The Thief with the Emerald Eyes

The alley was nowhere near as dark as the ones Olivia had slept in as a child. More than an hour had passed since she had first crouched deep in the bushes beside the townhouse. From her hiding place, she had watched the elaborate carriage come and take both the master and mistress of the house away for their evening of entertainment in the town. The lady’s skirts had billowed around her as she descended the stairs accentuating their wealth. After they left, the candles in the house had been snuffed and movement beyond the windowpanes stilled. Her legs went numb but she did not dare move. Another hour or so passed before she dared to break from her silent stalking.

The gravel under her feet crunched softly as she crept over to the window she had eyed the moment she arrived. It was eight feet above where she stood, but she had passed her time in the brush picking the footholds she would use to climb inside. Normally, she would have conned her way through the servants' entrance, but the job had been brought yesterday and needed to be finished tonight. During the hours of waiting, she had slipped her boots off and tied the laces together so she could throw them over her shoulder like a makeshift bag. It was far easier to wedge her toes into the spaces between the bricks than her boots. It also would allow her to move silently once inside.

The final holds of winter’s chill wiped at her bare toes but she did not mind, not then, in that moment, she was alive.

The climb didn’t take long and soon she was hoisting herself up on the thin windowsill. Her small frame made it easier to perch on the thin slab of rock and she froze looking back towards the city street. People saw movement more easily than a shadow, but there was no one. With one hand balancing her on the sill she used the other to wedge her thin knife below the locking mechanism. It sprang free with little difficulty and she lifted the window up halfway. That was all she needed to slip inside the grand house.

As she lowered herself onto the floor, she observed the delicate sofas and tinny chairs scattered in a strange pattern around the room. It was most likely the sitting room. Olivia had no prerequisite to comment on the décor, but the dark patterns and heavy drapery seemed to swallow any light that might have attempted to fill the room.

Her client, the Earl of Mansting, had told her that Lord Crestwood was very protective of his study, which was the third door on the east side of the estate’s main floor. With intentional effort, Crestwood made sure no one was ever left alone in that room, which was why the Earl was certain that was where the book was. The small voice inside her head said that the job was too risky. The timeframe the Earl had given her was too short for the procurement of the book. She had not been able to scout out the house beforehand or confirm for herself that what she was looking for was even there. All things she did before any heist. But the other side of her, the part that thrived on adventure began to feel the adrenaline surge; it pushed her into the room. The smile that lit her face was just for her. She knew she could not leave without what she came for.

Olivia darted silently on her bare feet to the door that reached its arms high to the ceiling. It was closed and she pressed an ear to it. There were soft sounds of footsteps fading deeper into the house. She waited a moment longer before easing the door open and stepping into the hall. The house looked similar to some of the ones she had scouted and stolen from last year. That comforted her slightly. The foyer opened to a large space where two grand staircases split before connecting at the second story. Then another staircase went straight to the third floor. She kept to the walls, moving around the side tables that held useless knickknacks. A stack of books, a clock that sat mere feet from a grandfather clock, and even a carving of what looked to be a small rodent. Crestwood was not one to shy away from showcasing his wealth. Above her sounds of a conversation drifted down the stairs. She pressed herself into the wall, and hoped that they could not see over the gold balcony rail to where she attempted to be invisible. The female voice sounded giddy and tittered at something the male voice said. Olivia prayed they found a spare bedroom upstairs to dally in rather than attempt their dalliance in the study she was headed for.

The voices drifted down a corridor above her head and she continued her journey down the hall. The door the Earl had indicated as the study was locked. Without hesitating, she reached for the tools that were always strapped to her belt. The long needles felt natural in her small hands as they moved on their own to coax the lock to slide out of the way. It swung open without making a sound.

Oak carved bookcases lined every available space and held books from the floor to the ceiling. Ladders had been attached to the shelves to elevate the reader to the more precious volumes. Couches were arranged more intentionally in a half-circle and the massive windows allowed entry for more light than the sitting room had. Small tables were scattered about and littered with more useless items and books. So many books. Every spare surface seemed to be covered in them.

It was a library.

Had the Earl been wrong about Crestwood’s study, or had he intentionally misled her? Her eyes adjusted to the dim room, and that is when she noticed what was staring her right in the face. Layers of dust had settled on many of the volumes throughout the room, a clear indication that the staff was not allowed in the room. If Crestwood was hiding anything, it would be in that room.

The door clicked back into place behind her. It sounded like a gunshot in her ears against the silent house. A reminder that she needed to find what she came for and be on her way. A desk stood framed by a massive marble fireplace so large Olivia could have walked straight inside it without bumping her head. She was across the room in seconds. Above the fireplace was a mirror rimed in gold. Olivia locked eyes with herself and almost cowered at her appearance. She looked at her dirty reflection. The pain of what was hidden behind the dirt and grime was greater than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She was a black spec on a perfect masterpiece, because she knew did not belong. She no longer recognized herself. The grimy-faced boy with the pure green eyes who looked back at her was more familiar than the woman she might have become had she been delt a different hand. Olivia looked away in shame. It was not the time to think of what might have been, but time to focus on what she had been paid to do.

When Olivia was first approached about that particular job, she learned that Monsieur Pierre Tirori, renowned for creating intricate and difficult puzzle boxes, had been to several houses in London during the height of his life. He began his career making puzzle boxes as toys for the prince of France, yet as his fame grew the complexity of his boxes did as well. It was clear to many people that his talents should no longer be spent only on making toys, but by making secret puzzles to conceal secrets. He put them everywhere desks, bookshelves, walls, headboards. Anywhere someone with enough money wanted to put a secret compartment Monsieur Tirori built one. Olivia could only imagine the secrets that were stored away in some of those houses.

The slick wood and immaculately carved detailing of the desk slid under her flingers easily as she felt for a false drawer, but there was no seam out of place, no soft wood that might have been a button to expose a locked puzzle. Olivia stepped back. It was an expensively carved piece but was more of a tabletop on four legs with no space to conceal any hidden items. The style was too new for something that might have been altered by Monsieur Tirori.

The room was large and seemed to make up the majority of the first floor. She looked back to the shelves of books. There were so many of them she did not have time to search them all. For the briefest moment, she closed her eyes and heard his voice in her mind. She wanted to scream for him to leave her alone but needed the wisdom of his training to help her find what she was looking for.

“Look for what no one notices, see what is invisible to the world.”

Opening her eyes, she slowly scanned the shelves again not looking at the books, but beyond them. This time, the faint light came in through the window illuminated one area of the carpet which seemed to be worn more than the area around it. As if Lord Crestwood stood in that particular spot more than the rest of the room. As she moved closer, she realized the ladder had also spent a considerable amount of time positioned there.

So, the man wasn’t tall enough to reach his favorite book. That was odd. If there was a book someone enjoyed reading, they kept it at arm's length, easily accessible. Unless he was concealing something in a book that he didn’t want anyone to see. That was all the convincing she needed. The ladder slid easily from the other end of the shelves to the imprints in the carpet. As she climbed, she inspected the ladder rungs. On the fifth rung, the scuff marks stopped. She climbed one rung higher sure that he was taller than she was. The shelf in front of her held a pristine collection of encyclopedias, all covered in dust. So, she stepped one rung higher but that shelf too held nothing out of place, no books that seemed to be worn more than the others, or free of dust. Her heart sunk. Had she been wrong? She had not had time to observe the man much. She had watched him make a few deals with Devil, but Crestwood had been nervous and his movements and mannerisms were difficult to pinpoint. Then she thought, what if he knew what he was pulling off the shelf and didn’t need to see the shelf in front of him. Olivia looked back down at the rungs she had climbed, if she stepped up one more her face might be at the level of his outstretched arm.

Her eyes went wide as she found exactly what she was searching for. Tucked into the numerous volumes was a larger book titled “Atlas.” The bottom of the binding was worn from being pulled off the shelf a number of times and it was clean. As she pulled it off the shelf the softest of clicks sounded below her by the window. A tight smile grew across her face at the realization of what she had found settled on her, one of Monsieur Tirori’s puzzle boxes. Quickly, she replaced the atlas but the click sounded again. It must be a pressure plate she thought and took the book off the shelf and down the ladder with her. Each scuff of her foot on the ladder was a reminder of how little time she had left before someone could discover her. The elite were full flury that evening, but there was no telling if Crestwood’s wife would feign a headache in the middle of the ball and need to return home right away. Time was never on the side of the thief.

Feet planted firmly on the ground; Olivia went over to the window where the soft click had come from. A portion of the windowsill, no bigger than the atlas she had placed near the shelf, had risen about a half-inch above the windowsill. The seams of the false plate and the sill were perfectly matched, Olivia never would have seen them if she had not discovered the mechanism to raise the plate. Carefully, she picked up the plate and set it aside. Underneath was a flattened version of a cryptex. Olivia had seen the devices in books long ago but never in person. Only the correct combination of letters, often a word, would open the device. The seven cylinders were etched with beautifully crafted letters and the detailing around the device was so intricate it pained Olivia that the only one to see it would be Lord Crestwood. Well, Lord Crestwood and herself. A seven-word combination. Again, the feeling of being unprepared for that job welled up inside Olivia as she stared at the puzzle in front of her.

“You are a safe of information,” she whispered to herself and worked to remember anything she could about Crestwood during the time Monsieur Tirori was rumored to be in London. Crestwood was one of the oldest men in England and was most likely the owner of the home when the box was installed. Over the past few years, she had been given pieces of every gentry, man or woman, who lived in London. She knew that Crestwood had many affairs and cared little for his wife. Olivia’s eyes flew open. There had been one mistress that he had been in love with before he was forced to marry his wife. It was rumored that his wife’s father had the mistress killed in order for his daughter to receive the affections of Crestwood. The mistress’s name was Harriet. Seven letters.

Olivia quickly spun the dials to spell out the name. Once the ‘t’ was in place the dials began to sink down and a simple wooden box moved into its place. The smooth wood was cold but the lid easily slid from the box. Olivia pulled out the small black book and flipped it open to a random page and held it to the faint light of the moon. Black ink contrasted the perfectly crisp pages and drew her eyes to the inscription, which had been made with calculated strokes.

Possible storage location of smuggled goods: Doc—

Before she could finish the first line, a distinct sound of knocking on the front door sounded. The racing of her heart increased. The adrenalin brought on only by a heist pumped faster. She had only a minute to be out of that house before she could be caught. The small book fit perfectly into her inside jacket pocket. As she put the book in her pocket, she pulled out a small black folded piece of paper, which she set in the box. The tiny bird opened its wings glad to be out of the confines of her coat. The evidencee of her success, and a reminder to Crestwood nothing was safe from Raven.

She closed the lid of the box not sure how to reset the lock, but it did it for her. As soon as the lid was back in place the box slid aside and was replaced by the scrambled cryptex. She replaced the windowsill piece and climbed the ladder to put the atlas back on the shelf. Then slid the ladder back to its original place on the other side of the room. Only taking a second longer, she looked around and confirmed she had left no other signs of being there. The best thieves were the ones who were tucked in their beds before someone even realized something was missing, and she was the best of them all. She darted over to the window just as the sound of booming voices rang out and the glow of candlelight drift through the crack under the door. The only escape was the window in the library.

The latch moved aside quickly and she pushed it open just enough for her to squeeze through. She worked to pull the window closed while balancing on the windowsill and lowered herself and the window to where she was hanging from her fingertips. She didn’t glance at the ground, just dropped. A sharp jolt went up her right leg as she connected with the ground but as she took a few steps and let out a breath. Nothing felt damaged.

Olivia pressed close to the house and made her way back to the street. She would put her boots on in another alley, not wanting to be near the house when Crestwood returned. As she walked under the window she had first entered through candlelight illuminated the darkness above. The window was still slightly ajar and voices drifted out.

She did not slow her movement.

If only that was the only task of the evening, but at midnight the night was just getting started for Olivia. That was the time of the day when her world awoke. While the aristocrats danced in the warm ballrooms the underworld left their beds to join the chorus of dirty dealings and lawlessness that she thrived on.

A few blocks away from the house she perched on a low wall and relaced her boots. A carriage passed in front of her and she averted her face, pulling the cap low on her head. The wealthy passengers would see what everyone else saw as they passed her, a young, dirty boy. They would scoff in disgust that such a dirty creature would dare to enter their pristine part of the ‘Ton.’

Olivia had learned to allow the stares of the gentry to wash over her without a second thought, that night was no different. As she went to meet Latch for the next job, the weight of the book made her slow. She would not have time to read through the entire thing before handing it over later that night. It was not unusual for a job to have such a quick turnaround, but the man had been insistent that no one was to open the book. Of course, she had to agree to that stipulation, she always agreed when someone told her that. She never kept that promise, she was a thief after all. She never handed something over without having read it first. Not that they ever knew that. She would read through as much as she could to try and figure out why the Earl had wanted the book so desperately. When she did, she would have something to hold over him in the future. That was the way she worked.

Once she was a safe distance away from Lord Crestwood’s residence, she hailed a hackney and settled inside. There was no doubt in her mind that there would not be an investigation into that evening’s heist. Crestwood would not dare bring attention to something that had been hidden that deeply away. She used the light of the passing gas lights and the moon to read as the cab jostled down the street.

At first, she was disappointed. Most of the information was menial, not worth what the Earl was had agreed to pay her. The first entry was about a year ago.

System to transport information.

Docked boat weighed down more than others—next morning the boat was sitting at the same level as the others.

There were sightings of what Lord Crestwood believed to be ‘gamblers or cheats’ exchanging money on street corners. A few pages talked about possible smuggling ships. She flipped to the last few entries trying to determine what Crestwood was looking into, maybe a new business venture or investment opportunity. Whatever it was he had spent a considerable about of time penning notes into that book. It was one of the last entries that shocked her. Three weeks ago, he had noted.

Skinny boy in low cap. Too young to be devil, but seems to have position of authority.

What was Crestwood was searching for and why was she mentioned? Olivia read forward. It was the second to last entry that made her heart skip.

Could the boy be devil?

The book slipped from her hands onto the floor, which was caked in mud.

The entries were about the underworld, they were about her. Lord Crestwood was tracking her movements around the city. There were hundreds of entries in that little book. He was tracking Devil, leader of the underworld. Feared by poor and aristocrats alike. How had he gotten so close? She was always careful to separate as much of her operations as possible and never to be in the same place longer than necessary. Yet, somehow, he had seen her. She could not hand over that book. The only way for her identity to stay a secret was to destroy it, to destroy every ounce of evidence contained in the book. It needed to burn. The secrets hidden in those pages were too powerful for someone who had no idea the implication of what they held, something she doubted neither Crestwood or the Earl of Mansting understood. Then it dawned on her, destroying the book would not protect her from the implications that book held. Someone was looking into Devil’s identity, not just one person but two aristocrats. How many others were there? She was supposed to meet with the Earl of Mansting later that night, but there was no way she would hand over the book that was burning a hole in her hands. Something like that, in the wrong hands could take down everything.

No one could ever know that Devil and Olivia were one and the same. But hunters had begun to sniff at her scent. She would need to be the first to strike if she was going to survive the attack.