Emmaline smiled down at the guards who were shaking their fists in consternation. One of the men raise his spear as though to cast it, but obviously recognized the effort a futile and settled for shouting a curse. 

“One can only hope,” she responded in Riekspiel, it felt curious and stilting to speak it again after so long. The Emir had a handful of slaves from Tilea or Estalia, and had routinely had them beaten for speaking in their own tongues. Emmaline had learned the lesson quickly and in any case there had been no other Imperials to talk to.

A dog began to bark and and lights began to appear as the denizens of the building around the jewelers square woke to the racket. Though she had no idea who this strange man was, it was at least certain that he wasn't working with the guards. He was handsome in a rugged looking way and dressed in little better than rags. That did beg the question of who he was and why he had helped her.

During her so called apprenticeship her master, a lecherous and avaricious wizard named Willhelm Grafton, had introduced her to many of Altdorf’s thieves. Among the other various scams he ran, he provided enchanted lockpicks, vanishing powders, and other alchemical substances that could be used for less than honest purposes, always with the stern warning that if they were caught they never heard of him. This man had the same lean hungry look as they and she unconsciously checked to make sure her small store of loot was still in place. If he was a thief though, it begged the question of why he had risked his neck. She supposed that would have to wait till the threat of imminent capture had passed. If she was caught she doubted that it would escape anyone's notice that Emir Omar had been murdered by a blonde slave. 

“Thank you,” she told the stranger, “Is there somewhere safe we can go?”