Thieves' Gambit
by Tanith Tyrr
pleasure@netcom.com
Chapters 4 - 7

IV.


     
     The streets were dark and dirty, covered with a thin, oily
layer of grime.  On the wharves of Reshor, the wagons of countless
passing merchants and their cargos of fish, cattle, slaves and
other things much less savory had contributed to the slime and
stench with their leavings.
     Kelain wrinkled his nose fastidiously.  Despite having lived
in Reshor for the majority of his hundred and twenty-odd years, he
had never quite gotten used to the way it smelled. 
     "Hey, wanna buy a stick?"  The boy was young, far too young in
Kelain's eyes to be peddling drugs on a pier street late at night. 
He was a tall, thin fellow with a tousled shock of brown hair and
an impish look about him.
     "No, thanks," Kelain told him casually.  He started to walk
on, then stopped deliberately.  "On the other hand, I might want to
buy some information.  Savvy?"
     The young Human grinned easily, flicking his nails at an
imaginary piece of lint on his crimson-lined cloak.  "It'll cost
you.  What do you want to know?"
     Kelain lowered his voice.  "Who supplies you?  More
importantly, where does your supplier get his goods?"
     The boy's eyes widened, and he lost some of his cocky look. 
"Elf-man, if I told you that, it would be my ass on a stick.  I
don't even know who the main source is."
     He never saw Kelain draw his dagger, but it was up against his
throat in an eyeblink.  "If you don't tell me what you know, it
will be a much more vital part of your body that gets punctured." 
His voice was soft, sibilant and dangerous.  The boy didn't see him
put the weapon away, either; but abruptly the dagger was back in
its sheath.  "I'll buy the information, like I said."
     The boy swallowed.  "Show me ten gold and I might tell," he
offered brazenly.
     Kelain almost choked.  Half of that sum would buy a good
horse, or a forged iron dagger.  Still, he admired the boy's
boldness.  "Ten aurii?  I think not."  He toyed meaningfully with
the hilt of his dagger.
     The boy stood his ground, though his voice shook a little. 
"No joke.  Squealing's a big risk.  I think the information's worth
it."
     Kelain slipped two of the octagonal, golden coins from his
pouch and tossed them from hand to hand expertly.  "One aurii now,
and I'll decide whether or not your information is worth another."
     The boy thought for awhile, then nodded.  Kelain tossed him a
coin.  "I work for Kai, the wine seller on Delphi pier.   I think
he buys from a main source, because he's given me white dust a
couple of times."  Kelain remained expressionless, but his mind was
racing with the implications of the boy's statement.  Dreamdust,
pure white when first created, turned grey within a matter of days. 
"It's gotta be a mage, but I don't know which one."
     Deftly, Kelain extracted another coin from the soft leather
folds of his pouch.  "What do you know about quevas?"
     The boy stared at him incredulously.  "Look, Elf-man, I just
deal the dust.  No hype, and I don't touch quevas.   Nobody around
here is dumb enough to buy any."  His concern was hardly unfounded. 
Although the loosely organized government that did exist in Reshor
was relatively lenient about such substances as dreamdust sticks
and even the more dangerous hype or sweat salt, quevas was the
weapon of choice for conquerors and terrorists, and the only truly
illegal drug in Reshor.  Mere possession of the drug, let alone its
manufacture, was enough to get you turned
over as a experimental subject to the Mage's Guild if you were
caught.  
     The characteristically crimson dust was instantly addictive,
and made its user utterly susceptible to suggestion as well as
enhancing his speed and strength.  An army on quevas would be
virtually unstoppable, and more than fanatic in their obedience. 
Anyone with a good supply of the drug could easily have complete
control over far too many people.  
     A few daring mages and career mercenaries were rumored to use
a derivative of quevas to be able to call upon their inner
resources and perform superhuman feats of magical or physical
strength, but it took a certain sort of mind to be able to use the
drug in that way.  Fortunately, it could only be properly
manufactured with the help of a highly trained mage, and serious
training in Force Arcane was usually available only from the Mages'
Guild itself.  It was a well-known truism that each Guild policed
its own, and the Mages' Guild was well equipped to ensure that none
of its sworn, blood-bonded members were aiding in the manufacture
of a Guild-proscribed drug.
     "I believe you," the half-elf remarked dryly.  "But who else
do you know that might?"
     "You've got me there, Elf-man.  Sorry."  There was genuine
regret in the boy's voice, though it was doubtless motivated more
by the thought of Kelain's gold than of his well-being.  
     Kelain flipped him the other coin.  "Well enough.  What shall
I call you?" 
     The young Human grinned insouciantly.  "Call me Rat.  But if
you're going to look up Kai, don't bother to give him my
greetings."
     "You're a wharf rat, eh?"  Kelain smiled wryly, remembering. 
Members of the Reshor youth gangs inevitably used that name as a
moniker when they didn't want to identify themselves to an
outsider.  He'd done it himself, a time or two.  "I used to run
with the Pack myself, when I was younger.  Skeah dru, Rat."  Kelain
used the cant phrase that roughly translated to `Luck, friend'.  
     He tossed an extra coin to the youngster, a silver orii piece. 
It shone palely in the moonlight.  "And here's some good luck for
you."  The old street slang came easily to his lips, and the boy
grinned broadly.  
     "Thanks, Elf-man.  Want a stick?" 
     Tolerantly, Kelain shook his head.  "No, thank you.  I don't
do the stuff.  And neither should you, if you have any ambition at
all.  You look as if you might."
     The kid saluted him with the gesture of a fencer acknowledging
a successful hit.  "You're right, Elf-man.  I don't do the dust. 
I just sell it to the scum who want to buy.  I plan to buy into the
Guild when I can afford it, and they don't take dustheads."
     Kelain regarded him thoughtfully.  "The Thieves' Guild, I
assume?"  The kid grinned at him.  "What name are you going to
apply to the Guild under?"
     "Is it worth something to you?"  He returned a wary stare.  
     "No, but it could be worth something to you.  Trust me or not,
your choice."  Kelain flipped a dagger on his thumb with practiced
skill.  The boy's eyes followed it admiringly.
     "Orin.  And I'm going to apply next year.  I'll have enough
saved by then to buy in."
     Kelain nodded.  Guild dues were not cheap, since the
organization provided room, board, training, healer's services when
they were needed, and protection for its loyal members.  Only the
most clever and resourceful were accepted, the ones who could prove
their ability to repay the Guild's investment in them.  "I'll
remember you," he said with certainty.  "I'll see you next year."
     The slim youth grinned infectiously.  "Thanks, Elf-man.  See
you."  He sauntered off along the wharves, seeking other buyers for
his wares.
     Kelain smiled politely and walked away.  Once he judged that
the boy could neither see him nor hear him, he began to race
towards the pier.
     As he expected, the area was pretty well deserted.  The
covered stall of the wineseller had a pale light within it,
flickering and barely perceptible behind the thick canvas.  Kelain
moved closer, gliding silently across the slatted wooden boards of
the pier.  He crouched motionless beside the closed stall for what
might have been hours, listening for any traces of conversation. 
His perfectly disciplined body made no demands on him, and his mind
was free to wander into a state of timeless calm.  Kelain began to
mentally review the Seventeen Classic defense positions for
broadsword in minute detail, replaying them in his mind and
searching for the perfect counter to each of them.  He had gotten
as far as Number Eight, the Crossed Rivers block, before he was
interrupted. 
     Finally, he heard voices.  "- had better have sent us some
useable goods this time, Kai."  It was a woman speaking.
     A deeper voice this time.  "Vasht knows what he's doing.  Just
pack it along with the rest, Tanya."
     "Even if it's got the other stuff in it?" 
     "Love, don't ask questions.  Just pack it up. "
Shuffling and other small noises.  "Don't think I'm going to smoke
any, Kai.  I know what this stuff is."  The woman's high-pitched
voice grated on Kelain's sensitive ears.
     "Hush.  Not another word about that."  The man's voice was
angry.
     "No one's listening, Kai," she said, a whining overtone to her
words.  "I don't know why we're getting mixed up in this, anyway."
     "If Vasht cuts us off, we're out of business, love.  He made
that very clear."  The man gave a long-suffering sigh.
     "If they catch us, we're more than out of business, damn it! 
Do you want to be a slave?  Do you want to be turned into an
experiment for the black robes?  I don't!"  There was real fear in
her voice.
     "It'll be all right, love.  Please don't worry."  He tried to
comfort her, but she would have none of it.  Her strident tones
split the air.
     "I don't know why I stay with you, you arrogant bastard. 
You're going to get us both killed before long."
     Kelain decided that he'd heard enough.  His felt-bottomed
boots padded as soundlessly and gracefully as cat's feet over the
salt-roughened boards as he left the pair to their arguing.  It
didn't take him long to travel his accustomed route of side streets
and little-known pathways back to the Guild.

V.


     
     Raak moved with surprising speed and agility up the curving
stairway.  He had been delayed along the way by a minor brawl in
the tavern that had started in his absence.  He had taken care of
it in such a way that there would not, in all probability, be any
more brawls in the Blood Sport that evening.  
     Cheerfully, he mused that the eight or so fellows that had put
him to the trouble of bouncing them could almost certainly hope to
walk again, possibly even without the aid of a cleric.  Raak most
definitely did not want to be disturbed that night.
     The door to his quarters was slightly ajar, and he knew that
he had left it closed and locked.  "Cheltie?" he called, alarmed. 
He opened the door.
     Kelain was sitting on the bed next to Cheltie.  The tall
'Morph woman seemed nervous, shrinking almost imperceptibly away
from the black-clad assassin.  Before Raak could make a move,
Kelain casually handed him a small packet of dusky red powder. 
"See if you can get her to see reason, Raak.  She doesn't want to
take her medicine."  
     A deep growl rumbled involuntarily through Raak's massive
chest, and he clenched the tiny packet in one fist.  "What are you
trying to give her?"  Protectively, he moved closer to the slight
fox 'Morph.  
     "Insurance, my friend.  You surely don't want her talking
about tonight's activities."  The half-elf leaned indolently
against the thick feather pallet, looking as slim and dangerous as
the rapier he carried.
     The half-ogre's eyes narrowed.  "She won't talk.  I'll take 
responsibility for that." 
     "You can't be sure.  This way's better.  I'll give her a
little cut quevas, and tell her to forget -"
     He was cut off midsentence by the half-ogre's bellow.  "No,
damn it!  You're not going to give her that poison."  Raak knew as
well as Kelain did that a haphazard dose of the potent drug was a
sure if slow death sentence.
     Cheltie spoke up.  Her voice was subdued.  "I don't want to
take any more drugs.  I promise I won't tell."
     Kelain ignored her, speaking directly to his friend.  "Raak,
are you crazy?  Trust a brothel slave?  You'd better let me give
her the drug."  He chuckled bitterly.  "We'll be doing her a favor
at that, Raak, since she's already a dusthead.  I hate the filthy
stuff as much as you do, but we can't let her go without some
insurance.  The safety of the Guild as well as both our lives are
at stake here, in case you haven't figured that out."  
     Damn it, Raak, we can't let her go alive, Kelain thought
fiercely.  Don't you realize that?  Quevas was an unclean way to
kill, but it was the only safe way as far as Kelain was concerned. 
A whore dead or brain-burned from overdose would attract little
comment, while an obvious slaying might be investigated.
     Raak growled.  "Don't talk about her that way.  You don't
understand her at all.  Any more than Humans understand halfbreed." 
His words were short and clipped, as if he was forcing them through
painfully gritted teeth.     
     Kelain was rocked.  He had shared a tacit bond with Raak ever
since the half-ogre had joined the Guild, forged at least in part
of their shared shame.  Although Kelain had found an uneasy peace
with his heritage in his years of respect and acceptance in the
Guild, Raak still felt the prejudice of Humans and other
purebloods keenly.  Kelain had never heard him make any reference
to his racial origin, let alone speak the word "halfbreed."  That
he had done so told Kelain that something had affected him deeply. 

     "You're right, my friend.  I don't understand her."  He forced
himself to apologize.  "Do you understand her well enough to trust
her with my life, and with the safety of the Guild?"
     In answer, Raak strode into the small washroom and tossed the
tiny packet of dust down the water-filled privy.  "I trust her,
Kelain.  Aeonor help me, I trust her."
     Kelain gritted his teeth.  When he had asked Raak to keep an
eye on Cheltie for an evening, he hadn't planned for him to fall
for her.  Love was blind, and blindness was something no one could
afford with the safety of the Guild at stake.  "You know she
belongs to the Painted Lady, Raak.  Are you planning to buy her
out?"
     Raak winced.  "Not buy her out.  Buy her free, so she can do
what she wants with her life.  If she wants to work here waiting
tables, I told her she could do that.  If that's what she wants." 
He repeated himself unnecessarily, staring fixedly out the small
window.
     Kelain took a brief glance out at the night sky.   The Great
Wheel's constellation was still visible over the horizon, and the
Maiden and Dragon had barely begun to appear.  "They might still be
open, if you wanted to do it now."  His voice was questioning. 
     The massive half-ogre had not spoken intelligibly in public
for many years.  He couldn't bring himself to reveal his Human
qualities to someone whom he believed would simply mock him for
them, and he literally could not speak at all in front of a crowd. 

     Kelain and Cheltie were friends and nonHumans like himself,
but Raak was literally unable to talk in front of most people.  He
preferred to be no more than what Humans expected, a stupid ogre. 
It was a lot easier than trying to convince them that he was a real
person.
     Raak bowed his head.  "I can't, Kelain.  They just wouldn't
understand what I wanted."  
     Kelain looked for a long time at his friend.  And at Cheltie. 
Finally, he nodded.  "I'll negotiate for you, my friend.  When I
take her back in the morning, I'll bargain."
     "Thank you.  Thank you with all my heart."  The naked
gratitude in Raak's eyes made Kelain want to turn away in
embarrassment.
     "It's nothing, Raak.  Don't worry about it."  Gracefully, the
half-elf rose.  "I'll see you in the morning, my friend."
     Behind him, he shut the tall door.  Already, he could hear
them laughing together.

VI.


     
      Raak was as silent as ever when Kelain came in the morning,
but the smile on his cragged, leathery face and the tender look in
his dark eyes for his companion made it clear that he was not at
all unhappy.  Cheltie was amazingly pert and vivacious when she
wasn't on dreamdust, and Kelain could see immediately what had
attracted his friend to this woman.
     Kelain suspected that her affection for Raak was genuine.  The
attractive fox 'Morph was entirely guileless and almost childlike
in her trust for the gentle half-ogre.  Kelain also sensed her
potential for becoming much more intelligent and mature if she was
given a chance to learn and grow, something she had never had in
the brothel.  He was certainly glad that he had not had time to
give her the drug.  She would be good for Raak.  Extremely good.  
     An unfamiliar pang struck him as he watched the two of them
from the hall.  The thought came unbidden and swiftly: will there
ever be one such as that for me?  Almost as quickly, he dismissed
the thought.  No Human or Elvatuar woman would desire a halfbreed,
especially a halfbreed assassin.  And he doubted that any self-
respecting 'Morph would, either.  A sad, self-deprecatory smile
flickered briefly across his finely drawn Elvish features.  
     Raak gave him a perfunctory glance as he entered the room. 
Reluctantly, the half-ogre let Cheltie go, squeezing her hands
gently in his own.  "I'll see you soon, Cheltie.  My friend is
going to take you back now."  
     Raak glanced meaningfully at Kelain.  He had not wanted to let
Cheltie out of his sight, but the wary half-elf had insisted that
the valuable courtesan would be searched for if she turned up
missing.  It would be safer, though more expensive, to buy her
outright from the inn.  A shipment of highly illegal drugs was far
more difficult to trace than a living woman, especially if
Cheltie's aura had been imprinted by a Guild mage as a safeguard
against her escaping or being stolen.
     Cheltie gave the half-ogre a friendly nuzzle.  "'Bye, Raak. 
See you."  She turned and looked at Kelain questioningly.  "You
look different today."   
     Kelain was surprised.  "You know me?"  He had gotten up at
dawn and taken several painstaking hours to insure that his
disguise was quite thorough.  Instead of having distinctly pointed
ears, they were now round.  His complexion was dark and swarthy,
and his hair was a curly mane of vivid auburn.  He currently
sported a reddish beard and a mustache, as well as several more
subtle facial alterations to his nose and chin.  
     After having known Kelain for well over a decade, Raak could
usually recognize him by his general build and mannerisms, no
matter how he was disguised.  Kelain had not expected the 'Morph to
do so, however.  Briefly, he cast a nervous glance in the small
mirror.  
     Cheltie nodded earnestly.  "Of course.  You look different,
but it's still you under all of that stuff."  
     Kelain shrugged, never noticing Raak's speculative look.  So
she's got a sharp nose.  I'll have to remember to disguise my scent
the next time I want to fool a 'Morph.  "Follow me, Cheltie.  I'm
taking you back to the Lady for now."  Obediently, she followed
Kelain downstairs, through the kitchen and out the back exit to the
alley.  
     They walked through the streets of Reshor, its familiar sights
and smells assailing their senses.  They passed street vendors with
strings of dried vegetables, pungent heaps of crushed peppers,
bright-plumaged fowl with their scrawny feet trussed together, and
sizzling haunches of deer and chevral dangling and smoking over
clay firepots.  Old women hawked plump pale tubers of sweetroot and
mallows, holding up their wares and screeching its virtues in
strident tones.  More sober merchants stood behind mats laden with
bright-colored jewelry, glazed pots and wooden utensils, bartering
with sturdy-looking peasants for coins and sometimes script or
staters in trade.  
     Kelain courteously offered to buy their morning meal with one
of his Guild staters.  Cheltie headed enthusiastically for a small
vendor's wagon with savory-looking spitted squabs, honeyed dates,
and dishes of rice and slivered nuts on the counters.  Cheltie
polished off three of the small birds, crisp-skinned and golden
brown, licking the last of the pink juices off of her muzzle with
her long tongue.  Kelain breakfasted on the rice and dates and
found them delicious.   
     Cheltie turned her bright gaze on the half-elf.  "Thank you. 
I don't remember your name, though."  
     Kelain groaned.  If she was questioned, and if she talked, her
story would lead inevitably to him, whether she had his name or
not.  "My name is Kelain.  But if you value your life, say nothing
about what happened to you last night.  If anyone asks, 
tell them that you had too much dust and drink, and you don't
remember who you were with.  Do you understand?"  
     Cheltie nodded seriously.  "I understand.  I don't remember
anything about last night."  She bubbled over with sudden laughter. 
"But I do remember.  I had so much fun!  Your friend is real nice. 
Nobody's ever been nice to me like that before."  
     Kelain suppressed his curiosity.  It was really none of his
business, anyway.  But the tall fox 'Morph continued talking. 
"He's so big, I thought he might hurt me, you know, but he's really
very gentle.  He let me -"
     Embarrassed, Kelain coughed loudly, all too aware of the
passers-by on the crowded street.  "Uh, Cheltie, maybe we'll talk
about that later.  Tell me what you remember about the two men who
hired you and Rissa."
     As he hoped, he succeeded in distracting her.  A fleeting
expression of worry crossed her face.  "I wonder if Rissa's all
right.  Do you know where she is?"
     Kelain felt a momentary twinge of conscience, an oddity for
any long-time denizen of Reshor.  In Reshor, you learned quickly
that no one was his brother's keeper.  Or you learned, even more 
quickly, how to die.  "I don't know," he told her honestly.  "I
left her with the men that hired you.  She should be all right."
     Cheltie offered him a tentative smile.  "I guess so."  They
continued to walk through the city.  The attractive fox 'Morph drew
an appreciative whistle from more than one of the jaded denizens of
the streets as they passed by.  Staying in character, the disguised
half-elf turned to glare at the most obvious admirers.
     They arrived at the Painted Lady in about twenty minutes.  The
doors to the lavish entry hall stood open, and a number of men and
women were milling about or drinking at the elaborately carved
rosewood bar in the central room.  A young Human woman came out
from behind the bar to greet them.  "Ah, hello, Cheltie."  She
turned to Kelain.  "I'll have your deposit back in a minute, sir." 
 
     Kelain was hard put to suppress a grin.  It seemed as if the
profits from last night's job were going to take a rapid increase. 
If the inn had demanded a deposit against the return of the
obviously rare and valuable 'Morph courtesan, it should have been
quite a healthy one. 
     The girl returned with a small wooden box of a dark, smooth-
grained wood.  "Here it is, sir."  She waited while Kelain opened
it, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
     As he had suspected, it was stuffed with small packets of
powder.  He tried not to groan aloud.  Granted, the stuff was
undoubtedly valuable, but Kelain definitely drew the line at
peddling illegal drugs for money.  It was a longstanding policy of
his Guild not to get involved in the drug trade, even the semi-
legal one.  Drugs were traditionally a mage's business, and the
Thieves' Guild preferred not to trespass.  
     Kelain shut the box and stuffed it into one of his pouches
without even bothering to glance further at its contents.  "Is
everything there, sir?" she asked brightly.
     Kelain sighed in resignation.  "It certainly is.  May I see
the owner, please?"
     The girl's face darkened.  Barely out of her teens, she was
gaudily painted and made up to look like a butterfly, with delicate
wings of woven silk sewn onto the back of her brief robe.  "Mavin's
not in right now.  Was something unsatisfactory, sir?"  
     She had a faint, pleasantly exotic rhythm to her speech, and
Kelain wondered cynically if it was something she had deliberately
cultivated.  "Quite the contrary, miss.  I'm 
interested in purchasing Cheltie's contract.  For a reasonable
price, of course." 
     She put a small, delicately manicured hand over her mouth in
consternation.  "Oh, I'm so sorry, I do not think that she is for
sale.  Oh, no.  You see, Cheltie is a special favorite of His
Lordship's, and she brings us so many other noble patrons as well. 
And she's like a daughter to Mavin.  Truly, you should pick
another."
     Kelain gave Cheltie a wary, questioning glance.  The fox
'Morph was wide-eyed and guileless, but Kelain could see the
suppressed mirth in her expression.  He turned his attention back
to the girl, his eyes narrow and suspicious.  "Right.  And I
suppose she's shacking up with the royal mage-princes of Revan as
well?  Do you pull this one on everybody who asks a simple
question, or do I just look like a yokel today?" 
     The girl returned his look coolly, dropping the exotic accent
faster than a takh-vine picker with a venomous snake in hand.  "My
advice to you has nothing to do with your, ah, unique appearance." 
She looked at him as if he were an insect she had found floating in
her soup.  "I am merely informing you that this one won't sell
cheaply, if you can buy her at all."  She put a slight emphasis on
the pronoun.
     Kelain grinned insouciantly, amused.  This fresh-faced young
girl was obviously wise in the ways of haggling as well as subtle
insult.  "I don't doubt that she's valuable.  All the same, she's
the one I'm interested in."  
     "If you say so, sir."  Her lips tightened into a thin, sharp
line.  "Mavin won't be back until after dark.  You may return and
speak with her then, if you wish."
     The tall half-elf nodded curtly.  "That I will do.  Please
reserve her this evening for me, in any case."  Regretting the
ostentation, Kelain tossed the girl a heavy golden coin.  "Consider
this a deposit."  He turned back to Cheltie.  "Goodbye, my dear. 
I'll be back for you at sunset."
     He sauntered off insolently, blowing a kiss at the attractive
fox 'Morph as he went.  She returned the gesture with enthusiasm. 
Kelain wasn't sure how much she understood, but at least she wasn't
likely to mention that Kelain was actually negotiating on Raak's
behalf.  If she did, it would probably just about double her asking
price, as only lordlings, mages and the idle rich sent others to do
their negotiating.  
     Sunset.  That would give him just enough time to get rid of
his current disguise and have a talk with Alun, before he had to
attend to the rest of his Guild duties for the day.  And Kelain had
a guilty feeling that it was high time to let the Guildmaster know
what was going on.  
     Taking a circuitous route, he backtracked to one of the secret
entrances to the Guildhouse, in the bottom of an abandoned quarry
just outside the city.  It didn't take him long to get to Alun's
office.  He knew the way well enough.

VII.


     
     "Alun?"  The door was half ajar, but Kelain knocked on it
anyway before he went in.  The underground chamber was cool and
damp, a welcome change from the merciless glare of the day outside. 

     "Come in, Kelain."  The voice carried clear tones of
disapproval.  "I've been expecting you."
     Kelain sighed and nerved himself for a confrontation.  "I have
a report to make, Guildmaster," he began, seating himself in a
chair of polished ebony.
     Alun gave him a penetrating look from across his desk.  "Does
it have something to do with a drug shipment, perhaps?"  His
deceptively long, slim fingers tapped impatiently on a sheaf of
papers.
     Kelain nodded.  "What have you heard, sir?"  The half-elf did
not afford the title of respect to many men, but in his eyes, this
Human had earned it.  
     The Guildmaster's voice was calm and level.  "Five known
couriers and a brothel slave found dead in an alley, throat-cut. 
In our territory, I might add.  Rumors of a massive shipment of
dreamdust intercepted.  Your friend Raak came to me last night for
a drug-specific antidote.  For dreamdust.  This morning, three
longtime addicts destroyed a stall on the wharves because they
couldn't obtain the drug.  Two are dead, the third in the custody
of the City Guard for questioning."  
     He smiled thinly at Kelain for a long moment.  "God damn it,"
he shouted, slamming a taut fist down on his desk.  Inadvertently,
the half-elf twitched.  "Will you tell me what the hell is going on
here?" 
     Kelain swallowed.  "I intercepted that shipment, Guildmaster. 
The couriers had been dipping into their own wares, and I thought
them fair game.  But I didn't kill them, I swear.  And I would have
left the drugs where they were, but - "
     Most of the time, Alun was a rather nondescript man.  He was
medium-short, with medium-brown hair, pale grey eyes, and he ran
slightly to pudgy.  He could blend into any crowd with astonishing
ease.  Few people could describe him with any degree of accuracy
five minutes after he walked out of a room.  But when he rose from
the desk, he was no longer a nonentity.  There was hard tension in
his stance, his solid musculature apparent under the deceptive
layer of padding.  He was a coiled spring, a cobra waiting to
strike.  His eyes transfixed the young half-elf like twin steel
blades.  "Couriers are never fair game, Kelain."  His 
voice was quiet and clear.  "You have endangered the Guild by
involving us in this business.  Nothing should have induced you to
take the drugs.  Nothing."
     Kelain spoke one word.  "Quevas."
     It was enough.  The Guildmaster sat back down heavily.  "Gods
help us.  How much?"
     "About three pounds of it."  Kelain replied shortly.  "It's in
Raak's quarters, if you want it."
     Alun whistled quietly through his teeth.  "Enough to addict a
city."  His gaze softened.  "I'm sorry, Kelain.  I didn't know."
     Kelain was silent for a long time, his face impassive.  He
knew perfectly well what the Guildmaster was apologizing for. 
     Although they had been friends for several decades, he knew
that Alun would almost certainly have killed him if he hadn't
explained.  It was a Guildmaster's duty, first and foremost, to
protect the interests of the Guild.  No matter what it cost him. 
     "So you understand why I took the shipment," Kelain said at
last.  "Anyone controlling that much quevas could take Reshor and
everything in it by putting it in the city's wells."  He forced a
small smile.  "You taught me that Reshor belongs to the Guild.  I
did what I thought best to protect it."
     Soberly, Alun nodded.  "You were right, my friend.  You were
absolutely right.   About this quevas - "
     "I'd rather it be in your hands than in mine."  Kelain gave
him a wan grin.  "I thought it would be safe enough in Raak's
quarters, though."
     The Guildmaster shook his head negatively.  "I'm turning it
over to the Mages' Guild as soon as I can reach them.  It's
rightfully their business, not ours."
     "You're right."  The half-elf nodded, relieved.  "We'll let
them deal with their own renegades, and pray that they get the
bastard before he makes any more."
     Alun rose from his chair.  This time, he wasn't being
menacing.  He extended his hand to Kelain, who gripped it firmly. 
"You pick up the package.  I'll dispatch a messenger to the Mages'
Guild along the way and meet you in the Blood Sport in two hours."
     "I'll be there."  Kelain turned and left the room with a swift
and silent efficiency, the Guildmaster a few quick strides behind
him.