Two tables down, a tall man dressed in tattered hose and breeches stood up and walked out the door of the tavern, stumbling as he went. The money-pouch at his belt jingled loudly as he walked down the Street of Knives, before a hand appeared from the shadows, dragging him into Cutlass Alley. The tall man fumbled for his sword, but his hand fell limp with pain. The man looked around, struggling to regain his composure.
A short, weasel-faced lad, barely nineteen it seemed, held up a bloody dagger. He pointed to the pouch with his free hand, while holding his knife right in front of the man's eyes.
The tall man looked back in horror, trying to draw his sword with his free hand, before the boy simply stabbed him in the chest. As the man sunk to the ground, the boy cut his purse and ran off, disappearing into the shadows.
The boy stealthily made his way to Sighing Avenue, into a particularly dilapidated part of town that seemed filled with empty homes and deserted shops. Particularly impoverished people dwelled in these buildings, who had little else but the clothes on their backs, and perhaps one or two silver coins if they were lucky that day. The true inhabitants of this neighbourhood could get rid of them if they wanted, but they did not. The people made such a useful front.
The young boy slipped quietly into what appeared to be an abandoned hut near the Riddling Reaver Inn, before moving into the basement and walking over to a bare wall. Tapping three times on the wall with his dagger, the boy waited, as a secret panel seemed to slide open out of nowhere. A warty, scarred face peered out at the boy.
"Back so soon, Rat?" the door guard asked the boy. "You bring back a good haul this time?" The weasel-faced boy scowled, and pointed his dagger square at the door guard. He hated that nickname.
"I told you before, you idiot," the boy hissed. "The name's Stoat."
"Whatever," the door guard answered. "Get in here, will you?"
Stoat accompanied Grumbo, the door guard, down a tunnel that led deeper underneath the city. The two finally stopped at a large hall, entering by one of several tunnels that connected to the place. Songs and arguments greeted them as they walked in, accompanied by the smells of ale, smoking-weed, and blood. The common room for the thieves was lively, as usual, especially since their gang, led by Master Urbin, had just gained a major swathe of territory in the Execution District of the city from the gang of the hated Ironhand, stamping out the rogue Red Star Brotherhood street gang to boot.
Stoat and Grumbo finally dropped their scowls, grinning at each other. There was plenty of lotus dust to go around, and the whores were on their way. The celebrations proved to be very enjoyable.
Later that evening, as they recovered, Stoat and Grumbo rejoined each other at a table at the far end of the hall, reluctantly waving good-bye to their "companions".
"How much you got left?" Grumbo asked, referring to Stoat's last robbery.
"Three dragons," Stoat grumbled. He had spent most of it on drugs and whores, and gambled the rest away in less than an hour. Grumbo laughed. He had won near to forty dragons himself, and was quite pleased with himself. Stoat scowled back at Grumbo.
"You know what that kind of boasting gets you," Stoat warned. "You wanna get your throat cut?"
"It's against guild rules to kill a brother thief," Grumbo reminded him.
Now it was Stoat's turn to laugh.
"You believe that? The guildmasters only enforce that rule when they need to keep us in line. Don't you know how it works in this city? Half the crime is done by thieves, to thieves."
Grumbo looked back at Stoat curiously.
"How do you-" Grumbo started, before he suddenly went stiff, having trouble breathing. Glancing down at his side, he saw Stoat had thrust his dagger into Grumbo's lung.
"I'm one of the folks who does most of his robbing against brother thieves," Stoat said with a grin, as the light faded from Grumbo's eyes. "The guildmasters don't mind when we have a little healthy competition." Stoat looked around, confident that most of the thieves and whores were too drunk or drugged to do anything to stop him. The young thief then peered down a nearby entrance tunnel, seeing a hole that led to the sewers. It was where most of the thieves threw the bodies of their victims, anyway.