The Band of Rotten: A Sanders Sides Story

The Gentleman Thief

England, 1860

His thin shoes splashed through the muddy, crowded market of London. He quickened his run as he heard loud crashing following his footsteps. He made sure to maintain a strong grip at the satchel slung over his shoulders. The small street ahead was blocked by people and their cursed boxes of withered produce. He managed to jump over three crates of apples, snatching a fruit while doing so. He could hear the men chasing him getting closer, and that was when he found an opening; a narrow alleyway blocked by street vendors. He could slip through easily without anyone noticing.

He moved in an erratic pattern. To the left. Left again. To the right. Jump over. Left again. He tried to confuse his pursuers, and it seemed to be working. His slim figure slipped into the alleyway, running all the way to the back to find a dead end. He took a bite of the apple. It was a little sour, but it had to be good enough. Besides, it was his first bite of food in four days. He dug through the stolen satchel, trying to find any food or money. A few coins and a piece of stale bread—not the best, but not the worst he'd ever had either.

He crouched down, leaning against a wall. He hoped no one was going to find him in here. After his brief meal, he dug through the satchel again trying to find anything else that could be of use to him. He only found empty air. Turning his head to peek through the mouth of the alley, he saw his pursuers running past the alleyway, missing his hunched figure hiding in the shadow. Feeling that he was away from danger at the moment, he slumped against the wall behind him, breathing a sigh of relief—at least for now.

He pressed himself closer to the wall, folding his knees against his chest and resting his chin on them. His bony arms circled around to hug around his legs. He dared himself to close his eyes and for a second, he could relax and feel the blow of the humid air around him, the sound of the crowded market bustling with life and the muddy ground beneath him. He heard a sudden clang, making him jump away. His eyes blew open only to find a grey rat staring at him with a seemingly bewildered expression. It let out a squeak, moving its dirty pink tail slightly. He swatted his hand, so the rat scurried down the tiny sewer drain at one corner of the ground.

He must have stayed there for hours, since the next thing he realized was the street along the market had started to empty. The vendors had packed their items and walk away to their families. Ah yes, families. Virgil didn't know if he ever wanted a family. Clearly, no one wanted him otherwise he would not have end up scavenging and thieving to stay alive. Thrown away as an infant, Virgil knew deep down in his heart that something was perhaps wrong with him. He shook the thought away, finally noticing the chilly bite of the approaching nightfall. He stood slowly, unfolding his aching joints and walking out into the streets once more with hesitance. And there, on one side of the street was one of the few tents still open.

Walking over, he leaned against the wooden support of the standing tent, peeking under the heavy canvas cover. He was greeted with a frown from the girl who tends to the vendor, Tessa. Of course, the two had had their fair share of odd "coincidental" meetings. Virgil was familiar with Tessa's short temper, exploding in bursts. Though she seems kind to other customers.

"What do you want, you rascal? If you try anything, I will have Joseph look for you." Tessa fixed him with a stern gaze, squinting her eyes in an unconscious attempt of intimidation.

"Are you serious?" Virgil slyly reached down, fingers caressing a rotund plum. "You do know I have my ways to get away from these things?"

"Ah, of course," Tessa said, swatting Virgil's filthy hand away from her fruits. "I see that fresh bruise on your shoulder is an evidence of getting away with things?"

"This? Oh, don't be absurd, dear Tess. This is merely an accident."

"Don't you ever call me that again or else—"