The Red Flux & the Wunderkind Thief (Chapter One – 2)

5 min read

   Nothing. Nothing? NOTHING!? except the sound of a door closing at the other end of the hallway.
Secrat blew out the flame of his match, bringing them both into the darkness.
   The merchant didn’t notice Secrat Copé in his dreamy stupor, or at least, he didn’t do anything to suggest it. The man might have seen a light, but that was it, and as far as he knew, Copé was his wife. This was not one of the loveliest images, but it was a logical one. His dame either never came to bed or left and never came back. The merchant, curious about the whereabouts of his companion at such an ungodly hour, went looking for her.
   This was only natural, but his reaction after finding her could be very bad for Copé. The footsteps of the merchant as his feet stamped the ground were loud. They hit with such oomph that they flattened whatever came in his path. The idea of tripping wasn’t even brought into fruition.
   Before long that skill would be handy, thought Secrat, thinking about all of the items that he threw on his living room rug. The thief moved haplessly in the blackened night, making good care not to step in-front of windows, or anywhere that could bring him in the view of the merchant.
   He past the desk but kept close to it as he walked on the rug, knowing for sure where he threw nothing for him to trip on. At the end of the desk, he lowered himself to a crouched position and waited for the man to leave the hallway, and he did. “Jen, Jen,” he whispered a couple of times almost quiet enough to be under his breath. Secrat wondered why he was whispering, considering that it was his home, nobody was asleep, and it was Secrat that had to worry about being discovery. The girl didn’t reply. Odd, Secrat thought to himself sarcastically, remembering the smell of flowers on her nightgown. I wonder where she ran off to, Secrat jokingly said in his head, but then felt a certain reality enter the sanctity of his mind.
   Where had she gotten off to? Or more accurately, where was it in the room Copé left her? His eyes followed the sound of the man’s breathing, if he continued in the direction he was heading, he would eventually come to his scullery, and thankfully, there were no dead bodies there. (to Copé’s knowledge.) “Lady, where did you run off to? Left us all hot and bothered like that, it’s not good manners.”
   There was a snort that followed soon after from the man. He didn’t make it to the scullery. Not right away, of course, because there remained the pesky fact that almost all of the merchant’s decorations had been scattered about his house. The man stumbled over something or another, and Copé could hear the sound of him falling and crushing whatever it was he fell on. It sounded like a mask, but it could have been the shiny diamond encrusted skull or the glass Copé remembered pushing that way. Whatever, it mattered not, unless it somehow sent the man out of consciousness, but Copé doubted that fate would be so kind to him. “Dammit, ah, Jen, what is this?” He yelled out, but there was only silence given to him as response.
   Secrat worked to silence his breathing as he began to navigate past the desk, his sights set back toward the hallway. “Where the hell, what did I just fall on, so, help me, if it’s what I think it is, then, but, why would you even in the first place, dammit, light up a torch or something.” The merchant yammered on-and-on, a few mumbled words while he tried to return to his feet, and in that time, Secrat scurried quietly off through the hallway, hoping the merchant’s confusion would be enough to buy him some time.
   Once passing the door with the number lock on it, Secrat lit another pine stick and hurried more toward the master bedroom. The combination would most certainly be in there, under his bed, perhaps, or his pillow, maybe in a noticeable item of sentiment, it mattered not where, just if Copé would be able to find it in the merchant’s absence.
   He grabbed the handle of the door and twisted, trying to be as quiet as he could. The door squeaked a bit, so he opened it slower. It was densely lit in this room. That was the first thing Copé noticed. A lot of candles spread sporadic around the area.
   Once his eyes were allotted the means to adjust, they beheld a more appealing series of ornaments. Not one, not even two, but three broads resting, unclothed and naked atop the merchant’s fine, violet-colored blanket. They were marvelous and seemed to be endless with creases and crevices that couldn’t be described by words alone. The cover looked nice as well.
   “Uh,” is the only thing that Secrat could muster the strength to speak.
   They were asleep. That was good, but it didn’t change the fact they shouldn’t have been there in the first place. The merchant, … the merchant, Azlak Temps, that was his name, was married and (while Secrat didn’t share their idea of the word) happily so, but happily married men didn’t usually fuck random whores. There was a hole in the plot, but Copé couldn’t find a way to fill it. All that he cared about was finding the numbers, getting some gold, and getting out of sight. That was The Red Flux’s mantra, or at least, it would be if the Red Flux was conspicuous enough to have one.
   He crept quietly into the bedroom, waking the whores would bring nothing good. He admired their bodies from afar but tried his best not to get mesmerized in their lustrous figures.
   The bed was large. Big enough for all three sluts, one more slut, and of course, the merchant, but the ladies were being spacious with their limbs. This made it difficult to see whether there was anything hiding beneath a pillow. And so, with a heavy heart, Secrat began to wander more feverishly about the room; a decent size, the room, that is, enough that a bed made for a king would only take about one-third the room. Other-wise though, there wasn’t a whole lot else to see.
   Merchants oftentimes migrated from city to city. It all depended on where would pay more for whatever product they had in abundance. It made sense why his abode would be empty. Except Temps took the time to take out all his stupid souvenirs and set them all-over his hallway and even rolled out his Italinian rug. Why was this room so empty?

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