Chapter Four

Copé and Christique spoke long after the Alsabenya shut down for the night.

The heated and humid Whispey Desert sun had come and went, and in its place was a much chillier night sky. None of the old guards in all their glory were roaming about, and the new guards, starting their shift, didn’t recognize The Thief. Even at night the Trade Network remained rather congested. People traveled a great lengths to get there and were very much looking to get a head start on their journey back.

“Why did you decide to come to The Trading Network of all places?” Copé asked, he played around with his fingers while he walked.

That was always a problem with him, having something to do with his hands. Christique walked with him. She knew what to do with her hands. They dangled at her side fine and well, much more comfortable and at peace with herself than he was.

“I can’t say it was my first choice. I go where I am most needed, however.” Christique had much more inflection in her voice than Copé did.

She enunciated her words and carried herself the way a soldier did; proud and like she could take anything on. Satin must have been very strong people, or wherever Christique was from.

They continued to travel the land, the sand beneath their hands felt nice and cool. The Whispey Deserts were unfortunate and disparate in that regard. Hot and humid during the day and very cold at the night. There was no pleasing them. There was a certain harmony to seeing the desert at night. It wasn’t desserted, but it was quieter. Vendors took apart their tables and hid away their product. Pop-up shops appeared in their place, ran by new people, carrying a new selection of items. These items were usually more niche and less likely to sell to the average Maharris civilian – nothing illegal though, one had to go further out into the Thieves’ Network for that.

The paranoia about items being stolen at night was a real one. There were guards posted around various areas, even at night, but most of the thefts went unnoticed until it was much too late. That was the nature of the be and it came with the territory. It was only to be expected that such a populated area, crowded, and filled with items would occasionally be robbed. How crowded it was meant it was basically the duty of a thief to at least try and steal something.

Copé couldn’t help but kick himself for the fact he had been caught in the act. He had been slipping as a thief, and that was a difficult thing to swallow. Copé turned his attention over to the wonderful Christique.

All things aside, the woman had an astounding beauty. It was the kind of beauty that was often lost in the more decrepit parts of Maharris. Sentiment died on the vine in the Unprotected Wilderness. There were no beautiful things, only primal desires, needs, and wants. The Thief had never known sentiment or romanticism. Even as a child, he wasn’t put to bed by storybook fantasies, but, instead, was forced to panhandle for his next meal. He didn’t covet the lives of kings or royalty, rather he would’ve settled for table scraps. When everyone’s better off than you, it’s hard not to be a cynic. To him, money and women were a means to an end. It wasn’t a sexist sentiment. Men served even less purpose for him. And yet, her beauty and elegance drew him in, the type of quality a person simply couldn’t find at a brothel. Maybe it was his own naivete doing him a disservice – a moment of weakness – but he found himself truly taken by her.

Unfortunately, even this would die sooner rather than later.

Christique’s eyes looked over Secrat as they ventured forward.

“What are you thinking?” Secrat asked, a sinister smirk started to form on his face.

Christique responded with a similar smile of her own as they neared her small abode.

This is where their night began – each other’s means to an end.

2.

The warmth of his body was astounding, the idea that somebody could be so hot inside and not combust. Her scent was on him. That exquisite scent, an intoxicating perfume that he couldn’t help but find himself obsessing over. Her arms fell over his chest, bare and naked. She was different in some way from any woman he had ever met. She felt more in control. Superior. And what Copé found strange is how much he enjoyed that about her.

In bed, they slumbered. Half of them did, at least. Secrat put his hand over the top of Christique’s head. As if alluding to a softer side of himself, more loving and less shallow. Alas, as his fingers strolled down the brim of her neck, that was revealed as false. He felt and observed her body to be warm as well, like there was a fire in her that awaited the chance to set everything else in a blaze.

He began to bring her hands down her neck until finding the string of her necklace. Although, it wasn’t merely a string at all, not for a gem as extraordinary as the one resting around her neck. She opted not to take it off. And Secrat, wanting not to draw any attention to it, was certain not to object.

The night kept his visioned obscured, but the moonlight bleeding in, illuminated just enough of the room for him to see her face. Her eyes were what concerned him the most. They needed to remain shut. He fiddled with the back of the necklace between his fingers. He hooked it with his index finger, carrying the back of it up her neck. His heart was beating fast while his eyes intently stuck themselves to Christique’s lids. If she awoke, no doubt, he could handle it, but he didn’t especially want to. Her hair posed an issue, as did the way she rested her head on the side of the string. The only way to retrieve it would be by lifting her head up or swiping at it fast. Both meant he would have to cross his fingers and hope for the best. Copé creaked his teeth some as he began to lift her head. He did it cautiously, knowing it was more of a game of luck than it was doing anything right or wrong. Heavy sleeper or not heavy, those were the components that spelled out what Copé’s night had the potential to be.

If she was, Copé would leave with a priceless jewel and sex he didn’t pay for. That was a fortunate night by all definitions of the phrase. Either way, that’s what Secrat imagined happening tonight, even if he had to kill her, but it’d be perfect if he could avoid the conflict.

As he pulled the necklace upward, all his aspirations were thwarted at once. Christique yawned and then rolled to the other side, her back now facing The Thief. That could have meant rolling out of the necklaces’ clutches, but that was not to be. Instead, as positioning would have it, the necklace kept with her, but Copé held the gem in his hands, marveling at it.

The jolt of fear he felt in himself from Christique’s movement was enough to keep him from attempting to take it off again. At least with that method. Instead, Copé moved his hand down the bedside in search of his leggings. He found them at once, and then struggled free one of his knives. The handle felt cold in his hands, unlike how his body felt. Still, the knife felt nice to hold; empowering. He knew that with the knife, he wouldn’t have to endure any screams or cries or conflict.

Tightly in his hands, Secrat slid the knife near Christique’s throat.

The look of it was nice.

At last, he acted. Cutting the necklace off from her neck. He pulled the gem free, taking the piece of string as well. He had it. At last.

Copé rolled out of the bed as carefully as he could. Naked, The Thief wandered for his clothes, trying to let the light of the moon guide him. He found them easily, and before long, was fully clothed. There wasn’t much that he remembered about the inside of the shack. He hadn’t really paid much attention to it when he had the chance. Luckily, it was small enough to where he didn’t really have to.

He approached the doorway leading to the outside and turned the knob.

In seconds, Copé was out of the house and making way toward his own. The cold night air and the moon loomed over him, but the warm feeling inside hadn’t escaped him. His way back wasn’t eventful at all, but he did take the time to behold the gem in all its glory.

There was a lot of dirt and grime over it, as well as a certain dullness, but there was more to it than that. It was a fixer upper to say the least, but there was something special about it. The gem was deliberately allowed to ruin itself, and there was no telling how much it was worth. He held it in the palm of his hand. The jewel was much heavier than it looked. Certain inscriptions appeared to be on it, but he couldn’t make them out very well.

Soon, Copé made it back to his small sector of Maharris, his small and insignificant shack that cost him the littlest number of coins.

He would have to leave the Whispey Deserts once he sold the necklace. That much was for certain. He wasn’t afraid of Christique, per se, but, then again, maybe he should have been. He was inuitive enough when it came to evading those he had robbed. Like the soldiers and knights roaming the desert, she would be easy enough to evade. She didn’t know where he lived after all. That was in part because he didn’t particularly live anywhere. Likewise, too, when the crowd was out, he would be a needle in a haystack for her to try and locate. Even if she did find him, it wasn’t like she would be able to do anything to him anyways.

Rather, it was about him having a new lease on life and a rediscovery of an old passion. This wasn’t a petty thievery for bread or a few coin. This was of value, and for the first time in a long time, The Thief had managed to successfully swipe something without bringing about a world of hurt his way.

Secrat smiled at the thought, and even smiled as he laid down in his bed and thought of what he would do with his newfound fortunate.

3.

Although the flask may not have been worth a whole lot, it was the closest thing he had to something of sentimental value – the closest thing he was allowed to have to sentiment, something that was largely useless. Once upon a time, The Thief had stolen the flask from a merchant during one of their overtly extravagant sales pitches, it being one of the first things he ever stole as a member of The Red Flux. The Thief had never had the chance to get it properly appraised at the Thieves’ Network, but he imagined it likely wasn’t worth the stock he put in it. The merchant had been a con-man and, chances were, the jewels that encrusted the flask were as phony as the man’s enthusiasm. Still, the flask had been a longtime contributor to Secrat’s intoxication and it was difficult to put a price on that.

The Thief sat, cooped up in his home, perched on his bed. He looked at the gem. He had scrubbed it earlier with some warm water and the results had been fairly pleasant and immediate. No doubt, the item was worth more than Christique had drawn attention toward. Secrat held the item in his palm and admired its many intricacies. On it, there were designs and finer details that Secrat didn’t understand at first. But upon further inspection, and upon further rinsing the filth off of it, he could now see that the spherical necklace depicted a dragon. It was such an outlandish and ridiculous concept, the stuff of fairy tales and make believe. It was pretty much the same, however. The dragon didn’t have an array of colors or much else depicting it. The jewelry went for a more subdued, but no less elegant choice – sapphires had been placed where its eyes would have been. Had Secrat not have been studying the jewelry intently, he likely would have missed it. Otherwise, there was a gold plating around the jewelry that hooked it onto the necklace string.

The Thief was taken by it. He liked the feel of it in his hand, like a smooth chunk of rock. If he wasn’t absolutely in dire need of coin, he may have kept it as a coveted souvenir. Unfortunately, he was, and, even if he wasn’t, that wasn’t the way he had been taught. The item was far too valuable to be toted around as a meaningless memento.

And, although he knew that, a part of him, nay, a lot of him was left thinking about his flask. Although the trade off had been far more than fair (the necklace probably could have bought him a dozen or more flasks), Secrat couldn’t help but pawn over his misfortune. It was the perfect night unraveled by a foolish mistake. He was better than that. He was above such foolish, amateur mistakes, and yet, here he was. It was another Azlak Temps fiasco.

Without realizing it, Secrat realized his hand was now clenched in a fist around the necklace. It was his ego trying to get the best of him, and he knew it, but self-awareness wasn’t enough to simply dispel the anger out of him.

Copé took one of his pine sticks out and lit it. His eyes took to it like moths to a, ahem, flame. He had always been drawn to fire and the destruction it could bring – it felt so powerful and chaotic. Once he finished lighting a cigarette, he took a huff and let the smooth escape through the creases of his lips. The feeling of tobacco in his lungs never filled him with the same level of satisfaction it did others. Father Toucan Veras, on the other hand, loved his cigarettes almost as much as he loved The Red Flux or he hated The Aeonians. The prodigious man would constantly being taking in one of them, uncaring about the side effects that came with it. Copé had never seen the appeal of it. He tried it now only because he thought there might be a small chance it would help him calm his nerves, and although that failed, he, at the absolute least, had something to twirl around in his hands and distract himself.

Secrat gnawed at the bottom of the cigarette. It was a habit. The taste was awful. He rose to his feet from the bed and bid farewell to the cancer stick and the black lungs it would bring him. The stuff simply didn’t do it for him. Near the window in his small shack, the fresh air felt more inviting to him.

There was a small but rambunctious crowd of merchants gathered around, preaching the good word about how whatever it was they were selling was exactly what it was every person was looking for (a presumptuous claim). Like everyone else, these merchants wanted to be gone from the Whispey Deserts as soon as possible, ideally with their body weight in coin. They would say what they needed to say and not feel even the slightest bit of shame.

Personally, Secrat had become more accustomed to late hours, but the merchants didn’t seem to care about that. How inconsiderate of them.

The heat being so immense meant they all wore something or another on their head. From turbans to straw hats, anything that kept their heads from blistering would be sufficient. Copé watched them inattentively for a time, not able to hear what they were saying in full, but honestly not being particularly curious either. His eyes looked down at some of the children running around in the sand. It wasn’t uncommon for children to be brought out to the Whispey Deserts. It wasn’t uncommon for children to steal either. They were so petite and innocent, the opportunity was almost too alluring to pass up.

At last, Secrat stepped out from his shack home, standing out at the doorway just a foot or two. Losing his flask had been an unfortunate setback, but nothing could be done about it. As much as he wished it could have been salvaged somehow, he knew it was not a priority.

No.

Secrat Copé would travel to the Thieves Network and do away with the necklace for as much as he could. After that, whatever happened would happen. For now, Copé could only walk forward toward the merchants and make his way.