The Thieves Guild
by Jake Kerr
(dramatic music plays) . Episode 41:
Deep in the Mines.
The rose was dry and turning brown, but Mailer took great care of it.
She had sworn to herself that she would give it back to Guildmaster Polo.
It would be an act of defiance, a message that illustrated the emptiness of his
power. It was dead and brittle.
It had taken Mailer less than two days to examine every inch of her cell.
The result of her painstaking investigation was the realization that there was no real hope
of escape without assistance.
The walls were solid stone, the bars were thick iron, and the lock was not pickable
without advanced tools.
Furthermore, the possibility of a rescue was slim.
She wasn't even sure any members of the Thieves Guild knew she had been taken by Polo's
guards. That left her one chance: convincing someone to help her.
There were only four people who interacted with her: a guard in the morning who brought food
and emptied her waste bucket, and a different guard in the evening who did the same thing.
Every fifth day, a third person worked the morning and the fourth worked the
evening. The next day, the regular guards would be back.
The day guards were a lost cause. The guard in the morning was cruel and
professional. If she approached within five feet of him, he would draw his sword and
strike her on the head with the flat side.
Without saying a word, he made it clear that any physical resistance would lead to the edge
being used.
Pondering the guard's abilities, Mailer considered it a small likelihood that she
could defeat him. He was skilled with the flat of his sword, which meant he
was skilled with the edge, and even if she was able to grapple with him, he would call
for help. When he entered the cell, she retreated to the far corner
and let him do his job.
The afternoon guard was respectful and almost jovial, but his good cheer was out of
earned confidence, not weakness.
After sizing him up over a few days, she slowly worked her way over to him as
he prepared to pick up her wastebasket.
I would do the same thing, so I don't begrudge your actions.
Mailer stopped moving as the guard turned towards her.
With precision and speed, he drew his sword.
However, I truly do not want to hurt you, so I recommend that you not approach me from an
angle where I cannot see you.
So, I can approach you?
The guard lowered his sword.
Within reason.
Mailer took a step and the guard lifted his sword.
Why do you approach?
Mailer did not expect his question. She had been hoping to play on his affections,
or loneliness, or ego by chatting with him while being physically close.
She didn't really have any legitimate reason to approach him, nor could she think of
any.
I find it more comfortable to be closer to someone I am talking with.
That is not a good reason,
... the guard replied.
Take a step backward.
Mailer stepped backward as the guard held the point of his sword in a precise spot
aimed at her heart.
After her step backward, he sheathed his sword with a flourish and grabbed her
bucket of waste.
She considered stepping toward him again, but she knew it was not only
pointless, but would possibly hurt her standing with the guard who, at some point,
could be her savior. Uh, so, she tried a different tack.
So, what is your name?
Smiling, the guard shook his head.
Maybe someday, but today is not that day.
He left without saying another word.
A few days later, Mailer tried a different method, since the guard seemed reasonable.
As he walked in, she stumbled to her feet.
I fear I am not well.
She groaned in pain and held her stomach.
The guard looked at her, concern in his eyes, but he didn't move toward her.
Mailer took a step in his direction, still holding her stomach.
Hold," he said, his voice firm. "Your imprisonment is secret.
There are no healers for you."
Mailer frowned. She should have expected this.
She wasn't a temporary prisoner, she was locked up for life.
And if that life happened to shorten due to an illness, the Guildmaster harvest
didn't seem overly concerned.
"I'm sorry," the guard added.
Mailer fell to the ground and moaned until the guard left.
She talked with him every visit. In fact, it was one of the things that kept her
sane. Just conversing with someone was a joy, even though their conversations were
always short and comically simple.
"And how is the weather outside?"
"It is nice, but a storm is coming."
"Any news from the city?"
"The harvest looks to be good this year."
No matter what the conversation, the activity, or Mailer's position in the cell, the guard
was always aware of her every move. She didn't even bother attempting to seduce
him. "He's a true professional," she thought.
Depressed, she wrote off the evening guard as an avenue for escape.
The two guards that filled in for the day her regular guards had off showed much more
potential.
The one in the morning was an old man, while the one in the evening was a young woman about
Mailer's age. The old man was a veteran guard, clearly just making
himself useful, while the young woman appeared to be doing grunt work to earn
her way to a real position within the Guild guards.
The obvious approach was to simply attack the old man.
He wasn't ancient like Polo, but he was well into retirement age.
The trouble was that old fighters could be more dangerous than younger ones.
Allard was the perfect example of that.Mela didn't think there was a
knight in Ness who didn't fear him, so she sized up the new guard.
She checked his sight, but he reached for his sword if she made even the most innocuous
move towards his direction.
His warnings were charming even as they were sad and forceful.
"Miss,
please hold your position. It would sadden me to remove such a beautiful creature from the world.
I've done that too much in my life as it is."
His reactions were hard to judge, but she watched him closely as he
delivered her food and removed her bucket.
His hands were sure and his movements were fluid.
She also noted that he was very comfortable drawing a sword, but she had
expected that.
With a great degree of regret, Mela ruled out force.
The old guard was just too experienced to fall for anything she would throw at him.
That left her with using her beauty and charm as a weapon.
She had precious little experience in seduction or even simply having a personal
conversation with a man, but she had to try.
As he entered, Mela put a desperate and breathy sound to her voice.
"Do you know what it's like to be alone all day?"
The old guard placed her new bucket on the floor, stood up straight, and looked
at her. Mela held her hand against her breast.
"I miss a man's touch."
Mela's heart fell when the man let out a laugh. "It took you long enough, miss.
Usually female prisoners are naked during my first visit."
Shaking his head, he moved toward the door.
"So I appreciate your demure approach,
but it is a lost cause on an old dog like me."
He paused as he closed the door. "It is best if you accept that you'll never feel a man's
touch again."
Her final chance was the young female guard.
As Mela expected, the guard was perhaps the most deadly of the four.
You didn't get an assignment as a guild guard if you were female unless you were tougher and better than
the men.
Mela did all the tricks she tried with the others, only the woman was faster,
more precise, and unafraid to make a point by drawing blood.
"I truly do not want to hurt you,"
the young woman said after slicing Mela's arm.
"But you continue to try to find my blind spot, and I cannot allow you to think that it is possible."
The woman sheathed her sword.
"It is not."
The woman left, only to return a few minutes later with a clean towel and
warm water in a pitcher.
"Thank you,"
Mela whispered, stunned at the guard's kindness.
She hadn't felt warm water in what must have been weeks.
She cleaned her wound and used the water to wash her face, hoping that the
guard wouldn't be angry over her doing more than just working on her cut.
Glancing up nervously, Mela noticed the guard staring at her as she ran the towel over her
face.
"I haven't washed in a long time,"
Mela explained. The guard nodded, waited a few minutes, and then pointed to the
corner of the cell.
"Move over there."
Mela did as she was told, and the guard gathered up the pitcher and towel,
leaving without saying anything else.
In the silence, Mela tried to make sense of the guard.
The slice on her arm was barely a cut, a slight reminder of who was boss.
It didn't even require a bandage.
Yet the guard brought warm water and a towel. Why did she do that?
On her next visit, the guard asked Mela her name.
"I'm Mela.
I am here for doing a good thing. It is-" "Do not tell me why you are here.
Do not beg for mercy. Do not tell me anything beyond the answers to my questions."
The guard's words were short, sharp, and clear.
"May I ask you a question?"
Mela asked. The guard stood still for a long time and then nodded her head.
"What is your name?" "Dala."
Mela was afraid to ask her anything else.
Dala appeared to be a mixture of extremely capable professional and someone
curious about Mela, at least curious enough to ask her name.
If Mela were to spoil the curiosity by triggering her professional distance,
all would be lost.
Dala left without saying anything else.
Five days later, she came with Mela's food, but left rather than watch
Mela eat. She returned a short time later with both hands carrying
pitchers. She left again. Mela scrambled over and looked in the pitchers.
They were holding water, hot water. Dala returned with two more pitchers,
and Mela retreated to her corner. She left again, and this time
returned with a large towel.
"Wash yourself," Dala said, stepping back away from the pitchers.
Mela could have cried. She was crusted with dirt and waste.
Her hair was still short, but its tight curls were long enough to start getting knotted with
filth, even as she did her best to keep it clean.
She scrambled over to the pitchers and got undressed.
Making a habit of forever being prepared to escape meant that Mela always wore
her clothes. She wore the same outfit that she had when she entered Polos what must
have been weeks before. Of course, they took the suit of armor she stole from
Teal, which left her with a white rough-spun cotton shirt, leather britches, and
her underclothes. As she stripped out of them, she wondered if she would be able to clean her
clothes too, but she didn't want to push Dala's kindness.
As she poured one of the pitchers over her head, she let out a sigh as the hot
water poured over her body.
Without a washcloth or soap, Mela simply scrubbed with her hands.
She started with her hair and did her best to tease out the dried dirt.
She went to grab another pitcher to work on her hair some more, but she hesitated.
Without more water, she wouldn't have enough to wash her body well.
"Do you need more water?"
Meila looked up to see Darla staring at her.
She was acting odd, shuffling her feet in a nervous manner.
Yes, please. Two more pitchers.
Darla walked out, not paying any attention to Meila as she did so.
"Yeah, kind of safe to treat me casually when I'm completely
naked," Meila thought as she poured another pitcher of water over her head.
Darla returned with two more pitchers.
To Meila's shock, she walked right up and set them at Meila's feet, seemingly
not worrying about Meila attacking her.
Thank you,
Meila said, which registered a quick nod as Darla retreated.
Meila worked her way from top to bottom, cleaning as best she could.
As she leaned over to work on her legs, she noticed Darla staring at her again.
Meila couldn't quite peg whether Darla enjoyed the happiness on Meila's face or whether
she was watching out of a defensiveness over breaking a clear rule.
Taking the towel from the floor, Meila ran it over her hair and dried off.
She hadn't felt this good in ages.
You are very pretty,
Darla said, her voice almost a whisper.
Meila nearly dropped the towel in surprise.
She looked out at Darla as she paused drying herself.
Excuse me?
You are beautiful,
Darla replied, her voice stronger. It was at that point that Meila finally realized
what was happening:
Darla prefers women. Her behavior and kindness suddenly made sense.
Us warrior women,
Meila sighed.
our beauty is most hidden from those we want to see it.
Darla stood transfixed as Meila lowered the towel and continued drying a
leg.
You too are very beautiful, Darla.
Darla turned away.
I should go. Please finish up.
Meila preferred the company of men, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one.
Darla was alone in ways that she couldn't share with anyone but a female friend, of
which there were precious few as a guild guard in the mines. Meila would be her friend.
Pulling on the last of her clothes, Meila observed Darla's furtive glances.
Meila backed into the corner and watched as Darla, um, took the pitchers and towel away.
She seemed very nervous. After she returned and grabbed the last pitcher, Meila
spoke up as Darla closed the cell door.
I love your company, Darla.
Darla fumbled with the keys before finally clicking the lock shut.
She didn't say anything as she rushed down the hall.
(Tense music plays)