Petty Heist

Gala rolled up the sack Robyn had given her, and tucked it into her belt. She stretched, arms reaching heavenward, then yawned deeply. Wind, sharp and dangerous, howled outside the cellar. She closed her eyes, and lost herself in thought.

Robyn had left more than an hour prior. She insisted that she could take care of her mark alone, but insinuated that it would take her longer than usual. That did not sit well with Gala. Her mentor rarely failed, but injured as she was, it was easy for Gala to imagine her getting into trouble. Merchants did not typically keep guards, particularly in the Lower City where jobs were more dangerous, and good guards were less likely to take short wages, but all it took was for a City Guardsman to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Like last night.

She opened her eyes, yawned again, then stood from her spot near the bottom of the stairs. Her target was the closer of the two to their hideout, and Gala got the impression that Robyn had made that decision purposefully. She climbed the steps.

It was freezing outside, noticeably colder than the night before. Her breaths, thick white puffs, were quickly caught by the wind and pulled away. Her tattered clothing whipped about wildly, and her hair made an erratic crown around her head, pulled one way then another randomly. She shivered, then began to walk. She knew time was limited; without shoes, the cold would blacken her toes in a matter of minutes.

As she walked, thoughts swirled around in her head. She knew that the hit she was assigned would not yield enough to make the effort worth it, especially if Corbin had come calling for his dues. She considered the food stall, her target, and how little money it would actually contain. Perhaps nothing, a real possibility if the owner had closed, or if he had made a bank run to deposit his coin. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Robyn had just sent her on this mission to keep her out of the way. Her mark was significantly more difficult, but equally more rewarding. She doesn’t trust me.

Her mind mulled over the thoughts. They boiled hot and angry, reducing slowly into the pure essence of the emotions they elicited. Robyn did not trust her. Despite saving her life, Gala had lost the confidence Robyn had shown in her. Bitter anger brought childish disregard welling up inside. Gala would not be baited by false trust; she knew what her mentor thought of her. She was nothing more than a nuisance. She made her decision.

Gala changed directions, heading north toward the Wall. Shadows hung about her like a cloak, and she made quick progress, avoiding guards and commoners alike with casual ease. The buildings around her slowly changed, from burned out husks, to shabby homes, to well maintained shopfronts. As the city flowed past her, one thought shone like a beacon, guiding her forward. Robyn, her mentor, the only mother she had ever known, did not trust her.

The Wall, polished black onyx, towered over her. Its looming presence cast the world into a deeper night. Her gaze travelled up, studying the outline of the wall, past arrow slits in the walls, and towering crenelations at the top. She took an involuntary step back, overwhelmed by the sheer power it exuded.

I have to get through, she thought.

Gala stalked along the foot of the sleek stone monolith. Robyn told stories of the wall. How men carved tunnels under it, or through it. How vagabonds, beggars, and thieves called the wall home. She said that the tunnels lead to the Underworld. Gala hoped for something more mundane; a route to the Upper City.

Minutes passed. When she finally found a hole in the wall, disappointment washed away her hope. She shut her eyes hard, fighting tears.

The small portal was barely wide enough for her to crawl into. The ground underneath it was slippery, wet with brackish brown water The rank odor of death wafted up to meet her. Claustrophobia gripped her at the thought of trying to travel through whatever tunnel lay beyond that dark opening. She closed her eyes, and willed herself into it. The Upper City was her only hope for saving her mentor, and proving she deserved her trust.

Dank, rough hewn stone surrounded Gala in every direction, pressing inward from all sides. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the urge to vomit at the stench. Panic welled up in her chest, threatening to suffocate her. Minutes passed into hours as Gala crawled. The tunnel tilted gradually upward into a shallow slope. She struggled not to slip backward, down toward the opening. Fear tightened its grip on her soul with every passing second. She felt trapped by the overbearing stone. Blood soaked through her now torn pants, seeping from a collection of scrapes she had acquired in her efforts. Her head spun with the stench of decaying feces. Mold and dust tickled her nostrils, and she stifled a sneeze, worried that the sound might alert the guards; or worse, the seedier portions of the Underworld who called the wall home. Gala could not imagine anyone living in such tight spaces.

Gala spotted light ahead, and shuffled her way forward more quickly than before. Her legs objected to the pace, but she was glad when she poked her head out of the hole. The moonlight, dim as it was, pierced her eyes like daggers. She squinted against it, and climbed out of the hole in the wall unsteadily, her legs shaking and bowing at the sudden weight. Wind howled about her, more fierce than before, as if urging her to turn back, forcefully reminding her that she did not belong there. She crouched low, and studied her surroundings. The hole had let her out into a large stone funnel, and thought she could not be certain what it was used for, the stench told her all she needed to know. She climbed over the lip, and sagged to the ground.

She looked around in awe. The buildings were nothing like they were on the other side of the wall. They were well spaced, clean, and free of the pitted marks that adorned the walls of almost every building in the Lower District. Stark, red-stone facades lined the streets, and heavy wooden doors closed off the homes to the outside world. The manicured perfection reminded Gala of the world she came from, and an uneasy pit formed in her stomach, but she stepped into the street regardless, eager to find her target.

Gala walked the street cautiously, keeping to the darkest recesses of the road, a harder task in the well-lit Upper City. Snow, heavy and white, was pushed to the sides of the road, leaving the center free of any ice. Gala crunched along in the ankle deep snow, wary of stepping into the corona of any of the street lamps that illuminated the area.

She was not sure where she was going. Robyn told stories of the Upper City, and how easy the marks were. In her tales, the roads had been paved with gold, the buildings made of jade and opal, windows of diamond. The opulence always piqued Gala’s interest. Finding that it was nothing more than well-maintained extravagance was something of a disappointment, but she did not let it phase her.

Find a good mark, she thought. In and out like smoke on the wind.

She strolled down the street almost casually, studying the buildings around her. Closest to the wall, the buildings were merely nice, but the deeper she went, the more manor-like they became. Soon, she was walking among sprawling, walled estates, grounds lit by their own lanterns. She whistled softly to herself, impressed by the beauty.

You’re wasting time, she chided herself. Pick one and get on with it.

She spun in a circle, looking at all the houses that surrounded her. Finally, she decided that one was as good as another, and approached the walls of the estate on her left. A metal sign, embedded in the stone masonry of the wall, read CANSON ESTATE, EST. 734. Emblazoned next to the text was a small gold coin, surrounded on all sides by more numbers.

Gala had no idea who the family was, but she recognized the first numbers as a date. The sigil of the Banker’s Guild was unmistakable. She pondered over it for a moment, then decided that it was not important, and climbed the seven foot wall. She jumped down from the top, and rolled slightly to absorb the impact, something Robyn taught her long ago.

The square house was surprisingly modest compared to the sprawling grounds it sat on. Despite the humble size, it was richly decorated. Red banners hung along all five columns that supported the patio roof. Gold statues depicting large cats sat on either side of the intricately carved wooden door. A thick garden surrounded the entirety of the building, no doubt hosting hundreds of species of flowers during warmer months. Trees dotted the landscape at prescribed intervals, just random enough to give a sense of nature, but organized enough that one could see the whole of the estate from any one point. It was marvelous, and Gala did not care.

She crept to the nearest window on the side of the building that faced away from the road. She tried to slide it up, hoping it was unlocked. It was not. She moved down the wall, trying every window, until one slid open. It took a moment for Gala to control her shock. I can’t believe that actually worked.

She slipped inside. The house was dark. Unsure what to do next, Gala shut the window, and listened intently. Silence. The owner was either asleep, or away. She ghosted through the house like a predator on the hunt. Night blanketed everything, but her keen eyes slowly adjusted, revealing an ostentatious interior decorated with golds and greens and reds.

The first room she stopped in was littered with strange, beautiful statues, artifacts, and paintings. Most were covered in thick, stiff brown paper, but several lay open to the air, displaying their brilliance to the empty space.

Typical noble, Gala rolled her eyes. She wandered the room aimlessly, drawn to one piece or another. Several minutes passed before she realized she had lost track of herself. Come on, gotta find something I can carry out of here.

She stalked through the next few rooms without pausing. Though she had never robbed a house before, she knew that most people kept their most valuable possessions in their sleeping chambers. She figured it had something to do with a sense of security; it was easier to sleep knowing your most precious things were close at hand.

A huge staircase climbed up into a cloud of darkness. Gala cautiously ascended, hugged on all sides by the stifling black. A huge bedroom lay to her right, doors hanging ajar. She slipped inside, careful not to make any noise, and scanned the room. It was empty, so far as she could tell, save for a four poster bed and a heavy wood chest. She shrugged to herself, and opened the truck. Empty, she lamented.

The next room was even larger. Gala could not place a name to the room, but she recognized its use. Several padded benches surrounded a glass table. A tea kettle rested on the tabletop, along with four saucers and tea cups. Gala rolled her eyes at the pretension, and looked around. Nothing of value came to her attention immediately.

She noticed a door at the back of the room. It was closed, unlike the others. She crept up to it, and slowly turned the handle. It clicked satisfactorily, and the door swung inward to reveal a gorgeously decorated room. Thick white curtains hung from silver rods. A huge bed centered the room. A night table sat on either side of the bed. One was loaded with belongings; silver necklaces, gold rings, thick-cut gems. The other was empty save for a lightless handheld lantern.

Perfect, Gala thought. She pulled the sack from her belt, opened it, and stuffed it with as many items as she could. Jewels clattered against gold as she tied it back to her belt. Now to get out of here before— A door shut with a soft click somewhere downstairs. Gala’s breath caught. I have to get out of here before someone sees me.

She raced out of the room, trying to still the clattering of the items in her bag. She slipped gracefully out into the hallway beyond the sitting room. A light was coming up the stairs, bobbing with motion. Gala silently cursed her luck, panic welling up inside her. She backed up into the smaller room she had entered first, and dropped to the floor noiselessly, trying to remain as motionless as possible. The light bounced its way into the larger room across the hall. The door closed. Light pooled out from under the door.

Gala stood up, and bounded to the stairs. She raced down them. They’re going to see the jewelry is missing and call an alarm. She made her way silently through the downstairs rooms once more, and out the window she had come in. There was no sound from upstairs, and by the time she was at the wall, she felt confident in her escape. Then, the shouting began.

“Guards!” A voice came from the front door. “Someone has broken in!” The thud of boots hitting paving stones rebounded throughout the grounds, bouncing off walls and trees. Gala paled, and began to shake uncontrollably. Come on. She urged, and began to scale the wall. Vertigo washed over her in waves at the top, and she nearly tipped over to the paving stones below. She caught herself, and slid down the outside wall more carefully than when she had come in, careful to keep the bag of jewelry from giving away her position.

She ran.