Night had fallen upon the city of New Haven. A thick cloud layer controlled the skies, leaving the city shrouded in darkness. As if matters couldn't deteriorate further, a light fog swept its way through the streets and alleys. No light, beyond the small fuzz of little candles, torches, and primitive electrical lights installed by those who could afford them. For the common folk, it was a nightmare. For guards, a major struggle. And for thieves, a perfect night to practice their craft.
As a crow in dark woods, the thief slid his way through alleys, jumping across piles of clutter and escaping the attention of what few guards were around. Soon enough, he had reached the crack in the wall. The lifeline, as he called it. He lowered himself to the ground, and crawled through. Already his mind filled with fantasies of tonight’s harvest. Not a day goes by when New Haven's warehouses are not hosts to valuables the world over, which had come in through the port that day. One clean raid, and his rent would be paid. How foolish of him to have spent years labouring away at those damned docks.
But fantasies and emotions in this life were like getting caught: It all gets in the way of the goal. However great the temptation might be, he brushed them off, and got to work. Given the glow of new electric lightning, it was the right move. The owners of the warehouse had been sensitive to the news of their establishment being looted, it seemed.
The thief glanced at his surroundings. To his right, numerous guards roamed around a courtyard, echoing footsteps and yellow glow their betrayers. Dead ahead, silence. The decision made itself; the mists awaited.
Alas, things wouldn't remain so simple. Footsteps emerged on the horizon. The thief hopped behind a stack of crates, shuffling away from any prying eyes. Swift as a fox, yet silent as a mouse, he armed his crossbow with a tranquilizing dart. A blurry figure passed by, head swinging left and right in search of intruders. Yet he didn't look behind. A second later, he collapsed to the ground with a soft groan.
After searching and hiding the guard’s unconscious body. the thief made his way to the warehouse door. He slid the guard’s key into the lock. It turned, clicked, and revealed the way further. A large room arose before him. Stacks and stacks of boxes, tables and lockboxes, distinguishable only by owl's eyes. The thief left the door ajar and got to work, snatching the coinage strewn over the tables, which he threw the bag he brought with him. A pocket’s worth wouldn’t pay the rent, after all.
The thief fumbled his lockpicks out of his pockets, and eyed the lockboxes resting upon the tables. Lord knows what treasures may be hidden inside. Alas, his ability to pick locks left much to be desired. As he fidgeted around with the first box, he muttered curses under his breath. Fat fingers made the art of picking locks a nightmare. The picks would slip back out, or get caught up in a corner, all because the fingers got in the way.
*Click*
After a herculean struggle, the lock cracked at last. Alas, no dice. Just a bolt of the most common cloth, sold for no more than four pieces on New Haven’s markets. With a deep sigh, he moved on, cursing and grumbling as he fumbled around with the next lockbox. Another struggle ensued. At this rate, he’d break his lockpicks faster than he could replace them. Bitter memories of backbreaking labour at the docks came to him. Anything but that.
The lock clicked, and revealed a small relief - a single gemstone resting on a cloth, worth a good few pieces on the black market. It wasn’t much, but at least he’d have money to replace the picks now. As he pulled it out, the cloth came with it; he had tugged on it with his pinky by accident. Then, something caught his owl’s eye. The cloth was a marvelous azure, soft to the touch as if one touched the clouds. Beautiful, comfortable… and valuable. Snickering, the thief tucked it into his bag.
“Oi, Mark.”
A voice rang beyond the wall separating the warehouse..
“Oi, Emile. What’s the holdup?”
A chill ran up the thief’s spine. In a panic, he threw himself up a stack of two boxes, lowering himself on top of them as if he were a stray plank. Sweat ran down his forehead and colonized his armpits. The soft whistle of his breath ringing his ears, he waited and listened to the two guards ramble, their voices interrupted every so often by a sip.
“Aw, ‘s too bad. Must suck pretty big.”
“Right about that, pal. Loved that ol’ bastard, as insane’s he made me. Can’t hang on forever, o’course.”
“What did ‘im in?”
“Doctor said it was a ‘heart swelling’ or something. Either way, he couldn’t go on, had to be put out o’ his misery. Anyway, enough about that. Damn thieves aren’t waiting on me anytime soon.” A sipping sound echoed in the air.
“A’right. Well, what d’ye think of all this new light we got around the warehouse?”
“Ain’t even a real question, pal. Makes the job as easy as taking a piss. Pretty sure the thieves ain’t big fans of it, but they can go fuck themselves.”
“‘s quite the understatement, pal. Caught a thief tryin’ to sneak in two hours earlier. Should’ve seen the look on ‘is face!”
The two men laughed. “Well Mark, break’s over. Was fun.”
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“Aw, why do these things have to be so short? Damn bosses.”
Echoes of their footsteps rang across the warehouse, as the two guards left. The thief took a deep breath, and sighed it out, heart pounding against his ribcage as he threw himself from the boxes. Clear as the risks might be, hearing the news of what happened to his fellow thieves gave him the slightest doubts about this life. Of course, it was put to bed once the alternative came to mind, but still. One misstep, and he’d end up with his neck in a noose.
With the coast clear, he got back to work on the lockboxes. An eerie wind blew outside, as he fidgeted around with the lockpicks, desperate and frustrated at the lack of progress. Lockbox three was empty, as was the fourth. A groan escaped his throat, muffled by his mask. Usually, he’d be a little richer than this by now.
Upon eyeing box five, he shook his head. Perhaps there were treasures beyond his imagination next door, and these lockboxes were a fool’s errand. Why waste time messing around with these locks, cursing under his breath, becoming sloppier in his technique by the second? There was no reason; thus, off he ran as a fox through a field, head flicking left and right on the lookout for danger.
But as he stepped through a small door connecting the two parts of the warehouse, all optimism vanished. From the dusty, cramped smell, to the tables and lockboxes, it was identical to the other room. No real difference, barring the two empty bottles of beer resting on one of the tables. Judging by the scent, they were freshly drunk. Alas. The thief could’ve used a good drink right now.
A belated sigh later, the thief resumed his work. Fidgeting, mumbling, slipping, the process got a little easier with every box, key word being little. After a full minute, it cracked open, revealing a few pieces and two green gems. The corners of his lips raised slightly. That ought to fetch a pretty penny.
His morale salvaged, he pressed on to the sound of distant footsteps and clicking metal. Thankfully, he found the success he had longed for. Pieces, foreign coin, trinkets and various gemstones flowed into his bag. It wasn’t a killing, as the gems weren’t all too rare on New Haven’s markets, but it got the job done. Time was running out, however; outside, the fog and clouds had begun to disperse. A thin streak of moonlight entered the warehouse.
Then, something underneath a table caught his eye, thanks to the light. A lockbox. It wasn’t any different from the other ones, given it sporting the same iron coat, but he was drawn to it regardless. Perhaps it’s location being obscured might’ve gotten him interested. He lowered himself onto the stone floor, colder than a new year’s dive, and bit his lip.
The lock cracked sooner than most. Inside, a small statue rested on a wafer thin cloth. The thief picked it up, and held it before his eyes. It was a miniature soldier, made out of marble. Given the level of detail, from the anatomy, to the little details on the clothing, it must’ve taken one hell of a craftsman to make. It was rare. And that meant one thing. Money.
Giddy with excitement, he carefully lowered it into his bag. He’d made a big break… and wanted more. There’s always more to be found. Riches beyond the wildest imagination. Apartment? A house? Try a mansion. Warm meals every night. No more sticking his neck out, dealing with the rabble of the underworld.
But all good thoughts are destined for an early grave.
“Right, I think it’s this warehouse right here…”
The thief froze. Outside, five men shouted orders at one another.
“Yeah, where’s the door handle again… ah, there it is.”
Without a second thought, he bolted towards a door on the opposite end of the warehouse. Whatever this was, he wasn’t in the mood to find out. If he were caught now, he’d never forgive himself. Not in the cell, not as his neck was lowered into the gallow, not in the world after this one. Technology roared behind, as he made his escape.
“Right, here we are… wait a minute, what is this? Alright, which one of you bastards’ been running amok in here?!”
The thief threw the door, and panicked. There was no easy way back; all guards were on high alert, and the alleyway leading back was blocked off with crates. All he could do was sneak around, and look for an opening in the patrols. Watching his steps with the greatest caution, he ran along the length of a warehouse. The beat of his heart sent shockwaves through his veins. All throughout the alleys and courtyards, men yelled at one another. Tired, panting, sweating, he turned a corner - his eyes were seared by a red flare, sending him staggering.
“Hey you! Halt!”
The light was lowered out of his eyes. Facing him was a guard, teeth bared, eyes obscured by the helmet he wore, steel drawn. The thief dropped the bag and drew his own, biting his cheek as he threatened the guard with a weak slash at the air. Foolish, however bold it may be. The sword wouldn’t do much against an armored guard, as the guy who sold it to him said. Alas, no turning back now.
“That your answer, thief? Say good night!”
The guard jumped into action, slamming his steel down. The thief raised his own to block it, flinching backwards once they connected. Already he felt exhausted, but the next strike came. Block, step back. The next strike. Block, step back. Block, step back. Hissing his breath, he jutted forwards. The guard let his breath loose, as the steel connected with his chest. Not letting himself be bested by a mere scratch, he struck back as fast.
“Ack!”
The steel flew out of the thief’s hand, shattering into pieces as it hit the wall. The guard crept close, growl like breaths rushing in and out of his body. Menaced by the enemy’s steel, the thief desperately searched his belt for a flash bomb, sweating all the while. Another guard rushed towards the scene, steel drawn in preparation. Death lurked nearby, it’s pincers sharp as wolves’ teeth glimmering in the moonlight.
But then, Lady Luck herself turned the table. Burying his eyes under a forearm, the thief threw his ace into the air. A soft bang and flash engulfed the area, sending the guards crumpling to the floor. Eyes blazing, the thief threw himself past his attackers, pulling the bag off of the ground before making his escape.
“Aaargh! What trickery is this?!”
“Damn thieves, with your fucking flash bombs! Where did he go?!”
“Right there!! The alley behind us!”
Two more guards arrived on the scene. “Hey, what’s happening? We heard fighting just now.”
The attacking guard yelled in frustration. “You have functional ears, don’t you? There’s a thief here, and he’s running off! Hurry, blow the fucking alarm trumpet already!”
“Ack, on it sir!”
The loud drone of the alarm trumpet raged, sending crows in a flight of panic and candles alight in houses across the city. The thief ran and ran back to the lifeline, neglecting to watch his surroundings for guards, most of whom were still figuring out what was happening. What fog remained dispersed rapidly, and the clouds gave way for rays of moonlight. Chaos erupted across the complex; weapons were drawn, orders were yelled out, and guards ran loose.
"DON'T LET HIM GET AWAY!!"
The alarm trumpets rang louder and louder, as more joined in on the cacophony. The thief reached the crack, pushing away the crate with his body weight before lowering himself to the ground. After a quick push of the bag and crawl through the lifeline, he was free. The fog had thinned to a light vapor; the darkness alone managed the job well enough, however.
Alley by alley, the thief ran as quiet as possible back to his apartment, bag slung over his shoulder. He was careful to not alert any of the patrolling city guards, who had by now gone on high alert for suspicious activity. Not that they’d find him in the alleys, of course. Any light was blocked by the tall buildings, and once you enter the maze of alleys and passages composing the city, good luck finding your way back out.
Half an hour later, the bag fell onto the floor of his apartment. The thief rummaged through, taking in the worth of his loot. Coinage of various city states, rings and necklaces, colorful gemstones, the azure cloth and the small statue. All together, more than enough to pay rent for the foreseeable future. A slight smile on his face, he took off his mask, and opened his secret space, where he kept his equipment hidden from the law.
After closing the space back off with his loot inside, he glanced out the window for a moment, then headed to bed. Tomorrow, a profitable day on the black market awaited. Provided he’d dodge the swindlers and rivals, that is. The thief sighed. One day, once his art has been perfected, he’ll be able to leave this dangerous life behind. For now though, he'd make due for the month, all at the expense of the merchants. Such is life in the city of New Haven.