. Captain Rogers, guild Master Polo, request your presence in the rooftop garden. It was a request, but it was not a question. Rogers nodded, his face a mask of stone. He followed the guard, his green harvest tunic, feeling like a costume. He was a captain of three guilds and a member of none. He ascended to the roof the open air a brief, sweet relief. Before he saw them. Polo was at his small table, a pitcher of wine gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Guildmaster Quinto was with him, standing stiffly, his white knight's cloak a stark blot against the garden's green. Ah. Rogers, the man of the hour, Come sit. Polo smiled, a broad, genuine expression of pure satisfaction. He stood and clapped Rogers on the shoulder. Rogers did not sit. He stood before the two guild masters, a soldier awaiting his orders. We have excellent news. Guildmaster Cach has finally seen reason. The council is set tomorrow evening. We will dine, and then we will vote. Your elevation will be the first order of business. The Craft Guild has been without a master for too long. Polo raised his glass. Congratulations, Captain, or should I say, guild Master Rogers. The congratulations hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Rogers felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach. He was a thief, He was a lad's man. He was a spy in the heart of the enemy's fortress, and he was being handed a crown. Of course, he could look over the health of the Thieves guild. In his new role. He could help in tangible ways, but it felt false, something a blade should be doing, not someone like Rogers. You're very generous, guild Master. Nonsense. It is a partnership, my boy, a new age for ness. He gestured for Rogers to sit, and this time Rogers obeyed. The chair a living, pliant thing that seemed to wrap around him. Polo leaned forward, his smile fading, his eyes sharp. The politician was gone, replaced by the guildmaster. This will stabilize the city. Karch claims innocence, but he was Larsen's man. When he left Larson, did he come to me, No, he went to Sachs. That should tell you all you need to know. We will isolate him. With your vote, we will finally bring order. Order. Indeed, Polo refilled his own glass. Your first actor's Guildmaster, of course, will be to approve the new joint guild patrols. Quinto's Knights, my harvest guards, and your own craft artisans, all working as one, we will secure the city every quarter. Polo laughed. Karch will be left powerless, surrounded by those that will keep a very close eye on him. Rogers's blood ran cold every quarter. Polo focused on Karch, but he also clearly meant the old quarter. He meant the thieves. Rogers was being asked to build the very cage the would trap his own people. And then there are the merchant tariffs. Karch has been strangling this city, and his guild has profited. We will need to adjust them in our favor, of course, for the good of the city. Your vote as Kraft guild master will be essential. Roger stared at the wine in Polo's glass. He was not being made a guild master. He was being made a lackey, a tool, a second guaranteed vote to give Polo and Quinto absolute control of the city. He was a thief being handed the keys to the treasury so another thief could empty it. His entire life, his code was built on not being this. He was not a man who bent his knee. He was not a man who followed. He was a captain. But he thought of Allard, crippled in the darkness below. A lad wanted this, why I understand excellent? This is a great day, Rogers, A great day. Now go rest, you have a long day to morrow. Guildmaster Polo smiled, the warmth returning the snake coiling back into the grass. Roger stood. He gave a curt nod to Polo, then to Quinto. He turned and walked out of the garden, the word guildmaster echoing in his ears like a curse. He was a thief, and he was being commanded to be a king, but not a real king, a servant to the real king Polo. And he knew, with a terrible sinking certainty, that he was about to betray someone. He just didn't know who. A podcast Alchemy production, The Thieves Guild written by Jake Kerr, Chapter seventy five. A man to be feared. Allard sat in his chair, A thick blanket pooled over his legs. He was reading a dry treatise on harvest gild crop rotations that Polo had provided for some reason. When the door to his cell swung open. Polo entered, and he was not the calculating, cautious Guildmaster Allard had been counseling for weeks. This man was giddy, his face flushed with the victory so total it was almost careless. Allard, my friend Polo strode to the small table, pouring himself a cup of water, his hands buzzing with energy. It is done. Allard carefully placed his book down, arranging his features into a mask of polite interest. Polo had recently started calling him friend, yet Allard noted that he still locked the door when he left. Guild Master, you have good news, it seems indeed I do. Polo beamed, pacing the small cell. Quinto has delivered the summons. Carch has agreed. The council is set for tomorrow evening. We will dine, and then we will vote in a new error for ness. He stopped his pacing and looked at Allard, his eyes shining. Your advice was impeccable. Rogers the hero of the pit the city your he loves him. Quinto sees him as a stabilizing force, and Karch Karsh has no options and no future. Allard allowed a slow, appreciative smile to cross his face. A brilliant stroke, guild Master, you have navigated the city's chaos perfectly. We we have navigated it, and to morrow we will see it finished. Allad nodded his gaze steady. The meeting will be here then, in harvest house. But of course my home, my table. Karch protested naturally, but Quinto held the line. They will be on my ground, and security cart is a cornered animal. Quinto is honorable but ambitious. You will have your best men. My house will be locked down like a vault. Quinto's knights will hold the perimeter, and my own harvest guard will hold the inner halls. No one will so much as breathe without my permission. It will be a celebration, Allard, a triumph, good, Allard thought, a vault. Every guard's attention will be on the guild masters. Every eye will be on the main hall. No one will be watching the cells. He felt the small, sharp piece of steel hidden in the hollowed out wheel of his chair. He had been patient, He had played the cripple, the broken adviser, and to morrow, during the celebration, while the entire fortress was distracted by the elevation of his own captain, he would simply stand up and walk away. You must be pleased to have brought the city back from the brink, all from this very house I am, and you my friend will be there to see it. Allard's blood went cold. He kept his expression perfectly neutral. Guild Master, you will be there. I will have you brought to the banquet hall. You will have a seat at the table. I want you to see the look on Carchie's face. I want you to watch as the man you recommended takes the oath. This was not a boon, This was a disaster. He couldn't escape if he was at Polo's side. A lad had to pivot, He had to use the man's own pride against him. He let out a slow, seemingly weary sigh. Guild Master, that is a deeply generous offer, but perhaps an unwise one. Polo's smile faltered. Unwise. It is a show of strength. It shows I have nothing to fear, not even from you strength. But what of subtlety. You are the master of this game, you are the one pulling the strings. Is it not a purer victory to let the puppets believe they dance for themselves? He leaned forward, his voice dropping to the conspiratorial whisper, Polo so loved. Let Rogers have his moment. Let Quinto believe he is your equal. Partner. Your presence as the benevolent host is enough, but to bring me the one you graciously and modestly call your adviser to the table. Allard shook his head, a look of foe sadness on his face. It will not be seen as strength, guild Master. It will be seen as weakness. You will be celebrating me, a thief cripple, as an important part of your leadership, and I fear people will thus question your leadership. Allard, let the words hang in the air. He watched Polo's face, saw the gears turning. The man's vanity was a far greater weapon than any dagger. You want them to see you as the unquestioned and singular leader of ness. Let them have their dinner, Let them feel their new power. Let them believe they are your allies. Let them beg to be your allies. Your true victory is not having Rogers as your man. Your true victory is in knowing that to not be your ally is to be your enemy, and that is a position to be feared. Allard folded his hands and rested them on his lap. And to have me there will only make them consider you are not to be feared. Polar stared at him for a long moment, the flush of victory replaced by the cool assessment of the politician. He looked at Allard, at the blanket covering his legs, at the book on the table. Finally, he smiled, a true cold polo smile. You are right, of course, as always, it is a purer victory this way. He walked to the door. I will have a special meal sent to you to morrow night, to lad we will toast the new error separately. Thank you, Guildmaster. Allard bowed his head. The door closed and the lock clicked. Home. Alard was alone again. He picked up his book, his pulse steady, his mind clear, He had his distraction, He had his window. To morrow, the crippled counselor would stand and he would walk free. A podcast Alchemy production, The Thieves Guild written by Jake Kerr, Chapter seventy six. The cornered rat. Karche's tower was busy and full of armed guards and desperate men. He's preparing for another war or an escape, Vesper thought, he announced himself, and he and Raylan were immediately escorted upstairs. When they arrived outside Karch's office, Vesper stopped Raylan. Wait outside. I thought time was of the essence. Raylan didn't look annoyed so much as confused. Trust me, and with a confident stride, he entered Karch's office. Karch looked awful. He clearly hadn't slept. His eyes were bloodshot, his fine tunic rumpled. He was a cornered rat, a look of dangerous desperation in his eyes. You're late. Karch finally noticed the absence of Raylan, and it looked like his entire life had left his body as he slumped into his chair. Where's Raylan? Karch looked like he didn't want to hear the answer. Vesper stood in the doorway, enjoying the moment immensely. To toy with the person's future wasn't something he took lightly. But Karch was party to all this chaos, and Vesper wanted to watch him squirm. He was quiet for such a long time that Karch sat up so straight and peered at him. He'll vote. Vesper enjoyed delivering a promise without the man. He knew it would increase Cartch's tension even more. Karch's eyes narrowed. His vote, his promise, where is he? How do I know this isn't a trap. He can't vote if he's not in the room. He was spiraling his gaze, darting from the boarded window to the door, as if expecting Polo's men to burst in. Vesper found the display amusing, But Carch was right earlier. They had little time and this game had come to its end. He was simply awaiting your invitation out of. Respect, Vesper smiled. But I will call for him as you said, we are late, guild Master Raylan, guild Master Karch is ready for you. Raylan entered through the half open door, and Vesper had to do a double take. For all of Kartch's wired tension and disheveled desperation, Raylan was the opposite. He walked in with a calm grace, his black guildmaster clothes almost shining in the dim light of Carter's office. Vesper looked over at Karch, and he found the man's reaction satisfying. It was a silent, violent cascade, first pure unadulterated shock, then a wave of abject fear. The Guildmaster, thief, the miscreant boy was here in his office, and he looked more like a guildmaster than Karch himself. Finally, Karch's mind caught up, and the mask of the guildmaster bruised and cracked slammed back into place. Guildmaster Raylan. Karch stood up an unexpected honour. Let skip the pleasantry's catch. Raylan's voice was steady, clinical, even commanding. Vesper had seen it since their first meeting, but still he marveled over it. The boy was a born leader. Whoever thought to put him in a position of leadership as a punishment was beyond incompetent. We don't have time. Krchy's eyes flicked from Raylan to Vesper and back again. The suspicion was rolling off him in waves. Pardon my immediate doubts, Raylan, But why why would you help me? He jabbed a finger toward Vesper. And why do you trust him? He's a craft blade. His goals may be in neither of our interests. Vesper almost smiled. Karch had no idea. He saw two separate pieces, unable to imagine they were part of the same puzzle. He thought Vesper was just a tool. Karch had convinced to take a position of power and would then show appropriate gratitude and Raylan's trust simply didn't make sense to him. Vesper doubted Kart truly trusted anyone in his life. I trust him, Raylan nodded to Vesper, because we have a mutual interest. You me. Karch looked from Raylan to Vesper and back. I'm here for one reason. Raylan walked confidently to Karch's desk. Polo, he has allied my deputy. He's holding him prisoner. He's crippled. Karch seized on the word, his eyes lighting with the old familiar gleam of calculation. Prisoner, crippled. Good, that's leverage, that's a motive. I can understand you hate Polo more than you hate me. Raylan didn't reply, and again Vesper realized the power of Raylan. Raylan had been truthful. He wanted to help his deputy. Karch distorted that into a leverage that Kirch had over him. If Raylan wanted to help Ahlad, then he had to help Karch and thus had to trust him. That Raylan didn't think in those terms was entirely alien to Kutch. Vesper smiled. Raylan wanted to simply do the right thing. He doubted Raylan thought more of Karch other than how could he deal with him in a way that would be best for everyone. Vesper watched as Karch realized Raylan wasn't going to reply, He nodded a jerky, angry motion. Good. As long as we all know where we stand, this alliance will hold. Vesper stepped forward. He said, we were late. How late are we standing up? Cartch immediately marched around his desk. The guildmaster dinner is tonight. Then we vote. We have ours. He waved toward the door. We need to head to the merchant dock. Immediately he turned and walked out, Raylan falling into step behind him. Vesper followed, enjoying every moment for how much joy it was watching Carch squirm. He couldn't even consider how much more fun it would be watching Carch and Polo squirm as he controlled the Craft Guild. The podcast Alchemy production