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Authors: Matthew Sprange
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smallest alley. Larger squads marched past gaudily coloured stalls, ever vigilant for thievery. Ambrose had also noted that a single guard armed with yellow and black flags stood at the top of each tower, using his vantage point to direct patrols to anything suspicious.
He had already visited the other four market plazas, and the same system was in place in each. Standing beside a statue of the Anointed Lord, Ambrose fumed. Vos had promised to close in on the thieves' guild, and their first target was all too clear. They had shut his franchise down.
Already, several three-child teams had been apprehended before Ambrose could give orders for them to halt their business, and he had seen them led into the Citadel, furious at his inability to help.
"What are we going to do, Mr Ambrose?" asked Jake, a young boy of perhaps nine or ten, already a superior pickpocket who had taken over the leadership of his own team.
Ambrose sighed. "Go home, Jake. Tell everyone to go home. We can't work like this."
Sipping at his wine to hide a self-satisfied smile, Reinhardt Perner relaxed back in his chair, eyeing the official seated opposite him. He cast a glance past the sacks of wheat, barrels of ale and stacks of bread, over to the Vos guardsman standing outside the front door of his store. A warm feeling spread through him, and he knew it was more than just the wine working through his system. For the first time in a very long time, he felt free. Free to do business and free to earn a decent profit through his labours.
"You have my sincere thanks, Councillor," he said to his companion, a short man dressed in a dark tunic, tidy but not ostentatious. "My business has been terrorised for as long as I can remember by those rogues. Your man there will serve to be an admirable deterrent."
"It is the least we can do, Master Perner. Merchants such as yourself are the backbone of this city, and we consider it our utmost duty to protect your business. As the Preacher Divine himself has said, we are here to ensure decent people do not have to struggle to make a living."
"And you say your man will be relieved every day?"
"Twice a day," the councillor assured him. "And if the thieves are foolish enough to come here in force we can have a full squad here in minutes. Our men are drawn from the core of the Vos army, and many have fought against the finest Pontaine has to offer. A few thieves will be no contest."
"That is all to the good, Councillor. I cannot tell you the fury and frustration I have had to endure over the years. Helpless, I have been, as the thieves and their thugs visited me every week, seeking their 'insurance' money, as they called it. I had to pay them. I saw what they did to Roman's store next door."
The councillor frowned. "There is no store next to yours."
"Exactly. It was burned to the ground overnight."
"Ahhh. Well, you need not worry yourself about such things any longer."
"Again, you have my gratitude."
Reaching into his tunic, the councillor produced a leather scroll case and, unscrewing its lid, withdrew a single sheet of paper.
"There is just one more thing we need to attend to," he said.
"Oh?" Reinhardt set down his wine glass, suddenly feeling uneasy. He took the paper handed to him and started to read. It took him just a few seconds to comprehend what he was looking at.
"This is an increase in taxes - it will be nearly triple what I pay already!"
"In effect from this morning," the councillor said. He took up his own glass and drained it. When the merchant did not respond, the councillor leaned towards him. "Guards cost money, Master Perner. Catching thieves costs money. Charity costs money, and I am sure you wish to contribute your part to help those less well off than yourself."
Reinhardt looked as though he was about to argue, but the councillor spoke first. "You are going to be better off, Master Perner, believe me. You will be able to operate your business in peace, without interference from the
He had already visited the other four market plazas, and the same system was in place in each. Standing beside a statue of the Anointed Lord, Ambrose fumed. Vos had promised to close in on the thieves' guild, and their first target was all too clear. They had shut his franchise down.
Already, several three-child teams had been apprehended before Ambrose could give orders for them to halt their business, and he had seen them led into the Citadel, furious at his inability to help.
"What are we going to do, Mr Ambrose?" asked Jake, a young boy of perhaps nine or ten, already a superior pickpocket who had taken over the leadership of his own team.
Ambrose sighed. "Go home, Jake. Tell everyone to go home. We can't work like this."
Sipping at his wine to hide a self-satisfied smile, Reinhardt Perner relaxed back in his chair, eyeing the official seated opposite him. He cast a glance past the sacks of wheat, barrels of ale and stacks of bread, over to the Vos guardsman standing outside the front door of his store. A warm feeling spread through him, and he knew it was more than just the wine working through his system. For the first time in a very long time, he felt free. Free to do business and free to earn a decent profit through his labours.
"You have my sincere thanks, Councillor," he said to his companion, a short man dressed in a dark tunic, tidy but not ostentatious. "My business has been terrorised for as long as I can remember by those rogues. Your man there will serve to be an admirable deterrent."
"It is the least we can do, Master Perner. Merchants such as yourself are the backbone of this city, and we consider it our utmost duty to protect your business. As the Preacher Divine himself has said, we are here to ensure decent people do not have to struggle to make a living."
"And you say your man will be relieved every day?"
"Twice a day," the councillor assured him. "And if the thieves are foolish enough to come here in force we can have a full squad here in minutes. Our men are drawn from the core of the Vos army, and many have fought against the finest Pontaine has to offer. A few thieves will be no contest."
"That is all to the good, Councillor. I cannot tell you the fury and frustration I have had to endure over the years. Helpless, I have been, as the thieves and their thugs visited me every week, seeking their 'insurance' money, as they called it. I had to pay them. I saw what they did to Roman's store next door."
The councillor frowned. "There is no store next to yours."
"Exactly. It was burned to the ground overnight."
"Ahhh. Well, you need not worry yourself about such things any longer."
"Again, you have my gratitude."
Reaching into his tunic, the councillor produced a leather scroll case and, unscrewing its lid, withdrew a single sheet of paper.
"There is just one more thing we need to attend to," he said.
"Oh?" Reinhardt set down his wine glass, suddenly feeling uneasy. He took the paper handed to him and started to read. It took him just a few seconds to comprehend what he was looking at.
"This is an increase in taxes - it will be nearly triple what I pay already!"
"In effect from this morning," the councillor said. He took up his own glass and drained it. When the merchant did not respond, the councillor leaned towards him. "Guards cost money, Master Perner. Catching thieves costs money. Charity costs money, and I am sure you wish to contribute your part to help those less well off than yourself."
Reinhardt looked as though he was about to argue, but the councillor spoke first. "You are going to be better off, Master Perner, believe me. You will be able to operate your business in peace, without interference from the
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