"I hate when that happens," Secrat Copé said, biting his bottom lip and not knowing quite what to do with his hands. His thumbs were interesting though, and well-worth twiddling.
Lukas Lewis seemed mostly unamused by Marc Sero's rescue, his eyes shifted toward the massacred head of The Knight.
On the bright-side, they wouldn't have to worry about a lack of sauce for the noodles anymore. Blood aplenty! Copé laughed some at the thought, but knew Lukas would share his sense of humor.
But while Lukas looked beaten and depleted, he still wasn't as broken up as Taison, who continued to sob and yell, holding his misshapen arm.
"How did you make it past the guards?" Samuel asked.
"Guards?" Marc Sero responded, "What guards?" He stopped for a moment, looking at how bad his arrow tore into The Knight. "Oh, they're at King Harries' speech.”
"All of them?"
"Well, all of them ... now," Sero said, nudging at The Knight with his boot. "Since I couldn't find the suit, I decided to do something else to make it easier on myself. A letter proclaiming I'd kill the King of Italina during his commemorative speech tonight. Paid a peasant off to deliver the letter with some ill-gotten coin, and it all worked out pretty well."
"Pretty well!?" Taison yelled out, his face drooling with snot, tears and spit, "Is this what you call pretty well!?" The bone of his arm bulged out against his skin.
Marc Sero looked down at him, less than sympathetic. "Let's find a way to get you guys out of those cells."
"I think I have that covered," Copé said, a small victory, if nothing else, "I took it from the Knight."
Sero nodded his head approvingly. Walking over to the writing desk, Sero began inspected various pieces of parchment. The Thief held the key in his hands, going over to the door of the cell. It took some maneuvering to fit his hands in-between the bars with the shackles, but he was eventually able to reach the keyhole. He smiled as he did it, for some reason, he found himself wanting the admiration of Marc Sero. Still, part of Secrat hated Sero for stealing his thunder.
The key didn't fit and Sero realized it the same moment as Secrat.
Sero shook his head disapprovingly. Then, leaned over behind the desk for a second. The second after, a ring of keys came flying from his hand into Secrat's cell.
"It's as if to say that, just because you're in a prison cell, the world doesn't bend at your will, making every key the one that leads to freedom," Sero said. "One of those keys should do the trick though."
It was difficult to distinguish for certain whether Marc Sero was annoyed or being playful. His voice stayed dry and without any hint toward his mindset.
The Thief shook it off, however, choosing not to dwell. He reached for the key and a sharp jolt of pain surged through his broken hand. After wincing, he grabbed them with the opposite hand and freed himself from his shackles. The cuffs left impressions on his wrists. He opened the cell-door using another one of the keys, tossing them off to Samuel once doing so.
It felt nice to be free, although, he knew entirely too well freedom would only come beyond the walls of Italina.
Secrat walked toward Marc Sero and the writing desk. Sheets of parchment alluded to different things, Wanted Posters, drawings of Brutus and Secrat. They hadn't had a reason to make composites of anyone else. Secrat shredded both sheets in-half. They weren't the best likenesses anyways.
Samuel Syi's cell opened. Syi, hurriedly, and shackle free, ran over to The Knight. Copé watched him. Syi inspected the ring on his hand for a moment, then twisted it off. A burn-mark was left on The Knight's hand, not unlike the one on Samuel's.
"A special ring," Secrat remarked, his eyes looking over as Lukas Lewis left his cell.
Samuel looked up at him. And smiled. "A very special ring."
"It come with a story?"
"It does." Syi said. Turning as Lukas joined his side.
"You'll have to tell me it sometime," Copé said, watching Brutus fumble with the keys, now in his cell.
"I am afraid that one's going to my grave."
Secrat opted not to question further. The ring's power is what he pondered on, but Samuel was allowed his secrets.
Brutus opened his cell-door, the swelling on his face had gone down considerably, but his movements remained peculiar.
"I don't know about all of you, but I've done 'bout had enough of Italina for one lifetime." His voice was less high-pitched and raspy. Brutus, like the rest of them, was exhausted by the day's occurrences.
"The guards won't be gone for too much longer, and for all I know, there could still be one or two of them roaming about the castle." Sero said, lifting his bow off from the table and advising them to leave.
"Do you have a means of transportation? We'll need to get far from the castle fast." Lukas asked, first words he had said in a while. Copé's wishes of him going mute in vein.
"Yes, yes, I stole one of their big ugly carriages," Marc answered.
"Where is it?" Lukas asked next.
"Oh, well, it's in my back pocket, I didn't want to look obvious. "Answered Sero, then added: "It's outside, where else would it be, you idiot!?"
"The Knights won't let us through the gates, so this carriage will be of no use to us after a point." Secrat interjected.
"I'll smuggle you all, cover you with sheets and blankets."
"They'll recognize their own carriage," Secrat interjected.
"Then we'll string them up by their necks!" Marc exclaimed. "You'll have to forgive me for not thinking of everything." Once more, Copé found himself unsure on if Marc was annoyed or being playful.
"Can somebody help me?" the loud whimpering voice of Taison called out from behind them. Secrat had almost forgot he existed. What a pleasant time that was.
“I dunno, are you going to try and be a hero again?” Copé asked, throwing a smile at Brutus, who seemed equally amused by Taison's suffering.
“You didn't exactly do a lot of good with your heroics either,” Lukas said back, in Taison's defense.
“How was I supposed to know he was fireproof?” Copé asked, as he started walking toward Taison's cell.
His chubby-faced acquaintance sat uncomfortably suffering in his cell, Copé extended his hand between the bars. Frightened, Taison reached Copé's hand. “Not quite,” quipped The Thief, bowing his head at where Lukas Lewis threw the keys in Taison's cell. Taison reciprocated the nod, now knowingly, and with his good hand, gave Secrat the key-ring.
Copé resisted the urge to walk away and leave him as a joke. Must have been tired like Brutus. Instead, he unlocked the cell-door and walked inside the cell in-front of Taison. The round thief held his good hand up for Secrat, who obliged and exerted himself to assist Taison.
He had a half idea to lift him up by his neck, twist him and ring out the idiot from him like water from a rag, and that half-desire was all but enough to hatch an idea.
Secrat freed his hand from Taison, causing him to fall backward to the floor and let out a shriek of dismay. Lukas glared at him, but Copé didn't care much. “String 'em by their necks,” he kept hearing Marc Sero say over and over again. He didn't know why. Didn't know why the words meant something. Until, at last, he looked up to the end of the room, at The Gallows. Nooses hanging from the ceiling over a platform. Copé twirled the Useless Key around in his hands.
“Ascend the walls,” Secrat announced. Drawing eyes from about everyone except for Lukas, who tended to Taison.
“That's thirty feet, slugger,” Brutus fired back. “If I wouldn't been shot with an arrow, I still wouldn't be able to climb that damn thing.”
“We'll pull you up by a rope,” Copé said, pointing at the nooses.
“Start one little bar-fight and suddenly you're ready to kill me off?” Brutus feigned being offended.
Copé ignored him; he looked over to Samuel Syi and Marc Sero instead. Marc shrugged his shoulders, “Sounds about as good as anything I can think of.”
Secrat Copé and a reluctant Lukas Lewis d
ispatched some of the nooses, each carrying two of them, about ten feet apiece, over the back of their necks. They, and the rest, ascended up the stairs, wasting little time, with knowledge that very soon King Harries' speech would conclude and he, along with all the knights would arrive back at the Castle. The next floor up was filled with chairs and a stand front-and-center, a presentation of Italina's trial system.
Soon after, they arrived at the ground-floor, back to the entrance where Secrat had once been. The Thief realized, had he taken the left-hand side instead of the right, he'd have eventually found the prison-cells.
As they made it to the steps, Secrat stopped dead in his tracks. “We'll be leaving Italina empty-handed,” Copé realized. “All of this, will have been for nothing.”
In the midst of their hurried movement, they all stopped as well. Samuel was the first to look at Secrat. “If it's about our survival or a heist, always choose survival, Copé.”
“But what if we could have both?” He countered. “I killed a Knight, only hours ago. Marc Sero killed a Knight. I have a broken-hand. Taison, a broken-arm. Brutus, well, look at him. All of this will have been for nothing at all. All of this pain, and I say, what if we could have both?”
“Because we don't have time for it,” Samuel said, firmly.
“He's right,” Lukas Lewis interrupted. “Secrat, that is.”
Samuel seemed a little surprised by it, doing a double-take on Lewis. Copé, meanwhile, wasn't taken by it. But was counting on it. Lukas Lewis 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, I'm all ears for it.” Lukas added.
Samuel turned around for a moment, as if expecting to see an army of men traveling up the steps after them. When he didn't, however, he let out a breath and looked back to Secrat, “Proceed.”
Reaching down in his legging's pocket, Secrat brought out the key he'd stolen from the Knight. “I couldn't think of what this key went to earlier, thought it went to the cells. But, before I was identified, I was let into a room, and in it, I saw everything we'd stolen at the Aer Festival and more. I think this key gives us passage into that room, and I think if we're smart about it, we could leave with more than enough to show for our efforts.”
A reluctant nod from Samuel Syi let Secrat Copé lead the way down the stairs to the Castle's Trophy Room. The key worked as anticipated, and inside, they poured, eyeballing all of the items with hurried minds.
The obvious items were chosen first. The Statue of Livius Reid was carried down by Secrat Copé, Samuel Syi and Lukas Lewis, taking their time down the plethora of stairs.
Meanwhile, Brutus Ess carried what he could, the ache in his leg made it difficult. That ended up being a couple of diamond-encrusted sais and a pair of katars of similar esteem.
Marc Sero carried handfuls of gold-bars, making it down and back up for a second-load before they were even halfway down with the Statue.
“After the Statue's loaded, that's all we'll be able to take,” Samuel snarled, grinding his teeth as they continued their way down the never-ending steps.
“Everything look good, Taison?” Lukas asked, him and Secrat, walking backward down the steps.
“Nobody I can see,” Taison said back. Walking behind them, cradling his broken appendage, like it was his contribution to the wagon. A very invaluable contribution, Secrat thought.
Marc Sero came back down the stairs with more gold-bars, running down fast. Once they made it down the stairs, they laid the Statue down in the wagon, amongst all the other items. It wasn't a bad get, all things considered, but the grand finale would be making it out of Italina with all of it, and themselves intact.
Samuel sat upfront at the reins. The carriage seated all the thieves, and more-so, with four horses up at the front. “Had to steal them from their stables, kept their carriages there too.” 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 sitting in the very same assigned spots they'd come to Italina in. As if all their thoughts unanimously paralleled, laughter came from all in unison.
Samuel Syi toted the reins, plucking and yanking, and soon, they were mobile about the city roads. The night was at its absolute blackest, over midnight or well-nearing, yet many fellow carriages were in the streets. The horses galloped by three smaller chariots that Copé could count in seconds. 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 that ocean.
The feeling was an unreal one, as all laughter faded away and silence was allowed to take. Copé sprawled himself out, laying flat in the wagon and looking up at the stars. He could count them. The stars. And while an inopportune and inconvenient time, he found himself struck with an existential crisis. Some were no more distinguishable than those stars. Some thieves. Some knights. But, the moon. The moon was special and unique. Of all the stars, the Christique's, the Lukas Lewis', the Toucan's, or the Black Man and His Wolves. That's all they were. Stars. They were insignificant. Indistinguishable. Unimportant. A waste. What about him?
An incomprehensible shriek followed suit. It belonged to Taison. Whose unofficially designated job as watchman at last paid off, his hands flailing like a crazed orangutan, his finger's poking and pointing like a pirate at the first sight of land. But, it wasn't land he pointed at, but a carriage of Italina cavalryman. The three of them riding horseback, their armors looking more on the decorative side and their horses bard with chain-mail, it'd appear they were only just arriving back from the King's speech. But did they chase after the carriage because they recognized the carriage, or because they had since found out of the prison-break. Secrat presumed the former, accounting for the short-numbers on their tail.
Copé 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 he was well aware of the situation.
Copé heard the sound of 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 swinging sword of one of the knights. A second later and his head would've gone its separate ways with his body. “Or, maybe, they could be.”
The Thief crawled a ways from that area of the wagon, reaching for the katars. They were like nothing he'd used prior, holding them in his hands, he wasn't even for certain he was doing that correct. However, he brought himself up to his feet and stared off at the three knights. Still only three of them, it meant the others mustn't be aware of their escape. Copé walked forward, wondering what he'd possibly do.
He blocked a slash from the guard and made a stifled attempt at snatching the knight's sword 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 his adversary's neck. Copé stumbled, his stomach leaned over the wagon to the outside, his nose pointed at the ground.
The sound of an arrow being shot behind him, soon followed by the clink of it hitting its mark. Copé looked and saw a horse falling over itself, taking the knight down with him. The only downside was it wasn't the knight grabbing The Thief's clothing, trying to pull him out from the wagon. He succeeded too, in part, flipping Secrat over the front of the wagon. Secrat landed with his feet on the knight's running horse and the front of the katars resting on the edge of the wagon. He felt the hand of someone inside the wagon grab his, too little too late, it'd seem.
The moonlight illuminated just enough for Secrat to see the face of the knight beneath his helm, his eyes loo
ked maddened and ready to kill. He brought the sword up with both hands, intending to press it down into the stomach of Secrat.
Copé drove a boot at the knight's leg which did little to stop his attack, but it allowed Secrat to readjust himself, kicking off from the knight's horse, tossing the katars back, and leaving himself simply hanging from the side of the wagon. This brought back memories.
He brought himself back up into the wagon, rolling in and landing ungracefully on his back. Resting for a second. Secrat looked over at the weapons he had to work with. Someone had taken the sais for their own usage, and he had since decided never to touch the katars 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 through the other end of the noose at Brutus, and smirked, “Hold onto that like your life depends on.”
Brutus obliged, “I'll 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 taken by Marc Sero and Lukas Lewis' efforts. Sero with a 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's 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, and by some chance found himself landing in a seated position in-front of the knight. A comical aesthetic for those watching, no doubt, but Copé felt nothing short of terror. The knight was taken aghast as well. Almost enough that his reflex would send him tumbling off his own horse. Almost
Copé hadn't the chance to attack, however. His surprise advantage was spent entirely situating himself on the horse. Once that was finished, he received a headbutt from the knight. “Fucking crazy,” the knight said. And, indeed, Secrat was, a 'fucking crazy,' that is. The Thief fell back to the side of the horse, dependent entirely on the noose he hung onto. The knight brought his sword out from his sheath. Secrat used his momentary obliviousness to climb beneath the horse, using the noose, as an assist to keep himself beneath the horse. Copé felt his hair descend down to the dirt. His back less than a foot away from touching the ground. The horse's gallop never waned, and in a moment of shear lunacy, Copé plucked the foot of the knight startling him again.
The Red Flux and the Wunderkind Thief Page 22
