Secrat felt no need to seek forgiveness to any of the Flux. The relationships could be re-established once he had their respect and was considered of high worth. He simply didn't want to risk it. As loveable a personality as Secrat had, it had makes him more enemies than friends.
Lewis didn't talk to him any in that time, but that didn't bother Copé much. He wanted to give him more time to cool off and to allow everything to slowly fall back into place. It didn't happen very fast, but like Father had said, the time away in the Whispy Deserts humbled the thief. That, and the wounds obtained made him feel too weak and fragile to defend himself. He needed the time to heal.
The two months weren't pleasant. Cleaning the shit out from the horse's den was always one of his least favorite chores, and having to do it a second time around wasn't any better. He gritted through it, however, and to his surprise, it wasn't the worst activity for him. Oh no, that title belonged to helping the older women watch over the children. They filled silence with witless banter Secrat took no interest in.
* * *
By the beginning of the third month, Secrat Copé finally took the time to add a little more to his abode. He dug out several more feet and before long, the thing started to resemble somewhere livable. Not a house, but more like a cold and uncomfortable cave, but it felt familiar. And it was his.
The hole remained small. His hope of joining the Elite's still hung around, and the idea of digging a whole new home felt too much to bear. His need for necessity soon swayed his judgment and the hole was dug for about five feet around and six feet deep. The hole took him days to dig, with only a few hours dedicated each day.
A bed of leaves and a blanket he'd sewn together while watching after the children. Sewing came surprisingly easy to him. Other-wise, beyond something with resemblance to a bed, his hole was mostly empty. No furniture. Nothing like that. The essentials.
Secrat Copé staggered out of his hole. A night's worth of sleep behind him. It was early in the morning, but some folk were up and about.
Secrat recognized a woman named Alisuh first of all, an elderly woman, twenty something years Secrat's senior. She smiled at him. It was a polite smile. One that lasted only about a second or two. Darker skin, black hair and a haggard looking face. The woman most likely came from Acera or somewhere near there. Somewhere hotter. She led herself out and away from him. Her job consisted of babysitting after the children, as well as babysitting the younger folk who were supposed to help her.
Copé rubbed his eyes. The taste of dried blood unpleasantly layered his mouth. He had been awoke by a nameless man he did not recognize. Presence ordered by Father Toucan. The Thief knew it was about a heist. No details were offered, but Secrat felt it. Or, perhaps, he desired it to be.
Boredom plagued Secrat, a ho-hum lifestyle since returning to the Flux, he craved something more to sink his teeth into.
Secrat stepped by the trees, feeling the dirt between his toes. The trees shaded him from the sun. In the Whispy Deserts, the heat beamed down on him and he couldn't take in a breath without scarfing down sand. Here, he took in the breath and let it leave him. He saw familiar faces as he neared the Trophy Room. Walking side-by-side in conversation, some of them, but Secrat had no interest in that. Instead, all he did was keep his eyes forward and put one foot in-front of the other. As he made it down to the Trophy Room, he saw Father Toucan Veras, who sat, stone-faced, at the desk.
Secrat walked on. Some of the Elite members had already been seated in the chairs before the desk. Three of them. All of them older than Secrat.
Copé walked over to the remaining chair but Lukas Lewis came in-front of him fast. So fast Copé could barely keep from a collision. He managed, however. Secrat looked at Lewis. His go-lucky expressions all a thing of yesterday, he looked cold and cruel, but Copé knew his disposition was a ruse. A 'tough guy' act meant to accomplish something Secrat couldn't figure out.
Emotions were strange like that sometimes. Copé had no interest in heightening the flame, however. He relented, backing away from the chair and allowing Lewis to take the seat.
Secrat walked over to the corner of the room, off to the side, and leaned himself against the wall. Toucan's eyes went over to him a moment, though, he said nothing. Still, Secrat could have sworn he saw the flicker of a smirk on the face of Father.
Veras sat in his chair. His elbows at his desk, the palms of his hands touching and his fingers clasped over one another. More thieves poured into the room.
An Elite thief walked over to Lukas Lewis. Long-black hair with whiskers jutting out over the neckline of his dirtied shirt. Overweight, though, not incredibly so, stomach caused by alcohol indulgence above all else.
"Move," the Elite said. The slur in his voice made it difficult to understand.
Lukas Lewis looked up at him, and at that moment, his tough-guy act disappeared. For that moment, he was about to being a scared boy that only wanted to avoid conflict. Lewis leaped out from the chair and up to his feet, moving back and motioning for the man to take a seat. The man obliged, but not before letting out a self-congratulating chuckle on his behalf.
Lukas turned from him, locking eyes with Secrat Copé. Copé offered him a warm and inviting grin, patting the side of the wall and welcoming him to join. Lewis did not. Opting to stand on the other-side of the Trophy Room instead.
Secrat recognized the Elite thief. By his voice more than his physique or facial features. His voice sounded raspy and like it was filled with tar. The fellow thief's name was Brutus Ess and he had once been a primary member of The Red Flux. In-fact, only years back, Brutus was the right-hand man for Toucan. An heir to the throne until his thirst for alcohol washed down his ambitions. Now, he was out-of-shape and no longer had anything worth a damn to say for himself. But, besides belching random slurs and making an ass of himself, Brutus was a terrific and well-respected thief.
Toucan didn't keep them waiting much longer. Copé could see him spreading out one of those scrolls he had on his desk, but was in no position to see its contents. Father spoke plainly: "Italina is the wealthiest of the five major cities."
"And the weakest," Brutus mumbled beneath his breath. Secrat heard it, and evidently, so did Toucan, who stopped momentarily.
"Italina is also the most difficult for a thief. Entering Italina, the gates are open, but at night, they close. The guards remember faces as well. Trained to have suspicions. That's why The Flux opts against it." Father Toucan leaned himself back in his chair, taking his hands off from the table. When he sat up straight, it only emphasizes his height. "We've set ourselves a formidable foundation with frameworks, not based on wealth, but on survival. We don't take what's not needed. That's something I believe in, and I believe the Elite believe as well, and it's something important to be bestowed on young thieves." Toucan looked over to Lukas Lewis with the last line, though, not Secrat.
"Italina itself has some of the biggest gluttons of all Maharris. Materialism subtracts senses and strengthens brutality for superficial gains. And yes, far be it from us to play the righteous hand, I think they deserve to be reminded of something." A small smile formed on Toucan's face. Secrat had forgotten how good he was speeches. "With fear comes humility, and with humility comes betterment. Our job isn't to better outsiders but if our survival leads to enlightenment, so be it. It's time we rob Italina's finest, and rob them blind."
Secrat smiled at that last line. He found Father Toucan Veras to be about as self-righteous and arrogant as they came, but he was smart. The way he did things was a more practical reason for admiration. With such confidence and believability. The man spoke a sermon about the unimportance of wealth and ended it by reminded them all of their thirst for exactly that.
They fell for it.
Brutus Ess said some of his raspy and incomprehensible strings of dialogue, and other thieves came out of their lulled demeanors as well. Secrat kept in check, not the type to lose composure less alcohol was involved.
Toucan waited. Like h
e expected somebody to ask him the 'what' and 'how' of it all and nobody did. That didn't stop him from answering, however.
"The Aer Festival offers more than swine sipping sparkling water from a decorative glass. It offers opportunity." Viciousness plagued Toucan's voice in a way that would stifle the average man. It almost intimidated Secrat.
The Aer Festival was a semi-annual festival held in Italina. The festival includes parades and the whole town swarmed with quietly abrasive music. Violins and harps strummed in the most pretentious way possible. The restaurants all serving up their finest. Everyone had something to do, nobody was home, and it was all very messy and crowded.
"How does it offer us opportunity?" one of the thieves calmly inquired. Secrat recognized him as well. Samuel Syi was one of the neater and more articulate in the Flux. Secrat couldn't remember a time when Samuel lost his temper or showed fear or emotion other than being at ease. One of the few levelheaded ones, and where Brutus once was, Samuel found himself now as Father's right-hand.
"The reason we don't rob Italina isn't lack of interest, but lack of means. If three or more thieves entered beyond the gate into Italina, it'd raise suspicions... an understatement, they'd have every one of the thieves locked up before nightfall," Toucan said.
"You're suggesting the Aer Festival will be opportune?" Samuel asked.
"We'd be indistinguishable," Secrat Copé added.
Father Toucan Veras' eyes went off from Samuel Syi and over to Secrat. "Precisely," he commended. "A group of thieves, all of them scattered out. If you hide into the crowd, it'll be easy to blend in. Pickpocketing. Raiding. All of it, anything you can think of. Have your pockets filled."
"Have the wagon brought out on the outskirts of Italina, somewhere away from the guards and suspicion, but close enough it can be reached fast. Come back to it on and off through the night until it's full. Make a killing," Secrat suggested.
Toucan smirked. "We can do that."
"The guards only welcome guests during the day but at night, they are sealed up tight." Lukas Lewis pointed out.
Secrat couldn't help but think had it been anyone else, he would've kept his own mouth shut. "Yes, but this isn't any ordinary day," Secrat replied matter-of-factly.
"He's right," Samuel reciprocated. "There's an exception to that for the Aer Festival. It still closes, but does so, hours into the night."
Lukas Lewis' head went down in defeat, saying nothing in response. Secrat couldn't help but smirk, however, Toucan soon took the conversation back for himself.
"I have sat on this heist for very long, amongst others, and only now do I believe The Red Flux has assembled a wardrobe of thieves capable enough. In defeat, loyalty should be at the reins, as should it in jeopardy." Toucan stopped for a moment. He rolled the scroll up in his hands. For theatrics, Secrat presumed. "Gather supplies, but travel light. Each of you will be leaving before sundown. You should make it to the gates of Italina with time to spare, but you aren't to enter into Italina until the festival begins. I don't need to stress you the importance of not being caught, and I shouldn't need to stress that murder in any form and for any reason won't be tolerated." Toucan shot a look over to Secrat at that moment.
Copé heard a small noise from Lewis. Not a chuckle. A sigh of remembrance.
Chapter Ten
Traveling light wasn't an issue for Secrat Copé. All he had to his name was his flask and a few knives. Not even the special-knives Father Toucan Veras had made him. Instead, they were sharpened stones with vine around the bottom to make a hilt. Everybody else was also able to make due with little. Everything they had could be carried on their person. Some food was loaded up in the wagon, but it'd only last a day or two for normal stomachs. The bare essentials, and if they needed more, it'd be hunted for or bought at the festival.
The trip wouldn't a long one. The Red Flux was in the middle of Acera and Italina, who often considered themselves as neighbors. They weren't that nearby, but it'd only take a day or two to arrive at Italina with horses.
Riding in the wagon as the horses pulled each of them, Secrat couldn't help but feel an unaddressed awkwardness. This was the same wagon carrying him before he killed Elson Mans.
His back was propped up against one of the walls, and opposite him was Brutus Ess; grouchily sighing after each rickety bump the wagon endured. Samuel Syi was at the front, in the carriage, watching over and navigating the horses with the reins. Lukas Lewis was sitting to Secrat's right, some ways away, beside another of the Elite thieves. To the left of Brutus, side closest to the horses, was another of the young trainees.
Secrat sat without saying a word, nobody said a word for a while. It was early and without much breakfast in their bellies, nobody felt especially talkative. All they could do was listen in on the ruckus of the wagon wheels atop the dirt, tumbling over tree roots and rocks and whatever else. That, and enjoy the sights of the scenery around them as it changed ever-so fast.
But nobody said anything. At least not until they came to a stop.
Secrat dug his fingers down into the wood, the memories of it weren't lost on him. Memories he knew weren't lost on Lukas Lewis either. As the wagon began to slow, each of the thieves went up to their feet. They had spent the last few hours in silence but Secrat could tell it was starting to lighten up a little bit.
Samuel Syi stepped out from the carriage and walked over to the wagon. It was customary for the head-Elite to be held to a high standard. However, as Samuel stepped onto the wagon, he discovered Brutus Ess' teeth gnawing on some bread. The bread had been kept in small crates dressed with a tarp over each.
Syi smiled. "I don't suppose you could've waited," he said.
Brutus stopped his eating, holding a chunk of bread in his mouth. It broke in half and part of it fell to the floor. "I waited several, ... several seconds," Ess fired back.
"The Red Flux has an image to uphold." Samuel replied.
"Who fed you those lies? Our image is the scummiest of scum."
"True, but that doesn't mean we have to be rude scum," Syi replied, letting out a soft chuckle as Brutus handed him a loaf of bread.
They each became seated again once the bread was handed out. The taste wasn't the best, but it'd be filling enough. Secrat watched Ess delve his teeth into his loaf of bread. Soon, Ess would adjust to his normal self with food in his belly. Although, his regular demeanor was a little less ill-tempered.
Lukas Lewis leaped out from the wagon, without saying anything to anyone. Secrat watched him step out and walk further out into the forest. His eyes traveled back over inside the wagon. Brutus Ess stared over at him.
This might have been the first time Secrat could recall Brutus acknowledging his existence since being withdrawn from The Flux. "That boy really hates you, you know?" Brutus remarked. The way he said it felt more like a blunt statement than a judgment.
"I made a terrible mistake and all I am looking to do is repent," Secrat Copé replied. He had rehearsed his lines many times. Killing Elson Man felt no different than killing Azlak Temps, or more accurately, the man he thought to be Temps. Such an act was always the same. Still, he felt guilt at his mistake. But opted not to dwell.
"Lukas Lewis isn't really made to be a Thief. Thick-skin. That's what you've got to have and Lewis' skin could be sliced by the blade of a leaf." Brutus Ess said matter-of-factly, chomping down on a second loaf of bread.
Secrat smirked, but regained himself. He had not expected that. Even from Brutus.
"People die," Brutus remarked, stopping a moment to let the declarative statement sink in. "Fact is, Lukas didn't even know Elson, not like I did. If I can get over what you did, he should be better by now. It's not that he's bothered by Elson's death, but that he's bothered by death itself. He best get comfortable with it."
"You weren't exactly the best of friends with Elson, however," Samuel Syi countered, sitting down in the middle of the wagon with his back leaned against the crates. "The act made Veras angrier than I had ever seen hi
m. Secrat took one of our own. And yet, it's Lukas Lewis that feels excluded and distant from the Flux."
"Toucan's been angrier than that, I'll tell you that much for absolute certain. If he were really angry than this fella wouldn't be standing here with us," Brutus said, motioning to Secrat.
"Perhaps," Samuel added. It seemed as though he wanted to say something else or offer a rebuttal but his passiveness restrained him.
"A loss of innocence and a loss of a friend, I can only hope time will heal his wounds. Time will bring forgiveness faster than anything I could ever do," Secrat said with a somber inflection.
Samuel Syi nodded at Secrat Copé. His dark-skinned face never looked angry or annoyed or frustrated, but did look sad.
Samuel climbed out of the carriage and started way toward where Lewis was headed, leaving Copé and Ess with the other thieves.
The Elite's name was Marc Sero and he was a keep-to-himself fellow that didn't talk very much or step out of line. A lot like Lewis in that sense, except Lewis could be friendly or likable. Lukas could be sociable at times too, but Sero only spoke a word when he had to.
Marc Sero was a capable fighter, however, and was known for often boasting during combat. That was where he felt most comfortable.
The other thief was somebody Secrat had seen around before but never figured out the name of. A round-faced boy with a small, but protruding stomach. Brutus Ess' gut was from alcohol, but this boy looked like he simply let gluttony get the better of him. A boy. That was the best way to describe him. Brown hair was was even at the front. A small stubble of facial hair at the bottom of his chin.
Secrat Copé climbed out of the wagon and dropped off to the ground. The green grass under his feet. The sky was without denigration from the clouds, yet the smell of damp-grass washed ashore Secrat's nostrils. Morning dew had a magical existent more curious than all the Aeonians combined.
The Red Flux and the Wunderkind Thief Page 12
