"Marlo, don't be stupid, you can't carry that. C'mon, fullas." Tricks chastised the younger thief with a wagging finger as he tried mightily to heave a massive broadsword over his shoulder. It wobbled madly from his exertions, clanging against bunks and tables.

They had managed, with little effort, to sneak into the local garrison. No guards were on duty, amazingly enough; Mama's intelligence on the new commander had apparently been on the money. They'd skimmed around the outside of the building, climbing in through an unattended window that was left open to allow a breeze to circulate. The barracks were, at current, deserted.

Snapping up anything of value – which was, admittedly enough, very little – the Sewer Rats made their way through the soldiers' things quickly but meticulously. Anything that held even the slightest monetary worth soon found a new home, tucked deep in the tattered clothes of any one of the three youths.

Marlo relinquished his grip on the blade, letting it fall with a heavy thud on the warped floorboards. They all winced instinctively at the sound, as though it would bring the whole of the empire down on their heads. As it was, though, not a single soul was disturbed, as everybody was either across the street (at the garrison mess hall) or out on patrol. They continued the manic search for valuable goods.

Galley tore through a set of lockers, having smoothly opened each one with a thin bobby pin. Little of interest lay within, however, and the most valuable item he managed to filch was the frame around a family picture. Tricks occupied herself by searching underneath each bunk in turn, locating a few pornographic magazines that she covertly slipped into her jacket. If nothing else, curiosity dominated her soul in this action. Marlo checked through a few rather sparse drawers that lined the corners of the rooms, largely without success.

Frustrated at their failures, Tricks kicked viciously at a shoe that sat overturned before a bunk. It caromed off a wall and bounced harmlessly against Galley's shin. "Damn this! This's useless, they've got nothing! We should check the big guy's room, yeah? I'll do that."

Marlo waved a hand in caution. Galley nodded, agreeing with his silent compatriot. "Yeah, we'll run out of time if we do that. Mama'll be mad if we get caught again." That was an understatement.

Tricks scoffed. "Yeah, but she'll be right 'nnoyed if we come back with nothin'. You clean up here, I'll go look. C'mon, Marlo." Striding across the room, she clamped onto Marlo's sleeve and dragged him, protesting, towards the commander's private office on the upper floor.

Galley sighed. There was no reasoning with her when she made her mind up. He began the cleanup, using his immaculate memory to recall exactly how the items he'd pulled out of the lockers had been situated. The entire process of systematically putting the room back together took a full five minutes, at which point a blaring alarm filled the air.

"Huh? What's up?" he asked of the empty air, heart suddenly fluttering in hesitation. He rushed over to the window, gazing out upon the battered cobblestone-street, and witnessed streams of soldiers abandoning the mess hall to head back to work. Lunch, apparently, was over early today.

Galley's guts clenched involuntarily. He ducked below the crude windowsill, eyes bulging, and gazed over at the window through which they'd initially proceeded, across the way. Before leaving, Mama had insisted that they get out if there was any sign of returning soldiers during the operation. That time had come.

But what of Tricks? And Marlo? They were still upstairs. Surely they would have made note of the piercing sound and found an alternate route out of the place. But what if Tricks' insistences that they could stay a few moments longer won out? Marlo was quite the pushover in the face of authority, and Tricks could certainly project that authority upon him. What was the proper course of action? Prudence through escape, or bravery through assistance?

It was a tough question. Loyalty to one's comrades in times of strife is a defining trait in any person; yet, the instinct for self-preservation, not to mention the desire to obey authority, is great. Galley was a patient young soul: had he not been, he never would have been able to afford the moonstone that lay huddled in his pocket. He could, at times, be incredibly rash, but only when the situation did not threaten his own life. He required a plan for his boldness to come into play.

At the moment, his genius mind could not create such a plan. Darting about madly amongst opulent fops was one thing; attempting to outwit an entire of armed soldiers, quite another.

Soon, he realised that he had no choice whatsoever. He dashed, abandoning his friends, and leapt out the window. One would think that so young a person would be saddened by the prospect of leaving the only people he had ever formed bonds with to die: however, his was a calculating mind, from the very first, and had no difficulties with leaving behind Tricks and Marlo. Friendship is valuable, but in the face of instinct, finds itself completely impotent.

Galley was not so cold that he severed the bond he had with his friends, however, and he wept silently as he twisted his way through the back streets of the city, away from the site of his first betrayal.