Chapter Fifteen

The Aer Festival’s aesthetic enlightened Secrat Copé on exactly how much he had been in the dark towards its spectacle. It looked lie no other festival he had ever been to, and that made him realize he had never been to a festival prior to the day’s event. The crowd was robust, almost sickeningly so. Even the time he spent in the very populated Whispey Deserts was not proper preparation for what Italina had in store for him. To the left of him, a mere foot or so away was a person, and the same could be said about to his right. If, for any reason, he decided to come to a stop, to refasten his boots, perhaps, he would be run over. Behind him, the force of inpatient men and women was a constant, but, in front of him, his bear shaped acquaintance fought through the hordes of civilians and was winning.

The visuals were scarce and restricted. In front of the people were more people and in front of them were likely more of the same, why did people subject themselves to this torment? As Secrat felt himself shoved into Brutus for the third or fourth time, he wondered how anyone in their right mind could find this an enjoyable pastime. The crowd offered no wiggle room, and for that reason, Secrat couldn’t decide if pick pocketing would be easier or more difficult, or something in between. At the very least, he would need time to acclimate himself before his skills would apply to such an environment. Hopefully, the crowd would thin down once everyone got to wherever it was they wanted to be. It was all about the big steals now though. Whatever that meant. Perhaps Secrat was expected to rob the richest of nobleman? Perhaps, but, more likely, Father Toucan had something more in mind.

Worse than all of that though, worse than the way the crowded, congested pathways obscured his vision, was the sound. All of the overlapping whispers in unison were constant, but not one of them could be clearly understood or distinguished by The Thief.

Luckily, the deeper and deeper into Italina they became, the more the crowd began to thin, like water from opened floodgates beginning to settle. It remained hectic, but in time, Secrat at least found himself able to look down at his feet without having to worry about being thrown into Brutus.

Whereas Acera had a badly worn, unnoteworthy cobblestone pathway leading in, the floor beneath their feet in Italina was well-maintained marble, tiled in squares. Squares made unique enough through different shades of gray, each of them with a black border around them. It was an ambitious decor, all things considered. How it wasn’t completely scoffed up all to hell was an answer Secrat found himself asking. If he had to guess, he’d say that it was because the poor people deeper in the city would be paid to enter the district and clean it. That was one other thing unique about Italina. When you walked into Acera, the poorest districts were among the ones you saw first. Italina was all about appearances which meant that they were more clever about where they hid the poor peasants. For that reason, some civilians of the neighboring cities left with the belief that everyone in Italina was rich.

The restaurants were the first distinguishable attraction, albeit, again, very occupied. Ollie’s Abil was the name of the restaurant that the guard mentioned, and with white columns holding it up and glass walls peering into the candle-lit establishment, it looked like a restaurant held to a high standard. It was a delicacy and, as such, all the Italina civilians with reservations boarded themselves inside, safe and sound from the common folk. It didn’t seem hectic inside, in fact, through the glass walls, they all appeared to be calmly enjoying their meals.

Copé saw a second restaurant appearing to be more frequented by visitors from the Aer Festival, but cornered the restaurant before he could place a sign with the name. Brutus directed him into an alleyway between two adjacent buildings where it was less populated. It was a gap of about eight feet. Secrat rested his back against one of the buildings, his hands flat against the walls.

“Daaaaaaaamn, boy!” Brutus exclaimed, looking out at the mob just beyond the alleyway.

And Brutus was accurate in his assessment, in fact, Secrat noticed his whole body was shaking because of the unexpected anxiety of it all. He brought in a breath through his nose and let it out from his mouth, his initial shock began to fade away and that welcomed some more rational cognitive processing to commence, “Where do, …,” he started, almost coherently, “Where do we start?”

Brutus shrugged, looking out at the crowd of people and shaking his head by the sheer bulk of it. “Maybe we can rob a local market of all its apples or something,” jested Brutus with a smirk.

Secrat let out a polite chuckle, hardly humored by the comment. His worrisome angst must not have fully dissipated and all The Thief wanted was for Brutus to lead, but Brutus seemed to have other intentions.

Copé walked to the edge of the alleyway and looked into the crowd. He did so for only a couple of seconds as the sounds behind him kept The Thief from venturing further. At first, anticipating Brutus’ mischief, Secrat found a line of little markets on the sides of the alleyway that he hadn’t even noticed prior. Distinguished by their various sales items, this particular strip of bazaars seemed devoted mostly to carpet selling. If a wanted to rob pompous jackasses, Secrat thought to himself.

He and Brutus ventured forward.

“Even the alleys are shops,” Brutus commented.

“But nothing looks like what Father Veras had in mind,” Secrat whispered back.

“Never know though, and we can let the crowd bleed out in the meantime,” Brutus said, then stopped.

A smaller fellow with a black top hat bowed in front of them. His head lifted and a huge smile was spread. It was a smile of an almost ungodly, supernatural natural stretch, and with the smile, all of his teeth were visible, as was the top of his gums.

“Well, well, well,” He said fast, standing straight, “Hello, wanderers!”

The mans ensemble was a black suit, riddled by dust and dirt, it was old, but it looked like it was once very expensive. His smile emptied and his voice descended into the monotone. “Oh, I thought you were women, never mind.”

The man in the top hat straightened his tie calmly, brushed himself off, and walked away.

Secrat heard a chuckle from Brutus as they watched the man leaned back against the wall. Beside him was a large coffin-shaped box, standing up, open.

The box was black, but the inside was a dark red leather. There was a story to that box that Copé hadn’t the time nor interest to hear.

The market with the smallest crowd is where Copé and Ess looked first. There was a wooden stand with small rug squares strewn about the top as samples. Carpets rolled and stood up behind the merchant. There was one rug in particular that stood behind him, rolled out and fixed to where it rested, propped up against the wall. It was the grand attraction, it would seem.

“Oh, definitely,” the merchant answered, a light skinned, scrappy looking fellow with long, brown, unkempt hair. “All of the items here are screamingly authentic. Absolutely,” his voice was laid back and sleepy.

“It looks lovely, I must say,” The older woman in front of Secrat commented.

They haggled, and the merchant’s willingness to reduce the costs of his items in half stood out to The Thief. His items might very well have been authentic, but they were likely useless as well. As the older woman let him, Secrat walked on. Brutus had evidently pursued other pastures as Secrat no longer had an eye on him.

“What is the significance of the rug behind you?”

“I will tell you, but brace yourself, it is a story, I will tell you that much,” the merchant began.

“Please do.” Secrat Copé replied.

He didn’t know why he bothered offering the merchant the time of day. After all, he hadn’t the time or care to offer the weird man and his black coffin the time of day. Perhaps though, Brutus was right, they needed to find a way to get the lay of the land and allow for the Aer Festival to, ahem, air out.

“This is the very same rug that,” he stopped again for a second. “When I was a kid, I would walk around at night in Italina. And one night, I saw a falling star,” the merchant’s eyes grew larger, “I am telling you it was this rug, mate!” He said in a shouting whisper.

Secrat walked away from it. Perhaps it was an important detail to mention that the rug’s embroidery were white speckles across an otherwise black backdrop – it was meant to be stars and thus, the merchant was meaning to say it was probably a depiction of that event and not, in fact, claiming the rug itself had fallen from space. It was the difference between being an eccentric merchant like Azlak Temps and a crazy person, like the ones found in the slums of Urgway. Unfortunately, that was a boring story. Secrat, personally, would have preferred the merchant had spun a yarn about the rug being an artifact from another planet or that it had magical healing properties.

His eyes looked around the alleyway in search of Brutus, who looked to be having the same amount of success.

They walked back to one another, “Nothing?” Copé asked.

“It comes with the shards of an asteroid found at the scene,” the merchant yelled. “I offer discounts!”

So, wait, was he crazy, after all, Secrat thought, but decided it best to ignore the man. Instead, he looked over at Brutus expectantly.

“A man tried to sell me narcotics,” Brutus answered grimly.

“Did you nick them?” Copé asked.

“He said they would make me smaller, … like this big.” Brutus answered, holding his thumb and index apart to demonstration the proportion.

“Oh.”

“And yes,” Brutus said, showing Secrat the vial of green liquid before shoving it back down the pouch of his leggings.

Copé shook his head, “The whole place is filled with nut jobs,” he said, walking back over to the outside of the alleyway.

Before he left, however, his eyes were once more drawn to the man with the man in the top hat.

“Step inside!” He announced, flailing his hands for emphasis, as he did, Secrat’s eyes were drawn in, not by the large coffin, but something much smaller – his hand.

There was a hangman tattoo scarring the palm of his hand. This man was a member of The Hallows.

The woman stepped inside as suggested, there was a playful smile on her face. The man in the top hat shut the coffin door and locked it inside.

“And wallah!” The man yelled, knocking on the front of the box.

Copé smirked. Under normal circumstances, he may not have smirked. The Hallows’ weren’t anything to smirk at, after all. He walked over to the man and Brutus followed.

The man took sight of them and answered dryly, “She is in the future now. It is out of my hands.”

“Funny,” Secrat replied, offering a small chuckle, if only at the stupidity of the woman.

The man laughed with him.

“Open it,” Copé said.

The man with the top hat looked at him with disgust, that is, until he noticed The Thief held a knife in his hand.

“Now,” Copé added.

The Hallows were a human trafficking ring in the Whispey Desert – far out in the Whispey Desert. Further than Secrat had ever dared venture. Unlike The Hills, a brothel that Secrat frequented, The Hallows were the stuff of nightmares. Twenty-something years ago, it was said that there was a fortress called The Sanctuary where bigwig sexual deviants and child molesters alike could go and succumb to their inner most desires, no matter how depraved. Thankfully, as the story goes, that ‘Sanctuary’ was destroyed. The answer’s of how and by who are unclear. Stories of a massive, all out slaughter were spread around by survivors who escaped the hellhole.

Like any legend, it was difficult to tell fact from fiction, however. If Secrat had to guess, the country of Zeal, that being the country across from the Whispey Desert, likely caught wind of what was happening and one of their kingdoms must have gone God’s work by scorching them off the planet. It couldn’t have been Maharris’, as, if they had, that meant they mysteriously slipped past the Thieves’ Network and gave the whole lot of them a free pass. It was unclear what became of The Hallows. Maybe they still existed someplace, somewhere on the other side of the Deserts. Maybe they all died out and those that brandished their emblems were merely copycats trying to claim themselves as members of one of the most evil, disgusting groups in Maharris’ history.

Either way, Secrat Copé knew enough about them to know that no one deserved to be condemned to such tortures, regardless to how stupid they must have been to walk into a fucking coffin and allow a strange man to shut the lid.

The man with the top hat obliged to Secrat’s demand, although he did so with a frustrated expression on his face. He opened the box once more and allowed the woman to walk out of it. She walked out with a smile, looking around at her surroundings.

“It doesn’t look any different,” she said, laughing, clearly thinking she was ‘in’ on the joke.

“I am very sorry, the Time Travel Box isn’t working correctly at this time,” The man with the top hat said, handing the woman back her coin.

Copé nodded at the woman and then, made his leave. Behind him, Brutus patted Secrat on the back as they left the alleyway.

“Aren’t you just a big softy,” Brutus said, “She was a good get for him too. We could have stopped by and said hello to her on your next visit.”

Secrat glared at him, “Not funny.”

Beyond the crowd, on the other side of the streets, Copé noticed an antique shop in the distance, dubbed “Marlou” on a sign above the entrance. The letters were written with a certain stylish pzazz; it was only by luck that Secrat found them legible.

“Over there,” Secrat said to Brutus, nodding his head forward, “Looks like the type of shop with something superfluously extravagant inside.

“Majestically digestive,” Brutus mumbled, then added: Do you think maybe we can go somewhere we don’t have to travel through a sea of hostile bastards?”

“I am afraid we might have to switch towns in order to do that. Besides, it isn’t that bad. It looks like things are really starting to simmer down now,” Secrat lied.

An overhead view of Italina would have looked like an anthill with all the residents evacuating from a giant boot, but he saw no alternatives.

“If we sneak in there, we might be able to snag something without anyone noticing.”

Brutus Ess walked forward into the crowd. A fast walking person collided with him. Although Brutus appeared to be unmoved by it, the man fell down onto the marble on impact. Oh, the befits of being large. Secrat took the flask out from his leggings and swallow its remainder of alcohol, which wasn’t much. Hopefully, he would have the chance to find a bar and go in for a fill up. He followed Brutus as they twisted and turned in their attempt at navigating their way through the crowd.

A step down off from the marble walkways, the roads began; pure white dirt. The carriages led by horses could only inch forward. That was all the crowd would allow them, a little bit at a time. Most of them had crates and boxes, and little shops set up in the back. They were peculiar ones. Ones that Secrat had never laid eyes on before. The carriages had second floors, for lack of a better way to describe them. They were regular style carriages with doors on the sides as usual, but with stairs that circled around in a spiral to the roof of the carriage for more seating and cargo space. What was probably commonplace for the rich folk of Italina was so very peculiar and unique for him. All the different anomalies contrived in Italina that he had never seen, growing up in the poorest side of the city.

Secrat and Brutus did their best to shove their way forward, and made many strides, they were halfway across the crowd before it noticeably started to disperse or allow them wiggle room. Around them, they searched for an explanation as to why so many people were gathered around and nothing moving and found it: several men on a carriage began to speak.

Their voices were loud, but they didn’t yell. It appeared that their voices must have been amplified in some way. By the reaction of the people in the crowd around Secrat, it seemed they were as taken by this perplexing feat as much as he was, meaning it wasn’t some unheard of technology known to Italina and not the other major cities.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do hope you are enjoying yourselves with your festive festival festivities and the many whatnots that may include.” The man’s voice sounded shaky and innocent, like a small boy that was unsure of himself and trying to put up a front.

Copé and Brutus both found themselves taken by it.

“Something very bad is happening, unbeknownst to all of you!” His voice cracked and confirmed to Secrat that the voice they were hearing belonged to a young child. The boy hesitated for a second; unsure of himself. “Murderers in the wilderness!” He exclaimed, clearly expecting to induce shock.

Unfortunately, try as he might, he shocked no one. Paranoid about the Unprotected Wilderness was already abundantly believed and accepted as truth. The Carvers were all too known in Maharris, whether they were real or make believe. All of it was ignored or turned a blind eye to, but was nevertheless known about.

“Members of my village were raped and murdered. People just like you,” The boy said, unbeknownst to him, trying to make the civilians of Italina think of people in the Unprotected Wilderness as ‘just like them’ was a harder sell. “There are blank tents. Tents where a doctor would slice off a finger, if only to see what it would make happen. They killed my father, my brother. The Doctor, Dr. Rindan, he tortured and killed my brother!” The boy’s voice soon went silent; though, his lips continued to move when, another of the masked men, this one with a white mask, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

The boy brushed him off. The white masked man’s presence emphasized the smaller stature of the boy standing by him.

“You will have to excuse him,” The white masked man said. “We call ourselves Magnets and we are storytellers. False stories and all fiction, the best kinds of stories.”

The green masked boy was pulled back by the other men in the carriage, for which he complied and did not offer up a fight.

“Something else we are is magicians, and today, we would like to show you what the Magnets can do,” said the man in the white mask.

He awaited cheers, but received none. It was a tough crowd, Secrat supposed. Meanwhile, Secrat and Brutus had also lost interest and now made their way to Marlou.

“It would seem that all the crazies are attending the Aer Festival today,” Brutus Ess said, stifling a laugh, and leading the way to the small antique shop.

The entrance door was wedged open using a plank of wood and many civilians frolicked, taking in its many different items.

“You don’t believe what that one was saying, do you?” Secrat inquired. “When I was in the Whispey Deserts, I saw a man in front of a black tent, I didn’t think much of it then, but he seemed off, even for Desert standards.”

“What makes him crazy is thinking anyone in Italina gives a damn!” Brutus hollered, unable to suppress his laughter this time around.

Many eyes, once wandering about the store, now found themselves on Brutus Ess. Meanwhile, Secrat tried to play it up as if they were strangers.

The store’s contents were tacky in the same way as ‘not’ Azlak Temps’ house had been in Acera. There was a statue depicting Livius Reid that stood front and center as the main focal of the store. It was the ‘big sell,’ it seemed. Reid wore slick silver armor, not unlike the knight they had seen upon entering Italina. Reid, however, had noticeable differences. His gauntlets and greaves were a dark green and his silver helm had a dark green comb. The eyes were a very noticeable characteristic, bright orange diamonds that swirled and whirled like a flame. The statues’ body was depicted as muscular and with broad shoulders. It would seem the statue’s creator had taken more than one or two artistic liberties when it came to depicting the physique of Italina’s Aeonian.

Secrat eyeballed it intently until he heard a woman’s voice calling out from behind him.

“It is a real beauty, isn’t it? The guy who sold it to me said it is one of a set.” The woman said excitedly.

Secrat turned and made eye contact with her. The woman was young in age and wore a long dress with woven intricacies. The design did many things, such as accentuate her hips, but, more than that, it told The Thief she came from wealth. As compliment, she also wore large earrings with gaps in the middle and a magenta colored scarf, the same color as her dress.

“It is definitely something,” Secrat said. “And you bought it?”

A smile came next. The woman had straight teeth and when she smile, she could have lit up the room hadn’t someone already beat her to it. Her hair reminded Secrat of Christique’s, but it might have been his own imagination that did it rather than any actual similarities. The woman shook her head ‘yes,’ and continued:” The guy says those bright orange diamonds are very rare. He said the diamonds were found a cave in the Hickly Swamps. You know how difficult it must have been to get them?”

“Can’t imagine,” Secrat replied.

The woman made him uncomfortable for some reason, though, he didn’t know why. She continued to speak, but his mind found itself fluttering off and away, focused more on her person than all else. A necklace was dangled down her neck and over her bosom. Secrat reached down in his pocket for his flask. It was a necklace with an emblem depicting a dragon.

“Ah,” Secrat blurted out, as his flask slipped out from his hands and onto the rug beneath their feet.

He stammered down awkwardly to retrieve it.

“Someone is jumping into the Aer Festival celebrations a little early, I see,” The woman said with a soft chuckle.

Once retrieving his flask, which he had forgotten was empty, Secrat was fast to return to a vertical stance.

Upon further inspection, the necklace didn’t look so much like a dragon after all. It looked nothing like it, in fact. Why had he made the connection? Why was Christique still on his mind?

Smiling nervously, Secrat replied, “Old habits, I always have to have something to fidget around with in my hands,” he feigned a chuckle of his own.

The woman’s interest in him seemed to wane when she wasn’t met with the downpour of compliments and admiration she expected, and soon, her eyes were completely back on the statue. Her statue, it would seem. Copé appreciated the fact and used it as an excuse to browse elsewhere. He joined Brutus, who had gone off exploring the rest of the store. Ess was standing by a collection of vases, each one anchored down with bags of dirt.

“Find anything exciting?” Copé inquired.

“Store’s a bust,” Ess said. “All of the big items are practically steal proof.”

Copé tugged the neckline of his shirt, certain Ess and his loud voice would one day be the death of him. Brutus caught wind of his discomfort and laughed.

“I have an idea if you are willing to listen.” Secrat spoke, staring at the back of the woman’s head, like she would somehow be able to overhear him from across the room.

Brutus’ attention went to him. “Well then, let’s hear it, boy.”

“See the woman over there?”

“The woman that turned your limbs into strings of spaghetti?”

“The very same, Secrat said, enduring the insult without response. “She has legal possession of that statue. It will be a day’s work and more, right off the bat.”

“What are you suggesting” Brutus asked with a cocked eyebrow.