The Thief

                                                                                                                                                                                          

THE THIEF

By Graham E. Saturley

The cloth wrapped grapnel burst through the cover of the low lying clouds and arched through the night, the long, thin rope in its wake cutting through the damp air with a hiss. After landing with a muffled thump, the device skipped once, sliding back toward the ledge where the tip of one hook caught hold and bit into the mortar at the base of a leering, lichen-covered gargoyle. The stone creature seemed not to notice however as it continued to impassively study the darkened city streets below; its carved eyes aglow in the dull orange light of refineries that lay just outside the city walls.

 The knotted cord fastened to the eye of the treble hook continued alongside the building, melding with the darkness and eventually ending in a coiled loop around the arm a lithe, swarthy figure perched on a narrow ledge three stories below. With a quick snatch, the hook above was properly set and the line tested as the dark-clad man began the arduous task of climbing.

With the ease of an acrobat, the shadowy figure ascended the rope hand over hand, the toes of his soft-soled shoes nimbly locating the nearly indiscernible nooks and crannies of building’s façade. In less time than it would take most people to walk the same distance he reached a niche beneath a balcony where he paused to listen for any indication that his approach had been detected. Of course, there was none, and he flashed a dashing smile in appreciation for his own cleverness.

Chinning himself eyelevel to the bottom of the stone balustrade, he surveyed the scene from behind the cover of the railings. Beyond lay a gardened terrace, subtly illuminated by an arrangement of cream-colored glass spheres affixed to poles strategically placed around the perimeter of the piazza. Meticulously manicured topiary and flowers in sculpted planters lent the cloying scent of their exotic blooms to the stench of the refineries below. An effective means of screening the urban outcropping from prying eyes, the foliage also aided in concealing the squalor of the city below from the delicate sensibilities of any distinguished persons that might be a guest of the rooftop garden.

 In the center of the patio, a tall, wrought-iron latticed sculpture sat atop a dais in the middle of a reflection pool, the top of the spire decorated with a large metallic orb. Beyond the miniature tower, he could see a set of heavy French doors situated directly across the balcony from his vantage point; and exactly where his benefactor had said they would be. In fact, most of the information gleaned from the strange old bugger was proving to be spot on thus far. Strangely, for someone who alleged to have never set foot in the city, the old codger certainly seemed to know this location intimately.

With a heave, the uninvited guest mounted the banister and crouched in the shadows of the surrounding shrubbery. With a flash of white teeth he pulled back the folds of his dark-grey cowl and stroked his pencil-thin moustache before slipping a hand into the pouch at his side. Retrieving the strange device the old man had provided, he carefully unwrapped its protective swaddling of soft cloth, before donning the contraption and adjusted the head straps as instructed. For a moment he saw nothing out of his left eye and he feared the device had been damaged in transit. Then, slowly, his surroundings became visible through an amber haze. With deft fingers he manipulated the toggles to focus the device, flipping through the monocle’s multi-colored lenses while scanning his surroundings.

 If he did not see it for himself he would never have believed it. There, on a flagstone at the base of the reflection pool, was a strange glyph throbbing with a malevolent energy undetectable to the naked eye. The eerie light continued along the conduit of moss filled grout lines, connecting with two other symbols in an intricate web of pulsating luminosity.

Intricate indeed, he silently agreed with the old man’s description of the alarm system. In fact, he had never seen one quite like this and with his expertise in the field, he felt the notion slightly vexing. Still, there appeared to be no other wards or security measures and the path before him was easily negotiated.

Having submitted his route to memory, he removed the cumbersome device from his brow, ensuring it was properly tucked away. With a deep breath to steel his nerves, he sprang into the air, landing gracefully upon the closest safe spot. With nary a sound, he then skipped to the next and the next in a series of light-footed leaps not unlike the movements of a dancer. Midway across, he paused for a heartbeat, considering his next move; two up or three? Then, feeling confident, he bounded toward the next stone in the sequence.

With a final leap, he alit upon the granite threshold of the garden doors. Again his toothy smile flashed in self-appreciation as he turned to examine the door’s lock. An uncomplicated mechanism, to say the least, he speculated that any novice footpad could defeat it given time. Reaching out, he jiggled the handle between leather clad fingers.

 Curious, he thought at finding the clasp secure, exactly who would feel the need to lock their doors so far above the city?

Strangely, whether by error or by design, the old man had failed to provide one bit of information on the apartment’s owner. Even the thief's own sources had been unable to say. All he was able to learn was that the building had been constructed by some pompous, Industrialist swine nearly a hundred years before. Being that was the case, the identity of the architect and the identities of any current tenants were not considered public knowledge to someone of his caste. Still, his network of spies should have been able to come up with at least one name, but instead, it was almost as if the tallest building in the center of Olde Town did not exist at all.

Unknowns like that gave him an uncomfortable feeling. However, the thought of the handsome payment the old man had fronted, and his promise to double the amount, quickly allayed the thief’s normally cautious nature.

Aided by a twisted implement designed for such endeavors, the simple lock snapped open with a flick of the thief’s wrist. Easing the door open slightly, he reached through the crack and caught hold of the heavy fabric inside, pulling the drapes taunt to prevent any movement. Slipping inside, he closed the door behind him and, separating the curtains slightly, stuck one eye to the opening to peer around the chamber beyond.

A circular room, the walls were of polished mahogany panels accented with gold filigree and lined with shelves containing an array of ancient looking tomes and a number of curious, and obviously valuable, bric-a-brac. Framing the massive iron-bound, oak door across the small library, a pair of surly looking alabaster busts overlooked a floor of red-veined, marble tiles laid out in a dizzying arrangement. Directly before him, the back of a large and decoratively carved chair loomed over a matching desk, both pieces of furniture seemingly hewn from the same, ebon wood.

While the lavish décor might be considered opulent to most, the glow of the oil lamp sconces and lingering scent of sandalwood incense did little to thaw the mausoleum like chill of the chamber. Not to mention the unwavering gaze of the busts, both of which gave him an uneasy, almost queasy sensation.

Still, there was a commission at stake. If the old man was correct, and he had no reason to believe otherwise, he would be in and out in less than a minute, as the item he sought was contained within a secret compartment beneath the desk less than a yard away.

Inhaling deeply through his nose, he drew the curtains wide enough to stick out his head before stepping from his place of concealment and grabbing the chair to move it aside…

It didn’t budge.

Leaning back slightly, he inspected the seat. It was large, that much was certain, but he could see no obvious reason why it could not be moved. Again he pulled against it, straining himself as he did so.

 “Must be lined with lead,” he muttered, finally conceding with a disgusted gasp.

 Scratching his head at the peculiarity he ducked down and squeezed past the chair to slip into the considerable recess beneath the desk. Running his hands along the smooth floor, he located the star shaped indention exactly where the old man had said it would be and pressed down. The polished tile gave way under the pressure with a click and then rose under its own power to reveal a void beneath.

The thief grinned as he retrieved the velvet bag from the bottom of the compartment. Loosening the drawstrings, he poured the contents into the palm of his hand and shook his head.

“All this for a bloody pocket watch?” he asked aloud. 

Furthermore, I his opinion, it didn’t even seem like a particularly nice watch and while the chain seemed to be of gold, it had a clunky, iron key for a fob. Pushing the release button on the side, the hinged cap sprang open, revealing a series of complex looking inscriptions on the interior face of the cover. Whatever language they were in, he could not read them. In fact, like most of the common folk of Olde Towne, he could barely read at all. Not that he was ignorant mind you; it was just that literacy was considered a luxury only afforded to certain higher ranking Academs and members of the Industrialist party.

Obviously some kind of sentimental value to the old man, he thought. Probably the only thing of worth the old bugger ever owned.

An evil thought crossed his mind, something that was not beyond his nature. Seeing how he was currently in possession of the item, maybe he could sway the old man to re-examine the details of their previous contract. Say, for an additional twenty percent of the agreed upon amount?

 Clicking the watch shut, he let it fall back into the purse and began preparing to crawl from beneath the desk when he heard the heavy oak door open with a creak. The thief slowly moved his hand to the hilt of the long-knife sheathed at the small of his back and held his breath as he leaned over to see a pair of slippered feet shuffling across the marble floor toward him. Directly above, he could hear the sound of items being moved on the desk top and then, a satisfied grunt as whoever it was located whatever it was they had come for.

Once again he heard footsteps and the thief bit his lower lip to keep from smiling at the sound of the door closing. Heaving a sigh of relief he tucked the bag containing the watch into the fold of his shirt and began working his way out from under the desk.

“May I assume you found what you came for?” a pleasant voice asked behind him.

The thief froze, caught between the massive desk and chair. Turning his head he flashed a good-natured smile towards an older gentleman who lounged against the far wall, idly thrumming his fingers on the carved pate of one of the busts.

“Osiris sent you,” the gentleman stated more as a matter of fact than as a query.

The thief managed to shimmy his body around to face the newcomer and offered up his hands in a shrug.

“Never got his name,” the thief said.

“Nevertheless, it was he who sent you Mr. Smythe… or would you prefer that I call you Alonzo?”

The thief attempted to hide his surprise, “Alonzo will be fine, Mr.?”

When the older gentleman failed to respond Alonzo said, “So, what do we do now? Wait for the authorities I assume?”

The gentleman snorted once in amusement, giving Alonzo a moment to consider his host. Wearing an oversized night-shirt, the old man’s tuft of white hair stuck out in all angles, as if recently roused from his bed. A few inches shorter than the thief, who also had the advantage of both age and weight, the gentleman did not pose much of a threat physically and with the soft features of a high-bred he had probably never sweated through an honest day’s work in his life. Given his appearance, and the fact that he did not appear to be armed, Alonzo felt that once the opportunity provided itself, he could easily best the old man.

“My dear boy,” the gentleman began, “there is no need to involve the city watch.”

This time, Alonzo failed to contain his surprise. “And why is that?”

As the old man smiled, Alonzo was once again overcome with the same uneasy sense he felt upon entering the chamber moments before. Suddenly he felt the irresistible urge to be as far away from the room and its unnerving occupant as possible. Thinking first of his dagger he dismissed it. As good as he was, from his off balanced position he could not risk throwing the knife. His other option was the single shot, percussion cap derringer tucked beneath the cuff of his right sleeve. He did not necessarily want to kill the old man, but the sound might be enough to create an opportunity to escape.

“Tut-tut, we’ll have none of that,” the gentleman said. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I’m fine,” Alonzo answered, wondering exactly what it was they would have none of.

“But I insist,” the older man said and flicked the fingers of one hand in a curious gesture.

Alonzo heard a screeching noise behind him and tried to turn before the edge of the heavy chair struck the back of his knees, forcing him to take a seat. His hands reflexively fell onto the carved arm rests where they stayed, no matter how much he tried to move them.

“Wh-?” Alonzo began, but then remained silent so as not to reveal his growing alarm.

His quarry sufficiently trussed, the old man leisurely crossed the room to stand before the desk. A wry smile crossed the older gentleman’s face as he picked up a slender, metal-tipped rod and tapped it in a quick staccato upon the desk pad. All the while, his eye boring into Alonzo as a hawk’s into a field mouse.

“What exactly did Osiris, and his band of Utopian miscreants, tell you about the item he sent you to fetch?”

“Like I said before, I don’t know any Osiris,” Alonzo managed as he struggled against his bonds.

The gentleman chuckled, yet his eyes remained hard as stone. “I see, well perhaps the old adage concerning honor and thieves was mistaken. You are a thief aren’t you Alonzo?”

Alonzo’s shoulders shrugged, his arms remaining adhered to the chair. “I consider myself more of a specialist in acquisitions,” he quipped.

The gentleman openly laughed now, “Well then, it seems we have something in common Alonzo, as I too am somewhat of a specialist.” The emphasis the gentleman placed on the word “specialist” made it seem quite unlikely to Alonzo that they were talking about the same profession.

“You are correct Alonzo,” the gentleman said, “My expertise is in a far different field than your own.”

Alonzo felt confusion at first. Had he spoken aloud? How else could this befuddled looking old man known what he was thinking? Obviously, this was no typical, elitist mark ripe for the picking but... he felt the icy tendrils of fear closing about his chest. For years he had heard the chilling tales of cults operating within the city. It was said they practiced arcane rituals of unspeakable evil, influencing the actions and possibly even controlling the highest members of the Industrialist Party from the folds of their shadowy cabal.

“I’m afraid they are not all rumors my boy,” the gentleman stated conversationally as Alonzo‘s head began to spin. “Which, I’m sure you understand, puts me in a delicate situation. Not to mention the ramifications of your recent fraternization with the Utopians, which I’m afraid, many members of parliament might misconstrue as treasonous. So you see why neither one of us can truly afford to involve the law in this little… how shall we say, intrusion? I mean, we can’t have a bunch of flatfoots asking difficult questions to what there can only be unpleasant answers to, now can we? That being the case, I’m afraid our current dilemma is what exactly we should do with you.”

“May I suggest we let me go?” Alonzo asked, trying his best to remain calm as he flashed his most charming smile.

“What a splendid idea,” the gentleman said. “And seeing as you have more than proven your capabilities and resourcefulness tonight, I might even consider utilizing your skills in a manner that might be fortuitous to us both. But first I’ll have what you’ve stolen from me.”

Alonzo considered before saying, “Sir, I hope you understand how difficult this is for me, being that my reputation, not to mention my pride, hinges upon my ability to fulfill my contractual obligations to my clients.” At seeing the old man’s eyebrow raise he quickly added, “But under the current circumstances, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

“I’m sure,” the gentleman said, his crooked grin returning.

Without notice, the chair beneath Alonzo slid backwards and he found his arms free.

“Now, if you’ll please?” the gentleman held out one slender hand towards Alonzo.

Alonzo reached out as if to give the old man back his property but at the last second he flicked his wrist and produced the small pistol from beneath his sleeve.

“Oh dear,” the old man said, his eyes widening in feigned surprise.

“Change of plans,” Alonzo said, his voice shaking slightly.

“Now Alonzo,” the gentleman admonished, “I thought we were friends. There’s no need to resort to violence is there?”

“Not once I’m safely on my way, there isn’t. Now stand aside.”

“I see,” the gentleman said, his voice dry and seemingly unimpressed with Alonzo’s attempt at intimidation. “Do what you must, but I assure you, you will not be leaving here with my property.”

“I’m serious old man,” Alonzo began, the tremolo now evident in his voice as he presented the barrel of the small caliber weapon.

“So am I,” the old man said with an evil grin.

Alonzo laughed once, shook his head and flashed his smile. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously as he aimed and pulled the trigger. The sound was deafening in the confines of the small room and the cloud of noxious smoke that followed obscured Alonzo’s vision momentarily.

“Oh dear,” the old man said softly and Alonzo felt a twinge of regret that his hand had been forced.

As the smoke cleared, the old man was still on his feet, a bemused look upon his face. Alonzo scanned for the tell-tale sign of blood on the man’s nightshirt, but there was none. Then he saw the spherical projectile suspended in midair directly in front of the old man’s chest.

“It appears that you missed,” the gentleman stated as the expended ball round fell to the tile floor with a click and then rolled away.

Alonzo snapped out of his fleeting stupor and balked, throwing his derringer at the old man, who merely sidestepped the poorly thrown weapon. The thief then drew the wicked looking long-knife from its sheath on his back.

“Not another step closer old man,” Alonzo stammered as he backed towards the balcony doors. “I don’t know how you did that, but I guarantee you’ll not survive a foot of steel through your gullet.”

“And here I assumed we would be well beyond all this inane posturing,” the gentleman stated sadly. Then, raising the slender rod as if preparing to conduct a symphony, he took a step forward.

Alonzo squawked and his eyes widened, his mind filling with a myriad of indescribable horrors that innocent looking gesture might suggest. Taking a step backwards, he spun and burst through the garden door, running full speed towards the gargoyle and thinking only of his rope. Only when the air around the latticework sculpture began to crackle did he realize his mistake.

Something slammed into Alonzo’s chest with the force of a lightning bolt, knocking him backwards and depositing him squarely on his back. Stunned, he struggled to get back to his feet, spying one of the now glowing symbols beneath his hands as an energized nimbus grew around the sculpture's orb and lashed out to engulf his body in an eldritch flame.

Indifferently, the gentleman drew the curtains to the terrace back and stepped out, patting his chest while breathing in the sultry air. In the distance, the glow from the massive furnaces reflected off the fading mists of morning, revealing the soot spewing smokestacks of factories at the edge of town. His factories. His town.

Hiking up his shirttails he squatted, using the metal tipped rod to sift through what was left of Alonzo’s smoldering clothing and the charred velvet bag. Twirling the tip of the wand around the gold chain, he scooped up the watch and blew off the ashy remains of what had once been the thief.

END