My name is Hetis. I'm fourteen years old, my eyes brown, my hair is a dirty blonde, and my brother is an idiot.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked, trying not to mention a third time how stupid he looked in the wig he’d made. Sure, whatever, it hid his mop of a hairstyle. I guess you could even say it looked like hair, if you had explained what hair was to one of those monks in the mountains.

“It'll be fine.” Gedric said. “I’ve never failed a heist I've spent more than three days on.”

“You spent two and a half on this.”

“I started thinking about it before then.”

“The last time you tried to steal a tart from Marta you got a bucket thrown at you. Any planning you did for that ‘heist’ doesn't count.” I said.

Gedric shrugged. “I've gotten good at dodging buckets. Our success rate can only go up. Did you find a coat?”

“I asked Riley if we could borrow his.”

“Where is he?”

“Down by the docks, probably. Being drunk, or hungover.”

“Or both.” Gedric said. “Let's go.”

We wandered towards the docks. Byras wasn't really a town, but I don't know if it has enough people in it to really call it a city, either. It definitely was a real city at one point, though – we have walls. Large, bright walls. I think most of Byras was made of the white, polished rock at some point, but these days it was more like someone built a second city made of birch on the petrified cadaver of the old white city. The current Byras is more a new shrub growing on the old soil of whatever was here before the Imperial Conquest.

If I had to guess, the old city was probably named something with lots of vowels, like Aeugiou, or Eoigonlania, or Aeaeaeae. I don't remember much from Dad’s history lessons, but I remember the names involving your mouth being open a lot.

“Hetis.” My brother poked me. I closed my mouth.

“What?” I said, covering the sides of my belly to avoid more pokes.

“We're here. Help me find Riley?”

I attempted to not roll my eyes. “Fine.”

Riley vomits when he sleeps on his boat while drunk, so in the morning we could usually find him asleep somewhere along the pier. I don’t think he likes sleeping in the inn, and the guards got tired of trying to kick him off the docks years ago.

We meandered around the docks in hopes of locating our fisherman, trying to match piles of junk to the scruffy, bearded face of Riley. Eventually, I noticed a large lump of alcohol-smelling patchwork cotton, or wool, or maybe burlap. Something that was certainly brown. I pushed the pile with a foot.

“Riley, that you?” I asked, a little unsure if the thing I nudged was inanimate.

Riley groaned in agony. “Go ‘way.”

Now that the pile had shifted, it was confirmed that the fisherman did in fact exist underneath the pile of rags. Wet Riley, as locals had named him, was known for being slightly damp. Part of this was his profession as a fisherman and his ownership of a slightly leaky boat, but mostly the reputation came from him drowning himself in booze.

“Need your coat, Riley.” Gedric said, still wearing the stupid wig. “I asked yesterday, Remember?”

“I thought Het was askin’ yesterday.” Riley responded, somehow managing a coherent sentence.

Gedric cursed a bit under his breath. “Damn. I thought I'd get him this time.”

I shrugged. “Riley can always tell us apart. Why keep trying?”

“Because we’re twins, and we normally get away with this stuff.” Gedric complained. “He didn't even look at us!”

“Ged talks more.” Riley grunted. “And kicks harder.”

He unraveled himself from the coat, and tossed it up at me. Saying the smell was unpleasant was accurate, but also failed to describe the full power of the hot, heavy, damp, slimy, sweaty, alcoholy, unholy, acrid, horrible, putrid mass of ass that landed in my hands.

I don’t know enough adjectives to describe it. Have you ever farted in a bathtub?

Gedric cocked his head to the side at my scrunched up nose. I threw the coat at him. He frowned.

“This does not smell good.” Gedric said smartly. Riley shrugged.

“Smells like a coat t’ me.” He said.

“We have to wear that?” I said.

“It's only for a bit.” Gedric said, looking like he was trying to convince himself more than me. “If anything, the smell will help. Marta will be too distracted by our stink to see through the disguise.”

“Forgot t’ ask. What y’ usin my coat for?” Riley asked.

“Secret heist stuff.” Gedric said. “Strictly need-to-know. Sorry.”

“Tarts.” I said, ignoring Gedric’s scowl at my breach in secrecy. “Gedric got caught last time, but he's stubborn and dumb and I owe him for doing dishes.”

Riley humphed. “Bring me one and I'll call us even for loaning th’ coat. Deal?”

“Deal.” Gedric said, cutting me off before I could say anything else. “Het, we need to go soon, before the pastries stop being warm. To the market!” I waved goodbye to Riley, and we ran off in the direction of our target. I heard Riley grumble about us stealing his pillow as we left.

When Gedric said ‘to the market’, he really meant ‘to the alley near the market so we can put on the disguise.’ We did that instead, because if people saw him climb on my shoulders in broad daylight, the heist would go poorly.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Gedric scrambled onto my back with the damned coat on. His arms were slightly shorter than the sleeves, which made it a bit harder for him to brace against the wall of the alley as I stood with him on my back. Curtains of stink obscured my view. I did my best to not hurl on Gedric’s shins.

“I hate this.” I said.

“Think about the pastries.” Gedric said, his voice muffled as it bounced off the outside of the moist tent draped over my head. “Are my legs visible? If she can tell we’re two people, this is doomed.”

“This is doomed.” I said, frowning below the coat. “Your feet are under the coat, but they're kind of pushing against the front of it. It probably looks like we have lumpy boobs.”

Gedric tucked his heels under my armpits. “It should be fine. The coat is flat from up here. Forward, my trusty steed.”

I groaned and plodded forward, towards the exit of the alley. We’d figured out signals beforehand for Gedric to direct me non-verbally; all he had to do was tap me with his feet to direct me to the left or right. I had a small crack between two of the coat’s buttons that I could see the street through, but the truth was that I had a very fragrant set of blinders on at the moment. I’d have to rely on my brother giving directions that wouldn't actively sabotage my balance.

Yeah, fat chance.

We teetered down the street in our double-decker-teenager-tower towards the center of the market, where the crowds started to pick up. Byras wasn't the biggest port on the western side of the empire— it was used more as a rest stop for ships traveling south towards the capital of the local Domain, or for ships crossing from Piao’s Domain to the east. There was less of the latter these days, with all of the pirates down that direction. Most sea trade from the other Domains tended to pass us rather than use Byras as a final destination, sometimes skipping us entirely as they traveled down the coast.

Still, as a port along the main seaway of the coast, we got traffic. And traffic, much to my displeasure, meant noisy, bustling crowds in the market.

Faces passed my slit in the coat as I walked towards the northern end of the market, where Marta’s bakery stall was usually set up. Most were tanned, with sun-kissed hair like myself and Gedric. Locals. Others were fairer skinned than us, with the light skin common of those near the Imperial Capital, or had the dark skin of those from Lortek’s Domain far to the east.

I even caught a glimpse of a man with the eyes of those who lived north of here, in Surumi’s Domain — amber, with a slit-shaped pupil.

Not common by any means, those eyes. Probably a minor Bloodline, from the clothes. As Riley would put it, ‘a bad mark.’ It's very hard to steal from someone with enhanced senses. He didn't have a tail or anything, so probably he wasn't too rich. I was thankful to be stuck doing our current idiotic task so that Gedric couldn't suggest we try to take is pouch.

We slowly made our way through the crowd, walking carefully so as to not break our disguise. Pedestrians huffed and flowed around our shambling form. Soon, I could hear Marta. She wasn’t exactly a difficult person to pick out from the crowd, considering her primary form of communication during business hours was shouting.

“Seeing as I have bread, and you don’t have bread, I think I get to set the price.” Marta yodled. “Or, you can get out of line, and I can serve the hungry people behind you.”

There was a line to Marta’s stall, like there usually was in the mornings. A good portion of the dockworkers would come to buy breakfast in the morning, and the line of burly, groggy men at Marta’s stall finally seemed to come into view for the pair holding it up.

The two people Marta was haggling with were a handful of years older than Gedric or I, if I had to guess. They looked rich. Not as rich as the snake-pupil man I'd seen earlier, but the boy was wearing a nice set of garments that were clearly tailored for him, and the girl had an easily visible coin pouch with pretty triangular stitches near the mouth attached to her hip. It looked like the type of clothing rich people thought poor people wore. I noted their faces, for if I saw them around later. You know, just in case they lost their bulging money sack, and I had to return it.

They bought the bread at the price Marta asked, and shuffled away. I shambled into the line, the person in front of us glanced backwards at our taller-than-average figure and smellier-than-average coat, before deciding his best option was to ignore us and cover his nose.

“This is such a bad idea.” I mumbled, quietly enough for Gedric to hear, but not the crowd around us.

“Quiet, Het. If we get caught because people think my chest is a pessimist I’m going to be pessi-pissed.”

“Did you really just say that?”

“Yes. Shut up. Mission first.”

I rolled my eyes, but I think the effect was lost on Gedric, probably because he’s on my shoulders and my head was beneath the coat. Or because he’s dense.

The line was slowly moving forward, but we still had enough time to fail the whole scheme terribly before we even got to the front of the line. I wish I could see through the coat - if that was the case, at least I’d know before the town guard came and arrested us. And besides, the inside of the coat was boring to look at.

If I could see through Riley’s cursed cloth, I’d be able to see Byras’s market square, which I’d have liked. It was a bit past sunrise at this point, but the majority of ships still wouldn’t leave port for another hour or so due to the tides. Sunrise was by far my favorite time of day in Byras — the sun comes up right in the middle of the harbor, over the gulf to the east. The wonderful orange color had faded at this point, but the smells of the market and the sea would stay. Even from here, you could still hear the Ancestor Bells on the masts of the docked ships, a sound that would diminish as more vessels went to sea for the day to fish, or left the port entirely.

Okay, I can’t really hear the Bells right now because I’m under a coat, and I can’t really smell the market because I’m under this coat, and I can’t see the sun because, again, I’m under this stupid coat, but you get the idea. Byras is pretty, if you aren’t under the drapery of stank. I promise.

We’d made it to the front of the line. I stumbled forward.

“Hello there.” Gedric said, doing his best to imitate an old, smelly, homeless man. It would’ve been better without the voice crack.

“Hi.” Marta said, eyes narrowing. “What can I get you?”

“Just a loaf of bread, please. Ah-” Marta started to reach for a loaf near the front of the stall. “Not this one.” Gedric quickly stopped her and pointed to the back of the stall, down low. “Can I get that one?”

“Have I seen you before?” Marta asked, trying to look closer before the smell of the coat hit her. She recoiled.

“I don’t think so, ma’am.” Gedric quickly replied. “That loaf, please.”

I could see the pastries at the front of the stall, almost within arms reach. Marta eyed us suspiciously.

“Sure.” she said, and reached down towards the loaf Gedric had pointed out, turning her back to us momentarily.

Like we planned, I reached out my hand to grab a pastry from between two of the buttons, mangling the gooey center in my haste to pull it back into the coat.

One down.

I licked my finger. Lemon. This one was mine, then. Gedric hated lemon.

“This one?” Marta asked, looking annoyed at having to grab a loaf in such an inconvenient location.

“Er, um, no. Sorry.” Gedric said, maybe a bit too quickly. “I meant the one next to it?”

“Is that a question?” Marta said.

“No? No. Not a question.” Gedric said, trying to keep up the old man voice. “I meant that one.” He pointed again, the edge of the sleeve slipping over his hand and dangling from his arm that was clearly too short for the coat.

“Okay...” Marta said. She put the loaf she’d grabbed away and reached down for the second loaf.

My turn again.

I shot my arm through the coat’s gap again, aiming for a pair of non-lemon tarts for Gedric and Riley. As I reached forward Gedric lost his balance as I stopped holding his feet, and we wobbled. I grabbed the tarts as we stumbled a bit.

“Here’s the bread. That’ll be 5 copper.” Marta said as she came up with the loaf of bread, just in time to see that the old man she’d been talking to had grown a third arm out of his chest. An arm that was clutching tarts. Her tarts. She looked at the man’s face, who’s hair had miraculously transformed into that of a blonde teenager’s after the wig had fallen off.

A blonde teenager who had tried to steal a tart just a few days ago. The third hand disappeared into the coat.

“THIEVES!”

“Oh shit.” I said.

“Run!” Gedric said, vaulting off my head and breaking out into a sprint.

The tarts still in my grip, I looked towards my brother, who had hiked the too-long coat up with his hands, and was running away through the crowd. A loaf of bread whizzed by my head.

“Oh shit!” I said, and sprinted after him.

Or, at least, I was going to, until the wall of the building to the right of me exploded.

I stumbled backwards, the cloud of white dust and debris only a handful of feet in front of me.

“Oh SHIT!” I screamed, not anticipating exploding buildings.

I lost sight of Gedric, who was about fifty feet ahead, on the other side of the explosion.

Marta had stopped to gape at the explosion too, fortunately. She was almost out from behind her stall when it happened. All around me, the crowd was screaming and trying to run away from the site of the explosion. Using them as cover, I worked my way into the alley between the exploded building and an adjacent, less exploded building, and hid behind a set of crates and sacks that were sitting near the entrance to the alley.

I peeked back into the market square. There was a good view of where the explosion had happened, and I didn’t see Marta any more. Either she’d decided that she valued not being exploded more than she valued the two tarts, or I lost her. I hoped for the former, because it meant she’d stopped following us.

The dust began to settle. I heard footsteps near the hole in the exploded building to my right. Someone jumped out of the hole in the wall, and landed lightly on the ground. I couldn’t see into the hole itself, as I was parallel to the wall and facing outward, but I could see the back of the figure.

He was wearing a purple robe that was cut asymmetrically at his thighs to allow for movement, and something that looked like black greaves on his legs. Not heavy armor by any means, more like dark leather boots with thin metal plates on the shin and top of the foot.

His arms were similarly armored in black, and he had a sword sheathed at his waist with an intricate, owl shaped carving where the crossguard would be on a locally made sword. This sword didn’t have a crossguard, the way the army swords my mother used to carry did. The edges at the end of the sheath suggested a double sided edge, like a broadsword, but the sword was clearly meant for a single hand.

What? I like swords, okay? He has a cool sword. No crossguard sounds like a good way to have a blade slide onto your hand, but the one he has is clearly very expensive. Also, the wall just exploded and he seems fine, so the crossguard thing is probably not an issue.

On the ground ahead of him was a pair of figures, covered in the chalky dust of the now broken wall. One was lying on their back, coughing, while the other was trying to help them to their feet. The one helping the coughing woman was clearly distressed by the slowly approaching man in purple.

As a person with common sense, I decided now would be an absolutely great time to be leaving. I ran in the opposite direction of the conflict, down the alley, and onto a side street. Gedric and I were split up, so I headed back towards our home.

I can’t believe that worked.

I took a bite of my lemon, and now dust, flavoured pastry.

My brother is still an idiot.