When the diplomatic envoy returned they found that their lime bath had been trashed and their brother seriously injured.

"I'm stupid." Biter said. "I stepped right into it."

"You're not stupid." Scratch corrected him. "You just weren't prepared."

Biter hadn't been able to sleep due to the pain, and the others had gotten less sleep because of Biter's whimpering.

Their exhaustion was visible. Scratch's party too, had grown weary from their long journey, so the day was declared a rest day. Only a few chores would be attended to, setting up the quicklime again, improving the water distillery, and preparing food.

It was impossible for Biter to stand on his left foot, it was too damaged to withstand contact with anything. Nevertheless, he tried to hop around on one leg to keep an eye on, and assist, his brothers and friends. Scratch ordered him to lay down in bed and try to fall asleep, but before that they cleaned his foot and wrapped it in supple treated horse skin.

-

The access to a relatively large supply of properly tanned skin opened up a great many possibilities for the welfare of the tribe. Previously they had collected the steam from the distillery using an old piece of cloth, the largest one they had been able to cut out of the dead woman's clothing. With access to new materials they were able to construct a much larger distillery, it consisted of a stone basin, with a space for fire underneath and the skins hung up above it, diagonally, to guide the water droplet towards a large clay vase.

Scratch had even tried to create a waterskin, but it had been a failure, the water would leak out of the seams. For now, if they wanted to travel anywhere, they would continue to need to find sources of drinkable water on their route.

Carrying water was still unfeasible.

Building a straw roof for the distillery would have to wait, it didn't seem like it would rain soon anyway.

-

Some other resources harvested from the half dozen horse carcasses the bandits had left for them were their bones and hooves. Bones of larger prey they had used before, the femur of a monstrous deer was propping up a corner of the distillery. Smaller bones they could use to create charcoal.

Since there wasn't much used for bones after they'd been cooked to create broth currently, they smashed up the larger horse bones and used them in the charcoal kiln with the smaller bones.

The horshoes were like funnily shaped iron nuggets, they could be heated up and beaten into shape, the blacksmithing hut held a brick oven that existed for the sole purpose of heating up to the point where even these solid things would become workable.

"Hey there champ. How're you holding up?"

Scratch was visiting Biter on his sickbed in one of the deeper rooms. Kicker and Quiet were also there to bring him something to eat.

"It still hurts. I... I can't think about anything else." Biter whined, teary eyed.

"It'll heal eventually. But for that you need to sleep."

"I can't."

Then Scratch began to sing for him. A lullaby. A song from his previous world.

Try not to get worried

Try not to turn on to

Problems that upset you, oh

Don't you know?

Everything's alright yes

Everything's fine

And we want you to sleep well tonight

Let the world turn without you tonight

If we try we'll get by

So forget all about us tonight~

He stroked his hair while doing so, in order to distract from his pain and bring him comfort.

It took a full hour of care before he was soothed enough to drift into sleep.

That evening it was finally time for Scratch to sit down with his pipe.

It was a large object and he rested the head on the ground while he sat on a log with the mouthpiece in his mouth.

A glowing stick from the fire was enough to light the dried blue grass and soon glittering smoke whisped out of the pipe head. Scratch sucked at his end to get the smoke in his lungs, after a few powerful breaths he managed to do so.

Finally you find time for me.

Scratch was a little startled by Cyclophan's voice and quickly coughed up the material in order to say something.

"*Cough* I've had a lot to deal with. More monsters?"

You do not need to speak physically, if you direct your thoughts at me while smoking the grass I can hear you.

Like this?

Like that. Exactly, that'll keep our conversations private. Now, what have you done for me lately?

What have I done for you? What have you done for me?

I have made you my champion! You know, there's plenty that have sworn eternal servitude for that honor alone.

From you?

Uh, listen, I'm storing up power okay? But it'd go a lot quicker if the dungeon got a bit more care.

What dungeon? We don't have a dungeon.

Exactly.

...What?

Let's see... How do I explain this to a creature that can not perceive magical energy... Let me start at the beginning.

Oh. Goodie.

The world is filled with magical energy, it flows from the heavens into the rest of the world and out.

Out?

Yes. It just... seeps out into the void, away.

Unless someone like you catches it, right?

No. Always. I... will you just let me finish, please?

Okay okay, go right ahead.

So there's this constant flow of magical energy, and the way magic is performed is by diverting the flow and letting it go through in a controlled manner. Like a... like a watermill, do you know what a watermill is?

I do know what a mill is yes. You're comparing the flow to a water flow, a river or canal.

Right, so magic users catch magical energy and release it in such a way that it has to create what they wanted to happen in order to continue flowing to outside of reality. Magic that's stored in an inert form is called mana, and that's what I'm trying to collect, mana. So you see, I need a dungeon.

Right... you skipped a few steps there.

How so?

How dungeons relate to gathering mana? Do you want to extract it from prisoners or something?

Wh- Oh, no. Dungeons aren't prisons. Dungeons are elaborate labyrinths of monsters and traps.

I...is that right? And those traps...

No, those are just to protect the core, I guess we don't need too many if we want to stay a secret. Wait, let me go back to magical energy.

Scratch shifted his weight and took in a few breaths of fresher air in-between the smoke in preparation for the continued lesson.

Magical energy doesn't spread out evenly. I need a clear path to the sky in order for any decent amount to reach me, solid material blocks it out. But a good structure will help divert even more of it towards me, if you'd break down that front wall and use the bricks to line the tunnel sides, less of it would flow off and I'd receive a more concentrated stream.

There's no way we're tearing down the house for that.

It's very common for dungeons to have a wide front entrance.

I said no.

Just improving the walls is a start. Then there's flora and fauna, if there's a progression of increasing magical affinity in the lifeforms from the outside towards the core, then that would help guide the flow too.

I'm getting a very clear image. You want a a big underground fortress populated with monsters.

Yes please.

I suppose we can make some concessions, we'll give you some tunnel walls, I guess better doors for the side rooms will prevent it from flowing off too. But I need you to keep up your part of the agreement.

I can't currently evolve you.

I meant more the 'taking care of the community' part. First of all, do away with your slime monsters.

The slimes? They're not under my control, those things live in this forest naturally.

You're kidding me.

No. They must have been attracted to all your waste and corpses. They're weak anyway, you just need to keep eye out. Use fire.

Hold up, did you just mention our waste? As Scratch directed that thought the blue grass was almost entirely burnt up, and he had to huff and puff a bit more zealously to get Cyclophan's response.

Yeah, totally. Slimes eat poop. You should probably make a dedicated latrine pit, so there aren't any surpises. Then again... slimes are pretty magical... d'you think you can-

Scratch coughed up the last gasps of smoke he had in his lungs. There were still some embers in the pipe, he inhaled deep for some parting words.

I'm turning in now, and I don't want any weird dreams.

Don't forget you promised me more goblin defenders.

I'll get them. Good-

Not just a one-time addition. It needs to be sustainable, you need a breeding woman.

Good night, Cyclophan.

With that Scratch went to bed. His dreams were not tampered with by any evil god, but they could conceivably be considered weird. They were memories of his time on earth, trafficking slaves.

"We are refugees, we have nothing left." The woman cringed away from his imposing form while she said it, but still stood in front of her scared young daughter.

"We have prepared for that, do not worry. Your debt can be paid off to us with a few months of service." He answered in her own language, it was a great benefit being able to properly converse with the cargo. It made calming them down easier. "Don't worry. You're safe now."

The woman visibly relaxed, but she was still on edge. The immediate panic after being asked for payment subsided, it was replaced by a general unease about her and her daughter's future. Both of them had fled from a war-torn country, to them, anything was would be better than the bombings of their home. They might even hold some illusions about becoming citizens and living a normal life in the country or one day returning when the war was over. Better to not attack those hopes, it would only make the examination more difficult.

"Step into the office, there's nothing to worry about, we just want to check if you're healthy."

He spoke with authority and projected a friendly aura, she had nobody to cling to in this strange world but him, so she did what he asked.

"One at a time, please." He held back the daughter while the mother went to see the doctor. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on your girl here."

"Mama, mama!"

"Zarya, stay with the nice man, you understand? I'll be back soon."

The mother had the door closed behind her, and he kneeled to talk to the girl. "Zarya, is it? Your mom will only be away for a minute. Would you like some candy?"

She nodded shyly.

-

He sat together with Zarya while her mother was with the doctor.

"Did you come here all alone with your mommy?"

She nodded.

"Did you have any friends that traveled with you?"

She shook her head.

"What does your daddy do for a living?"

She put on a brave face. "My daddy is a policeman."

"A policeman, my my. And your mommy stays home to care of you?"

"Yup."

"You must be very close."

"Yup"

"Ah, there she is, your mother's back!"

The mother walked out of the doctor's office with wide eyes and a shocked expression, but came down to earth when her daughter ran in to hug her.

-

"Talk to me doc, any complications?" He took the man aside while the women was doting on her little girl.

"No STD's, no genital mutilation. She was very uncomfortable during the examination, I don't know what she said, but I don't think anybody but her husband has ever seen her naked."

"A housewife, working class household, isolated from their peers." He recounted his recent inquiry. "Perfect for our purposes. Examine the girl next."

"What for?"

"For whatever conceivably could be wrong with her. You want to keep your practice, don't you? Then do as I say. Zarya, you're next, come on."

The mother looked reluctant to let the girl go, but relented to appease the nice man.

Before the examination the doctor gave him a piercing look. "What will happen to the girl?"

"The girl already has a buyer. It's not your concern. Starting next month we'll be leading greater quantities of people through here, you're being payed handsomely not to ask questions."

The doctor scoffed and went inside.

The human trafficker thought about it. There's no complications for the mother to sell her body. She isn't particularly attractive, but she's not ugly either. The daughter I can deliver to those mad scientists, somehow I'm getting more out of that than the whorehouse. If I really want to generate a good cashflow I should work more closely with those people, but the refugee stream doesn't bring a stable supply of children, I have to research other ways to get my hands on the underage. He laughed, thinking about the syndicate's rules against hurting children. They'd turn a blind eye once they'd find out the return on investments for the trade.

He opened the door to the end of the hall, where his hired muscle was waiting and gave him a nod. The man came in to drag the woman away towards her buyer.

"Wait? Where are you taking me? Zarya's still... Tell them that my daughter-" She started to panic while being dragged off.

He looked at her without emotion on his face. What a pitiful creature, to have such attachments to matters she does not have power over. She would never see her daughter again. It seemed natural to him, she was a weak being in a predatory world. Feeling sorry for her would be like feeling sorry over ice melting.

The next day Scratch and Fat loaded up a pot with gold nuggets and set out to meet with the bandits.

Scratch had asked them to reserve time for him because he had had a very keen insight into their current situation. But he wanted to hear it from them directly.

-

"I understand that soon you'll be escorting an unregistered trading caravan through these forests." Scratch said, legs crossed, perched on a human-sized chair.

Lydia Harkness glanced at Huckabee and Dee, who were giving her apologetic grins. "That's exactly right."

"And you're doing this as a favor towards an organization called "the Thieves' Guild'."

"We are."

Scratch leaned forward. "But you're not getting anything out of it, are you?"

She sighed. "We trade with the thieves for every modern comfort we have. They're our only link to the outside world. Without them, we'd have to live like savages."

"But... you're not getting anything out of it... in terms of citizenship. Are you?"

She gave her subordinates another poisonous look, then she relented. "No. We're not."

"Great. I mean, not great. I'm here to offer a solution."

At Scratch's cue Fat tilted the heavy pot of gold and spilled the contents on the floor.

"Whaaa!" Huckabee and Dee were flabbergasted, but Lydia kept her composure.

"What is this?" The bandit leader asked.

"It's a loan. Given out in the name of Clyde Beatty, goblin tamer."

"Even if it was a gift, it's hardly an incentive to cut ties with the thieves."

"Not cut ties." Scratch sighed, like he was dealing with a slow student. "Right now the thieves buy directly from the smugglers, both the smuggler and the Thieves' Guild profit, while the bandits are left to work for free. I'm telling you to insert yourself into the line, buy from the smuggler, move the goods, and sell to the guild at your own terms. The loan is some investment capital to get the ball rolling, no interest."

The bandit leader bit her lip, what the goblin was suggesting would surely antagonize their partners. "We're dependent on the Guild's goodwill."

"Even more reason to shift the power imbalance to your favor, isn't it?"

-

She crossed her legs and put her hand under her chin. They had camped out in these woods for years and never made progress, but gambling on the lives of what was left of her group would be callous. She looked at Huckabee and Dee, who were still mesmerized by the sheer amount of gold. They had lost so many, maybe it was time to change tactics.

"Get a merchants' scale in here." She said. "We're quantifying the amount."

"What is this thing for?" Fat asked.

"It's for counting." Dee explained, while they were laying gold coins on one end of the balance and nuggets on the other. "Every gold coin weighs about the same, so they're all worth the same. If we can get the balance to stay horizontal, we know how much coins worth of gold is at the other end. That way, eventually, we can write down how many gold you've loaned us."

"You mean how many Clyde has loaned you." Said Scratch. "Every coin weighs the same? Exactly?"

"It used to be..." Lydia was concentrating on the scale with her tongue out of her mouth. "...that different countships had differently sized coins... but they all grew towards each other to make it easier."

Scratch held up a coin, on one end a winged deer could be seen, on the other a shield with a rose. The thing was small, about the breadth of his thumb in diameter.

"I can tell what you're thinking." Lydia said tenuously letting go of the scale. "People sometimes do shave off gold from the edge of the coins. But that's what merchants' scales were invented for. For checking if the coins payed were actually as much gold as they seemed. Huck, write down nine more for this pile." She put the nuggets aside on the "counted" pile.

-

They spend a long time counting their money like this.

"When would mister Beatty like his money back?" Lydia asked.

"Whenever you can, it's fine." Scratch answered. "You can pay us back in installments if that's easier. I'll take personal responsibility for this, but it must be returned in natura as much as possible."

Natura meant goods and services, rather than currency. It was a liability to have too much precious metal at the cave, but products such as the bandits used were more than welcome.

Fat held his breath, he knew of a service they would like to be payed back in. "Can you come heal someone again?"

"I'm so sorry." The bandit leader stated. "Our only healer is only just replenishing his mana from the last battle, and I have to give priority to my own people, in case anything happens to them soon. Nothing too bad has happened, I hope?"

Scratch calmed both their fears. "Nothing permanent. A slime injury, I'm sure it'll heal in a few days."

"That's good."

-

Eventually they had their amounts.

"Ugh. Now I have to add all these together." Huckabee groaned. "That's going to take me all night."

"Let me see." Scratch rolled his eyes and grabbed the piece of crumbly low-tech paper. He was glad to see normal numbers and letters, it was to be expected with how the language was lifted from earth, but you never knew. "There's a trick to this, give me your pencil."

Nonplussed, Huckabee handed him the stick of graphite.

"If you write the numbers above each other like this..." He performed the actions as he described them. "...you can then add the digits together vertically. See? That's 49, so you carry the four, that's en extra digit for the next column..." Eventually he came with the total amount. "So you get 189. Get it?"

"No..."

"Poor Huckabee wasn't trained to be a merchant." Dee laughed. "None of us were, but that's rather impressive."

"Well, I am impressive." Scratch twirled the writing implement, proud of his basic math skills.

"Can you teach me?" Fat asked.

"Eventually I should teach everyone numbers and letters, but we have other things to do first."

Lydia nodded. "I have mentioned the culling to the Thieves' Guild. They say the Adventurers' Guild is kicking off the culling even 8 days from today."

Scratch dropped the pencil. "Oh! I mean, oh, you've got regular contact with the city, do you?"

"Yeah." Huckabee said. "We've got a dove till. So we can exchange letters pretty freely."

"That's great, that's good. In fact, you should tell them about the buyout. Come, Fat, we've still got to take the pot back. Let's say our goodbyes."

It didn't take long for the goblins to exit the premises.

Huckabee stood next to Harkness to watch them leave. "Beatty didn't kill those orcs, did he?"

"He did not." His boss answered. "Two heroes stumbled upon them at the riverbed and wiped them out, they reported it to the Adventurers' Guild."

"It makes sense. A tamer that strong wouldn't bother with goblins. Beatty probably relies on bluff to protect his mine."

"I disagree." Harkness said, looking at the piece of paper with the arithmetic on it. "I don't think Clyde Beatty exists at all."

"Does that mean you have no intention of paying back the loan."

"It does NOT mean that. First of all, I may not look like much now, but I still take pride in the Harkness name."

"S-sorry, I didn't me-"

"Second of all, I have a feeling that aligning with Scratch is going to benefit us in ways that can't be expressed in gold."

She handed him the paper. "Go double-check the numbers."

"Barbara? Why can't you just take it easy?"

George was trying to reason with his colleague. She had burst into the hidden part of the casino and was demanding to see the owner.

"Shut up STABLE BOY, go back to your... stable."

"Barbs, I'm guarding the owner, and he doesn't want to see you. So just- Wait guys, no." His fellow door guards were approaching, ready to beat down the intruder, but George stood in-between the two parties. "She's with the guild. She's just- Barbara, you've been with the goblins so long, you need to-"

"I don't need anything. I need to talk to Mac."

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Mac, one of the more successful members of the Thieves' Guild, burst out of the office. He was a shriveled up prune of a man, ancient, but still tall with a straight back. His fingers and neck were adorned with a cumbersome amount of precious jewelry. "What's with the commotion? Can't you buffoons guard a simple entrance?"

"Mackie! Be a dear and call off your monkeys, will you?"

"I will not. I don't know who you are, but I'll have them teach you a lesson for breaking into-"

One of the men whispered something into his ear.

"Oh, well, you're with the guild at least. Then they can just throw you out with a warning."

"Dammit, I'm her to negotiate, I'm..." She clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes. "...also here in Mabel's name."

"Oh! You're Mabel's sister! Why didn't you say so from the start? Boys, let her go. She's friends with one of your boss' connections, come in, come in."

-

By namedropping her sister Barbara could enter the crimelord's private office, even though she loathed to do it.

"Now then..." The man seated himself behind his oversized desk. "...what is it Mabel has said?"

"Me and Mabel..." Barbara started. "...are making you an offer you can not refuse."

"Are you? I'm all ears."

Barbara was a bit surprised at his open attitude. Didn't he realize this concerned a powerplay within the highest levels of the Thieves' Guild?

"The smuggler's route has been blocked off for a week now, the bandits are too scared to act with the orcs there, and once the general public learns off the horde it'll send military troops to patrol for at least three more months."

Mac cocked his head to the side.

"Th-..." Barbara was at a loss to his questioning response. "That means your biggest industry is knocked on its ass.

You can't pay your monkeys, you can't do your loansharking... you..."

A silence hung between them.

"...you need our protection!" Barbara blurted out, loudly, to break through the mysterious tension in the air. "If you swear loyalty, you can be part of the new Guild order!"

Mac rested his elbows on his desk and played with his many rings. "Oh, Bardana..."

"Barbara."

"Barbara... how long did you hold the ambition to challenge the leadership? Hhm? Were you ever loyal? Is Mabel part of this?"

"What? I... you have no choice. The orcs-"

"The orcs, Barbie, were killed two days ago by high-level adventurers."

The world fell away around Barbara. "Wh-"

"Oh, yes. The smuggling route is better than ever, why, only this week we received that fairy dust from a friend of your brother-in-law's. You didn't think we had been keeping that stuff in our warehouses for long, did you? We shipped out immediately." Mac gave a joyless grin. "Your friend Mac isn't going anywhere, now tell me... how involved was your sister in this plot?"

George and another enforcer were suddenly standing on either of Barbara's side. Mac had used some unknown means to summon them into the room.

Thieves' Guilds

Thieves' Guilds are criminal organizations, not recognized by the kingdom, that control the industry of forbidden goods and services. Most medium sized and larger cities have a Thieves' Guild. It is not unheard of that a single Thieves' Guild has a presence in multiple cities. At the same time, a single city can often have multiple competing Thieves' Guilds.

It is said that, just like the Adventurers' Guild, the first Thieves' Guild was founded by a hero of legend. However, by design, most things about Thieves' Guilds are shrouded in mystery.

Among adventurers there are differing opinions on the role of Thieves' Guilds in society. Some groups believe they are organized evil, and help criminals get away with their crimes, others believe they are a way for criminals to self-police and suppress the worst elements of the underworld. Whatever the case, associating with Thieves' Guild members is not grounds for automatic expulsion from the Adventurers' Guild, nor is past membership, but one can not be simultaneously a Thieves' Guild member and an adventurer. Adventurers have a duty to report knowledge of criminal activity to the authorities.