Seek out a Thief Guild.

Shairi asked around, trying to find where she could meet with one of the thief guilds. Most of the sailors were happy to help a pretty girl who was asking them questions – although many expected something more than a grateful smile in return, and Shairi received many propositions and crude attempts to grope her.

Eventually, she found what she was looking for. She was given directions to a brothel called ‘The Elf-Maid’s Treasure’, where she’d been told that the Razor Hand Guild’s officers met regularly. The sign outside the building was a painted board showing an elf lifting the hem of her dress to flash her cunny to the world, leaving little doubt as to what sort of ‘treasure’ was found inside. It was one of the better class of brothel in the district.

Inside, the air was hot with smoke, revelry and lust. Men gathered at the bar or round the tables. Young women served them drinks, their dresses cut low enough to give tantalising glimpses of their nipples. They responded to the drunken customers’ pawings and lewd comments with (not doubt feigned) enthusiasm.

Other women danced on the tables, slowly loosening their clothing and giving the cheering, leering patrons tantalising glimpses of their bare flesh. Shairi had performed many such dances on Meritheir’s orders, and to her jaded eye their attempts looked distinctly amateurish.

To her relief, she was not the only female patron there. A few women were dressed far too conservatively to be employees. Most sat quietly in corners, nursing drinks, and Shairi guessed they were here because it was the thief guild meeting place rather than from any desire to sample the services. On the other hand, a few seemed to be getting into the spirit of the thing – Shairi saw three richly dressed young women applauding one of the strippers, happily yelling comments and suggestions that were so filthy even the hardened thugs around them were blushing. And one woman, a warrior from her leather armour, was holding a flagon in one hand while feeling up the giggling girl in her lap with the other.

Shairi bought a drink and sat down. She had waited for perhaps ten minutes, when the babble of conversation suddenly died away. A group of men had entered. Most were scarred, hard-bitten thugs. But it was their leader who drew all eyes. He was dressed like an extremely wealthy merchant, laden with gold and silks, but he had his share of scars. Nevertheless, he was quite handsome, in his late thirties with a mane of blond hair. Shairi recognised the description of Andar Greythorn, who had risen to become leader of the Razor Hand Guild (and made it one of the most powerful thief guilds in the city) by a combined policy of overwhelming generosity to his allies and ruthless brutality to his enemies. It was said he particularly enjoyed putting the wives and daughters of those who opposed him to work in his brothels.

Well, perhaps not every eye was on Greythorn. Many were understandably drawn to the beautiful young woman on his arm. When Shairi’s gaze turned to her, she had to fight back a gasp.