“You are here,” the Prince began, “because there may be another plot against my beloved. I charge each and every one of you with being her personal protector. I want the Thieves Quarter empty and all the inhabitants jailed twenty-four hours before my wedding. Only then will I rest easy. Gentlemen, I beg you: think of this mission as being an affair of the heart, and I know you will not fail.” With that he pivoted and, followed by the Count, hurried from the courtyard, leaving Yellin in command.
The conquest of the Thieves Quarter began immediately. Yellin worked long and hard at it each day, but the Thieves Quarter was a mile square, so there was much to do. Most of the criminals had been through unjust and illegal round-ups before, so they offered little resistance. They knew the jails were not celled enough for all of them, so if it meant a few days’ incarceration, what did it matter?
There was, however, a second group of criminals, those who realized that capture meant, for various past performances, death, and these, without exception, resisted. In general, Yellin, through adroit handling of the Brute Squad, was able to bring these bad fellows, eventually, under control.
Still, thirty-six hours before the sunset wedding, there were half a dozen holdouts left in the Thieves Quarter. Yellin arose at dawn and, tired and confused—not one of the captured criminals seemed to come from Guilder—he gathered the best of the Brute Squad and led them into the Thieves Quarter for what simply had to be the final foray.
Yellin went immediately to Falkbridge’s Alehouse, first sending all save two Brutes off on various tasks, keeping a noisy one and a quiet one for his own needs. He knocked on Falkbridge’s door and waited. Falkbridge was by far the most powerful man in the Thieves Quarter. He seemed almost to own half of it and there wasn’t a crime of any dimension he wasn’t behind. He always avoided arrest, and everyone except Yellin thought Falkbridge must be bribing somebody. Yellin knew he was bribing somebody, since every month, rain or shine, Falkbridge came to Yellin’s house and gave him a satchel full of money.
“Who?” Falkbridge called from inside the alehouse.
“The Chief of All Enforcement in Florin City, accompanied by Brutes,” Yellin replied. Completeness was one of his virtues.
“Oh.” Falkbridge opened the door. For a power, he was very unimposing, short and chubby. “Come in.”
Yellin entered, leaving the two Brutes in the doorway. “Get ready and be quick,” Yellin said.
“Hey, Yellin, it’s me,” Falkbridge said softly.
“I know, I know,” Yellin said softly right back. “But please, do me a favor, get ready.”
“Pretend I did. I’ll stay in the alehouse, I promise. I got enough food; no one will ever know.”
“The Prince is without mercy,” Yellin said. “If I let you stay and I’m found out, that’s it for me.”
“I been paying you twenty years to stay out of jail. You’re a rich man just so I don’t have to go to jail. Where’s the logic of me paying you and no advantages?”
“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get you the best cell in Florin City. Don’t you trust me?”
“How can I trust a man I pay twenty years to stay out of jail when all of a sudden, the minute a little extra pressure’s on, he says ‘go to jail’? I’m not going.”
“You!” Yellin signaled to the noisy one.
The Brute started running forward.
“Put this man in the wagon immediately,” Yellin said.
Falkbridge was starting to explain when the noisy one clubbed him across the neck.
“Not so hard!” Yellin cried.