Founders Square, the central square of the Old Quarter, was one of the oldest landmarks in all of Ness. It’s cobblestone center was worn so smooth that wagons could ride across it with very little violence to their passengers. The buildings that surrounded the square were similarly old, and one towered over the others.

Its previous use was lost to history, but it was made of stone hauled from the mountains, and its two stories were marked by a solidity that projected security, timelessness, and authority. It was called Founders House, and it was rumored that the founders of Ness met there to settle disputes, among themselves and of their fellow citizens.

Ralan was sitting in a large room at the front of the second floor, with large windows overlooking the vibrant square. With him was Coode, Dirk, Philos, and a group of ten Harvest Guild members, each one the patriarch or matriarch of a family that was forced to leave the Lower Quarter.

They sat at a round table, with Ralan at what could be considered the head—the seat with the back to the square. Coode was to his right and Dirk to his left. Wine, meats, and cheeses were available around the table, and the Harvest guild members picked at the food.

Ralan was nervous. It was one thing to rally desperate people stumbling into the Old Quarter from across the Bridge, but it was another thing to face the leadership of the families who were dispossessed. They would be bitter, angry, and judgmental. One misstep, and Ralan would destroy any goodwill the Thieves were building with them.

Hoping for the best, Ralan decided to be blunt and honest. With nothing to lose it was most likely not only the best strategy, it was the easiest—all he had to do was tell the truth.

Turning to Coode, Ralan said, “We are missing families.”

“Indeed,” he replied. “A significant number were imprisoned, while others are still lost in the chaos. Then there are the many who simply don’t require a voice.”

Ralan nodded. Not every family required a place at the ruling table. They looked to others to represent their interests, and at least some of those families were at the table. Unfortunately, the most important families were imprisoned.

Returning his attention to those families surrounding him—Harvest Guild members who were attacked, harassed, and betrayed—Ralan could see the hardness, the pain, and the anger behind every face. “I understand you all are uncertain as to who the Thieves are, why we are helping you, and what is going on. I hope to answer all those questions during this meeting.”

Ralan turned to Coode. “This is Coode, he is the Captain of the Old Quarter.” Turning to Dirk, he said, “This is Dirk, he is Captain of the Guard.” Looking back to his guests, Ralan continued, “These two men oversee your food, shelter, safety, and security. Coode, can you please give us an update on the refugees.”

“Yes, Guildmaster.” Ralan was grateful that the proud Coode treated him with the respect a guildmaster demanded. It was important in front of the hard faces. “The clearing of the Lower Quarter has effectively ended. There are occasional Harvest Guild members wandering across the bridge, but they are few and far between at this point. If I may put modesty aside, sir, our guild mates have done an amazing job making the abandoned sections of the Quarter livable for our new guests.” Coode nodded across the table.

He continued, “We are doing our best to make them comfortable, and they are organized as well as we could into neighborhoods that they would find familiar. We have roughly ten areas of the Quarter in good enough shape to house everyone. So far, it appears to be enough.”

“Ten neighborhoods.” Ralan looked at the ten guests at the table and suddenly realized why Coode had brought this specific group. Speaking to them, Ralan stated, “Do you agree with Captain Coode’s assessment?”

A sour-faced woman with wispy white hair replied. “Aye. It be dusty, but it is dry and livable.”

“And the food?” Ralan asked.

“Better than some of us are used to,” a young man replied.

“Good. We need to take care with supplies, as we were unprepared for your numbers, so that may change, but I hope you understand.” Faces around the table nodded. “Captain Dirk, any news on the Knights?”

“The Wall on this side of the river remains under our control. The Knights seem little interested in operations against us. The Knights on the Bridge are mostly staying in the background, stopping violence and supporting the Merchant Guild Guards.”

“Traitors!” someone across the table spat.

“Indeed,” Dirk replied. “The Merchant Guards are the ones driving the Harvest Guild across the bridge, although, as Captain Coode noted, that appears to have ended.”

“Any sign of operations against us?” Ralan looked at Dirk. He knew that he was asking a question that would require a confidential answer, but he wanted to display trust and transparency to the Harvest Guild members. He hoped Dirk would understand.

Without any hesitation, Dirk replied, “None, sir. The Knights appear to be doing no more than simply letting things happen. They are not gathering anywhere we can see for any kind of offensive against us. The Rangers are operating normally. In fact, it is possible that Quinto doesn’t even know what is happening within Ness.”

Ralan nodded. “It is possible. They are very isolated. I’m sure their information comes from Saxe.”

“The Craft guards are not marshaling any forces either. They and the Knights appear to simply be letting Larsen do all the dirty work.”

“They are still traitors,” came a reply from a man at the table, which led to universal murmurs of approval.

“And Polo?” Ralan asked. It was perhaps unfair to ask that of Coode or Dirk, as the Harvest District was far outside either of their responsibilities, but he knew their answer, and he hoped it would spur conversation from the Harvest Guild families.

“No word, sir,” Dirk replied, as Coode nodded.

“He’ll make things right,” a fourth voice stated. He was a middle-aged man with a thick, brown, full beard and mustache. “He’ll rally those from the mines and the Outer Fields.”

“Please introduce yourself,” Ralan said. He was hoping that by bringing the families into the conversation he wouldn’t have to make an inspirational speech or answer questions for which he had no answer. They would shape the conversation themselves.

The man introduced himself, and then the others did the same. A few expressed gratitude for the kindness of the Thieves, but the overwhelming attitude seemed to be one of suspicion. At one point Coode leaned over and whispered, “You need to share our history and mission, Guildmaster.”

Ralan outlined a brief history of Ness as Raef had taught him. The civil war from centuries earlier, the move across the river and then the gradual disparity between the rich in the Upper Quarter and the poor in the Flats and even those that lived in the Old Quarter and worked after traveling every day across the bridge.

“The Thieves have always looked out for the poor and undefended in Ness. Our guild motto is ‘We take so we can give.’ Our members include many Harvest Guild members that are too poor to feed or shelter themselves. We do that for members of every guild.”

“Impossible!” a very old man directly across the table from Ralan exclaimed. “There are none in our guild so poor as to need the assistance of thieves!”

Before Ralan could reply, Coode raised a finger. “If I may, Guildmaster.”

“By all means,” Ralan replied.

“You are Simpson, are you not?” The old man nodded. “You were almost taken by the Merchants.” It was a statement, not a question, and Coode continued. “It is because your family has long managed the roads in the Flats, correct? You have the respect of everyone for your visible efforts.” The man nodded, looking suspicious. “It is an honorable job, and one with a certain level of gratitude.” Coode paused, allowing Simpson an opening to interrupt, which he did.

“Without our efforts the streets would be impassable! We clear the broken wheels, the dead horses, the garbage. We repair the stones. We work with our guild mates in the mines and place new stones.” Coode was about to speak, but Simpson continued. “And for those that wonder why we are in the Harvest Guild when we clean and repair, it is due to our rich history. We managed the dirt roads in the Outer Fields when the Craft Guild couldn’t be bothered.” He crossed his arms. “Our pay is modest, but we do important work.”

“I could not agree more,” Coode replied, “So let me ask you of your brothers in the Night Guild.” The Night Guild. Ralan remembered Maela mentioning them when they were traveling through the sewers. They were a guild that lived in the Old Quarter. And with a dawning comprehension, Ralan realized what Coode was doing.

“The sewer cleaners?” Ralan could sense the disdain in the old man’s voice.

“The Harvest Guild members,” Coode replied. “They are paid too little to afford housing in the Flats. They live here.” Coode waved behind him and out the window into the Old Quarter behind him. “We provide them with shelter and food.” Coode leaned forward. “While they provide you with clean sewers and water.”

Simpson stared at Coode but didn’t reply.

“So we take so we can give,” Ralan stated. “There are other guild members that live here that we care for. Craftsmen who spend their days doing little more than cutting leather into strips before walking across the Great Bridge to their home here. Knights that clean the Knight Tower for little benefit beyond what we provide them.” Ralan shook his head. “The only guild without need of our help is the Merchants.”

Mumbling filled the room, as Ralan had expected. Everyone hated the Merchants. “So here we are. You may ask questions, but for now all I can say is that we will provide you with homes and food. I do not know what will happen next, but I believe you are secure.”

An older woman raised her hand. “Yes, and could you please remind me of your name?” Ralan asked.

“Carol Miller.” Ralan smiled. She shared his last name. He wondered if she was related to him through some distant relative. “I would like to help our Guildmaster. I believe he will make things right. Does he know of our plight and what can we do to help?”

“It is a difficult question to answer. I have sent someone to warn Polo of events, but he is impossible to reach in Harvest House. You can be sure he is aware of what is going on, and he is preparing to fight back somehow.”

“So this is civil war?” It was the first man who had spoken. “The Merchants said that this was all Polo’s fault, and that all we had to do was reject him as guildmaster and our homes would be returned.” Ralan suddenly understood Larsen’s plan. It was an absurd one—he was threatening war unless the guild rejected Polo. Why would he remotely think that blackmail would work?

“It is too soon to say it will be war, but it is possible.” Ralan turned to Dirk. “Captain Dirk, can you outline our defenses?”

“Yes, Guildmaster.” Dirk continued in a matter-of-fact and precise manner. “The Wall is only vulnerable from the top, and we have blocked the access over the Great River many years ago. Any attack must be via a small gap, and it is very well defended. It will be extremely bloody for the Knights to try and take us that way. The Great Bridge is not only tight and difficult to attack, we are prepared to destroy it if need be.” A gasp went through the room. The Great Bridge, nearly a mile in length and towering over the Great River, was second only to the Great Wall as Ness’ greatest achievement. “The wall along our bank of the River provides us with formidable defenses from an invasion via ships. The Thieves Gate is probably unknown to the Knights, but even if they knew of it, it is a suicide mission to attack with our control of the Wall.”

“I’m more interested in how quickly Guildmaster Polo can smash the Merchants,” grumbled Simpson.

Ralan looked at Dirk, who shrugged. “The Tower is strong and behind the North Fork, the Wall, and the Great River. Your guild has strength in numbers but don’t have control of the Wall. It is achievable. An attack from the West via the Great Gate and coming from the Outer Fields is a possibility. Taking the Wall via the Knight Watch is also possible.” Dirk ran his hand through his hair. “Guildmaster Polo’s greatest asset is that the entire Upper Triangle is at the mercy of Harvest House. He could burn down and destroy the Merchant’s old and wealthy houses with ease, causing a grievous blow.” Dirk nodded. “It was the largest of Larsen’s many blunders.” Peering at Simpson, Dirk asked pointedly, “The question is whether Guildmaster Polo is as vicious as Larsen.”

There was a knock on the door, and Ralan nodded to Philos, who went to answer it. All eyes were on the mighty guard, as he listened to a low voice and then returned to Ralan. Leaning down, he whispered into Ralan’s ear.

Ralan’s eyes went wide, and then he took a deep breath. “There has been a surprising and important development.” Ralan looked around the table, taking in the face of each Harvest Guild member. “Larsen is dead, and Karch is missing. Keres, Orion’s nephew, is the new Guildmaster Merchant.”

“Orion is a good man!” Simpson said, a large smile on his face. Positive whispering could be heard around the table.

“There is more,” Ralan stated. As every face turned to him, Ralan steeled himself to deliver the news, which he knew would put the future of the Thieves Guild in great jeopardy.