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Bartholomew frowned, “One could make that assertion.”
    I nodded, letting quiet take over the monastery hall. He went back to his desk, but hesitated for a moment. “Often times we oversimplify the concept of good and evil. There is a natural interconnectedness between that which is dark and that which is light. They are not two ends of a spectrum, but rather a complex system flowing into one another. There cannot be one without the other, for there is no day without the night and no shadow without a light.”
     
    When the monastery bells rang, Peter and I walked out together, but did not say a word. We were both thinking about it, but not ready to start another argument. Suddenly, the bells of the big church sounded again but thrice this time.
    “Who do you think was killed?” asked Peter.
    “Let’s find out,” I responded quickly as we pushed our way through the crowd towards the square. All I could think of was Elias, hoping that it was not him.
    Two city guards rolled a cart with a body towards the square. The flags and decoration of the past day’s celebration were still up in the air. The people were there too. Not in dancing circles, but in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of the fallen warrior.
    With my elbows I shoveled people out of my way until I reached the inner side of the circle. Bent over the wagon stood the butcher with his wife and daughter Johanna.
    Within half an hour the space had cleared up again, and everyone was back at work. I walked towards the carpentry, passing by my house. My father greeted me briskly with a nod, hammering on a glowing red chunk of metal. I turned right and passed two more houses until I made it to the carpentry, which in itself was a masterpiece of the craft. The corners of the house were perfectly rounded and soft, while the walls had a wavy appearance to them, throwing ocean like shadows onto the rugged road. While small in size, it surpassed any merchant house in detail. We always practiced new styles and techniques on the shop itself, giving it a fresh look in a deteriorating district.
    Eric was standing in the doorway, talking to an obese man sporting an oversized red beret with three feathers at its top. “Come here boy,” the carpenter waved me towards them, “Mr. Edelstein, this is Adam, my apprentice,” he said. “Adam, this is Jean Edelstein,” he said. “Please take measurements for the good man, so we can get him a gorgeous new drawer within a few weeks.”
    The merchant looked me up and down with a distrusting glare, but then just nodded. They shook hands and the merchant walked off. “Tag along,” was all he said to me.
    Eric grabbed my arm and pulled my head close, whispering in my ear, “Do your job. And do it right.” He pushed me away and raised his voice as the merchant grew suspicious, “And if I see you with my daughter one more time after dark, I will cut more than just your pay!”
    I followed the merchant without a word. With pompous steps he passed the simple wooden houses of the Works, evading the looks of the commoners. After a few minutes we reached the gate to the Merchant District. The structure was more than ten feet deep and built of fortified stone, an immense measure to keep the poor from interfering with their day to day life. The metal grate to close the gate had always been rolled up, but two guards protected the entrance at every time of day. Being Grey Guard veterans, they wore their old armors with added insignias to specify their position. As protectors of the Merchant District their armors were polished and decorated with yellow capes and pointy helmets. Upon my sight, the two bulky guards tensed and crossed their halberds mere inches from Mr. Edelstein’s face.
    “Sir,” one of the guards said, “this boy is following you. Do you know him?”
    “Of course I know him, you smelly industrial scum,” the merchant hissed exasperated and spit at the guard’s feet. “I am paying him, just like I am paying you. If