literature

Honor Among Thieves

Deviation Actions

Published: Aug 9, 2012

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Literature Text

Honor Among Thieves

     The small boy pulled his coat closer about him and huddled as far up under the doorway as he was able, seeking refuge from the biting wind. His coat was large enough for him to curl up inside of and provided more shelter than the doorway in which he sat. Night was falling fast, but he didn't have anywhere to go except home and he could not countenance that thought.
     There you are, Indigo; what are you doing out here?
     His little head jerked up and he looked wildly about, thinking for sure that he'd heard his mother's voice on the rising wind. But nobody was there, and once more his harsh reality collapsed in upon him.

*          *          *

     "There you are, Indigo. What are you doing out here?"
     "Nothing, mum," Indigo replied. He broke the stick he was playing with in his hands and stood up from the curb of the dirty cobblestone street where he'd been sitting, giving the starry sky one last glance before walking back to his mother.
     People told him that he looked exactly like her. He had her dark chestnut hair with a bit of wave in it, which framed his youthful face with unkempt, slightly curling locks. They had the same large, almond eyes, very slightly close-set and a brilliant dark blue with a nose that was just the tiniest bit convex.
     He was, as people sometimes told his mother, a beautiful child.
     "Well come in dear, dinner is ready," she told him. She smiled warmly and patted him on the back as he nodded and walked past her into the house.
     He sat down at the little table near the stove and hooked his feet on one of the rungs of his stool. His mother put a wooden bowl of potato soup on the table in front of him with a chunk of bread. There was no salt or other seasonings and no meat – they couldn't afford such luxuries. It was just boiled potatoes in water, but it was food.
     "What about Mark?" he asked, glancing over at his five year old brother who was sitting on the foot of the bed they shared, playing with some wooden blocks Indigo had carved for him. "And you?"
     His mother smiled and ran her fingers through the boy's dark, wavy hair, then kissed him on the forehead.
     "Such a selfless young man," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, don't you worry; we already ate."
     He looked down into his bowl. He was awfully hungry, but he knew that his mother often went without so that he and his brother could have more. It bothered him a great deal, but he just sighed and began to eat while his mother took his jacket and sat down in her rocking chair with her sewing kit on her lap.
     "I'm sorry," he said preemptively. "I snagged my sleeve today and ripped it."
     "Don't worry about it," she said pleasantly as she set about stitching up the tear. "This jacket has seen better days, anyway. About time we got a new one for you, don't you think?"
     "I don't know; I like that jacket," he fibbed. He didn't really like it. He just didn't want her to make expenditures for him.
     "Nonsense," she said with a smile. "You've outgrown it, too. I've already begun a new one for you. After all, it's not every day a young man turns ten years old."
     "I guess not," he conceded as he dutifully finished the food he'd been given. He was still hungry, but he wasn't going to ask for more; he knew that there was probably not more to be had. "Thank you, mum."
     She just chuckled as she went on mending the jacket's sleeve.
     "You are most welcome, my little one."
     "I found something today," the boy said as he drew his stool closer to the stove to be nearer the warmth, and also to his mother. He dug in his pocket and drew out a beautifully engraved pocket knife with a silver handle and a shiny steel blade. "Maybe we can sell it."
     "Oh?" she asked, laying down the jacket. "Let me see that. Why, I do believe you're right. Where did you find this, son?"
     "On the ground," he replied and quickly got out his own small pocket knife along with the stick he had been playing with and began to whittle with great concentration. "I guess someone dropped it."
     He didn't look at her as he whittled, and he hoped that she would not inquire further as to where he had gotten it from. It was not the first object of value that he'd "found". It was true, he rationalized, that he had found it. It was just that he'd found it in someone's pocket, and they had not noticed him take it.
     "It baffles me sometimes how people just lose things," she mused as she sewed. "Lucky for us, I suppose, that people are careless and that you are so observant."
     The boy just nodded and kept whittling, occasionally pausing to sweep the shavings into a neater pile. He hoped that she really didn't know that he was stealing, rather than just turning a blind eye to it. He didn't want her to be disappointed in him, but he also wanted to do anything he could to help. If she knew, she didn't say anything about it to him.
     He stayed indoors the next day for the most part, watching his younger brother and keeping him entertained while they kept close to the stove, as the day was quite cold. His mother had taken the knife he'd "found" and sold it, and so for Indigo's birthday she brought home a small honey-glazed seed cake as well as a young chicken and some seasonings.
     She also presented him with a new pair of shoes, the toes having long been worn out of the ones he had, and the new jacket that she had told him of the preceding night. It was quite a bit too big for him, as were most clothes she made for him (she said he needed the room to grow, and be careful with it because it would have to last) and was fully lined with soft, cream colored flannel while the jacket itself was heavy wool, dyed a deep, dark russet.
     He fell asleep quite happy, snuggled up beneath the heavy quilt on their straw-stuffed bed with his mother and brother and thinking of honey cake and his comfy new shoes and his warm jacket.

*          *          *

     Indigo… Are you still here?
     He lifted his head, squinting into the deepening dark. Every time he heard a woman's voice, he heard her. He heard her on every breath of wind and saw her face constantly in every crowd. Maybe she had not been dead, and he had fled too soon. Perhaps she had woken up later, and was now out looking for him. He knew better, of course, but still he had to look.

*          *          *

     "Indigo," his mother said as she reached out for the ten year old boy kneeling at her bedside. "Indigo, are you still here?"
     "Yes, Mum," the child answered, his small voice breaking as he took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
     Mark was lying in bed beside her, but Indigo had not heard a sound from him nor seen him move for several hours. His mother's hand was hot and sweaty from fever as she squeezed his fingers weakly.
     "You must leave, Indigo," she whispered, but the boy was already shaking his head. He dabbed at her sweltering forehead with a cool, damp cloth and wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes and spilled over. Her dark blue eyes were wide and unseeing, as the fever had taken her vision.
     "I'm not going anywhere, mum," he said stubbornly, trying to sound confident even though his voice shook with suppressed sobs and his own face was streaked with dirt and tears. "I'm going to stay and take care of you and Mark."
     "No, Indigo," she murmured, shaking her head slowly. Her voice was very soft, scarcely a whisper, and Indigo could tell that she was having trouble breathing.
     "You're going to be okay," he whimpered.
     "Listen to me, son," she whispered. "Mark is gone, for some time now." She managed to turn her head away from Indigo as her body shook with a violent cough that had the boy clinging to her hand and weeping silently but openly. She turned back to him after many moments, when she finally ceased her coughing. "I am sorry to leave you as well, my little one. I am sorry I must leave you alone."
     "Mum, no." Both of his small hands held onto hers, though her fingers did not close about his. "Please."
     "It is alright, son," her weak voice continued. She had closed her eyes. "You are a strong boy. You will find your own way. You will be fine. Just know this." Her voice trailed off, and for many long moments she said nothing.
     "Know what, mum," Indigo sobbed, wiping her forehead again and her mouth and pushing the chestnut curls of her hair back from her face. "Know what?"
     Please answer, please, he thought as he bit his lip. Please don't leave me.
     At length she smiled very faintly, her fingers moving just a bit in his hand. She sighed softly, and somehow he knew that she would not speak again. That faint smile remained upon her lips, but the labored rattling of her breath had ceased. For some time he just sat there in the dim light of their tiny home, holding her hand and letting his grief take hold of him.

     And then, they were gone.
     Confused, frightened, and stricken with grief, he'd fled their little house with only his small pocket knife and his birthday presents. He had no idea where he was heading; he just ran as far from their home as he could, and did not stop until he was quite lost.
     He had spent the last several weeks since sleeping in doorways and in other inconspicuous places, with the coat his mother had made for him being his only refuge from the cold most nights. When he could not successfully beg for food (and sometimes, even when he could), he stole. He stole directly from grocers' carts at times; other times he simply stole money and items directly from the pockets of people who were not watching carefully.
     It was how he survived.
     Thus far he'd been fortunate in that it had only been cold, and there had been no rain or snow. Tonight he would not be so lucky, as it was colder than it had yet been and the wind had picked up, and snow clouds had covered the sky during the day.
     Night came and the streets emptied as the wind grew fiercer and the snow blanketed the cobblestones and began to form drifts along the sides of the buildings and the doorways. He had drawn his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms about himself, with his coat covering the lot of him like a cocoon, but still he found himself shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering.
     He wouldn't survive the night, he thought, but it didn't matter. He wasn't afraid of dying anymore. If he froze to death here, he could rejoin his mother and brother all the sooner.
     Thinking of her, he found that he wasn't shivering anymore. The coat she had made him still had her scent, and he imagined that he was back in their bed, all of them together once more. Her arms were about him, and the whistling of the wind became his mother's voice, singing quietly to him as he fell asleep.

     How long he slept, he didn't know. It couldn't have been very long, because it was still quite dark and the snow was still falling and the wind still howling. At first when he opened his eyes, he wasn't quite sure that he was even actually awake. He rather wished himself to be asleep once more, as he was once more aware of the cold and discomfort of his predicament. He'd thought that he'd heard a voice calling for him to wake up, but he curled up into a tighter ball and closed his eyes.
     He opened his eyes again, as this time the voice he wasn't sure he'd heard was accompanied by a rough shake that had him uncurling and turning about to see what was going on and who was talking to him, though his head was still woozy and he was having quite a lot of trouble awakening. He couldn't see much, and the person - a man, he thought - was bundled up against the cold, his face mostly covered.
     Indigo felt himself being sat up as mittened hands brushed the snow off of him and wrapped him up in a blanket. He didn't think to resist, because he couldn't rightly think at all. He heard hooves scraping against the cobblestones and a sudden lurch as the person carrying him mounted and then he drifted off again while the two of them galloped away.
     He was aware of being carried with his chin resting on someone's shoulder when the person dismounted the horse. He was starting to feel a bit warm again, and vaguely he was aware when he could no longer hear the sound of the wind. Mostly he was in and out; too cold and exhausted to care who it was that carried him, and whether or not they had good intentions.

     When he properly came to he found himself sitting naked in a large copper tub with steaming water up to his chin. The tub was near a fireplace with a merry blaze on the hearth, and the room itself was quite cozily warm. A man was close at hand, sitting beside the tub on the ground with one hand on Indigo's shoulder, steadying him and keeping him from sliding down under the water.
     "Hey, hey, little guy," the man said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "I was starting to think you were never going to snap out of it."
     Indigo turned to look at him, but didn't say anything. The speaker was a young man, perhaps not much more than an adolescent himself. He had very light blonde hair that was short and rather shaggy and dark eyes, with a good natured smiling face and a pleasant voice. He didn't seem to be bothered by Indigo's lack of response.
     "You was lookin' about like a little popsicle, kid. Lucky I found you and brought you in. You feelin' better? Gettin' warmer?"
     Indigo just nodded a little bit. He realized then that there was a nice smell of food cooking, which reminded him that he was extremely hungry. He hadn't eaten a proper meal since his birthday.
     The blonde man got up and walked over to the fireplace where he tended to the iron cauldron that was hanging over the flames. A pot of some kind of drink was being kept warm near the fire on the hearth and he filled a clay cup with some of it and brought it to Indigo.
     "There, get a drink of that, kid. You need to get some warmth in you. It's coffee. You ever had coffee?"
     He shook his head slowly as he looked down into the cup that the man had handed him. It smelled pretty good, and he took a sip of it. It was bitter but he liked it, and it did feel quite warm going down, so he kept drinking it. The man chuckled and patted Indigo on the head.
     "My name's Axel," he said amiably as he sat down on the floor next to the tub once more. "Don't talk much, do you, kid?" Indigo had finished the cup of coffee he'd been given, so Axel took it from him and set it down on the floor while Indigo looked at him blankly. Axel just smiled. "Well, let's see about getting you cleaned up, huh?"
     Indigo nodded and compliantly let Axel bathe him and subsequently dry him off and dress him in a clean cotton shirt that was many sizes too big for him. Sitting on a stool at the table drawn close to the fire, Axel gave him a bowl of the stew and another cup of coffee, and then drew up a stool of his own.
     "Alright, kid," Axel said, still smiling as he folded his arms on the table in front of him. "This is the thieves' guilds, and you, my dear boy, are a thief."
     At this, Indigo quite suddenly found his voice.
     "No, I'm not!" he cried, but Axel held up a hand.
     "No point in denying it, little guy," he said, chuckling. "I have watched you for over a week now. I know a thief when I see one, and you are a damn good one."
     "A good… thief?" Indigo asked, sounding more than a little bit confused. "I thought thieves were supposed to be bad."
     "Are you bad?" Axel asked in turn.
     "No," Indigo replied.
     "So, then, being a thief doesn't automatically make you bad," said Axel. "But you, kid, you've got some real talent. I know fellas been with this guild for years who can't pick a pocket like you can. You've got some light fingers there, boy."
     "You saw me steal?" Indigo mumbled, averting his eyes.
     "Only because I was watching," he reassured the boy. "And I mean I was watching very, very carefully. Now eat your dinner."
     "Thank you," the boy said, happily complying with the directive. He was much more interested in eating than in considering all of this thief business.
     Axel didn't say anything else to him for a while, turning his attention instead to a block of wood and a knife that he'd pulled from his pocket which had been half-carved already into what appeared to be a horse. When Indigo finished his food, he put his spoon in his bowl and sat quietly with his hands folded on his lap, watching Axel continue his carving with fascination.
     "Get enough to eat?" he asked without looking up from his whittling. Indigo nodded and pulled his feet up onto the stool to rest his chin on them, wrapping his arms around his legs. "If I call you a thief again will that get you to talk out loud?" Axel went on with a chuckle.
     "Yes, thank you," the boy said softly, turning red.
     "You got a name, kid?"
     "Indigo," he replied.
     "Well, Indigo. You can tell me one day where you come from if you'd like, but I won't press you for it. What matters now is where you're going, if you catch my meaning."
     "Where am I to be going, then?" Indigo asked, looking down into his empty bowl.
     "You are going to be inducted into this fine guild," Axel announced, smiling broadly. "And become a real first-class thief. A right proper rogue, if you'd like to know the formal classification for people like us."
     "But I –"
     "If you dislike the term 'thief', you can call yourself a 'treasure hunter'," Axel interrupted. "Besides, having the skills to steal doesn't mean that you have to make a livin' at it. I reckon you wouldn't go about picking peoples' pockets for spare change if you had a choice, now would you?"
     "I guess not," Indigo admitted. Now that Axel had put it that way, it didn't sound so unappealing. 'Treasure hunter' didn't sound so bad at all. He found himself feeling very sleepy then, and yawned a big yawn.
     "Alright, then, time for bed," Axel said as he put away his carving and stood up. "An early start for both of us tomorrow."
     Out from under his bed Axel dragged another, smaller bed, which was perfectly sized for a person of Indigo's stature. It had its own pillow and tick stuffed with straw, clean linen and a wool blanket. Indigo had never had his own bed before, and he must have looked quite impressed as he crawled in and pulled the blanket up to his nose.
     "Quite a step up from someone's doorstep, ain't it?" Axel asked, shoving the trundle bed toward the hearth with one foot before he proceeded to bank the flames. Indigo just nodded against his pillow as the firelight retreated and the room grew dimmer.
     In a matter of moments he'd slipped off into dreams.

     He awoke to the smell of coffee and stew warming up over the fire and Axel nudging him with one foot. At first, he was very confused and did not remember Axel, or anything about a thieves' guild, or how he got in out of the cold. All he knew for sure was that he was very warm and comfortable for the first time in weeks and he was not much inclined to move.
     "C'mon, kid, up you get."
     Suddenly his blanket was stripped back and he'd been tumbled out onto the hard wooden floor as Axel tipped him out and gave the bed a shove with his foot that sent it sliding back underneath his own.
     "Look here, kid," Axel went on merrily as he picked the boy up and set him on the edge of his own bed. "Here are some clothes for you, and I went to the liberty of borrowin' you some basic armor and such. It was meant for a Halfling, but I reckon they'll about fit you just the same. Now hurry up and get on with your clothes and come have a bite to eat."
     Laid out on the bed were a number of clothing items sized appropriately for him – warm socks and long underwear, a long-sleeved linen shirt the color of cream that buttoned up the front, along with a wool vest and breeches dyed dark brown. Quickly he pulled off his night shirt and began to garb himself. He was eager to get to breakfast, and he didn't want to keep Axel waiting on him.
     He got a bit distracted, though, looking over the armor items that were laid out alongside – a plain leather cuirass adorned with small, curved shoulder guards, bracers, fingerless gloves, greaves and a belt. All of it was weather-stained and had a used appearance, but all of the pieces had clearly been recently cleaned and lightly but thoroughly rubbed with some kind of oil for conditioning. There were also three daggers of varying sizes laid out as well, which he found especially interesting.
     "Come, come, I'll arm you up after you eat," Axel urged. He was sitting at the table drinking a mug of coffee and eating his own breakfast. Indigo nodded and hurriedly finished getting dressed, then joined Axel.
     "Thank you," he said politely as his new companion pushed a bowl of stew toward him and poured a cup of coffee.
     "Now, for the most part, you are going to let me do the talking," Axel explained while he ate. "If our leader asks you any questions directly, you will of course answer in the most indirect manner possible."
     "I should lie?" Indigo asked, surprised.
     "No, no, absolutely not," Axel said. "That would be an awful idea, unless your aim is to get yourself flogged. What I mean is that you should answer truthfully while giving as little actual information as you can."
     "Why?"
     "Because we are as shifty a lot as there is. Nobody ever says exactly what they mean, and you can't get an actual straight answer out of anyone on anything because nobody trusts anybody," he explained. "As you shouldn't."
     "Why not?"
     "If people think that you trust them 'round here, you can bet your butt they're going to take advantage of you. Trusting people are dupes." Axel finished his food and his coffee and stood up. "Hurry up, then."
     Shortly thereafter Indigo found himself standing before Axel while he fitted and fastened the pieces of armor onto him, feeling quite baffled about why he needed to wear armor. He didn't wish to press more questions on his gracious host, however. As Axel finished buckling up the sabatons over his shoes, he reached over and picked up one of the three blades by its scabbard and held out its handle to Indigo.
     "Here," he said. "Pull it out and give it a thrust."
     The dagger had a small handle, as if made for small hands, but its blade was nearly a foot long – more of a short sword than a dagger for the size of person for whom it was intended. Like the armor he was wearing, it looked as though it had seen plenty of use. The hand guard and pommel were of brass, and both had numerous of nicks and scratches, but the blade was in good repair, polished and sharp. He did as Axel had asked him and stabbed at the air away from them.
     "Looks good," Axel said, and carefully took the blade out of his hand and sheathed it, then fastened it to the left side of the boy's belt. To the right, he fastened the smaller of the two remaining daggers, and then stood back as though to admire his work.
     "Yes, I do believe you look presentable," he said, nodding as he stood. Indigo just shrugged. He couldn't see what he looked like, plus he had never worn armor before and had no idea what presentable looked like. He imagined it must look something like what Axel looked like.
     He'd donned armor himself, but his was jet black and even to Indigo's inexperienced eyes appeared to be of very fine make. It was blurred about the edges and his eyes couldn't see it clearly; like it actually absorbed light. He had heard of magic and magical armor and weapons, but never had he encountered any.
     A sword hung at each of his sides, one short and one long, in black leather scabbards trimmed in silver. His clothing was entirely black as well, and it seemed to Indigo that it made his pale blonde hair and light skin extremely conspicuous.
     "What about you?" Indigo asked quietly as Axel stood up off of the bed. Axel raised one eyebrow.
     "What about me?"
     "Can I trust you?"
     Axel paused, looking down at him with his arms crossed as he considered that question. After several moments, he patted the boy on the shoulder and smiled broadly.
     "For now, my boy," he said. "For now, you can."

     He was led out from Axel's chamber and through a number of corridors into a great hall lit with torchlight and by a large fire in the hearth at one end. The floors were strewn with straw beneath long wooden tables, and along the walls there were arm chairs and tables with big woven rugs underneath. The walls were hung with tapestries and skins of animals as well as mounted heads of a variety of beasts.
     There were people milling about, most of them armored similar to himself. A lot of people were slouching in the arm chairs and others were sleeping on the floor, with or without blankets. Some were eating breakfast at the long tables. None of them looked very friendly (his mother would have called them "shady characters") and a lot of them gave him strange and threatening looks that had him walking as close to Axel as he could.
     Axel didn't look down at him and when Indigo reached for his hand he put it casually on the hilt of his sword. He understood, then, that his benefactor probably had some sort of reputation or appearance to keep up. He tried then to look as Axel did, and walk with confidence and stand up straight. He even put one hand on the pommel of his small weapon.
     "'Ey, lookee there," a heavily slurred male voice called from their left. "Axel's got 'im a brat."
     Indigo looked up at Axel and determined that the appropriate response was to continue walking and looking ahead. The man sounded drunk, and from what Indigo could remember of his dealings with his long-departed father, drunken people weren't ones he wanted to talk to.
     Just a moment later, he heard that same voice, much closer at hand, say, "'Ere, let's 'ave a look at yer," and Indigo almost couldn't suppress a yelp of surprise and alarm when a dirty looking hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. He instinctively pulled on his arm to free himself, and the man who'd grabbed him resisted only for a second before letting go. He was standing very close, but Axel had instantly put himself between the two of them.
     Looking up, Indigo could see that his assailant – a tall, dirty fellow with frazzled brown hair dressed in shabby clothes and who smelled of alcohol – was not looking down at him, but was looking at Axel, whose face Indigo could not see. As the drunk held his hands up before him and slowly began to back away, Indigo realized that in Axel's left hand was a blade that he'd not even noticed on his person, its point trained upon the man's stomach.
     Indigo had not even seen Axel reach for it. It seemed to disappear as the man returned to his bottle of liquor; even though Indigo had been watching as carefully as he could, he'd not seen where Axel had stowed it.
     "Come on, then," Axel said to him, now putting a hand on Indigo's shoulder as he led him more quickly through the hall toward the far left hand corner from the door. He walked quickly now, and Indigo's little legs had to work double time to keep up.
     They stopped before a man who was sitting in a tall armchair in that corner reading a letter with his booted feet propped up on a low round table in front of him.
     His armor was similar to Axel's, but this man, unlike Axel, had a dangerous appearance. His face was rather long and had a number of scars. His complexion was a dark tan color, and made Indigo think of a potato sack, or crumpled parchment. His hair was black and curly, falling in ringlets down to his shoulders. He had a large nose and deep set, very dark eyes – or eye, rather; the left was covered by a black eye patch.
     He didn't look up from his letter when Axel and Indigo approached, but acknowledged them with a subtle nod.
     "Didn't know you had a whelp," the man said slowly.
     "That makes two of us," Axel replied, chuckling. "Remember, I told you that I had my eye on someone."
     At that, the dark man looked up from his letter and leveled his eye on Indigo for several seconds before looking to Axel.
     "You can't be serious," he scoffed. "This isn't a playground, Axel."
     "I will take responsibility for him," Axel replied. "Believe me when I say the boy has talent."
     As the conversation went on Indigo again reached for Axel's hand, as he had when they'd been walking. Once again, as he took hold of it Axel pulled his hand away, this time giving Indigo a quick downward glance before looking back to his leader.
     While they'd been talking, Indigo had remained silent, his eyes trained for the most part on the ground. It didn't seem to him that this man, in whose hands his fate currently rested, was very enthusiastic about the idea of Axel taking him under his wing. Listening, the boy had begun to think frantically of some way he could prove himself.
     "What's your name, boy?" the eye-patched man asked him, apparently having gleaned all he felt he was able from Axel. He thought back to what Axel had told him before leaving his room.
     "Frémont, sir," he replied. He looked the man squarely in the face, unintimidated.
     "And you want to be a thief, Frémont?"
     Indigo looked down at his folded hands for a moment before looking back up at the man.
     "Seems I already am one," he answered matter-of-factly. "I prefer 'treasure-hunter', though." He wasn't smiling, even though the man's worn face broke into a rather menacing grin at that. Indigo thought it would be difficult for this man to smile in a non-menacing manner.
     "Is that a fact," he mused.
     In answer, Indigo unfolded his hands and produced a small, black dagger, holding it up before him for a moment before placing it on the table between them. The eye-patched man looked surprised, for an instant, to see the dagger that he'd hitherto been unaware that the boy was holding.
     As Indigo glanced up at Axel, though, he was immeasurably pleased to see that his face was a picture of perfect shock. Indigo had been thinking of where Axel might have stashed that dagger. When his eyes had apparently been trained on the ground, he was actually inspecting Axel's bracer nearest him, and what his benefactor had taken for a childish desire to hold his hand was actually Indigo's way of slipping the blade from its hiding place and palming it.
     "Well I'll be god damned," Axel whispered, reaching down to pick up his dagger. He slid it back into its usual hiding place, looking very impressed. "Damn."
     The dark man smiled and went back to reading his letters.
     "Alright, Axel," he said, still grinning. "You're in charge."
     Indigo got the impression that no thanks were necessary. Axel made a fist of his right hand and, placing it over the left side of his chest, and took a shallow bow before turning and walking away. Indigo mimicked him and turned, following in Axel's steps.
     "Pretty damn slick," Axel muttered as they left the hall, though he was smiling as he looked down at the boy. The child glanced up as Axel put a hand on his shoulder, and finally allowed himself a smile.
     "Wouldn't work a second time," Indigo replied, unable to stop smiling now that he'd let himself start.
     "Perhaps not," Axel agreed. "But you'll need more than sleight of hand to get inducted. A lot more. Fortunately for you, you've got the best master around, with the possible exception of the head man himself, whom you just thoroughly impressed."
     "What will I have to do?"
     "Sneak, fight, and pilfer, among other things. I've got a year to teach you all that you need to know," said Axel. "I don't suppose I ever asked you if you really wanted to do this, did I?"
     Indigo shook his head, but he was still grinning ear to ear.
     "I can't wait to get started," he replied.

This is a short story from my upcoming book The Moonlight Shadow - A Collection of Short Stories & Vignettes which will be released in September or early October.

If you enjoy it, please check out some of my other works and follow me on