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The Thieves Guild

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by Jake Kerr.

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Episode 130:

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The Wand and the Red Dress.

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Relan had a plan for escape, but it wasn't using
the lockpicks.

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With no guidance on how to use them, he had
fumbled about with the door to his room

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for hours on end.

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By the time he gave up, he was no closer to
understanding how to use the

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accursed tools and no closer to opening the door.

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The last straw was when Relan thought he heard a
guard snickering on the other side.

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He probably had imagined it, but it was still
enough.

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He needed someone to teach him how to use the
picks or, at the very least,

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give him guidance on which ones to use and how to
hold them.

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They were Pietro's, so he respectfully put them
back in the soft bag

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Rebecca had placed them in and left them on the
desk in the library.

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That was what Relan was calling the room attached
to Pietro's living area, and

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it was an apt description. Floor-to-ceiling
bookshelves filled with books

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and a cozy fireplace marked the room, and the soft
chair and gas lamp in

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the corner completed the picture.

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This was a place for study and contemplation of
the tomes surrounding the reader.

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Raef would have been in heaven had the books been
readable.

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At that point, Relan had browsed dozens of the
books and they were all the same,

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written in some kind of indecipherable script that
somewhat looked like the figures he

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was taught when he was little, but seemed just
different enough to be effectively

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a foreign language. The interesting thing wasn't
actually the handwriting,

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it was the same precise letters in the first book
on the bottom shelf on the left

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as the last book on the top shelf across the room
on the right, it was the

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age of them. All of the books were bound paper, an
unbelievably

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expensive thing, for not only was the bounding
rare and expensive, the

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paper itself was of high quality and thick.

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Yet the books on the lower left were yellowing and
appeared very old.

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The script was precise and thick and measured.

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The last books on the right had a very light touch
and there were

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imperfections as if the hand writing them wavered
or shook as it

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wrote.

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There didn't appear to be any dates on the books,
although each one had a

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frontispiece that had some kind of long and
detailed title.

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When all was said and done, and Relan sat at the
desk, he realized that it would

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take someone many years to write so many volumes
and the content would

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encompass an almost unbelievable amount of subject
matter.

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But what was that subject matter?

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It was sitting down and looking over the walls of
books that led to Relan settling

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on his escape plan.

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Rebecca didn't return for two days, but when she
did, he was

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prepared. "We should talk."

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Rebecca had asked about his efforts with
lockpicking, but he dismissed her questions

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and pointed to the library. He escorted her in,
unable to pull his

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attention from her elegant stride and the gentle
swaying of her red dress.

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He waved to one of the reading chairs next to the
fireplace, and with a bemused

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smile, Rebecca sat down, smoothing her dress
before resting her

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hands in her lap. "I am all ears, Guildmaster."
Relan

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sat in a nearby chair near the fireplace and
leaned forward.

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"You are not here to talk picking doors, chests,
and drawers."

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Rebecca didn't reply as Relan motioned vaguely
around the room.

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"I have unlocked something far more important."
Relan pointed to the empty

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display box. "I know where the Guildmaster's wand
is hidden."

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This was his escape plan.

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Relan was certain that Old Pietro felt pity for
his daughter, trapped as she

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was in Gautland, and told her fantastical stories
about his past in the

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Thieves Guild, built in part at least on the truth
and its hidden history,

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but mostly comprised of flights of fancy.

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The wand was certainly part of those fantasies.

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Relan even knew the source, the well-known tavern
named The Golden Wand

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near the Golden Triangle in the Upper Quarter.

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It was frequented by the wealthiest and well-known
residents of Ness, including

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Relan and Lassen's father. The wand was a joke,
like the goat

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horn mounted above the entrance of a pub in the
flats named The Goat's Horn,

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and the tavern in the Old Quarter ironically and
amusingly named The

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Wretched Retreat.

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But Rebecca wouldn't know it was all part of the
longstanding history of amusing pub

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names.

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She would hear about a wand mounted on a wall and
her eyes would go wide.

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At least, Relan hoped as much. To Relan's
disappointment,

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Rebecca barely reacted. After an awkward silence,
she nodded.

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"Go on." "Pietro was well traveled and well loved
in

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Ness. He frequented every quarter and knew
everyone.

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I believe he hid the wand in plain sight."

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Relan badly wanted to get a reaction from Rebecca,
so he stopped and waited

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for a response. "Go on?"

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At this point, Relan wasn't sure his plan would
work after all.

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Rebecca didn't show any enthusiasm at all.

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"There is an old tavern in the Upper Quarter
called The Golden

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Wand,""Above the bar is a display box very much
like that one."

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Raylan pointed to the box above the fireplace. "In
that box is a wand.

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It is dark wood, not golden, which to my mind is a
good indicator that it is the

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Guildmaster's wand. If it were truly the golden
wand of the tavern's name, it would

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actually be golden."

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"So, your belief is that a tavern that just
happened to be named after a wand sits

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in a city that does not believe in magic, and that
this conveniently named tavern

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also conveniently had a display box where Pietro
could sneak in

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and place a new wand?"

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Raylan felt deflated. Rebecca clearly didn't
believe him.

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"Yes."

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"And you are saying that the tavern owner would
see his golden wand replaced

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overnight

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with a dark wood wand, and would simply overlook
it or ignore it?"

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Raylan didn't have an answer for that, so he
simply nodded his head.

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"I daresay that your scenario sounds ridiculously
unbelievable.

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I think it far more likely that Pietro established
the tavern himself

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solely to hide the wand, as you say, in plain
sight, and that the wand

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you saw in that display box

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existed from the moment of the tavern's opening."

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"The tavern is hundreds of years old."

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Rebecca shrugged.

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"The important thing is that in both of our
unbelievable scenarios,

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Pietro's motivations were the same: to hide the
wand in plain

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sight."

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Rebecca stood up.

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"We shall leave for Ness tomorrow."

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What? Did she actually believe him? As Raylan
scrambled to

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his feet, and before he could even fathom a reply,
she crossed her arms.

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"To answer your obvious question, no.

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I do not believe this tavern knickknack is the
Wand of the Guildmaster, but I have no other

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leads to where it may be. And without it, all
this..." She waved

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her arms around the library. "Is closed to us.

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In short, Raylan, I am desperate."

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Raylan appreciated her honesty. "Perhaps we can
visit with my guild

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historian. He will know more than me." Raylan
didn't think he could get

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Rebecca into the Thieves' Tower, and where he
could presumably have Philos

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guarantee his freedom.

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"My dear Raylan, I would like nothing more than to
visit that

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majestic tower again, but we have more important
things ahead of us."

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She laughed as if reading his mind and knowing his
motivation, and then

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turned, her red dress swirling out in a wide
circle behind her.

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"Again?" Raylan thought as she walked to the door.

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When had she previously been to the Thieves'
Tower?

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"One more thing."

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She turned and smiled at Raylan.

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"And that is?"

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"You cannot wear red."

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Rebecca frowned. "What a presumptuous and
insulting thing to say.

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I will wear red."

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"As you wish, but the citizens of Ness will flee
from you.

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Most people believe that the dyes that create the
color red are poisonous."

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"You can't be serious."

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"You could test them, and perhaps if they flee, it
will be because of you and not

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what you wear."

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To his surprise, Rebecca laughed.

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"I am becoming quite fond of you, Raylan.

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You, at least, don't run from me."

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She shook her head and looked vaguely out at the
stacks of books.

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"What were you thinking, dear Grandfather?

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Having them hate us doesn't serve anyone but your
old bitterness."

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Focusing on Raylan, Rebecca looked thoughtful.

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"So, my dear Guildmaster, what color should I
wear?"

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"Why, black, of course."

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(dramatic music)

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A Podcast Alchemy production.