HEART, AND EAR, AND EYE

Job 11: Following The Past

Sly's on his third round of the city when he sees a commotion outside of the tea shop Carmelita took out yesterday. Pulling out his binoc-u-com, he contacts Murray. "Something's going on."

"What is it?" asks Murray, but his question's answered before Sly can say a word. The Contessa emerges from the tea shop, lips pursed in anger, eyes like fire. The gems she wears glisten brighter as the rain falls on them; her pocket shimmers in a familiar way, signaling something valuable within.

Sly's grip tightens on his cane. "I could take her."

Carmelita cuts in, "Don't, Sly." With a burst of static, it shows Sly her picture instead of Murray's, her back to some sort of laser grid. "Bentley's not with her."

"She must be keeping the turtle in the theater," adds Thaddeus, though his picture doesn't come up. Guards—five of them, three flashlight-bearing wolves but also a porcupine and an owl—approach The Contessa, an escort. "We must wait for the opportune moment."

"Fine," grumbles Sly.

With a burst of static, Murray reappears in the bottom screen. "Okay Sly, so you need to come back to the safe-house—"

"No." says Sly.

"No?" asks Murray.

"I'm going to follow her. I've done this a million times," he adds, zooming in as the group starts to walk. "They'll never know I'm here."

"But, Sly—"

"If I don't, and she goes to the lamp shop, we're sunk. Isn't this why I'm on the streets?"

"Okay," says Murray. "But be careful."

"Don't worry, big guy. I won't jump her unless I actually see Bentley."

And that has to be enough, because Sly puts his binoc-u-com away and starts tailing the group. This is something Sly has done a hundred, a thousand, a million times. He did it before Bentley was hurt, back in Paris and Canada; he did it in Venice, taking pictures all the while. He even did it back in the Caribbean, not much more than a month ago. There should be absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except there is. As The Contessa makes her way through the rain-splattered streets, her umbrella keeping her hair dry but little else, her guards stay nearby. Whenever they approach an intersection, one wolf will stay behind her, keeping The Contessa safely in sight, while the other two will go down two separate streets to check ahead; only when it's clear does The Contessa choose her path, and the one she didn't follow catches up. Their pace is a sedate stroll of suspicion. On more than one occasion, The Contessa stops and, with wide arm motions, sends the porcupine and owl up to check the rooftops, and the three flashlight-bearing wolves to check further behind her and up ahead, leaving her guardless for ten or twenty seconds as they check to ensure her safety.

Sly keeps a chimney between him and them when this happens, or ducks in a barrel, or poses as a statue. If he was unsure before, this settles it. Something is up. Something besides whatever's going on with spice and the play.

She walks past the theater without entering it (and Sly has to skirt the whole area; too many other guards around, too many spotlights, even without the tank, he just keeps her on the edges of his vision). She strolls through the derelict section of town. She stubs one foot on the steps to their safe-house, and stops to curse it and send her guards for an additional check (Sly forgets to breathe while she does this, and doesn't start again until she's continued on once more). She makes her way to the fissure, and makes her way along it.

At the corner where the western and southern fissures meet, The Contessa stops and sends her guards for another check in all directions... but doesn't look up, where Sly is perched on a street lamp. When she's satisfied there's no one around, she uses a spiderweb to lower herself into the fissure.

Sly jumps to a rope, runs to a building, and clings to a drain-pipe to get a better view. He can't see what The Contessa is doing, but he can see her back end sticking out: there's a cave, or maybe a tunnel, down there. Too low for Carmelita to get out of by jumping, even with her super jump; too dark to notice unless you know exactly where it is. Getting out of there would require the disposable wall-hooks Sly's grown so fond of, and more than a little ingenuity.

And all five of her guards are waiting around the edge of the fissure, looking out. Guarding her while she's down there.

Sly pulls out his binoc-u-com. "What's going on by your end?" he asks Murray.

"Carmelita and Thaddeus are just finished," Murray says. "They're on their way back to the safe-house. Where are you?"

"The Contessa has something in a cave in the fissure," Sly murmurs, focusing on her. She moves further into the cave, disappearing entirely. "It's got to be important; she was secretive enough about it. Maybe that's where she's keeping Bentley."

"Don't do it, Sly," says Murray. "You said—"

"I know what I said," Sly interrupts. The Contessa comes back into view, red eyes steely. Sly jerks back instinctively. "But we have to check this out. And unlike when we were doing all the jobs earlier, we know where she is."

"I think it's a good idea," says Thaddeus.

"You can't go down there alone," protests Carmelita, louder than Murray. "I'm on my way over."

"No," says Sly. The Contessa uses another spiderweb to pull herself out of the fissure, back into her circle of guards. "You can't get out of there. Watch The Contessa for me."

"I shall watch that villain," says Thaddeus. "Miss Fox can prevent any others from inspecting that cave while you are down there."

"All right," says Sly. "I'll wait for your arrival."

"Be careful, you guys," says Murray.

Sly puts the binoc-u-com away and climbs to the nearest roof, watching. The Contessa is still in sight when Carmelita leaps to a nearby roof, Thaddeus another roof away. He waves at them.

Thaddeus removes his hat in a bow, waves it, and turns towards The Contessa. Carmelita jumps the street separating them to speak to him. "If you need back-up, Sly, say anything and I'm there," she says. She scowls at the ground. "Or don't say anything. I'm going to check up on you every few minutes, and if you don't respond, I'm coming in."

Sly puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes. "I'll respond," he says. "And I'll be right back. I promise."

She puts her hand over his. The two of them stay there for a moment, unmoving, before she shakes herself and steps back, removing his hand from her shoulder. "You'd better be."

Sly jumps from the rooftop to the ground by the fissure and throws in several wall-hooks, just in case, then jumps in. He uses the hooks and his paraglider to go down slowly, and finds the cave without any trouble. "Take pictures of anything you find down there," says Carmelita's voice in his ear. "I. Want. Evidence."

"Yes, Inspector," Sly says, pulling out his binoc-u-com. The first picture he snaps is of an imposing iron door with a spiderweb, not a laser grid, standing in the cliff face. "If I touch that, I'm going to be stuck here until she returns," Sly says. "Bentley said the other webs could be destroyed with fire; are there any torches you can grab for me?"

"I can do one better; get up here," Carmelita orders. Sly uses his wall-hooks to scale back to the street.

Carmelita digs in her pocket and pulls out a small device that looks like a cross between a horseshoe magnet and a lighter. "Portable laser generator," she says, pressing one end of it; a laser gleams into existence, bright enough that looking at it hurts, going between the points. It vanishes when she releases the button. "We found it in the lampmaker's."

"This'll work," Sly says, taking it from her and putting it in his leg pouch. "Thanks."

Then it's back down the cliff side, to face that door. "Be careful how you cut the web," Carmelita says in his ear. "You don't want it to fall on you."

One brief minigame involving decisions about what to laser cut and what to leave alone, Sly can reach the door. It's closed with a spinning combination lock that Sly undoes in moments; with a push, the door opens.

The area within is dark enough to justify the old depth optimizer goggles that broke during the vault job. He pauses a moment to wait for his eyes to adjust. The first picture he takes is simply of the hallway he's found himself in, stone walls and floor, stalactites dangling from the ceiling. Red fairy lights, like those seen during winter holidays, glisten on spiderwebs strung between them; otherwise, the room is dark. "Sly, do you read me? What's going on in there?"

"Nothing yet, Carm."

"Be careful down there. Red light can mess with your depth perception; make it hard to see things like bumps in the path, or tripwires, or judge distances."

"I'll be careful."

Without another thought, he continues down the hall. It's flat, a bare path; as he continues, it narrows, the walls the same distance apart but water creeping in along the edges. The light stays the same, dim and flickering, unnerving him as he continues.

The path narrows even further, then vanishes completely. Water remains, deep and still, with isolated islands well outside of Sly's jumping distance. Stalagmites poke out in spots but the water and dim light have them reflected two or even three times, seeming to be on the walls and many places at once. Sly slaps at one with his cane and the water ripples, making the false ones shimmer. He plans his course while on land, separating the real from the fake, and makes his way to the first island before repeating the process. "What's going on, Sly?"

"Nothing dangerous, Carm."

The path ends in a three-way split of sorts. Straight ahead it continues unblocked for maybe a dozen feet before stopping, the hall's end as abrupt as though it were cut with scissors. To the right is a heavy iron door with a large lock; even Murray could not force it open, and it would easily withstand some of Bentley's bombs. There's a barred opening on it; Sly can see through it. "The theater's through here," he says. "If we can get this door open, we've got another way inside."

Carmelita's quiet for a moment. "Would that involve stealing?"

"Most likely."

As Sly turns away from the door, Carmelita says, "Let me think about it first."

Even here, that makes Sly smile. Carmelita's actually thinking about stealing? That's a first. But he takes a picture of the door, and the unfinished tunnel. The last direction, to the left, is covered by another spiderweb. "An unfinished tunnel, huh?" says Carmelita in his ear, as Sly photographs the last direction. "Wonder what she's doing down here."

"It doesn't look unfinished," Sly points out. "It just doesn't go anywhere."

"Same thing," Carmelita says, and though Sly shakes his head he doesn't correct her out loud. There is a difference, a very real one, but he's not going to poke at it for secret passages now. Instead, he turns his attention to the spiderweb.

One somewhat more complicated web-cutting minigame later, the hall is clear. Sly steps down it, towards light.

The light turns out to be lights set into the walls at regular intervals further down the hall, each below a large framed picture. Each light illuminates the picture, the placard above it, and two pages of laminated information below; the water at the base of the walls catches bits of the light and glistens like a trapped nightmare.

Sly looks at the first picture and stops where he is. "Carm?"

"I'm coming down there."

"No, don't!" Sly says at once. He takes out his binoc-u-com and snaps a picture of the picture.

A squint-eyed frog with uneven yellow teeth looks back at Sly through the binoc-u-com. His prison outfit doesn't look good on him; neither do his glazed eyes. If there was any doubt as to his identity, the placard over the picture removes it: in bold capital letters, it proclaims SIR RALEIGH THE FROGfor everyone to see.

The information below Sly takes in at a glance. "The left is his history of piracy and how he came to be in The Contessa's prison," he murmurs. "The right..." Sly gulps audibly. "How much spice was used per treatment session. The flashing light patterns he responded best to. How much gold she got from his fortunes."

Carmelita says something that sounds very, very rude in Spanish. "Take another picture."

Sly does, zooming in. Even at the greatest zoom, the player cannot make out most of the text. However, two things are undeniable. Each sheet has a title, stating what's on it, large enough to be read. And of course, the signatures of those in charge of Raleigh's 'treatment'. Psychologist G. Contessa, written on the left.

And a second signature, completely illegible, on the right.

"She's not working alone," says Carmelita.

"That's not Penelope's handwriting," adds Sly. "Believe me, between Bentley's old blueprints and plans he made with her, the ones I stole so he wouldn't burn anyway, and all those postcards, I've seen it enough to know." He moves further down the hall, photographing the next picture and information beneath it. Mizz Ruby, this time. Another member of the Fiendish Five; another of the group that took down Sly's father. Muggshott's picture after hers.

"But I recognize it," says Carmelita. "I can't remember where, but I know I've seen that signature before."

"She worked with these criminals back when she was still a double agent at Interpol, right?" asks Sly, snapping a photo of a photo of Rajan.

"I suppose that's possible," Carmelita admits. "I'll check our records. Though that doesn't hold up anymore," she adds, as Sly sends her a picture of a picture of General Tsao. "He went to jail long after she was gone."

Sly photographs The Grizz's display and continues down. He's almost at the end of the hall; only two displays left.

The next picture is of Penelope. She's in her yellow jumpsuit, her goggles perched back on her head. "Says here that Penelope invented the time machine with Bentley's help, when it's the opposite," Sly murmurs. "And that, even with regular treatments, she can't be made to turn against him. Do you think she—"

"Worry about it later, Sly," says Carmelita.

Sly nods and moves onto the last picture.

Bentley.

He's not in his chair.

There is no placard over his picture, no description of his past. All that appears is a single note: Proper treatment for this subject has yet to be determined.

JOB COMPLETE

Sly stares at the picture, his whole body tense with anger, then tears it off the wall and tosses it into the water below.