Chapter Twenty-One

Secrat Copé and a reluctant Lukas Lewis liberated some of the nooses from the gallows. It took some maneuvering, nooses were heavier than Secrat would have initially expected. Granted, that would hopefully prove to be a good thing in the end. It meant they were sturdier, and a lot was being asked of them. They would be given the tall order of having to suspend a large statue of Livius Reid and an equally large Taison. They each had a ten foot rope apiece dangled over their shoulders. Then, they, and the rest of The Red Flux thieves, ascended the stairs, wasting little time, with full knowledge that very soon King Harries’ speech would end, if it hadn’t already, and that all of the knights meant to be on-guard in the prisons would return.

The next floor up was filled with chairs and a large podium front and center, it was a presentation of Italina’s trial system. Soon after, they arrived at ground level, back to the entrance where Secrat once had been. In this moment, The Thief realized that, had he taken the left hand side instead of the right, he would have eventually found the prison cells and would not have run into the knight. When they made it to the steps leading out from the castle, Secrat stopped dead in his tracks, a nagging thought refusing to leave him be.

“We will be leaving Italina completely empty handed,” Copé realized. “That means that all of this, everything we went through, everything we overcame, will have been for nothing.”

Amid their hurried, frantic movement, they all stopped as well. Samuel was the first to look at Secrat and the first to wager a reply.

“If it is about our survival or a heist, we always choose our survival, Secrat.”

“But what if we could have both?” He countered. “All I hear about from Father Veras is that no one should die by our hand unless it is absolutely necessary. That no blood should be taken in vain. Well, I killed a knight only hours ago. Marc Sero killed a knight, and he did so in pretty extreme fashion, I might add. What did they die for? I have a broken hand. Taison has a broken arm and Brutus, well, … look at him. All of this will have served no purpose at all. All of this pain will have meant nothing, and I say, what if we could have both?”

“Because we don’t have time for it,” Samuel said firmly.

“He is right,” Lukas Lewis interrupted, he continued: “Secrat, that is.”

Samuel seemed a little surprised by it, doing a double take on Lukas Lewis. Copé, meanwhile, wasn’t taken by it. In fact, he had been counting on it. Although there was no love lost between them, Secrat hadn’t been playing to their friendship. Lukas was easily manipulated, especially by his own morality and need for vindication.

“This whole night has been nothing but useless bloodshed and nonsense, and if there is any way at all to make it a little more meaningful, then I am all ears for it,” Lukas added.

Samuel turned around for a moment, as if he was expecting to see an army of men traveling up the steps in their pursuit. When he didn’t, however, he let out a breath and looked back to Secrat, “Proceed.”

Secrat reached down in his leggings pocket and Secrat brought out the key ring he had stolen from the knight.

“I couldn’t think of what these keys might have went to earlier. Before, I had assumed they went to the cells, but, before I was caught, I was let into a room, and in it, I saw everything we had stolen at the Aer Festival and more. I think this key gives us passage into that room, and I think if we are smart about it, we could leave with more than enough to show for our efforts.”

Samuel Syi didn’t say anything for a moment, mulling over The Thief’s proposition. At last, however, Samuel answered by giving him a reluctant nod and allowing Secrat to lead the way down the stairs to the castle’s trophy room. The key worked as he had anticipated and inside, they all poured in, looking over all of the items with their hurried minds. They went after the obvious items first. The Statue of Livius Reid was carried down, this time by Secrat Copé, Samuel Syi and Lukas Lewis together, all three taking their time down the plethora of stairs. Meanwhile, Brutus Ess carried what he could, the ache in his leg making it more than a little difficult. That ended up being a couple of diamond encrusted sais and a pair of katars of a similar esteem. Marc Sero carried an arm’s full of gold bars, making down and back up again for a second load before they were even halfway down with the statue.

“After the statue is loaded, that is all we will be able to take,” Samuel snarled, grinding his teeth as they continued their way down the never ending row of stairs.

“Everything look good, Taison?” Lukas asked, him and Secrat, walking backward down the steps.

“Nobody that I can see,” Taison said back, walking behind them, cradling his broken appendage like it was his contribution to the wagon.

It was a very invaluable contribution, Secrat thought.

Marc Sero came back down the stairs with more gold bars, running down with haste. At last, they arrived down the stairs with the statue still intact. They laid the statue down in the wagon, along with all the other items they had confiscated from Italina’s apparent room of confiscations. It wasn’t a bad haul, all things considered, but what mattered most would be making it out of Italina with all of it, and themselves intact.

Samuel sat upfront at the reins. The carriage seated all of the thieves and more so, with four horses up at the front.

“I had to steal them from their stables, kept their carriages there too,” Marc Sero said, climbing into the wagon in front of the carriage, sitting in the back corner.

Secrat couldn’t suppress a laugh. They found themselves seated in the very same self-assigned spots they had come to Italina in. As if all their thoughts unanimously paralleled, hysteric laughter came from all of them in unison. All of them except for Taison, of course, who still mostly groveled in pain.

Samuel Syi took the reins, plucking and yanking, and soon, they were mobile about the city roads. The night was at its absolute blackest, either past midnight or well nearing, yet many fellow carriages were still in the streets. The horses galloped by three smaller chariots that they stumbled across immediately. They needed to be further out into the city before they scaled the Italina walls. The whole city of Italina sat in front of the Amisoic Sea, and for some time, the top of the walls would only overlook the splashing waves of the ocean.

The feeling was an unreal one, as all the laughter faded away and silence was allowed to take over. Copé sprawled himself out, lying flat in the wagon and looking up at the stars. He could count them. It wasn’t often he ever tried. He had never been one of the quiet thinkers or reflecting type, but as he looked at the stars, not obscured by trees, it truly was a beautiful night. And while it was an inopportune and inconvenient time, he found himself met by a small twinge of an existential crisis. All of the stars looked indistinguishable and insignificant. Some thieves. Some knights. Some of them were insignificant. But, the moon, on the other hand. It stood out as special. It was special, and it was unique. Of all the stars, the Christique’s, the Lukas Lewis’, the Father Toucan Veras’, or the Hunter and his Wolves. That was all they were. Stars. They were insignificant. Indistinguishable. Unimportant. A waste. But, what about him?

An incomprehensible shriek followed suit. This shriek belonged to Taison, whose unofficially designated job as watchman had at last paid off, his hand (the one that wasn’t attached to the broken arm), flailing and his finger poking and pointing like a pirate at the first sight of land. However, it wasn’t land that he pointed at, but, rather, a carriage of Italina cavalryman. The three of them were riding horseback, their armors looking more on the decorative side and their horses bard with chain mail, it would appear they were only just arriving back from the King’s speech. What Secrat wasn’t certain on yet was whether they chased after the carriage because they recognized the carriage or because they had found out about the prison break. Secrat assumed the former, accounting for the short number of men on their tail. That was good. That meant the siren might not be triggered yet, alerting The Aeonian. Secrat rolled on his back and crawled toward the back end of the carriage, meanwhile, Marc Sero readied an arrow for his bow. Samuel continued at the reins, but the increasing speed of the carriage told that he was aware of the situation.

Copé heard something knocking against the carriage.

“They couldn’t possibly have already gotten that close to us!” Copé whispered to himself, bobbing his head up out of the wagon.

He ducked again fast, barely missing the spear stabbed forward by one of the knights. A second later and his head would have been going separate ways with the rest of his body.

“Or, maybe, they could be.”

The Thief crept away cautiously and began looking at his options, reaching for the katars. The weapons were nothing like what he had used prior, and as he held them in his hands, he wasn’t even for certain he was holding them correctly. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, however, and so, he brought himself to his feet and stared off at the three knights. There were still only three of them, which he took to mean that the rest of Italina must not yet have been aware of their escape. Secrat moved forward, wondering what he could possibly do. He blocked a slash from the guard and made a stifled attempt at snatching one of the knight’s swords from in between his two blades. The knight was soon able to retract his sword back over to him, however.

Secrat leaned forward from the wagon and made a swipe of his own, barely missing one of his adversary’s necks. Secrat stumbled, his stomach leaned over the wagon to the outside with his nose pointed at the dirt. He heard the sound of an arrow cutting through the air behind him, soon followed by the clink of it hitting its mark. Secrat looked and saw a horse falling over itself, which, in turn, brought the knight down with him. The only downside was that the same knight had gotten a handful of Secrat’s shirt and had been trying to pull him out from the wagon. He succeeded too, at least, in part, flipping Secrat over the front to the outside.

Secrat landed peculiarly, with his legs in a vice grip around the knight’s running horse and the front of the katars resting on the edge of the wagon, The Thief stretched out, acting as a bridge between them. He felt the hand of someone inside the wagon try to grab him beforehand, but it was too little too late, it would seem.

The moonlight brought just enough to light for Secrat to see the face of the knight beneath his helm, his eyes were wide, manic and Secrat could murderous intent. The knight brought his sword up with both hands, intending to press it down into the stomach of Secrat. The Thief desperately drove a boot to the knight’s leg, an effort that did little to stall his attack, but did allow for Secrat to readjust himself, kicking off from the knight’s horse, tossing the katars back, and leaving himself simply dangling from the side of the wagon.

This brought back memories.

He brought himself back up and into the wagon, rolling in and landing ungracefully on his back. He allowed himself to rest for a second, but only a second, before he looked over at the weapons he had to work with. It seemed that someone had since taken the sais for their own usage, and he had since decided he would never touch the katars ever again. He snatched up a rope from one end and climbed back to his feet, sprinting toward the back end.

Brutus Ess laid uselessly in one corner of the wagon, his wounds admittedly making him no use for combat. Copé threw the other end of the noose at Brutus, then smirked, “Hold onto that like your life depends on it.”

Brutus, confused, but intrigued, obliged, “I will do my best,” he said with a curious look on his face, eager for what Copé had in mind.

The Thief, never one to disappoint, braced himself, both remaining knights were more preoccupied by Marc Sero and Lukas Lewis’ efforts. Sero with his bow and Lukas with the sai swords.

Secrat took a breath and let it leave him. Of all the stars, the Christique’s, the Lukas Lewis’, the Toucan’s, or the Man and his wolves. That was all they were. Stars. Secrat began his run but hesitated. He took a final breath and ran. He leaped out from the wagon, using the walls for extra support. The death end of the noose in hand, by some chance, he found himself landing in a seated position in front of the knight. It was a comical aesthetic for those watching, no doubt, but Copé felt nothing short of terror. Meanwhile, the knight was taken aghast as well. The knight was so started that his reflex nearly sent him tumbling off his own horse. Almost. Copé hadn’t had the chance to attack, however. His surprise advantage had been spent entirely situating himself on the horse. Once that was finished, he received a complimentary headbutt from the knight.

“Fucking crazy,” the knight yelled.

And, indeed, Secrat was ‘fucking crazy,’ he had come to accept that.

The Thief fell to the side of the horse, his raised stance over the ground dependently wholly on the noose he hung onto. The knight readied his sword, absorbing the impact of one of Marc Sero’s arrows that hit him directly on his chest plate, then ricocheted off. Secrat used his momentary obliviousness to climb beneath the horse, using the noose as an added leverage. Secrat felt his hair descend to the dirt. His back was less than a foot away from the ground. What the fuck was he doing? At one point, he would have had an answer, and it had sounded good in his head, now he feared he may have been starting to lose the plot.

The horse’s gallop never waned, and in a moment of sheer lunacy, Copé plucked the foot of the knight, startling him again. The knight slashed his sword down in a missed attempt, and in that attempt, allotted Secrat the means to pull his arm, bringing the knight down, almost off from his horse. The knight refused to abide to Secrat demand, and in a position on the side of the horse, continued on the offense. The horse began to slow down, to the dismay of the noose, which tugged it along. Copé found himself on the receiving end of a punch from the knight next, knocking his head down against the dirt. If not for the rope, he would have fallen down to the ground and been lost altogether. Secrat fought back, and for no reason in particular, made the snap decision to throw a headbutt of his own, a fool’s decision. It hurt him much, much ,much more than it hurt the knight, but soon after that moment, he flung the noose over the head of the knight.

The knight reacted fast, trying to slash the noose with his sword, but it yanked him too soon. He found himself tugged off from the horse and by his neck, chasing after the carriage.

True to his word, Brutus did not let go.

Secrat readjusted, the horse at a complete standstill now. He brought himself up on the horse, seeing the lifeless knight off in the distance, still being pulled unceremoniously by the noose. He clapped his feet against the horse’ thighs, and was pleasantly surprised how eager it was to start running again. In time, he caught up to them, the horse running parallel to Samuel Syi at the reins of the carriage.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Samuel asked.

For what it was worth, Samuel Syi seemed to be. It was clear they were all, on some level, enjoying themselves.

“Not as much as some of the others,” Secrat answered, looking back at Brutus Ess, who yelped and hollered sadistically while watching with mirthless amusement once the knight’s body, at last, snagged against something and decapitated him.

Samuel had the same look of sadism carried in his grin, a moment where, with the adrenaline coursing through them and their hearts pounding, they all shared an unrelenting affection for infliction. Whether it was the infliction of anarchy, of pain, or of mischief.

“What happened to the third man?” Secrat asked, more curious than concerned.

“He fell back,” Samuel said. “I think he may have been on his way to inform the others.”

“It is time we ascend the wall. The Amisoic Sea won’t be an issue for us anymore,” Secrat fired urgently, looking behind himself to make for certain there weren’t any green auras that were following them.

Luckily, there weren’t.

Samuel Syi agreed, slowing the carriage and making a turn, having never strayed too far away from the Italinian wall. The walls’ huge, towering presence never seemed greater than it did now. The once cold air of Italina, no longer felt cold, but, rather, it felt freezing. As the excitement left him, Secrat found himself shivering in his own discomfort.

The objective became simple once the carriage was stopped, but they moved fast regardless. In certain spots, they tied the nooses into knots, keeping clusters of the gold bars snug in between them. On that same noose, they focused themselves on the Status of Livius Reid. It was a beautiful aesthetic, the visual splendor of seeing Livius Reid being pulled up the wall of Italina by his neck by a noose.

But The Thief took very little time to enjoy himself or that fact, his winded body deprived, both of sleep and energy. he felt himself more resembling a sleepwalker than that of an able-minded man. Samuel Syi gave all of the orders, instructing how to do this and how to do that. he was also the one to tie one noose onto another and do the same with the third. The wall was only about thirty or so feet, and thereby, all they needed was about three of the four nooses. It was a good thing too, as Copé doubted any of them would want to use the noose that had severed the knight’s head only a few short moments earlier.

Samuel Syi and Marc Sero brought themselves up the wall first. Neither of them struggled or seemed to have any discomfort whatsoever. Soon, it became time for Secrat to begin his ascension as well. He had done it once before, a time ago that felt like an eternity and a half ago, and he had done so without the aid of a rope, this time, however, was more difficult. His injured hand made it difficult to form a grip around the ridges and so, he found himself more dependent on the rope.

By the time Samuel and Marc finished muscling their way up, Secrat was about halfway. He felt such wear and fatigue in his body, but soon, at last, he reached the wall, taking the hand of Samuel, who helped him make it to a seated position.

The statue was the hardest issue of the whole heist. The thought of leaving it altogether had likely crossed the mind of each of them at least once. It had certainly crossed Secrat’s mind. But they couldn’t. The statue was the most valuable item and to surrender it would be too large of a disappointment, and, even more than that, it felt like a requirement, as though they couldn’t proceed without it. Sero shared the rope with Secrat and Samuel. Their tug of war with gravity began soon after, them trying their hand at ascending the statue and the gold bars. The statue itself was three-hundred pounds, give or take, a real heavy son of a bitch, whereas the gold would stack on about forty pounds or so. The ropes were in no danger of breaking, however, having carried similarly large men to their death. For all it was worth, it wasn’t as difficult as Copé had anticipated, Marc Sero and Samuel Syi both using their weight at the top of the wall to their benefit. Three feet in the air, became four, from which then, went to five. The Thief felt the burn of the rope on his hands, or his hand, more so, as his injured hand offered little assist.

Seven feet or so and Copé could feel the sweat on his brow but he chose to ignore it. It would be a very long way from there, but he knew they would muscle through. After this, it would be about Brutus Ess, who watched down from below, having to resist the urge them on with helpful phrases like “Hurry up, assholes!” and the works.

Taison and Lukas Lewis stood beside the wagon. Lukas twirled a sai around in his hand nervously, both of them on the lookout for any knights. Not that Taison would be of any real help against them.

Copé continued yanking up at the rope with heavy might. He doubted his assistance was that greatly appreciated, but they were about fifteen feet up the wall now. Or, in other words, about halfway. Samuel and Marc did the heavy lifting, grunting and tugging like a whore from The Hills. Once the gold bars began making their way up to them, as directed by Samuel, Secrat unfastened them from the noose and began to throw them, one by one, over to the other side, into the Unprotected Wilderness. It lighted the lift, and in that, Copé made no stride returning to assist them.

His eyes went over to Lukas Lewis and Taison again. It had been only an instant since he last looked at them, but, now, he had sight of a knight. The night made it so very difficult to make out what was happening. He could vaguely see the cavalryman walking toward them. Lukas took sight of them and did a turnaround, glancing over like he was looking for another member of The Red Flux to assist him. But none of them could or would. Brutus was in no condition and neither was Taison. He was on his own and soon realized as much.

The knight-shaped silhouette had his weapon unsheathed and he wasted little time to swing his blade. Lukas Lewis was fast at reacting, leaping back away from the sword. All Lukas Lewis had in his hands was a small sai. Thankfully, the thieves in The Red Flux were trained to make use of smaller weapons such as knives, and thereby, he shouldn’t have been at too much of a disadvantage. Lukas made a jab forward, though, only drove it into the man’s armor. It was dark and finding areas of flesh would prove to be an issue as a result. The man drove a forearm forth, an untrained swordsman, it managed to strike directly to Lukas’ temple, sending him in a spiraling daze.

“Secrat, help!” Samuel hollered out, as at last, the statue was now at arm’s reach.

Copé did so, grabbing an arm of the statue and lifting, though, out of his periphery, he still kept an eye out for Lukas and his battle with the knight. The knight carried on his attack, kicking Lukas in the stomach with his weighted boots, a decision that ultimately led to Lukas being brought off from his feet. Lukas held his leg in dismay. Meanwhile, his adversary was going for the kill; sword readied.

Secrat watched, his teeth on edge, he didn’t know how to feel. All he knew was that his heart was racing.

The knight brought his sword down, his intentions clearly sighted at the back of Lukas’ neck. Instead, he was met by a tackle from behind by Taison. The round-faced thief wrapped his uninjured arm around the knight’s neck, stuck on him like a leech. The knight stammered at first and fell to one knee as Taison continued his hold.

Soon, the knight fought back to his feet, the much larger Taison still with him very much in his clutches. Secrat noticed Lukas Lewis’ outline as well, with Lukas retuning to a vertical base. Lukas gripped the sai in his hands, and upon realizing the situation, ran toward the knight.

With the sai, Lukas went for a jab, but, at the same time as that, Copé watched as the knight drove his elbow to the broken arm of Taison, forcing him to relent. The knight moved and, as a result, the sai drove directly into Taison’s throat.

Lukas Lewis flinched, leaving the weapon wedged into The Red Flux prospect’s neck. The knight swung his sword from behind Lukas, who anticipated it, and ducked beneath the blade. Unfortunately, a surprised Taison was not able to anticipate the attack, and found himself decapitated as a result.

On instinct, Lukas tackled the arm of the knight and pried the sword off of him.

Secrat felt a smile forming on his face with every action and reaction. It was a smile of the tides finally turning in his favor.

Lukas Lewis brought the sword up from the ground and whipped it across the knight’s neck. It didn’t decapitate him, however. It wasn’t as satisfactory as that. The Thief very much wanted that visual for Lukas, but it was not to be. It did kill the knight however, digging about halfway through his neck. Lukas released the sword from his clutches and watched while the knight fell to his death. His death, by Lukas Lewis’ hand.

They finished tossing the statue of Livius Reid outside the city walls where it fell with a thud. Then, they moved forward toward lifting up Brutus Ess, who was a much, much easier task. By the time that they finished, Lukas Lewis started to make his climb up as well. Copé’s smile still hadn’t left his face. He didn’t know why exactly he felt such joyousness about the chubby boy’s death. But he did. He absolutely did. As Lukas Lewis joined them, they had already started lowering Brutus slowly down the wall. Unfortunately, they weren’t allowed to simply drop him like the way they did the statue and the gold bars.

“Will Taison be able to tie the rope around his waist by himself?” Samuel asked, his eyes watching while Brutus made his descent.

“Taison is dead,” Lukas Lewis said plainly.

Syi jolted for a moment, and Brutus dropped a great deal faster for a second as a result. Marc Sero’s expression remained unchanged, offering little more than a propped up eyebrow, while Secrat tried his best at seeming downright surprised.

“What do you mean Taison is dead? What happened!?” Samuel asked loudly, either to emphasize his shock or because he had to contend with not gritting his teeth while they lowered Brutus down with the noose.

“A knight showed up and tried to attack us. It was only one of them. I fought him off, but not before he took a stab to Taison.

Lukas answered, an in shock lack of emotion in his voice.

“It looked like more than just a stab to me,” Copé answered.

He made for certain not to be smiling as he spoke, but it was difficult.

“Did you happen to bring the sai’s up with you?” Marc Sero asked, colder about the ordeal than even Secrat had been.

Lukas shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” Samuel said. “If one showed up, it is only a matter of time before the rest of the nest comes knocking. We still have to find a proper way to move all this stuff on the other side,” Syi began his climb down, before adding, “It is time we make our leave from this god forsaken hell hole.”

Copé saw Marc Sero smile in agreement before making his climb down as well. Lukas Lewis made no quick movements, an emptiness in his eyes and a brokenness in his expression, he stared off into the distance, over to where Taison’s corpse resided. Because of him. Because he killed him.

Copé looked there as well. He could see the Sanchi Tower, standing high, but far into the distance, it was a beautiful image in spite of the circumstances. Secrat Copé held optimism in his heart for the first time in a very long time, and as his eyes cast off to the sad, defeated Lukas Lewis, he grinned, punching his dearest friend on the shoulder and saying, “Let’s get home before Father Veras has our head, killer!”