Chapter Eleven

Even though he wanted to, Secrat Copé didn’t fire back at Father Toucan Veras, and, in fact, he said no words in response to him, offering him only a simple nod as substitute. Toucan wasn’t the type of person for negotiating, meanwhile Secrat’s body felt too battered and wearied from the day’s travels to try and make him see reason. He played with the best options he could choose from, which were far and few between.

He waited for Father Toucan Veras to leave his small meeting area, then circled back again to where they once were. He climbed beneath his table, which was more than large enough to accompany his outstretched body, and he slept. The dirt was cool and hard, and it was uncomfortable, but he didn’t care. The biggest hardship was knowing that only a few feet away was Father Veras’ comfortable, unoccupied bed. However, Secrat knew if Veras caught him sleeping in that, he would be out on his ass until he could find another fancy sword.

He had nothing to his name except for the muddied clothing on his person and the empty flask in his pocket. The Sword of Tertius wasn’t even in his possession anymore as Father Veras had since taken it to the Trophy Room. He had nothing, and yet, at the moment, he felt like he had never had more.

The Thief slept under the table for what felt like an eternity, ignoring any of the commotion from everybody else around him. As prefaced by the gathering dust, Father Veras rarely used the desk, and so, he was not surprised. If he had, perhaps Veras had taken a kindness on him and ignored it. Secrat appreciated it, the last thing he wanted was more conflict or somebody stomping on him as he slept.

When he awoke, while his clothing was still, of course, filthy, his body felt rejuvenated and reinvigorated.

***

The next few months went by about as fast as could be hoped. Of all Secrat Copé’s skills, one that often went overlooked was his ability to disassociate from the worst possible situations. This skill wasn’t lifted from his training in The Red Flux, but was, rather, an unfortunate life skill. All of his life before The Red Flux was spent unwanted and ignored. In those times, he had to scrape and crawl for every table scrap he was given, which usually involved some unruly odd jobs and grunt work. Thus, The Thief managed to keep himself going through the motions without issue and without complication. The attitude toward him was different how he had left it. He no longer associated with friends and mostly kept to himself. The entire of The Red Flux didn’t hate him, or at least, he didn’t believe they did. Lukas Lewis hated him, that much was clear, but not the rest. For now, however, it was better to go it alone and rebuild the foundation for himself – certain friends brought certain habits, certain unlawful and immoral habits that Father Veras would hold against him. The vision of Secrat taking the life of Elson Mans had evidently engraved itself somewhere deep in the confines of Lukas’ mind. While everyone else hadn’t forgotten, it was clear forgiveness would come easier for them.

Secrat felt no urgency to seek forgiveness from any member of The Red Flux. The relationships could be reestablished once he regained their respect and was back to being considered of a high worth among them. He simply didn’t want to further risk his reputation by talking. As lovable a personality as Secrat had, it seemed it made him more enemies than friends lately.

Lukas Lewis didn’t talk to him any in that time, but that didn’t bother Copé much. He wanted to give him more time to cool off and to allow everything to slowly fall back into place. It didn’t happen very fast, but like Father had said, the time away in the Whispey Deserts humbled The Thief. That, and the wounds obtained made him feel too weak and fragile to defend himself. He needed time to heal.

The three months weren’t pleasant. Cleaning the shit out from the horse’s den was always one of his least favorite chores starting out, and having to do it a second time around wasn’t any better. He gritted through it, and before long, to his surprise, it wasn’t the worst activity for him. Oh no, that title belonged to helping the older women watch over the children. They filled each silence with witless banter Secrat took no interest in.

His treatment by them did fill him with a certain hope. In spite of his clear disinterest in everything they said or did, they remained persistent in their will to include him. He didn’t know whether to take it as a sign that they understood what had happened to Elson Man was a mistake or if Father Veras had put them up it as a form of torture, but it made him feel like the bridge could be rebuilt.

***

By the beginning of the fourth month, Secrat Copé finally took the time to add a little more practicality to his abode. He dug out several more feet and before long, the thing started to resemble somewhere livable. It wasn’t a house, instead, it was more like a cold and uncomfortable cave, but it felt familiar, and it was his. Although he was far from an architect, he was something of a survivalist. He created a small roof out of carving branches and secured it enough to at least make for certain that it wouldn’t cave in on him the next time a storm came around. The hole remained small. His hope of joining the Elite’s still hung around, and the idea of having to put thought to a whole new home was too much to bear (thankfully, the Recruits and Prospects lent a hand to the creation of an Elite member’s abode).

His need for necessity soon swayed his judgment and the hole was dug at about eleven feet around, a set of makeshift stairs leading to it. The hole had taken him weeks to dig, with only a few hours dedicated each day. He had a bed comprised of hay stuffed into a large sack and a blanket he had sewn together while watching over the children.

Sewing was a skill that came surprisingly easy to him, his nimble fingers and steady hand carrying over in his favor. It helped that the older women babysat him babysitting the children, and that sewing pillows and blankets with spare fabric didn’t require the highest skill set.

Otherwise, beyond creating something with resemblance of a bed, his hole was mostly empty. He had no furniture or anything like that. Those would come later or not at all. When he became an Elite, he would take a wagon and a horse and visit Acera to load up on whatever odds and ins he needed. For now, he was fine with merely the essentials.

Secrat Copé staggered out of his hole. There was a night’s worth of sleep behind him, a delicacy he had a newfound appreciation for. It was early in the morning, but some members of the troupe were up and stumbling about.

Secrat recognized a woman named Alisuh first, an elderly woman, thirty something years Secrat’s senior. She smiled at him. It was a polite smile. One that only lasted about a second or two. She had darker skin, black hair, and a haggard expression on her face. The woman most likely came from Jalint or somewhere around there. Somewhere hotter. Secrat smiled back at her and bowed his head before she made her leave. Her job consisted of babysitting the children … and Secrat, although depending on who one asked, that person may argue they were one in the same.

Copé rubbed his eyes. There was a taste of dried blood unpleasantly layering his mouth. It was a taste he was graved with almost every morning, a fact a doctor might have been interested in, but he himself couldn’t be bothered with remedying. He had been woken by a member of the troupe he did not recognize, the young face suggested a new recruit. Apparently, his presence had been demanded by Father Toucan Veras.

In spite of his momentary impairment, Secrat was happy to be awakened, knowing Father Toucan wanted to speak to him about a heist – at last. No details were offered, but Secrat felt it. Or, perhaps, more accurately, he desired it to be. Boredom plagued Secrat, having lived a ho-hum lifestyle since returning to the Flux, he craved for something more to sink his teeth into. Secrat walked beneath the trees and felt the dirt between his toes. The trees were always a welcome shade from the sun. In the Whispey Deserts, the heat beamed down on him and it felt like he wasn’t able to take in a breath without scarfing down a lunch’s worth of sand. Here, he could take a breath and let it leave him. It was good to be back, and even after three months of shoveling shit, he still carried that sentiment.

He saw familiar faces as he neared the Trophy Room. Some of them were walking side by side in conversation, but Secrat had no interest in that. Instead, all he did was keep his eyes forward and put one foot in front of the other. When he finally made it down to the Trophy Room, he saw Father Toucan Veras, who sat, as usual, stone faced, at his desk.

Secrat walked on. Some of the Elite members had already been seated in the chairs before the desk. There were three of them, all of them older than Secrat. Copé walked to the final remaining chair but Lukas Lewis came up from in front of him fast. It was so fast that Copé could barely keep from a collision. He managed, however.

Secrat looked at Lukas. The go lucky expressions of Lukas’ past were all a thing of yesterday, now, he merely looked cold and cruel, but Copé knew his disposition was a ruse. It was a rough guy act meant to accomplish something Secrat could figure out. Emotions were strange like that sometimes. In truth, however, a ‘tough guy’ didn’t play games like trying to get a chair before someone else. They commanded the chair. Copé had no interest in stoking the flames brewing between them, however. Instead, he relented, backing away from the seat and allowing for Lukas to take it.

Secrat walked over to the corner of the room, off to the side, and leaned himself against the wall. Toucan’s eyes went over to him for a moment, though, he said nothing. Even still, Secrat could have sworn he saw the flicker of a smirk on the face of Father dearest, clearly amused by The Thief’s mistreatment.

Father Veras sat in his chair. His elbows at his desk, the palms of his hands touching, and his fingers clasped over one another.

Eventually, more thieves began to pour into the room.

An Elite member walked over to Lukas Lewis, a man by the name of Brutus Ess. He donned long black hair with whiskers jutting out over the neckline of his dirtied shirt. He was overweight, although not incredibly so, a burly belly influenced by alcohol indulgence more than anything else. Secrat was familiar with him enough to know that for a fact.

“Move,” the Elite commanded.

There was a slur in his voice that made it difficult to understand him. His voice sounded raspy and like it was filled with tar. Lukas Lewis looked up at him, and then, in that moment, Lukas’ tough guy act disappeared. For that moment, he was little more than a scared boy that only wanted to avoid conflict.

Lukas Lewis leaped out from the chair and up to his feet, moving back and motioning for the man to take a seat. Brutus obliged, but not before letting out a self-congratulating chuckle on his behalf. Lukas turned from him, locking eyes with Secrat Copé.

In return, Copé offered him a warm and inviting grin, patting the side of the wall and welcoming him to join him.

Lukas did not. Instead, he opted to stand on the other side of the Trophy Room instead.

Although Secrat Copé wasn’t closely familiar with Brutus Ess, he had seen him around. Anytime that The Red Flux traveled to any of the major cities, come job’s end, a person could expect to find Brutus Ess at the nearest pub. For that reason, he and Secrat had struck something of a rapport, bonded mostly by familiarity and an equal fondness for ale and liquor. Once upon a time, Brutus Ess had once been a primary member of The Red Flux. Nowadays, although he still had some command, he had lost a lot of his shine and esteem. In fact, only years back, Brutus had been considered as the right hand man for Toucan Veras. He was an heir to the throne until his thirst for alcohol washed down his ambitions and aged him so badly he became a likely contender for the Grandfathered tier. Now, he was out of shape and no longer had anything worth a damn to say for himself. That is, besides belching random slurs and making an ass of himself. In the best of times, in spite of his faults, Brutus made for a terrific and well-respected thief. His friendship with Father Veras had waned over the years, but he remained a powerful ally within the clique – one that Secrat hoped to bond with and cultivate a friendship with.

Toucan didn’t keep them waiting much longer. Copé could see him spreading out one of those scrolls he had on his desk but was in no position to see its contents.

Father Toucan Veras spoke plainly: “Italina is the wealthiest of the five major cities.”

“And the weakest,” Brutus Ess mumbled beneath his breath.

Secrat heard it, and evidently, so did Toucan, who stopped momentarily: “Italina is also the most difficult of the five major cities for a thief. Entering Italina, the gates are open, but, at night, they close. The guards remember faces as well. They are trained to have suspicions. That is why The Red Flux often opts against it.”

Father Toucan leaned himself back in his chair and took his hands off of the table. When he sat up straight, it emphasized his looming height over the rest of them, particularly the Elite who were seated.

“We have set ourselves a formidable foundation with frameworks, built not based on wealth, but based on our survival. We don’t take what is not needed. That is something I believe in and something I believe the Elite Thieves of The Red Flux believe as well, and it is something important to be bestowed on young thieves that will help shape our troupe for decades and generations to come.” Toucan looked over to Lukas Lewis with the last line, although, he did not look at Secrat.

He continued: “Italina itself has some of the biggest gluttons of all Maharris. Their materialism is done in subtraction to senses and works to strengthen brutality for superficial gain. And yes, I will admit, far be it from us to play the righteous hand, but I do think they deserve to be reminded of something. Everything they stand for, it is the exact opposite of what believe.” A small smile formed on Toucan’s face.

Secrat had forgotten how good he was at rallying his troops with his speeches. If a person were to take a step back and examine The Red Flux’s conduct and its mantra, they’d see more than a handful of contradictions. Father Toucan sometimes liked to think of them all as vigilantes striking against the cruelties of the world when, in fact, they were among the cruelties of the world. Likewise, the sentiment that they never took anything more than what they needed was better off going not examined. It was a hard case to argue they needed the amount of alcohol, prostitutes, and fine-dining that they often sought after.

“With fear comes humility, and with humility comes betterment. Our job isn’t to better outsiders but if our survival leads to enlightenment, then so be it. It is time we rob Italina’s finest and rob them blind.”

Secrat smiled at that last line. Meant with love, Secrat found Father Veras to be about as self-righteous and arrogant as they came, but he was smart. The way he did things was a more practical reason for admiration. The things he did, he did with such confidence and he did so believably. The man spoke a sermon about how little importance wealth had to them and ended it by reminding them all of their thirst for exactly that. They fell for it. Every one of them did.

Brutus Ess said some of his raspy and incomprehensible strings of dialogue, and the other thieves came out of their subdued slumps as well. Hooray, hooray! Meanwhile, Secrat kept himself in check, not the type of person to lose composure unless alcohol was involved.

Toucan waited. He waited as though he expected somebody to ask him the ‘what and ‘how’ of it all and nobody did. For a moment, Secrat thought to. As a way to humor him and highlight his own existence in the room, but then, he thought better of it. The Elite members could perceive it as stepping out of line and he was walking on eggshells as it was. That didn’t stop Father Veras from eventually answering the unasked question, however.

“The Aer Festival offers more than swine sipping sparkling water from decorative glasses, believe it or not. It also offers opportunity.”

Viciousness plagued Toucan’s voice in a way that would stifle the average man. Secrat spent most of his formative years with the man and it nearly intimidated him. The Aer Festival was a semi-annual festival held in Italina. The festival includes parades and the whole town being swarmed with quietly abrasive music. One could expect violins and harps to be strummed in, perhaps, the most pretentious way possible. The restaurants would all be open, searching their finest. Everyone had something to do and nobody was home, and it was all very messy and crowded. The Festival was, sadly, a memorable delicacy for Secrat Copé as a child. Although he had never been allowed to participate in the festivities themselves, the food that was wasted and thrown away made for a considerable meal for him every year.

“You are suggesting we rob people during The Aer Festival? I don’t see the benefit that it provides us. We are a small troupe and there will be thousands of people roaming the streets that night,” a voice finally spoke up.

Secrat recognized him as well. The Elite thief’s name was Samuel Syi. He was one of the neater and more articulate members of The Red Flux, a man always capable of looking at things in a practical and logical way. Secrat could never remember a time when Samuel lost his temper or showed fear or emotion other than being at ease. He was one of the few levelheaded ones in the troupe, and where Brutus Ess once was at the right hand to Father Veras, Samuel found himself now.

“The reason we don’t rob Italina isn’t because we have a lack of interest, but, rather, that we have a lack of means. If three or more of our thieves entered beyond the gate into Italina, it would raise more than a little suspicion. In fact, that would be an understatement. They would have every one of the thieves locked up before nightfall if we weren’t careful,” Toucan said.

“So, you are suggesting the Aer Festival will allow us to enter into Italina and hide in plain sight?” Samuel asked.

“We would be indistinguishable. Citizens from all five major cities come to attend the Aer Festival every year. We visit a market, buy ourselves some prim and proper clothes, we would fit right in and no one would be able to tell the difference until it is too late.” This time it was Secrat that spoke, his own interest in the heist getting the better of him.

Father Toucan Veras’ eyes went off from Samuel Syi and over to Secrat.

“Precisely,” he commended. “A group of thieves, all of them scattered out. If you hide into the crowd, it will not be difficult to blend in. Not with the level of training all of you have had. Pick-pocketing. Raiding. All of it, anything you can think of. Have your pockets filled.”

“Have the wagon brought out to the outskirts of Italina, somewhere away from the guards and suspicion, but close enough it can be reached fast. Come back to it on and off throughout the night until it is full. We would make a killing,” Secrat suggested.

Toucan smirked. “We can do that.”

“The guards only welcome guests during the day but, at night, the gates are sealed up tight,” Lukas Lewis pointed out.

Secrat couldn’t help but think that had it been anyone else who made the suggestion, he would have shrugged it off and kept his own mouth shut. However, it wasn’t somebody else, it was Lukas Lewis, and so, he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Yes, but this isn’t an ordinary day,” Secrat replied matter of factly.

“He’s right,” Samuel reciprocated. “There is an exception to that for the Aer Festival. It still closes, but does so hours into the night.”

Lukas Lewis’ head went down in defeat, saying nothing in response. Secrat couldn’t help but smirk, however Toucan soon took the conversation back for himself.

“I have sat on this heist for a very time, and only now do I believe The Red Flux has assembled a group of thieves who are capable enough to succeed and not sabotage themselves. In defeat, loyalty should be at the reins, as should it in jeopardy.”

Toucan stopped for a moment. He rolled the scroll up in his hands. For theatrics, Secrat presumed. He also didn’t know what the phrase ‘in defeat, loyalty should be at the reins, as should it in jeopardy’ was meant to relay exactly. It all just a fancy-dancy word salad to assert control and motivate his men. Luckily for him, even Secrat was willing to buy what he was selling.

“Gather supplies but travel light. Each of you will be leaving before sundown. You should make it to the gates of Italina with time to spare, but you aren’t to enter Italina until the festival begins. I don’t need to stress you the importance of not being caught, and I shouldn’t need to stress that murder in any form and for any reason won’t be tolerated.”

Toucan shot a look over to Secrat at that moment. The Thief made an offended face, in spite of not being particularly offended, then smiled. He then heard a small noise from Lukas. It wasn’t a chuckle, but rather a sigh of remembrance.