A Shadow Around the Sun

by Hugo Damas

  Again, Zaniyah looked around and again she neither saw nor heard anything that would worry her. But the trap was there, right in front of her, by the door of the building she had just finished working on.

  Maybe the ground was not the best of ideas, Zaniyah reconsidered, stepping towards the nearest house with a low roof.

  When she was heading there, a large noise surged up from around the street. It was loud and alarming, and continuous, much like a siren. Curiosity flared in her, but she pushed it aside and moved away from the noise, heading towards where she had felt the presence of valuables.

  Members of the city’s militia would be coming, drawn by the noise, and residents would awake, so Zaniyah decided to stay ground-level so that she could use the buildings as cover. She would simply have to be careful about traps.

  Stepping fast, the Hunter trailed across the first wall, looked up and down the street and then crossed it. She did as much a couple more times until she found a house she figured was worth the stop. Deftly, she opened a window and went inside, and then crawled past the floor-bed the couple was using -- futons they were called -- and into the living room. She was especially cautious since the siren could still be heard, which meant she couldn’t be sure whether or not the couple was really asleep, or if they would stay that way.

  Zaniyah made out with little more than a gold watch and a few earrings, but at least she found their wallets pretty quickly. The faraway siren had gone silent by the time she left the house, and the couple had not moved. Still the silence revealed the situation had found some sort of resolution.

  Turning a corner, the Hunter was forced to stop as another source of audio pollution popped up.

  It was different from the previous one since it did not simply switch on. It gradually grew into notice. And then it became louder and came closer until it was evident that it was heading her way.

  Zaniyah hid behind the wall of a house and was thinking about her options when she realized the noise was not synthetic, but rather laughter.

  Maniacal, exaggerated cackling was speeding in her direction.

  What? Zaniyah wondered. Not only was she a bit dumbfounded, but the man was faster than she had anticipated. He crossed by her in a red and black blur, lifting up dust in his wake. His head had a hat, dangling along with his movement. It reminded Zaniya of a court jester.

  “What?” Zaniyah actually voiced.

  He had long gone from her sight when more steps came to her attention. Zaniyah opened her eyes wide as three guards stopped in the middle of the street. One of them, the more armored guard using a helmet, bent over his knees. The others, more impeccably uniformed and wearing no helmets, looked up at the sky. All of them blew whining breaths.

  “Huff…huff…damn that thief…he’s too fast,” complained one of them.

  She was already in their peripheral vision, albeit a bit hidden by the shadows of the building. The dangling gaslight balloon was on the other end of her street and could show her at any moment if it just moved a few inches. Her fate was hanging on the whims of the wind.

  “That scoundrel will yet spend the night behind bars!” Declared another of them.

  The Hunter breathed in, silently, and steeled her nerves. She couldn’t move a single inch lest they notice her.

  “We are getting reports of felonies being committed all over the city,” another commented, “this is unheard of. There are too many of these criminals about.”

  “Well, let’s not dally, we might still catch--”

  The Hunter felt the light shine upon her face for but a second, but that was enough for the impeccably uniformed man.

  “You there!”

  “Damn,” said the Hunter, turning around to run.

  “Stop! Thief!”

  Ordinarily, she could have engaged them and feigned ignorance, but knowing she looked like a foreigner, and with so many of her competitors failing to be stealthy, she would certainly be jailed and questioned. The Hunter could not afford tha, it would waste too much of her time. Additionally, the guards were already tired so the odds were good that she could escape them.

  The Hunter turned a corner with them all on her tail.

  “Hut hut hut.”

  “Stop, already! I’m tired!”

  The Hunter kept looking for a quick enough way to climb up a roof, but luck really had abandoned her, as she only came across buildings too tall to climb. Then she turned a corner and came upon a fellow competitor. He was a black man wearing a dark blue vest, and harem pants with a turban atop his head, and he looked at her with almost comical surprise. Landing, he was quick to start off at a run, a few feet ahead of her.

  Suddenly, they were escaping together. However, they really weren’t.

  A minute later, when they were approaching a cross-section leading left and right, the man glanced back and yelled, “go right!” Again, he was forced to show comical surprise because Zaniyah had her blowgun well placed in her mouth, and aimed at him.

  “Ftuh!”

  To his credit, he hopped and impressively flipped his body around, even if it was a pure gamble since he couldn’t see the dart. By the time his feet landed, the poison was already working on numbing his muscles. The effect lasted only a few seconds but that would be more than enough.

  Zaniyah turned and ran while her opponent seemed to trip over himself, tumbling against a wall.

  “Uff, I’ll uh…take care of this guy,” announced the heavily armored guard.

  “You do that!”

  “We shall pursue on!”

  Zaniyah sighed, her breathing gaining a hint of strain.

  “You will not escape!” One repeated.

  “Surrender yourself to the judgment of the law!” Said the other.

  That was definitely not the plan.

  Zaniyah thought of yelling back, but she did not find any words worth yelling. Sweat began streaming past her forehead and so she started considering she might really not escape her pursuers.

  A balloon of gaslight flashed across her face, and that gave her an idea. She loaded a clean dart into her blowgun and aimed at it. Blowing hard, she hit it. Unfortunately, nothing that grand happened, the balloon simply burst and withered in a small puff of flame.

  “What was that for?” Asked one.

  “Who knows how a criminal mind functions!” Said the other.

  Zaniyah had assumed it would at least flare up and flash brightly, if not explode. Neither had happened, and by the time she looked back to her path, she realized she was running in an alley. The Hunter was a few steps away from its end.

  The building on the left was not as tall as all that, she could perhaps climb it rapidly enough to avoid being caught.

  “Do not even consider it, girl!” The sound of swords leaving their scabbards filled the dark, and she turned to face them.

  They stepped closer, and she stepped back, gauging distances, thinking about speed and timing and whether or not she could get high enough fast enough not to get cut.

  “Why are you nearly naked?” asked one.

  “Woman looks like she walked out of the swamps,” said the other.

  “I did nothing,” Zaniyah said, since there was no harm in trying.

  “You ran,” commented one. Practiced or not, the other again followed through with continuing their thoughts.

  “That is one thing too many, tonight at least. You will follows us back to--” He was interrupted by a flash of smoke.

  Zaniya closed her eyes in time, having seen the odd object falling in-between them in time for her reflexes to react.

  The guards did no such thing.

  “Augh!”

  Zaniya quickly turned and stepped fast, following up the back wall. She then hopped against the wall, walked across it and jumped off with a dive for the left roof. The Hunter grabbed onto the ledge and kicked against the wall when her body’s momentum pushed her legs against it, so as to facilitate pulling herself up.

  “Blast it!” Yelled one.

&n
bsp; “My vision!” Said the other.

  Zaniyah quickly grabbed and vaulted over the tallest part of the triangular roof so she would be in cover from her opponent, who had thrown the blinding bomb. Once there, she was quick to turn and peek over the roof’s top, to try and find whoever had tried to get her caught. All the while, the guards recovered.

  “She has vanished,” announced one, very loudly and upset.

  “More than likely took to the roofs! One of these residents is bound to have some stairs,” said the other.

  Zaniyah heard them stepping towards the tallest building, but her eyes were squinting, focused on finding her true adversary. And find them she did.

  As hard as it was to spot, she caught sight of a humanoid silhouette half protruding from a shadow on the wall. She focused and concentrated, and amplified, making out the womanly features of her competitor, and that she was indeed half-inside the wall.

  The Shadow, Zaniyah realized.

  They had warned her about the Shadow, as well as the Sorcerer, which were the two greatest titles as far as thieves were concerned, and most likely to be her greatest challenges.

  The Hunter pulled out her blowgun, but by the time she put it in her mouth, the silhouette was gone.

  Sweating, still tired and nervous, Zaniyah heard the guards carrying a ladder out of the big building. It was not a good time for a confrontation. She turned and leaped to the next roof.

  Is the Shadow responsible for the trap I found earlier? Zaniyah was still focusing on gaining some distance from the patrolling officers of the law, but thinking was a free action. And that bomb, that bomb was meant to render me incapable of escaping. If so, she underestimated me.

  Zaniyah dove over the height of a triangular roof onto a side not illuminated and there, she lied down, finally able to catch her breath.

  Zaniyah again looked around, and in doing so, felt frustrated. I am allowing my senses to be perturbed. I am allowing myself to be prey.

  Peering out in the opposite direction, Zaniyah forced confidence to surge within her. She thought back to her life and the predators and tombs she had faced, using that to more accurately gauge the threat those thieves posed.

  They couldn’t even hurt her, what was she so nervous about? I will perform the task and prove myself the better thief, Zaniyah thought to herself. And if she or anyone else wishes a confrontation, then they will find out I am the better thief.

  Zaniyah put the blowgun away and stood up, her face relaxed and her heart determined.

  They will know why I am called The Hunter.

  For the Worse of Everyone

  All of it, all of this great competition between the greatest thieves in the world was about one thing: prophecy. It said that the best of the thieves would be instrumental, if not absolutely necessary, to stop some great evil threat to the continent.

  As preposterous as the idea was, Falk had found himself wishing for it to be legitimate since that would mean only one of two possible outcomes.

  One, he was the great world evil, which would not be without its irony, but he would be able to live with it if it meant burning civilization to a cinder.

  Two, he was this ‘veritable best’ thief and instrumentally necessary to stop the great evil. This would provide the greatest satisfaction since he could stand by and do nothing as everyone was dealt its ultimate destruction.

  That world, which had had the gall to criminalize him, and even call him Mad, after everything he had sacrificed for it? That world deserved nothing else, nothing less, so it would be an absolute delight to be a part of such destruction

  Of course, that was all inconsequential since Falk Goldshmidt did not put stock in prophecies. His goal was to obtain the protection of the Shadow Conclave. Upon coming out of the competition the victor, he would undoubtedly be able to carry out his grandest of plans, consequentially provoking damage of unprecedented proportions to most communities. The Shadow Conclave’s protection would see to its success.

  Falk dropped a hugger noise mine in front of a door, after having used his portable locking mechanism to lock the door. It deployed on its own, ready to attach to the next person that stepped on it. Both devices were of his own design and manufacture so they both, of course, functioned perfectly.

  “On to the next infrastructure,” Falk whispered in delight.

  His eyes, hiding behind the cover of his eye-goggles, or more accurately, eye-monocles since they had different features and appearance, looked up at one of the gaslight balloons. He held on to his dark top-hat, the only remaining thing from his days as a prestigious and prodigious member of the scientific elite, watching the luminous existence. It would take but a flicker of a finger to extinguish it.

  “If only the world were like that.” It was the motivation that had driven him during the previous competition, and it was still the driving force behind his present participation.

  His previous endeavor to win the Conclave had gone terribly awry, mostly due to a lack of foresight on his part. Falk had not anticipated the prohibition to harm his competitors. Having packed naught but devices meant to incapacitate or kill, he found himself stripped of his would be advantages. So, regrettably, he lost.

  Falk walked to the next door and opened his right palm, which was as mechanic as his entire right arm and left leg. These appendages, built by himself, were gold-plated and imbued with the very best that his scientific knowledge of present-day technology had to offer. As with every other of his scientific achievements, it was unreproducible. While some geniuses around the planet would be able to build the members, connecting gears to pistons and those to a power source, none would conjure up the method of fusing them with a body’s nerves while not killing the host with shock.

  A hole opened in his mechanical palm as he pressed it against the lock.

  Despite the fact he had lost the previous Shadow Conclave, Falk was certain he would be called to participate yet again. He had solidified that certainty by stealing the entire contents of the art museum of Parishn. After which he burned it all, of course. Not the city, unfortunately, that was the kind of thing he needed the Shadow Conclave for.

  The inside of the lock clicked open.

  Falk smiled in amusement, pushing open the door with ease. He walked inside, his metallic foot sounding hard against the wood. His gentleman’s suit, complete with bow-tie and jacket, would be dark and handsome if it wasn’t for its overuse and lack of maintenance. It scraped against the clock he had strapped to his chest by cables that connected it to his right arm, around his chest and back and over his left shoulder. Unbeknownst to all, that clock powered everything, and it would one day be the ruination of mankind.

  Falk found the resident, a man, in the bed. He looked groggy, not really sure what was going on.

  “Good evening, sir, do show me the kindness of not raising your voice.” He aimed his right arm at him, and a small gun barrel peaked out of the top of his wrist.

  Nonparticipants were, after all, fair game.

  The man suddenly shivered and pushed himself out of his “bed” -- a too grandiose term, Falk felt, to use on what was little else than a thick sheet on the ground. He crawled away from Falk, terrified.

  “Shhhh…”

  The man’s back reached the wall, and then he nodded fervently.

  “This night, I shall be relieving you of either your valuables,” Falk told him, “or your valuables and your life. Your life is only worth how much time you save me. I will give you three seconds to decide.”

  As was usual, the man only needed one.

  “By the way, if it concerns you, and it should, you have the pleasure of meeting Goldshmidt,” Falk announced with a smirk. Even though only his nose and mouth were visible through the cocoon of bandages that wrapped his face, they were tight enough that facial expressions were discernible. “Falk Goldshmidt.”

  Falk edged the man onward and thanks to his cooperation, it took but five minutes to acquire all valuables. For that reason, Falk allo
wed the man to live.

  Falk left the house sufficiently satisfied. Why waste time sifting through cupboards and closets and drawers? A waste of time, to be sure, and it wasn’t that he did not have mechanisms to unravel the worth and presence of metals, but a guiding hand expedited the matter.

  Falk walked along pleasantly, hearing a couple of his mines sounding off yards away. They were not only getting competitors jailed but also diverting any law enforcement agents well away from his path. He used the sirens to direct his way and, as planned, it had kept him far out of the way of the patrolling officers.

  However, Falk did consider it odd that he had not met with any other competitor as of yet. Though he was not simply walking in the light -- he was putting minimal effort in keeping himself hidden -- it stood to reason others would naturally imitate the way he was using the noise mines to direct himself.

  Falk approached what looked like an expensive house. He thought to booby-trap the lock with an alarm but soon noticed it had windows, and one of them was wide open. And on the ground floor, no less.

  “Blast it, is it an oriental practice to invite criminals into their homes?” Stupidity deeply frustrated him. “These people need to be properly educated in home security.”

  Falk lock-picked the door and opened it. Unless there were children in the house, he was going to kill the residents. Maybe that would teach the entire city to properly lock their windows. At the very least, he would save some future child from suffering due to their parents’ negligence and lack of intelligence.

  As soon as he entered through the door on the ground floor, he heard a yell coming from upstairs.

  “Up and against the wall, damn you! How many of you are going to visit me today, huh?!”

  It seemed the house had already been visited. By one of his competitors, no doubt. Still, the situation presented a uniquely fortuitous opportunity. Falk raised his hands and turned the corner, which led him face to face with the developing situation.

  The man was holding a ridiculous-looking rifle that probably held only one bullet. It looked older than any of them. The thief, Falk’s competitor, was holding out his hands, looking a tad alarmed.