“Is that normal?” asks Hayes.

“No,” Algar responds, “it’s not. They’re gonna make our place even more of a hell than it is at this rate. Bastards will come to look for the poor sod and find him, one way or another. Not to mention putting us in jeopardy. These sort of thoughtless gangs only make things hard for the rest. No better than the coppers up here.”

The pair continue through the sewers until they finally reach Elysium.

“Change of plan,” Algar says. “Tonight we’ll hit a smaller and closer target. So we won’t be as likely to get spotted by guards. They’ll be at the larger mansions, especially with that kid missing if the alarm is raised already.”

He pushes open a manhole and peers over the edge, surveys the surroundings and signals for Hayes to follow.

Hayes climbs out behind Algar and sees a place other than his home for the first time in his life. Lights line the long and wide pathways of perfectly laid pale, stone tiles. Trees, shrubbery, and flowers line the sides and center, with a set of benches every so often, each decorated with an elaborate arch of metal. Much to his surprise, on the edges of the street were not houses, but walls and fences. Where do these people live? And where are the people who live here anyway? It looks more like an elaborate prison.

Hayes feels himself getting tugged away from where he’s standing off the street.

“Careful, kid,” Algar says, “stay alert. It’s not just yourself now, I can only do so much.”

Hayes nods and says, “Sorry, you’re right.”

“Just stick with me.”

Algar and Hayes move into a passage between two estates and edge along the brick wall for a few minutes until Algar stops. The street lights are now far out of view and darkness envelops them, their eyes still in the final stages of adjusting.

“Here,” Algar whispers as he stops and holds out his hand as a platform for Hayes. He sets his foot on Algar’s hand and climbs over the brick wall and lands on sand surrounded by small, decorative trees and bushes. Through the bushes he sees the outline of a large mansion a minute or two from where he is. Apart from one window, the building is as dark as the night.

For a while, Hayes stands still and gawks at the massive home. Even in relative darkness, the silhouette shows clear craftsmanship, unlike the makeshift, wooden residences in the slums. Not to mention this place could easily house several families at once and then some.

Algar lands next to him with a thud, snapping Hayes out of his frozen gaze, and signals a follow sign before pointing to a small patio ahead of them. They follow the wall for a little while until a patio blocks the view of the mansion and the lit window is no longer visible, after which they close in.

They arrive at the patio and slowly step on the wooden floor, softly creaking under the weight of its intruders. A firepit sits in the middle of the square structure, small embers still glowing in the dark. Surrounding the pit is a depressed area lined with pillows, which have little tables built into it at even intervals. Save for some slightly stained glasses and an empty bottle of alcohol, there is nothing of value to be found. Unfortunately, the intoxicated members of this household took care of their belongings.

“Come on,” Algar whispers.

With quiet haste the pair moves towards the mansion. The sound of the grass bending under their feet sounds much louder than it is in the dead of night. As they near the wall of their target, the ground changes to small pebbles scraping together with the smallest pressure. Algar and Hayes double their effort to step as softly as possible.

They arrive at a window which Algar deems as the right entrance.

“Remember,” he whispers, “only small stuff that’s easy to carry in your bag.”

Hayes nods and Algar swiftly starts working on the window with a crowbar he took from his bag. Seconds later, the window cracks open as the wood groans and bends under the stress. With the lock relieved of its duty, Algar slides the window open and enters. Hayes closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then follows.

They set foot in a dining room, a large table sitting in its midst with a series of chairs on each side. The table is covered by a gigantic cloth and made as if diners could arrive any minute. The pair split up and quietly checked the cabinets and small tables lining the walls. Hayes takes some of the more elaborate looking cutlery from a drawer and puts them in his bag, now softly clattering with metal.

Algar opens the sole door out of the room and peeks out for a few seconds. He opens the door as it creaks, and moves forward. Slowly they move through the hallway, their footsteps dampened by a soft carpet spanning the entire length of the floor.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

The corridor is almost pitch black and Hayes opens his eyes wide. He feels his heart beat quickly in his ears and he snaps his head left and right to scan the area for danger. Several meters into the hallway, he sharply inhales and recoils in fear as he passes a large mirror, thinking there was someone else around the corner.

Algar puts his hand on Hayes’s shoulder for a few seconds and softly presses down on him, grounding him. His posture relaxes again into a crouch and they continue.

They enter the next room; a study. Large bookcases cover the walls with a sliding ladder attached to each of them. A fireplace sits at the end of the room with several large armchairs around it which stand upon a hide of some variety. Closer to the door is a table with a variety of curiouso on them: stone tablets, engraved idols and trinkets with stacks of books and notes. Whoever lives here is interested in items of the old world, and those items are precious.

Hayes feels a great sense of insignificance and unfairness. To think that there have always been people in the city that live like this, it is incomprehensible. Yet he feels a tinge of sadness too. These people must live lonely lives, isolated in their own walled off estates, there would be a poor feeling of community.

Algar and Hayes light a small lantern and lean over the table and grab anything that looks particularly ancient or has precious jewels in them.

Hayes notices Algar has a smile on his face, one that is too big to just be happy about what they’ve encountered on this table.

When they fill their bags about half-way, they can hear a loud hiss from the corner of the room. Wide eyed, they turn towards the source of the sound and see a cat baring its teeth and its back arched high. Algar slowly crouches down and puts out his hand while clicking his tongue to no avail as the hissing becomes only louder.

He turns to Hayes and whispers, “It’s time to go.”

With their backs to the door and hands stretched out to the antagonistic feline, they start stepping backwards. The menace followed them at an equal pace. Algar puts his hand on the door handle and pulls on it, slowly creaking open the door. Hayes slips through the crack and right at that moment, the hissing turned into a yowl as the creature charged at the invaders. With haste, Algar follows Hayes and as quietly and quickly as possible closes the door. That is, with a slam.

“Go, go, go!” Algar commands Hayes as the cat jumps at the door, screaming to get out and scratching at the barrier.

Hayes feels his heart beat in his throat, his jaw clench, and the grip on his bag as if he’s trying to strangle it. Without having set one foot forward, his breath is already shallow and fast.

Hayes and Algar run towards the door of the dining room. When they’re halfway there, loud banging and rummaging is heard. Hasty footsteps, a cupboard slamming shut, then a door opening and closing.

“Shit,” Algar says as he climbs through the window, “quickly, fucker’s probably got a rifle.”

Upon hearing this, Hayes felt like he was swallowing a ball. While painful, beatings from his father were regular and so he was mostly used to them. Mortal danger from a stranger because of trespassing is not on his list of things to be prepared for.

He pushes through his first instinct to freeze and propels himself forwards right behind Algar. They reach the edge of the garden faster than Hayes could imagine was possible and they dive into a dense bush. The sound of their sharp breathing is all he can hear now.

Hayes peers through the vegetation and sees a light appear at the window they broke through. A man in nightwear emerges shortly after, leaning out with a light in one hand and a rifle in the other, as Algar suspected.

The man smacks his hand against the window frame and winces in pain, letting out a yell in anger. He shuts the window with a bang and disappears. Algar immediately pulls at Hayes and they retrace their steps, climbing over the wall to escape the enclosure.

“We’re going the other way, they’ll put their guards on us, coming from the entrance,” Algar whispers. “Quickly now.”

The pair run until they start coming back into light from the street at the backside of the estate, after which they slow down and crouch. Hayes hears the barking of dogs behind them in the distance and his heart skips a beat. Algar looks ahead again and moves forward with Hayes in tow.

Algar runs towards a pothole and opens it up, letting Hayes climb in first, then he follows and closes it again.

As they move through the sewers, Algar asks, “Are you alright, kid?”

Hayes nods with uncertainty on his face. His crime weighs heavy on his mind. Even though he comes from a place of depravity, he himself has always avoided being involved in such activities, as his mother wished of him. Hate only begets hate, and he doesn’t want to contribute to this cycle. Yet what’s the breaking point? When is suffering and inequality great enough that action must be taken as a necessity rather than a choice? Is it now?

“Let’s get you home first,” Algar says. “Cefre will be there for you.”

Hayes nods.

Exhausted by the night and stress, his body feels heavy. Yet the way is long, and several ladders in darkness await them, made only more tiring with the stolen goods he now carries on his shoulders.

At last, they arrive back in the slums, and as they exit through the grate, sunrise greets them. The world slowly comes alive as cityfolk emerge from their dwellings to start their day.

Hayes however struggles to stay awake, let alone alert. He simply follows Algar with dragging feet as he navigates through the winding streets back to the bakery.

After some time, the fresh smell of baked goods fill the air; the pair arrived home.

As they enter the bakery, Robert greets them, “Welcome back, you two. Glad to see you’re in one piece.”

“Thank you,” Algar replies. “Do you know where Cefre is?”

“Just through the back.”

Algar nods and says, “Give me your bag, Hayes, and get some rest.”

Hayes does so and heads upstairs where he dropped onto his bed. Worries of the night fade away as his weary eyes close and his mind slips into dream. Yet one thing haunted him: the face of the boy who was dragged away from his home.

Something has to be done.