Life as a thief meant your loyalties were based entirely on convenience.
Craig felt as though that fact was a tired cliche, but it was still one that inevitably held true for him. Afterall, he stole for his livelihood-his loyalties were naturally to himself and whomever hired him. Even then, a hire was only as good as a contract. Once it ended or the agreement ceased to be mutually beneficial, it becomes fair game all over again. Former partners would become enemies, former enemies would become clients. In some circumstance, that cycle happened multiple times with the same person. For that reason, relationships were best if kept strictly professional. Always be unwilling to trust, always preventing oneself from getting attached.
Afterall, thieves work best alone.
On this particular day, he was contracted for a rather simple mission: Steal back Lady Shelley Marsh's prized pink pearl necklace. Shelley herself had asked, (or rather demanded,) he take her up on his offer. When she noticed it was gone, her scream might as well had been heard throughout every inch of the city, near instantly leading her to summon him.
She didn't know where her was or even who stole it, so it wasn't like a typical thieving mission of "steal this from that location". However, she was a frequent client of Feldspar the Thief, often hiring him to find her missing things. She was also not above hiring him to steal things she wanted from others. She also happened to be one of his most wealthy clients. He could never turned her down, not even despite her unpleasant disposition and lack of information she would give him for missions.
To be fair, Craig never required information regarding the who from or where the things he needed to steal were. Of course, that information was helpful, but he knew the odds and ends of the underworld in Kupa Keep City. He knew which people tended to steal certain types of things, all the local pawn shops, both public and underground, and was talented at getting the right people to tell him what he wanted.
The pearl necklace would be one of his easiest finds. Afterall, he was the one who was contracted to steal it in the first place.
There were times where Craig would run a scam-stealing valuables from nobles without their knowing or suspicion in hopes that his reputation would have them ask him steal it back from whatever terrible person they imagined stole it. At first the rewards he received were far too low, at rates where he would have been better off selling the stolen goods underground, but as his reputation grew, so did the reward money and clientele. He effectively stole from the rich and sold it back to them, all the while them believing he was their hero doing them a favor.
This time, however, was not one of those situations.
Shelley Marsh's pearl necklace was extremely valuable. In fact, probably the most valuable thing he's ever stolen. It made of rare pearls from the faraway Southern Sea, only able to be gotten from a small village that viewed the pearls as sacred. They didn't usually allow their pearls to leave the ocean, making them very rare and expensive. It was the sort of thing only royalty could afford. Which, it actually was once the possession of the former Queen Carol-a rare gift from the Southern Kingdom for her husband's coronation. It was said that Queen Carol gave it to the Marshes as a condolence for the death of their young son many years ago.
Of course, to Shelley, it was just something pretty and shiney that she liked to brag about owning. Naturally, as a hired thief with flighting loyalties, none of this mattered to Craig.
No, all he cared about was the task he was hired to do and the subsequent pay as he sat on the roof of a local bakery, eating one of their pastries. Of course, a pastry that he stole. To be fair, he did pay for things from that bakery sometimes. It was one of his favorite places for food.
Growing up as a serf, his diet consisted of hard grains and vegetables, some meat when they were lucky. Before coming to the city, he never had sweets or sugar. His mother would describe cakes to him, but he never really imagined it. When he had one for the first time, he couldn't help get emotional.
His current pastry was a sweet bun with a nice bit of honey on it, one of his favorites. He probably should have picked something else, though, as it made his hands ridiciously sticky. He sighed.
The baker was a nice, older man with a large belly and friendly laugh. Not a very attractive man, but hard working enough. His new wife, however, was a beauty. Probably half his age, she looked like someone out of a grand painting. He expected her to be vain and mean, but she was alright enough. She cared a lot about her looks, sure, but she seemed to love her husband and not mind the simple life of a baker's wife.
The baker, however, didn't see it that way. He felt so fortunate to have her, and felt that she deserved better. He loved being a baker, but once he got with her he wished that he was a nobleman just so that he could give her the world-a large tower with lavish furniture, beautiful dresses, an audience with the Princess.
He had saved up quite a bit of money to pay Craig to steal the necklace for her birthday.
As he finished the last few bites, he flicked off every crumb and wiped his hands on his cloak. It didn't really help. He groaned lightly to himself.
He jumped up and grabbed the chimney of the building-a very thin smokestack. Carefully, he used it to allow himself to lean forward, to get a better look inside the bakery. Or specifically, the second floor bakery, where the baker and his wife lived. They were both working in the front storeshop, and he knew that he would be safe looking in. He made sure they were there. Not only to make sure their living space was clear, but also to make sure she wasn't proudly wearing the pearl necklace. Still, he tried to be cautious.
He had to be careful, if his grip slipped, he would fall off the two story roof and onto the ground. Slowly, he leveraged himself to get a good angle. Finally, he was able to look into their bedroom, albeit from a high, indirect angle.
It wasn't a grand bedroom by the city's standards-bakers were merely peasants. Much more better off than serfs, but peasants nonetheless. They had a large bed with a mattress covered in simple, plain blankets. There was an ordinary wooden chair and dresser for the baker's wife, probably older than either of them. Basic, everyday objects. Still, a free peasant houses were far grander than anything Craig would have ever dreamt of growing up.
To any serf, they were rich. They were privileged. They were free. It made it so he didn't feel as guilty stealing back the necklace for someone like that
His angle was too limited, he realized. Slowly, he let go of the chimney and started to slide down closer to the to the edge of the roof. Wood shingles were a wonder to Craig-he could only imagine how quickly he'd fall straight through his thachet house he once lived in.
Still no good, and he was ever closer to sliding off the roof.
He sighed, and stood back up to lean against the chimney. He should have brought rope. He has rope back at his place. It was unprofessional of him to not think to bring some. Annoyed with himself, he took off his brown cloak and twisted it as tightly as possible. It wasn't long enough to tie to the chimney. He picked at a shingle that was loose (but not too loose) and wedged his cloak underneath, tying it around it.
It was a stupid, risky move, but he needed to look clearly inside the window and, hopefully, eventually get in it. Taking a deep breath, he gripped on the cloak and slowly allowed himself to hang off the side. The first leap of faith was the hardest, for it was the strength test to see if he wouldn't fall and break his neck. He squeezed his eyes as he climbed down. It held.
With a sigh of relief, he opened his eyes and peered into the window, getting a clear view of the entirety of the bedroom. Most importantly, he had a view of the vanity on the far side of the room. Knowing her, she'd probably keep the necklace there if anywhere.
He couldn't see the necklace, though. It was messy, scattered with multiple objects of her and somewhat obstructed by a chair. He groaned again.
Shelley would want her necklace back soon. He couldn't disappoint her.
Carefully, Craig brought his legs up and pressed them against the window. He had broken into many a windows before, even having a small bit of metal at the tip of his boots to better kick windows in, but it was always risky. It always created a loud noise that could alert everyone around. Not to mention that going through glass, especially if he didn't kick through it just right, usually left him cut up. His escape plan was also a little shaky.
Still, he figured it had to be on the vanity. He had one shot at this.
With a deep breath he bent his legs against the window. He gave himself a short count of three. When he reached "three", he pushed off as hard as he could, using his cloak as a swing, and used the momentum to swing back through the window, breaking through it. The shattering was louder than expected and he could feel glass indented into his arms through his thin cloth, but he didn't have time for that. The bakers, customers, or passerbys would hear this, giving him only a very limited amount of time.
Scrambling up from where he landed on the ground, he quickly ran as fast as he could to the vanity. He picked up the chair and pressed it against the bedroom door. It wouldn't hold forever, but it would buy him a few seconds, not to mention a warning when someone reached the door.
The necklace wasn't on the top of the vanity. He realized he hadn't considered that maybe she concealed it under her gown, much like his mother did. He could hear a ruckus upstairs, and knew that he didn't have time to dwell on this. He shuffled through the vanity, knocking over all the contents on the top.
"What's going on up there?!" he heard the baker yell from downstairs.
"Shit," he said under his breath. It wasn't there. Not on the top, not in any of the drawers.
He could hear footsteps heading upstairs. With or without the necklace, he'd need to get out quickly.
"Who's up there?" the baker yelled again, his voice even closer, signaling to Craig that he was on the move.
"Shit. Shit," Craig huffed, scrambling. He quickly scanned the room, making sure it wasn't on any other surface.
Footsteps were closer. He needed to go. He grabbed the blanket, and wrapped it around him, knocking over a pillow.
Clink.
Craig blinked. Slower than he should have moved, he reached over to the pillow. He reached his hand into the pillowcase, and felt around. Sure enough, he felt something hard and round. The necklace!
He the door move, the doorknob shake.
"OPEN UP IN THERE!" the voice yelled, banging on the door, unable to get past the obstruction. It wouldn't take a man of that size long to beat the door open, however.
Time to go! Craig thought, quickly tying the blanket to his still in place cloak. He let it fall. It would still be a decent drop, but he wouldn't die. As he swung it out, however, he realized his knot wasn't tight enough. The blanket blew away with the breeze.
"SHIT!" Craig bit his mouth. Another loud bang hit the door. He had to leave now.
As if moving by pure adrenaline, he grabbed his cloak and stood on the windowsill, still covered in shards of glass. Holding on, he swung himself hard out of the window, just as the door was finally broken down.
"Feldspar, you look like shit," Lady Shelley announced as she accepted his audience with her.
It was true, he did look worse for wear. The fall had torn up his palms and kneecaps, even shredding his pants. He was extremely lucky he didn't break any bones. He had had no time to dwell on this pain, however, as the baker could soon look out the window, the commotion leading to others looking for him. He had done what he had to and jumped into a garbage heap-probably not good for his open wounds. His brown cloak was also torn at the edges now, part of it ripping from the roof.
At least his own necklace was still secure around his neck. That's all that really mattered, anyway. Well, that and Lady Shelley's, safe in his satchel.
"You're welcome," Craig glared at her as he handed her the pearl necklace. It had been covered in mud, but it was one thing he managed to clean off. She wouldn't be happy with dirty pearls.
With only an excited gasp, she quickly snatched the necklace from him and examined it.
Lady Shelley Marsh was not very ladylike. She was coarse and harsh. She always had messy hair and dresses less elegant and more practical than the other noble girls her age. She spoke in a rude, unladylike manner, with a lisp. She wasn't afraid to speak her mind, to be herself.
"My necklace!" she squealed with joy, "I don't know how a turd like yourself does it."
Craig probably would have liked her had she not been such an insufferable bitch.
"I just want my money," he announced.
"Excuse you," she furrowed her eyebrows, "You shouldn't demand things from nobility. You don't want trouble with nobility now do you, turd?" Her servants guarding the doorway straightened up, just in case she began to gave orders.
"Please," he rolled his eyes, "You can say that, but next time you need something stolen you'd be pissed off if I wasn't around. Which, I'm sure the Grand Wizard wouldn't be happy to know how often that is."
Shelley glared at him, her face turning bright red with anger. Craig didn't move an inch, however. He knew her game.
"Give him his payment," she ordered to one of her servants as she pushed passed them, leaving them behind.
"Yes, my lady," one said, taking out an envelope labeled "Feldspar" from a satchel he had, handing it to him. Craig opened it up to see how much it was.
His eyes grew wide. He took back what he thought earlier. He would put up with Shelley as much as it took.
Having actual money, Craig bought a nice meat pie from a place he likes. It was run by a nice old lady, one he would never feel comfortable stealing from. She reminded him a lot of his own grandmother-his father's mother who had died when he was very young. Even if she was a privileged businesswoman, she still felt too moral, too kind for him to ever doublecross.
"My boy, you should clean up!" she smiled as he entered her shop.
"I'm getting to it," he smiled back, "But I've been kinda busy."
"My dear, your legs are bleeding!" she gasped as she examined him closer. She jumped up and ran to the other side of her shop, grabbing a thin cloth. She dipped it and water and, without asking him, pressed it to his knee. It stung, making him flinch.
"You don't need to do that," he said through clenched teeth due to the stinging.
"Yes I do," she insisted, "My cousin, when we were little, he scraped his foot and it got infected! We had to amputate it!"
"It's not that bad, ma'am."
"Hush now, boy and listen to your elders," she demanded in a stern voice. There was a twinkle in her eye and the corner of her mouth twitched upwards.
"I just wanted a piece of your pie, ma'am."
"Of course!" she jumped up and ran to her plates. She cut him a piece far bigger than standard and wrapped it in paper. "On me," she said.
"No," Craig insisted, "I just got paid and I wanted to buy a piece of your pie to celebrate."
"But I-"
"No ma'am," Craig reached into his satchel and grabbed a handful of coins, "This is for you."
He eyes grew wide, "My boy, how did you get this much money? I can't-"
"I insist," he said, taking the pie. She reached to stop him, but he politely excused himself and left the establishment.
He never ate in her actual shop. It felt weird to eat at a public eating place, even if she rarely had customers. Instead, he always opted to eat at the same old place in the castle garden. It was a boring "garden" to be honest, with only a handful of flowers and mostly boring old bushes. Princess Kenny tended to it when she was young, and it was said to be absolutely beautiful, but nowadays she was expected to spend her days in the court, tending to the Kingdom. Or, so it was said. Craig was half convinced that the Grand Wizard wanted her out of sight to further cement his own position as de facto leader.
Still, he didn't think it would have mattered that much if Princess Kenny still tended to it. He much prefer the natural flowers of the farms out in the country. He still enjoyed it, though, as it was one of few places with any semblance of open space in the crowded, walled off city.
To be honest, the focus of the garden nowadays was less the plants and more the stone statues. The largest was in the center of the park, being that of the Grand Wizard himself. Of course, it looked very little like him, much thinner, muscular, and more handsome. The Wizard probably commissioned it himself and would have killed anyone who made it unflattering.
All the other statues, however, were of fallen knights. Of course, there wasn't one for literally every single dead knight in Kupa, only those deemed significant. None of the knights who died protecting his village were worthy enough. Craig remembered how important they thought they were when they were alive. Now, he doubted anyone even remembered most of their names.
Still, despite hating knights, he found himself drawn to the statues. Perhaps it was the artistry. Perhaps it was the fact that the knights were stone-they couldn't say or do anything obnoxious. He usually sat and ate his lunch under one in particular. He didn't know why he was drawn to this particular statue. Yet, ever since he was 14, alone and lost in the big city, he felt as though it protected him. It almost gave him a paternal vibe. Perhaps he missed his father too much. The knight was quite tall like he was.
He sighed to himself again. He didn't like thinking about his family, even though he often did. The nightmares had lessened over the years, but they would never completely go away. He could always see them in his mind, asleep or awake. He could see his parents. He could see his sister. He could see his village.
He could hear their screams.
He took a bite of the pie. It was a rancid, horrible taste. It always was. Still, he always gladly ate it.
After taking a quick bath at the public bathhouse near the town square, Craig made his way back to his home in the evening. He rented the upper floor of an old man's leather tanning business. The man was poor and alone, able to live in the back of the lower level, and offered up the upper floor for a very minimal fee. The rent was low for good reason-it was a small place that always smelled awful from the shop below. Luckily, there was an outdoor staircase in the back of the building leading up to the upper floor that was constructed so he wouldn't need to go through the shop itself. He also preferred to not speak to the old man.
Tired, he climbed up the rickety stairs to his small living area. The door was locked, but it was dry rotting. It could be knocked down far easier than that of the baker's bedroom door. He sighed as he slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.
The inside of the place was as drab and cheap looking as the outside. It had poor natural lighting from the inconveniently placed windows, making it always seem dark inside. The place was essentially a repurposed loft, making it one large room.
In one corner was a makeshift kitchen with a small fire pit and old wood table. The majority of the place, however, was littered in things. From clothing to goods to supplies-he wasn't very neat. Against one wall he had his own mattress. It was stuffed with grass-a big upgrade from the prickly, uncomfortable straw mattress growing up.
And to be fair, even a slummy apartment in the city like this was far better than anything he would have dreamt of in Sundorham. The walls kept out the cold in winter, the windows were real glass, and, even if the door could fall off at any minute, at least he didn't have to patch up the roof on a regular basis.
He put his things down besides his bed and laid down. It still wasn't that comfortable.
"Do you think Princess Karen has to share her bed with her older siblings?" Tricia nudged Craig in the middle of the night with a loud whisper.
"Of course not, they're royalty," Craig groaned, rolling over away from his little sister. She didn't wake him up, but he did want to get sleep. There was important harvesting tomorrow and he hated trying to function without a full night's rest. Now that Tricia was about five, however, all she wanted to do at night was talk.
"Why aren't we royalty?" she asked.
"Because we're not, obviously."
"I know but why," she pried, "I mean, what makes us different? What stops us from going and setting up a kingdom somewhere?"
"Well first of all, it's not that easy," he rolled his eyes, "And second of all, we can't leave anyway. We're serfs. We belong to the owners of the land."
"What do you mean we can't leave?" she gasped.
"We aren't allowed to leave here," he rubbed his tired eyes, annoyed, "We're 'indebted' to the people who own the land. It's illegal to leave the village without permission, which they don't like to do much cuz then we might leave forever."
"That's awful!" she sat up immediately.
"Well, we get to live here," he shrugged, "And we're needed. If they didn't have farmers tending to the land, everyone would starve. So they can't just let us all run away to pursue dumb dreams of making a kingdom."
"Well I'm going to," Tricia announced, laying back in the bed, "I'm going to get out of here. No one can tell me what I'm going to do with my life."
Craig noticed that slight dampness had pooled in his eyes. He hated how years had passed and yet he couldn't escape from his past. He hated the words of his little sister echoing in his ears, hearing her as clearly as he did back then. He hated seeing her in every strawberry blonde girl he saw, wondering what she'd look like now. He hated seeing families together happy, wondering what might have been. It pissed him off.
He quickly wiped his eyes rolled over on his side. His hand reached to his chest as he instinctively began to fiddle with the orange feldspar pendant around his neck.
He hated how he never knew if his mother ever reached Tricia.
"CRAIG!," a voice boomed, interrupting his train of thought.
For years now, after only going by Feldspar, hearing his birth name was always uncomfortable. In fact, only one person ever did.
"Hey Clyde," Craig answered apathetically as he rubbed his eyes and set up on the side of his bed.
"Man, you won't believe what I managed to get from the shop," Clyde announced, throwing his sack to the middle of their shared home.
Clyde was a merchant, given a job to assist a shop as soon as they first arrived in the city. It was a nice, high scale shop with all sorts of clothing, toys, and other goods for the rich and wealthy to waste their money on. From early on, Clyde would manage to snag things when the shopkeeper wasn't looking for himself and Craig.
In fact, it was Clyde's success in stealing from his own shop that initially gave Craig the idea of going into thievery.
"What is this shit?" Craig asked, picking up the sack and dumping the contents onto the floor. Cloth contents fell to the ground and he lightly kicked them to scatter them around, giving him a better view.
"Hey, don't just throw that all on the ground," Clyde complained, "Some of that's really expensive."
"Will it be missing?"
"Yeah, but don't worry," Clyde announced, "There was this real creepy, filthy guy that the shop owner told me to look out for, thinking he might steal or something. He's got us covered."
"You'll get caught one day," Craig sat down to start looking at the objects, "You're a shitty thief."
"Well whatever, look and see what I got."
"Hats?" Craig asked, picking up a couple that fell on the ground. A blue one and a green one.
"Yeah, we don't have any hats," Clyde announced, "I thought you might like that green one. It matches your eyes and all."
"I like the blue one," Craig announced, tossing the other back on the ground.
"But it matches you," Clyde whined, "I got it for you."
"I like blue," Craig said, fitting the hat onto his head. It was a dark blue, soft fabric hat that fit around his head, completely obscuring both ears and the back of his neck, with a cut in the front that went to the bottom of his forehead. The top of it had a yellow puffy ball that was soft to the touch. Craig looked at himself in the dull mirror they had in one end of the room. He thought it suited him.
"The green one would look better," Clyde grumbled, picking it up. It was a green bycocket, a pointy hat, with a red feather. Craig had only ever seen the rich wear it and he knew it was more valuable than the one he chose. He also thought it looked incredibly stupid.
"I like the blue one," Craig echoed his own blunt thoughts, "Noble fashion is stupid."
"Whatever," Clyde put the green hat aside on their table, "Why is the bottom of your cloak all ripped?"
"Oh right."
"Oh right?"
"I had a mission for the Marsh girl today," Craig walked back over to his own pile of things and sat down on his bed.
"The super scary one?"
"She's literally the only Marsh heir," Craig rolled his eyes.
"If you say that to Lord Marsh he'll probably kill you," Clyde laughed, sitting next to Craig on his bed.
"Whatever, stop interrupting," Craig continued, "Anyway, she had me steal a necklace that was stolen from her. Which was easy enough because I was the one that had it stolen from her in the first place-"
"One of those days all that double crossing is going to catch up to you-"
"Shut up shitty thief," Craig shoved him, "Anyway, it was easy enough except that I had to break into a second floor and I forgot to bring rope-"
"You?" Clyde stood up and gave a fake, sarcastic gasp, "The mighty thief Feldspar? Fucking up?"
"I'm not kidding Clyde," Craig began to glare, "Anyway, I kinda had to use my cape instead, so it ripped. I also ended up having to hide in garbage which was bullshit, but I went to the bath house before I came home. Obviously."
"Did you at least get paid well?"
"See for yourself," Craig gave a rare smirk, tossing over his sack.
Clyde pulled open the string and looked into it.
"Holy shit dude. Forget everything I brought."
It's true, thieves work best alone. For the most part, Craig did. He didn't make friends, he didn't seek out a long term romantic partner. He worked alone, avoiding loyalties to all he came across.
Yet, as a criminal, he knew that rules were made to be broken. Exceptions always existed. Clyde was his exception.