The Thief’s Theme

by bfmusashi

Professional thievery is a wonderful job. I know what you’re thinking—professional thievery? A wonderful job? Yes, I’ve heard the skepticism before. I’ll admit that being a thief can be trying sometimes, especially when you’re running from the police at night and trying to live a decent life as a respectable member of society during the day. The whole double-identity thing can get overbearing if you think about it too much. Also, you’ve got to put up with those buffoons down in the Scarlin Thieves’ Guild, probably the laziest bunch of nose-picking muskrats that I’ve ever had the pleasure of dealing with. Still, despite all the small annoyances that go with my work, I love being a thief. There is nothing quite like the adrenaline rush of jumping across misty rooftops, hiding in the shadows, maybe putting an interfering guard to rest with an arrow or two, and dashing away just in time after a successful heist. Most satisfying feeling in the world. Are you still skeptical? Then have yourself a seat and listen to my story. It’s a tale of my latest exploit. If it doesn’t make you a believer in the joys of my trade, then it should, at least, convince you of my skills as a master thief.

On this particular night, I was about to pull off a spectacular job. I’d been planning it for at least the past month, and it was a painstaking process. Adamant that I wouldn’t fumble a robbery of this importance, I had explored the territory, carefully mapped out different escape routes, checked every nook and cranny of the area for suitable hiding spots, determined how many guards would be in my proximity, and estimated how easily I could sneak in and out of their ranks undetected. A lot of people seem to think that thievery is a job for ruffians, scoundrels, and uneducated buffoons—scum that live in the dregs of society and can’t make a regular living thanks to their lack of brains. This could not be farther from the truth. Thievery—that is, good thievery, mind you—is a thinking man’s game. An intellectual’s game. It’s a bit like chess, in my opinion—a game where every move needs to be decided with the utmost care and strategy, where decisions and sacrifices must be determined many steps in advance, and where without sufficient planning, one tiny slip-up can occur, completely ruining everything.

This particular heist was a substantial affair. Baron Schneider was staying the week at the Prydannis Inn, one of the more respectable establishments in town. I suppose the old man had finally realized that cooping himself up in his cozy castle for nearly half the year was rather destructive for his social image, because he had hyped up his visit with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. The Baron’s stay was to mark the unveiling of the new war memorial that had been built in the town square to honor the heroes of the last civil war, and the schedule for his seven day stay involved a great deal of parading about the city, making speeches, and attending fancy dinners with the Scarlin upper class, those fancy fools with the large mansions that are always absurdly easy to break into. An entourage of police guards would be accompanying him wherever he went, and from what I heard, his teenage daughter (the so-called “sweetheart of Scarlin,” they called her) would be making public appearances with him.

The nice thing about the Baron staying in the town was that wherever the Baron went, his precious jewels went with him. One jewel, in particular, was the main focus of my attention that night. I’m talking about Baron Schneider’s prized scepter, a fantastic golden staff encrusted with jade and opal ornaments. Like his crown, the Baron barely went anywhere without his scepter. It was a symbol of his power, a symbol of his kingdom, and to be seen in public without it would instantly be interpreted by many to be a decline of authority. Since that scepter was such a precious artifact, the Scarlin Thieves’ Guild was offering an mind-blowing prize to any thief that could successfully obtain it. A million gold Gairos—that was more money than most thieves made in a long time, and to acquire that kind of cash in a single night was a reward I couldn’t resist. Eager to eliminate all competition, I managed to twist a couple arms over at the Guild and got myself total dibs over the Baron’s scepter, much to the chagrin of my peers. Not that they could do anything about it, of course.

Anyhow, I had made my plans, gathered my equipment, and plotted my route long in advance, and finally, after several long weeks, the night of action came. It was eleven in the evening on a Sat’s Day when I climbed out from the secret tunnel that led to my hideout, peering about in the shadows of the alleyway to make sure that I was alone. It was perfectly quiet, and the night was especially dark. The Baron had unveiled the memorial that afternoon, and most of the townspeople were probably occupied in the pubs and in their homes, busily relaying accounts of the ceremony to their friends. This was good for me—a minimum of people would be out on the streets, and I wouldn’t have to worry about any prying eyes.

Reaching into one of the equipment pouches hanging from my waist, I pulled out my grapnel, preparing to latch it to the roof above me and set out. I stopped for a moment, however, surprised to see an obnoxious-looking wanted poster sprawled up on the wall in front of me. It hadn’t been there the previous night. Someone from the police station must have slapped it up that morning when I hadn’t been looking. I approached it curiously, wondering if I’d be blessed with a poster of myself. Sure enough, the words “WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: TERRY THE THIEF” were printed on the poster in bright red script, and the fine print underneath described me as being “extremely dangerous,” and a “renowned member of the Scarlin underworld.” This was flattering, but I was disappointed to see that they were only offering three hundred thousand as a reward for my capture. I thought I was worth at least a bit more than that. The picture they had gotten for me was also terrible. The artist had used a substantial amount of license, giving me a mangy beard and an hideous moustache that looked like a hairy caterpillar. He’d also decided to decorate my face with scars and make my teeth longer than they really were, giving me the appearance of a psychotic vampire. This was annoying. I was wise enough to always keep my face covered and to see the stereotypical features they brainstormed for my wanted posters was so pathetic.

Ripping the poster from the wall and crumpling it, I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and tied a bandanna to my face, completely camouflaging myself in the night’s blackness. Swinging my grapnel in an arc, I tossed it above me, pulling it until it latched onto the sides of the brick chimney of the nearest building. Gripping the firm rope attached to the grapnel, I scaled the wall and climbed up onto the building’s roof. I then began my run, springing from this rooftop to that, jumping past high-rises and dashing along the sides of balconies, silently slinking my way towards downtown Scarlin. Some thieves like hiding around in the shadows on the ground, looking for random loafers to mug. I’ve always preferred the top of the city to the bottom of it, personally. The dark atmosphere is magical. Smoke emanating from chimneys swathed me in a dull, shimmering cloud, and the cold rush of the evening air sent my cloak flapping out from behind me, making me look, from the ground at least, like some sort of bizarre flying apparition. The crusted red roofs, flagpoles, and bridges that littered the upper heights of Scarlin were like the tips of some twisted urban jungle, and as I swung across dizzying heights with my grapnel or sprinted across short stretches of roof, the exhilarating rush of the evening air invigorated me, tingling sensuously in my ears like the sound of a young girl’s voice. The night, the glorious darkness—this was my element, and I could almost taste Baron Schneider’s delicious scepter, rife for the picking.

The Prydannis Inn was located near the center of Scarlin, and I reached it in decent time. The windows of the inn were glowing with the friendly warmth of burning fires, and I could hear the sounds of a few late-night guests exiting and entering the doors of the fancy building. The inn, always famous for the fine service it bestowed upon its customers, had pulled out all the stops for Baron Schneider’s stay. Police guards had been posted at various points surrounding the building, and the baron’s room was located high up on the fifth floor, away from the prying hands of any would-be assassins or thieves. Except for me, that is. I’d analyzed the area carefully and discovered that the east wall of the Prydannis Inn, filled with overflowing dumpsters and other trash receptacles, was the least well guarded. Only two guards stood watch on that particular side of the building, while every other side had at least four on duty. The authorities had probably expected any possible danger to approach the inn from the main entrances, not the shabby backdoor that was the east wall. This oversight on their part made my job a whole lot easier.

I crouched on the railing of a nearby house’s fourth floor balcony, scanning the guards below me. A lone torch lay encased in a rusty, metallic holder in the center of the east wall, throwing light upon the scene, and I could see the guards shuffling back and forth in boredom, looking half-asleep amongst the glow of the firelight. I chuckled to myself, slowly reaching for the bow tied to my side. Aiming it slightly above the torch, I pulled a long, bluish arrow from the quiver attached under my cloak, notching the missile to my bowstring carefully. The entire arrow was made of a transparent glass-like material that disintegrated when exposed to heat from a flame, literally turning into dust. The material was hollow, however, and the narrow space within the actual arrow itself could be filled with water. Hence the water arrow, a typical projectile in a thief’s arsenal, and a very handy one when it came to putting out torches or any stray lights.

I shot off the water arrow once the backs of the guards were turned. It zoomed noiselessly through the air, smacking straight into the stony wall behind the torch. As the flames from the torch licked up at the arrow, the entire thing disintegrated, sending a shower of water droplets over the fire, dousing it immediately. All of this happened in the span of a second or so, and before the guards knew what had happened, the entire area went dark. A thin waft of smoke rose up from where the torch had been just a moment earlier.

“What the—” I heard one of the guards yell, the frantic scuffling of his boots sounding out on the stony ground. “The light…what happened to it?”

“Must’ve gone out again,” the other guard muttered. “Third time this night… I’ll go get us a lantern.”

“Hurry up,” came the gruff response. “It’s black as death out here tonight.”

A series of short mutterings followed by a curse or two ensued, but I didn’t pay attention to the rest of their conversation. By that time, I had taken advantage of the guards’ distraction, throwing my grapnel out to a nearby ledge jutting from the side of the inn wall, latching it firmly into place. I’d make too much noise if I swung over, so I’d have to take the slightly slower route. Stringing the rope across the space between the two buildings, I formed a tightrope, of sorts. Stepping out onto the tightrope, I began to cross the enclosure between the inn and the balcony like one of those acrobatic circus performers, taking small steps with my arms outstretched on either side of me for balance. I could hear the guard mumbling softly to himself underneath me, his companion having left to go get a pair of lanterns. I breathed easy, knowing that I was invisible to his eyes and silent to his ears. It’d taken me a while to master the art of tightrope walking, but I’d gotten it down after a couple months. A normal person wouldn’t be able to walk across a rope strung a good fifty feet above the ground, but I was no normal person. I was a thief, and a well-balanced one at that.

I reached the ledge of the inn just as the other guard was coming back to his post with two lanterns. Whipping my grapnel across the enclosure and back into my hands, I pressed my back firmly against the side of the building wall. Slowly, moving my feet sideways bit by bit, I began creeping horizontally across the inn’s long ledge, the glass panes of the windows behind me brushing against my cloak. I was standing on the ledge of the fourth floor of the inn, and since the Baron’s room was located up on the fifth floor, I had a little bit of work to do. Not too much, though. I inched my way down the ledge for several long moments until I came to another ledge—this one located about three feet above my head. I was very high up, and only a few inches of foot space stood between me and a long drop. Carefully, I turned my body so that my stomach faced the building wall rather than my back. Balance was vital here. Peering upwards, I could see the ledge just a short distance above my head, reachable if I jumped high enough. Swinging my arms backwards, I jumped vertically, grasping out with my hands. I caught the edge of the ledge easily, and pulled myself up onto it, breathing slightly hard. It was getting a little chilly, and you needed a lot of strength for this sort of thing. I had made it up onto the fifth floor, though—now all I had to do was actually get inside.

Maneuvering my way across the ledge, I eventually reached the window that I was looking for—one that I had specifically chosen for this occasion. Reaching into one of the pouches on my belt, I pulled out a handy glass-cutter. The instrument was miniscule but performed noiselessly, like a real charm. Pressing it against the window glass, I worked swiftly, cutting the entire panel away. I slid it aside and climbed into the window, replacing the panel behind me. It could be easily pushed away again if I needed to make a quick exit. At any rate, I was in.

I had chosen this particular room for my entrance because it was located right down the hall from Baron Schneider’s room. I didn’t want a room that was too close to his chambers, because I knew that guards would be bordering his doors, and I didn’t want to attract their attention too easily. I didn’t want a room that was too far down the hall, either, because most of those were occupied. This particular room was perfect—it was fairly large and only used for storage when it was used at all, which wasn’t often. Dark blankets covered up various boxes, dusty chairs, and old pieces of furniture lying in the corners of the room, and everything was pitch-black. This place would not be occupied anytime during the night. Or so I thought, anyway.

I was silently making my way towards the door when it began to open. Warm yellow light from the outside hallway spilled into the room. I managed to quickly jump behind a large cabinet in one of the darker corners. I was surprised—nobody was supposed to be here; I had made sure of it. Maybe one of the newer inn workers had stumbled in here by accident? My questions were answered by the figure that stepped delicately into the dark room—the light from the outside hallway illuminated her features perfectly. She was wearing a fancy lavender nightgown made out of velvet or some equally expensive material, and she wore the typical necklaces and massive earrings that most spoiled rich girls love showing off whenever they’re in public. Her hair was long, nearly reaching down past her waist, and her features were delicate and quite attractive—she looked a bit like one of those pretty porcelain dolls that you can find in the local toy shops, actually. I would know. I stole one of those once. She wasn’t alone. She seemed to be guiding someone into the room with her. From the looks of things, he wore the plain blue uniform of a police guard, and judging by the number of stripes on his sleeve, he was a rookie at that. He looked like a rugged, strong fellow, but he was red-faced and seemed somewhat nervous as well.

I chuckled to myself silently as I watched the spectacle unfold before me. The girl was Baron Schneider’s teenage daughter, Anita, the so-called “sweetheart of Scarlin.” But what was she doing with a rookie guard? At this time of night? In a dark room? When that guard probably should have been busy doing his duty—that is, guarding? This would be interesting.

“Are…are you sure nobody’s going to…uh…find us in here?” the guard murmured, looking around about him as Anita shut the door. “How’d you get the key for this room anyway…?”

“The cook gave it to me,” Anita replied, letting out a sickeningly cute giggle. “He’s such a nice old man, isn’t he? And don’t worry about it! No one’ll find us in here. Daddy’s sound asleep and he gave the hallway guards the night off, didn’t you know?”

“Oh,” said the guard. “I was wondering where everyone had gone.”

“They’re at the poker game down in the common room,” Anita said, smiling. “See, I planned this out!”

Now this was a pleasant surprise, I thought to myself as I peered out from behind my cabinet hiding place. The hallway guards had the night off? Baron Schneider must’ve made that decision recently, probably right before he went to bed. I grinned as I thought of how beautiful this was. Everything was perfect, easier than I had ever dreamed of. The old fool apparently thought that no one would dare sneak in to rob him of his precious scepter. Such a careless thought.

“Well, I guess you did plan it out,” the guard said, moving closer to her. He seemed to be more at ease. “I have to hand it to you; you are pretty good at this sort of thing.”

“Oh, I know,” Anita said.

Anita’s voice was suddenly subdued by a muffle, another giggle, and then a soft moan. The guard had pulled her into his arms and was passionately kissing her, and from the looks of things, she wasn’t minding it too much. I looked out at the two conspirators, trying my hardest not to laugh. Anita Schneider…the sweetheart of Scarlin…secretly consorting with a common police guard? Now this was a juicy revelation. Here everyone thought the Baron’s daughter was all perfect and innocent—while apparently, she was actually pretty good at “this sort of thing.” I hadn’t expected this at all. I made a mental note to myself to leak this information out to the local tabloids for the highest possible price once I made it back to the Thieves’ Guild.

I soon found myself faced with a dilemma, however. I had decided to be polite for a couple minutes or so, to see if the two lovers would hurry up and leave after a while. Unfortunately for me, they didn’t look like they were anywhere near leaving, and it seemed that they were about to engage in more than just kissing. At any rate, I didn’t have time for this. Wishing that Anita Schneider had chosen another room for her romantic escapades, I stepped out of the shadows and moved behind the busy couple. They were having too much fun to notice me, so I cleared my throat slightly and tapped the guard fellow on the shoulder. He jumped and whirled around.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Before he could utter a yell I smacked him on the temple with my blackjack. It was a handy leather-covered bludgeon with a short, flexible shaft, useful for knocking people out or crushing skulls. The man collapsed to the floor in a heap, drool dribbling out from the side of his mouth. Anita, wide-eyed with terror, would have let out a shriek if I’d let her, but in about two seconds I had her in my grip, with my hand cupped over her mouth and a dagger to the side of her head.

“Don’t scream,” I murmured softly. “And don’t struggle.”

The girl was probably scared out of her wits right about now. Sweat had begun to break out on her forehead. She slowly relaxed herself and stopped squirming, but I could still feel her entire body shaking against mine.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I said. Well, I probably wouldn’t, anyway. “I would just like to ask you a thing or two. Understand?” Since I had her like this, I might as well pump her for a little information.

Anita frantically nodded her head up and down. I could see her eyes darting back and forth to the body of her boyfriend. He made a nice ornament for the carpet.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “He’s not dead. He’ll just have a headache when he wakes up. A very bad headache.”

This seemed to calm her.

“Now I’m going to ask you something,” I said. “And I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth for a moment. Please don’t scream, you’ll make it rather bad for yourself if you do.”

Anita nodded again.

“Good. Now tell me… You said the hallway guards had the night off. Does this mean that they have the entire night off, or are they coming back later, perhaps? You can answer.” I pulled my hand back from her mouth slightly.

“T-They’re…they’re gone for the night,” Anita stammered. “D-Daddy d-didn’t think there was any…need for them tonight, so he—”

“Very nice,” I said, covering her mouth up again. “And tell me… Do you know, perhaps, whether or not your father’s scepter is still located in his room, on the blue cushioned table alongside his crown? Or has that been moved as well? Answer.” I moved my hand again.

“I-I think it’s still there,” she gulped. “At least…w-when I saw it last…a couple hours ago, it was still there…”

“Thank you, dear,” I said, smiling. “You’ve been most helpful.”

I looked at her for a moment. She was a pretty young thing. Very pretty, actually. It was a shame I had to get down to business; she probably would have been fun to play with for a while. The scepter was more important now, though. And I had to find some way to dispose of her. While she wasn’t necessarily innocent, she still was the town’s sweetheart, so of course I couldn’t just knock her out and leave her lying on the floor. No, I’d give her special treatment. She vaguely reminded me of someone I had known once, after all—someone I had known a long time ago.

“Are…are you going to…to kill me now?” she whispered, straining herself a little to see if she could catch a glimpse of my face.

“No,” I murmured, reaching into one of the pouches on my belt. I pulled out a black handkerchief and a small vial of chloroform. Using one hand I popped the vial open and pressed the handkerchief to it. “I’m going to give you a nap.”

I smothered the handkerchief under her nose. She let out a groan and stepped back and forth woozily before collapsing against my arm. Chuckling to myself, I picked her up and deposited her into a nearby closet.

“Sleep tight,” I said as I moved towards the exit, stepping over her unconscious boyfriend. His drool had formed a small puddle on the carpet.

I opened the door a smidgeon and looked out into the hallway. No one was around, and just as Anita had said, the guards were nowhere to be seen. I stepped outside and moved up the hall to a large set of ornately decorated double doors. These led to the Baron’s room. I had snuck in here and previewed the place some time earlier. The inn had undoubtedly given him the best room on this floor, and probably the best room of the hotel itself. Trying my hand on the doorknob, I discovered, as I had expected, that it was locked. Reaching into a pouch on my belt, I drew out a long white skeleton key, one in a series that I had specially made for this occasion. I inserted it into the door’s keyhole and turned it until I heard a soft, satisfying click. I moved to push open the door, but then I paused for a second. This all seemed just a little…too easy, for some odd reason. Or perhaps I just wasn’t used to not having any guards to deal with up close and personal? I shrugged. My million Gairos prize lay inside; I’d come too far to turn back. I opened the doors and stepped in.

The Baron’s room was large. Very large—I figured that they had definitely given him the biggest room in the inn. The room was also dark, illuminated only by a few embers from a fireplace that had lost its fire about an hour or two ago. From what I could make out in the darkness, a gigantic bed lay in the center of the room, surrounded on all sides by tall oak closets. The bed was probably big enough for three or four people. It was covered on all sides by see-through silk drapes, and as I looked past the drapes, I could see a large mound slowly rising and falling on the bed. The Baron, of course. Fast asleep. I immediately scanned the cushioned blue table next to him. His red robe lay draped there, its ends cascading down onto the floor in a fine flop of furry folds. Atop the robe sat his crown, which was a nice looking thing but not what I wanted. Lying next to the crown, however, was the Baron’s scepter, a gorgeous golden staff that seemed to glint seductively despite the darkness of the room. I moved over to the table, careful not to make a sound. This was too easy. I peered suspiciously at the sleeping form that lay in the bed. It seemed to be the Baron, all right. Why was I feeling so odd about this whole thing, then? Maybe I was just paranoid. Sighing to myself, I reached forward and picked up the scepter.

Light suddenly flooded into the room, as if all the lamps in the place had been lit at once. I was blinded by the glare and had to pull my hands up in front of my face to shield my eyes. I could hear the sounds of shuffling, several doors opening, and a whole menagerie of voices howling at me. As my vision slowly cleared, I whirled around to see that all the lamps in the room had been lit, and by a score of police guards—about a dozen of them in total—no less. They were cornering me on all sides with crossbows, and from the looks on their faces, these fellows were pretty well trained in using them. I turned around uneasily to try to see where they had so suddenly sprung from, and my eyes fell with disgust upon the open doors of the closets I had seen earlier, bordering all the different sides of the room around the bed. Had they been hiding in the closets this entire time? Apparently they had. But how had they known that I was coming? I gritted my teeth and tightened my grip on the scepter. I couldn’t believe I had fallen into a trap—Anita, obviously, had not been informed of this. And I had followed her words like a novice and just waltzed my way in without being more careful. This was so careless of me.

“Well, well, well,” came a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to see the figure I had assumed to be the Baron rise up from the bed, pushing aside the drapes surrounding it. He was a chunky, obtuse-looking middle-aged man with a ridiculous moustache that curled up at the sides and a brown beard that always seemed to have a pair of filthy fingers running through it. He grinned at me smugly, pulling a pipe out from the pocket of his long, shaggy overcoat. Shoving it into his mouth and taking two satisfactory puffs, he pulled it out and contemplated me with a fat grin on his face. I sighed. His name was Inspector Clarence Dagonworth, and he was a detective employed by the local Scarlin police. Unfortunately, the two of us were old…“pals.” Or so he said.

“Good to see you again, old pal,” he announced, giving me that obnoxious smirk of his. I felt a great desire to slash it off his face. “I must admit, Terry, you’ve been slacking just a little bit these days—behind schedule, that is. We expected you about twenty minutes ago! ”

“Traffic was murder,” I murmured dryly. “Your wit is as insufferable as always, Inspector Dagonworth.”

“Oh, please, Terry,” Dagonworth chuckled. “Shouldn’t we be on a first-name basis now, old pal? Do call me Clarence, would you?”

“How about I not, and say I did instead?” I replied. “So, Inspector… You caught me off guard this time. I wasn’t expecting this.”

Dagonworth practically glistened with greasy glee. “Aha, that’s right! You weren’t expecting this, eh? I should think not. This was quite a nicely organized little operation, carried out almost entirely by myself! Isn’t that right, boys?”

He turned to his squadron of police guards. A few people chuckled—I was entertained to see that more were rolling their eyes.

“Ahem,” Dagonworth sputtered, clearing his throat. “But yes, a nicely organized little operation. One of your buddies from the old Thieves’ Guild finked on you, Terry. Did it for an agreeable sum of money, too; I was a little surprised at that. But then again, you know how the saying goes. All that rot about honor among thieves, eh?” He burst into guffawing laughter. A couple of the guards followed his lead half-heartedly.

“I see,” I murmured slowly. So, we had a snitch in the Thieves’ Guild, did we? Oh boy. Someone down there was going to die once I started investigating this.

“So, once your friend told on you,” Dagonworth continued, “it was just a matter of time before we alerted the Baron to what you were about, convinced him to stay in another room this night, evacuated this floor, and set this fantastic little trap just for you, old pal.”

“I see,” I repeated. “You and your men hid in the…closets for an entire night waiting for me?”

Dagonworth looked peeved. “Er… No, not quite. Delicate police procedure, Terry. Delicate police procedure. This here was a complicated affair. You wouldn’t understand it even if I tried to explain it to you.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t,” I replied.

A sudden bustle rose up from the ranks of the guards standing by the door. All of us turned to see an elderly gentleman burst onto the scene, breaking his way through the crowd to face me. He was only dressed in his night clothes and looked quite blustered, but there was no denying it—this was Baron Schneider, in the flesh, albeit somewhat removed from the dignity with which he usually carried himself. Things were turning out to be quite social tonight.

“Why, Baron,” Dagonworth exclaimed, looking surprised. “Whatever in the world are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay downstairs…?”

“I was downstairs,” the Baron huffed, pressing his hand against his chest and looking at me out from the corner of his eye. “But…but I heard the ruckus up here and I…ah, I decided to see this man here for my very own eyes.”

“Well, then,” Dagonworth announced, tucking his thumbs into the sides of his belt, “here’s your crook. Terry the Thief, Baron, one of the most notorious and dangerous criminals Scarlin has to offer. Three hundred thousand gold Gairos are going for his capture, you know? Hefty bit of money.”

“It should be higher,” I said.

“Be quiet, Terry,” Dagonworth snapped.

Baron Schneider nodded, studying me curiously. He made me feel like an animal at a zoo. “Terry the Thief, eh? I dare say, Terry… How in the name of God did you make it in here? Dagonworth told me that you’d somehow manage to sneak your way in, and insisted that we set up this trap here… But I never thought you’d actually be able to do it! I mean, I have my guards all up around the inn, and—”

“A good thief always manages to find a way in,” I said, smiling underneath the folds of my face-bandana. I gave a deep bow, keeping my eyes perfectly on the Baron as I did so. “Wonderful to meet you, sir.”

“Oh, the honor is all mine, really,” the Baron said interestedly. He looked as if he were about to reach out to shake my hand.

“The honor is all yours?” Dagonworth repeated. He laughed out loud. “Oh, really, Baron. You are far too kind, sir. This man here is a dangerous criminal, a denizen of the dark underworld, a—”

“Yes, yes,” Baron Schneider said, waving him aside. “Er… I was wondering… Terry, right? I was wondering, are you really that same Terry that pulled off the dramatic heist over at the Luarve two years ago? I mean, the papers were full of it at the time; it was really rather exciting. That is, well, to hear of the details of the search…er, and all that.”

Dagonworth was staring at the Baron in disbelief. One of the guards let out a laugh. I was taken aback, but pleased nonetheless.

“You flatter me, sir,” I murmured. “I…had a little part to play in the Luarve escapade…but to be honest, I was with several associates who did far more to—”

“Oh, come off it already,” Dagonworth interrupted. He turned to face Baron Schneider sharply. “We don’t have time to be sitting around swapping stories. Baron, for your own safety, I would very humbly like to ask you to please exit the premises before this man tries anything. Oh, and Terry. You can drop that scepter right about now. I think you’ve had it for far too long already, old pal.”

“Oh yes, the scepter…” murmured Baron Schneider, rubbing the back of his balding head. He seemed to have forgotten about it. I was impressed with him. He had risen greatly in my mind in the past minute or so. I had always thought of him as a silly old fool who didn’t know his head from a hole in the ground, but he actually wasn’t half bad.

“Oh, and while you’re at it,” Dagonworth suddenly commented, pointing at my concealed face, “why don’t you go ahead and unmask yourself, old pal? I think it’s about time we saw who this ‘Terry the Thief’ fellow really is, don’t you agree?”

“Unmask myself?” I repeated, a grin slowly emerging onto my lips. “Inspector, are you sure you want me to do that?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Dagonworth snapped. “Take it off. Now!”

“Very well,” I said, my hand slowly going towards the folds of my face-bandana. I didn’t take it off, however. Instead, my fingers swiftly grabbed at the two tiny ceramic orbs I kept concealed in the garment. Jumping backwards before any of the guards could react, let alone fire off bolts from their crossbows, I threw the tiny orbs onto the floor. The balls smashed apart from the impact and began sending off steady streams of hazy gray gas. Within seconds, the room was consumed with hissing fumes, and all of the guards, Dagonworth, and the Baron himself were coughing their lungs out.

“Gahh!” gasped Dagonworth, frantically waving his hands about in the air to try to fan away the gas. He was hacking violently and tearing out of the sides of his eyes. “koff It’s tear gas! koff Arghh! It’s bloody tear gas! Get Terry! Don’t let that bloody fool escape! koff”

I, however, was well on my way to escaping. Thankful for the nose filters that I had taken the liberty of wearing, I stuffed the scepter into a tight felt bag I had brought with me and tied it to my belt. Next, I bombarded my way through the circle of guards surrounding me, thrashing out with fists and feet. I had no time to make it back to the window in the storage room—I had to find a quick exit now, and the quickest way out of here was through the giant paneled windows on the right side of the room. Fanning a way through the gas with my cloak, I knocked two guards aside, punched a third in the face and grabbed his crossbow. I heard a yell and swung around—someone was trying to come at me from behind. On instinct I pulled a dagger out from my belt and slashed at him. He howled and fell backwards, gripping the side of his arm. I pushed him aside and ran towards the window, throwing off a couple more daggers to keep any approaching assailants at bay. I could hear Dagonworth yelling out crazed orders as best he could, coughing harder and harder by the minute. A crossbow bolt suddenly soared by my head, smacking into one of the bedposts in the center of the room.

“Don’t shoot, you koff stupid moron!” snapped Dagonworth, sweating and crying profusely at the same time. “You’ll koff hit…you’ll hit one of us, blast it!”

At that moment I heard a loud clunk, a grunt, and the sound of Dagonworth falling to the floor. It seemed that he had crashed into one of the closets in his frenzy. Shrugging, I aimed the crossbow I had grabbed from the guard at the window, firing off as many bolts as I could in rapid succession. The powerful projectiles bombarded violently against the panels, shattering the glass and sending it pouring down all upon the floor in a glittering mess. I could see welcome lights from lampposts and windows in the street below. It was time for my exit. Turning around, I chuckled at the chaos I had caused. Guards were running about everywhere, crying, gagging, and trying their best to see where they were going. Dagonworth was straining against the weight of the closet, trying to push it up off of him. Apparently he had crashed so hard into the thing that it had fallen and pinned him to the ground. And the Baron, who was one of the smarter ones, having retreated to the door and not bourn the full brunt of the gas, was coughing and tearing but looking quite all right otherwise. I shouted out to him.

“Sorry to cause all this trouble, Baron,” I yelled. “Apologies for the gas and everything. Bit of a mess, I know.”

“Oh,” coughed the Baron, turning around confusedly, trying to tell through the smoke where I was, “Oh, it’s quite all koff right. No problem at all. Err… Will you be heading koff off with my scepter, then?”

“Afraid so,” I said. “But thanks for letting me have it, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, well, no koff problem then,” the Baron said, sniffling loudly as he tried wiped the tears from his eyes. “Easy come, easy koff go, I suppose…koff”

“Goodbye, then!” I said, beginning to step out of the window. “Oh, and Baron… If I were you, I’d keep a closer eye on your daughter from now on.”

“Eh?” the Baron asked, sounding astonished. “My daughter? Er… Why?”

“I do believe she’s been fraternizing with the hired help,” I called back. “Ciao!”

With that, I jumped out of the window.

The cold night air hit me with a rush as I fell. Everything was a blur—the lights from the surrounding buildings, the smoke and frenzied movements from the room above me—everything melted together into a wild mess of color that flashed in and out of my line of vision. There was no need to panic, however. I’d been here before. Stretching my legs backwards, I allowed the backs of my feet to push against the side of the inn building as I toppled down. Propelling myself with the momentum from this push, I curled my body into a ball and flipped forward as far as I could, my hands flailing out to grab the flagpole hanging from an adjoining building that I had anticipated for this occasion. I caught hold of the thing with a grunt, swung my entire body upwards to steady myself, and then bounced off of the parallel bar like a gymnast. I caught hold of a second flagpole that lay just a little bit higher than the first, flipped off from that one too, and sent my grapnel flinging out to latch onto the wings of a large stone gargoyle that lay perched on the building’s roof. Gripping the grapnel’s rope as tight as I could, I twisted myself sideways and ran horizontally along the side of the building, dashing with just enough speed to maintain my hold on the rope without slipping off into the abyss. Once I had run as far as the length of the rope would let me, I kicked off from the wall and let momentum instantly pull me backwards in an arc that launched me up onto the roof of the building. I landed hard, but finished off my crazy display of acrobatics with a somersault to break my fall. Standing up and dusting myself off, I walked over to where the stone gargoyle sat, retrieving my grapnel and pulling in my rope. I felt a little dizzy, but was otherwise fine.

I turned and peered over the side of the gargoyle, looking at the inn building across from me that I had just escaped from. A gaping hole had replaced the fine windows of the Baron’s room on the fifth floor, and beyond it I could see the fumes from the gas slowly beginning to disperse, as well as the agitated bodies of police guards running about. Dagonworth’s fat frame suddenly popped up by the side of the window, pointing a shaking finger at me while trying to fan away the gas surrounding him with his other hand. He looked like a wreck—his collar had popped open, his face was as red as a slaughtered pig’s, and his overcoat was disheveled and had gotten ripped on something. I squinted and was pleased to see that it was one of my daggers.

“There he is!” I heard him shout, his nasally voice ringing out across the buildings. “Somebody shoot him! I said SHOOT HIM! SHOOT that rotten son of a tramp before he gets away!”

A guard ran up next to him and fired a bolt from his crossbow in my direction. I ducked behind the gargoyle and the bolt smashed into the carving’s nose. Another bolt was shot off, but that one also missed, hitting the gargoyle’s ear this time. I waved at them.

“Maybe if you keep shooting, you’ll get its head next time!” I yelled, cupping one hand to my mouth while pointing the other at the gargoyle. I heard Dagonworth curse, grabbing the crossbow from the guard’s hands.

“You’re a bloody terrible shot!” he snapped. “Just watch, you fool! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

I had my bow out in a split second. Before Dagonworth knew what was going on, an arrow had zoomed out at him, knocking the weapon from his hands. The fat fool screamed like a baby and ducked down to the floor, covering his head with his hands.

“You stupid MORONS!” he shrieked at the other guards. “Stop messing around and GET OVER HERE! I’m under attack, blast it!”

Several guards ran up to support him with crossbows at the ready. I ducked down behind the gargoyle to the sounds of angry shouts and twanging bow strings. A whole swarm of bolts volleyed over my head a second later. Several of them pierced the gargoyle, filling the poor thing full of holes. I couldn’t afford to stay here, but if I tried to run, one of them would surely be able to get a clear shot at me. I had to distract them for a moment or two, and I had just the thing to do it. Reaching back into my quiver, I pulled out a long red arrow, attaching it to my bow string. Like the water arrow, this arrow was also hollow, but it wasn’t filled with liquid. Instead, it was filled with a grainy substance that exploded on impact. The arrow only had about the power of a firecracker, so it obviously didn’t make a very big explosion. It did, however, create a flash—a particularly bright one that would surely blind those fools long enough for me to swing away. I leaned up against the back of the gargoyle and waited until there was a temporary stop in the volley of bolts. The guards were reloading. Jumping out from my hiding place, I shot the flash arrow across the clearing, directly towards the guards. I heard a yell, then a satisfying boom as the projectile detonated. A brilliant flare lit the clearing, several guards cursed, and I could hear Dagonworth shrieking his head off. Pleased with my success, I tossed my grapnel to an adjoining rooftop and darted away, steadily setting a course back home.

I felt at the scepter, snugly secure in the bag on my belt. I had to be careful; I didn’t want to break this thing before I got it back to the Thieves’ Guild. I also had to hurry. Although Dagonworth and his men were probably very disoriented at the moment, Dagonworth wouldn’t waste any time getting word out that I was escaping with the Baron’s scepter. If I knew him, and I did, the man would probably be taking a police coach back to the station as soon as possible, and setting the entire on-duty police guard out on my trail. Not that he’d be able to find me. This would be the twenty-fifth time that I’d managed to elude from him—I kept tally, of course. I didn’t want to deny myself the pleasure of someday rubbing the numbers in his face.

As I jumped from roof to roof, swinging my way across the city, I vaguely began hearing the bells and whistles of police coaches and moving guards in the streets below. These noises seemed to get louder and louder the farther I went. It wasn’t long until I could see numerous lights moving about in the streets below as well, and as I passed over the roof of a local pub, I painfully became aware that several men were rushing out from the doors in a commotion. They were all wearing police guard uniforms. They chattered excitedly for a moment and then raced off in the direction of the station, located some distance away. I gritted my teeth. It might have been a coincidence, but if I knew the police, they didn’t just run out of pubs that easily. Dagonworth must’ve gotten word out pretty quickly. It’d only been about fifteen minutes since I left the scene of the crime. Apparently, the good Inspector was stepping his game up. I quickened my pace. Home wasn’t too far away.

I finally reached the alleyway that I had set out from some time later. The streets had gotten rather noisy by now, and I could hear the sounds of police coaches racing about and making quite a lot of noise. They’d probably be out in full force by the next half-hour, combing all of Scarlin for me. This was no small affair, after all—I’d just made off with Baron Schneider’s scepter, and while the Baron himself might not have cared too much, the city surely did. I chuckled under my breath. The police made everything so troublesome. At any rate, I’d made it safely back to my hideout. I silently crept into the shadows of the alleyway, peering behind my shoulder to make sure that no one was around. Walking towards one of the bricks that made up the alley wall, I gently pushed my hand against it three times. The brick slid backwards into an enclave. Kneeling, I pressed another brick that lay several inches below the first, and this one slid back as well. There was a soft rumbling sound, and a small section of the alley wall began rolling backwards to reveal a dark passageway, a tunnel that led underground. I had discovered this passageway many years ago, and had made use of it ever since. I think it had been used during the last civil war as a hiding spot for one of the various rebel groups that had tried to take over the city, but for now, it served a thief’s uses quite well.

I entered the tunnel, pressing my hands against the bricks behind me. The section of the wall rolled back into place, and I was instantly surrounded in total darkness. I felt the ground below me for the lantern I had left here before I set out, found it, picked it up, and lit it. The tunnel was illuminated. It was a sloping passageway with walls of hard stone that went on for at a great many yards, finally branching out into a small subterranean cave. I began walking the length of the passageway, whistling to myself. As usual, the tunnel was cramped, and I reminded myself for the eightieth time that I’d have to think about somehow installing stairs here someday. I eventually stepped out of the tunnel into my hideout, breathing a long sigh of contentment. Another successful night.

My hideout was basically the small subterranean cave that I mentioned before. Over the course of a couple years, I had taken great care to fill it with whatever I thought I would need. A table was in the far corner of the cave, littered with various maps of the city, notes with escape routes penned on them, and newspapers. I rather enjoyed reading the newspaper accounts of my robberies after they had happened, and I had pinned a couple of the more enjoyable articles up on the cave wall. Boxes of chemicals and liquids, which I used for making different kinds of arrows, were also stacked up on the table next to encyclopedias and other important literature. On the opposite side of the cave was a collection of personal trinkets that I had stolen for myself. I usually didn’t keep anything I stole—most of it I just fenced off at the Thieves’ Guild, but there were a couple choice objects that I had made some room for. A golden sword I had double-crossed a merchant for lay attached to a special spot against the wall, and a collection of tiny silver statuettes of nude goddesses engaged in rather interesting poses stood on a stool nearby. These were memoirs of some of my earliest heists. Near these trophies was a rolled-up sleeping bag I kept handy just in case I had to spend substantial time down here, and beside that was a rack holding a collection of daggers, a couple different bows, and a vast set of arrows. Pulling my cloak and hood off, I tossed them onto the rack and also hung my quiver and bow up. I removed my face bandana as well, taking a moment to place my lantern in a torch holder by the side of the room. Walking over to the table, I pulled the scepter out from its bag and held it up admiringly. The staff was gorgeous. The million gold Gairos that I would get for fencing it were even more gorgeous.

I put the staff away in a trunk hidden under the table. It was a little too late to fence it right now, and besides, the police were probably all over town having a ball looking for me. I was also pretty tired. I’d go down to the Thieves’ Guild tomorrow night. Things could wait until then, and besides, there was sure to be a substantial bit of commotion once I let on that I knew of the snitch in our midst. It was probably O’Conner. O’Conner always seemed too much of a sniveling little coward to be a real thief.

I let out a long yawn and looked up at myself in a mirror that I had placed on the wall. My face was sweaty and a bit bruised, and my hair was disheveled. I straightened it, pulled out a basin of water that I kept beside the table, and hurried about getting myself cleaned up. It wouldn’t do to be seen like this. When I was finished I stripped naked, pulling my tunic, belt, breeches, and underclothes off. I hung them on the rack and then tossed off my boots. Walking over to one of the cave walls, I pushed a hidden panel and watched silently as the wall slid away, revealing a set of stairs that led upward. I went up them, closing the entrance to my hideout behind me.

The stairs led to the backside of a bookcase. I pushed another panel and the bookcase rolled aside, revealing my dark but beautiful bedroom. A spacious double-bed was in the center of the room, surrounded by fellow bookcases and the occasional decorative statue or two. I collapsed down into the bed, rubbing myself into the warm sheets and groaning with comfort. It occurred to me that I should probably think about taking a shower.

The sounds of bells from a police coach suddenly alerted me. Getting up off the bed, I moved the curtains from one of the windows in the room and looked down to the street outside. I sighed. It was a police coach, all right, and the occupant was hurriedly stepping out of it and briskly hopping towards the door of the house. I hadn’t expected him to give up so quickly. He could at least have given me an hour or so to relax myself, for God’s sake... I laughed softly and shook my head. Maybe this was just going to be one of his five second visits to “check up on me.” Really, the man was such a busybody. I sat back down on the bed and carelessly hung a sheet over my naked body, waiting for him. I could hear the noisy sounds of him pulling open the door and bouncing up the staircase. It was a wonder that he had managed to keep so quiet during his little trap tonight; the man made such noise whenever he was around me. I smiled and pulled out the pins that held up my hair. The long, black strands cascaded down my back and shoulders just as he opened the door and stuck his head inside.

It was Inspector Dagonworth. Or well, as I should probably say, Clarence.

“Theresa?” he whispered, peering out into the dark room. “Theresa…? You awake?” He squinted and then looked a bit surprised to see me sitting up in bed.

“Why, dear,” I exclaimed, changing my naturally deep voice into its innocent, high-pitched schoolgirl tone, “Whatever’s the matter? I thought you said that you’d probably be away for most of the night, after that horrible, awful thief?”

“Err, yes,” he murmured, averting his eyes slightly when he saw that all I had on was a bed sheet. “Sorry, Theresa, honey. I’m actually on my way to the station, though, and I was passing by the house and I just had this…this horrible feeling… Err, a feeling about you, that is. I was worried about you, honey…”

I gave him a sweet smile. “Dear… Now why would you be worried about me? It’s not like any thief is going to sneak in here and murder me. I’m fine; I’ve just been sitting here asleep for the past hour.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Clarence said, stepping inside the room and wiping his brow. I noticed that his overcoat was still ripped from the night’s earlier incidents, and he looked quite worn and haggard. “I just wanted to, you know, check up on you. Just get a glimpse of you safe and sound before I went back to work. You know how I am.”

“Of course I do,” I replied. I stood up and walked towards him, letting the sheet fall away. He turned completely ruddy, forgot how to talk for a second or two, and settled with grinning at me stupidly. He always produced the same reaction. He was so boring.

“Sorry, honey, got no time tonight,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve got to hurry back to the station to make a report and see if the guards have had any luck. There’s a big search going on right now, Theresa. Every guard that’s currently on duty in Scarlin is out hunting the streets, mark my words.”

“Why, for that…thief?” I asked innocently, looking as inquiring as I could manage. “Did he get away? Didn’t you say you were going to capture him for sure this time?” I had to bite down on my lip to keep from angrily asking him why he hadn’t told me of his plan to set a trap.

Clarence looked embarrassed. “Uh… Well, he didn’t exactly get away. What I mean to say is…ah…it was a delicate police procedure, honey. A delicate police procedure.”

“I see,” I said. I wanted to slap him.

“Don’t you worry your little head off,” he chuckled dumbly, rubbing his fat fingers under my chin. “We’re turning the whole police force out tonight. There’s no way this thief’s going to be getting out of my fingers, even if he did manage to get away with…the…err…the Baron’s scepter…”

He trailed off miserably for a moment, staring down at the floor.

“Awwww, dear,” I cooed, putting my arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips. “Don’t think about it, dear. You just get out there and find him, and come back the big, strong hero that you are, okay? I know you can do it.”

This cheered him up significantly. He laughed heartily and pressed me close to him in a hug. He smelled awful. “By God, you’re right. I’ll get out there and find that son of a tramp, yes I will. I’ll find him for sure, or my name’s not Clarence Dagonworth!”

He pulled out his pipe and let out three powerful puffs. I stepped back, smiling at him. The man was so clueless.

“By the way,” He murmured, looking at me curiously. “You seemed to be awake when I came in… Is everything all right? You’re not ill, are you?”

“Oh, not at all,” I said, walking back to the bed. “I had just had a terrible nightmare, that’s all. It jarred me awake right as you were coming in.”

“Ah,” Clarence said knowingly. “Well, Theresa, you just put your little head back to sleep, all right? I’ll be leaving now. There’s great work to be done!”

“Good luck, dear,” I called out to him as he turned to leave. He waved back at me and shut the door. I lay in bed as I listened to the sounds of him walking down the stairs, exiting the house, and climbing into the police coach. He was undoubtedly the stupidest, most gullible nuisance of a man I’d ever met. But being married to him had certain…benefits that I could not get otherwise. And after all, there was absolutely no way he would ever suspect his darling, ever-so-sweet, eternally adorable twenty-year-old wife, Theresa Dagonworth, to actually be Terry the Thief. It was a beautiful situation that suited my needs perfectly. Like I said at the start of this tale, dear reader, professional thievery is a wonderful job. I love being a thief, and I’ll love it until the day I die.

Perhaps more importantly, however, I love being a woman.

The End

Author's Note: Well! How's that for a surprise ending? It WAS a surprise, right? I hope? lol, hopefully none of you guys decided to skip to the ending and read the last sentence to this one first...the end really gives it away. Anyhow, this short story is the manifestation of an idea I'd been messing around with in my head for a long time. I always wanted to write a story about a "gentleman" thief in a pseudo-Victorian setting, emphasizing narrow escapes and cool thief gadgets, as well as a dark steampunk atmosphere, but once I started writing this sucker, I thought to myself, wouldn't it be cool if the "gentleman" thief actually turned out to be a girl? And wouldn't it be interesting to see how a girl managed to play the part of a man, successfully fooling everyone she came across? I had a lot of fun writing this one, as you can probably see. All the dialogue and all the events flew off of my fingers so naturally, as if Terry herself were relating them to me. Terry's definitely a great character, at least in my mind, and I'd like to use her again, maybe in a series of short stories like this one. After all...this was just one night in Terry's life. Imagine all the other heists she's carried out. Would you guys like to see more of Terry's adventures? It's all up to you, so let me know in a review or two. :)