THIEF: THE MIDNIGHT VEIL

08: "RECKLESS"

     Down the same corridor, just a couple left turns away from Mara, Henry, and Terri, Garrett was kneeling on one knee and testing a locked door. He had one ear tilted to the lock, listening intently to the click-click-clicking his lock picks made while he delicately twisted and prodded.
     A soft click sounded. Then another. The sound was more than music to the man's ears - it was an addiction.
     A woman's voice in the not-so-faraway distance cried out in alarm. Garrett's hooded head whipped around to face the direction of the shout, and as he did he heard others join in.
     He frowned in disbelief. He had put out a couple torches, sure - but that didn't warrant screaming Hell's Bells, did it?
     The thief turned back to the lock, concerned. His newly-alerted adversaries were still a couple turns of the hall away, but that could change very quickly.
     To his left, a small open archway led into a shadowy tower where a steadily winding staircase ascended out of view, and Garrett could tell from where he was kneeling that it would offer plentiful darkness should the need to flee arrive.
     Click.
     No greater sound. Truly.
     He carefully probed for what he figured was the final pin. It did no good to jostle a pick in a lock blindly and hope for the best, especially if one was in a bind. Even now as distant voices grew stronger and warned Garrett of approaching adversaries, he kept his wits about him and took a steady, deep breath.
    "—get down there an' find out." came a man's deep voice, bouncing off the walls from afar. Other men voiced their acknowledgement.
     Garrett looked to his left at the shadowy stairwell where the voices had come from and realized that at least three more guards were on their way from above, in addition to the shouts he already heard in the nearby corridor. He could hear their rapid steps scrambling as they descended the stairs, the clinking folly of their chainmail bouncing against their armor as they rushed.
     "Ready up, lads," advised a gruff voice.
     Another man snorted and laughed. "Hope someone is taffin' around. Been waitin' months to gut somebody, aye? Been too long."
     Garrett clenched his jaw as he turned his focus back to the lock, silently berating himself for risking such exposure for a locked door.
     "Oi!" came a woman's voice from Garrett's right, somewhere down the hall. "We've got a man knocked out! Eyes up!"
     The rapidly descending footsteps in the tower stairwell were getting louder.
     The guards on the opposite side who had found the body were nearing.
     Garrett had seconds. "Come on," he whispered softly. "C'mon, c'mon."
     The glow of a lantern from within the dark stairwell washed into view on the edge of his vision, and Garrett slipped the final spring aside with his triangle pick while using his square pick to delicately nudge the last remaining pin downward with his square pick.
     The familiar, satisfying metallic rasp of a lock's defeat sent a wave of relief over the thief as he hastily opened the door and stole through it, into what appeared to be a vacant bedroom.
     Thankfully. Garrett did not rush through new doorways unless he absolutely had to. He lucked out.
     As he stepped inside and quickly eased the door shut, he could hear the approaching guards reach the corridor. A volley of jogging footsteps echoed throughout the hall as they ran past the closed door towards the cry of alarm they had heard earlier, but then they stopped right outside.
     "What's happened?" Garrett heard a man ask.
     "Someone's prowlin' about."
     "Aye," another voice chimed. "Henry and Terri found poor Caffrey out cold. Someone hit 'im o'er the head."
     "No, it was Mosley who found him. She sent Henry and Terri for help."
     Mosley? Had Garrett heard the name correctly?
     He was just on the other side of the door from the gathering in the hallway. He had pressed himself flat in the shadows, but he prayed the guards didn't enter.
     There would be nowhere to run.
     And why on earth would City Watch Lieutenant Mosley be in Lady Arden's Manor? Especially at this hour?
     "What do you mean? Someone attacked him?"
     "Found him knocked out in the washroom back that way. They stole his keys, too."
     "What?"
     "You lads go spread the word upstairs. We have enough coverage down here."
     "And the Captain?"
     "Mosley already sent someone after 'im."
     "All right. We'll head up and alert the second floor."
     "Lads, start a sweep of the first floor. Cap'n Galway will be here soon so stay alert. Meet back up in the main foyer. Move your arses."
     Heavy footsteps sounded through the hall as an unknown number of guards split into two groups and dispersed.
     Guards at most of Garrett's previous jobs had been embarrassingly inefficient compared to this lot. If he wasn't careful, this could be a long night at best.
     At worst, he would not live through it.
     Garrett stayed there, back pressed up against the wall, brow furrowed in confusion. He had doused the two torches in the hall with water arrows, yes.
     He had not knocked anyone out.
     He had not stolen any keys.
     What the hell was going on?
     The thief remained still, waiting to be sure that the guards outside had left. He finally focused on the dark, vacant bedroom he had gained access to.
     A single bed was tucked away in a shadowy corner, and a simple nightstand accompanied it. A small desk with a rickety old chair sat vacant, with more unlit candles on its mantle, wax collected at their bases. Different documents and parchments were all over the desk, yet neatly organized. He saw two brooms leaning against the wall near the door to a small closet, and a large double-door wardrobe in the far corner.
     The desk had drawers. The nightstand had a drawer. The closet probably held only clothes.
     The man sighed softly. He'd nearly been caught picking the lock. Had the risk even been worth anything?
     Garrett checked the documents on the desk first. It was difficult to see the writing scrawled on the pages and parchments in the darkness, and so he blinked his right eye gently while also looking upward; this action activated his Mechanical Eye, and he did not use it to zoom in, but rather provide "Dark Sight" as he called it - in substantial darkness, his vision was able to be slightly illuminated to where he could see better in the dark.
     He was certainly no cat, nor owl. The darkness was still dark, still dangerous, and demanded respect and caution. But in this way, Garrett was able to read the documents on the desk in a windowless, pitch dark room without the aid of a candle's flame.
     A quick glance showed supply lists, an inventory ledger, a list of house staff, a list of "items for discussion." Garrett soon realized he was in the butler's bedroom - a man named Declan Chauncey, who signed his name as simply Mr. Chauncey on everything.
     "Chauncey. House Butler," Garrett whispered to himself. He had a habit of doing so when he came across a new name during a job. It helped him remember who it was, just in case the info proved useful... which did happen occasionally.
     Even though a butler was in charge of all house staff, including servants, housekeeping, and the kitchen staff, a butler was still a servant. Garrett would be lucky to find much of anything of value here.
     The man opened the first desk drawer, which held nothing but odd writing and office supplies. He tried the next drawer, which yielded the same result.
     A series of small storage cubbies lined the mantle on top of the desk, and Garrett searched each one swiftly, yet thoroughly.
     Rolled up scroll. Two jars of ink, one of them uncapped, which had resulted in the ink drying out. A letter opener.
     The last compartment housed a small coin pouch, which Garrett pocketed quickly. Judging by its weight, it was probably ten, maybe fifteen pieces.
     Worth getting caught in the hallway? No. But he would take what he could get.
     The bedside nightstand was next. Garrett slid the drawer open and found a large coin purse next to another letter opener.
     Why did this Mr. Chauncey fellow need so many letter openers?
     After stowing the purse, he surveyed the room to ensure he hadn't missed anything else before he went to check the closet and wardrobe.
     He didn't get far.
     Rapid footsteps in the outside hallway reached his ears. They were approaching quickly.
     Garrett eased the nightstand drawer shut and swiftly glided across the room for the wardrobe. The pocket of shadow between it and the corner where the walls met provided a safe haven in the dark, in the event that someone suddenly entered the room.
     Sure enough, the steps slowed to a stop right outside the door.
     Garrett heard the sound of a key being jiggled in the lock, and then a confused grunt as whoever it was discovered that the door was already unlocked. The door swung open, briefly letting the hallway torchlight in before being closed and locked hastily.
     The thief took a deep, quiet breath, inhaling through the nose, exhaling silently through the mouth. He reached for his blackjack at his belt and tightened his grip on the handle.
     He was trapped in a locked room with someone else; likely Declan Chauncey - there was a very good chance this would end with an assault.
     A man with dark brown hair slicked back and a neatly trimmed goatee - probably in his mid-to-late forties - stomped into view and threw a key onto his desk. He was shaking, clearly anxious. He planted both his palms on the desktop and leaned onto it, the wood creaking beneath his weight, and tried to catch his breath.
     Garrett averted his eyes to the floorboards near the man's feet. He knew that a person's "sixth sense" was quite real; he had learned years before that one could feel when they were being watched.
     It bodes well to not watch a person directly of one was trying to remain hidden.
     The man drew a sharp breath and seemed to recover. He straightened and whirled to face the door. "Bloody hell," he uttered to himself. "Shite, shite, shite." He looked down at his hands, which were trembling. "Oh, you've gone and done it now, Declan. You've gone and done it, aye?"
     Declan Chauncey, Butler of Arden Manor, struck a tinderbox and lit the candles on his desk and nightstand.
     Thankfully, the candle glow fell well short of Garrett's hiding spot. The thief remained cloaked in the wardrobe's shadow.
     Declan returned to his desk. He swiped the letter opener from one of the small drawers and sank to his knees, shouldering his chair out of the way with such force that it clattered roughly across the floor and tipped over with a loud thud.
     Garrett raised his eyebrows when he saw the man stick the letter opener into the floor, wedge it roughly between a couple of the boards, and wrench one of the planks loose.
     Declan shakily reached into the pocket of his coat and produced a shiny trinket. He held it in his open palm and allowed himself to be enchanted by it for a long moment as the candlelight flickered off of the polished gold. He soon stowed the trinket beneath the floorboards, along with something else that Garrett could not quite make out, before quickly setting the loose plank back in place.
     Declan wiped sweat from his brow and uprighted his desk chair before taking a seat. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head bowed, looking like he was trying to find solace in the oak beneath his shoes.
     Garrett kept his breathing steady and his fingers tight on the blackjack's handle. All it took for things to go awry was one quick, harmless glance from the unsuspecting butler to that corner of the room for the thief to be discovered.
     He was careful to keep his eyes focused on the floor, and Garrett watched Declan from his peripheral vision.
     A knock sounded at the door, startling Declan as much as it did Garrett, and the butler shot to his feet and practically flew across the room to answer it.
     Garrett could not see who it was from his hiding place, but he heard Declan speaking with a woman in terse whispers before the door closed again.
      Declan reappeared with a blonde-haired woman - one of the servants - and they embraced each other tightly before the butler sat back down in his chair and the housemaid sat on the edge of his bed.
     Neither, of course, even suspected they were being watched.
     "Declan, what is going on?" the woman asked. "What is happening?"
     "It'll be fine, dear. I just—"
     "They're saying one of the guards was attacked!"
     "I know."
     The woman stared at him. "You don't seem all that shocked."
     That's what I'm trying to tell you, Elise." Declan bowed his head and said something under his breath before straightening to face her again. "It was me."
     Elise blinked. Her face was a portrait of disbelief, and she shook her head slowly. "What was you?"
     "It was me who did it. I knocked out one o' the guards," Declan whispered shakily. "Caffrey, the heavy one. Poor fellow. Wasn't personal, he just happened to—"
     "W-why would—"
     "Let me explain."
     "Declan, by the gods - what were you thinking?"
     The man swallowed hard. "I took his keys."
     Elise was now nodding very slowly, trying to wrap her head around what Declan was telling her. "You... you attacked one of Lady Arden's guards so you could... so y-you could steal his keys?"
     "Let me explain," he repeated.
     "Are you mad?" the housemaid nearly exclaimed.
     "Sshh! Keep your voice down!"
     "Are you bloody insane? You assaulted a guard? What in Trickster's Hell are you playing at?!"
     The butler stood and rushed to the bedside. He knelt before the woman and took her hand in his. "Just let me explain. Please keep your voice down."
     She stared down at him, wide-eyed. "You've lost the plot. You're mad if you think—"
     "Elise. Please."
     "—sit here and listen to you when you've clearly got a death wish."
     Declan grabbed her other hand. "M'dear, please. Listen. I have something to tell you."
     "You've told me enough!"
     "Hush, please! Just for a moment!"
     Elise pulled her hands away from his. "If they find me with you, they'll think... that I-I helped, and—-"
     "My dear Elise," Declan urged in a smooth voice, "please relax. Please listen. We're getting out o' here."
     The woman said nothing.
     To be fair, Garrett thought to himself, the woman probably did not even know what to say at that point.
     "You and I can finally leave this place. Leave The City, just like we've talked about for two years now!"
     The woman frowned. "I don't follow."
     Declan gently reached for her hands again. "I took the keys to get to the Gallery. Only the guards have keys to open it, aye? That's why I did what I did."
     Elise was shaking her head. "Where did you do it?"
     "Just down the hall," Declan replied hushedly. "The corridor leading to Kessler Hall. In the washroom."
     "Declan, what in blazes are you going to do when he wakes up and tells everyone who attacked him?"
     "He didn't see me, love. The torches were out in the hall, so it was quite dark." Declan got up from his knees with a grunt and sat next to Elise on the bed. "He didn't even close the door all the way."
     "Why were the torches out?"
     "I... don't know, Elise. But that's never happened before and it'll probably never happen again. It was total darkness, so I took my chance."
     "So you just walked up to the man and attacked him while he was literally taking the piss? Are you crazy?"
     Declan snorted and rolled his eyes. "Will you stop saying I 'attacked' the fellow? I just gave him a good bonk on the head. Enough to knock 'im out. He'll be fine."
     Elise opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. She was beside herself; now she was the one trembling, and Declan put a consoling arm around her.
     "Elise," he whispered. "I took my shot. It was dark enough. He was alone, and the guards are never alone. No idea why the torches were out, but they were, aye? So I took my chance. I used the spare lever for the dumbwaiter, the iron one we keep in the store room. I already had it on me since I was on my way to replace the one that's grown faulty." Declan threw his hands up expectantly. "Everything lined up perfectly. I would never get a chance like that again, aye? So I gave him a bonk on the head. Got a key to the Gallery."
     The housemaid brushed strands of blonde hair from her eyes. "Yeah? And what are you going to do now, hm? Sneak past all these pissed off guards, steal a painting, is that it? You're going to figure out how to stuff an original D'Fehr in your coat?"
     "Elise—"
     "You going to lift one of those big Sebach paintings off the wall, and... what, fold it up and put it in your pocket?"
     "No. That's not what I intend to do."
     "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think Lady Arden or her guards are going to let us walk out of here with one of those priceless paintings," Elise hissed. "All of 'em are as tall as we are, anyway. And—"
     "Elise!" Declan snapped in a whisper. "Enough!" He got to his feet and looked down at her. "Come, now. Do you really think that little of me? Do you think I'm that stupid?"
     She lowered her gaze to the floor. "No, Declan, not stupid. Reckless. Impulsive. Assaulting one of Lady Arden's guards is not what I would call 'smart' necessarily. I just don't know what you were thinking! You'll get yourself killed!"
     "What I was thinking," Declan murmured softly. He shook his head and turned to walk back to his hiding spot in the floor. He knelt, reopened it, and set the loose floorboard aside before fishing the shiny trinket out again.
     Elise's eyes went wide. "Is that..."
     "Kirill's Compass?" Declan finished. "Yes it is." He offered it to her. "Hold it. Go on."
     She obliged, and her mouth dropped open as she felt the weight of the compass in her hands. "This... this is solid gold."
     "Damned right." Declan beamed triumphantly. "Solid gold, ornately chiseled design around the edges. See that diamond embedded in it, where it points north? That alone is enough to get us anywhere we'll ever need to go."
     The housemaid was still agape in wonder, and her gaze found his. "I-I can't believe it."
     "You can't sneak a painting out of here, but this lil' treasure fits in my pocket, aye? Art isn't the only thing on display in the Gallery after all." Declan beckoned for her to hand it back, and she did. "Still think I'm a fool, Elise?"