LotS/The Story/The Right Tools/The Thief
The Thief
COMISSIONER RALB: I called the press conference to assure the public that we would soon catch the notorious cracksman whose crimes had recently plagued the city's upper classes. I intended to restore confidence in the police force.
SENATOR POLK: And yet you instead became a subject of ridicule.
COMISSIONER RALB: Yes, senator.
SENATOR POLK: Please state for the record what happened at that press conference.
COMISSIONER RALB: *inaudible mumbling*
SENATOR POLK: Louder, please.
COMISSIONER RALB: My trousers were stolen while I was at the podium. The ones I was wearing. I... I still don't know how that happened.
-- Commissioner Ralb's hearing before the Milesian Senate
"How are you supposed to make this thing work?" Ragnar asks.
He dangles the strip of black fabric from between his fingers as if it were some strange species of slug, and shakes it in the air.
"It's automatic," you reply. "Watch. Over here, Tel."
Telemachus stops disarranging the collar of his dress shirt, and comes over. You put a similar length of material around his neck, allowing the two ends of the bowtie to rest against the front of his shirt.
"Just tap twice."
You tap your index finger against one of the ends. There's a faint whirring noise as the mechanism responds. Then the fabric moves of its own accord, the two ends intertwining and rolling like coupling snakes. After a few seconds a perfectly tied knot adorns the middle of the boy's neck.
"It's not comfortable," he says, inserting his finger behind the tie and yanking at it.
You take hold of the finger and remove it from the garment -- which automatically tightens to repair the looseness he created.
"Fancy clothes aren't meant to be comfortable," you reply. "I think the discomfort is meant to remind you to stay on your best behavior."
Ragnar puts his tie around his bull-like neck, and taps one of the ends. The material tightens, strains against his flesh, and snaps with a mournful whir.
"Didn't work so good," the Niflung says.
"Allow me." Lu Bu, his newly polished body gleaming like an exquisite ornament, steps towards Ragnar from behind. His hands perform a movement concealed from your eyes by the Niflung's bulk, then reach up and place a fresh bowtie around his neck. "I simply tied two of them together."
He taps one of the ends with his metal finger.
There's a confused whirring noise, and both ends rise slightly as if contemplating this strange new state of affairs. But the garments work themselves out, and a moment later Ragnar is dressed in something approaching respectability.
"I don't see why I have to wear this vampire suit anyway," he grunts. "It's not like I'll be going inside with the rest of you."
"Rich people don't like to see half-naked psychopaths wandering the corridors," Talia says. She steps into the room, and twirls -- causing her gown to ripple like a blooming flower. "It puts them off their food."
"We all ready?" you ask.
The others nod, and you head towards the door of the Princess' dressing room.
"I don't believe any of your friends here have the necessary skills to bypass complex security systems whilst escaping detection," Wu Tenchu said, upon joining you in the Princess' chamber and being appraised of your plan. "If you wish to infiltrate Sian undetected, reach the palace, and free the Emperor from his cell, you will require such abilities."
"I'm pretty good with tech," Telemachus said.
"Being 'pretty good' is inadequate. With the stakes so high, we would require nothing short of brilliance. A master of both technology and stealth. A man who knows how to move unseen, leaving both electronic measures and physical guards blind to his presence."
"It sounds like you have someone in mind, Master Wu," the Princess said.
"Yes. There is a person whose exploits have entertained me for some time. I have followed his career with interest."
"One of our agents?"
"No. A thief."
"A criminal?" you asked. "You'd have us put our lives, and the Emperor's, in the hands of a hired crook?"
"He prides himself on being what he calls a 'gentleman thief'. From everything I've learned of him, both through sensationalist media stories and via the more reliable reports of our spies, I believe we can trust him not to betray us."
"Who is this man, anyway?"
"He calls himself Arthur Lupin, though that is most likely a pseudonym. Paired literary references, if I'm not mistaken."
Wu Tenchu gestured with his hand, and a number of news stories appeared in the air, each holographic headline screaming about an incredible theft or daring escape.
"So how do we find him?" Ragnar asked.
"We lure him out," the Princess replied.
"Wow..." The Niflung gazes at the necklace in wonder. "That's got to be worth a fortune!"
The resplendent string of platinum and diamonds stretches across Princess Illaria's soft skin, and glitters like a galaxy of coalescing stars. You're no jeweler, but even to your inexpert gaze the Eyes of the Cosmos is a magnificent piece. Yet its materials and the breathtaking beauty into which they've been worked are only the very beginnings of its worth. Each diamond is a remarkable relic in its own right. Every stone once belonged to a great figure from human history.
Talia leans over to you.
"If it's good enough to distract Ragnar from her breasts," she whispers, "then Lupin doesn't stand a chance."
"I hope you're right," the Princess says.
Talia reddens, the uncustomary embarrassment on her face making her seem like a teenager. You decide to rescue her.
"We should make our way to the ballroom."
Master of Disguise
Ostentations of socialites in eveningwear mill around beneath the golden chandeliers, drifting together and apart in the endless and unfathomable migratory patterns and diasporas that distinguish such gatherings.
The women wear sumptuous and inconvenient gowns in colors that range from the tasteful to the garish -- yet even the latter have somehow been made sophisticated and respectable by the occult artistry of fashion designers. Around them flit suitors in their less distinctive dinner jackets, the glowing trims around their garments occasionally changing color to match the dresses of the women whose attentions they're courting -- much to the displeasure of those they arrived with.
In almost every hand is a brightly colored drink, pleasing little cocktails that contain enough liquor to smash the senses while disguising the alcoholism beneath fancy and unpronounceable foreign names. The more committed or less particular drinkers appear to be armed with cocktails that match their gowns or tuxedo trims in color and hue.
Ah, high society.
But your cynicism is somewhat mollified at the thought that most of these men and women have come here to express their support for the Sian Empire. Your political allies have all sent their delegations, as have influential citizens and corporate CEOs who either favor you or despise the Centurians -- both amounting to much the same thing in times of war. The other guests are there to be won over with flowing cocktails and convincing words.
Wu Tenchu and Princess Illaria decided to kill two birds with one stone. If all goes well, Lupin will emerge to snatch the Eyes of the Cosmos -- which the society reports and similarly insipid writings of tiresome journalists have gushed over in recent days, thus alerting all and sundry to its presence here. And regardless of whether you can lay your hands on the gentleman thief, the Sian Empire might win new supporters.
Even as the thought crosses your mind, you see Lady Hollister -- one of your staunchest allies among the Novocastrians -- leaning towards a trillionaire arms dealer and whispering in his ear while he rests his gaze on her impressive, well-bred bosoms.
Similar scenes are discernable around the chamber, cunning men and women using charm and argument to wear away the resistance of those who might be on the verge of tottering into your expanding collection of supporters. At certain points you can almost detect a deliberate pattern in the shifting movements, perceive a strategic brilliance in the way a man will slip from group to group and have his say, or the way one woman will twirl her dancing partner into the arms of another -- that the second might continue the work the first has begun.
It's almost like watching a space battle.
But even as you drink all of this in, allow your mind to capture the intricate workings of aristocratic politics, your eyes are still scanning for signs of your quarry. Lupin could be somewhere in this room, ready to make his move.
Your scouring gaze roams over the Princess and the crowd of admirers gathered around her like debris orbiting a beautiful world, captured and held by her magnetism. She's magnificent, as always -- born and trained for times such as this, able to wear the world of high society like a mantle or else shape it in her fair hands like a sculptor's clay. Her dazzling smile, her radiant laugh bewitch each and all, ensorcelling the entire crowd whilst making every man and woman believe that her charm, her wonder, her interest, her wisdom, exist for their benefit alone. Whenever a person joins the circle around her exaltation illuminates their face, her nearness takes them like a drug -- drawing them into the collective rapture, placing them among her throng of glad and grateful worshippers. And when an individual is forced to depart, unhappily called away by the drab and mundane world beyond, they leave with parting, mournful glances over their shoulder.
You understand, with no trace of resentment -- only acceptance, and perhaps even a dash of pride -- that you're little different. The men and women of the Sian Empire orbit her as these socialites do, drawn towards her and made loyal by her irresistible enchantments and the traditions which glitter upon her like jewels.
The Eyes of the Cosmos twinkle to mock or celebrate your epiphany, each diamond vying with its cousins to capture the light and echo the radiance of the woman who wears them. Illaria raises her hand and begins to trace her fingertips across the stones as though to quell their squabbling. But her slender fingers become still a moment later, freezing atop the diamonds in what seems like surprise -- though the expression on her face doesn't change.
The Princess continues to smile, but now she's murmuring soft apologies and excusing herself. She walks towards you, the crowd of socialites dispersing in her wake like planets deprived of their star -- sent hurtling through space by the force of the sundered gravitational pulls which once held and sustained them.
"The necklace..." she whispers. "It's fake!"
"I thought you were going to wear the real one?"
"You don't understand... I was wearing the real one. Someone switched it. While I was wearing it!"
Your mind reels. But only for a moment. Then you start scanning the crowd once more. He's here. Now you need to identify him...
Running in the Halls
Your suspicious eyes fasten on each person in turn, your sharp and frantic memories trying to recall their movements -- to remember which of them might have been close enough to the Princess to perform such an outrageous and miraculous feat of thievery.
"Him," you say, picking the man out with your stare alone -- knowing that to point would be to attract attention, and perhaps alert him.
The man seems little different from many of the other dinner jacketed denizens of the ballroom. He's tall, handsome, and well-built -- unsurprising qualities for those who can afford the finest alterations and enhancements. No self-respecting socialite would allow themselves to fall too far from perfection. But there's something about the way he moves, an effortless grace and litheness that shows his physique is likely the result of training rather than surgery.
He's slipping from group to group -- entering each one with an elegant step, sharing in a laugh or charming with a quip, then moving away in search of fresh worlds to conquer. To the casual observer he would seem to be making merry, enjoying the company on offer. But each movement, every exodus, is taking him closer and closer to one of the inconspicuous exits leading from the chamber into the corridor outside.
You move towards him, attempting to emulate his subtlety -- following as though by chance rather than intent.
Talia is in that part of the ballroom, speaking with a silver-haired woman in an equally argentine gown that makes her resemble a saltshaker. The gunslinger catches your gaze, and you gesture your instructions as best you can -- trying to make each motion seem casual, rather than that of a lunatic attempting to swat an invisible fly or else play charades with her second personality.
She catches your meaning at once, and detaches herself from the saltshaker -- leaving the woman to drift away into a collection of assorted condiment receptacles. Talia rustles after Lupin, her gown puffing around her like a strange sea creature's body.
You're both converging on him, no more than a dozen feet away, when the thief turns around and favors you both with a debonair smile -- before disappearing through the doorway.
The two of you dart after him, and enter the corridor to see him sprinting down its length.
You both break into a run, Talia deftly managing to kick her heels off without stopping. Thankfully your military dress boots are better suited to the task at hand. But it looks like the chase is about to end...
Ragnar's burly form rounds the corner ahead, looking in his tuxedo like the galaxy's most fearsome doorman. The Niflung's powerful body blocks the middle of the corridor.
"Stop him!" you yell.
The words are superfluous. He's already moving to intercept Lupin, his thick arms braced to grab him in a crushing grip.
Yet the thief doesn't stop or swerve. He keeps sprinting, right at the Niflung. If he thinks he's going to be able to barge Ragnar aside, he's in for a rude awakening...
"I hope he doesn't break him too badly," Talia remarks.
Ragnar leaps at Lupin, throwing his arms around... the empty air. The movement, the jump, the spin, happen in an instant -- almost too quickly for your eye to decipher. But the result is plain enough. Ragnar is sprawling on the floor, a look of surprise on his features.
"Great," you sigh.
You and Talia keep running, diverging to pass the prone Niflung on either side. Looks like you'll have to do this the hard way...
Rooftop Chase
The door to the stairwell is still swinging from Lupin's shove when you push through it in turn, and glance up to see him ascending the squared spiral with agile leaps.
You're on the top floor. He's heading for the roof.
Talia drops behind you as you spring up the first short flight of stairs. There's a tearing noise as you dash across the landing and start on the next flight. Then she's back by your side, matching you leap for leap, her dress now a couple of feet shorter.
"Was getting in the way," she says, as you continue to follow the spiraling path.
When she pulls ahead, an almost gymnastic leap sending her halfway up the next flight, you notice how suspiciously neat the new hem of her truncated gown is.
"Is that a stripper's dress?"
"You think a girl like me owns a real ball gown, captain?"
As if to emphasize the point, there's a further ripping noise.
You reach the top as Talia fiddles with what's left of her dress, and throw open the door which is falling closed from Lupin's passing. The night air whispers across your face, carrying with it the distant rush of airborne traffic.
The thief is across the rooftop, running towards the far edge, his lithe body outlined against the pink and purple aura of light pollution that rests atop the cityscape like a blanket. He's wearing a sleek bodysuit now -- his formalwear lying discarded to your left as though hurled from him in mid-sprint. Maybe he and Talia have the same tailor...
You quicken your pace as Lupin hurtles towards the end of the roof and leaps high into the air.
Leap of Faith
Only a narrow alleyway cuts between the building and the next. It disappears beneath an easy leap, and you hit the opposite roof running.
This one is covered with satellite dishes and other obstacles, which Lupin is somersaulting over with a casual acrobatic excellence. It's like he's showing off, careless of the fact that you're gaining on him...
Talia appears beside you. A second later she's ahead, breaking into a somersault of her own to mount a block of unidentifiable machinery before kicking off from its surface and using the momentum to send her further across the impromptu obstacle course. She's down to her underwear now, making the whole thing seem like an especially athletic burlesque performance.
You can't match their agility. Instead you try to keep pace with a series of less flashy maneuvers, slipping between or over objects with more pragmatism than flamboyance.
By the time you clear the last of the interfering lumps of metal and emerge onto a clear stretch of roof, Lupin is already nearing its edge -- Talia close behind.
The roof opposite is separated by a wide gap, not a sliver of alleyway like last time. He can't really be thinking of...
But he is. Lupin catapults himself into the air, soaring over the empty space with a nonchalant spring. And Talia doesn't hesitate either. Her near skyclad body flies through the air after the thief.
The gaping expanse is in front of you, your eyes dropping from pursuer and pursued out of instinct to regard the yawning stretch of death. Your mind cries out for you to stop. But that isn't an option.
You feel the breath filling your lungs as your boot reaches the edge.
Lupin
Bright lights blaze below you, a spectacular tapestry stretching off into the distance. The peripheries of your vision capture the glory of human civilization, the broad, vehicle-filled streets and looming edifices. It's beautiful...
Then gravity asserts its sinister force, invisible tentacles snaking around your body. The realization that you're about to plunge into that illuminated wonderland fills you like a second breath of air, the knowledge that in moments your splattered remains will be decorating the street below like a smeared pizza.
But doom passes in a split-second, as the opposite roof slips into your narrow, focused, downward gaze.
Your boot hits its edge, and you throw your weight forward with all of your body's instinctive craving for life. Talia's hands grab hold of your arm and add their force to your momentum -- propelling you onward to safety, leaving death in your wake like a spurned suitor.
"Bravo!" Lupin says. "I wasn't quite sure you'd make it."
The thief is standing in the middle of the rooftop, wearing the same elegant smile he bestowed upon you in the ballroom. It seems that the dangerous chase has done nothing to disturb his equanimity.
"You've tempted fate once already," he continues, "so perhaps it's best if we settle the matter here. Besides..."
The thief's gaze travels across Talia's body, and such is his poise and deportment that he somehow comes across as charming even as he ogles her -- a gentleman aesthete admiring beauty rather than a leering pervert.
"...there's something ever so ridiculous and perhaps slightly Freudian about running away from a gorgeous woman in lingerie."
"We're not here to fight," you say. "We just want to talk."
There's a clicking noise, followed by a series of metallic clanks as a fighting stick unfolds in each of his hands.
"Fortunately, fighting only requires one willing participant."
Lupin darts towards you, the debonair smile dancing across his lips.
Lupin reclines on the ground, somehow remaining the very picture of deportment in spite of the blood around his mouth and the rents in his bodysuit.
"Well, you've succeeded in getting my attention," he says. "So, what was this all in aid of?"
"You knew?" Talia asks.
"That the little charade downstairs was staged for my benefit? To pique my interest? Of course. I'm not an inept supervillain who gravitates to shiny baubles like a mindless magpie. I came to see what the Sian Empire might want with me. Why do you think I allowed you to notice me in the ballroom?"
"Then what were the suicidal chase and fight in aid of?" you ask.
"I had to make sure you were worth my time."
Lupin springs to his feet with such grace that he seems to go from reclining to standing without passing through any intervening state of being.
"Enlighten me," he says. "What's important enough for two amateurs to risk their lives jumping around rooftops?"
"First things first."
You hold out your hand, palm upwards. Lupin sighs.
"I was rather hoping you'd forgotten about this little thing."
He reaches into a pouch at his belt, pulls out a glittering tangle of precious metals and shining stones, and places it in your hand. Your fingers close around it.
"We're going to offer you a job. If you accept, and it proves successful, Princess Illaria will hand this back to you herself."
The thief's eyes gleam as brightly as the diamonds.
"It must be quite the heist."
"It'll be the biggest of your career."
"You don't strike me as being a woman who's careless with her superlatives. Consider me intrigued."
"Um... Captain..."
You glance at Talia. The gunslinger's arms are crossed over her chest, her hands rubbing her upper arms.
"Could we discuss this inside? Now that we've stopped moving around, it's pretty chilly up here."