The Art of Thievery by Timur (best ebook reader for ubuntu .txt) 📕

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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Editing: Preston Randall
Publication Date: 06-10-2012

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