Ralan set a brisk pace down the hallway as he struggled to figure out whether he was angry, scared, or thrilled. He reached the top of the staircase and paused. What was he to do next? He had to find his new quarters, which were presumably in the basement, but what about his future? Could he walk the streets openly like Pietro? Would the people see him as a symbol and not an actual thief? Or would he be hated by everyone, a target for abuse and anger?

He also considered that this could turn out to be the best possible result for him. He wouldn't have to worry about harvesting the crops or smelting iron or keeping accounts or guarding the Wall. He could just wander the city like old Pietro.

The final thought made Ralan smile. He was thinking that his brother may have unintentionally done him a favor. Of course, that didn't include the Founders Day parade. Some people took the ritual punishment of the thieves a bit too seriously and Pietro had been injured several times.

In the end he didn't have much choice, so he started down the steps, wondering where Guildmaster Pietro had lived. Larsen had said that his quarters would be in the basement, but that could have just been another way for him to humiliate Ralan.

Still, the thieves were the only guild without a tower, and Ralan wasn't sure where Guildmaster Pietro lived. He only saw him at the parade and a few times in the Market District.

It was possible, however, that Pietro lived in the Merchant Tower. It was huge, with plenty of ways in and out of the various attached buildings. Plus, Ralan did remember hearing once that Pietro lived under the sufferance of the Merchant Guild.

He figured that the guard on duty would know. So he hurried down the final steps and approached the guard watching the front doors. It was Esel, who glared at Ralan coldly as he approached.

"Excuse me, Esel, but can you tell me where Guildmaster Pietro's quarters are?" Ralan bowed his head, figuring that respect would get him further than demands.

Esel frowned. "Guildmaster Pietro left this world two days ago." He didn't seem disturbed by the news.

"Ah, yes. I had heard that. I was wondering where his living quarters are."

"Looking to steal from the dead, are we?" Esel walked toward him, placing his hand on the pommel of his sword. "You wear the brown and think that puts you outside the reach of the guilds." He slid his sword out a few inches. "But it doesn't. It makes you less than all of them. We could all crush you like that." Esel shoved his sword back into its sheath, a sharp clang when the pommel hit the metal lip underscoring his threat.

Ralan would normally have slunk away. He had felt the flat of Esel's sword on his back and legs enough times to know not to provoke him, but things were different now, and he needed to learn more about his new position. He couldn't afford to let Esel bully him around when he needed answers, and besides—he was a guildmaster now.

"You should watch yourself, Esel." Ralan stood tall and squinted at the armed guildsman. "I won't be wearing brown much longer."

Esel threw back his head and laughed. "Did your brother finally get you a position cleaning manure?" As quickly as he had laughed, his face went cold and he unsheathed his sword. "I don't care what color you'll be wearing, you'll never be anything more than a pathetic insect." He raised his sword.

"Enough!" A deep booming voice from the staircase behind them echoed through the entry. It was a voice used to giving commands and used to having them followed. Esel lowered his sword, and Ralan turned.

A tall figure in a flowing black robe, his face lost in the shadows of the hood, stood with his arms crossed.

"This is not your business, Alard," Esel said, but his voice was weak and tentative in the face of the visitor. The figure said nothing, but approached with deliberate steps. He stopped in front of Esel.

"It is Deputy Alard, merchant." Esel slouched, and the man in black kicked his sword, which had dropped down and was pointing to the floor. "Now put your toy away before I beat you with it." The man pointed at Ralan. "And don't ever speak that way to the Guildmaster again." His voice sounded like a clenched fist.

"Guildmaster?"

The man put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Do I need to tell you again?" Esel scrambled back, sheathing his sword. He turned, and returned to his position near the great wooden doors, mumbling as he went.

Alard reached up and tossed the hood of his robe back. His skin and eyes were a dark brown, almost black. He was bald, which made telling his age difficult. He had some wrinkles, but not enough to mark him as ancient. His smooth pate was interrupted by a thick scar that ran from the top of his head down to his left eyebrow. His brows were furrowed and his lips were turned down in a slight frown. Ralan wasn't sure he had ever met a more intimidating man in his life.

"I am sorry I was not present at your meeting with the Guildmaster Merchant, sir." He folded his arms across his chest and stood up straight. "It seems that they neglected to inform me of it." He smiled, and his face was transformed. His eyes sparkled, and his face glowed with kindness.

"You are my deputy?" Ralan whispered.

"Indeed, I am." The smile remained.

"I am pleased to meet you, Deputy Alard." Ralan grinned and made one of his rare bows. The deputy nodded in return, but otherwise didn't move. "Larsen mentioned that Guildmaster Pietro lived in this tower. Is that true?"

"Do you mean Guildmaster Larsen?" The deputy's smile faded a bit.

Ralan immediately understood his lapse in respect, and he appreciated Alard's understated correction. "I'm sorry. Yes, I meant Guildmaster Larsen."

Alard nodded. "Indeed, sir. The Guild quarters are in the basement of the north wing." That was where the kitchen and various service personnel lived and worked. Ralan had never even been there.

"I didn't even know the guild had a basement," Ralan replied, more to himself than to Alard.

"The north wing is the only part of the tower with a basement, and it is rarely used."

"Can you take me there?"

"As you command, sir." Alard pulled the hood over his head and started walking to the east, where a number of hallways from various wings of the building merged. Ralan still couldn't quite believe what was happening, but every time he rubbed his eyes the tall ominous man in the black robe was still there.

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It was hard to keep up with Alard's brisk pace, and the fact that each step jarred Ralan's aching head only made things worse. They turned down the hallway that led to the north wing and the kitchens.Just inside the archway that marked the entrance to the north wing was a wooden door to the left. It looked like a closet.

It was unlocked, and Alard pulled it open and stepped aside, motioning for Ralan to enter first. Ralan shook his head. "This is all new to me. Please lead the way." Alard nodded, but said nothing.

Ralan followed him through the door, which opened to cramped and rough-hewn stone steps leading down. The stairway was well lit with torches, and the floor and walls were dry. There were bits of wood and paper in the corners of each step, although it wasn't very dusty. It looked clean, just unkempt.

Their footsteps echoed against the walls in the quiet. It didn't feel like the enforced quiet you experienced in a church or a library. Rather, the walls were so close that Ralan felt like he had to keep his voice down to avoid having it echo.

The quiet walk to the quarters did have a certain solemnity about it, and it reminded Ralan of the old guildmaster. "I'm sorry about Guildmaster Pietro," Ralan whispered. Alard stopped and turned to face him.

He was on a lower step, and yet his face was still above Ralan's. He stood motionless for a moment, his face lost in the shadows of his hood, before replying, "That was very kind of you, sir, and I thank you for saying so. He was one of the greatest of the Guildmaster Thieves." Alard didn't whisper.

"I'm not sure I even understand what that means, to be honest, Alard."

Alard leaned close and for a second Ralan thought that he had angered him. However, the deputy's voice dropped to a whisper as he stated in a soft voice, "Few know of his achievements or his greatness."

Ralan didn't want to be disrespectful, but he was at a loss as to what Alard could mean. "But I thought it was a ceremonial position."

Alard reached out and Ralan flinched, but all he did was pat him on the shoulder. "Making the city believe that a guild of thieves doesn't exist is quite an achievement, don't you think?"

Ralan relaxed a little. "Well, we know thieves exist, but there's no such thing as a Thieves Guild."

Alard turned back to the steps before adding, "Exactly."

The steps ended at a stone hallway. Like the staircase, it was littered with broken pieces of wood along with paper and what looked like bits of pottery. More than anything, it looked like the entrance to one of the warehouses near the Craft Guild. Along its length were plain wooden doors on each side.

"What is this place?" Ralan asked, looking around at the bare hallway.

"This is a small basement that is used for storage, mostly things that have only been used once and are wrongly considered too precious to dispose of." He pointed to one of the wooden doors as they passed. "That room holds the embroidered linens from Guildmaster Galway's elevation ceremony."

Ralan shook his head. Galway was the guildmaster before his brother. He was elevated over twenty years before.

"And here we are." They reached the end of the hall. A broad door faced them. It appeared to be solid wood and was different than the other doors along the hall, but it lacked the decorative pretension of the door to the Guildmaster Merchant office. A wooden stool sat next to it in the corner. "These are my quarters." Alard pointed to a smaller door set in the wall to the right.

He reached into the folds of his robe, pulled out a ring of keys, and flipped through them. He unlocked the door and ushered them in.

It was a single room.

It looked comfortable enough, and it was quite large, but it was closer to an apprentice dorm than guildmaster quarters. There was a fireplace in the back wall and a pair of reading chairs set near. They faced each other, with several books sitting on a table next to the chair on the left. The floor was flagstone, with a threadbare black rug imperfectly covering it. To the left were bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling and wall to wall. To the right was a small bed, with black linens. To the immediate left of the entry door was a replica of the thief statue from Founders Park—two thieves reaching into each other's pockets, with the inscription "Honor Among Thieves" on the base below. An empty work table was shoved into the corner to the right, with two chairs pushed under it.

After taking it all in, Ralan muttered, "Seems a bit austere for a guildmaster."

"We could move you to the Thieves Tower if you prefer."

Ralan's jaw dropped, and he turned to his deputy. "There is no Thieves Tower."

Alard laughed. "Of course there is. It has fallen from memory over time, which I believe was Pietro's goal when he moved his living quarters here."

Ralan simply couldn't believe it. He had been over practically every part of Ness, and he knew there was no such thing as a Thieves Tower. "How long ago was that?"

"It was seventy-five years ago. Pietro moved into Merchant Tower the same year he was elevated."

"Pietro was guildmaster for seventy-five years?" Ralan didn't even know anyone seventy years old.

"Indeed. Your brother was the fourth Guildmaster Merchant he had served with."

Ralan walked over and sat on the bed. He knew Pietro was ancient, but he had trouble comprehending someone, what, ninety, ninety-five years old? He looked up at Alard, who stood just inside the doorway. "Where is the Thieves Tower?"

"It is at the base of the mountain where the Old Quarter meets the Ash Fields."

No wonder he or anyone he knew had never heard or seen the tower—it was between the two most wretched areas of the city, both across the Great River. No one from any guild crossed the river and wandered through the desolate and dangerous Wretched Quarter, and the Ash Fields were just that—fields of dead crops and trees from over-farming during Ness' youth. The other side of the Great River wasn't even considered part of the city anymore, even though it was inside the walls.

Ralan shook his head. He badly wanted to visit his guild tower, even with its unfortunate location, but that would have to wait until later. He looked around the room. It didn't look like anyone had ever lived there. "I assume Pietro's things have been removed?"

"Yes. Guildmaster Pietro's belongings were removed this morning. Unfortunately, we haven't had time to bring in fresh linens. Which reminds me, we will need to procure you linens, clothing, and robes from the Clothiers. It would probably do well to address that immediately, as you ride in the Founders Day parade tomorrow, and you will need blankets for tonight."

Ralan nodded and looked around again. The books were an interesting sight. He had never actually seen a book that wasn't used for settling accounts, and there must have been dozens on the shelves. The rest of the room was decidedly shabby, though, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He knew that his brother was punishing him, and that the Guildmaster Thief was nothing more than a laughingstock, but certainly he could, at least, have a bed that was better than the one he was leaving behind. All in all, any hope that being a Guildmaster would provide him with luxury were dashed.

Ralan's head still hurt so he dropped it to the pillow and stretched out on the bed. He was starting to rethink his initial excitement over his new position. He had a title, but one that was a source of amusement and scorn throughout Ness. He had some new clothes, but they would be black, a color possibly worse than the brown of the guildless. He had privacy, but the price was rather depressing living quarters in the basement of his brother's guild tower. And while he had never had particular luck with girls, he doubted he'd have any chance now. He sighed.

"Thinking of the parade?" Ralan had forgotten that Alard was still there. The deputy stood straight and motionless near the door. His arms were clasped behind his back. His hood remained up.

Ralan laughed, but it was a laugh full of bitterness. "No, I hadn't yet gotten to that on my list of things to be concerned about." He thought about the Founders Parade and the tradition of the populace taking their frustration out on thieves by pelting their guildmaster. Few took as great a pleasure in that tradition as he had, but now it didn't seem quite so amusing. He looked at Alard. "So I guess I just sit in the cage and smile as I get showered in fruit and vegetable pulp."

"That was how Guildmaster Pietro handled it."

Ralan realized he was being rude relaxing while his deputy stood at attention, so he pulled himself up. The movement sent waves of pain through his head, however, so he remained seated.

"There's another way?" Ralan pictured a straw man wrapped in the black robe of the Thieves' Guild.

"You could stand on the wagon without a cage."

Ralan laughed. He knew that some citizens threw rocks.

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