Chapter Five

Secrat Copé felt more at home among the thieves at their black market than he ever had at the vanilla Trade Network. In general, he lived life with the suspicion that every person was out to screw him over. By being in the Thieves’ Network, he cut out the rhetoric of it having to be a suspicion. That said, the Thieves’ Network was actually probably a safer place for a person’s belongings than the alternative. There was a ‘code of honor’ sanctioned in the Thieves’ Network – the upheld agreement not to steal.

Of course, this wasn’t something that was written in stone and, as thieves, every one of them had a tendency to break the rules. The incentive was one of mutual benefit – thieves desired a haven to sell their ill gotten gains, which meant it was in their best interest that the rule be upheld. For that reason, the punishment for being caught stealing in the Thieves’ Network was death and the commitment to following through on that threat.

Even this, however, didn’t completely stop all thieves, either because they were so confident in their own skill set or because they were so desperate. Copé didn’t mind the looming threats lurking around him. He didn’t feel worried or bothered by them. Rather, the idea of danger lurking in every corner put his teeth on edge.

While The Trading Network tried to operate with a certain decorum and professionalism – there were shops and tables set out and knights representing each major city surveillance the ecosystem to make certain it was sustained. There were shacks that could be rented out for an exuberant price, as well as restaurants and faculties available for use. The Thieves Network was a whole other story, however. Given the fact that it wasn’t strictly supposed to exist, it largely went unregulated and unorganized. There were tents off to one side and more tents off to the other. This could usually be taken to illustrate the different troupes that frequented the black market. For example, had The Red Flux been there, they would have assembled somewhere isolated from everyone else. That was not how the actual Trade Network functioned, with the major cities away from each other. With the real Trade, because of the massive number of people, it was more difficult to diversify based on grouping alone.

The desert sun beamed down on Secrat. The desert sun, although ultimately synonymous with any other sun, as there was only, in fact, one, certainly felt a lot closer to them than usual. He detoured from his chosen path and walked beneath a large tent. It was an onyx color, as black as the night, and was certainly spacious. The tent went much higher than necessary and looked off from the rest of the tents that were around the market. They were slicker and more cared for. More heavy duty. Perhaps they’re of Italinian roots, Secrat considered.

Copé treated lightly and even stopped dead in his tracks for a moment. Its confines were obscured in full by the black tarp that acted as doors. Not venturing into the actual tent, but, instead, Secrat simply stayed beneath the pitched roof before it, savoring the small reprieve from the heat.

Copé reached down and touched the pouch of his leggings. He could feel the hilt of one of his knives but was more concerned with the necklace beside it. Finding a pair of eyes for appraisal wouldn’t be too hard. Jewelry was an item every thief had ready to sell. An appraiser who wasn’t a buyer would be ideal. Everyone had the idea of coin in mind, which meant trying to ask a salesman how much an item was worth was asking to be low balled. No, he needed a pair of educated eyes without an ulterior motive. One such person could usually be fetched for a small coin if he looked hard enough. Unfortunately, the Thieves’ Network was known for its swindlers and wise guys. It was a place where sleight of hand was more common than a handshake. Thus, it was probable that an appraiser could be paid off in-advance by the merchants to offer wrong information.

The Thief sighed, sometimes being a thief and working among them could be exhausting.

He took a breath in and let it go. The heat was piercing the further out you went in the Whispey Desert, which was why normal civilians rarely ventured this far without a sand ray or some other form of transportation. His more recent smoking likely hadn’t assisted his breathing much either.

Behind him, The Thief heard a small scuffle. When he looked, he saw a man step out from behind the curtain. His eyes looked so completely white that Secrat might have mistaken him as a blind man had he not faintly found pupils in the middle of each. His skin was pale, which made for a clashing image in front of the black tent. The man was from Hardan, Secrat could infer that by the pigment of his skin. Technically, he could also have been from Italina, both were a fairly pale sort, but, by the way he carried himself, Secrat felt pretty certain he was from Hardan.

The man’s eyes went over to Secrat. They looked both malicious and unfriendly, while his disposition matched.

“Is there something you want?” The man asked plainly.

His eyes briefly traveled up Copé. Meanwhile, Secrat tried hard to offer nothing in terms of facial expression. He felt very uncomfortable, but he wasn’t about to let him know of that fact, and so, he replied with a similar plainness: “Just passing through.”

The man held his skepticism and his body was tense and tight. His sword was on the handle of his sword, resting in its scabbard at his waist. He wore black gloves and fancy clothes with elaborate buttons. The first thought The Thief had was how absolutely, unforgivably hot it must have been in such a gaudy ensemble. Why wouldn’t he have gone with something more fitting for the desert? Because the appearance and what it represented was more important than his comfort, Secrat thought. Who was this man? Secrat wasn’t certain he wanted an answer to that question. At last, the man cooled his glare and took his eyes off from The Thief. He turned his body around and walked back to the tent. Secrat didn’t move for a few seconds, his body felt paralyzed almost, and he hadn’t a concrete answer as to why. Finally, the tension alleviated itself off from his body and he felt normal again, or, at least, as close to normal as he could be.

From there, old matters retook priority, such as the fiery sun forcing the sweat to pour out of him like sins did a bastard at confession. Unfortunately, without a roof to provide shade, all he could do was succumb to the heat and hope for survival. Now, the matter at hand was once more trying to find someone to look at the necklace in his pocket. It was miraculous how one could become so used to something over time. Secrat learned it first when he started carrying his assortment of knives. At first, it was a hindrance, but, before long, he no longer noticed them at all. Now, he discovered the same to be true about the necklace. In only a short time, he found that he no longer even noticed the weight of the necklace on his person.

Lowering his hand down at his side, Copé realized that was because the necklace was gone.

All at once, a surge of anxiety and uncertainty overtook The Thief. He came to a halt, and frantically, began checking every possible pocket he had, as though he expected his leggings not only had a secret pocket unbeknownst to himself, but he had placed the necklace into said secret pocket.

It had not and he had not.

Likewise, there were no holes for it to fall out from either. Nevertheless, Secrat turned around, expecting to see the necklace had fallen somewhere. His eyes looked up and down the desert sand, but nothing popped out to him. It shouldn’t have been difficult to see. Before, it may have looked like an old, dry clump of sand, but, after a good polish, the pair of blue sapphires really sparkled. And yet, as he looked, he saw nothing. Nothing at all. Except, … except (Secrat felt excitement at the discovery) for footprints. Small footprints. Secrat’s eyes followed them until he was led to a small girl with brown hair, running in the distance. In her hand, she held something, and maybe it was The Thief’s wishful thinking or desperation, but it sure did look a lot like the string of a necklace dangling from her hand. The girl soon disappeared as she cornered the black tent, believing she had gotten away with a successful heist and conned an everyday sucker.

The worry that once filled Secrat’s chest started to ease a little bit. In an area filled with some of the most dastardly bastards in all of Maharris, this was the person who had stolen from him. He didn’t like to brag about it, but he felt confident in his ability to beat a little girl in a fight. His chest only eased a little, however, before he realized that, while he could mostly certainly defeat a small girl in a fight, he wasn’t completely confident in his ability to catch one.

Like the snap of two fingers, the surge of fear had returned to him. He took in a breath and let it out, preparing himself. Then, he began his sprint after the small child. As pathetic as it may have sounded, his legs still ached from running from the guards a day prior. His time away from The Red Flux had definitely shown in his health lately – he would likely need to see about developing a regular regimen. Still, breathing heavy and wheezing or not, he wouldn’t let the child escape him.

He soon cornered the black tent as well, halfway expecting to be driven over the head with a club or something as he did. Thankfully, a larger foe was not awaiting him. Instead, his eyes wandered the sand before once again finding the girl, she had since slowed down to a walk, likely just wanting to get out of Secrat’s sight before suspicion was raised.

Copé slowed his own running down as well, not looking to alert the girl. He slowed down his breathing as well, although that took a little longer than his feet. The back of the small girl’s head offered little insight about her, other than a small ponytail with a thin string tied around it. Her body was small and thin, and she was barefoot. Impressive feat. In another time, Secrat may have praised her for her wherewithal, being able to withstand what must have been agonizing heat at first.

Secrat crept closer to her. He reached for the blade in his leggings. There was no reason to kill her. There was no reason to even hurt her at all, for that matter. Now, scare her on the other hand, that, he could get behind. He wouldn’t kill a child. Not unless he absolutely had to. With every heightened step, he came closer and closer. At first, inches closer, and then, feet closer.

His breathing had almost completely stilled by this point. There was nobody else around them to see it. All he had to do was get a little closer. He could see the pocket of her pant legs, that was where it had to be. Her hands dangled freely at her side. It wasn’t around her neck either. If she was smart enough to know how to steal it, she was smart enough not to wave it around for everyone to see. It had to be in her pocket. One of them anyways. That was where the necklace would be.

When he finally made it close enough to make his move, he did. He made a lung at the small child, catching her off guard and taking her off her feet.

“I don’t want to hurt you child,” Secrat assured her. “If you give me back what you took, I will free you and we can act like this never happened.”

The child squirmed, trying desperately to get free, while Copé tried his best to restrain her, pinning one of her arms down with one hand while the other hand revealed his knife.

He had bet on that being all it would take, and was now finding himself to have lost that bet. His intimidation tactics had failed him. Instead, the little girl used her free hand to take the necklace out from her pocket and throw it unceremoniously into The Thief’s face, bonking him on the nose and making his eyes water when it did. On instinct, Copé pulled his hands back to his face, inadvertently freeing the child.

Taking advantage of the situation, the girl freed her legs out from underneath Copé, who had been on his knees over her, and then, drove both her feet into his groin.

In an instant, the worry that Copé had once felt for his face went away in favor of the agony he now felt in his crotch. He fell off the girl and hunched himself over in a fetal position.

The child climbed to her feet and picked up the necklace, running away before Copé could do anything to stop her.

As she cradled Christique’s jewels, The Thief could do nothing but cradle his own.

2.

When Copé returned to his shack, he noticed there was something peculiar about it. In that, there was nothing in it. Although The Thief had always been a minimalist, it would have been an overstatement to say he was this much of a minimalist. Someone had clearly paid him a visit. A whoosh of emotion started its way into The Thief. It wasn’t a feeling of fright that overwhelmed him. It wasn’t even necessarily a bad feeling that had him. It certainly wasn’t a good feeling either, however. It was someplace before shock, an elongated version of a person’s attempt at processing something so sudden and abrupt.

He walked further into the shack. His eyes surveyed the area. What was left included a single bed cover, wrinkled and unkempt, and not how he left it. His bed itself had been turned over and taken off the wooden frame. The small table that had been at the corner of his room had been thrown over on its side. Somebody was looking for something. That was an easy enough logic for The Thief to wrap his head around. A lot else was obvious as well. The only person with a motive against him was Christique. Thus, it seemed easy to surmise that she had been here earlier, in search of her stolen necklace. How she found him wasn’t important. What was important is the fact it highlighted. Like the necklace itself, allowed to hide its deeper beauty, Christique housed a lot of secrets as well – there was far more wit about her than she cared to let on.

There was a message behind Christique’s actions as well. It was a message meant to scare him and a message to let him know that he was being hunted.