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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 5115112" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>Chapter Four</strong></span></p><p> </p><p> The bombs had stopped falling, and the bell ringers had found better things to do, since by now the entire city had awoken, but the air still brimmed with cacophony as Rantle ran along the skybridges toward the guildhouse.</p><p> </p><p> Above the voices of the surging crowds murmured the faint sounds of battle in the skies, as avilon riders tried to cut down the Ragesian dractyls before they could return to their army and get more bombs. Rantle could not see the battles, just occasional holes in the starry sky sweeping past. </p><p> </p><p> Mostly, Rantle tried not to look up, though he would duck every time he heard the heavy flapping of leathern wings coming too close. Once he came across a man dead from a crossbow bolt that could only have been fired from overhead.</p><p> </p><p> The rooftops were almost as crowded as the streets, but few who had the sense to get to high ground were as panicked as those below. Rantle occasionally had to use normal roads whenever he came upon a building demolished by bombing, cutting off his path, but the only truly dangerous part of his journey was passing through the gate between the fourth and fifth districts, where a crush of panicked men and women trying to get farther from the Ragesians had nearly suffocated him.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle had no home to check on, and the only places he could think to go to ride out the night in safety were themselves dangerous for him to return to, but anything was better than staying out in the chaos of the streets. Finally, after nearly ten minutes of hard running Rantle reached the Mauser guildhouse</p><p> </p><p> The house thankfully had been spared the Ragesian fire. Mausers with meaty cudgels stood in front of the entrance, shouting at the crowds to keep their distance. The fifth district was home to more beggars, criminals, and poor families than any other, and Rantle had passed several scenes of looting as the pathetically impoverished tried to find anything valuable in the homes of their equally penniless neighbors.</p><p> </p><p> “Sandir,” Rantle shouted to one of the guards, a heavy-set blond second story man.</p><p> </p><p> With an irritated snap of his fingers, Sandir waved Rantle in from the crowded street. The other guildsmen guarding the door scowled.</p><p> </p><p> “Don’t trust him,” warned Rugan, a dark-haired enforcer with a scar on his left ear. “He’s in with the bellmen.”</p><p> </p><p> “Peace,” Rantle said, “seriously. We’re all friends here.”</p><p> </p><p> “Why in hell are you here, Rantle?” Sandir asked, snapping his fingers repeatedly to hasten Rantle’s reply. “We know you went cliff diving for that two-dip councilwoman. What happened? Thrown out on your arse by another woman scorned?”</p><p> </p><p> “I finished that job weeks ago,” Rantle said. “She knows she got deuced, and I don’t think she’d be letting me share her bedroom tonight, but she isn’t ‘scorned’ by any damned measure.”</p><p> </p><p> This was not quite true. Councilwoman Pravati Bhari was the most gullible woman Rantle had ever stolen from, and as soon as Sandir mentioned it, Rantle wished he had decided to go to her manor instead of here. But the guildhouse was closer, and if Katrina were in the city, it was the only place she would know to look for him now.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan sneered. “So you get tossed a few damned bridges to betray Dirus, and now you’re coming back here for what? Tomas kept the irons hot for you.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle took a wary step back. “Is this necessary right now?”</p><p> </p><p> “Why in hell should we waste our time helping a traitor?” Sandir said.</p><p> </p><p> “Wait,” Rantle said. “Just because I didn’t take another man’s beating doesn’t mean I’m a traitor. If Dirus had been thinking with his tongue instead of his knife, well, he’d still be able to clap.”</p><p> </p><p> “That’s not the way I heard it,” Sandir said. “Whispers say you turned him in. If you weren’t at all to blame, why’d you run off like a scared mouse?”</p><p> </p><p> “I was still running the deuce,” Rantle said, exasperated. “What, do you think I’m here to turn in the gang? I mean, look around. The bellmen have better tin to do now than raiding our house. Listen, I’ll explain this all to Tomas. Just let me in. I came to see if I could help.”</p><p> </p><p> Sandir and Rugan exchanged dubious glances.</p><p> </p><p> “Alright, that’s hensblood,” Rantle confessed. “I came to see if Katrina came by.”</p><p> </p><p> “She’s back?” Rugan asked.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan possessed an oft-proclaimed feral desire for Rantle’s sister, which was one reason Katrina had avoided the guildhouse for the past five years, but Rantle hoped he could rely on the man’s lust to get him to bend the rules and let Rantle in.</p><p> </p><p> Sandir said, “We haven’t seen that whore in years. You know that.”</p><p> </p><p> “Well she’s here now,” Rantle said, refusing to respond to Sandir’s insult. “She came into town a few days ago. You know the Poison Apple, in the fourth? It’s burning down right now. I was supposed to meet her there, but now, I have no damned idea where she might be.”</p><p> </p><p> “You think,” Rugan said hopefully, “she might come here?”</p><p> </p><p> “Maybe,” Rantle said. “Listen, I know you all hate me, but I also know you all <em>like</em> my sister, and with all the fire falling from the sky I know Tomas would like to have her around too. This is the only place she knows to find me, and she won’t stay unless I’m here.”</p><p> </p><p> Rugan grumbled the way he did when he knew he was making a bad decision.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle looked upward in frustration. “Can you just let me the hell in?”</p><p> </p><p> “Dammit, fine,” Rugan said. “But I’m taking you to see Tomas.”</p><p> </p><p> “<em>Really</em>?” Rantle drew out his reply to make sure dim Rugan caught the sarcasm. “No, I need to talk to Tomas anyway, to clear up this ‘traitor’ tin you’re canting about.”</p><p> </p><p> Sandir snapped his finger and pointed at Rantle in one motion. “Leave the sword. What the hell are you doing with something like that anyway?”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle looked at Kathor’s sword slowly, looked back to Sandir, and smiled.</p><p> </p><p> “I took it off a Ragesian tilt I killed.”</p><p> </p><p> Unimpressed, Sandir grabbed the sword from Rantle, and waved for him and Rugan to head inside.</p><p> </p><p> The ground floor of the Mauser guildhouse served as a restaurant, one of the few respectable places in the district, but even that was a disorienting maze, decorated with numerous copies of a small numbers of paintings and sculptures to throw off attempts to navigate the halls. Unlike most structures in the city, no skybridges connected it to other buildings.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan took Rantle through the quiet restaurant, which was empty save for a pair of gossiping women collecting food from the kitchen cupboards. Rantle smiled to them and they stopped their conversation long enough to start flirting back.</p><p> </p><p> “Not now,” Rugan said.</p><p> </p><p> The women shrugged and let them pass.</p><p> </p><p> “Some people in the guild seem to still like me,” Rantle said.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan scoffed. They headed up to the second floor, where the guildsmen had their own rooms. A few other Mausers chatting in the hallway saw him and sneered, but Rugan and Rantle pressed past them to Rantle’s old room. Rugan opened the door and shoved Rantle through.</p><p> </p><p> “Stay put ‘til I come get you,” Rugan said.</p><p> </p><p> “What?” Rantle said. “Is Tomas too busy to see me now? Is he playing cards while the city burns?”</p><p> </p><p> “You better hope your sister comes.”</p><p> </p><p> Rugan started to head off, but Rantle leaned out of his door and called, “Hey, Rugan.”</p><p> </p><p> “What!”</p><p> </p><p> “Katrina once told me she thought you looked dashing in that red vest you have.”</p><p> </p><p> “Hen’s blood,” Rugan scoffed.</p><p> </p><p> “I swear,” Rantle said. “You might want to find it before she shows up.”</p><p> </p><p> Rugan grumbled in embarrassment, then came back and shut Rantle’s door. Rantle sighed in relief, then chuckled and walked over to the window. Through the snow-glazed glass he could see people scrambling through the alley below, and he heard a man shouting for his children to keep up. </p><p> </p><p> Rantle turned away, then went over to his bed and sat down. Something rolled against his thigh, and when he looked down he saw a clay urn, brown, about the size of an apple, with a red wax seal over the mouth. Curious, he picked it up and shook it, hearing the light rattle of rolled up paper inside.</p><p> </p><p> These sorts of urns were ubiquitous in Gate Pass around new year’s. On new year’s day every year, the city celebrated the Festival of Dreams with a parade consisting of throngs of revelers and dancers wearing exotic costumes far too titilating and skimpy for the middle of winter. The parade wound its way through the city, finally coming to a stop in the central district, in the park at the foot of the colossus of Emperor Coaltongue, where people of the city traditionally deposited urns like this. Each urn’s owner placed a strip of paper inside, on which was written that person’s dream or desire.</p><p> </p><p> When the parade reached its end, each of the shakurs in charge of the eight major temples in Gate Pass chose one urn from the thousands piled together, cracked it open, and read its contents aloud. According to legend, every dream so revealed would come true before the year’s end, though whether that was due to divine blessing or simple hard work on the part of the temples was up for debate. Of course, particularly cruel, selfish, or impossible wishes had a way of coming about in unintended ways.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle had not been in his room at the guildhouse for months, so with a shrug he rapped the urn against the squat metal chest at the side of his bed where he kept his clothes. The urn cracked open, and Rantle leaned over to collect the paper.</p><p> </p><p> When he realized it was in Katrina’s hand-writing, he groaned.</p><p> </p><p> It was signed, and dated two weeks past. Rantle reread the note, grimacing with an intense feeling of frustration. A knock at the door stopped him just as he was about to smack his forehead at his bad luck. Grumbling, Rantle folded the note and tucked it into his vest, then stood up and opened the door.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan stood there in his dashing red vest, along with another two guildsmen and Tomas, wearing a fine gray suit as if he had just come from a party. Apparently he was not willing to stop his celebrations just because of a little war, as he was holding a glass of golden liquor. A disbelieving rat-like grin appeared on Tomas’s mustached lips, and Rantle realized the three Mauser enforcers with him were all eagerly holding knives.</p><p> </p><p> Rugan lunged forward to stab him, and Rantle shoved the door closed, slamming it on Rugan’s wrist and knocking the knife out of his grasp. Rugan pulled his hand back with a yelp, and Rantle pushed the door shut, then threw his weight against it. A second knife dug through the door near his belly, the tip poking him in his belt. Rantle quickly readjusted himself so he didn’t have anything more vital than his hands touching the door.</p><p> </p><p> “We’re not going to <em>talk</em> about this?” Rantle yelled.</p><p> </p><p> Another knife stabbed where Rantle’s head had been a moment earlier. He looked around for something to help him keep the door shut, but there wasn’t much in the tiny room. With one foot he reached out and awkwardly dragged the bed closer. The stabbings continued, followed by a few slams against the door that Rantle managed to hold back, before finally the assault stopped.</p><p> </p><p> “You sold out one of your brothers,” Tomas said. “Was it worth it for a few more nights in the embrace of that filthy Chathan cap? I thought you were smart enough to know what the consequences would be for that, but I never imagined you’d be stupid enough to come back here.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle nodded silently in agreement, rolling his eyes at his own short-sightedness.</p><p> </p><p> “I was stupid, yes,” he said. “Honestly, Tomas, I thought you would not be this upset. Tonight’s obviously already stressful. Maybe I should come back some other day?”</p><p> </p><p> “No,” Tomas said, dragging out the word with amusement. “My men are nervous, and you picked an excellent time to help me remind them of the importance of discipline.”</p><p> </p><p> “Tomas,” Rantle said to stall for time. “Did Rugan tell you Katrina is coming? I mean, you- you know the temper she has. If you kill me, I’m warning you she might not like it, is all I’m saying.”</p><p> </p><p> “Keep squealing,” Tomas chuckled. “You’re like a mouse trapped in a hole.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle shifted his weight so he could lean down and pick up the edge of the bed. It was not very heavy, but it would help. He propped the bed against the door and leaned against that, looking around for a weapon better than the dagger Rugan had dropped. He saw none.</p><p> </p><p> He cursed, and the men outside guffawed.</p><p> </p><p> Suddenly he wished he had decorated his room better. All he had to show for a dozen years of thieving and conning was a chest of nice clothes he used to impress women, a few books of stories and history he kept as guilty pleasures, and a map of the first manor house he had ever robbed hanging on his wall.</p><p> </p><p> “Tomas,” Rantle said, “I explained this to Rugan, but I guess he wasn’t the best choice for someone to speak on my behalf. I didn’t take a swim on Dirus. He fouled up the job, and it was either one of us getting caught or both. </p><p> </p><p> “Be honest,” Rantle shouted through the door. “Honor or not, you would have done the same thing. Be reasonable, Tomas.”</p><p> </p><p> “No,” Tomas raged. “We are a brotherhood, and I would bite a serpent’s tail if it would protect one of my men. You don’t care for anyone but yourself, and, as evidenced by your coming back here tonight, you’re too stupid for me to want to keep in the guild anyway.”</p><p> </p><p> “Yeah,” Rantle said. “Dirus is much more useful now than I am. He gets caught, loses the loot he was supposed to get, whereas I <em>don’t</em> trip up, and you reward me with death. You’re a brilliant leader, Tomas. I’m sure this will inspire loyalty.”</p><p> </p><p> A moment passed before Tomas replied.</p><p> </p><p> “We don’t want to kill you,” he said, “just give you the ringing you thought you’d dodged. Be reasonable, Rantle. It’s only a hand. If I weren’t so busy, I might take the time to come up with something more creative.”</p><p> </p><p> “Alright,” Rantle said through the door. “Let’s talk about something other than snipping off my hand, please? Tomas, I came here for a reason. You think I would be foolish enough to come here and just expect you to forgive me because you like me? I have good news, good enough that I swear you won’t want to punish me.”</p><p> </p><p> “You’re probably spewing hen’s blood,” Tomas replied, “but I’ll listen. I have a party to attend to, though, so speak quickly.”</p><p> </p><p> Rantle risked stepping away from the barricade, then bent over and picked up the chest of clothes by the handle on one end.</p><p> </p><p> “Alright,” he said, “this is going to make us all rich.”</p><p> </p><p> Instead of continuing with his lie, though, he just hurled the chest through his window, shattering the frame and smashing open an escape route. The chest flew out trailing shards of glass, and thumped heavily in the alley below. Rantle knew that Rugan and the others would come bursting through the door in a moment, so he didn’t take the time to worry about cutting himself on loose glass, and just jumped feet first through the window. He released a yell as he fell, which thankfully turned into a groan and not a scream as he managed to land on his feet and roll to reduce some of the pain of impact. Overhead he heard Tomas shouting, ordering his thieves to run Rantle down.</p><p> </p><p> Rantle’s fall startled the family who had been fleeing through the alley, and they ran out into the main street in a hurry. After what he felt was a reasonable amount of time grimacing in pain, Rantle pushed himself wearily to his feet and grabbed his chest of clothes, but before he could run away he heard a loud snap of fingers from the mouth of the alley. </p><p> </p><p> “You?” was all Sandir said, as he glanced back and forth between Rantle and the window on the second floor.</p><p> </p><p> The panicked family had apparently drawn Sandir’s attention away from the front door of the guildhouse, and now he stood a dozen feet away from Rantle, still holding the sword Rantle had taken off of Kathor, looking dumb-founded at Rantle’s presence.</p><p> </p><p> Shouts were already coming from the front of the guildhouse as word spread of Rantle’s escape. Sandir looked back briefly, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, and during his moment’s distraction, Rantle grabbed the chest handle, then hurled it overhanded at his old thieves’ guild friend.</p><p> </p><p> The twenty-pound chest struck Sandir in the stomach and crumpled him almost silently. Rantle staggered over to him and grabbed the two-handed sword, leaving the chest behind.</p><p> </p><p> “Bye,” Rantle said. “And sorry.”</p><p> </p><p> Despite the pain in his feet and knees, Rantle forced himself to jog away, straight into the main street and the masses of terrified people, where he hoped the guildsmen wouldn’t follow. He desperately wished that his sister knew what he was going through in order to help her.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 5115112, member: 63"] [SIZE=3][B]Chapter Four[/B][/SIZE] The bombs had stopped falling, and the bell ringers had found better things to do, since by now the entire city had awoken, but the air still brimmed with cacophony as Rantle ran along the skybridges toward the guildhouse. Above the voices of the surging crowds murmured the faint sounds of battle in the skies, as avilon riders tried to cut down the Ragesian dractyls before they could return to their army and get more bombs. Rantle could not see the battles, just occasional holes in the starry sky sweeping past. Mostly, Rantle tried not to look up, though he would duck every time he heard the heavy flapping of leathern wings coming too close. Once he came across a man dead from a crossbow bolt that could only have been fired from overhead. The rooftops were almost as crowded as the streets, but few who had the sense to get to high ground were as panicked as those below. Rantle occasionally had to use normal roads whenever he came upon a building demolished by bombing, cutting off his path, but the only truly dangerous part of his journey was passing through the gate between the fourth and fifth districts, where a crush of panicked men and women trying to get farther from the Ragesians had nearly suffocated him. Rantle had no home to check on, and the only places he could think to go to ride out the night in safety were themselves dangerous for him to return to, but anything was better than staying out in the chaos of the streets. Finally, after nearly ten minutes of hard running Rantle reached the Mauser guildhouse The house thankfully had been spared the Ragesian fire. Mausers with meaty cudgels stood in front of the entrance, shouting at the crowds to keep their distance. The fifth district was home to more beggars, criminals, and poor families than any other, and Rantle had passed several scenes of looting as the pathetically impoverished tried to find anything valuable in the homes of their equally penniless neighbors. “Sandir,” Rantle shouted to one of the guards, a heavy-set blond second story man. With an irritated snap of his fingers, Sandir waved Rantle in from the crowded street. The other guildsmen guarding the door scowled. “Don’t trust him,” warned Rugan, a dark-haired enforcer with a scar on his left ear. “He’s in with the bellmen.” “Peace,” Rantle said, “seriously. We’re all friends here.” “Why in hell are you here, Rantle?” Sandir asked, snapping his fingers repeatedly to hasten Rantle’s reply. “We know you went cliff diving for that two-dip councilwoman. What happened? Thrown out on your arse by another woman scorned?” “I finished that job weeks ago,” Rantle said. “She knows she got deuced, and I don’t think she’d be letting me share her bedroom tonight, but she isn’t ‘scorned’ by any damned measure.” This was not quite true. Councilwoman Pravati Bhari was the most gullible woman Rantle had ever stolen from, and as soon as Sandir mentioned it, Rantle wished he had decided to go to her manor instead of here. But the guildhouse was closer, and if Katrina were in the city, it was the only place she would know to look for him now. Rugan sneered. “So you get tossed a few damned bridges to betray Dirus, and now you’re coming back here for what? Tomas kept the irons hot for you.” Rantle took a wary step back. “Is this necessary right now?” “Why in hell should we waste our time helping a traitor?” Sandir said. “Wait,” Rantle said. “Just because I didn’t take another man’s beating doesn’t mean I’m a traitor. If Dirus had been thinking with his tongue instead of his knife, well, he’d still be able to clap.” “That’s not the way I heard it,” Sandir said. “Whispers say you turned him in. If you weren’t at all to blame, why’d you run off like a scared mouse?” “I was still running the deuce,” Rantle said, exasperated. “What, do you think I’m here to turn in the gang? I mean, look around. The bellmen have better tin to do now than raiding our house. Listen, I’ll explain this all to Tomas. Just let me in. I came to see if I could help.” Sandir and Rugan exchanged dubious glances. “Alright, that’s hensblood,” Rantle confessed. “I came to see if Katrina came by.” “She’s back?” Rugan asked. Rugan possessed an oft-proclaimed feral desire for Rantle’s sister, which was one reason Katrina had avoided the guildhouse for the past five years, but Rantle hoped he could rely on the man’s lust to get him to bend the rules and let Rantle in. Sandir said, “We haven’t seen that whore in years. You know that.” “Well she’s here now,” Rantle said, refusing to respond to Sandir’s insult. “She came into town a few days ago. You know the Poison Apple, in the fourth? It’s burning down right now. I was supposed to meet her there, but now, I have no damned idea where she might be.” “You think,” Rugan said hopefully, “she might come here?” “Maybe,” Rantle said. “Listen, I know you all hate me, but I also know you all [I]like[/I] my sister, and with all the fire falling from the sky I know Tomas would like to have her around too. This is the only place she knows to find me, and she won’t stay unless I’m here.” Rugan grumbled the way he did when he knew he was making a bad decision. Rantle looked upward in frustration. “Can you just let me the hell in?” “Dammit, fine,” Rugan said. “But I’m taking you to see Tomas.” “[I]Really[/I]?” Rantle drew out his reply to make sure dim Rugan caught the sarcasm. “No, I need to talk to Tomas anyway, to clear up this ‘traitor’ tin you’re canting about.” Sandir snapped his finger and pointed at Rantle in one motion. “Leave the sword. What the hell are you doing with something like that anyway?” Rantle looked at Kathor’s sword slowly, looked back to Sandir, and smiled. “I took it off a Ragesian tilt I killed.” Unimpressed, Sandir grabbed the sword from Rantle, and waved for him and Rugan to head inside. The ground floor of the Mauser guildhouse served as a restaurant, one of the few respectable places in the district, but even that was a disorienting maze, decorated with numerous copies of a small numbers of paintings and sculptures to throw off attempts to navigate the halls. Unlike most structures in the city, no skybridges connected it to other buildings. Rugan took Rantle through the quiet restaurant, which was empty save for a pair of gossiping women collecting food from the kitchen cupboards. Rantle smiled to them and they stopped their conversation long enough to start flirting back. “Not now,” Rugan said. The women shrugged and let them pass. “Some people in the guild seem to still like me,” Rantle said. Rugan scoffed. They headed up to the second floor, where the guildsmen had their own rooms. A few other Mausers chatting in the hallway saw him and sneered, but Rugan and Rantle pressed past them to Rantle’s old room. Rugan opened the door and shoved Rantle through. “Stay put ‘til I come get you,” Rugan said. “What?” Rantle said. “Is Tomas too busy to see me now? Is he playing cards while the city burns?” “You better hope your sister comes.” Rugan started to head off, but Rantle leaned out of his door and called, “Hey, Rugan.” “What!” “Katrina once told me she thought you looked dashing in that red vest you have.” “Hen’s blood,” Rugan scoffed. “I swear,” Rantle said. “You might want to find it before she shows up.” Rugan grumbled in embarrassment, then came back and shut Rantle’s door. Rantle sighed in relief, then chuckled and walked over to the window. Through the snow-glazed glass he could see people scrambling through the alley below, and he heard a man shouting for his children to keep up. Rantle turned away, then went over to his bed and sat down. Something rolled against his thigh, and when he looked down he saw a clay urn, brown, about the size of an apple, with a red wax seal over the mouth. Curious, he picked it up and shook it, hearing the light rattle of rolled up paper inside. These sorts of urns were ubiquitous in Gate Pass around new year’s. On new year’s day every year, the city celebrated the Festival of Dreams with a parade consisting of throngs of revelers and dancers wearing exotic costumes far too titilating and skimpy for the middle of winter. The parade wound its way through the city, finally coming to a stop in the central district, in the park at the foot of the colossus of Emperor Coaltongue, where people of the city traditionally deposited urns like this. Each urn’s owner placed a strip of paper inside, on which was written that person’s dream or desire. When the parade reached its end, each of the shakurs in charge of the eight major temples in Gate Pass chose one urn from the thousands piled together, cracked it open, and read its contents aloud. According to legend, every dream so revealed would come true before the year’s end, though whether that was due to divine blessing or simple hard work on the part of the temples was up for debate. Of course, particularly cruel, selfish, or impossible wishes had a way of coming about in unintended ways. Rantle had not been in his room at the guildhouse for months, so with a shrug he rapped the urn against the squat metal chest at the side of his bed where he kept his clothes. The urn cracked open, and Rantle leaned over to collect the paper. When he realized it was in Katrina’s hand-writing, he groaned. It was signed, and dated two weeks past. Rantle reread the note, grimacing with an intense feeling of frustration. A knock at the door stopped him just as he was about to smack his forehead at his bad luck. Grumbling, Rantle folded the note and tucked it into his vest, then stood up and opened the door. Rugan stood there in his dashing red vest, along with another two guildsmen and Tomas, wearing a fine gray suit as if he had just come from a party. Apparently he was not willing to stop his celebrations just because of a little war, as he was holding a glass of golden liquor. A disbelieving rat-like grin appeared on Tomas’s mustached lips, and Rantle realized the three Mauser enforcers with him were all eagerly holding knives. Rugan lunged forward to stab him, and Rantle shoved the door closed, slamming it on Rugan’s wrist and knocking the knife out of his grasp. Rugan pulled his hand back with a yelp, and Rantle pushed the door shut, then threw his weight against it. A second knife dug through the door near his belly, the tip poking him in his belt. Rantle quickly readjusted himself so he didn’t have anything more vital than his hands touching the door. “We’re not going to [I]talk[/I] about this?” Rantle yelled. Another knife stabbed where Rantle’s head had been a moment earlier. He looked around for something to help him keep the door shut, but there wasn’t much in the tiny room. With one foot he reached out and awkwardly dragged the bed closer. The stabbings continued, followed by a few slams against the door that Rantle managed to hold back, before finally the assault stopped. “You sold out one of your brothers,” Tomas said. “Was it worth it for a few more nights in the embrace of that filthy Chathan cap? I thought you were smart enough to know what the consequences would be for that, but I never imagined you’d be stupid enough to come back here.” Rantle nodded silently in agreement, rolling his eyes at his own short-sightedness. “I was stupid, yes,” he said. “Honestly, Tomas, I thought you would not be this upset. Tonight’s obviously already stressful. Maybe I should come back some other day?” “No,” Tomas said, dragging out the word with amusement. “My men are nervous, and you picked an excellent time to help me remind them of the importance of discipline.” “Tomas,” Rantle said to stall for time. “Did Rugan tell you Katrina is coming? I mean, you- you know the temper she has. If you kill me, I’m warning you she might not like it, is all I’m saying.” “Keep squealing,” Tomas chuckled. “You’re like a mouse trapped in a hole.” Rantle shifted his weight so he could lean down and pick up the edge of the bed. It was not very heavy, but it would help. He propped the bed against the door and leaned against that, looking around for a weapon better than the dagger Rugan had dropped. He saw none. He cursed, and the men outside guffawed. Suddenly he wished he had decorated his room better. All he had to show for a dozen years of thieving and conning was a chest of nice clothes he used to impress women, a few books of stories and history he kept as guilty pleasures, and a map of the first manor house he had ever robbed hanging on his wall. “Tomas,” Rantle said, “I explained this to Rugan, but I guess he wasn’t the best choice for someone to speak on my behalf. I didn’t take a swim on Dirus. He fouled up the job, and it was either one of us getting caught or both. “Be honest,” Rantle shouted through the door. “Honor or not, you would have done the same thing. Be reasonable, Tomas.” “No,” Tomas raged. “We are a brotherhood, and I would bite a serpent’s tail if it would protect one of my men. You don’t care for anyone but yourself, and, as evidenced by your coming back here tonight, you’re too stupid for me to want to keep in the guild anyway.” “Yeah,” Rantle said. “Dirus is much more useful now than I am. He gets caught, loses the loot he was supposed to get, whereas I [I]don’t[/I] trip up, and you reward me with death. You’re a brilliant leader, Tomas. I’m sure this will inspire loyalty.” A moment passed before Tomas replied. “We don’t want to kill you,” he said, “just give you the ringing you thought you’d dodged. Be reasonable, Rantle. It’s only a hand. If I weren’t so busy, I might take the time to come up with something more creative.” “Alright,” Rantle said through the door. “Let’s talk about something other than snipping off my hand, please? Tomas, I came here for a reason. You think I would be foolish enough to come here and just expect you to forgive me because you like me? I have good news, good enough that I swear you won’t want to punish me.” “You’re probably spewing hen’s blood,” Tomas replied, “but I’ll listen. I have a party to attend to, though, so speak quickly.” Rantle risked stepping away from the barricade, then bent over and picked up the chest of clothes by the handle on one end. “Alright,” he said, “this is going to make us all rich.” Instead of continuing with his lie, though, he just hurled the chest through his window, shattering the frame and smashing open an escape route. The chest flew out trailing shards of glass, and thumped heavily in the alley below. Rantle knew that Rugan and the others would come bursting through the door in a moment, so he didn’t take the time to worry about cutting himself on loose glass, and just jumped feet first through the window. He released a yell as he fell, which thankfully turned into a groan and not a scream as he managed to land on his feet and roll to reduce some of the pain of impact. Overhead he heard Tomas shouting, ordering his thieves to run Rantle down. Rantle’s fall startled the family who had been fleeing through the alley, and they ran out into the main street in a hurry. After what he felt was a reasonable amount of time grimacing in pain, Rantle pushed himself wearily to his feet and grabbed his chest of clothes, but before he could run away he heard a loud snap of fingers from the mouth of the alley. “You?” was all Sandir said, as he glanced back and forth between Rantle and the window on the second floor. The panicked family had apparently drawn Sandir’s attention away from the front door of the guildhouse, and now he stood a dozen feet away from Rantle, still holding the sword Rantle had taken off of Kathor, looking dumb-founded at Rantle’s presence. Shouts were already coming from the front of the guildhouse as word spread of Rantle’s escape. Sandir looked back briefly, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do, and during his moment’s distraction, Rantle grabbed the chest handle, then hurled it overhanded at his old thieves’ guild friend. The twenty-pound chest struck Sandir in the stomach and crumpled him almost silently. Rantle staggered over to him and grabbed the two-handed sword, leaving the chest behind. “Bye,” Rantle said. “And sorry.” Despite the pain in his feet and knees, Rantle forced himself to jog away, straight into the main street and the masses of terrified people, where he hoped the guildsmen wouldn’t follow. He desperately wished that his sister knew what he was going through in order to help her. [/QUOTE]
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