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The Thieves Guild

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by Jake Kerr

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(dramatic music plays) . Episode 41:

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Deep in the Mines.

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The rose was dry and turning brown, but Mailer
took great care of it.

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She had sworn to herself that she would give it
back to Guildmaster Polo.

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It would be an act of defiance, a message that
illustrated the emptiness of his

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power. It was dead and brittle.

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It had taken Mailer less than two days to examine
every inch of her cell.

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The result of her painstaking investigation was
the realization that there was no real hope

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of escape without assistance.

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The walls were solid stone, the bars were thick
iron, and the lock was not pickable

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without advanced tools.

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Furthermore, the possibility of a rescue was slim.

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She wasn't even sure any members of the Thieves
Guild knew she had been taken by Polo's

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guards. That left her one chance: convincing
someone to help her.

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There were only four people who interacted with
her: a guard in the morning who brought food

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and emptied her waste bucket, and a different
guard in the evening who did the same thing.

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Every fifth day, a third person worked the morning
and the fourth worked the

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evening. The next day, the regular guards would be
back.

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The day guards were a lost cause. The guard in the
morning was cruel and

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professional. If she approached within five feet
of him, he would draw his sword and

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strike her on the head with the flat side.

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Without saying a word, he made it clear that any
physical resistance would lead to the edge

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being used.

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Pondering the guard's abilities, Mailer considered
it a small likelihood that she

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could defeat him. He was skilled with the flat of
his sword, which meant he

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was skilled with the edge, and even if she was
able to grapple with him, he would call

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for help. When he entered the cell, she retreated
to the far corner

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and let him do his job.

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The afternoon guard was respectful and almost
jovial, but his good cheer was out of

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earned confidence, not weakness.

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After sizing him up over a few days, she slowly
worked her way over to him as

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he prepared to pick up her wastebasket.

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I would do the same thing, so I don't begrudge
your actions.

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Mailer stopped moving as the guard turned towards
her.

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With precision and speed, he drew his sword.

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However, I truly do not want to hurt you, so I
recommend that you not approach me from an

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angle where I cannot see you.

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So, I can approach you?

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The guard lowered his sword.

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Within reason.

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Mailer took a step and the guard lifted his sword.

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Why do you approach?

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Mailer did not expect his question. She had been
hoping to play on his affections,

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or loneliness, or ego by chatting with him while
being physically close.

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She didn't really have any legitimate reason to
approach him, nor could she think of

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any.

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I find it more comfortable to be closer to someone
I am talking with.

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That is not a good reason,

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... the guard replied.

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Take a step backward.

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Mailer stepped backward as the guard held the
point of his sword in a precise spot

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aimed at her heart.

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After her step backward, he sheathed his sword
with a flourish and grabbed her

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bucket of waste.

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She considered stepping toward him again, but she
knew it was not only

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pointless, but would possibly hurt her standing
with the guard who, at some point,

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could be her savior. Uh, so, she tried a different
tack.

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So, what is your name?

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Smiling, the guard shook his head.

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Maybe someday, but today is not that day.

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He left without saying another word.

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A few days later, Mailer tried a different method,
since the guard seemed reasonable.

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As he walked in, she stumbled to her feet.

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I fear I am not well.

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She groaned in pain and held her stomach.

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The guard looked at her, concern in his eyes, but
he didn't move toward her.

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Mailer took a step in his direction, still holding
her stomach.

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Hold," he said, his voice firm. "Your imprisonment
is secret.

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There are no healers for you."

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Mailer frowned. She should have expected this.

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She wasn't a temporary prisoner, she was locked up
for life.

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And if that life happened to shorten due to an
illness, the Guildmaster harvest

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didn't seem overly concerned.

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"I'm sorry," the guard added.

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Mailer fell to the ground and moaned until the
guard left.

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She talked with him every visit. In fact, it was
one of the things that kept her

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sane. Just conversing with someone was a joy, even
though their conversations were

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always short and comically simple.

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"And how is the weather outside?"

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"It is nice, but a storm is coming."

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"Any news from the city?"

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"The harvest looks to be good this year."

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No matter what the conversation, the activity, or
Mailer's position in the cell, the guard

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was always aware of her every move. She didn't
even bother attempting to seduce

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him. "He's a true professional," she thought.

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Depressed, she wrote off the evening guard as an
avenue for escape.

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The two guards that filled in for the day her
regular guards had off showed much more

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potential.

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The one in the morning was an old man, while the
one in the evening was a young woman about

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Mailer's age. The old man was a veteran guard,
clearly just making

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himself useful, while the young woman appeared to
be doing grunt work to earn

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her way to a real position within the Guild
guards.

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The obvious approach was to simply attack the old
man.

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He wasn't ancient like Polo, but he was well into
retirement age.

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The trouble was that old fighters could be more
dangerous than younger ones.

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Allard was the perfect example of that.Mela didn't
think there was a

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knight in Ness who didn't fear him, so she sized
up the new guard.

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She checked his sight, but he reached for his
sword if she made even the most innocuous

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move towards his direction.

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His warnings were charming even as they were sad
and forceful.

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"Miss,

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please hold your position. It would sadden me to
remove such a beautiful creature from the world.

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I've done that too much in my life as it is."

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His reactions were hard to judge, but she watched
him closely as he

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delivered her food and removed her bucket.

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His hands were sure and his movements were fluid.

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She also noted that he was very comfortable
drawing a sword, but she had

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expected that.

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With a great degree of regret, Mela ruled out
force.

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The old guard was just too experienced to fall for
anything she would throw at him.

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That left her with using her beauty and charm as a
weapon.

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She had precious little experience in seduction or
even simply having a personal

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conversation with a man, but she had to try.

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As he entered, Mela put a desperate and breathy
sound to her voice.

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"Do you know what it's like to be alone all day?"

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The old guard placed her new bucket on the floor,
stood up straight, and looked

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at her. Mela held her hand against her breast.

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"I miss a man's touch."

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Mela's heart fell when the man let out a laugh.
"It took you long enough, miss.

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Usually female prisoners are naked during my first
visit."

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Shaking his head, he moved toward the door.

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"So I appreciate your demure approach,

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but it is a lost cause on an old dog like me."

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He paused as he closed the door. "It is best if
you accept that you'll never feel a man's

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touch again."

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Her final chance was the young female guard.

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As Mela expected, the guard was perhaps the most
deadly of the four.

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You didn't get an assignment as a guild guard if
you were female unless you were tougher and better
than

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the men.

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Mela did all the tricks she tried with the others,
only the woman was faster,

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more precise, and unafraid to make a point by
drawing blood.

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"I truly do not want to hurt you,"

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the young woman said after slicing Mela's arm.

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"But you continue to try to find my blind spot,
and I cannot allow you to think that it is
possible."

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The woman sheathed her sword.

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"It is not."

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The woman left, only to return a few minutes later
with a clean towel and

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warm water in a pitcher.

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"Thank you,"

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Mela whispered, stunned at the guard's kindness.

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She hadn't felt warm water in what must have been
weeks.

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She cleaned her wound and used the water to wash
her face, hoping that the

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guard wouldn't be angry over her doing more than
just working on her cut.

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Glancing up nervously, Mela noticed the guard
staring at her as she ran the towel over her

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face.

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"I haven't washed in a long time,"

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Mela explained. The guard nodded, waited a few
minutes, and then pointed to the

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corner of the cell.

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"Move over there."

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Mela did as she was told, and the guard gathered
up the pitcher and towel,

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leaving without saying anything else.

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In the silence, Mela tried to make sense of the
guard.

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The slice on her arm was barely a cut, a slight
reminder of who was boss.

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It didn't even require a bandage.

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Yet the guard brought warm water and a towel. Why
did she do that?

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On her next visit, the guard asked Mela her name.

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"I'm Mela.

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I am here for doing a good thing. It is-" "Do not
tell me why you are here.

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Do not beg for mercy. Do not tell me anything
beyond the answers to my questions."

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The guard's words were short, sharp, and clear.

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"May I ask you a question?"

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Mela asked. The guard stood still for a long time
and then nodded her head.

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"What is your name?" "Dala."

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Mela was afraid to ask her anything else.

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Dala appeared to be a mixture of extremely capable
professional and someone

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curious about Mela, at least curious enough to ask
her name.

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If Mela were to spoil the curiosity by triggering
her professional distance,

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all would be lost.

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Dala left without saying anything else.

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Five days later, she came with Mela's food, but
left rather than watch

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Mela eat. She returned a short time later with
both hands carrying

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pitchers. She left again. Mela scrambled over and
looked in the pitchers.

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They were holding water, hot water. Dala returned
with two more pitchers,

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and Mela retreated to her corner. She left again,
and this time

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returned with a large towel.

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"Wash yourself," Dala said, stepping back away
from the pitchers.

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Mela could have cried. She was crusted with dirt
and waste.

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Her hair was still short, but its tight curls were
long enough to start getting knotted with

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filth, even as she did her best to keep it clean.

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She scrambled over to the pitchers and got
undressed.

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Making a habit of forever being prepared to escape
meant that Mela always wore

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her clothes. She wore the same outfit that she had
when she entered Polos what must

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have been weeks before. Of course, they took the
suit of armor she stole from

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Teal, which left her with a white rough-spun
cotton shirt, leather britches, and

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her underclothes. As she stripped out of them, she
wondered if she would be able to clean her

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clothes too, but she didn't want to push Dala's
kindness.

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As she poured one of the pitchers over her head,
she let out a sigh as the hot

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water poured over her body.

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Without a washcloth or soap, Mela simply scrubbed
with her hands.

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She started with her hair and did her best to
tease out the dried dirt.

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She went to grab another pitcher to work on her
hair some more, but she hesitated.

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Without more water, she wouldn't have enough to
wash her body well.

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"Do you need more water?"

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Meila looked up to see Darla staring at her.

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She was acting odd, shuffling her feet in a
nervous manner.

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Yes, please. Two more pitchers.

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Darla walked out, not paying any attention to
Meila as she did so.

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"Yeah, kind of safe to treat me casually when I'm
completely

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naked," Meila thought as she poured another
pitcher of water over her head.

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Darla returned with two more pitchers.

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To Meila's shock, she walked right up and set them
at Meila's feet, seemingly

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not worrying about Meila attacking her.

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Thank you,

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Meila said, which registered a quick nod as Darla
retreated.

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Meila worked her way from top to bottom, cleaning
as best she could.

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As she leaned over to work on her legs, she
noticed Darla staring at her again.

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Meila couldn't quite peg whether Darla enjoyed the
happiness on Meila's face or whether

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she was watching out of a defensiveness over
breaking a clear rule.

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Taking the towel from the floor, Meila ran it over
her hair and dried off.

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She hadn't felt this good in ages.

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You are very pretty,

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Darla said, her voice almost a whisper.

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Meila nearly dropped the towel in surprise.

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She looked out at Darla as she paused drying
herself.

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Excuse me?

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You are beautiful,

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Darla replied, her voice stronger. It was at that
point that Meila finally realized

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what was happening:

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Darla prefers women. Her behavior and kindness
suddenly made sense.

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Us warrior women,

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Meila sighed.

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our beauty is most hidden from those we want to
see it.

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Darla stood transfixed as Meila lowered the towel
and continued drying a

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leg.

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00:13:59,356 --> 00:14:01,215
You too are very beautiful, Darla.

228
00:14:02,316 --> 00:14:03,555
Darla turned away.

229
00:14:03,575 --> 00:14:05,535
I should go. Please finish up.

230
00:14:06,335 --> 00:14:11,035
Meila preferred the company of men, but she knew
an opportunity when she saw one.

231
00:14:11,935 --> 00:14:16,875
Darla was alone in ways that she couldn't share
with anyone but a female friend, of

232
00:14:16,895 --> 00:14:21,875
which there were precious few as a guild guard in
the mines. Meila would be her friend.

233
00:14:22,375 --> 00:14:26,596
Pulling on the last of her clothes, Meila observed
Darla's furtive glances.

234
00:14:27,115 --> 00:14:32,055
Meila backed into the corner and watched as Darla,
um, took the pitchers and towel away.

235
00:14:32,535 --> 00:14:37,395
She seemed very nervous. After she returned and
grabbed the last pitcher, Meila

236
00:14:37,415 --> 00:14:39,675
spoke up as Darla closed the cell door.

237
00:14:39,675 --> 00:14:41,316
I love your company, Darla.

238
00:14:41,856 --> 00:14:45,555
Darla fumbled with the keys before finally
clicking the lock shut.

239
00:14:46,975 --> 00:14:49,915
She didn't say anything as she rushed down the
hall.

240
00:14:49,915 --> 00:15:20,996
(Tense music plays)