It was evening, so the two of them had to wait at the front of the Merchant Guild Tower as its massive doors opened. As befitting the most powerful guild in the city, the Merchant Guild Tower was the tallest and mightiest in Ness. Although the Knight Guild compound was much larger than the Merchant Guild's, the Merchant Guild Tower dwarfed the Knights', which stood next to the Great Gate and loomed over the entrance to the city.

Although he had not apprenticed to any guild, Ralan lived in the Tower with his brother, so the process of waiting for the great doors to open and walking the stone halls was a familiar experience. This time, however, there was an ominousness to his arrival, as if the giant maw of some monster was opening to consume him.

He rubbed his temples as the doors came to a stop. His headache was thankfully starting to fade. Ralan had tried to find out more about his fate as they exited the boat, but that was the moment Karch's smile left his face. He hissed at Ralan to be quiet, and he did, not wanting to risk a slap or to make his fate any worse than it already was.

Although Ralan loved to insult and demean his brother's guild, he couldn't help but feel awe every time he entered its tower, and this time was no exception. He took note of the majestic main staircase, the marble under his feet, the great tapestries at the landings, and the art that lined the walls as they climbed to the sixth floor.

Karch led Ralan down a short hall to the polished and elaborately carved oak door that marked his brother's office. Karch rapped on the door twice, opened it, and then led him in.

The room was large. On one side was a bookcase behind a small table with two chairs. It was full of similar-looking books. There were papers scattered on the table. Across the room from the bookcase was a fireplace, which was empty with the warm spring weather. Facing the door beyond a large, colorful rug was a formidable dark wood desk with a massive window behind it. The window presented a panoramic view of the north end of the city and the plains beyond.

They stopped in front of the desk and stood waiting. Ralan's brother sat behind it, his head down as he signed one document after another. His hair was straight and fine and dark like Ralan's, although it was thinning on top, and also like Ralan, Larsen was thin and gaunt. As he always did, Ralan noted, his brother looked serious. His blue Merchant Guild robe hung on a stand next to the desk.

"Hello, Larsen." Ralan smiled.

Larsen looked up at Ralan and raised his eyebrow, then glanced at Karch and nodded. Karch turned and slapped Ralan hard across the face with the back of his hand. Ralan staggered backward and brought his hand up to his face. He wasn't bleeding this time, but his headache returned with a fury.

"In this room, you are not to call me 'Larsen,' 'Lars,' or even 'brother.' I am the Guildmaster Merchant, and you will treat me as such." He peered at Ralan.

"I'm sorry, sir." Ralan bowed his head. He had lost count as to how many conversations with his brother ended with those words. That this was how the conversation was beginning did not bode well.

"Much better." Larsen folded his hands on the desk and looked at Ralan. He smiled for a moment, then sighed. He leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I tried so hard to provide you a future, Ralan—an apprenticeship with the countsmen, the shopkeepers, even with the White Guard." He shook his head. "I can't even remember the number of opportunities I've presented to you." At this, Larsen slammed his fist on his desk. "But you spat in my face at every step."

Larsen's face was turning red, and Ralan already knew that the best case scenario for him was a thrashing and then probably some time in the guild dungeon. That Larsen and Karch had something worse in mind chilled him.

"Your attitude and actions mock the very guilds that offered you a home." Larsen continued, marking each point by stabbing his desk with his finger. He then stood up, his chair nearly falling as it flew backward. "Starting with this one."

Larsen stared at him for a moment. Ralan didn't move. Larsen clasped his arms behind his back and walked around the desk and over to him. He took the fabric of Ralan's shirt between two fingers, rubbed them, and then pulled his fingers away as if he had touched the corpse of a diseased animal.

"The brown of the guildless, Ralan. Haven't you ever tired of people looking down on you, wondering why no guild would have you?"

Ralan remained quiet. He knew the question was rhetorical, and his cheek still hurt from his last show of independence. Larsen paused and smiled when Ralan didn't reply.

"What do you know of Guildmaster Pietro?"

It was a direct question, so Ralan answered. "The Guildmaster Thief?" Larsen nodded. "He seemed a good sport. I got a few tomatoes through the protective cage during the last Founders parade, and he just smiled at me." Ralan shrugged.

"Ah, yes. You take particular delight in abusing the Guildmaster Thief, do you not?"

Ralan shrugged. "It's the tradition."

"Do you know why it's a tradition, my dear brother?" Larsen started to smile.

Ralan didn't know where this was heading, but he knew it wasn't going to end well. So he just went with it in the hopes of getting any unpleasantness over with sooner rather than later. "I don't know. Every profession needs a guild, so I guess that includes the thieves." He shrugged.

"Oh, it is much more than that, Ralan." Larsen leaned back against his desk. "The thieves are the greatest plague of Ness. They hide like rats in dark corners and alleys, only to come out and steal from all of the other guilds. Do you know how much of a problem theft has become, brother?"

Ralan shook his head.

"Let me put it this way. While you have been tossing things at the Guildmaster Thief out of childish joy, there are hundreds of citizens taking out their anger at having lost their clothing, their food, their precious savings—their entire lives—to these vile thieves." Larsen spoke the word "thieves" with a sneer on his face.

Larsen returned to his seat behind his desk. "You called Pietro a 'good sport.' How generous of you. Others feel the same way, I am sure. But should we not hate him? Do you know why he exists? Why we allow this symbol of all we despise to live among us?"

Ralan tried to figure out how to answer the question, but he had no idea what answer his brother wanted. "I don't know. He walked around, and people laughed at him, and then he always took part in the Founders Day parade." Ralan shrugged. "I guess we make some poor sap the Guildmaster Thief, and he represents all the thieves who are too cowardly to work in a real guild."

"Exactly." Larsen brought his hands together in a small clap. "He is a symbol, a symbol of everything we in Ness abhor. Unfortunately, the fact that everyone liked Pietro tells us that he wasn't the correct man for the job. We need someone irresponsible, someone young and without the respect that age provides. Someone that all the guilds can collectively despise."

His brother's intentions were suddenly clear.

Ralan's jaw dropped as Larsen continued. "My dear brother, I am so glad you understand. As I'm sure you are aware, Grandmaster Pietro died several days ago, and," Larsen leaned forward, pointed at him, and whispered, "You are the new Guildmaster Thief."

Ralan didn't move as he tried to make sense of what his brother had just told him. He thought of Guildmaster Pietro, who wandered around Ness in his black robe, smiling at everyone and occasionally grabbing fruit off of produce stalls in the Market District, telling the merchants that he was, after all, the Guildmaster Thief. They would laugh and let him wander on without making him pay. Everyone liked him, but no one took him seriously.

Ralan fought through the pain in his head and discovered the flaw in his brother's plan. "Only guild members can vote for a new Guildmaster. You can't name me Guildmaster!"

"No, I can't. But the Council can." Larsen waved his hand "And with time short before the Founder's Day parade, and, well, let's be honest, no members in the Thieves' Guild, it was prudent of us to take action right away. And, after all, this is, as you so astutely noted, a symbolic position." Larsen smiled again. "I should note that each guildmaster seemed particularly delighted in voting for you. Some even considered you overqualified." Karch laughed.

Larsen stood up. "I am sure you are overwhelmed with gratitude, brother. So I'll let Deputy Karch take you to your new quarters."

"There is one more thing, sir," Karch replied. "Your brother needs to name a deputy."

"Ah, yes. My brother gets an official stooge." Ralan immediately thought of Raef, but he was certain that Raef would rather die than be in a guild as hated as the Thieves. "What about the current deputy? Did Pietro even have a deputy?"

Before Ralan could object, Karch spoke up. "That would be old Alard, a disgraced former member of the Knight Guild." Karch shrugged. "He is universally loathed."

Larsen tapped his chin. "Oh yes, I forgot about him. He always wears his hood up. Looks like death in that awful black robe of theirs." Larsen smiled. "Why it is a perfect match, is it not? A disgraced former knight and a guildmaster that disgraces the knights."

Larsen waved a hand. "Deputy Karch, let Alard know that out of respect to Pietro, he will be retained as deputy. In the meantime, take Ralan to the guildmaster's quarters."

Ralan didn't know Alard, but he resented being told who to name as his deputy. "What if I don't agree to take Alard on as my deputy?"

"Then I'll go to the Council and we'll make you take him as a tribute to Guildmaster Pietro. Not even you are so stupid as to object to that."

Larsen's face had reddened a bit at Ralan's objection. He waved his hand and then peered at Ralan, who could tell his brother's patience was wearing thin. "Now get out of my sight, and scurry down to your new quarters in the basement. Deputy—"

"You can't tell me what to do." Larsen's jaw fell open at Ralan's words. He stood up slowly from his desk, staring at Ralan with pure malice in his eyes.

"What did you say?" Larsen asked through clenched teeth.

"I'm a Guildmaster." Ralan nodded his head. Sure, he had been appointed to the most reviled and unpopular position in Ness, but he was still a Guildmaster. Ralan's mind started to work through the possibilities. If he was going to be humiliated, he would at least have fun in the process.

Larsen looked to Karch. Ralan turned and faced Karch before the deputy could act or his brother could say anything. "And you had better not strike a Guildmaster. I don't know the rules yet, but I'm sure that's not acceptable."

Larsen nodded his head. "I should have expected this. You were always too clever for your own good, brother." He smiled. "Yes, you will find a few benefits to your new position, but let's see how far your lack of respect gets you, shall we?"

He sat back down in his chair and folded his hands. "In fact, Founders Day is tomorrow. Let's see how well you enjoy sitting on your wagon having the citizens hurl their garbage at you. In fact, I believe I shall take part in the fun this year. I may not throw as well as you, Ralan, but I, at least, will be the one doing the throwing."

Ralan tried to hide his horror at the thought of the Founders Day parade. He had forgotten that he would be the one sitting in the wagon at the end of the parade, protected by a cage while the population of Ness took their anger out on him. It may have been symbolic, but as Ralan knew, the thrown tomatoes and garbage were real.

He turned without saying anything and walked toward the door. Karch raised his voice, "The Guildmaster did not dismiss you!"

Without stopping or looking back, Ralan exclaimed, "I'm the Guildmaster."