The Clockwork Melody

By The Lucy Nation

The world, characters and locations of Thief (c) Looking Glass Studios (RIP) and Eidos. One Step Forward lyrics (c) The Color Green. George Mifune (c) the Lucy Nation.

***

Troubled young man comes walking this way
and he's walking real tall like this is his day!
and his boots make him strong, well that's what he thinks
but he can't disappear in the whiskey he drinks
and the harder he asks yeah the deeper he seeks

One step forward and two steps back
he might be strange but he has a knack
he'll lift his arms up to the sky and say
"Oh my god, don't you let her say good-bye!"

***

Chapter 1: The Intruder.

The day I met George 'Mouse' Mifune was the day I learnt that whoever puppeted the strings of life had a sense of humour. Because, as the old jackablade saying goes, some things are just so horrible they're funny.

The city was, on that aforementioned day, a particular shade of miserable that lulled even the sewer rats into depression. Icy drizzle rained down from the heavens in a steady stream causing great rolling clouds of insufferable grey to blanket out the sweetly-warm sun. Winter was closing in with it's most treasured of tactics - the slow crawl of bitterness. It rained so often the sewers were threatening to either deafen us with their roar or burst out onto the slick streets. It keep people inside, doors and windows closed; my opportunities (not to mention savings) were falling to an all time low. I was forced to pawn off the last of my precursor statuettes, of which I attached priceless memories of cheating Karath-Din. As I was handed the cash equivalent, a queer though entered my mind proposing I go back to the city for what I'd left behind in my hurry. I dismissed it at the time, but as the days progressed I found my mind wandering back to it again. So much of the 'lost' city was buried beneath centuries of mud and soil, it needed only a gentle push... but I digress.

The bulldogs were out in force, again, during those unpleasant days. They're been a tip-off to the masses that a new Sheriff would soon be appointed, as the current one was growing both senile and sideways. Word was that a high-ranker in Warden Affairs called Druart (or Truart, I can never remember which) was the new man for the job. You might think that the people would be happy to receive a fresh face for their biding, but as sure as a Burrick's bad breath, they apposed it. Warden Affairs was no longer smiled upon by anyone but the Wardens themselves - after all, their blind eyes were the stuff of legends.

The City didn't want a man with the moral fibre of a small mushroom in charge of protection and honesty. So, running with the only plan they liked, they protested with an unsurpassed level of crime. Stores were robbed at all hours, public statues toppled or defaced and more windows broken than cobble stones in the street. Far be it for me to pass judgment on such activities (broken windows were open windows, so I to did my bit for the crime spree statistics) but I couldn't help but sympathise with their cause... true, it was a cause that's ultimate goal was putting my kind out of business with a heavy hand - but a city in the aftershocks of tragedy had a right to be scared witless of letting such things happen again. Just as I had a right to not be a hero.

It'd been a difficult few years since the Trickster walked (Or, as the Town Office reported, 'The Plague struck'), an uneasy silence had permeated every living aspect of the once flourishing city. Things were dull and tired now. At least business was... the people were steadily growing more fed up with each day's passing. They wanted a guaranteed slice of security in case a new threat to their lives tried to rear it's ugly head. I don't blame them.

Alas, it was in the wake of this new found freedom that the police decided to reaffirm their attitude. They put a bulldog on every corner the day before the weather went sour, and promised a swift kick to anyone that passed within yards of them. Which, suffice it to say, they did. One miserable night I saw a harmless old woman get a sharp kick to the hip for asking directions to the Shoalsgate Station. With the usual un-caring glare the city watch had managed to return their beat to normal again. Bully for them.

It was scarcely a week since their posting and the weathers turn for worse that I found myself awoken sharply from a light sleep. I'd worked a market depot the night before and twisted an ankle, so my sleep was marred by pain. At first I'd though that was the reason for the sudden expulsion from my dreams but the side of me that'd survived these long years knew otherwise... It was the time of night between too late and too early that police raids favoured most, and as a quick glance to the skyline warned me - that time was now.

The disturbance was located in my living room, as shuffling footfalls and the creak of moved furniture denoted, so I slithered out of my bed and slipped into the tiled bathroom. It was an all-too familiar experience. The relocation was soundless, as I'd learnt from previous experience that noisy bathrooms were as annoying as a Hammerite Sermon. A tapestry from Lord Bafford's 'Throne Room' lined the floor to quieten it. My tightly bandaged foot rested gratefully against the surface as cold as it was soft.

I took the small dagger and flash bomb I kept hidden behind a loose tile under the sink, and readied them in my hands; the infamous flash-n-stab technique was coming to mind. I waited a while till the living room had ceased making noise and I fell suspicious - Bulldogs announced their arrival like the grand navy. I felt through instinct that there was only one hapless intruder in my midst, and a quiet one at that. At least compared to the law-enforces he was.

I heard the outside window frame give a awful groaning creak, followed by the sound of glassware tumbling of a table and shattering. A deep and warbling voice cried out a 'Damn and blast it!' then an 'Argh!' as I heard the table get a thump and the glass re-crunched. He'd just rammed into the outer wall? It was then that a certain thought had entered my mind.

Could it be... that I was being robbed?

'Why yes, yes it could.' I mused aloud and grinned wolfishly.

This had only ever happened once before in the years I'd been living here. A young stable boy from an estate around the corner had followed me home one night, thinking me a clerk, and threatened me at dagger point for all my valuables. As luck would have it (were I to believe in luck), the kid had fainted the moment I turned around and withdrew my hood - not because he saw before him the legendary old thief, but because of my mechanical eye glaring out at him. Seemed he was the creative squeamish sort. As a fitting punishment I'd dragged him to the corner sewers and dropped him, bound and gagged, into it's inky blackness. I know first hand just what horrors the mind can produce when left to wander in dark, noisy passages.

The intruder let out a musical whelp and another of my valuable trinkets bit the dust.

I slid out from the bathroom and limped towards the closet. It was diagonally across the room and just far enough for my ankle to start singing Bright and Holy Builder again. Faint and clever moonlight was filtering in from the window I'd left open not two hours ago, so unlike my unwelcome guest I was able to traverse freely. Not that I couldn't have done so without it - this was my home, after all, and I'll be damned if I ever live in an unfamiliar place.

Inside the closet was another thing entirely, because I had to shut the door behind me in order to open the secret door within - the resting place of all my more illegal possessions. A few of them were incandescent oddities picked up over a month ago from an alchemists. Arcane imported stuff that fetched a high price but glowed a bright blue when not properly heated. I intended to sell the small pebble-looking things back to whom I stole it from in another months time. I snatched up my blackjack and a length of rope before sealing the secret closet once again and returning to my bedroom.

The plan was simple - sneak up behind the unlucky thief and knock his lights out, tie him up, and sit him half on the canal steps and half in the canal itself. I moved calmly towards our connecting door, dragged my right foot only slightly, and pressed my naked hand across the frigid bronze doorknob.

The shuffling on the other side had stopped, a heaving breathing replacing it. I could here him fumbling with something mechanical and panic welled up in me as I realised I'd left my eye-cleaning kit (complete with two spares) laid out on the fireplace mantel. I prepared myself to rush in and disable him quickly but a sudden, unexpected noise stopped me within a heartbeat.

A melody, clear and mournful sliced through the air. It sounded haunting in such an unlikely environment and I recognised it as belonging to a music box I kept displayed on a shelf near the mantel. I'd stolen it from Lady Velarius' room in the Opera House on my quest for the Water Talisman.

An even stranger noise now exploded from the intruder - it sounded like a wailing sob then a gasp of fright. He'd finally managed to find the light switch and got a good look at the room. I cursed myself for pausing in my attack, as now he was alerted and well lit. I decided to wait in the still pristine darkness of the master bedroom until his curiosity brought him inside. Minutes passed without sound or incident.

'Picked a fine time to start being quiet.' I growled to myself.

A few minutes more and I threw caution to the wind, flying into my own living room with the blackjack held high, my moss-green bedclothes sailing every-which-way. A quick scan of the area and I lowered my arms heavily with a snort of defeat.

The intruder had left, leaving behind a mess of broken fragiles and an empty space where the music box once rested - except that space was not-quite empty. A yellowed note held fort there now.

I dragged my throbbing foot across the room, snatched the parchment up and sat down heavily in my reading chair. It read Thus:

My most humble apologies, Master Thief Garrett!

I was unaware this was your residence till I'd

spied my music box. It's very valuable to me, you

see, and I must insist I have it back. If you

feel sore about it, meet me in the The Last

Goodbye tomorrow and I'll lace your palms with

something far better. I'll be the one wearing a

black cloak standing in the shadows. I might

or might not have brown boots.

- G. M. Esqr.

On the back in smudgy ink it also read:

P.S SORRY ABOUT THE VASE

I let out a weary sigh and an even wearier snort of laughter.

I'd been robbed by a complete taffer.