Eep... if you thought I was evil last chapter you maaayyy not want to read this one... :sneaks off and hides under bed:

Chapter 4: Rope

'Think how young he is, think that he may never have known a mother's love, or the comfort of a home.'
- Oliver Twist

'What d'ya mean he wasn't there?'

'Just as I said, Boss! I woke up and he wasn't there!'

'His clothes are gone too,' a sleepy looking Marcus added.

Baku growled. 'Damn that kid! He's in no bloody state to go scampering around the city! He don't know night from day-'

'Literally!'

'- and could get himself into serious trouble.'

A heavy silence blanketed the Tantalus crew, visions of disaster drawing themselves behind each other's eyes.

The boss heaved himself up from the armchair he'd slumped into. 'Well I guess we're gonna have to go look for the little tyke.'

Blank heard him mutter something about 'more lost profits' as he walked up the stairs. 'That kid is more trouble than he's worth!' he exclaimed, having trouble hiding the worry tingeing his squeaky voice.

Marcus snorted. 'Like you were any different. You had Boss running up the walls in frustration with your antics!'

Blank pulled on a scarf to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks.

'GET YOUR ASSES UP 'ERE, BOYS!' Baku roared and they bounded up the stairs obediently.

'Alright, here's the plan,' the giant man announced, pulling on a worn coat of faded tartan. 'Blank, you're gonna take the Business District, Marcus, search the Palace Grounds as best you can, Cinna, stick to the Theatre Dis-'

A sudden ruckus outside caught their attention. Shouting and loud footsteps crunching in the snow.

'What the-?'

A blur skidded past the window next to the front door, green scarf flapping reluctantly behind him, little face creased in concentration and fear, tail thrashing back and forth -

(?tail?)

'Zidane!' they cried in unison.

XXXX

Zidane was hurting all over. Hurting in a different way compared to how the sea had hurt him. Blood was still trickling down his face and dripping off his chin and there was some on his forearm where he had blocked the stall owner's attack. Already the skin was swelling and discoloring, a thick splinter sticking out like a thorn. The cloth in his mouth was uncomfortable and he couldn't swallow causing a thin sliver of saliva to drip from his mouth.

What had he done to deserve this?

'- then ran all the way to the other side of the Theatre District, the little runt!' the angry stall owner was explaining. A large man who was dressed funny

(aha, there's that bloody Lindblum Guard now you'll get what's comin' to you, boy)

and carried a spear. 'If he didn't have nothing to hide then why would he run? That's what I say. Caught him red handed, I did'

The Lindblum Guard nodded, a grave look in his eye. 'And do you men clarify what this stall owner claims?'

The other stall owners who had chased Zidane nodded eagerly. The guard cast a severe eye on Zidane, acknowledged the blood stained features, wide eyes staring fearfully yet curiously up at him. What was he, six? Five? He grunted. 'He's... so young though... Can't you just let him off this once?'

The stall owner turned a brighter shade of pink. A vein thumped on his neck. 'You can't just sidestep the law whenever it suits you!' he flared noisily. 'This brat was stealing from my stall. You think I'd make money if I let every little kid get away with nickin' my produce?'

The guard sighed. He had a point. It wasn't his place to question the law, and rules were rules after all. 'He might make a good example to the rest of the thieves I suppose. Anyway, there are no exceptions to the law so... give him to me and I'll take him down to the square to be executed.'

Executed? Zidane didn't like the sound of that word at all.

The stall owner sneered triumphantly and pushed the little boy over toward the city watch, who brought out a length of rope from under his uniform. 'Hold still, lad,' he said.

Zidane felt his hands being tied behind his back. The cord dug into his little wrists. The guard gave his back a gentle push and told him to get moving and anything he might say would be held against him and possible worsen the method of execution.

How can I say anything anyway with this thing stuffed in my mouth?

If he could have spoke, he would have asked exactly what an execution was.

As Zidane struggled to walk down the snow covered streets of Lindblum a crowd began to surround him and the watch and followed the two like a parade, whispering and hissing. Someone threw something and it missed Zidane by an inch before becoming lost in the thick blanket of white. The guard berated them loudly and nothing more was thrown. Three more guards turned up to see what the commotion was about and spoke briefly with Zidane's captor. He caught words like 'execution', 'rope', 'aw ther rise ation' and the name that seemed to have started this whole mess, 'Thief'.

Two of the guards left to get the 'aw ther rise ation'.

Finally they reached the square. It seemed very big to the little boy. Steepled roofs smothered in snow loomed above him; ghostly faces peered down at him from windows, doorways opened to reveal more people. All watching. All chattering excitedly. In the middle of the square was a stand, almost like a stage, with a tall L-shaped wooden pole sticking out its back. A length of rope swayed from its tip. It was looped at the end.

Zidane began to feel dizzy.

As he reached the platform the guards who had gone to get the 'aw ther rise ation' returned and Zidane noticed with glee that they were empty handed. They hadn't got any after all! Yet the flicker of hope was quickly extinguished as the guard nodded grimly, said, 'The hanging of the thief has been authorized.'

The tailed child was told to walk up the steps. A hush fell over the crowd. He felt so dizzy now he thought he was going to be sick. All around him faces blurred, spinning, spinning. Endless white. Whiteness falling from a white sky. Zidane began to tremble violently.

What's happening?

He stared down at his feet and noticed a trapdoor. Why would there be a trapdoor?

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

'We'll have to lengthen the rope,' someone was saying behind him. 'He's too short to reach.'

'Man, I feel bad about this... he's justa kid -'

'I know, I know...but if he gets away with it then every thief will think they can. It'll become chaos. This is why laws are set down.'

'I guess so...'

The crowd surrounding the stage surged in anticipation. They shouted abuse at the bleeding little boy. Something whistled past his head. Another struck his shoulder and brought blood.

My blood.

'Damn I can't lengthen this stupid rope!'

'Here, let me do it.'

Something encircled his neck. It was rough and spiky. Rope?

A guard went round the front of him and tugged the cloth out of his mouth. He gulped in the icy air. It stung his dry mouth and throat. 'I'm not Thief!' he pleaded desperately, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. 'I don't know who Thief is! I swear! Let me go!'

The guard shook his masked head dismally. 'Sorry, kid. Rules are rules.' He moved to the side. 'Alright. Let's get this over with.'

The rope suddenly became unbearably taut. It squeezed his windpipe tighter and tighter like a python crushing it's prey. Zidane's breath wheezed in and out of his gaping mouth, azure eyes bulging in terror.

'Release the door!'

And then the ground gave way beneath his feet.

:Gasp: OH NO! WHAT HAVE I DONE??? Please don't kill me reviewers! 00