November 2

Word Count: 4597

It was going to be easy. It was going to be easy. Perhaps if Mitty kept repeating that to herself over and over she'd actually start to believe it. The lights of the estate were glowing brightly. She could hear the musicians playing a lively tune. Suddenly she wished she were wearing a brightly colored silk dress that dipped lower in the front than the matrons thought appropriate.

Mitty wanted the men to smile and gather around her. She wanted them to fetch her punch and fight over her next dance. Mitty wanted just one to man to drag her out into the garden and try desperately for a kiss.

It had been two years since she'd been invited to a dance, and even then she'd only worn a simple day dress with a neckline almost to her chin. She'd made some cloth roses from the scraps of others dresses. She could take the same white dress and reappear in it several times with a new looks. Even so, she heard the snickers of the silk girls, who's father's wasted an entire year's earnings to see their daughters married well. The dance invitations had stopped the first time a young man had asked her father about a dowry, and had been laughed at for the trouble. No one wanted a plain girl with nothing to offer except her housekeeping skills.

Mitty pulled on the gray cap over her neatly plaited brown hair. Hopefully no one would notice the rather conspicuous horse she'd left tied in the orchard. He was black, and rather sedate, so he blended in to the night. Mitty took a deep breath and started forward towards the bright party lights. No one was going to stop her in a servant dress, unless they wanted her to fetch something.

It truly was surprisingly easy to slip into the house and up a servant's staircase to the second floor of the mansion. No one stopped to question her as she walked purposefully towards her goal - the master suite. She silently opened the door stepped in. The largest family in Toumat could have probably lived off the cost of the furniture alone. Mitty had never been in a man's bedroom before, but she'd never imagined this. There was really only one word to describe it - flowery. It was pink. Or perhaps a dusty rose. The intricately carved furniture were stained with a dark finish, but the seats were the type of tapestry fabric that her father never bought for the townspeople of Toumat. None of them could afford it, especially in this quantity. In a room this pink, Mitty decided she'd have no problem finding a dull gray piece of fabric.

So where does a nobleman keep a dull gray piece of fabric with some strange inexplicable value in his house? According to Pader, it was unremarkable in every way. Perhaps a closet. Mitty looked around. There was a large grand double door to the left, a balcony that overlooked the lawn in the center of the back wall, and a slightly less ostentatious set of double doors to the right. None of them looked like a closet. Wait. Further to the right there was another door. It was almost hidden, shrouded in the grandeur of the room. A door that a visitor wasn't supposed to notice; a closet door.

Mitty opened the door and found that it was pitch black inside. If it was a closet, it was a large one… but after looking once more about the room, Mitty decided a place like this probably had dozens of huge closets. She grabbed a candlestick off the table and entered the room.

When she told Pader later tonight how easy it was to sneak in and steal a nobleman's treasures from him, he'd never believe her, but right in front of her, laying on a velvet lined shelf, were several yards of the unremarkable dull gray piece of fabric. There were also quite a lot of odd eclectic items lining the shelves… some old pots, a few bones, and a few things Mitty couldn't even begin to put a name to. She was not here to oggle, she reminded herself as she hiked up her skirt. She unlaced her petticoat and let it fall to the floor. Stepping out of it, she grabbed the material from off the shelf and began to wrap it around her middle, pinning as she went. In two minutes, she had turned the fabric into a petticoat with her pins. She crumpled up her old petticoat (Pader was going to owe her a new one,) and shoved it under a lower shelf. She smiled to herself and let out a satisfied huff.

She grabbed the candle and placed her hand on the doorknob. It was then that she heard the noise. Someone was knocking on a door. She turned quickly and blew out the candle. The darkness enveloped Mitty and she prayed almost for her heart to stop. It was so loud in her ears that surely they could hear it all the way downstairs. The knock sounded again, but where was it coming from? From inside the room? Or was it someone knocking on a door nearby? Should she leave or stay silent? Her question was answered by a loud laugh in the next room. She backed away from the door into the center of the room.

"That damned clumsy oaf made me spill my wine! Get me a new shirt!" Sir Dunlap's unmistakable roar rang out from the next room. Mitty scooted back until she hit a wall. A door handle plunged into her back. She covered her mouth to stifle her gasp.

"Perhaps I'll show him my new dragon cloth! That will get him to shut up about that new book of his. If I have to hear one more word about how rare that thing is, I'm going to personally throw him out!"

Sir Dunlap was coming in here! She heard his footsteps approaching. In the dark, she knew there was only one place to hide. She grabbed at cupboard knob behind her and scrambled in. There was one slight problem… the cupboard was already occupied.

Malik Adeo liked the fact that no one knew him. He actually took pride in the fact that he could walk through the center of town and not have a single person stop to say hello, or ask him about his family. No women sought out his lazy grin before blushing and turning away. No men stopped to take his hand in a hearty shake and inquire of his previous absence. No children clung to his pant leg with dirty hands, begging small favors. Not even the old women who stared at every new face bothered to search his features for an omen. He did not even register as a stranger. So his chagrin at being caught in his present predicament was chaffing his ego.

Malik Adeo had pretty much resigned himself to the fact that he was going to get caught. He'd tried every glib trick he knew, but the door locked from the outside, and he was on the inside. None of the lock picks placed strategically about his person would budge the door. He could have not so easily taken the door down, but that would involve noise, which would involve getting caught, which in turn would defeat the purpose of knocking the door down anyway.

Malik shifted his feet, trying to avoid the squeak in the floor. No, he'd just have to wait for the door to be opened by someone who was either very gullible, or very slow. Perhaps he should wait until all the household was deep in their cups unable to stand. It would be very easy to slip out then. But of course, getting a drunk person to open the cupboard wasn't the easiest feat.

Crawling into the large cupboard to escape detection had not been the most clever of his ideas, but in a room without a single bloody window, Malik had been forced in through the one and only door. He now regretted taking the commission in the first place. But nobles thieving amongst themselves for objects of no apparent value except status were usually a safe deal. They were quite willing to hand out great rewards for the collection and return of their sacred stolen objects. Malek left it up to the noblemen to decide who had stolen what from whom first. One nobleman had even paid Malek to evaluate his security for him. Malek thought of it as insurance for the noble that Malek would not steal from him again. He'd commented on the large open windows, the easily pilfered lock, and the bribable night watchmen. He failed to mention to the noble the failure in the flooring where a persistent thief could lift a few boards and have excellent access to the treasure. Always leave a way out. Malek's motto had been formed early in childhood. If he comes through the door, go out the window… and never go into a room with one door and no windows and get yourself stuck in a closet that locks from the outside. Idiot.

Malek shifted again. He'd been standing slightly hunched over for three hours now. His bladder was approaching full. Jail was beginning to look appealing. He wasn't in one of the provinces that immediately took thieves out to the hanging tree, thank goodness. In Toumat, the bureaucrats had a firm hand and mob tendencies were kept to a minimum. It was fairly easy to break out of jail. Most of the time a well placed bribe to the jailer was the only necessary step to procure freedom. Sometimes it was more amusing to casually unlock the crude padlock and stroll calmly out of jail. It was cheaper too. Either way meant a possible loss of his commissioned item.

Malek slid his hand into the soft leather pouch at his side. The nobles were definitely odd. The object he'd been commissioned to procure was about the size of an orange. It was the texture and density of a fine perfectly snow white marble, but it had the weight of spun glass. It was obviously some old magic relic, but without the power, it was of no use except as a knickknack on the mantle… and not an especially pretty one. There were no carvings, no letter or pictures of gold; just a smooth white ball.

There'd been some other objects that were equally obscure and probably more valuable, but Malek hadn't touched them. Never get too greedy. If only one specific item was missing, the nobleman would be angry with another nobleman for stealing his prize. The thief who did the actual stealing was inconsequential. If multiple items were missing, the nobleman would come straight after the thief. Currently, Malek didn't have anyone out for his blood and there were very few towns he chose to avoid altogether, one of those being his hometown, but he avoided that location for different reasons entirely. Actually, he was avoiding a person there, and not the town. Everyone who met Bavlee strived to avoid him, except Malek's mother, of course. She adored him, but then Bavlee had never chased her out of the house with his best hunting knife.

Even at age twelve Malek knew when it was time to leave. Now that Malek was big enough to fight back, he realized there was no real point. His mother's house held nothing for him now. It wasn't even especially pleasant. Malek had discovered many places he'd eventually like to call home that were much more appealing than the cottage with the tree growing out of the side of it where he grew up.

His current position also left much to be desired. The cramp in his neck was becoming unbearable. He was just about to knock the bloody door down when he heard someone enter the room. By the light in the crack of the door, he carried only one candle. That was odd. Malek put his eye to the door, and was afforded just enough of a view to realize it was a woman - a servant by the looks of her. The girl's movements were quick and nervous. She probably wasn't supposed to be there. Malek realized she definitely wasn't supposed to be there when she grabbed some fabric off the shelf.

She placed the candle on a shelf and Malek's eyes widened as pulled up her skits. She pulled quickly at her draw strings and shucked her petticoats down around her ankles. The petticoats were shortly crumpled and shoved out of sight. From a pocket, pins appeared and the girl began pinning her pilfered gray material to her pantaloons, making herself a second crinoline. She lowered her skirts and smoothed out the material.

For a moment, Malek pondered the oddity of the fact that the nobleman was about to be struck by two thieves in the same night. It was almost funny, until he realized that he would be the one to be caught locked in a closet, and when he couldn't produce the stolen goods, they'd never believe he hadn't taken them. It would look like he'd broken his own rule: only steal what you came to steal. So who better to set him free than another thief? He knocked on the door.

The girl spooked. She blew out the candle and the room became dark. He heard her breathing heavily as she waited in the silence. Malek knocked again. She didn't respond. Just when he was about to call out to her, he heard a shout from the other room. The noble was back, and the girl had no place to go. She was as trapped as him.

She shuffled backwards further into the room, and bumped against the door of the closet. If Malek whispered, she'd be able to hear him, but he was afraid she'd scream. The noble's voice boomed again. Her hands scrambled on the door. Suddenly the door swung open and she tried to climb inside. Malek silently and swiftly put his hand over her mouth and drew her into the cupboard. Her squeak was barely audible as he pulled the door closed behind her, this time, making sure to catch the latch before it locked them in.

"Shhh! I'm not going to hurt you, and if you scream, we're both going to be caught," Malek whispered quietly in her ear. The girl's nose was slightly stuffed… she was making tons of noise breathing through her nose. "Are you going to scream?" She shook her head, no. "Good." Malek took his hand off her mouth and her breathing quieted. He loosened his grip on her waste, but the quarters were tight. It was suddenly very warm in the small space.

The door to the treasure room opened. It thunked loudly against the wall. The noble stepped inside.

"Bloody hell! Why should I let that idiot have the pleasure of seeing my new treasure when I've hardly looked at it myself? He probably will try to steal it from me." The noble let out a loud extended belch and staggered back out of his room. His footsteps were heavy and unsteady as he made his way down the hall.

The girl let out a heavy sigh of relief. Malek felt her relax against him.

"Shall we get out of here?" Malek asked.

"What were you doing in the closet?" The girl asked.

"What were you doing?"

"Umm…"

"Exactly. Come on." Malek opened the door and pushed her out. He followed. Malek grabbed her hand and led her out of the treasure room. It was obvious that she was slightly clueless about the art of thievery. She simply looked back at him and stood there in the full light of the suite. Malek knew that the noble's valet was around, after having been called, he would be awake. The girl, if left to her own devices, would most likely be caught before getting out the door. The fact that she got this far was probably more dumb luck than skillful planning. If she'd got caught, Malek would be next.

"Let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"You want to get caught?" Her eyes lit up with horror.

"No!"

"Then stick with me." Malek didn't give her any more time to think it over. He grabbed her hand and with a quick look, stepped into the hallway. The girl needed to learn how to walk softly. She practically lumbered down the hallway. It was only a short trip to the room he was looking for. It was dark, and furthermore, there was a large tree outside the window that blocked any view of the rope he'd laid down for quick escape. The girl followed him into the room and to the window. Again, those eyes widened.

"You want me to climb down a rope?"

"Yes, it's easy. I'll go first and catch you if you fall." Again, Malek didn't give her any time to argue. He was halfway out the window before he finished his sentence. He easily walked down the wall and dropped soundlessly to the ground. He looked up. She was staring wordlessly at him. He waved at her. Her hands gripped the windowsill tightly. He waved again. Her shoulders visibly lifted as she sighed. Her left leg came out the window, followed by her right. She grabbed the rope and pushed off. For a moment, Malek thought she'd fall and even he wouldn't be able to prevent her from breaking her neck. Instead she clung there for a moment, before sliding ungracefully down. He caught her when she came within his reach and she let go of the rope, almost knocking them off balance.

When they were both steady on their feet, she held up her hands.

"Ow," she stated simply, inspecting them. She'd given herself rope burn.

"Now is not the time for that. Let's go."

They had come out the back of the house. Now it was a simple matter of traversing the gardens, out to the fields a quarter mile away where he'd left his horse. Malek pulled her along with him as they entered the gardens. They had reached a pretty little bench when a light came around the corner. Malek scrambled. There was no place to hide two of them, unless they hid in plain sight.

"Sit down," Malek ordered.

"Whatever for? I thought we were leaving?"

"Now!" He sat down and pulled her down onto his lap. He grabbed her cap with both hands and pulled her lips to his. Her squeak of surprise was muffled by his mouth. An old man with a lantern appeared on the path. His expression of surprise was softened with amusement. He'd caught two lovers sneaking out of the house for an embrace.

"Now lad, the garden really isn't the place for that sort of thing. Find her a bed, why don't you?"

The girl broke the kiss and looked at the old man with surprise. The man's amusement changed to confusion."

"Wait a minute. You're Mitty, the tailor's daughter. You're not a servant."

The girl couldn't even lie plausibly. Her face gave her away before she opened her mouth. The old man couldn't possibly run fast enough to catch them. Malek pushed the girl off his lap and pulled her into a run. He didn't stop to listen to what the old man yelled after them.

On the other side of the gardens Malek pulled up short. It was a short sprint across the lawn to the field that began to fill the slightly rolling hills where his horse waited. There was a slight problem, though. Sometime during the three hours Malek had been locked in the cupboard, the party had spread out onto the lawn. There were now about 100 party guests and brightly lit torches between him and his horse.

"What's wrong?" Mitty asked.

Oh, how about everything.

"We need to get to the other side of that field. My horse is that way."

"My horse is in the orchard." Malek glanced at the orchard, dark as a graveyard, and fifty feet away. Dumb luck had struck the girl again.

"Go." The girl led the way. Malek swore the horse laughed at them as they approached.

"You left your horse in the orchard, a hundred feet away from the house?"

"It was dark. He's still here, isn't he?"

Malek hoisted her up onto the horse, then came up behind her. He took the reins and set the horse into motion. He held onto Mitty as they cleared the trees and came to the road.

"The town is that way." Mitty pointed west. Malek turned the horse East, towards the Forest of Alaman. "That's the wrong way," she stated.

"No it's not."

"Yes it is. I have to go home."

"You go home, and you get caught. The old man recognized you."

"But my father will kill me if I don't bring it home."

"And he'd rather you ended up in prison."

"I don't think he'd care about that. Just let me down. I'll walk."

Malek coaxed the horse into a faster pace.

"I mean it. Let me down. I'll scream."

"You'll get us both caught." Malek squeezed her around the middle. Mitty began to struggle and Malek gave up. He wasn't about to argue with her when he should be listening for anyone who could be following them. He slipped the small glass vile out of his cuff, snapped it in two inside it's cloth, and put it to her mouth. She drew in a breath to scream, and promptly dropped into unconsciousness. Malek turned the horse off the main road, and headed the two of them deeper into the darkness.

Saratin wasn't quite sure if the monastery walls were meant to keep the people out, or the monks in. The Brothers of the Order of the Tamathan who lived at the Monastery of Ladona seldom left their confines. They much preferred bending over their precious books, or spending hours upon end contemplating the complexities of the world.

It wasn't as if he'd had the choice. He'd been sold into the order at the lofty age of seven. His father, a soldier, had died and left his mother with six children to care for. She'd sold him to The Order of the Tamathan, and his brother to the blacksmith to feed the other four. Now, as he reached the age of consent, and Brother Chauw fully expected him to take on full orders, he was wavering. Saratin was a dreamer, and he'd been locked behind the tall walls of the monastery for most of his life. If he took his vows now, he might always regret not taking a more adventurous path. So when Brother Ilden stopped by to tell him that Brother Chauw wanted to see him, he walked the long monastery halls with heavy steps.

The muffled sounds of the busy market drifted into the long hallway that led to Brother Chauw's cell. Saratin was always looked forward to market day in the town, where the monks would take their wares, books, pottery and smithy work, mostly, and sell them to purchase whatever they could not make or grow on the grounds. When they'd sold enough to pay for the cost of their weekly groceries, they packed up their small stand, and headed back within the walls. There was none of the heated haggling that proceeded between the butcher and the vegetable man. Everything was simple, logical and quiet. Boring really… but Saratin despised those meditation times when he was not called to help sell or buy wares.

The monastery itself was plain. There was no art to adorn the white square walls; no trim for the arches that curved along the cloisters. Saratin's favorite of the four courtyards was the one with a meditation pond in it. He loved to fatten the fish with stale bread from yesterday's meal.

The workrooms were not totally unpleasant. Brother Chauw was not stingy with the heat in the winter, and the drafting tables were well lit. The Brothers happily sat for long hours transcribing their books. Ladona was well known for it's well crafted and painstakingly detailed books. It had once been the only crafters of spellbooks for the Great Mages. Somewhere deep in the vaults, some of the ancient texts still existed, even though there was no one left to wield the powerful spells written upon their pages.

Even after the fade of magic, The Brothers had kept many of their outdated ways. They were still scholars, scribes, craftsmen and in the highest courts, they served as advisors. A Brother never had to worry about theft or violence, because everyone knew they had taken vows to serve the people of Galadin.

It wasn't the serving of people that Saratin truly objected to. It was the seemingly endless hours of doing nothing that drove him to madness. If the Brother Chauw told him to lay bricks for twelve hours a day to build houses for those in need, Saratin would have gladly volunteered. The Ladona Monastery never did anything that exciting.

"Saratin," Brother Chauw called. Saratin had dragged his feet too long. Brother Chauw had come looking for him. "Walk with me," he said. Saratin sighed inwardly. Brother Chauw's most scathing lectures were done while on the run. He sat down with a cup of gray tea for good news. Brother Chauw came up beside him and they walked side by side down the corridor.

"Saratin, I've noticed you've been quite listless lately. Your attentions haven't been on your studies." He was quite right. There was very little that he was studying now that held his interest. He'd read all the history books they'd given to him first. He was now left only with meditative philosophy and animal husbandry. Saratin was graced or cursed with a mind that recorded every word on every page he read. Most of it was mindless anyway. That was probably not the thing to tell Brother Chauw, so Saratin merely stayed silent and stared at his feet.

"I received a letter from Brother Jusper in Danela today. It seems that their librarian has been getting up in age. He's losing his eyesight, poor old fellow." Brother Chauw paused, as if allowing this information to soak in. "He's requested a replacement from Ladona, but he doesn't want to offend the poor old fellow he's got now. His idea is to send an apprentice who will be taught…"

"I'll go," Saratin interrupted.

"Danela is quite a long ways away. And it's in a fairly provincial area." Ladona was provincial by most standards, but Saratin was eager to go. Just the trip alone would be worth it. And to eventually be in charge of his own library was quite a bonus. He wouldn't have to be told what to read anymore. He could read his own books. And there were no walls around the Danela monastery. Saratin had read that somewhere.

"I'm quite anxious to serve the Brotherhood, no matter the distance."

Brother Chauw smiled knowingly. No one was being fooled here. Saratin was not happy here, and Brother Chauw had arranged a spot where he might be happy. Perhaps he thought to solidify the boy's belief that he belonged to The Order of the Tamarin.

"Then you leave tomorrow."