A figure lurked on the brown brick-tiles typical for the roofs in the Merchant District. The impression of a wraith comes to mind, with the dark, tattered cloak fluttering in the moonless night, if not for the gasps and occasional stumble.
The nightwalker stopped his skulking and hunched over, taking deep breaths while glancing around the empty roof. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and whispered: “Is it this one?”
Small specks of silver flickered next to him. The specks turned into smoke and swirled together, forming a pale blue fire the size of an adult’s hand.
“No, you moron, I just said the guards went for a snack. Another fifty paces to the left,” said the mystic fire, its voice hoarse and crackling like burning wood.
The light from the fire revealed the cloaked individual. He was barely a man, with curly black hair plastered on his sweaty forehead and large, deer-like eyes glancing around. Underneath his cloak was a scrawny build with a leather belt holding several bags and pouches. A truncheon was holstered to one side and rope gathered across a shoulder. He whispered between clenched teeth, “Language, Vima.”
The boy proceeded to the left, counting softly the steps while the fire began to run circles around his head.
“I thought we went through the plan already back home,” ranted Vima. “But now, not even an hour after we’ve begun, you forget step one.”
“Be nice,” whispered the youngling as he reached fifty and started to slowly dislodge the roof tiles. “And lower your voice, don’t draw any attention.”
“You know that you’re the only one that can see or hear me,” said Vima with a sneer.
“Then don’t distract me,” responded the youngling.
“I think the noises you made across the roofs were more distracting,” said the fire, spinning around faster.
The youngling stopped with his work and put out a palm to block the fire’s path. He gathered the flames with both his hands and looked at the light. Dark circles were prominent under his eyes.
“Vima, please,” he said softly. “You’ve been nagging from the start. What’s going on?”
The pale blue flame shrunk in size and its brightness dimmed.
“Sorry, Jorn,” said Vima. Its voice was raspy and smoky, no longer crackling. “I’m just nervous.”
“So am I but I don’t insult my partner because of that,” said Jorn. He released the fire and continued with removing the tiles. “Starting to have second thoughts about this whole thing?”
The flame burst into molten red and its size grew twice, “Of course not!”
Then the mystic fire retreated back to ghostly blue. It floated upwards and landed softly on top of Jorn’s hood. “It’s just… we’re not stealing from the butcher or that shabby inn. We’re going to steal from one of the wealthiest merchants in Stormwall. I just want it to go smoothly.” The flames weakened slightly. “Don’t want this to be our first failure.”
“It won’t fail,” comforted Jorn and opened his cloak. “Look, I’m armed to the teeth. I’m prepared for anything!”
“Yeah, I’m not sure if you had to bring everything from the cottage,” said Vima. “Will you even be able to carry some gold home?”
“Muira said to always be prepared for whatever situation,” said Jorn wiping away sweat from his forehead. “And you don’t have any say since you insisted on that bag of feathers.”
“Hey, it's stylish,” said Vima. “And it weighs much less than that hammer.”
“It might come to use,” said Jorn. “What better way to be prepared than this?”
“If there’s a risk, just avoid it completely,” muttered the fire. “Less to carry at least.”
“You can’t avoid everything,” said Jorn. The fire was going to reply, but the way Jorn said it made Vima shut up.
Jorn picked out a knife from his cloak and began to cut the layers underneath the tiles, revealing supporting wood beams and darkness underneath. The youngling exchanged his knife with a small saw from the cloak and began to work on the beams.
“Can you check one more time that they don’t hear me?” asked Jorn to the blue fire.
Vima floated down, passing through the wood, silent like a ghost. Jorn watched as the flame drifted, a small light surrounded by darkness growing fainter. The fire landed on the wooden floor but soon seeped through the boards leaving the space gloom. Jorn was frozen on his spot, staring into the abyss. He breathed out when specks of light appeared and the small blue flame popped out its head from the floor.
“There are two guards but they haven’t noticed anything,” reported the flame with a shrill tone, a hint of excitement. “There’s tons of chests and barrels there!”
Jorn sawed with renewed vigour.
* * * * *
Pearls of sweat ran down from Sammy’s scalp, down the chin and lost in the gruff beard. He exhaled slowly as he glanced at Kovar on the other side of the table, who coughed and unbuttoned his red shirt while wiping his palms on his trousers.
“Alright,” said Sammy. “Show me what you got.”
Kovar nodded and on three, they both revealed their cards. A moment of silence as they both looked at the values and then Sammy howled in rage, tearing his own cards apart. Kovar burst out laughing, pulling in the chips to his side of the table.
Sammy left the board, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. He walked across the room, taking careful steps to not trip on the many chests and barrels spread out on the floor to inspect a sand dial in a corner. He scratched his beard and swore again when he saw that more than half of the sand still hasn’t run to the bottom. Sammy wiped his forehead and threw an irritated look at the gas lamps illuminating the room. He knew why the room must always be lit, but it makes guarding this place that much more exhausting. He took out the cudgel resting on his side and swung it in the air, each swing giving a sharp whistle. He nodded and returned back to the table, thudding the treasures lightly on the way.
Kovar had picked up another game from under the table. He opened a bag of black dices with white marks and began to rattle them in his hands with a wide grin, sporting a missing tooth. Sammy sat down and cleaned the table from the torn cards.
“I swear,” said Sammy. “If you have done something with the dices I’ll ki-”
Knock, knock.
Both guards looked at each other. Kovar in mid-motion of throwing the dice on the table.
Knock, knock.
Both guards looked up.
The ceiling burst open. Wood and brick tiles splashed down and Sammy threw himself away to not get hit by the debris. A scream was heard and Sammy saw a small cloaked figure on top of the sprawled body of Kovar, who now was motionless and with face on the ground.
Sammy roared and charged at the figure, who gave out a yelp. The bigger guard tackled the intruder and slammed him into a wall. The intruder dropped like a sack of potatoes, squirming and gasping for breath. Sammy raised his cudgel when suddenly he was locked in place. He dropped, unwillingly, his cudgel and every muscle worked against him. He looked down in horror as his hands, now of pale blue shade, grasped his own throat and squeezed tight. He screamed out, trying to regain control of his own body. Through gritted teeth he managed to release himself from his own grasp, only to hear himself say:
“Hurry, this one’s tough to handle.”
The cloaked figure stood up with wobbling steps. From his cloak, he grabbed a truncheon and Sammy stared at the weapon with wide eyes of horror. The last thing Sammy remembered before everything turned dark was an apologetic “sorry”.
* * * * *
Jorn looked away as the guard crashed to the ground. He peeked with one eye and saw the bigger guy lying on his back, the eyes vacant and a bruise forming on the cheek. Blood sipped out from the nose. The guard's skin glistened and the glimmer gathered into a small ball above the body, forming into Vima.
“Block the door!” the fire urged.
Jorn hurried towards the big door and pushed nearby furniture to block it. He used his truncheon and wedged it shut in the small gaps on the bottom.
He returned back to the spot with the hole in the ceiling and swished his rope with a hook, throwing it up and checking that it was taut. He then turned his attention to the two unconscious guards, prodding their necks and putting his finger under their nostrils, nodding and then pushed them to a corner of the room, throwing their weapons to the other side.
“Stop that and come here,” said Vima circling around a chest. “Open this one.”
Jorn pulled out some picklocks and began to fiddle.
“Going quite well, isn’t it?” said Jorn.
“Shush, don’t jinx it,” said Vima. “Now focus, I’ll go and check for other guards”, the fire said and zoomed out, passing through the blocked door.
Jorn continued fiddling until he heard the satisfying click and the chest revealed its content. He was met with shiny piles of gold coins filled to the brim, glinting in the light. He pulled out several bags from his cloak and began to fill them up with the treasure but he didn’t manage to empty even half of the chest when the bags were swollen, almost bursting from their seams.
The cloaked youngling walked with clinking steps towards the rope and began the climb. He took a small jump and locked his hands on to the rope. Each climb was hard, Jorn clenched his teeth and grunted due to the strenuous effort, dragging himself slowly upwards. His hands suddenly gave up and he fell hard on his back, once again squirming in pain and gasping for breath.
Vima returned. “Okay, the guards are hurrying up here and they are armed to the teeth. Let’s run now.” The fire saw Jorn lying on the ground staring at the dangling rope. “Too heavy?”
“Yeah…” acknowledged Jorn.
“Then drop some stuff, we can buy a new saw and gadgets with the gold.”
“Are you crazy?” said Jorn as he stood up again for another try. “I’m not going to leave Muira’s tools behind. It’s all I have from her!”
“It’s either that or the gold,” said Vima. “And personally, I like the gold more.” The fire zoomed towards the half-stolen chest. “Heck, I wished we took the whole chest with us.”
Voices echoed from behind the door followed by thumping and bolting. The fire zipped up to Jorn, returning to the circling around the youngling’s head.
“Jorn, you know what’s best for us,” the flame inquired. “Drop your tools.”
“No,” said Jorn. He grabbed the fire and held it close to his face. “There’s another option.” He looked at the fire with unwavering gaze. “You can do the heavy lifting.”
Vima shrank in size. “You sure?” The fire’s voice was hesitant.
“Yeah.”
“Alright, I just want to make sure that I have your consent,” said the fire carefully. “Because of all the- “
“Vima, they’re tackling the door!” urged Jorn.
“You said that I wasn’t allowed to do that anymore,” said Vima serious. “I mean look at those bags under your eyes, it will only result in -”
“I know, I know,” said Jorn. The boy looked at the fire with deer-like eyes, pleading. “Come on Vima!”
The fire zoomed inside Jorn’s mouth and the youngling’s face turned pale. But instead of a horrified expression like the guard gave, Jorn smiled a big smile and screamed out in joy.
He climbed up the rope as if he was weightless but stopped halfway, releasing his grip and dropped down, landing safely with a roll. He threw all the gold bags inside the treasure chest, closed it shut, then picked up the chest with one hand and ran towards the rope, jumping six feet into the air and grabbed hold with a single arm, before nimbly climbing up to the roof. Jorn threw the chest to the side and pulled up the rope, rolling it once again and put across his shoulder. He looked down at the hole and heard the echoes of the door croaking its last breath as it broke.
Why are you not running?
“Need to finish in style,” responded Vima with a smile.
Several guards flooded into the room, their attention on the debris in the middle. Their eyes drifted upwards to the hole in the ceiling and at the top, they saw a cloaked figure standing tall.
“Let it be known,” said the figure as he made a motion with his hands, “that the house of Hammel has been visited by The Crow.”
Black feathers wafted down the air, and the cloaked figure disappeared into the night.
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