The Thieves Guild by Jake Kerr. Episode eight. The Founders Day Parade. The Founders Day parties didn't begin in earnest until the parade ended, but that didn't mean that half the populace wouldn't be out dancing and drinking the night before. Raylan used to like to watch the flickering lights of the flats from his brother's office on the night before Founders Day, but since Raylan was made Guildmaster thief, Larson wouldn't even talk to him.
Raylan wanted to walk down to the Painted Sheep or the Four Triangles, find Rafe, and just enjoy the festivities, but he was still feeling too sick and nervous to do anything more than just rest. So while Allard finished gathering his guild robes and clothing, Raylan spent a quiet night underground in his quarters. The next morning, he stood outside the craft guild tower as Allard secured
the cage on the wooden wagon. The wagon was painted black, but was otherwise unadorned, just the large cage surrounding a wooden stool. The cage was strong, comprised of metal bars about the thickness of a thumb. It would stop stones and bricks, and would easily withstand fruit and vegetables, but that wasn't the point.
As fruit exploded against the cage, juices and pulp would spray the guildmaster within, showering him with the anger of a populous that lived in a rigid society of guild order, yet still had to deal with the outrage of thieves. Raylan watched as the various Harvest Guild floats made their way onto the brick road that led from the craft tower to the merchant tower, Merchant
Avenue. The parade would end at the merchant tower, and the parties would then flow into Founders Park, but that wouldn't happen until the single black wagon at the rear of the parade made its way down the road. "It is time," Allard stated. Raylan nodded, jumped onto the wagon and climbed into the cage. He sat down on the wood stool. It was nailed to the floor and offered good support. He arranged his freshly made black robe as Allard
checked the latch. Raylan reached to pull up his hood, but Allard shook his head. "They have to see your face." "You mean they have to see the garbage dripping down my face?" "That too." Raylan looked ahead. His wagon would join the parade in moments. He saw the youngsters pushing to get to the front of the crowds, rotten produce in hand. "Where will you be, Allard?" "I'll be right behind.
No need to fear anything worse than a good pelting." Looking over his shoulder, Raylan replied, "There's a danger of worse than that." Allard didn't reply, and the wagon started to move. The wagon hadn't even made it to the official parade route when the garbage started to fly. He had expected to feel juice and bits of fruit and vegetables hit him, and he had planned on a dignified response worthy of Guildmaster Pietro. He would wipe his eyes, smile and wave.
His actual response was to cover his mouth with his hands as he bent over, doing his best to stop from retching. The first deluge was of rotten vegetables. The cage stopped the vegetables, but not the brown sticky goo, which sprayed Raylan in the face. He made the mistake of breathing in while wiping his face, and the noxious smell of rot filled his nose. It only got worse from there.
While the bars stopped larger rocks, Raylan never realized that some boys used slingshots to launch smaller stones and pebbles. Many of them ricocheted off the bars, but several got through, their impact leaving welts on his entire body. At one point, he felt a small stone hit his ear, and when he reached up, he was sure that it had sliced through and he was bleeding, but it was only a bit of tomato.
He had given up any pretension of smiling and waving less than a quarter of the way down the parade route. His goal was simply to get through the experience with a modicum of dignity. Every so often, he would glance around and the faces he saw disturbed him. He had always approached the parade with an eye toward drenching Guildmaster Pietro with tomato juice. For Raylan, it was always with a sense of fun.
In fact, he often used his tosses toward the Guildmaster thief as an excuse to hit the knights lined up across the road. Getting hit in the crossfire was to be expected, but Raylan took particular joy in just missing the cage, only to hit a knight squarely in the chest. So as he looked around, he couldn't understand the numerous scowls and faces contorted with rage. Screams about stolen items were added to the vilest names imaginable, all aimed at him.
At one point, Raylan turned to Allard to ask why everyone was so angry. The sight shocked him. While not the target Raylan was, Allard's black cloak was thick with debris. Even as Raylan watched, an apple bounced off of Allard's shoulder. He ignored it, however, and walked onward, his face lost in the darkness of his hood. It got worse halfway through the route. To the north was Founders Park, and the crowds were thickest at the point the wagon had
just reached. Raylan could barely keep his eyes open as the rotten fruit, stones and vegetables rained down on him. Up ahead, a group of boys wearing the green of the Harvest Guild was gathered. They started chanting, "Piss on thieves," as Raylan approached.... as his wagon passed, they let loose a volley of what looked like animal skins at him. These exploded as they hit the cage, showering Raylan with urine.
There were so many thrown at once that Raylan couldn't stop some from getting up his nose and into his mouth. He spat and coughed to the sounds of receding laughter. By the time the parade ended, Raylan's eyes, nose, and mouth burned. His body was covered with welts and bruises, and he smelled worse than the Barn District. He wiped off as much of the debris as he could as he watched Allard climb onto the wagon.
Despite being covered in filth, Allard carried himself with the same military grace and solidity he always did. He opened the cage and handed Raylan a towel. "You did well." Raylan looked up at him through bleary eyes. "Well, I didn't throw up." Both of them turned to the sound of clapping (clapping) . Larson stood beside the wagon with Karch. They both wore their formal deep blue robes. Raylan was tempted to flick a urine-soaked orange rind at his brother.
"All hail the Guildmaster of Filth." Larson bowed. "My dear brother, I never thought you would ever look worse than in that awful guildless brown, but I daresay right now you look like you were born and raised in the Wretched Quarter." He tapped his chin with a finger. "But still, I must say, it is an improvement, even with the stench." Karch snickered. Raylan reached down to pick up some rotten vegetables, but Allard put his hand on Raylan's shoulder. "Dignity, Guildmaster," he whispered.
Raylan stood up straight and looked down at Karch. "What was it you told me, Karch? That hurling filth and abuse at the guildmaster, thief, is the practice of a child? Then look at your guildmaster, acting like the child you described." Karch's jaw clenched while Larson frowned. Raylan rubbed the towel through his hair and laughed. "Do you have anything important to tell me, Larson? I have enough garbage to deal with at the moment." Larson sneered. "No.
I and the other guildmasters have real business to attend to over dinner. You and your disgraced knight can go get cleaned up and crawl back under your rock. I don't believe we need to hear from you for another year, which is about the best news I've heard today." He started to walk toward the merchant tower, but stopped and turned back to face them.
"I forgot to tell you that we found a problem with the pipes leading to the north wing of the tower, so you'll have to get washed in the upper triangle bathhouse." Raylan cursed his brother under his breath. The one thing he was looking forward to was a hot private bath. "Oh, don't worry. With that stench, I'm sure you'll have your privacy. No one would want to be in the same room with you." Larson smiled and started walking toward the entrance to his tower.
He stopped one more time and turned around. "I would offer my private bath, but my guild has standards." Raylan jumped off the wagon and watched his brother retreat. As he looked over, he almost didn't recognize Allard. He had removed his robe and was handing it to a boy standing next to him. He was wearing a full suit of chain mail with his large sword in a sheath
strapped to his back. Anyone would have mistaken him for one of the night protectors, except instead of white, his armor was accented in black. "Why wasn't I invited to the guildmaster dinner?" Raylan asked through clenched teeth. Allard shrugged. "Guildmaster Pietro declined to attend every year. They probably just stopped sending an invitation to the guild." "I am not Pietro." His deputy said nothing. Raylan ran his fingers through his dirty hair.
"Where is the guildmaster dinner?" "I believe it is being hosted by your brother this year." "That seals it. We will be attending this year, Allard." Before Allard could respond, Raylan was slapped hard on the back. Jolly good show, Guildmaster. Raylan turned to see Rafe, a wide grin on his face. "Rafe, how are you?" Raylan stepped forward, but then stopped. "I'd hug you, but..." He waved his hand across his filthy robes.
Ah, that's okay, I'm fine. I figured this would be the best place to find you. Are you okay?" "I'm fine, just a little bruised." Before either of them could continue, Allard spoke up. "Guildmaster, if you would like to attend the guildmaster dinner, I recommend we get moving. The bathhouse is a 20-minute walk." "Okay, Allard. But first, I want to introduce you to my friend Rafe." Allard nodded his head, but said nothing. Rafe looked Allard up and down.
"I've seen you before. I always thought you were Death wandering the streets of Ness." Raylan punched Rafe in the arm. "Show some respect, Rafe. This is my deputy guildmaster, Allard." "I'm sorry, Deputy, I did not mean offense, although I doubt I'm the only one who has that opinion. Heck, I bet you scare Karch." "A pleasure to meet you, Rafe." He bowed his head again and then turned to Raylan. "We should be going." "Can I help?"
Rafe blurted out. "I'm sorry. We're just gonna get washed up before we go to the guildmaster dinner as uninvited guests." Raylan grinned. "We're probably going to be an hour late as it is." Raylan handed his robe to the same boy who took Allard's. Raylan really didn't want to miss anything, and he wondered how bad the hour delay would be. He turned to Allard. "Allard, how bad is it for us to be late? Do they make any significant decisions?" Raylan didn't know how it would go or what he would do.
He just wanted to experience what his brother had over the past five years. The prospect of missing out on anything was almost more than he could stand. "The major decisions are always made at the Founder's Day Dinner. It is the only time that the Council of Guildmasters meets with all of the junior guildmasters. Your brother's banquet hall will be full." "Will we miss that, or do they do official business after dinner?"
Raylan was committed now. If there was a major inter-guild decision, he wanted to take part. "I'm afraid they pretty much discuss and vote while they eat.""They tend to start with the big decisions first so that they aren't made with wine-addled minds later in the evening." Raylan stamped his foot. (foot stomp) "It's going to start any minute now, Allard. We'll never get back in time." "I'm afraid so." I can help. Both Allard and Raylan turned to Rafe, who was grinning.
I'll go in and cause a big distraction, something that will take them a while to clean up. I bet they won't talk major business until things calm down. Raylan turned to Allard. "Do you think that would work?" He shrugged. Before Raylan could give his friend the go-ahead, Rafe blurted out- "But I won't do it unless you apprentice me to the Thieves Guild." Raylan shook his head and smiled. "You're crazy. You want to be a thief?" His friend nodded. "I guess that makes three of us."
The two shook hands as Allard added, "We must all get moving if this has any hope of succeeding." He turned to Rafe. "Apprentice, you will find access to the dinner rather difficult. I recommend you disguise yourself as a, one of the waitstaff." "I have an even better idea than that." He slapped Raylan on the shoulder, and then sprinted toward the merchant tower. "We must hurry," Allard noted, walking briskly toward Trader's Bridge and the Upper Triangle. Raylan followed closely behind.
Everyone gave them a wide berth. (dramatic music)