Sheer and the Thief

The first man came before Sheer. He had the rough face of someone who had seen rough days, one who had passed through dangers and was still standing. Sheer immediately took a liking to him without even knowing his name. There was a scar running down from one part of his face, from the brows to his nose.

"What are you accused of?" Sheer asked.

"Who are you?" the man asked, looking at Sheer impatiently and with suspicion.

"Someone that can change your life," Sheer replied.

The policeman who had dragged the prisoner out slapped him over the head.

"Shut up!" the man growled.

Pathetic idiot, Sheer thought irritably. The fool policeman was always trying to seek his favor by working too hard. He waved at the policeman dismissively, and the man walked away.

"You speak to the advisor of the king," Sheer said. "See, I can let you out of this place with a snap of my fingers."

"How do I know you are what you say you are?" the man asked.

Sheer presented his forefinger before the prisoner. There, the royal signet ring of the king's advisor sat. The man pulled back with a gasp. He regarded the man gravely.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "What do you want?"

"Good, you are asking the right question," Sheer said. "What are you accused of?"

"I stole a chest of diamonds from the house of Donne."

"The house of Donne," Sheer said admiringly. It was the most guarded house apart from the palace. Only a few had managed to break into the place, and this man before him had managed that.

"You were caught?" Sheer asked.

"Only because I spent too much diamonds."

A thief and a fool, Sheer thought. He would not know what to do with the crystal sword. If he wanted to run away with it, he would be easily caught. Apparently, he knew how to break into places, but did not know how to keep himself away from the spotlight. It was the kind of thing that Sheer needed.

"Was that where you got the scar?" Sheer asked.

"No. It was in another time, another place. I got away."

"I see," Sheer said, deepening his voice. "How would you like your freedom?"

"You… you cannot possibly give me that."

"I can. I can set you free. I can also find you wherever you go if you want to run away without keeping your end of our bargain."

"What do you want?"

"You have to steal a sword for me, a crystal sword," Sheer said.

**

After the king's advisor left, Heron was alone with his own thoughts. He was thrust back into the cell where he had been kept for a long time. It was getting to two years now, all because he tried to live the rich life. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

The cell was enclosed completely. There was only one little window at the top covered with bars of iron. Even if he got the courage to, there was no way he could climb to that height to access the window. It was about ten feet high, letting in the barest of light into the room.

Heron's eyes were on the window while he wondered exactly why the king's advisor wanted him to steal a sword. He could have asked him to steal any other thing: a box of diamonds, a box of gold bars, anything. But he wanted the sword. Maybe it was a magical sword. Who knows?

What Heron knew well enough was that he wanted his freedom, and he would do anything to get it. If he managed to get outside these walls, this dungeon, he would be more careful.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, and he reclined into the wall while he kept his eyes and ears alert. The cell was dark and damp, and anyone opening the door would have to let his eyes get adjusted to the darkness inside before they could see him at the other end of the wall. He had often thought of how he would use this to his advantage and escape from this place, but the guards always came at the same time, always up to four at once. He could not fight them all.

But this time, there was just a lone pair of footfalls coming down the hallway. Whoever it was stopped before his door and pushed open the slit in the door.

"Heron," the guard said.

Heron recognized the voice. The guard was the most spoiled in the place. He would do anything to get extra money, and Heron thought he would be better off being inside the cell with them rather than outside. He had no business guarding criminals when he was a criminal himself.

Heron ignored him. He had seen the guard take men from the cells. He never saw them come back. The police chief was in the dark. Heron thought the old man knew what was going on till he heard the criminal outside explaining that the men were being taken for rehabilitation for the king. Which king would what criminals on rehabilitation in his palace? The old man agreed. Well, anything that had the king's name on it here pretty much sold, anything.

"Heron!" the guard called again.

"What do you want?" Heron asked. The guard had come with the king's advisor after all.

"Tonight. Get ready," the policeman said.

Again, the footfalls echoed in the hallway, but this time, they were receding. Heron stood up from where he was and started pacing the cell. There was room enough for him to move. There was no bed nor any seat there. A criminal who robbed a member of a royal family should not expect any kind of civil treatment. If his victims had their way, he would have been dead already.

He remembered clearly how the robbery had gone, how he snuck into a wagon going to the royal house and sneaked out at night. From then on, it was easy. The guards were more alert to people coming in than people that were already inside the place. He pretended to be someone else a lot and had almost got caught.

"Tonight," he murmured, wondering if he still had what it takes to sneak into a place to steal. He has been locked up for two years with no trial. If he stayed longer than that, the House of Donne could either forget him or send someone after him to take him out. Either way, it did not look good for him. This help from the king's advisor was the only option he had to choose.

"Hey! Hey!" someone called from the other cell.

It was a young boy who just started stealing and had been dragged in the month before. He talked too much, and Heron had to listen to him since he had all the time in the world.

"Go to sleep, boy," Heron said.

"Take me with you," the boy pleaded.

"I said go to sleep!" Heron barked. He was not in the mood to entertain the boy's excesses now. He had not even sprouted a single stem of hair under his chin.

It saddened Heron and maddened him as well. He had heard of the impending clash between the peasants and the royals, and while he tried to stay away from both sides, he could not help but feel pity for the peasants. Anyway, was that not why he robbed the rich and gave to the poor? He was the poor. He got everything and he was grateful to himself.

People, seeing the scar that ran down the side of Heron's face would dismiss him as hardhearted, but he was not. If anything, he has the softest heart he had ever seen. A heart, so soft it led to his getting caught.

"Well, how are you going to survive outside?" The boy asked.

Heron had forgotten his name. He tried to remember, so his next threat would be personal, but the threat evaded his mind, ran around the periphery, and disappeared.

"Now you are thinking," the boy said, interpreting his silence as confusion. "I can help you. I have been in here for only one month."

"Shut up!"

"You have to give me an answer quickly."

"You are not going anywhere," Heron said.

The boy was struck silent by the harshness of Heron's tone and the finality in his response. Another prisoner chuckled in his cell. Another one mocked the boy.

Heron laid on the hard floor, feeling miserable.