Jeff Crook - The Thieves’ Guild

“Begging your pardon, Sir Arach,” Gaeord stammered. With a sigh, the gray-robed Knight of Takhisis pushed back his hood and stared languidly at his portly host. “The magical owl said to have the power of speech,” he said with weary patience.

“Oh, that owl!” Gaeord laughed nervously. “The magical power wore off some months ago. How did you know?” he whispered.

“It is my business to know, Master Gaeord,” Sir Arach Jannon said. “It is my business to know everything that passes within this city. I am its Lord High Justice, am I not? I am also the highest-ranking Thorn Knight in the city, and as such all things magical also come under my domain, especially since the unlicensed ownership of magical items is illegal in this city.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaeord said.

“I knew about this owl of yours, just as I know that most of these boxes and crates,” he said with a gesture at the contents of the room, “have never seen the inside of a customs house, that they arrive by night from your ships, pass through the water gate into your reflecting pool, and are unloaded through that loft, the loft through which your burglar either entered or made his escape.”

“Which is it?” Gaeord asked, trying desperately to change the subject. “If he entered through the door, why break the lock on the loft cage? If he entered through the loft, who entered through the door?”

“Exactly! And once here, how did he die and where is his body? If he did‘ die here, then who was it that escaped? This case presents some interesting perplexities, Master Gaeord,” Sir Arach said. “I am very glad you brought it to my attention. So glad that I may overlook certain irregularities in the way you choose to conduct your business.”

“I knew of your interest in such puzzles. I am only thankful that nothing was stolen,” Gaeord said quickly, with just a bit too much enthusiasm. He had not sent for Sir Arach. The man had unaccountably appeared at his door at dawn, announcing his intention to investigate the burglary of which only Gaeord and a few of his most trusted servants had known. Gaeord suspected that the Thorn Knight had spies in his household, just as it was rumored he had spies in the house of every important family in Palanthas.

“Yes. You are indeed fortunate that nothing was stolen,” Sir Arach responded, his voice tinged with irony. Droplets of sweat broke out on Gaeord’s brow.

At that moment, a servant appeared at the door, clearing his throat.

“What is it?” Gaeord snapped.

“Mistress Jenna to see you, sir,” the servant said nervously. “She demanded-”

Before he could finish his explanation, a woman pushed past him and entered the room. She was clad in long robes of a deep wine-colored red, bound about the waist by a belt of gold twined with what appeared to be a living vine. Her long gray hair was pulled back in a simple yet elegant braid, allowing the gold hoops in her ears the freedom to swing and glint in the light.

Though well into her sixties, Mistress Jenna was still a strikingly beautiful woman. Her steps were firm and sure, her stride vigorous. She was perhaps the most powerful mage in the city, respected, even feared. Her shop, the Three Moons, dealt in magical items, potions, scrolls, and spellbooks (though the latter were of little use since the moons of magic disappeared from the skies after the Chaos War). Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strangely, considering the position of influence that she held in the city, the Knights of Takhisis never questioned her right to deal in magic, even though the law against the sale of such items was strictly prosecuted in all other cases. Now Sir Arach rose at her entrance, and it was an indication of her position in society that he bowed slightly upon meeting her eyes.

She cast a swift, bitter glance over him, then turned to the master of the house.

“Mistress Jenna, this is an unexpected surprise,” Gaeord said rather unconvincingly. He coughed, and using the excuse to cup one hand over his mouth to hide it from Sir Arach’s view, mouthed the words, “Say nothing.”

Mistress Jenna seemed not to notice. Her gaze had just as quickly strayed to the blood stain on the floor. “I heard there was a robbery,” she said, as her eyes lighted on the open loft door, then flickered over the various boxes and crates that half filled the room.

“Nothing was taken,” Gaeord quickly affirmed. How many spies did he have in his house anyway? He determined as soon as this was over to question all his servants most thoroughly.

Sir Arach merely smiled, his black eyes “Why, Mistress Jenna!” he exclaimed with mock surprise. “I had no idea that you and Master Gaeord were such close friends. It really is too kind of you to visit him in his hour of need, but on its face, this case seems simple enough, and we certainly shouldn’t need to call upon your considerable magical powers to solve it.”

“You suspect who the thief is?” Gaeord asked.

“Not a clue,” the Thorn Knight admitted without hesitation. “But I have every confidence that I shall discover his identity. It is a shame about that owl, though. Most strange that it should lose its magical powers, now, at this particular time.”

At these last words, a strange quiet fell over the room’s occupants. Gaeord wondered at its cause, looking in some confusion at his two uninvited guests, who seemed to be staring at each other. A more imaginative man might have fancied that the gray eyes of Mistress Jenna were fighting a duel with the sharp, black eyes of the Thorn Knight, each mage probing the other for some clue as to what he or she was thinking at that moment. Though no word was said, whole conversations seemed to pass between them.

Suddenly, like a wrestler who flings off his opponent to escape him, the Thorn Knight tore his gaze away from Mistress Jenna. He then spoke slowly, as though fighting to regain his composure, “Yes, we might have learned much from the owl.”

Mistress Jenna turned to Gaeord. “What were the thieves after?” she asked.

“I have many things in my house that such daring thieves as these would be willing to risk their lives to obtain,” Gaeord bragged. “But I assure you, they failed in their attempt to steal whatever it was they were after. See, they were interrupted and fled!”

Sir Arach clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Come, come, Master Gaeord,” he said. “How can I possibly be expected to solve this crime if its victim withholds pertinent facts? I must know everything if justice is to prevail.”

Despite his wealth and station in Palanthian society, Gaeord uth Wotan’s face turned gray at these words. A man such as he was long accustomed to dealing with government officials while conducting his business of importation and trade. His ability to guarantee the sort of profits his partners and investors demanded depended on operating, now and then, outside of the normal confines of the law. Ways were opened and means obtained by the judicious and discreet application of coin, favors, gifts, intimidation, even violence. He was no criminal, no one would dare to call him such. It was simply how business was conducted in Palanthas.

Standing before him, however, was a man notoriously impossible to influence. Sir Arach Jannon, one of the most powerful men in all Palanthas, could not be bribed and he certainly could not be intimidated. It was he who intimidated others. Nothing could be hidden from him. He had spies throughout the city, it was said, in every household of any importance, even those of his fellow Knights of Takhisis. What was more, the man was a Thorn Knight, a magic user of the Gray Robes, and magic worried Gaeord almost as much as high taxes.

Those who opposed Sir Arach often found themselves under intense scrutiny. Those with business practices that could not bear close examination had no desire to conduct business with those under Sir Arach’s eye. More than one great Palanthian family had been destroyed by this man, often without one charge ever being leveled against it.