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 easy, and before long, is fully clothed. There isn't much that he remembered about the inside of the shack. He didn't really pay 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 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, of course, but he did take the time to behold the gem in all of 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. The gem was deliberately allowed to ruin itself, and there was no telling how much it was actually 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.
By the time Copé made it back to his small sector of Maharris, his small and insignificant shack that cost him the littlest number of coin.
He'd have to leave the Whispy Deserts once selling the necklace. That much was for certain. He doubted there was any chance of Christique finding him. He was pretty intuitive when it came to those types of things. Like the soldiers and knights roaming the desert, she would be easy enough to evade. She didn't know where he lived after all, and when the crowd was out, it wasn't like he would stand out. Wasn't like she could do anything to him in the first place.
It was more about having a new lease on life, a rediscovery of 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 succeeded without any form of conflict. Secrat smiled at that as he stopped at his bed.
It wasn't until the next morning Copé realized he had lost his flask.
3
The flask might not have been worth a whole lot, but there was a sentimental value to it. After all, the flask often contribute to Copé's intoxication.
That much was special in itself, but it was still worth at least a considerable amount on its own. Copé hadn't ever had a chance to get it appraised at the thieves network, but he expected the flask to be worth at least enough coin for it to be missed. Secrat had nicked it not long ago from a merchant during one of his overtly elaborate sale's pitches.
Copé sat, cooped up in his home, perched on his bed. He looked at the gem. He had scrubbed at it earlier with some warm water and the results had been pleasant. No doubt, the item was worth more than Christique was willing to let on. The thief admired its intricacies.
On it, there were scribblings the thief hadn't understood at first. But upon closer inspection, he could see they depicted a dragon. Such an outlandish and ridiculous concept. The dragon didn't have an array of colors or much depicting it. Sapphire eyes. Had Secrat not been intently studying it, he likely would have missed it. Other-wise, there was a gold plating around the emerald Secrat had earlier been oblivious to. It was what hooked it onto the necklace and kept it from being a plain, flat chunk of emerald. That, and of course, the dragon engraving.
Copé was taken by it, he liked the feel of it. Like a rock, but so much smoother. But, a part, nay, a lot of him was thinking about his flask. Far more than a fair trade off, the necklace probably could have bought him ten flasks and more, but Copé couldn't help but think about it. The perfect night unraveled by a foolish mistake. He was above such amateur mistakes. Another Azlak Temps fiasco. That was his ego talking, and he knew it, but that wasn't enough to simply dispel it out of him.
Copé took one of his pine sticks out and lit it. He liked the look of the flame in his hands. Felt special and unique. Once lighting a cigarette, he took a huff out of it. The feeling of tobacco in his lungs never filled him with the same satisfaction it did others.
Toucan Veras loved his cigarettes almost as much as he loved the Flux or hated the Aeonians. He'd constantly be taking in one of them. Copé never saw the appeal of it. Secrat hoped it would do some to calm his nerves, and although that failed, he, at the absolute least, had something to twirl around in his hands. To distract him.
Secrat bit the bottom of the cigarette. It was a habit. The taste was awful. He arose to his feet, off of his bed, and put out the cigarette, the stuff simply didn't do it for him. Near the window in his small shack, the fresh air felt more inviting.
There was a small but rambunctious crowd of merchants gathered around. Merchants usually started themselves in the early hours of the morning which made it difficult to sleep. The thief was accustom to late hours but the merchants didn't seem to care about that. How inconsiderate. The heat being so immense meant they wore something or another on their head. From turbans to straw hats, anything that kept their heads from blistering would suffice. Copé watched them inattentively for a time, not able to hear what they were saying, but honestly not being all that curious. His eyes went down over to some children running around. It wasn't uncommon for children to be brought out to the Trading Network.
It wasn't uncommon for children to steal either. Petite and innocent, the opportunity was too 'there' to pass up.
Secrat stepped out from his shack home, standing out at the doorway just a foot or two. The flask was unfortunate. He wished it could have been salvaged somehow, but he knew it was not a priority.
No. Secrat Copé would travel to the thieves and do away with the necklace for as much as he could. After that, whatever happened would happen. Copé walked forward toward the merchants and made his way.
Chapter Five
Copé felt more at home amongst the thieves, and felt more comfortable there. Even if every one of them would rob him blind given the opportunity. But luckily, there was an unwritten code of honor amongst thieves not to steal in sanctioned locations such as this.
Of course, this isn't something that was written in stone, and it wasn't something that was followed by a lot of the pettier thieves.
Copé didn't mind it, didn't feel worried or bothered by it. The idea of danger put his teeth on edge.
While The Trading Network had a certain professionalism, there were shops and/or tables set out with a shop-like vibe. There were shacks encumbering folk as they slept, restaurants and a lot of other stuff at the Trade Network, but the thieves post lacked the polish. Tents off to one side and more tents off to the other. This usually worked to illustrate the different tropes that frequented it. For example, had The Red Flux been there, they'd be assembled somewhere isolated from everyone else. That's not how the actual Trade Network functioned, with the major cities away from each other. With the real one, because 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 synonymous with any other sun, as the only sun, certainly felt a lot closer than normal. He detoured from his chosen path and walked beneath a large tent, an onyx color, black as night, and certainly spacious, the tent went higher than necessary and looked a lot stranger than the others. Slicker, maybe Italinian roots. Copé treaded lightly, in-fact even stopping dead in his tracks. Not venturing into the actual tent
, which confines were obscured in full by the black-tarp acting as doors, but instead simply staying beneath the pitched roof before it.
Copé felt down at 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 that hard. Jewelry was an item about every thief had ready to sell. This hurt chances of a sale, but Copé at least wanted an idea of how much he should be asking for. He wouldn't take the appraisal as law either, and in-fact, he'd likely ask three or four different folk to look at it before averaging it out. After all, everyone had the idea of coin in mind.
Secrat took a breath and let it go. The heat was abundant. His more recent smoking likely hadn't assisted his lungs much either.
The sound of some scuffling from behind the thief made a man come from behind the curtain. His eyes looked so completely white Copé 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.
He was from Hardan, Copé inferred by the pigment of his skin. His eyes went over to Secret, they looked malicious and unfriendly, while his disposition fit the look well. "Is there something you want?" the man asked plainly, his eyes briefly traveling up Copé. Secrat offered nothing in terms of facial expression, he felt very uncomfortable, but he wasn't about to let him now of that fact, and so, he replied with a similar plainness: "Just passing through."
The man acted a skeptic, his body stood up tense and tight, while his hand was on the handle of his sword, resting in its scabbard, attached at his waist. He wore black gloves, and fancy clothes with elaborate buttons. At last, the man cooled his glare and took his eyes off from Copé, he turned his body around and walked back to the tent. Secrat didn't move for a number of seconds, his body felt paralyzed almost, and he hadn't the faintest clue 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 took back priority, like the fiery sun forcing sweat out of him, and without a roof giving shade, all he could do was succumb to it. Now, the matter was back to finding someone to look at the necklace in his pocket. He could barely even feel the weight of it on his leg anymore.
Lowering his hand down, back at his side, Copé realized that was because the necklace was gone.
A surge of anxiety and uncertainty came in the thief after the fact. Stopped in his movements. The thief reached his hand deeper into his pocket, like he expected it to have somehow become deeper.
It had not.
Also, there were no holes for it to fall out from either. Nevertheless, Secrat turned around, expecting to see the necklace had fallen out somewhere. His eyes looked down through the desert sand, but nothing popped out to him. It shouldn't have been difficult to see. An emerald in the sand. There was nothing to see in the sand, but then again, there were footprints. Small footprints. Secrat's eyes followed them until coming to the perpetrator, a small girl with brown hair running off and away. In her hand, it looked a lot like a string. The girl soon disappeared from view as she cornered the black tent.
Copé eased a little. He didn't like to brag about it but he could probably beat a little girl in a fight. He only eased a little bit though before he realized that while he could most certainly defeat a small girl in a battle of physical force, he wasn't completely confident he could catch one.
And with that, the surge of fear was back in him. He took in a breath and let it out, sprinting after the small child. His legs still ached from running from the guards earlier. Being away from The Red Flux definitely showed in his health at times as well. But that wouldn't stop him from trying, wheezing afterward or not.
He cornered the black tent as well, halfway expecting to be driven over the head with something as he did. His eyes wandered the sand before once again finding the girl, she had slowed down to a walk, likely just wanting to get out of Copé's sight once suspicion was raised.
Copé slowed down his running also, not looking to alert the girl. He slowed his breathing down as well. The back of the girl's head gave way to a little bit about her, but not a whole lot. Copé made note of the rope that tied her hair into a ponytail. Her body was small and thin, and she was barefoot, her feet walking in the sand.
Secrat sneaked closer to her. He reached for the blade in his leggings. No reason to kill her. Or hurt her at all for that matter. Scare her. That's all he wanted to do. He wouldn't kill a child. Not less he absolutely had to. With every heightened step, he got closer. Inches closer. Feet closer.
His breathing had almost completely stopped by this point. There was nobody else there to see. All he had to do was come a little closer. In her pocket. That's where it had to be. Her hands dangled freely at her side. It wasn't around her neck either. It was in her pocket. One of them anyway. That's where the necklace was.
When he finally made it close enough to make his move, he did. He made a lunge at her, catching her off-guard and taking her off her feet. "If you give me the necklace back, I won't hurt you." The child squirmed trying to get free and Copé tried to restrain her, pinning one of her arms down with one hand while the other showed the blade of his knife. His intimidation tactics didn't work well, however, as the girl used her free hand to take the emerald out from her pocket and toss it in his face. Copé stopped holding her and began holding his face protectively.
The girl freed her legs out from underneath Copé, who was on his knees, then drove her feet to his groin.
Copé's worry over his face immediately focused itself on his crotch, falling of the girl to a fetal position as he winced in pain. The child climbed to her feet and picked up the necklace, running away before Copé could do anything to stop her.
2
As Copé returned to his shack, he noticed something peculiar about it. There was nothing in it. Not that there was much in there anyway, and so, perhaps, more fittingly it'd be to say he could at least tell someone had paid him a visit. A feeling started its way into the thief. It wasn't a feeling of fright that overwhelmed him. It wasn't a bad feeling that had him. But it wasn't a good feeling either.
He walked further into the shack. His eyes looked around. The cover of his bed, scattered off into the dirt. Wrinkled and unkempt, and not how he left it. His bed itself turned and pulled off the frame. The small table at the corner of his one room abode was flipped on its side. Somebody was looking for something. That much was obvious, and a lot else was obvious as well.
The only one with a motive was Christique. Christique was here earlier. And Christique was looking for her necklace. How she found him wasn't really important. There was more wit about her than she might have wanted to let on, Secrat knew that much. There was a message here as well, a message meant to scare him. A message wanting for him to know that he was being pursued.
3
Christique wouldn't have to look very hard to find the thief. There was only one way for him. Without the necklace in his clutches, he was back to where he started. Nay, that wasn't completely true though, and in-fact, he was even worse off than when he started. Before, he at least had his flask, and now, he didn't even have that. He needed it back. If he couldn't have the necklace than that much was imperative. Where she kept it. That was a question. No doubt she found it the night after their meeting, but what she did with it is what mattered most. Maybe she sold it. That was possible. Secrat didn't like that much though.
Maybe he'd sell her and see how she liked it, thought Secrat. The Hills would pay an arm and a leg for someone like Christique.
That wasn't a serious possibility.
Although, Secrat was desperate enough. Desperate enough to try and sell her as a sex slave in the wilderness. But it'd likely prove too large of an undertaking. Besides, it probably wouldn't even be worth the trip.
Secrat held one of his knives in his hands. He looked at the blade. Sharp. If the flask wasn't there,
he'd have to do something to make up for his losses.
4
Alsabenya was a small restaurant not unlike very many in The Trading Network. It strived to supply halfway decent food for a marginally reasonable price. There were other shacks just like it, so it's not like it had a niche appeal or anything. It was a matter of which was closest to the customer. Which was more convenient. The hours it was opened told of a big window where Christique would be away from her home. Although, just to be completely sure of that, Secrat kept just far enough away from Alsabenya not to be detected and waited. Once he took sight of Christique's happy and smiling face, he knew he was given the clear to pay her house a visit.
She wasn't smiling though.
Her face looked frightening enough to scare a child. But the little that Secrat Copé had in this world had been taken away from him by Christique. This included a flask, a couple of knives, and the minimalist equipment he used during heists. The equipment wasn't anything especially immaculate or intricate, hence the term 'minimalist,' and only included the bare-essentials that he needed to carry on. Both the knives he had and the equipment he used were easily replaceable. In-fact, Secrat carried more than ten knives on his person at all times, a trick he picked up in The Red Flux.
His fighting was all about stealth, thereby eliminating the necessity of heavier and slower weapons.
He'd have to make a stop at the Thieves' Network before it was all said and done, to retrieve some more particular items, but all he really needed to infiltrate Christique's abode were the means for lockpicking. These items included nothing more than an ordinary needle swiped from one of the merchant tables. A table with woven goods that was stolen with simple misdirection.
The Red Flux and the Wunderkind Thief Page 5
