The Aristocrat's body

The two thieves were ecstatic at the sight of the dead body, their jobs had already been done for them.

There, in the middle of the alleyway, propped up against a crumbling wall, an aristocrat, glass-eyed and expired. He wore a white military uniform, it was supplemented with his own red in three places over his heart. His face was neutral, fine, eyes lazily open, mouth closed, he died either ready or utterly unaware. Bits of gold sparkled on the corpse, washing with glory the rubble strewn alleyway.

There was a sign around the dead man's neck, made of rusting wire and spare paper. A message was written here, it read:

"Traitor!"

The two bandits stood over the body, taking in the sight. They salivated. One spoke up, his name was Georgiy.

"Well, first, before we touch anything, we should make absolutely sure he is dead."

His companion looked to him with narrowed eyebrows, he spoke from behind an unkempt brush on his face. His name was Petrov.

"Well, Georgiy, look at him, that's a dead man. No one's walking after those bullets to the chest."

"He certainly could still be alive! We've met people who'd had worse. Remember that man we met on the road, the one with the fancy 'precious heirloom watch' that went for so much, remember his story?"

"The one who woke up while someone was taking his gold implants? Sure, no, we have heard of worse haven't we?"

"Yes we have, which is why we should check to see if he's alive."

The two idled for a second, Petrov looked to the ground, and picked up a rock. The two men took a step back from the stale corpse. Petrov leaned in and tapped the body on the face. He did so again. And again. Georgiy kept his hand on his knife. After another poke, the two looked at each other.

Petrov swung his hand back and threw the stone at the man's chest, it rolled off.

They idled once more.

Petrov looked to Georgiy, "ok so, standard corpse procedures, you get the left side, I get the right?"

"Sounds agreeable," Georgiy stuck out his hand, it was met. The two men took their respective sides, they dug in.

The first object they attended too was the sign, it was thrown away listfully. Georgiy picked off a medal, pinned over the heart, it had gleaned silver until dirty fingers assailed it, he tucked it into his pocket. Petrov found a flask, he took a drink from it, it was alcohol, that was for certain. He guessed it was lighter fluid, his prediction was eschewed, he didn't know the taste of any other alcohols. Georgiy landed a beautiful watch, Petrov began the process of cutting off various gold bits, and so on and so on.

Then Georgiy stopped, Petrov noticed, he asked what was wrong.

"I have questions," said Georgiy

"What sorts?" Petrov spoke In between drinks.

"Well, firstly, who killed this man? And where are they now? I Mean, we're quite vulnerable out here, aren't we?

"Well, they wouldn't be nearby, everyone else has fled the city already, except the stupid, and the wise, like us, of course. As for who, I'm not sure."

"I think it was the Parliamentarians, maybe, they certainly hate the royals."

Petrov thought for a while, stroking the tangle on his chin. "I suppose so- no, they're allied with the Royals! Maybe- it could have been those Fundamentalist types, look at the sign you threw away, I've seen the corpses they leave behind, they love doing the whole 'wearing your crimes around your neck' thing. Very symbolic, they love that stuff, symbolism.

"What? No, not the Fundamentalists! Why would Fundamentalists put a sign around the neck of a nobleman saying 'traitor', how have they betrayed them? And their insult isn't even traitor anyways, when they kill, they kill heretics."

"Well, maybe it was those Reformistists! They hate Royalty for sure!"

"Now you're just being daft, that's not what-so-ever what reform is!"

"Eh?"

"Reform means to, oh, you know,- do better! You know, reform means to make things better than they are, a reformist would be someone wanting to do that."

"And?"

"This isn't better! A dead corpse on the streets, God, how is that change? How is that better than anything else we've seen through our lives? I can't remember a time in my life where I didn't see men dead wearing their crimes on their neck on the street. Change- change seems to only come about when your side's winning, and it only seems to come in the form of the people you don't like being the dead bodies, them being the ones getting left behind for you and I to pick at."

The two men idled once again.

"Georgiy, please, you're being depressing again. Whoever it was, we can stab them if they come back, do you not trust your stabbing skills?"

"Yeah, no, we are perfectly adept stabbers aren't we? Here, just hand me over some of the drink."

Georgiy returned to the body, intent on taking the man's boots, he stopped when he slid his hand down the man's heel.

He pulled away a small black leather book, buttoned shut, fat from something being hastily stuffed inside. He undid the strap, opened it, and a rolled bundle of bills slid out.

With a shaking hand, Petrov picked them from the ground, holding his bounty under Pertov's nose.

"Petrov, I know, I know you'll object, but goddammit, when we split this, you can take the difference."

"If you insist, you lucky bastard."

He threw away the book, when it landed, something slipped out, they had not noticed yet.

The two men kneeled on the ground and began counting out bills, rather, Georgiy began counting out, he could go higher. Petrov enthusiastically and helpfully watched.

Two piles of green were made, the folded brick was rapidly reduced to a humble rubber band. The dollars they found were foreign, and therefore still useful. Sometime later, In Georgiy's hand was a rubber band, in his mind was the number ten, which he had counted to already twenty times, and each bill, judging by the numbers on them, were worth one hundred each.

Georgiy stood in excitement, "that comes, Petrov, that comes to twenty hundred thousand dollars! I think! Wait- no, twenty thousand dollars, yes, too many zeros- twenty thousand dollars! Lord, I didn't know there was a good reason people counted that high!"

Petrov stood too, "there wasn't for us until now! And our luck too! This money, this is from those assholes to the East who are invading us! All we have to do is wait for them to conquer us, and then we'll be rich!"

Georgiy grabbed Petrov's wrists, "we'll be rich!"

Petrov grabbed Georgiy's wrists and began to bounce in place, Georgiy followed suit, "we'll be rich!"

Georgiy stopped, his face grew grim, he looked into space. Petrov stopped too and stared wonderingly at him. After a long pause, Georgiy spoke dismally, "who killed this man?"

Petrov rolled his eyes back and rubbed his scalp, "oh God! Georgiy, please, not again."

"Why wouldn't they loot the body! If they had shot this man, they would have looted him, and it's not like anything he had was well hidden."

Petrov stood and began to pace, walking back and forth down the alley. "Well, maybe, maybe they were soldiers! They're not allowed to loot dead bodies!"

"Soldiers also aren't allowed to just leave bodies lying about!"

"Maybe they were just bad soldiers!"

"What, bad enough to kill a man and leave his body behind, but not to loot it?"

Petrov paced faster, "Georgiy what does it matter? What does it matter! You've seen dead bodies, you've seen many dead bodies! What's the sudden interest? If you're just worried about somebody coming back, when's the last time you saw someone in the city? Do you feel bad for this, random bastard on the street? What would one of his kind-" Petrov stopped pacing, he noticed the thing which slipped out of the black book. Georgiy looked to Petrov's line of sight, he stood and walked over.

Georgiy picked up the book, there was a slip of paper sticking out. Georgiy removed the slip, his fingers printing it with dirt. The two men huddled and read it, it was a visa to leave the country.

The paper was new, the ink almost still fresh. There were three things on that slip of paper, no seals, no flourishes, just a signature, an identifying number, and a quip detailing that the holder was allowed to exit and not to be harmed, by fury of the king. These were just words now, the king was too dead to be furious.

The state was always horrible in the record keeping and bureaucracy sector, the expense of ink and decaying social order did not help. It's not like anyone could change it anymore anyways, the bureaucrats were killed in the first waves of purges. The name of this dead man, it was revealed, was Mikhail Shuisky.

Now, in any functioning and sane society, this slip of paper would be, paper. However, in the dredges of war, it mattered in excess. The country to the east, the one that threatened to invade, this was how one escaped to it. If a man turned to the border, as rumor had to the two thieves, they would be shot by the foreigners. However, gospel was, if one presented this paper to them and looked, mildly important, they would assume you were worthy of life.

The two men were rich now, by anyone's estimate. That did not matter. It was a plain truth nothing here would get better. Georgiy looked at the slip, on it he saw himself somewhere else, wearing a pleasant military uniform, don't mind the sewn over bits and the missing buttons please. He looked at Petrov, he looked at his eyes, he could see into them, he had the exact same thoughts. This could not do. Petrov looked up at him, he looked at Georgiy in a peculiar way, almost looking past him, after all, he was looking at the Eastern border. Georgiy looked at him the exact same way.

Georgiy swung a cruel sucker punch, in the confusion of motion, they dropped the slip, both men made to their knives, they knew what must be first. They stood parallel, the slip in the middle, either man knew they would be stabbed if they tried for it now. Petrov began to circle, so did Georgiy. Petrov spit red, the suckerpunch had landed.

"You bastard."

"You were only a second later than I was."

Petrov lunged, Georgiy jumped back, returning in kind with a swipe, Petov hit it away, he threw a punch with the other hand, it connected weakly with Georgiy's shoulder. Georgiy stepped back, his shoulder felt dull. Petrov stepped back, he tasted tin. Petrov gripped his knife the other way around, he held it above his head and charged, Georgiy could not get out of the way, feeling his inside shift from the blunt force of the tackle. They were on the ground. Petrov was laid on Georgiy, knife to his throat, Georgiy had his up to Petrovs.

A noise disturbed them, they turned, two men with guns, soldiers. The aimed, one motioned for Georgiy to get off, they dropped their knives. These were the men from the east.

A third man appeared from behind the two, he was an officer, his uniform shone with bits of gold, washing the alley in glory. He was young, this was his first time seeing a dead body, in the form of the aristocrat, still sitting and decomposing.

"Up!", he barked. The thieves obliged.

"Did you kill this man?"

The thieves exchanged looks, Petrov spoke, "well, we, were wondering really," he looked at Georgiy, he hesitated, then spoke.

"Did you?"