The Life Of Neranda (Updated)

CHAPTER THREE: A TRAINED THIEF

'Ok, so where is the milk stored in the shed Rory?' Felicity said, sitting skeptically on her nest. 'You know I'm worried about you doing this. And please, don't do anything that'll cause there to be a village announcement tomorrow. I don't know how we'll deal with that because we can't take Neranda with us, so she'll have to be left by herself.'

'Felicity, it's this or Neranda dies. I mean it, I have to steal the milk, honey. There's no other way of getting hold of it,' he replied 'and it's in the storeroom, when you go into the shed where Graham and Freida park their cars, then you keep heading into the room where the radio is always playing and there are several fridges where food is stored. Then on the wooden shelves, there is stacks of preserved milk in cardboard cartons. It's not the best milk, I know, but it's better than nothing.'

'And who's going to be there to help you steal it? Someone has to stand guard behind the shed along Winterslum Alley and let you know if someone comes out of the Ingledegon House. If Graham or Freida come along, or even Taffy, you're dead meat right there,' 

'Honey. I've stolen things many times before and I do it regularly. I am a trained thief,' he winked cheekily, ''sides, stop telling me how to do it when you never steal anything you tasty little inexperienced chicken.' He poked out his tongue at her seductively, licked his lips and turned towards the door. 

'Just look after Neranda, I've got this covered!' he called out, 'Rob'll stand guard!'

Rory trotted freely through the village, headed for Robbie and Alphine's house. How was he going to explain that he'd adopted a ball cub? How could he afford to support a new baby in the family when they were just scraping by the way things were. Oh, and not to forget that the Ingles must not find out about Neranda, since they'd want to sell her and take her away from him and Felicity. Legally, they were allowed to. Neranda was living within the boundary of Ingledegon and the Ingles owned that land, only to do whatever they wished with it's inhabitants. Shaking his head in anxiety, he picked up his pace and rounded the corner of bricks road to then cross over the lawn where Ollie was lounging in the sun. 

'Just lazin' there, you fuckin' lazy ass bird,' he muttered, 'well I guess that's all you can really do is lie around with that fucked up leg.' He chuckled when Ollie tried to move but almost immediately fell back to the grass. Rory found it strangely amusing that she took half an hour to make her way into the duck pool for a swim. It wasn't long until he reached Robbie and Alphine's house, but as he climbed up the steps, it was obvious they'd taken a trip out of the village and usually when they went out, they didn't arrive back home until sundown or even the next morning. They liked to make a day of it. 

'Damn!' he cussed, looking around to see that the doors were shut and the curtains were all down. The bullocke wasn't parked outside either. 'Suppose I'll have to do this by myself,' he thought, heading towards the Ingledegon Shed. Robbie and Alphine lived one street away from the shed, so it was not a long walk to get there. It would be even quicker to sneak home around the back way, along Winterslum Alley and through the communal vegetable garden once he'd stolen the milk. 

He approached the Ingledegon Shed, listening carefully to hear if Graham was in his work room before he entered the main area of the shed. It must be 8 o' clock already, Rory realized as the radio loudly informed him while he sneaked towards the storeroom. Graham listened to the same station, day in, day out. He never seemed to care that nobody else in the village found it even slightly interesting. Rory knew he was a crafty thief, but his heart was still in his mouth as he crept into the small dusty room. Partly because the radio was turned up full bore so that the entire township could hear it. He wouldn't have a clue if anyone was coming. The radio pissed Rory off so much, what about it could just 'break' with a little of his help? It could accidentally fall off the top of the refrigerator and Graham could just find it there on the ground, dismally emitting static waves of sound as it's miserable life withered away. It sounded like a nice idea to lob it out the window and into the vegetable garden, but that could wait for later perhaps. The milk was the top priority now. He frantically searched the shelves for the cartons of milk, desperately trying to hear above the morning news which the radio was screaming into his eardrums. Oh, nice, someone's been stabbed. OK, yep, a supermarket's been vandalized overnight. Interesting. Great to know. I don't care. Rory, agitated, jumped up onto his hind legs and spun around to where the radio was still sat atop the refrigerator, high and mighty, blabbering it's daily garbage into thin air. 

'Fuck you bloody piece of shit,' he growled, reaching up to try and locate the power button. A wave of dust washed over him as his furry arm swept the top of the device, causing it to rock back and forth, dangerously close to falling off. Frustrated, he bobbed down to where it was plugged in and ripped it out of the wall, satisfied. Another day he could take it one step further and cut the radio's power lead. That would shut it up forevermore. Now all was silent. Listening before making his move, Rory edged towards the cartons of milk lined up along the very bottom shelf. One or two cartons, he mused. He had to make a quick and smart decision. This was a get-kicked-out-of-Ingledegon or not-get-kicked-out-of-Ingledegon situation. If he was caught stealing the milk, Felicity was right, he'd be dead meat. One carton would do for now, he could always come back later to steal more as they ran out of the first one. He clenched the milk in his jaws and turned quietly into the main room of the shed, heading past Graham and Freida's parked cars. He turned left and was heading for the turning to Winterslum Alley when the dreaded sound of the Ingledegon House door slamming rung through the air. If the radio had still been jabbering, he may not have heard it. And if he'd still been in the shed with the radio on .... he just needed to get out and stop thinking about what could have happened if he hadn't been so lucky that time. Scooting down the alleyway, he was faced with the little wooden gate ahead of him. Oh shit! Shit, shit shit! Graham always insisted that gate was to be shut at all times, which meant painstakingly pushing a squeaky metal bolt into a hole in the shed, which took about five minutes, so nobody ever bothered to shut the gate anyway. But Rory had to open the gate in order to get through, and opening the bloody thing usually took a while, and whoever it was coming out of the Ingledegon House would be fast approaching the shed by now. If they heard someone opening the gate, they would likely come down Winterslum Alley to see who it was. So he'd get caught for sure. So it was a kick-the-gate-open or end-up-as-dead-meat situation. 'Here goes,' he mumbled, stepping backwards and turning around to get the best Rory Jack wonk kick as possible. His tough hoof-paw collided with the gate, not once but twice and the bolt screamed against the corrugated iron as it was violently ripped out and bent backwards, splintering the wood. All Graham's hard work. Perhaps now he'd realize that he needed to stop making annoyingly squeaky gates that took five minutes to open, especially in a village full of thieves. Because yes, they will get kicked down. It's not rocket science. Not wasting a second, Rory flew down the alleyway as fast as his legs would allow, narrowly escaping Graham's wrath as he was to be heard thundering around the corner, cussing and yelling as he noticed the gate was bent out of shape. It wasn't the first time. There would surely be a village announcement about that the next day. Felicity wouldn't be happy with him since she'd have to leave the house and attend the compulsory announcement, putting Neranda in possible danger if she left her by herself. Panicking, Rory leaped over the vegetable garden fence and pounded up Sunnyhill Road, past the cemetery and into Mountain Hill Lookout Park. His refuge, his place of safety. It was right in the corner of the village, hidden away by trees and thick foliage, where he could still see if anyone was coming. He could climb up the the very top of the tree stump and watch the goings-on of that entire half of the village. He took a couple of minutes to collect himself, holding the milk between his hoof paws. He heard Graham storm into the Ingledegon House, slamming the door and shouting in rage. Poor Frieda always had the job of calming him down. She must have been dreading it when she saw him thundering up the track alongside the shed with a murderous look on his face. She'd be used to it, the amount of things that go wrong in Ingledegon and how Graham deals with it. Rory packed the carton back into his mouth and after making sure the coast was clear, he trotted calmly through Sail Fields and once he reached Walker Park, he could see his hut though the trees with the hens foraging around in the muddy, desolate slum run. 

He nodded his head at them as he cantered along Schoolia Track. Opening the gate, he dropped the milk into his hoof paws and rounded the corner into the hut, exhausted from his escapade. 

Felicity was nestled in her straw, nursing Neranda as she whined forlornly. 

'Rory! You're back!' Felicity sighed in relief, 'Was is a close call, Rory? I heard Graham getting aggro about something, what happened? He didn't catch you, did he?'

'Felicity, honey, stop worrying, everything is A OK. I've got the milk, I didn't get caught and now we just need to feed little Nerrie before she starves.'