by Hugo Damas
“Uhh.” The girl was clearly intimidated, which was something Falk was not completely against. “I guess, uhm, do you have to kill all of them?”
As he kept turning the lever, and the bars continued to be pushed apart, Falk sighed patiently.
“Very well. I shall murder only those who try and stop us.” He smiled, “if that makes you feel any better.”
“I…I guess. Thanks?”
Falk figured the two bars had been bent enough. He could fit through them now, and that meant the other two could as well since they were both thinner. Fortune had certainly smiled on them that day. One by one, they walked out.
“Hey!” A voice called out from another cell, “hey, help a fellow thief out, man.”
Falk looked aside at the miscreant while the Mole retrieved the keys from the guard. The girl came up next to him, stopping with a brusque movement that sent her short yet wide braids dangling off each side of the head. Like wings.
“Do we help him?” she asked.
Falk scoffed. “Of course not, this is a competition.”
“But you helped us,” she pointed out, “uh, doctor,” she added.
“Not much choice,” the Mole argued, meeting them, “we know he can’t harm us so how exactly was he going to keep us in the jail cell? Maybe if one of us couldn’t fit through the bars.” He shook his head to get the hair out of his eyes again, and it slapped lightly against his ears, grimy as it was. “But neither of us are a real threat to him, so why expend the effort anyway? Let’s not push our luck, Magpie, he has been very gracious already.”
Falk nodded appreciatively. He was starting to think he should have contacted the Mole in the past, and had proper conversations with the man.
“You are a perceptive and respectful individual, Mole,” Falk attested. “If only more were like you and I.”
“We should go,” the Mole said, a bit passive. “I believe we have to report back on the magic scrolls. If we even made it past this match, that is. I doubt I did.”
“Me too,” she said, slumping. In the end, she wasn’t really all that bothered about leaving her ‘fellow thief’ behind. “This is really not my usual field.”
Heading on to retrieve their gear, Falk had to silently murder two more guards. Falk took a while to put his gear on when compared to the girl, who basically had an assortment of big pouches strapped to her body. Four of them contained micro-parachutes, he imagined. Falk also realized her jumpsuit had straps tied behind her back so that she could open flaps to act as wings. That all betrayed the fact it was a bird-suit in disguise, which was easy to tell until she put an elegant dress over it. Then it made sense that it was oddly tight-fitting. Falk assumed that she wouldn’t customarily be carrying the bags over the dress, as she was now.
The Mole had little with him when he was arrested, apparently. He retrieved only an electric screwdriver that Falk knew was more capable than anyone could imagine. Finally, they retrieved their scrolls and pouches. They all opened their scrolls, eager to find out the results of the match.
The Thieving Magpie jolted in celebration. “Whoah, I’m…I’m still in! I passed to the next round!”
“Dark Runner didn’t make it?” the Mole curiously noted. “That’s…unexpected.”
“Yes, very,” Falk stated, making it obvious he was responsible. The Mole glanced at him with a question, so Falk glared the answer.
“Well, I am out of the competition,” the Mole said, not addressing Falk’s boast. “Suppose I’ll collect my gear and take my leave. I shall be cheering you on, fellow inventor. Doctor Goldshmidt.” the Mole knew better than to offer a handshake. Instead, he simply bowed his head in respected farewell, to which Falk responded with a slight one.
“Oh man, oh boy, I made it!” The girl continued, surprised and excited. “I just can’t believe it! I guess since skydiving isn’t all I can do, you know? I usually have to do a lot of normal stealing, I guess I’m more used to it than I thought.”
“Well congratulations to you, girl,” Falk said, tapping her on her shoulder. “And good luck in the future.”
They parted ways on that.
Falk had to admit, he suddenly found himself in much higher spirits. Not only had he gotten the rage out of his system through murder, the sweetest of releases, but his encounter with the Mole had made him feel better about having to interact with that flawed, idiotic world. But then, that would happen when interacting with someone from Led By Anarchy. It was the whole reason Falk had affiliated himself with them.
He wondered if anyone else from LBA was participating in the Shadow Conclave, even if it was inconsequential. They were anarchists. They agreed to disagree and were individually independent to the core. None of them would be competing in the name of LBA.
Falk had made it past the first round, and he would make it past the second and then the final as well. That was what mattered.
Curious and once more engaged in the competition, confident and certain of his success, Falk studied the scroll more attentively to make out exactly who was out of the competition and thereby try to predict who was still in.
More importantly, he noted the place the next competition was being held with delight.
“Venetizia…”
It was a beautiful city. It was also the Don’s home turf. The lucky old dog would make it to the final round for sure, which was good since the Don would be very easy to defeat when it came to the real match.
To the last city.
Poor Little Boy
The Street Rat was comfortable. He was sitting in on a first class cabin of a steam-powered train heading for the capital city of Venetizia. He had convinced the conductor, and later the ticket inspector, to allow him to ride the train for free, so that he, a poor little boy, could reconnect back with a family he had been kidnapped from.
His story was so touching they offered him one of the best cabins.
The Street Rat looked like he was straight out of the streets of Neyerk, what with the beige coat over the darker beige shirt and mismatched beige shorts. They were all supposed to be white, but he had used a trick to cause discoloration, thereby simulating the “dirty” look very well. Jamie’s hair was long enough to cover the eyes, done just right so it would look uncut and unattended. It was spiky and messy and usually smothered by the Gatsby hat that could hardly fit his head. The clothes themselves had patches here and there, with missing buttons replaced by shallow strings tying things together.
The Street Rat was all about appearance and then selling that appearance.
These are the disqualifications, Jamie remembered while looking out the window at the pretty scenery, testing the facts he had committed to memory. The Daredevil, The Carpet Lord, The Mole, The Zookeeper, The Banker, The Architect, The Wallcrawler, the Headmaster, The Shadow Summoner, The Spirit Whisperer, The Grand Cook, The Olympian, The Storyteller, The Sandman, The Lumberjack, The Dark Runner.
The Dark Runner was a surprise. Maybe it was that the original one’s performance had created too much hype, but it sure was disappointing for the follow-up to the now legendary Dark Runner to fail so early into the competition.
But oh well. Jamie turned his thoughts to things that mattered. He knew of at least three more contestants who were still participating.
Four, Jamie corrected in his mind, remembering the jungle woman. The Shadow and the Sorcerer were infamous, they were for sure in it. The School Boy, the other big name from the Scavengers, was also taking part. His wasn’t as big of a name as the Street Rat, though, and Jamie intended to prove it once and for all.
Jamie let a smirk shape his lips.
The Scavengers had been good to him. It was a worldwide organization of urchins, beggars, and pickpocketers who were all part of the same age group, save for the small group of leaders who were adults. Every Street Rat before Jamie had grown up to become a part of this circle of leadership they called The Teens. Jamie intended to keep that trend.
Winning the Shadow Conclave w
ould make him a dead ringer for the job.
Jamie watched the scenery with ease, all but sure that no one expected him to win the contest. That was how the Street Rat thrived: underestimated and overlooked. In fact, nobody knew, or would ever know, how the Street Rat was already responsible for three disqualifications.
Well, Jamie had not actually gotten rid of the Banker per say. The Street Rat had simply followed him around for a while, convincing everyone he engaged with to give their money to the poor little street urchin other than to invest it with the Banker. Eventually, it was clear the man was about to get violent, so Jamie left him be. However, he was pretty sure it was too late by then.
Then there was the Wallcrawler. Jamie had simply alerted guards to her presence, getting her arrested. He liked to think that those moves had really caused both of them to lose but he couldn’t be sure. But the Architect? Him, Jamie did directly beat.
The Street Rat pulled a magical pouch out and held it in front of his eyes. It wasn’t his magical pouch, not by a long shot. He threw it out the window of the train with an amused glimmer crossing his eyes. The man’s business was all about structures, he was capable of finding any exploitable secret in any kind of building. How that helped him deal with being robbed was beyond Jamie’s understanding… he clearly wasn’t used to it. A little bump, a sleight of the hand, and minutes later, the man had probably been wondering what had happened to his pouch.
Of course, according to the rules, that meant disqualification.
Jamie had his pouch well in his hand. He eyed it victoriously as a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Jamie called out while putting the pouch away.
He sat straight, put hands on knees and aimed his eyes at the ground, suddenly overwhelmed and uncomfortable by his situation. As the last movement, Jamie put his hat on and pulled it slightly down over his face, in an attempt to hide embarrassment.
The door opened to show a well-dressed waiter holding a track filled with food trays and dishes.
“Here we are…” the waiter pulled the tray into the cabin.
The food and silverware were both glowing beneath the candlelight. “They let us know about your situation, and we thought we might offer you a small feast. You know, for being such a good boy.”
“Oh, my,” Jamie’s timid voice sounded out, accompanied by eyes endearingly hungry for everything on the food tray. They had never seen such a thing, not for a long time. His tongue moved shyly to form words. “I would never…it really is too much, suh. I--”
“Nonsense, boy, eat up to your heart’s content! You deserve it after all you’ve endured.”
“Uhm…well I dunno…” Jamie timidly hesitated, giving uncontrollable glances towards the display. “I guess if yer shuh…I’ll have me a small bite, maybeh?”
“Have a big one,” the waiter said eagerly while leaving the cabin. “Have lots of big ones! Just enjoy yourself.”
“Oh uhm…”
The waiter left laughing to himself, pleased with how much of a good person he was. Soon as the door closed, Jamie quickly smirked at the situation.
The hat came off the head and he again turned and leaned on the window sill, pulling a leg onto the couch, bending it so he could rest his arm on the knee. Then, he snatched one of the meat sandwiches.
“Heh.” Jamie took a big bite, alright, and he didn’t even chew.
“Sucker.”
* * *
4 of 16 Contestants have arrived.
Countdown to Begin: 954 seconds.
“Wow, everyone’s a real slowpoke, huh? Well, guess I’ll scout around some.” Jamie giggled and marched off.
3 of 16 Contestants have arrived.
Countdown to Begin: 945 seconds.
Venetizia was an engineered marvel, a city floating on the sea. The whole thing was sitting on a really big platform that was a few feet underwater. Its base was anchored to the surface, beneath the water level, such that the city moved ever so slightly, floating along with the current as far as the anchoring allowed. The city was so heavy that it really took tides well, though for as long as anyone could remember, they had never been particularly rough.
Still, living in this city was not for everyone, and while it was not as bad as being on a boat, it wasn’t too much unlike it either.
The streets were lit by candle-light. The city had yet to find the confidence to install an electric system to power itself. The candle-lights were well placed though, and because of that, there was little in the way of dark corners for people to hide when in the streets. While that would not bother the Street Rat as much, it would certainly make things more inconvenient for the vast majority of Jamie’s competition.
Jamie looked up at the roofs, guessing the others would be spending most of their time climbing them. They were very badly lit, if at all. But getting around just by using them would be harder than on Edho since the streets went on forever, with the only way across being the small connecting bridges.
Or swimming.
The city was made of blocks, and each one was connected to the next by underwater foundations, but as far as people were concerned, the short bridges joining street to street over the water were the real connections. The Street Rat had, thus, an advantage. Few others would find it as easy to cross the bridges as Jamie would.
People were on the streets still, at that time. They were either walking around or floating about the water canals, and those were mostly couples. It was a very romantic city, though that wasn’t something the Street Rat cared about at all.
After walking around for a few hours, Jamie decided to get an even greater leg-up on his competition. The Street Rat took a seat next to a café, took out his hat and used it to beg for coins.
His trick was to look at passersby in the eye.
That wasn’t all, of course, any puppy-eyed brat could do that. Jamie would engage them, he would make them physically aware of the little poor boy’s presence and desperate appearance by talking to them, individually and specifically.
“Please suh…for muh poo’ tummy, it’s been hurtin’ all day, it has…” a bill fell into his hat and he bent over it, as if it had gravity. “Oh, bless ya, suh, bless ya.”
The Street Rat collected a decent sum in the hour he was there, at which point he was motivated by a particularly sized tip to leave the scene. He stood up right in front of the man who had been so kind.
“Oh, great! I have enough now, thank you sooo much.” Jamie hugged the kind-hearted man who reacted with slight disgust, holding his arms up to try and not get too much of his expensive coat infected.
“Please, boy, this isn’t necessary,” the man said politely.
“Oh bu’ it is, suh, it is. Thank ya so much, so kindly!” Jamie smiled wide and pulled away, turning around and running off, cute and giddy with happiness at how much food he would be able to get. Other passersby complimented the man, and his wife gave him a kiss, all in love with her kind-hearted man.
The Street Rat turned a corner and deftly threw the man’s wallet and pocket-watch into his hat, folding it for easier carrying. He grinned, feeling legitimate adrenaline coursing through him. It was all so much fun, every single time.
The Street Rat walked for a bit longer, accidentally bumping or falling into even more kind-hearted and polite individuals, robbing them of their more lingering possessions. Eventually, though, Jamie’s hat and pockets were full, and dusk was hitting too noticeably to ignore. People were heading home to sleep, and Jamie was close to being late.
Moving to purpose, he headed back to his assigned starting place.
Jamie walked on, looking up at the moon. He glanced aside at the diving sun, concerned that the starting hour might have gone by already. Not wanting to stress that thought, Jamie kept it out of his mind and silently marched to his starting point, which was in the center of a bridge.
Once there, Jamie checked his scroll.
16 of 16 Contestants have arrived.
Countdown to Beg
in: 15 seconds.
“Wow,” Jamie said, giggling. “Oh my glow, that was cutting it real close.”
The Competition in Venetizia has now begun.
With an easy smile, the Street Rat leaned against the bridge, arms crossed and hat still firmly grasped and secured. He looked around, counting the time with ease and patience.
When he felt it was reasonable, Jamie grabbed the wallet and the pocket-watch that had first been stolen, and he threw it into the pouch. He then put his hat back on. He would put the other things into the pouch as the competition developed.
“Let’s go kick some butt,” the Street Rat said. He smirked mischievously, walking off towards the first house he was going to swindle.
When working a residence, things could go in about three different ways depending on how the hosts responded to him.
One, Jamie was offered something and took it while accidentally tripping over the respective house owner, with the intention of stealing the key. The Street Rat would return later to rob stuff.
Two, Jamie would be invited into the home, usually to take part in a meal, and would meanwhile pocket everything within reach, finally leaving before too much time was wasted. Going to the bathroom was the usual excuse.
Three, Jamie would get harassed, physically or otherwise, and would either use that as leverage to get a lot of the culprit’s valuables or would be forced to resort to violence to stop said culprit, which would mean all the freedom in the world to search for valuables.
Jamie liked to avoid scenario three, but the reality was that the Street Rat had a whole lot of experience in all scenarios. Growing up in the streets of Neyerk, Jamie had been seen, heard, caught, arrested and beaten too many times to count. His talent was manifested in how well he had used those events to optimize his instincts for reading people. It’s what made the Street Rat capable of being whoever the Street Rat needed to be so that he could, frankly speaking, manipulate anyone and everyone.
The hours went by as Jamie went along the streets, not really finding any other competitor nor the least bit of difficulty or challenge. Soon enough, Jamie found himself waiting for the opportunity to go back and tackle the houses that had been scenario one.