The Founders Day parties didn't begin in earnest until the parade ended, but that didn't mean that half the populace wouldn't be out dancing and drinking the night before. Ralan used to like to watch the flickering lights of the Flats from his brother's office on the night before Founder's Day, but since Ralan was made Guildmaster Thief, Larsen wouldn't even talk to him.

Ralan wanted to walk down to The Painted Sheep or the Four Triangles, find Raef, and just enjoy the festivities, but he was still feeling too sick and nervous to do anything more than just rest. So while Alard finished gathering his guild robes and clothing, Ralan spent a quiet night underground in his quarters.

The next morning he stood outside the Craft Guild Tower as Alard secured the cage on the wooden wagon. The wagon was painted black, but was otherwise unadorned—just the large cage surrounding a wooden stool. The cage was strong, comprised of metal bars about the thickness of a thumb. It would stop stones and bricks, and would easily withstand fruit and vegetables. But that wasn't the point—as fruit exploded against the cage, juices and pulp would spray the Guildmaster within, showering him with the anger of a populace that lived in a rigid society of guild order yet still had to deal with the outrage of thieves.

Ralan watched as the various Harvest guild floats made their way onto the brick road that led from the Craft Tower to the Merchant Tower—Merchant Avenue. The parade would end at the Merchant Tower and the parties would then flow into Founders Park. But that wouldn't happen until the single black wagon at the rear of the parade made its way down the road.

"It is time," Alard stated. Ralan nodded, jumped onto the wagon, and climbed into the cage. He sat down on the wood stool. It was nailed to the floor and offered good support. He arranged his freshly made black robe as Alard checked the latch. Ralan reached to pull up his hood, but Alard shook his head. "They have to see your face."

"You mean they have to see the garbage dripping down my face."

"That, too."

Ralan looked ahead. His wagon would join the parade in moments. He saw the youngsters pushing to get to the front of the crowds, rotten produce in hand. "Where will you be, Alard?"

"I'll be right behind. No need to fear anything worse than a good pelting."

Looking over his shoulder, Ralan replied, "There's a danger of worse than that?" Alard didn't reply, and the wagon started to move.

The wagon hadn't even made it to the official parade route when the garbage started to fly. He had expected to feel juice and bits of fruit and vegetables hit him, and he had planned on a dignified response worthy of Guildmaster Pietro. He would wipe his eyes, smile, and wave. His actual response was to cover his mouth with his hands as he bent over, doing his best to stop from retching.

The first deluge was of rotten vegetables. The cage stopped the vegetables, but not the brown sticky goo, which sprayed Ralan in the face. He made the mistake of breathing in while wiping his face, and the noxious smell of rot filled his nose.

It only got worse from there.

While the bars stopped larger rocks, Ralan never realized that some boys used slingshots to launch smaller stones and pebbles. Many of them ricocheted off the bars, but several got through, their impact leaving welts on his entire body. At one point he felt a small stone hit his ear, and when he reached up he was sure that it had sliced through and he was bleeding, but it was only a bit of tomato.

He had given up any pretension of smiling and waving less than a quarter of the way down the parade route. His goal was simply to get through the experience with a modicum of dignity.

Every so often he would glance around, and the faces he saw disturbed him. He had always approached the parade with an eye toward drenching Guildmaster Pietro with tomato juice. For Ralan, it was always with a sense of fun. In fact, he often used his tosses toward the Guildmaster Thief as an excuse to hit the knights lined up across the road. Getting hit in the crossfire was to be expected, but Ralan took particular joy in just missing the cage only to hit a knight squarely in the chest.

So, as he looked around, he couldn't understand the numerous scowls and faces contorted with rage. Screams about stolen items were added to the vilest names imaginable—all aimed at him. At one point Ralan turned to Alard to ask why everyone was so angry. The sight shocked him. While not the target Ralan was, Alard's black cloak was thick with debris. Even as Ralan watched, an apple bounced off of Alard's shoulder. He ignored it, however, and walked onward, his face lost in the darkness of his hood.

It got worse halfway through the route. To the north was Founders Park, and the crowds were thickest at the point the wagon had just reached. Ralan could barely keep his eyes open as the rotten fruit, stones, and vegetables rained down on him.

Up ahead a group of boys wearing the green of the Harvest Guild was gathered. They started chanting "piss on thieves!" as Ralan approached. As his wagon passed, they let loose a volley of what looked like animal skins at him. These exploded as they hit the cage, showering Ralan with urine. There were so many thrown at once that Ralan couldn't stop some from getting up his nose and into his mouth. He spat and coughed to the sounds of receding laughter.

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By the time the parade ended, Ralan's eyes, nose, and mouth burned. His body was covered with welts and bruises, and he smelled worse than the Barn District. He wiped off as much of the debris as he could as he watched Alard climb onto the wagon.

Despite being covered in filth, Alard carried himself with the same military grace and solidity he always did. He opened the cage and handed Ralan a towel. "You did well."

Ralan looked up at him through bleary eyes. "Well, I didn't throw up."

Both of them turned to the sound of clapping. Larsen stood beside the wagon with Karch. They both wore their formal deep blue robes. Ralan was tempted to flick a urine-soaked orange rind at his brother.

"All hail the Guildmaster of Filth!" Larsen bowed. "My dear brother, I never thought you would ever look worse than in that awful guildless brown, but I daresay right now you look like you were born and raised in the Wretched Quarter." He tapped his chin with a finger. "But, still, I must say it is an improvement, even with the stench." Karch snickered.

Ralan reached down to pick up some rotten vegetables, but Alard put his hand on Ralan's shoulder. "Dignity, Guildmaster," he whispered.

Ralan stood up straight and looked down at Karch. "What was it you told me, Karch? That hurling filth and abuse at the Guildmaster Thief is the practice of a child? Then look at your Guildmaster, acting like the child you described." Karch's jaw clenched while Larsen frowned.

Ralan rubbed the towel through his hair and laughed. "Do you have anything important to tell me, Larsen? I have enough garbage to deal with at the moment."

Larsen sneered. "No. I and the other guildmasters have real business to attend to over dinner. You and your disgraced knight can go get cleaned up and crawl back under your rock. I don't believe we need to hear from you for another year, which is about the best news I have heard today." He started to walk toward the Merchant Tower but stopped and turned back to face them. "I forgot to tell you that we found a problem with the pipes leading to the north wing of the tower, so you'll have to get washed in the Upper Triangle Bath House." Ralan cursed his brother under his breath. The one thing he was looking forward to was a hot private bath.

"Oh, don't worry. With that stench, I'm sure you'll have your privacy. No one would want to be in the same room with you." Larsen smiled and started walking toward the entrance to his tower. He stopped one more time and turned around. "I would offer my private bath, but my guild has standards."

Ralan jumped off the wagon, and watched his brother retreat. As he looked over, he almost didn't recognize Alard. He had removed his robe and was handing it to a boy standing next to him. He was wearing a full suit of chain mail, with his large sword in a sheath strapped to his back. Anyone would have mistaken him for one of the Knight Protectors, except instead of white, his armor was accented in black.

"Why wasn't I invited to the Guildmaster Dinner?" Ralan asked through clenched teeth.

Alard shrugged. "Guildmaster Pietro declined to attend every year. They probably just stopped sending an invitation to the guild."

"I am not Pietro." His deputy said nothing. Ralan ran his fingers through his dirty hair. "Where is the Guildmaster Dinner?"

"I believe it is being hosted by your brother this year."

"That seals it. We will be attending this year, Alard." Before Alard could respond, Ralan was slapped hard on the back. "Jolly good show, Guildmaster!" Ralan turned to see Raef, a wide grin on his face.

"Raef! How are you?" Ralan stepped forward, but then stopped. "I'd hug you but..." He waved his hand across his filthy robes.

"That's okay. I'm fine. I figured this would be the best place to find you. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just a little bruised."

Before either of them could continue, Alard spoke up, "Guildmaster, if you would like to attend the Guildmaster Dinner, I recommend we get moving. The Bath House is a twenty-minute walk."

"Okay, Alard, but first I want to introduce you to my friend Raef." Alard nodded his head but said nothing.

Raef looked Alard up and down. "I've seen you before! I always thought you were death wandering the streets of Ness."

Ralan punched Raef in the arm. "Show some respect, Raef. This is my Deputy Guildmaster, Alard."

"I'm sorry, Deputy. I did not mean offense. Although I doubt I'm the only one who has that opinion. Heck, I bet you scare Karch!"

"A pleasure to meet you, Raef." He bowed his head again and then turned to Ralan. "We should be going."

"Can I help?" Raef blurted out.

"I'm sorry, we're just going to get washed up before we go to the Guildmaster Dinner as uninvited guests." Ralan grinned. "We're probably going to be an hour late as it is." Ralan handed his robe to the same boy who took Alard's. Ralan really didn't want to miss anything, and he wondered how bad the hour delay would be. He turned to Alard. "Alard, how bad is it for us to be late? Do they make any significant decisions?"

Ralan didn't know how it would go or what he would do. He just wanted to experience what his brother had over the past five years. The prospect of missing out on anything was almost more than he could stand.

"The major decisions are always made at the Founders Day dinner. It is the only time that the Council of Guildmasters meets with all of the junior guildmasters. Your brother's banquet hall will be full."

"Will we miss that? Or do they do official business after dinner?" Ralan was committed now. If there was a major inter-guild decision, he wanted to take part.

"I'm afraid they pretty much discuss and vote while they eat. They tend to start with the big decisions first so that they aren't made with wine-addled minds later in the evening."

Ralan stamped his foot. "It's going to start any minute now, Alard. We'll never get back in time."

"I'm afraid so."

"I can help!" Both Alard and Ralan turned to Raef, who was grinning. "I'll go in and cause a big distraction, something that will take them a while to clean up. I bet they won't talk major business until things calm down."

Ralan turned to Alard. "Do you think that would work?"

He shrugged.

Before Ralan could give his friend the go ahead, Raef blurted out, "But I won't do it unless you apprentice me to the Thieves Guild!"

Ralan shook his head and smiled. "You're crazy. You want to be a thief?" His friend nodded.

"Fine. I guess that makes three of us."

The two shook hands as Alard added, "We must all get moving if this has any hope of succeeding." He turned to Raef. "Apprentice, you will find access to the dinner rather difficult. I recommend you disguise yourself as one of the wait staff."

"I have an even better idea than that!" He slapped Ralan on the shoulder and then sprinted toward the Merchant Tower.

"We must hurry," Alard noted, walking briskly toward Traders Bridge and the Upper Triangle. Ralan followed closely behind. Everyone gave them a wide berth.

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