The Art of Thievery

"I pledge my allegiance to the Thieves Guild, and promise to uphold its purpose, for which it stands. I promise to steal without mercy from the rich and share my spoils with my brothers and sisters without regret. I shall be bound, by both body and soul, to the indivisible Guild and, until my final breath, I promise to be the harbinger of justice in this corrupted country that is France," I recited. A thrill of excitement and responsibility shuddered down my back.


"Very well, you are almost bound to the Guild. You must now accomplish the final task that will secure your place amongst us. I believe that you know what must be done and what is at stake if you falter..." stated Rasputin, exhuming his deathly aura all over the dark, haunting room that would soon become my home.


"I do. I must steal at least fifteen francs from a nobleman, come back here and add the money to the treasury without the use of violence. If I fail, the punishment will be extremely severe," I replied, gulping down and attempting to hide the fear that crept in my body.


"You have until nightfall. If you return empty-handed, you will be seen as a traitor and an enemy. Our people will be watching you," declared Rasputin. He towered over me and dominated like an impatient executioner.


I nodded in acknowledgment, whilst he cast a final look of dread upon my nervous face.


Quickly, I made my way out of the ominous cavern and into the surprisingly clean sewers that would lead me to the morning sun of Paris.

The humid, yet icy air stayed in the hidden cavern that the Guild used as a home. It was well protected and certainly well hidden. Gazing in awe, I realized it could survive through sieges, floods, storms and even an apocalypse. I could not yet call it home, but it was certainly a place that I could adore living in.


I crawled down one of the many escape tunnels that would lead me to a hidden part of the sewers. The funny thing was that this vicinity had been so well constructed and adapted to the countless generations of thieves that the sewers were not even mediocre, waste-filled sewers. You see, thre water and waste did not flow through these ancient pipes so it was clean.

Emerging into the central pipes, I was greeted by the shrieking and squealing of rats and mice. Reminiscing the countless times that I studied these sewers, I turned right and walked twenty feet towards a shining light in this forlorn vault. Such a hideous trade: this perfect sanctuary for the filthy, damp air of Paris.


Even though it was impossible for me to be seen, I often felt a relinquishing anxiety, a chilling fear of being spotted. Upon climbing up, my head jolted out briskly. The wind did not delay to howl with cold excitement. Some thieves enjoyed their "promenades" in Paris, and others lived in the peacefulness of the countryside whilst others, like me, preferred the inside underground fortresses. I shivered immediately, and sighed with anguish.


I arose in a narrow passage, surrounded by a group of buildings. I turned around, to find the passageway continuing through some leafy shrubs. Causing some bristling and rustling, I pushed through to emerge into a nearly deserted road: Rue au Pain. Here I would find, at best, a reasonably wealthy trader or a poor lawyer. If I was to find a nobleman, it would have to be more inside Paris and not in the gloomy suburbs. And so, I would most likely need to "borrow" a horse.


I walked at a quick pace towards the closest stable, which would be five minutes away at best. The mouth-watering smell of the freshly baked bread floated in the air, filling my body. At the same time, the stench of aging cheese equally dominated the street but I had to stay concentrated. My attention doubled, my eyes looking for any threats.


Focus was essential, just like for any task. The stakes were high and nothing other than complete perfection could guarantee success. I sped forth, seeing the stables in the corner of my eye. Looking around to see if anyone was watching, I approached the wooden gates. The warm, rich smell of horse swept away any unpleasant odour, and I grinned as memories flowed through my mind.


I jumped over the fence, unlocking it moments after landing. The stable master had been foolish enough to leave a couple of his magnificent beasts saddled. Creeping with my head down, I approached a sturdy, black bay. After gazing behind my back and into the ghostly barn, I hoisted myself up with an effort, before urging the horse to gallop. It whinnied with surprise, but obeyed and sped off. A series of French insults bellowed behind me, but I was on my way and ahead of schedule.


Riding past Chatou, a dangerous excitement burnt inside of me. I was relishing this opportunity and hoping with all my faith that I would succeed. This whole situation seemed ethereal. The buildings were taller, wider and far more elegant than before. A blind man could tell from the notorious and unique scent that he had really entered Paris. An excited spark jolted through my body, and my tingling bones felt prepared, knowing that my constant determination was going to pay off. My objective would be close by, and it was only midday.


As I passed the Place des Voges, the tension and stress was getting to me. I could tell as I was accidentally focused on listening to an annoying old couple nearby:


"You know, cherie, Sully lived here," said an old woman, trying to seem cultured.


"Who?" coughed the old man at her side.


"Sully! He was that finance person for one of the kings!" she yelled.


I sighed at their ignorance and slight stupidity. A sudden urge gnawed at me, and I fell awfully tempted to say to them:


"You know, cheries

, Sully had his dealings with the Thieves Guild on this very square. And, he was the Minister of Finance for Henri IV." Nonetheless, I held myself back, and focused the task at hand.


Deep inside Paris, I observed my surroundings and the numerous people who occupied them. The strange, simple and yet mighty Tour Eiffel stood, rusting and waiting to be completed. The street was bustling with activity, for everyone had something to do. The traders were screaming, the people were running, bartering and the guards were patrolling, shouting and letting their raucous laughter fill the air. I gulped, changing direction into a deserted alley.


I descended from my mount, and once out of that dark alley I kept my head down and began to walk around. Many wealthy bourgeois wandered around, but no real noblemen. I knew that at least one would come. A little patience was needed, as always...


After what seemed to be an eternity, my patience was well rewarded as a guard appeared ahead. Such a sweet image, for he was talking with a nobleman. Rapidly, I set myself to a jogging pace, carefully approaching my target, trying to seem oblivious of their presence. Turning my head around innocently I perceived a velvet sack holding the key to my dream. I was ever so close! With haste, I turned my head again to the opposite direction. I added a worried look to my face to help "blend in" but my inner self was filled with excitement and joy.


Not seeing the nobleman or the guard, I must say that I collided into them perfectly. They completely lost balance, and I threw myself on the cobblestone with a loud thud, snatching the precious bag without drawing attention. The art of stealing truly was sublime, I thought. The guard began to bellow, crying out that it was an outrage, that he would have my head. Ironically, the nobleman started to help me up with a happy expression, calming down the guard whose face was fuming with rage. For a single moment, I actually felt a sliver of guilt trickle into my soul. However, it was for a single moment as the nobleman was a typical idiot, who started to laugh and insult me as if he was the King himself.


"Easy now officer, the world has spat on the face of this boy enough already, you would not wish to add to his woes. It's not his fault that he was born with hands instead of feet and feet instead of hands!" screamed the despicable man. His face was now red from laughter and his eyes were wide open. And wet. Oh, how I would have adored thumping that ugly grin off of his face.


But, I smiled stupidly, just trying to play along and avoid creating any needless quarrel. The arrogant-looking guard seemed to have calmed down but held his annoyed expression. His small eyes looked at me in a piercing way, and I attempted to avoid them.

After leaving their wretched company, I turned around to be certain that all was well. How foolish of me! The nobleman paid his greetings to the guard and reached for his velvet purse as he walked away. Horrified, and rooted to the spot, I could only gaze at the anger emanating from him. He bellowed, searching for the guard once more and pushing the people around him wildly. Appearing like a wild, raging beast, he tossed the innocent people to the ground suspecting all of them to be culprits. The guard ran towards him, his gleaming sword out of its protective sheath. Unlike the nobleman, the guard was looking for someone in particular, for the real culprit. Upon seeing the mischievous hood on top of my head, his face turned into tormented thunder and he had found his target.


The steaming, fiery face of the guard was enough to force me to finally move. Slipping uncontrollably, I darted away from my attacker who lunged forward in pursuit. With the purse still in hand, I sprinted, knocking down people and scattering objects alike. The horse would be of no use to me now. With no weapon, this escape would surely be tough but I had to prevail. I simply had no choice. And so, I pictured the different streets of Paris and attempted to plan the perfect escape.


The angry shouts of the guard followed close behind, and I dared not look back. Like a whirlwind, I twirled around and rushed forward, jumping into a narrow street on the right. I could feel the anger of the guard, who followed me like a deranged dog. Luckily, I noticed that his armour was slowing him down, which gave me a slight advantage. The narrow alley ended and I leaped left into the Champs-Elysées. Hopefully, the immense crowds could disguise me and offer me an ephemeral sanctuary.


Even though my situation was regaining control, I needed to act quickly. The guard would soon rip off the mighty leash of kindness that kept him from stampeding the scores of civilians like a typhoon. The pride of a Frenchman was grand, but his patience was as thin as a needle. I could almost feel the hunger for "justice" exhuming from his overheated body, ready to swipe at the people who stopped him from catching the thief; from catching me. I smiled at the thought and regained mantra once again. My mind soothed itself, as if anaesthetised by a cool towel. I walked through, relatively slowly, noticing the guard's ever-lasting voice that finally started to fade away under the almighty bustling and hustling of the Parisian Sunday crowd. I nodded at strangers, muttering some "Bonjour" at kind looking people. And then, only then, an idea struck me like a devastating and yet brilliant bolt of fiery lightning.


Dozens of chariots throttled past at surprising speed. I pushed past the remaining people that separated me from my escape. Finally, I broke free from the chains of the crowd and bolted for the closest chariot. I had waited too long as I was now going for the last coach, chasing my last hope of escape. The guard's shouting flew by like a poisonous dart, and I could tell that he had spotted me once more. I dared not look back at his plump, red face. The thought of it supplied the needed energy for my weary limbs to attempt one final leap. I grasped at the metal handle on the side of the coach, not daring to let it go. My lungs ached and I could hear the rustling and clanging of the guards' heavy metal armour. Quickly, I hoisted and threw myself onto the driving seat, almost colliding into the chauffeur. But I managed. I managed! The purse filled with the nobleman’s gold felt like a sacred relic in my hand. I beamed, and my sudden aura must have astonished the driver for he gazed at my surprisingly.


“Ooh la la, petit bandit, what have you done?” the chauffeur chuckled, and from the mystifying soft voice, I acknowledged that it was indeed a woman.


I couldn’t reply out of pure surprise and joy. I felt so relieved by her willingness to help me, to go against the will of the authorities. Her supposedly kind face was hidden under a torn hood, but I had no need to dig into her identity. She was helping me, and that was simply enough.


“Alors, where shall we be going?” she asked, looking ahead and not twitching a single muscle.


“Well, if you would be going in the direction of St-German-en-Laye, then you would save a man's future, but anywhere within the Yvelines would suffice,” I replied gratefully and warily.


“St-Germain it is then, mon ami...” she answered, her voice fading away and concluding our short conversation.


For some strange reason, a feeling of reassurance was transmitted through her final words, and the absorbing sensation of fatigue overcame my body. I could not help but drift away, allowing the nourishing grains of calmness to cleanse my mind and spirit. My eye lids crept down, just like the beautiful red sun.


***


“Wake up, friend, here’s your destination,” spoke my saviour, nudging me carefully and slowly. My eyes flashed open like those of a feral beast, but seemed blind due to the engulfing darkness. And then, a frantic panic shook me; the sun had almost disappeared, only a glimmer of red light escaped the horizon.. I jumped upright, astonishing the driver and her horses.. I had not a moment to lose.


I leaped out of the carriage, quickly grabbing my newly acquired purse. And yet, I could not simply leave. Turning towards the woman, I looked at her torn-out cloak; her ragged, hole-filled breeches and finally the weakness of her horses. The poor creatures did not seem to suffer, and I could not once recall the driver forcing them to advance. But, their frail, bony structures made me shiver with disgust. My hand willfully dived into the purse filled with gold, and clenched a handful of coins.


“No. Go. Believe me when I say that you will need every single coin for your task,” she ordered with authority and serenity, revealing her face for a single second and winking as she did so. My hand reluctantly withdrew itself. Ashamed, I knew this to be true, and I could simply muster a smile, as fragile as the woman’s life. She smiled back, and with a simple clacking of her tongue, she sped off into the twilight. Well, I had one objective left: to return to the Guild before nightfall, and to honour the memory of this angelic stranger.


The infernal race between the sun and m was under way, and it was unclear as to who was leading. I galloped and swooped like the wind, readying myself to strike the crucial blow and gain the upper hand. But, my mind was elsewhere. I was undertaking the most important task of my life and I simply couldn't focus. The Parisian night certainly was a fickle thing. During my sprint, I noticed the abysmal, raucous laughter of the rich, and the pitiful moaning of the poor. I saw the greed, and the gluttony of these rich monsters and the desperate lives of the homeless. I could smell the overwhelming wines and sweltering roasts, over the filth of the needy. It was like comparing hell and heaven, but you are unable to differ one from the other. Who is the devil? Is it the treacherous, lonely street dweller, or the vicious, sophisticated noble? Do the shadows hold the light, or is the light simply an obituary; a morbid pit of shining crepuscular entities? Who is who, and what is what? Perhaps, you simply cannot tell. Or, you must be a fool not to know...


And then, I had found the light. Within the darkest depths of the city where I had previously emerged, I found my last resort and my illumination; Rasputin stood at the entrance to the Guild. I sped forth; throwing the purse at him, fearing that time would run out. He grabbed it with a swift movement of his arm, still staring at me. All of a sudden, he ripped the sac open, allowing:


1,2,3,4,5,6,7,


8,9,10


11,12


13,


14,


15 harmonious collisions between the gold and the floor. I breathed an enormous sigh of relief, admiring the beautiful, abrupt cascade of banging on the cobbled floor.


He then declared in an equally relieved manner: “Welcome, Vokial, to the Thieves Guild. You are now a brother of the poor and you have successfully dealt your first blow to the rich. However, you have just joined a battle of social injustice that spawns since the beginning of time. Be strong, and always remember who you are, who you fight for, and why.”


Word count: 2999

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Lektorat: Preston Randall
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 10.06.2012

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