I think I need to explain some things to you about bank security measures. First thing to remember is that there is at any one time only a small pool of money is actually held within a bank. Most of the coins people put in are immediately lent out, that's the point of the armies of clerks, that's what makes it profitable. The real prize, hidden beneath the shell of earth and metal, is items that are irreplaceable and irreproducible. Family heirlooms, original artworks, papers of sale, sensitive information and most coveted of all… Artifacts.

There are treasures in this world that no amount of technology or innovation could conspire to precisely replace. Devices of power and magic from ages past. The relative rarity and absolute usefulness of these items has made them the target of thieves and scoundrels like myself since time immemorial and so people have become very good at hiding them. Vaults, castle's, knight orders. You name it, it's been tried. The Obsidian Sands bank is a relative newcomer but they had a good reputation, well earned, and one that was growing fast. A string of early failures had resulted in a simple but effective system of almost never opening their vault and never without a small private army on hand. The problem with that system is that if someone drops off their valuables before the once a week vault opening then their prized position are laying around vulnerable, a fact that you had better bet was exploited, both for the thefts sake and settlement scams.

The compromise made was that a narrow shaft eighteen centimetres to a side allowed for smaller valuables to rest behind the safety of the safe door. Magic is ever changing but for longer than I have been alive shrinking powers have been very rare, and always both temporary and magically demanding. It probably didn't seem like much of a vulnerability.

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I collapse onto my arse on the soft carpet and suddenly realised that I am absolutely drenched in cold sweat. I finally let my hands, so still while they had been performing the delicate task, shake and wobble like a drunk geriatric at sea. I giggle, stop myself, giggle again then press my face into the plush carpet to cover the sound of my giving myself a stich as I convulsed with mirth.

'You are so very, very, fucking dumb you know that?' Says the cruel voice with some disappointment.

Oh do I know, I can never forget, but that hasn't killed me yet.

It's been several minutes before I pull myself together enough to stand up. I'm not particularly looking forward to what comes next so I delay by wandering around the office. Crystal glassware on a nearby cabinet draws my eye so I decide to investigate. I find an impressive stock of alcohol and… yep those are snacks. A covered glass bowl of some kind of nut. I open it up, then close it again in disgust. Breaded, why do people need to cover everything in bread?! I take the opportunity to nick one of the lanterns hung on the wall. It's a mundane oil lantern rather than anything magical, presumably to avoid setting of a security alert every time the manager wants to turn on a light.

'Your procrastinating honey, the sooner you start the sooner you finish.' The calm voice tells me in her usual melodic tone.

I feel the enthusiasm I had for looting dwindle as she says it. I need to start. I take off my small pack and pull out a long silk rope which glides across my hands, the knotted holds pulling pleasantly at the skin between my fingers. In the centre of the bundled rope is a small hook. I check the knot. It's tight. No more delays. I open the safe door and stare into the darkness of the shaft. A steel maw hungrily consuming the cities' treasures and soon me.

'On the bright side, if it is alive it will likely spit you back up, considering your dirty, greasy, bony, mundaneness must taste awful compared to its usual fare.' A young voice Insults me brightly, characteristically helpful in its ribbing.

"Good point." I mutter out loud. I clench my teeth. I'm not supposed to respond out loud, I know this and now of all times I cannot start relapsing.

Moving is good, I pace back and forth as I work feeling increasingly jittery as the prospect of the coming ordeal looms. Tying the rope to the lantern, the excess wrapping around to cushion it, I light it with a fancy flick-open lighter, a little gilded skull design lying on the desk, and then lower the flickering light into the dark shaft. The hook fixes neatly onto the edge of the safe.

I step back then sit down cross-legged on the floor. I hate this part. With soft touches I begin massaging my shoulder and collar bone. I'll take my time, I have all night… Fuck it.

Before I can second guess myself I slam my palm into my clavicle, pushing up and out in just the wrong spot. I want to be sick. The horrible uncanny looseness of my dislocated bone turns my stomach but I keep myself from vomiting with effort. This is far from the first time I have dislocated my own collar bone. I can deal with the sensation, I remind myself of this again and again and eventually my nausea settles to manageable levels. I should really go back and thank the people who pushed me out of that window. The number of tight spots that the loosened ligaments have gotten me into is astounding. Then again they probably wouldn't be too happy to see me considering the handfuls of their jewellery I was holding at the time. Maybe the carriage driver then, if I had just hit the street instead of his cab I probably wouldn't have gained the useful ability to so effectively narrow my shoulder width.

I've been delaying too long already. I gently lift my arm into a sling then stand up and approach the beckoning darkness, feeling like I've entered a trance. Eighteen by eighteen centimetres. It's not a lot of space. But that's okay I try to reassure myself. I'm thin, the thinnest I've been in years. My antlers are freshly clipped and sanded down. I've been doing my stretches. I have endured tight spaces, many times. I can do this.

I don't want to do this. People aren't made for this kind of squeeze. I can taste the bubbling panic in the back of my throat, or maybe that's just my stomach acid.

The shaft is too small for most young children. I try and get a leg into the safe curse my shortness, pulling over the chair behind the desk. Standing somewhat precariously on the chair I try again. Right foot first as pointed and stretched as I can make it. Trying to get my other leg in is awkward as I have to shuffle my position leaning on the chair more, and almost slipping when I have to use the slick wall of the shaft for a foothold. Eventually both legs are in one to the thigh and the other to the knee. I need to go in diagonally, my narrow frame and the flexibility of my pelvic cartilage both have limits and this is them. I need to make use of the 'hypotenuse' angle, not that I really know what that is but it's important. One hip as far down as I can get it and pressed into the back corner and the other, as high and forward as I can manage. I let myself slide down. The metal presses on me from all sides, hemming me in, crushing me. Don't think about it, just relax, ease backwards. 'And whatever you do don't think about the way back up.' The cruel voice whispers giddily. I will take that sage advice. Relax, this is easy, I'm just letting myself slide down a bone crushingly tight steel chute into a nearly impenetrable vault. Easy.

I'm up to my chest now. My hips are pressed uncomfortably tight into the unforgiving corners. On the bright side my shoulders fit pretty well. I probably didn't even need to dislocate myself on the way down. Down. Damn it. I let myself slide back further only my face exposed to air, my beathing constricted by the limited space for my chest to expand. Too late to back out now you big baby. I let go of the edge… and I'm not sliding. Because I've cramped up and pressed against the sides. Just be calm. Let go.

I'm sliding down, great. It's not quick. Letting my right hand trail above me, fingers running over the silk rope as an emergency break but there's not much need, the tightness steeling any speed. The small patch of light above retreats and the walls press in on me. Literally pressing in on me because I think there's some warping in the metal. I keep my inhales small and even, my left shoulder aches as when a movement jostles it against the hard surface.

I hate this. Think about other things please. I try and I fail, the unrelenting constriction binding up my mind as surely as my body. What if I get trapped down here, days of agony as I suffocate on my own fear polluted breath.

My feet touch a panel which folds away under my weight. The warm light of the lantern spills into my narrow confinement and with relief bordering on ecstasy I work my skinny self out from the crushing iron pincers of the bank's monster. My feet then body go through the gap scraping past the folding panel. The crush keeping me stable disappears and my feet hit an angled plane sending me spilling backwards, the sudden release leaving me too surprised to do more than flounder as I tip back.

I've wanted to fall ass backwards into a fortune my entire life, now when it's actually happened I'm finding it mostly just painful. Treasure as it happens is mostly comprised of less than comfortable things to lie on. Metal and gems which have many hard edges and sharp details. Thankfully all of it is wrapped up in neatly labelled little bags that have been deposited down the chute. I look back up the narrow shaft and feel just slightly awed for a moment; It truly a bloody tiny space and I can't quite believe I managed the squeeze through it. For once and only once in my life I decided to be thankful that I'm a chronically malnourished, naturally skinny, magicless, teen with a history of severe dislocations.

I laugh, a quiet broken thing. It's all so ridiculous, so outlandish. I can scarcely believe it. I just let the emotion run through me for a moment, basking in the catharsis.

"I'm almost half way there." I speak to empty air. Nobody answers. Not even the voices. I'm alone.

Pushing away stray thoughts I struggle to right myself in the pile of treasures. I've landed in a sort of cart that the items deposited prom above obviously land in. Each is wrapped and labelled and sturdy enough to survive the plunge. The loose items do not provide great leverage but after a moment of adjustment I stand and hop out of the cart. I've circumnavigated the big vault door with the high security and guard presence with my stunt but there is a barred area behind a more conventional lock. With nobody to interrupt and all the time in the world to work I don't expect to have trouble. The door doesn't keep my attention though, through the bars though is a fascinating sight, a square room lined with treasures. A tree, a full fruit bearing plant practically bursting from a too small pot and brushing the ceiling with its coal black leaves. A heavy chest with inbuilt loops for carrying poles. A statue, angelic and winged, holding a bowl between delicate fingers in a gesture of reverence. A vicious axe, taller than me by a large margin, jagged and spiked from spear tipped head to pointed base. I cannot imagine holding it would be comfortable. There are more wonderous items leaned against the walls or hidden in the shadows but dominating the space, the beating magi-mechanical heart of the vault, it's security system. A chimeric, labyrinthine, infestation of pipes and wires, painted with intricate filigreed circuitry. Which bits are functional or instructional I can't begin to guess but I know that this is overkill. The sprawling abomination emits dominion in waves, a hungering beast spliced together from technology and magic new and ancient. This should be the centrepiece of a fortress, not a glorified lockbox. The resources and energy this thing has consumed must be staggering. I choose not to think about it. It's obscene.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I look at it and can't help but grin wildly. Perhaps the most notorious banking house in the country has just had one of their infamous high security vaults broken into by a starved, accident prone, teenager! I disentangle myself from intrusive ideas of digging through the pile of bagged up riches and get to it. First things first I ease my shoulder back into place, which fucking hurts. Then dig my bag and lantern from the pile. I take my sweet time picking the lock but find it disappointingly simple.

The vault is cramped, warm and absolutely thrumming with magic which radiates dim light where structures representing the gods' miracles on the mortal realm reenforce the walls against penetration or teleportation. I can feel the ticklish tingles of it in my antler stubs and can only imagine the intensity someone with a full rack of the magically sensitive sensory receptors would feel. One wall, the far one, is lined with drawers and cupboards, each labelled with an engraved number and a name on a small paper plaque. That's where I need to go, no getting distracted by paintings that move or a glass tank with a skeletal fish swimming lazily back and forth. I let the door swing open with a soft squeal, stepping around the missing floor panels where the security system penetrates into the subterrain. I think that there is an entire subsystem dedicated to underground defence. It must be ridiculously expensive. Ha!

I guess that just goes to show that you can't defend against every angle. The bank seems to be more prepared to deal with a small well equipped army raiding the place than a lone half sized infiltrator with a dream. There's good reason for that too I suppose, enough strong people can do a hell of a lot of damage in not a lot of time. It's why the bank vault only opens once a week, with their own forces present, and only allows trusted bank agents inside.

I go to the device first, just to look. On the front is a small panel perforated with small holes and accessible with a slot for the bank key I already have, behind which faint iridescent purple light glows. A miniature reactor burning pure magic to fuel itself. To someone with strong magical senses it would be a beacon, to me the slight tingling in my forehead is enough to signal that opening the panel would be a seriously bad idea. This device is someone's masterpiece the detector array is larger than normal, the edges lined with script in the complex squiggles enchantments used and probably calibrated with exacting precision to pick up any magic more powerful than a racht horn with an inherent sharpening ability, the tiny pipes and wires all trailing from the centre device into the floor circulating with magic to reenforce and alarm the walls and ceiling, no doubt protecting against subtler kinds of magic too, like telekinesis and door magic. This was someone's life's work.

I can't read or write and have been taught no mathematics beyond my fingers but there aren't many people in the city who could boast to having seen the innards of more of these machines than me. I resolve if I ever meet this designer to tell them that I love their work.

'You are getting distracted again.' The calm voice reminds me.

It's relieving to have it back.

I blink at the gentle rebuke though. I've just realised how tired I am. It's probably only a little after midnight but with the fear and excitement and exercise and poor eating habits as I tried to lose the last grams of fat from around my hips I'm absolutely exhausted.

Smack

My hands sting the sides of my face. I do it again.

Smack

The pain is good, it feels calming, focusing.

Smack

I back off from my inspection, and turn away. Coming face to face with a golem. Shit. I dive backwards behind the tree hoping against hope that it won't destroy the valuables to get to me.

The golem does not move. It's lifeless.

"Hahahahahaha-oly shit!" I laugh. "I am so dumb!" How did I not notice that. It's hidden behind the tree sure but fuck! Still chuckling at my own stupidity, I retrieve my lantern and head to the wall of lockers. These are, thankfully, for sorting more than security. I check over the labels one by one. Stopping to nod to myself.

"Yup… Still can't read."

'But you still think that you can get away with this?' The cruel voice questions, incredulous.

With that revelation I get up and begin unlocking cupboards. Storage measure or not each locker had a keyhole, simple lockpicks suffice. The first cupboard had a scrawled name that looked familiar, though I can't read so that doesn't mean much, most squiggles look the same if you don't know what they represent, it did start with an 'S' though which is a good sign.

It turns out to be the wrong one, inside there's a bronze statuette of a beautiful nymph woman holding a flower. Which is useless to me, moving on, the next is similarly useless, filled with a colourful potted plant bearing a single ripe fruit and looking somewhat withered at the lack of light. Third times the charm apparently because it has what I need. A Lucious mass of soft grey feathers. Two weeks ago I when I heisted the manor house of the family who owned this beautiful artifact, it had probably been the weakest link in my strung together plan. Relying on a sabotaging some of the magical protections and leaving visible attempts at trying to access the display case that held the fluffy device, in hopes of spooking the family into using the bank's artifact vault! I knew that they were stored here, had confirmed and triple checked but seeing the soft grey cloak like device is a weight off my paranoid mind.

I suppose I'll keep going, there are a bunch of lockers in two rows and tons of smaller draws in columns, not to mention a section of narrow slots for paperwork, wills and the like. Lockers first. Yet another statue, a rack of fancy swords, a suit of armour, a stack of metal ingots paired with a set of blacksmithing tools complete with anvil. There's more too but after the first few I don't even look, too focused of the rhythm of my work. The draws take more time but one by one open to reveal their contents, pouches of money, jewellery of every sort, loose gemstones, spell scrolls, several small daggers, a dozen different assorted gadgets and knickknacks of every possible type. I have very little idea how long 've been at it but my fingers are cramping from the constant little articulations of the picks.

The last draw pops open to reveal an odd little set of wireframed lenses and I sit back in relief. I glance over at the slot draws. No way, not touching those. Wills and blackmail material are pretty valuable but I can't read to tell them apart and they're only useful if you can interact with the people who made them, which I can and will not do. Okay then I'm done here. Now I just need to get out of this death-trap. I look over at the chest, heavy and reenforced, maybe one more.

The padlock is enchanted so I don't bother with it. Instead I borrow the artifact hammer. I can't actually use the magical function, whatever that is, but it's still a perfectly functional hammer. With patients, enthusiasm and one of the blacksmithing tools in the set I pop the hinge pins out one after the other. Flipping it open with enthusiasm I stop in outright awe. The moment the lid pops open, I freeze in outright awe. The large container is stuffed full of small, marble white chunks of rough, porous, pebble.

Damn that is a hell of a lot of calcified mananite. This stuff is more valuable than platinum, and a million times more useful. Pure magic wrapped in the mineral remains of powdered and compressed shells. I don't even know what I'm going to do with this. It' like coal for artifacts and enchantments except each stone is tons of coals worth of energy, I knew I would find some, it's valuable, but this is ridiculous.

Okay focus. What am I going to take.

Getting back up the shaft is going to be a nightmare. First things first I need to make my preparations. Tying my loot into bundles that will fit up the tunnel using the excess rope is the first step. Then finding a way to keep the one way flap opened, I use a spear that I have no chance of carrying out as a glorified door wedge. Then in for the second time tonight I pop out my shoulder and begin my ascent.

I can just hold the rope in one fully extended arm pull and shuffled up, foot pressed against the wall, back in the corner, until my elbow touches the side. Pause. Gasp for air in the cramped increasingly stifling box of space. Do it again. My hips, wedged uncomfortably at an angle between two walls scream complaint, my dislocated shoulder presses against steel and aches. My back becomes sticky with sweat, the soft fabric that had helped me slip down the shaft on the way down now bunches up in damp folds. I ignore it, reset my feet, pressing against the wall, reach with my good arm and squeeze up another few of centimetres. I can't bend my knees much so I use my ankles. Every moment in the suffocating chute takes effort, breathing is constricted, the air increasingly heavy and useless, the space almost lightless, I drip sweat, heat accumulates, the thin rope bites into my fingers, my muscles burn, bruises form where I'm pressed against the metal, I can feel them blooming with serene patience. Keep going.

The only way is forward. Heave, shuffle, breath, repeat. At some point I became dizzy, I'm not certain when, the air is thick as paint. Keep going. My fingers are bleeding again, I only noticed because of the smell. The climb is only two stories, I've done that in my sleep, not such a huge distance. Centimetres at a time it feels like an eternity. Keep going.

I get a breath of fresh-ish air, gulped it in like a fish, I can't help myself, I cry like a child. Still cocooned in steel, I sob and weep. Eventually, sopping with sweat, gasping and blubbering I heave my head and shoulders through the safe door. Extracting myself is agonising, my right leg blazes up in the most terrible case of pins and needles imaginable. An I lie on the soft carpet, writhing in agony and relief and still sobbing. It takes me some time but when I stop and instead have to work on dispelling my hiccups, I am exhausted.

'Congratulations Pyr you dumb fuck, I'm pretty sure you've just acquired claustrophobia. Well done!' The cruel voice mocks me.

It takes a good five minutes to calm down and massage my leg to functionality, then another anxious five minutes to pull up my ill-gotten gains hoping against hope that nobody hears the scraping sounds. Nobody interrupts and like the most ludicrously lucky fisherwoman in history I reel in my catch.

One large sack of purest magic, one set of gorgeous artifact wings, sword, sword, sword. Why so many fucking swords?

Not even the voice in the back of my head complains more than a snide comment about being unable to carry it all. My biceps on the other hand voice their complaints unreservedly.

Fuck you arm muscles, it's treasure! Stop complaining about it! Doohickie bag, magic fruits, dagger, gauntlet, end of rope.

I looked at the pile of loot and grin like crazy. How in the six afterlife's am I goanna carry all of this?

'In parts,' the calm voice reminds me 'this many artifacts in one place are likely to be detectable even if they are all drained and dormant.'

In the end it takes me three nerve wracking trips to get to the roof with all the loot. Getting into this side of the bank's own ventilation system and out onto the roof.

I lay it all out piece by piece and get prepped. It's a good thing that so many of my recently acquired treasures are bladed because I need to cut my rope to tie them all into bundles. I tie daggers to my legs and bundles hang from my rope belt. I put my small pack on back to front and make the straps tight with treasures pressed against my torso. There's was one problem remaining, the wings. I have put a lot of effort into the wings, had to go out of my way almost to the point of begging to convince Spicer to raid the mansion of the family who owned them, that had taken a significant amount of time and effort in itself and then I had to leave the artifact which normally would have been the main prize of a risky heist of that scale, and track the items progress until it reached the vault. The wings have a harness that went around the shoulders and legs and my naïveté I had believed that all one needed to do was put on the harness on feed the wings some magic and then tada flight! I see now that I was wrong. A sort of pseudo spine stretched between the wings stretching into a blooming feathery tail and from that spine barely visible under the downy fluff protrudes a series clear, almost glass like, quills.

Gross. Just awful. The worst. I feel sick.

I gagged, heave, I rested hands on knees and spend a few horrible moments unsure if I want to puke or choke it down. The latter. Sick to my stomach I put on the harness and shivered as the protrusions pressed against my back, piecing my clothing in places but not my skin. I'm unsteady, not surprising considering a lifetime of barely eating has given me the impressive physique of a nine-year old, and then start shuffling the loot around myself in as even a distribution as I could manage.

Several minutes later and rattling like a skeleton dancing the djamba I take the last handful of magic stones I hadn't stored away and reach back to feed them to the artifact wings. At the base of the neck hidden under more feathers a small metal plate opens up as the magic touches it the stones disappeared eaten and pulled into the artefact. The spines sitting along my back wiggled unnervingly then they bite. Little pinpricks of pain bloom from neck to tailbone then itch and I feel them writhe under my skin stretching across and following my ribs around the chest. This time I can't hold back from vomiting.

Below the vault's alarms go off as the pulse from the magic is detected but it doesn't matter, the wings beat and I lift off the roof. It's time to leave.