Deep Shadow

I

The market of Avenire glittered with the reflections of a hundred treasures. Stalls overflowed with wares; spices, flowers, fresh food, and above all, gold. Nearly every merchant had a trinket, a costly treasure set out for sale, luring passersby in to peruse. Throngs of customers weaved in and out of the stalls, a deafening roar of conversation amongst them. 

“Spices imported from Qui-xong!”

“Exotic fruits, straight from the palace of the Maharajah himself!”

“Handmade masks! Get your handmade masks for Carnevale here!”

A heat wave had settled over the bustling marketplace like a heavy blanket, making my clothes stick to my skin. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea, wearing a hooded jacket and pants to one of the hottest places in Avenire, but then again, maybe it was the smartest. The length of the black sleeves, drooping by inches over my hands, made my reaching out to people as I wove my way through the crowds more discreet, helped to hide my movements. Concealing my swiftly-moving fingers as they slipped into pockets and back out, masking my treasures from prying eyes. The tourists idling around the market were loaded, wallets brimming with loose euros, waiting to be pocketed by the quick and needy.

The quick and needy like me.

By the time I reached the end of the dingy street, my own pockets were stuffed full of loot. No one had noticed yet that their wallets were missing, or the roll of euros they’d tucked into their back pants’ pocket was no longer there. And they likely wouldn’t, until I was long gone. I kept my head down, slipping past the guards that stood watch at the end of the marketplace, and jogged up the crumbling stone steps that spiraled back up into the heart of the city.

The marketplace was built into an old sewer, tucked between two buildings. The buildings, which used to be offices, had long since been converted into apartments. There were times, when spending the wee hours of the night wandering through the ever-busy market, that annoyed and sleep-deprived dwellers of the looming apartments would lean out their windows, shouting curses at the vendors and their noisy patrons and waving their fists. I didn’t like to go looting in the evenings for that very reason. Although most pickpockets would think that the cover of nightfall would be the safest time to loot, it was those disgruntled apartment owners that made it not so. Up there, feet above the rest of us, they had a wide view, one that made things like reaching into the pockets of others more obvious, rather than to those of us on the ground. I’d heard of one too many not-so-clever pickpockets getting caught because of those apartments, and I’d learned from that lesson quite quickly. Looting during the day, I realized, was the safest time.

Free of the grimy air and heavy layer of sweat that hung over the market, I rolled up my sleeves, patting the pockets of my jacket surreptitiously, even though I knew nothing could fall out. I’d had the jacket made solely for the purpose of looting, and the pockets were heavily lined, stitched shut with heavy-duty thread three times, and had a zipper across the top for safe keeping. There wasn’t a chance anything could get out, but I liked to pat the pockets anyway. It made me feel comforted, knowing I had the security, once again, of a few days’ meals in the near future. 

Dong. Dong. Dong.

In the town square, the clock tower chimed twelve times. The sun was high up in the sky. Dannazione. It was noon already. Serves me right for getting too caught up in the petty thievery. I sprinted across the square, into the nearest alley, and, boosting off the ground, leapt up and grabbed onto a drain pipe. With a heave, I pulled myself up, pressing my feet against the wall to help me climb. It would be faster across the rooftops. Besides the pigeons, there would be little foot traffic slowing me down up there. The terra cotta shingles of the shop buildings crunched underfoot, but I was light enough to not break them. Not unless I jumped on them.