Malcador hadn't expected the thievery, but it didn't perturb him. He quite liked surprises. 

He sidled up to her, whispering conspiratorially. "I know just the place," he said, and took her by the hand. The pair exited the Magestarium and soon were out of the Colleges entirely. The streets, albeit not empty by any stretch, were not the immense cacophony of activity is was the usual. It was just after lunch, and those that hadn't eaten their feasts in the comfort of their home were now leaving the taverns, and many were going to settle down for a nap or a more leisurely activity. Even those of the city watch had bread crumbs on their lips or were snoozing soundly. Of course, you could fill whole villages with the numbers of men and women who were still out and about, but Malcador was used to twice the volume. 

Eventually they made it to Grandmarkt district, the passing clouds above barely obscuring the overbearing sun. It wasn't quite summer yet, but spring had fully come, and even on the short flower gardens made from government subsidies along the stone walkways, the flowers were in bloom. In the Grandmarkt, the festivities had begun to die down, but there was still a great crowd laughing and drinking and feasting on pies. A number of halflings were among them, one laying atop a table, his paunch in the air and snoring loudly. Malcador guided her past the ruin of the festival, and together they entered a large, three storied establishment called [i]Hammerhome[/i]. 

"What is this place?" Emmaline asked after Malcador knocked on the door. An eyeslit opened, and Malcador made a small sign with his hand, before the slit closed, and the reinforced door opened. 

"Well, on the surface it's a club, of sorts." He told her as they walked in. Immediately they were greeted with the sweet smell of cooked cakes and mead and spiced wine. There were carpets with Arabic embroidery on the floor, and the lamps were lit with camphine to keep the scent from being overwhelming in the enclosed space. There was a dining hall, a resplendent chandelier above that glimmered with a thousand facets of light, the display was lost on the mostly empty hall, save for a few couples in rapt conversation. Malcador led Emmaline to the stairwell, but instead of ascending, he opened a large door beside it. 

The doorway led downstairs, and they stepped down the wooden, almost rickety steps until they were met by the sounds of rolling dice and the groans of the myriad of losers. Malcador and Emmaline bore witness to a full room of nothing but gambling and drinks, from cards to knucklebones to Sigmar Save Me. Waiters hustled passed well polished and study tables as men and women cheered and fell over in disappointment. 

"You're not likely to see any firstborn noblemen here, but second sons and middling merchants that want to rub shoulders with them congregate here, as well as some of the more lucky commoners." He explained quietly. "The take is good, if you win. Just don't piss anyone off too much." 

"I can try," she said devilishly. 

"Let's see if we can take a bit more gold, today."