Sly Sir Samuel Steals Sweets!?

Sly Sir Samuel stood poised to enter the steep, sloping tunnel into the dark dungeon. His enchanted cloak (well, really a woolen blanket his mother knitted) hung low over his head and draped over his shoulders. Footwear had proved troublesome for his sneaking, what with all the squeaking the leather made with each step, so he’d left his shoes behind. His leather armor (truly, a roughspun shirt that fit far too tight) would protect him should he come to blows with the great guardian creature below, but he preferred not to get in a tussle this day. Sir Samuel wielded no weapons. They were at the blacksmith for improvements (actually, they were taken when his mother caught him practicing flourishes on her flowers). Ready as he would ever be, he took his first tentative step into the descending corridor.

Sir Samuel navigated the slope with ease due to the descent consisting of smooth wooden stairs. He stepped lightly, working his quiet way down one easy footfall after another. A quarter of the way down, the steady clackity-clack-clack of the guardian creature reached his keen ears. The sound would have soothed him if it weren’t so sharp and unnerving. Still, Sir Samuel pressed on until he crouched low three steps from the bottom. The next one had a nefarious alarm spell trap. If he placed any weight on it at all, it would croak like a giant bullfrog, and he would have to fight the guardian creature with no weapons to aid his cause.

He braced himself against the stone wall, slim fingers splayed for extra support, and moved sideways to stretch his boy-sized legs as far as they could reach to skip the trapped stair. Sir Samuel attempted to touch the tips of his lower foot’s toes down, and his weight shifted the wrong direction at the last moment. He nearly tumbled down the last two steps but caught himself there on the sturdy railing, dangling like an awkward marionette over the wooden boards.

The clackity-clack-clack ceased.

The guardian creature’s voice mimicked his mother’s as it attempted to turn Sir Samuel back from acquiring the treasure. “Sammy, if that’s you, go back to bed!” (It actually was his mother.)

An idea formed in sly Sir Samuel’s mind. A cunning bit of trickery that would let him keep his progress down the tunnel while fooling the guardian creature into thinking he had fled. Sir Samuel planted his feet on the alarm step, letting it groan angrily, and then returned to the second step from the bottom. Not giving up a single inch of his hard-earned position, he marched in place, counting his foot strikes to match the number of stairs up. Once he imagined reaching the top again, he stopped and waited, stock-still.

Clackity-clack-clack. The guardian creature continued its routine once more. Satisfied, Sir Samuel grinned and advanced past the bottom of the stairs. He pulled his cloak tighter about himself, activating the invisibility enchantment, and looked around the dark dungeon.

The guardian creature sat to his right on a cushioned wooden chair, feet pumping at a strange wheeled device while her fingers twisted clouds of wool into thread. Luck supported Sir Samuel as the guardian’s narrowed eyes focused fully on spinning the yarn. The scent of the treasure reached Sir Samuel’s nose and called his attention to the left. A wood-burning stove rested in a corner of the kitchen area, still emanating a soft warmth.

Sly Sir Samuel stealthily slipped closer to the stove. A table with a solid base provided a barrier in the center of the room. Sir Samuel crept behind it to hide. He sniffed the air. A rich, thick, sweet scent filled his nostrils. Drool threatened to slip from his lips, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

The treasure loomed above him on the table. He just needed the right tool for the job.

Sly Sir Samuel listened for the sound of the spinning wheel, and when the reassuring clackity-clack-clack continued, he rose from his crouch. The treasure lay before him: a wheel of chocolate cake, glistening in the glowing light of the hearth. The fresh-baked smell of decadent chocolate gripped his mind. He considered grabbing handfuls of it and stuffing his mouth.

The clackity-clack-clack paused, and his eyes flicked to the guardian on the opposite side of the house’s ground floor. She had ceased pumping the spinner and was doing something with the basket of wool on her lap. Sir Samuel dropped low once more and waited for the return of the wheel’s familiar sound. He didn’t have to wait long, as the guardian’s infernal clacking resumed.

Popping back up, Sir Samuel fitfully sought a way to cut the cake. The wooden stand rested on top of a fabric square to catch any dropped crumbs. He noted a fold in the cloth on the left with something nested inside. Licking his lips, he pinched the edge with his fingers and drew aside the fabric. A thin length of metal with a wooden handle had been craftily secreted beneath. Its size and shape matched the waves of chocolate coating the cake. Surely this was the confectionery conjurer’s wand. He rubbed his chin. It would work well for Sir Samuel’s purposes.

He gripped the confectionery conjurer’s wand, spared a look to the guardian, just in case, and then placed the wand over the cake. It dropped through the cake with ease. The slightly warm interior separated smoothly. He placed the wand at an angle to the first cut, giving himself a sumptuous portion, and dropped it again. He gazed at the triangle of delectable deliciousness in awe. He placed the wand’s flat edge against the wooden stand and slid it forward beneath the slice of cake.

He pulled the mouth-watering treat toward him but paused halfway out of the wedge-shaped hole he’d made.

Sir Samuel’s mind cleared. He thought of his younger sister, Samantha. She would be quite sad the following day when she discovered her cake had already been sliced and the first piece eaten. It would certainly be a matter of moments before his mom realized it was him. She may even discover it this same night once she’d finished spinning the wool for his new shirt. Sir Samuel pictured his sister’s crying face and then realized that his tenth birthday was only a couple of months away.

What if his punishment was to not get any cake for his own birthday?

Sly Sir Samuel shuddered at the thought of being in Samantha’s shoes in just a short two months. He pushed the piece of cake back into the wedge-shaped gap. The lines of his larceny showed with obvious trenches in the delicious-looking frosting. He gripped the wand, (actually a spatula he admitted to himself), and began carefully (actually, honestly, quite clumsily) spreading the frosting about to cover his crime.

When he finished, he assessed his own handiwork. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as before he cut the piece, but it at least looked like he’d made an effort. It was at that moment, standing with the frosting-coated spatula in hand, that he realized the clackity-clack-clack had stopped. He looked up, and his mother’s face greeted him from the other side of the table.

A hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I’m glad you made the right choice, Sammy.”

“M-mommy… I’m s-sorry.” He stuttered and sputtered, his face screwing up as he fought back tears of regret.

“It’s okay. You did the right thing this time.” She came around the table to his side of it and looked at his poor job of re-frosting the slices he’d made. “I can make it look good as new.” She held out her hand to him.

The sorrowful, sheepish Sir Samuel gave his mother back the cake spatula. She took it from him and set about fixing his sloppy attempt. Sir Samuel simply marveled at her deft movements as she perfected his roughshod repair with ease. When she finished, he noticed her stare of pride at her accomplishment. He smiled at her, and she looked at him and smiled back.

She held the spatula back out to him. “You can lick the frosting, if you want.”

“Really!?” Surprised Sir Samuel’s eyes grew thrice their normal size.

“When you do good deeds, you get rewarded. Just don’t get it on your blanket.”

“It’s my magic cloak.” He beamed with pride and gathered the blanket into a loose ball. His mother took the blanket and handed him the spatula. He tasted the frosting from the confectionery conjurer’s wand. The sweet flavor coated his tongue and melted to fill his mouth.

A realization lit his mind later the same night that doing more good deeds would surely bring him more rewards. Perhaps, Sir Samuel thought, it is better to be a brave knight than a sly thief.

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