“Twelve years ago,” Haern began, “the noble families in Veldaren declared war on the thief guilds. After five years of mercenaries roaming the streets and nobles bleeding out in the night, they made a truce. The nobles would pay the thief guilds what they were paying the mercenaries. In return, they gained protection, and not just for their homes, but the entire city. Five guilds accepted, and the rest were eradicated. Odd as it sounds, the thief guilds protect their territory, and only the poorest of streets are left to a few vagabond burglars.”

“So you have no crime here?” Aurelia asked. “A miracle.”

“We have crime, my lady elf,” Haern whispered, “just no robbery. Murder and rape are another matter.”

“Many thieves want to return to the days of old,” Tarlak added. “They feel like bodyguards now, bottom rate sentries. The number of members in each guild has doubled and tripled, with each member getting a smaller and smaller cut. Only guildmasters make a luxurious living. This leads me into our wonderful surprise for tonight.”

He cleared his throat and grinned at everyone.

“Guildmaster Thren Felhorn of the Spider Guild is to supposedly be assassinated tonight.”

“Supposedly?” Brug said.

“I say supposedly for I believe it a trap. All of you need to be on your toes. The largest obstacle to returning to the days of old is not the guildmasters. It is our dear friend, Haern. Those who speak out against the current system have a way of not waking up. Isn’t that right, oh wise and all-knowing Watcher?”

“Get on with it,” Haern said.

“Right. My informant claimed that Thren is meeting a higher up of the Shadow Guild, about what is irrelevant, inside an old warehouse owned by the Spider Guild. I want half of you inside that building, the other half out and around. We’ll hide best we can. If it is a trap, leave one or two of them alive. It’s hard to make dead people talk.”