The Thief of Skystead

Fateful Encounter

Azazel is good at stealing. Really, really good. Well, that and knitting, but that isn't relevant to the task at hand. Walking through Skystead Town presents a lot of opportunities to snatch something valuable. Especially in the summer, when all the rich folk are here at their summer homes for the season. They're the perfect targets for him: loaded and arrogant. They're so self-absorbed and snooty that Azazel can swipe just about anything from them with ease. They think no one can touch them.

An elderly delcatty shrieks, high and shrill, wailing, "My necklace!" Sure enough, the string of pearls perpetually around the neck of any rich wife is suddenly missing from her person. Fretting, she pats herself down and her husband practically dances in search of the missing pearls. When they realize the jewelry is nowhere in sight, she cries, "Thief! Thief!"

The bustling town square erupts into chaos. The rich tourists flounder and grip tightly to their valuables and the officers leap into action. But the locals simply roll their eyes and spew strings of curses at yet another heist these bumbling officers won't be able to solve.

"We know it's you, Azazel," a merchant accuses as he casually strolls by.

"Who, me?" He replies, feigning innocence. He tucks the necklace into his knapsack full of everything else he's stolen today and continues on his merry way.

It's a lucrative business, being a thief. But only if you're as good as Azazel, who's stolen the diamond off of a ring still on a woman's finger. He's also stolen a wad of one-thousand dollars, a rare coin collection on display in a large crowd, and candy from a baby—just for fun. Needless to say, he isn't just good at it: he's the best. And unless the law finally catches him, he's not stopping.

"You there! Stop!" An officer shouts, scampering after him. He looks over his shoulder, offers a nonchalant wave and a lazy smile, and continues on his way. The officer catches up to him, scrambling to block his path. "I said, 'halt'!"

"Oh, did you?" He asks, smiling with the slightest air of smug self-satisfaction. "So sorry officer, I couldn't hear with the missus over there screaming."

The delcatty, exasperatingly, continues to scream. This doesn't bother Azazel in the slightest.

"Open your bag," the officer, a watchog, demands. "I know you stole it."

Azazel puts a hand to his chest in surprise. "Officer Nigel! Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because you're a wily, crafty banette and you've been thieving in this town for over a decade!"

That's true. "That's entirely untrue."

"You're right, maybe it's been more than a decade!" The officer bursts, his face red with excitement and rage. Then, he pauses. "Er, how old are you again?"

"Twenty-five as of last week."

"Oh, happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Getting close to thirty, you may want to think of settling down and getting married, and—gah! You did it again!" Nigel yelps, gripping the fur on the top of his head like he wants to tear it out. Pointing feverishly at Azazel, he cries, "You always do that, you always weasel your way out of everything!"

Azazel smiles pleasantly.

"Well, not this time!" Officer Nigel declares, snatching Azazel's satchel from his hands. Azazel lets him. Holding the bag above his head triumphantly, he says, "This time, I've got you!"

"Actually, you've got my lunch."

"Your... huh?"

Officer Nigel tears into the bag. Opening it reveals it is loaded with nothing but berries. Frantically, the officer shoves the food aside, desperately rummaging through the fruit.