How To Be A Thief - Chapter 7

"Hustling and bustling" is often used to describe busy streets filled with merchants and travelers and random passers-by. Whoever thought up of this term, however, had not seen the mercantile streets of Kell. Both the words denote some actual movement, but for the most part there was no real movement in the streets from the hours of 9 to 11 and 5 to 7. This was the busiest time of the day for merchants, catching people going to or coming from their various places of business.
Since Kell was also a major port and the capital city of Mayford, everything imaginable could be found within its formidable walls. It is the very gridlock that keeps some purveyors of the less "popular" goods in business. It is, after all, hard to say "no" to someone who has been pushing for you to buy a jar of Uncle Bunk's Acne Creme, Expectorant, and Degreaser for the past hour, knowing that you get to spend another hour in his presence.

Manfred had never seen city streets so full of life and exotic fragrances. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't. The quartet did their best to blend in with the crowd while keeping to the hustling and bustling alleyways and side streets which allowed passage at a time like this. Manfred was wearing the tight-fitting black pants he had on the night before, but a blue shirt had been purchased for him to help him fit in a little better himself. Nothing stood out like a man dressed entirely in black.

"How long was I out?" he asked conversationally.

Jesz chimed in with a matter-of-fact voice, not bothering to look back fully at him but just turning her hide to the side slightly. "3 years."

"What?!" The color drained out of Manfred's face for a moment.

"Oh yeah, we thought you weren't gonna make it. I was gettin' ready to harvest your organs for magical experiments. It's good pay." There wasn't even a hint of joking in Jesz's voice.

"Oh, do not listen to her," Mel said. "That is nonsense. Everyone knows an intact cadaver is worth far more."

"Ha ha, very funny," Manfred replied. "I don't believe you. If it had been 3 years, I would have grown a beard, wouldn't I? Huh?"

"Oh, I've been shaving you clean and selling the trimmings to witches," Jesz said loudly to be heard over the din. "But don't worry, Manfred, it'll grow back."

"Stop calling me that. That's not my name!"

"Oh, then what is?" Jesz looked back and winked at him. He was silent for a moment.

"Where are we going?" he asked the group in general as they meandered and slithered through the labyrinthine crowd. He would rather change the subject then have to try to out-think her.

"I told you, we are following Aryx," Mel said from the front of the group. Her eyes were trained on the sky most of the time.

"Yeah, you told me, but where is she lea-"

"He," Mel interrupted. "Aryx is a boy."

"Fine. Where is HE leading us?" Manfred rolled his eyes. "I mean, what is this bounty you're all talking about?"

Jesz looked back at him for a moment. "His name is Cameron Merlot, but he likes people to call him 'The Duke,'" she explained. "We were hired by some judge to find him. Apparently he stole something of hers and she wants it back… you know, under the table-like."

"Jesz!" Mel said sternly. "We cannot trust him! And stop flirting! I do have eyes in the back of my head, don't make me separate you two."

Jesz blushed slightly, her tanned face darkening as she turned her head to look forward again. "Sorry…" she said. She was third in line, behind Eaups, who had been silent most of the time they were following Aryx.

The crowd was beginning to thin out as the group worked their way to the outside rim of the city. In the distance, Manfred could see several large buildings standing as sentinels over the city. One was built like a majestic fortress with its own high wall surrounding it - which Manfred believed must be the palace. Another just off to the side of the first was a single massive tower that was crooked and gnarled, seeming to defy all laws of physics and common sense by refusing to fall over. The last, placed in the center of Kell and closer than the other two, stood like a series of sword-spires that dared to strike against the heavens. Each pointed spire was identical to the others and they were arranged in a 12-point circle. The sun reflected off the spires in a sharp rainbow across their surfaces.

"That's the Pantheological Cloister," Eaups chimed in. "Each spire is dedicated to one of the gods." He smiled, looking back at it. "I'm in that one farthest to the right from here." Manfred wished he could pause and get a better look, but Jesz pulled him along. Soon, his view was obstructed by wooden scaffolding and catwalks. It seemed this part of the city was under repair, and by the look of things, under constant repair. Some of the scaffolding was burnt with more replacing it. Buildings had several different styles of architecture all crowded on top of each other. There were even some parts that had permanent "danger" signs posted. "This is the Alchemists' District," Eaups said.

"Yeah, better known as Boom Town." Jesz chuckled to herself. "Some poor sap is always blowing hisself up around here."

"Sshh!" Mel pulled the group to a small alcove. Above them, Aryx was circling before landing on a nearby piece of scaffolding. With a motion to the others to keep out of sight, Mel peered around the corner, scanning the crowd. "That is him," she said as she spied that familiar eye patch. The Duke was sitting at a table talking with another man whose back was to them. "And it looks like that idiot guard of his is not even around."

Manfred backed into Mel. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said in a quavering tone. Mel looked back to find the other three with their hands up, a crossbow pointed at them. The brutish bodyguard from the night before approached them.

"Move it. 'Gainst the wall." Mel put her hands up as well, doing as she was told and backing up against the wall. She glanced up for a moment, hoping to call Aryx, but the bodyguard practically shoved the crossbow in her face. "Don't e'en think it, love. I ain't stupid, I know yer a hawker. I've been followin' ya."

"Not… you're not stupid… and I'm an… austringer," Mel said quietly, then bit her lip. Grammar was a pet peeve of hers. It had taken her years to get over Jesz's abuses of the language, and she liked Jesz. Yet now, despite having a cocked crossbow at point-blank range from her nose, she still couldn't help herself when a stranger polluted her mother tongue.

"What?!" the bodyguard demanded.

"I am an austringer, not a hawker. Austringers train hawks, hawkers sell goods." Her voice was steady and without inflection as if she was simply reading out of a text book. Although she knew that technically the bodyguard was correct, the connotation of being a hawker irked her even more than his atrocious grammar.

"Oh, I'm gonna turn you into hawk feed," the guard said with a wicked, mostly toothless grin. He raised the crossbow another inch and pulled the trigger.

Mel winced, but soon realized that she was still… wincing. And breathing. As she opened her eyes, she saw Manfred, holding the arrow and smiling at the well-muscled bodyguard.

"Did know I could do that, huh?" he taunted. "Wanna see what else I can do?" The bodyguard put his hands up slowly, seeing that Jesz was already pulling out a small blade. Yet before she had a chance to use it, he struck with incredible celerity at Manfred. It was simply not fair that such a huge man could move so fast, but, as Manfred was learning, life is hardly fair. He took the blow fully and was knocked back to the wall before grabbing onto the man's arm.

Jesz did not hesitate. She swing at him with a small but sharp dagger, the blade held backwards, away from the thumb. The man cried out as she sliced at his arm, but cross his other arm over his body to grab at her. Just as he was fast, he was also incredibly strong. His grip had her in tears almost instantly.

By this time, Mel was joining the fight, calling to Aryx for aid and pulling out her kukri. Eaups had already set up a spell to keep passers-by away from the fight, a long snake of smoke that surrounded the brawl. In all this commotion, however, no one noticed that The Duke was already running away.

"Oh no you don't," Manfred squeaked as he tried to breath again. He held firmly onto the man's arm and suddenly moved like a man possessed. His motions reminded Jesz a roaring river or winding stream. Manfred deftly ducked under the man's arm, twisting it forward and forcing his assilant to hunch over. This made the man let go of Jesz and try to grab Manfred, but it was already too late. With a pull, the bodyguard felt all the bones in his arm strain against each other and, in an effort to prevent his bones from snapping, he fell forward and landed on his back. His legs hit a large support of scaffolding and dislodged it, causing a catwalk to teeter to and fro precariously for several seconds before it clattered to the ground nearby. Following this, the entire scaffold leaned over, knocking of workers, parts of buildings, buckets of plaster, piles of stone and brick, and loads of lumber. Everything rained to the ground with a thunderous and ongoing clatter, moving quickly down the line of buildings. Just as it seemed to stop, a lone cat would jump off one unstable support and land on the back of an unsuspecting worker who was across the street on another catwalk. The worker thrashed about, knocking over more random construction tools and detritus before he, too, knocked one of the supports loose and sent scaffolding on the other side of the street crashing to the ground. The roar disappeared off into the distance as more and more dominos of industry fell.

By the time the dust settled before for people to see what had happened, The bodyguard had fled and The Duke was half-buried under a pile of wood and rocks.

"How fortuitous," said Mel. She and Manfred approached the entombed man. "Quickly, before the Alchemists' Guild gets here," she said, pulling out a rope from the mess.

"What about the city guard?" Manfred asked as he started pulling up masonry and crossbeams to dig the dazed man out.

"Oh, trust me. They are not the ones to be worried about for this mess."

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 6

The man in black was dreaming.

From the way his limbs twitched, it was either a very pleasant dream or a very unpleasant one. Jesz was squatting and watching him closely. To her he seemed very much like a cat - either chasing a dream-mouse or being chased by a dream-dog (or, in some cases, a giant dream-mouse). She picked up a stick and poked him a few times in the side, eliciting a grunt and some nonsensical mumbling.

"Hey… wake up!" she said and poked him in the face with the stick. The man didn't stir. She then noticed the bump on his forehead from where she hit him and a wicked grin spread over her face. "Wakey wakey!" she said as she poked the bump.

"Ouch! Stop that!" The man sat up, pushing the stick away from him. He was sitting outside on the dirt while three strange people looked at him expectantly. "Uh… hi?"

Jesz smirked and stood up, taking a few steps away from the man as he stumbled to his feet. She was wearing a red silk shirt with long sleeves and an intricate black leather vest. A pair of knives with hilts as red as her hair could be seen at her sides, strapped into her belt.
Beside her stood Mel, tall and statuesque. She was sporting the same brown and green blouse with tight black pants as before, her brunette hair in a neatly braided ponytail which reached the small of her back. Around her torso was a strap that carried a quiver at her side; a long recurved bow was held in one hand. Her other hand was held up and wore a leather glove to support a beautiful, young hawk. Its underside was off-white with dark banding towards the legs, while the rest of the hawk was a mixture of a ruddy brown and black with white tips. Tied to one of its legs was a thin strip of green cloth that flowed in the wind. It tilted its head severely to the side as it examined the man.
On the other side of Jesz, Eaups was sitting on the tree stump, looking a little dazed and confused. On his belt was a small mace, the traditional weapon of priests. He seemed content for the moment to gather his thoughts together.

"Who are you?" Mel asked pointedly. She took a stride forward, holding the hawk closer to the man. He stepped back.

"What? Oh… I told you, I don't remember!" he replied. "Who a-"

The hawk spread its wings and tightened its grip on Mel's hand, the leather creaking under its powerful talons. "Aryx does not like it when people lie," Mel said, holding the bird closer. "And he knows when you are lying." Aryx let out a piercing cry and flapped his wings at the man, the tips brushing against his face. The man couldn't help but look at the size of those dark talons.

"Really.. I don't remember," he said again, swallowing hard. His back was against the hut. After a few moments, Aryx folding his wings against himself and settled back on his perch, looking around with quick, darting movements.

Mel nodded, stepping back from him. "He is telling the truth," she said as she shifted her weight to one side, pondering what to do with him.

Jesz grinned as wide as a cheshire cat. "Oh? Then that means, we can name him!" She was practically jumping for joy at the prospect. "I say we call him Fred!"

"I say we call him Man," Mel the ever-practical said in sync with Jesz. Both girls raised their eyebrows and looked at each other.

"Let's not argue. We'll just call him… Manfred for now, ok?" Eaups said, getting off the stump slowly. He still felt a bit like a puppet.

"Manfred?! Look here, I don't know who you people are or what you want with me, but I need to get going…" Manfred said, holding up his arms in protest.

"Oh really? Going where?" Mel asked. "Yeah, I thought as much. Look, you need to rest. You just had an arrow sticking out of your side." She motioned to the patch on his bare torso.

Eaups smiled, looking a little more confident with his motions. "And besides, we've been told to help you."

"Help me what?" Manfred asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Um… I think he said to achieve your fate…" Eaups said quietly.

"Well, I feel fine right now," Manfred said, flexing one of his arms, "and I don't need a bunch of strangers telling me what I'm supposed to be doing. …You are strangers, right?" Manfred was not entirely certain of anything at this point.

Jesz frowned an angry frown and walked right up to Manfred, a very slight limp apparent from the night before. He was a few inches taller than she was, but that didn't stop her from pushing her nose right into his face. "We just saved your life, buddy. The least you can do is be grateful! And you were watching me changing in there," she pointed to her hut, "so that's gonna cost you. All in all, I'd say you owe me... us... a thousand gold pieces."

"A THOUSAND?" Manfred replied. "Where'd you get that number? I can't pay that!"

Jesz just grinned at him as she leaned back. "You'll just have to help us catch this bounty, then. The witch paying us said he's worth at least five thousand. We can take your share out of it. Of course you'll only earn half the share, as you're new, so you'll still need to earn 500 more."

Manfred screwed his face up, pointing at each of the strangers in turn and counting silently, though his lips still moved. "That… doesn't add up. There's only 4 of us."

Jesz matter-of-factly said, "No, there's 5. There's you… Mel… Eaups… me… and Aryx. The hawk." Before Manfred could complain, she walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder, leading him into the hut. "Don't worry. I know you're a thief. You might need some retraining, but it'll all come back to, especially with Jesz, Pilferer Extraordinaire, showing you the ropes! Pretty soon you'll be able to make 500 gold pieces in a night!" She grinned at him.

"I.. I am? I will?"

Jesz nodded and led him to his shirt and tools. "Of course! You just get dressed and we'll find this bounty together, as a team. We could use a strong, handsome guy like you," she said with a wink, having apparently completely forgiven him of his peeping. "Now hurry up!"

New Spelling

It turns out that at the National Spelling Bee, protesters are complaining about how we spell words. They think our words are too complicated for most people. Their slogan is "Enuf is enuf. Enough is too much." This group includes ex-principals and teachers. Now, I have my own issues with the National Spelling Bee. I think it is a waste, and I can probably correctly spell 90% of the words they are asked to spell while having none of their "rigorous training." But, the bee is still popular and is promoting the English language, particularly the lesser-known quadrants. To have people protesting against what these young kids are doing right in front of their faces is atrocious. It is even worse that they are promoting ignorance.

I wonder if any of them have read the book 1984. Respelling all the words in the English language has a far-reaching effect that people do not seem to grasp. English is not just our language, but shapes our thoughts and ideologies. It is a direct link to our past as well. Furthermore, there is a beauty in the English language that poets, playwrights, scholars and authors can tap into, creating works of true artistic beauty that go beyond the meaning of the words. No one will want to read "2 b r not 2 b? that iz thuh kwestyun."
In 1984, George Orwell uses the concept of "Newspeak." The government takes words out of the language and replaces them with simple ideas, making sure nothing inflammatory is left. This makes it very difficult for people to plot an uprising if they cannot even put such concepts into words. In fact, they wouldn't be able to think of the uprising itself because the words do not exist. There is scientific evidence which supports this theory. By dumbing down our words, we will dumb down our society and people. We will also open the door to concepts such as Newspeak to be introduced. We've already got enough of 1984 going on in real life, we don't need to add to it.

There is also evidence which supports the theory that the Japanese and Chinese, because of the complexities of their languages, think more quickly than people who speak more straight-forward languages. They have to think more carefully when they speak and write and read.

So by all means, let's rewrite history, throw out the subtle philosophies of our language (ever wonder why "awful" is a bad thing, why the plural of "radius" is "radii," where "-ology" really comes from, or what the word "philosophy" truly means?), rewrite every work of art and literature of the past 500 years or so, stagnate the thought processes of our people, and limit the potential of our children, all because some people are to uneducated, lazy, or "special" to learn how to spell correctly.
Some may say this is a class distinction. I disagree. It takes no money whatsoever to go to your library and pick up a book. There are cheap classes that can teach you how to read and write. The internet is filled with good (as well as poor) resources for someone who is truly interested in using grammar properly. And all the kids who can't write because they text all day long? I think this is a call to parents to force them to put those cell phones down. Your kids do not tell you what to do, you have to be role-models for your kids. Just stop paying the bills. Make them earn money to pay for their texting AND their phone. Soon they will see that it's not all it is cracked up to be. I do not text, and I get along just fine. So have billions of other people.

Now, this rant should end now. I'm sure people disagree with me on some of these statements. They might not see the connections I am making with spelling and newspeak. But let us all agree on one thing: The English language is not broken. It is living, breathing, working. It is the official language of 53 countries. And I love it.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 5

It took Mel several seconds to get to her feet and discover that the man was awake and sitting upright. She stood in the doorway, pulling out a short sword from some hidden sheath. The blade was bent forward in the middle with the single-edge along the inside; a weapon Mel called a Kukri, though everyone else just called it broken.

"Keep back!" she yelled as she entered an offensive stance, her weight leaning forward.

The man in black was standing at the foot of the bed, his hand holding his head. His face was contorted in pain, giving the distinct impression of a man with a hangover. "What?" he asked, ambling forward.

Mel took a few steps back as the man approached. "Who are you?" she asked, keeping her blade in front of her as she backed away from the door. Soon the man was standing in the doorway instead, squinting in the sunlight. Jesz had fallen to the ground, still clutching her shirt to her chest and staring at him in dread. Next to her, sitting on the tree stump, Eaups had fallen asleep, his head hung in front of him.

"Who am I?" he asked, lowering his hand and looking over the three of them through half-closed eyes. "Who are you?"

Mel glanced over at her comrades briefly in confusion before looking back at him. "I- I asked you first!" she said. Jesz scrambled to her feet once more, her face still flushed in embarrassment.

"You did? Oh... well I'm... uh...." He looked up at them, a hint of worry in his expression. "I don't know."

Mel's voice had a sharp tone of suspicion to it. "I do not believe you. How do we know you are not just trying to dupe us into trusting you or letting you go? If the royal guards come looking for you, it would be best if we just…"

What had distracted Mel was the sight of Jesz walking right past her and up to the man in a huff, still holding her shirt up with one arm. Without a word, she pulled her free arm back and clocked him squarely in the face. The man didn't even try to evade it, but instead fell over as if she was a lumberjack and he was a mighty Scott's Pine. After the punch, she stood over him, red with anger. "How dare you oggle me when I'm vulnerable like that! I was saving myself!" Mel had to pull her away to stop the verbal and physical assault.

"QUIT IT" rang a voice from behind them, familiar yet foreign. With one accord, both Jesz and Mel turned around. Standing before them was Eaups, his eyes radiating a divine purple light and his hair suddenly long and wild. He looked over himself, inspecting his clothing and body. "UGH, what a terrible outfit. At least there's some purple in it. And this body, goodness. Ouch, or whatever his name is, should really start working out."

"Eaups?" Mel asked, wondering what was wrong with her friend. He'd never done THIS before.

"Yeah, that's the name." He sauntered closer to them in a suave, confident manner; it was very unlike Eaups. Although he had no pupils, they got the distinct impression that he was looking over the two of them carefully. "So you must be his companions. Interesting choice, but I think it'll work." He grinned and brushed a lock of his hair out of his face in a move that could launch a thousand swoons.

"Y-you are not Eaups," Mel stated. She was blushing but did not even realize it.

"Of course I'm not," not-Eaups said. "Didn't he tell you? He's my Avatar. I'm Murphy." He got blank stares from the two girls and a leg-twitch from the unconscious man. "THE Murhpy. God of fate, destiny, and all that jazz?" Blank stares. Murphy sighed. "Fine, I'll get right to the point." He straightened himself up and spoke in a distinctly divine voice.

"DO NOT HURT THIS MAN. HE HAS A GREAT DESTINY, AS DO YOU ALL. YOU MUST HELP HIM ACHIEVE HIS FATE OR ELSE THE WORLD WILL BE FORFEIT."

Murphy then winked at Jesz. "Nice outfit, by the way," he said, then summarily collapsed on the ground, a rag doll being dropped. Jesz looked down at her outfit only to find that she had dropped her shirt. In a panic, she screamed, collected her shirt, and ran back inside, pushing the man outside with the others as she slammed the door.

Minor edit

I made a small edit to Chapter 4 of How To Be a Thief. IT's a little at the end, but I just felt that I should let everyone who missed it know.

I hope that at some point next week I will be able to make a post on a bunch of new projects I am working on with my brother and an old friend of mine. Work, however, tends to take up my free time...

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 4

Morning did eventually arrive, its cheery, cool light cascading through the trees and the open window of Jesz's hut. The bakers and farmers welcomed their friend the sun, the harbinger of the end of the bitter, dark pre-dawn, but to Jesz it was like an uninvited guest. It just let itself in whenever it wanted, traipsed about the place, and then did all it could to try to wake you up. And this morning, it seemed Jesz had only slept for about 37 seconds before it broke into her hut and made off with her last hope of getting any rest.

All night (or at least for 37 seconds), Jesz had been dreaming that when she awoke, the young man would be up, wearing nothing but an apron and making her breakfast: Sausages, eggs over medium (with all the crispy leftover bits sprinkled on top), and thick slices of ham all on toast and covered in cheese that smelled like decaying feet. Just the way she loved it. She also dreamed that she was in her own bed, that he was incredible handsome and intelligent, and that as he leaned in to say "Good morning," his voice was husky and sonorous at the same time.

The truth was not so kind. Jesz woke clutching a small bag of money, wearing a thin off-white shirt, with her legs splayed out haphazardly. Her hair had matted itself and now sported a variety of knots that would make any sailor jealous. The foot that hurt last night was only mildly sore now, though the rest of her body was sore as well. Red-rimmed eyes scanned the room as she sat up. There was no breakfast. There was no stinky cheese. She was still on the floor. The man was still unconscious, though in the daylight, he didn't look half-bad. She heaved a heavy sigh and got up, yawning profusely as she got dressed and started to go about her day.

"Good morning, Jesz," said a melodious voice the instant she stepped outside. The voice belonged to Mel, who was leaning against a tree stump. She looked well-rest and, as always, serious. She was clad in a brownish-green blouse with tight black pants, her brunette hair tied in a neat ponytail behind her. It was her typical "working" outfit, though Jesz always wondered why she often wore it when they were not on the job. Mel had the figure that most women torture themselves mentally and physically to achieve. She was fit, well-endowed (but not too much), has gorgeous long hair, and was tall. Jesz, on the other hand, has a slight build, had choppy, messy hair, was short, and was significantly less gifted in the bust department. Usually this made her jealous of Mel, but at the moment, she was far too tired to care.

Beside Mel, Eaups was yawning and hunched over a little. He waved at Mel while rubbing at the bags under his eyes. "Mo-yawn-orning, Jesz…" he said. White robes with light blue trim and just a splash of violet (for flare, as Murphy always put it) let the world know that Eaups was of the religious order, and his small conical hat told everyone that he was a last-year student. This, too, was his traveling gear, which made Jesz wonder if she had forgotten some important event.

"Um… Morning?" he said, then stifled another yawn. Jesz did not so much mean this as a greeting, but more an inquiry. Morning was to Jesz what Bigfoot and helpful lawyers are to most people - something you hear about, but never actually meet.

"How is the patient?" Mel asked. Jesz raised her eyebrow up at her.

"How are you so… awake?" she whined. "He's still sleeping, like I should be."

"Good, he made it through the night." Mel smiled softly, looking relieved. The truth was, she'd never had to remove an arrow from someone before, and was proud that he didn't die right away. "I will have to look in on him soon. But first, are you ready to go?"

Jesz, still wearing the thin white shirt and cat-print underwear, looked down at herself. "Go whe-" she started to ask before her cheeks flushed a bright red and she scrambled behind the door of her hut. "No, I'm not ready… You! Boy! Turn around!"

Eaups had honestly been too tired to see what she had been wearing, or not wearing as the case was. Instead, he obediently turned around, still yawning. "I didn see…" yawn, "nothing." Once he was turned around, Jesz scrambled back indoors and shut the door hard.

"We are going to find our one-eyed friend, Mr Giancolli," Mel said through the door. Aryx was able to pick up his trail this morning, so it shouldn't be too hard to get him by surprise, but we need to be ready just in case." Jesz hated these rushed missions with little planning; they led to more injuries or failures. But Mel loved the excitement. "Besides, I bet he is half asleep right now."

"He isn't the only one…" Jesz muttered to herself as she started to get undressed and pull our her own adventuring clothes from the chest at the foot of her bed. They consisted of tight, brown, leather pants, a long-sleeve, crimson, silk shirt and a pocketed leather vest, along with a few other accessories that weren't meant to be seen. "What about this guy? What if he wakes up while we're gone? I don't want him in my house."

Mel leaned her back against the door, arms crossed. "I seriously doubt he will be up anytime soon. But…" Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the sky in thought. "Maybe we should be careful. I do not think we can trust him. He was armed, and I think he might be from Drysen, not Mayford."

"So?" Jesz asked as she folded her white shirt and pajama bottoms.

"So… maybe he is not a thief."

"Nonesense," Jesz replied with a sputter. "I know a fellow thief when I see one. Those tools are for picking locks and hiding loot."

"Well if he's a thief, maybe we shouldn't leave him in here…" Eaups said in a brief moment of clarity.

Mel smirked, lowering her gaze again. "As if she has anything here that is worth stealing."

"What do you mean!? I've got that…"

"That what?" Mel asked, turning her head toward the door. "Jesz?"

The scream that followed was high enough to make dogs nervous and loud enough to make Eaups finish waking up. Before either of them could rush into the room, Jesz opened the door and rushed outside, knocking Mel over. She had on her pants, but was holding her crimson shirt up to her to hide her shame while pointing with her free hand at the man. He was sitting upright in the bed, eyes open, with a smile on his face.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 3

The operation went well into the night. By the time Mel had finished, the particularly enthusiastic bakers and farmers were already starting to wake up. Eaups had helped take care of the man's accoutrements before heading back to the Cloister's dorms, folding the deep black shirt and putting it on the small bedside table. It was so dull and black that it seemed to swallow all light that touched it, making it difficult to actually see the folds in the fabric. On top of it sat a leather harness with a variety of unusual pouches, pockets, and sheaths, all holding a variety of weapons and tools that Eaups had never seen before.

Mel left to a series of complaints from Jesz.
"Does he have to stay in MY bed?" she whined. Jesz had dreamed of having a strong, handsome man in her bed. This was NOT the situation she had imagined.
"Yes, you need to leave him there," Mel explained. "Do not move him!"
"But... but... but... it's MY bed! And he's getting blood all over it! A-and germs! Man germs!"
Mel, who had been wiping her hands off, turned to Jesz and said, "Do not even THINK about moving him. He has lost a lot of blood and any movement might reopen his wound. If he wakes up, make him stay in bed."
"But Me-e-e-el!" Jesz said, bouncing in place and holding onto Mel's arm. Mel just stared at her intently, the stern look telling Jesz more than words ever could. With a loud sigh, Jesz let go of her and nodded. "Alright..."
Mel sighed as well, leaning over and giving Jesz a hug. "It will be alright. It is just for a few nights. But when he does wake up, you be careful. I do not trust him." She gave the sleeping man a glance from over Jesz's shoulder, then stood back up and picked up her bow and quiver. "Get some sleep," she said over her shoulder as she walked out of the door, leaving Jesz alone with a strange man in her hut.

The rest of that night was not kind to Jesz. She had set up a few blankets on the floor as a make-shift bed for herself. Sleeping on the floor was no problem for Jesz; she had slept on floors most of her life. In fact, she had only purchased that bed a few months before with hard-earned money, most of it earned by other people. This night, however, her back was hurting and her mind was racing, still upset over the botched mission.
First she started to hum, but soon the song was stuck in her head.
Then she tried counting sheep, but the sheep became small coins and kept her up with their imaginary jingle.
She had heard that doing math problems would help her fall asleep, but the only math she knew involved the small coins that were still jingling.
Eventually the jingling passed and she started to doze, until a shaft of light from the window hit her perfectly on the eye. The moon had been reflecting off a blade on the bedside table. Now her mind was racing again, this time with thoughts of who the man was and what would happen when he woke.

Tools of the Trade Part 1

Everywhere I go, I carry around a small moleskine notebook, not unlike the one you see above. I go very few places without it - my wife will attest to this. In the past I have used very LARGE notebooks, but carrying them around was hard and I got tired of writing down ideas on napkins. For years, about the only gifts I ever got from (well-meaning but misguided) friends were notebooks. Next to my bed is a pad of lined paper and a pen just in case I get an idea while in bed. It happens. Moleskines, or some similar notebook, are essential to being a writer in my opinion. Or to any creative professional. You never know when inspiration will strike. I only wish it wasn't while I was driving so very often (yes, I have pulled over to write down an idea before). About the only negative thing about it is the elastic band stretches out and becomes useless (I might just cut it off). So it won't surprise you to know that my moleksine is chock-full of random, random, random chaos. Did I mention it was random?

In today's age, however, technology rules. eBooks are the next big thing (supposedly). Kindles can not only download novels, but they can access Wikipedia at any time. A small audio recorder is simple to find, and I should probably get one for the car (but knowing me, I'd never actually write down what I recorded). But what are the REAL tools of the trade now for keeping your ideas in check?

In my opinion, Google, the company that makes Big Brother look like a reality TV show, has a true gem. While they are currently working on Google Wave, their up-and-running Google Docs is truly a sight to behold. If you do not use it, you should look it over. If you do not have a google account, go make one. Gmail doesn't hurt that badly, and Google already knows who you are, where you are, and what you search for, so it's really not going to do much to let them help you with email.

In all seriousness, Google Docs allows you to write, draw, or make a spreadsheet online, so you can get to it from any computer with internet access. Nice for a writer. I keep one file for all my ideas. Actually, I keep one for plot ideas, one for character ideas, and one for other ideas. If you are trying to collaborate with someone, say an artist, classmate, or editor, you can share the file with them. You can let them edit it so the two of you can work on it together... in real-time... or you can just let them see it and not actually write over anything. Either way, this makes it easy to make collaborative works online, as well as get things edited in the blink of an eye. Personally, I think everyone should use this. Now, I do hear of some negative things... like Google owns anything you write in it. If that's true, I'd like to see the very interesting court case that would follow in case they decided to steal someone's idea. If you are really worried about it, I'm sure there are other sites that do similar things. Google Wave will become open source, so anyone can make their own Wave that will compete with Google and Google will have 0 ownership. I'm keeping my eye out for Wave...

Cross-genre Writing

I am currently an unfocused writer.

As you can see at the moment, I am writing a piece of fantasy for you all. I would like to post a CAVEAT about this story, "How to be a thief." That caveat is that I do not know where it is going. I am not editing it like I normally would. I am going 1 chapter at a time with a vague sense in the direction it is headed. I don't know what will happen 2 or 3 chapters from now.

This is not the norm for me. I am usually a very structured writer. Structured, but still unfocused. I write outlines, I research, I pour over every detail. If I am writing a poem you can rest assured that A) it is not some lame "free style" excuse for a poem - it will have meter, it will have rhyme, and B) Every last syllable, rhyme, and punctuation mark was debated at some point, possibly for a while. To me, writing is never finished. There is "finished" and then there is "good enough." My goal is to get it to the "finished stage," this will let me get it to the "good enough" stage, at which point I am tired of writing it and will simply turn it in (or from now on, try to get it published).

Still, my ADHD gets the better of me. I am unfocused partially because of that, but I am learning to get a handle on it. I am also unfocused because I love writing everything I can wrap my mind around (which is, believe me, a lot). This is really my first fantasy piece. I have written sci-fi, mystery, historical fiction, nonfiction (articles, interviews, reports, SEO), creative nonfiction, poetry, and even dabbled in romance a few times. Unfortunately, cross-genre writing seems to be reserved for academia and very closely related genres (sorry Piers, but going both sci-fi and fantasy is hardly sleeping with the enemy). So few writers have successfully crossed into CLOSELY related genres; fewer yet have made it into unrelated genres, and most of those were one-time gimmicks.

The publishing industry seems to be under the impression that if you write in one genre, you will be unable to transfer a fan-base... and if you can't do that, then why bother? Personally, I wouldn't mind creating a readership anew. And in today's world that seems to cater to the ADHD mindset, surely readers can actually understand more than one genre. they might even enjoy it. Do you honestly believe that Joe Readerman is only EVER going to read fantasy novels? If he picks up a creative nonfiction book by Tolkien, I think there's a good chance he'll peruse it, which might get him to try another, then another, then another. Soon you have Joe Readerman who *gasp* enjoys TWO genres!

I think at the moment I wish to write in creative fiction - something that requires real research. However, if I get noticed in any genre, I will be superbly exuberant. Perhaps I will become the world's first popular pan-genre author? Only time will tell.

How To Be A Thief - Chapter 2

Jesz was fuming. Not only did they lose the bounty AND break an expensive urn, but now her foot was in pain and she couldn't even be angry at the guy who did it. As she paced around her small, cluttered bedroom, Eaups could hear her muttering to herself. He sat in a creaky wooden chair that threatened to turn itself into a pile of kindling at any moment. On the bed across the room from him was a young man dressed entirely in black, unconscious. The arrow still protruded from his side and the shirt around it was damp with blood, though it showed no red.

"32 silver pieces for that ouch! darn Urn.... where is Mel? She mmmf! better have got him.... planned for 2 ow weeks.... another 7 pieces for that cart... what a OW waste... 100 gold pieces...." Eaups just watched her pace back and forth between him and the unconscious man. Every time she stepped on her hurt foot, she'd wince or cry out in pain, but that wouldn't stop her.

"Ummm... actually, I rented the ca-" he started to say, but stopped short when Jesz turned to him and give him a stare that would make the pigment in paint run away. Eaups put his hands between his legs and lowered his head. He was relatively young, no more than 18, and naivete exuded from his pores. His normally immaculate white priest robes and well-combed blond hair were covered in dirt, smeared with blood, and smelled like the inside of that old urn, yet he was still able to look so innocent and pitiful that Jesz's glare softened and she felt this sudden urge to cuddle him. Unfortunately, he was unable to leave well-enough alone and perked his head up again. "Maybe he's rich..." he offered in an attempt to bring up her spirits. If there was anything that would make Jesz happy, it was the promise of money.

"He is NOT rich," Jesz replied firmly, pointing at the man. She was no longer wearing the burlap sack that she thought looked like clothing. Instead, she was sporting a leather and cloth outfit that hugged her slight form. A red-hilted knife stuck out from a sheath at her side, matching the hue of her short hair. In her rage, however, she'd forgotten to remove the false nose, making it very difficult for Eaups to keep a straight face when he looked at her. He kept looking down at his lap in an effort to prevent himself from cracking up.
"Just look at how he's dressed!" she explained, hobbling over to the man and picking roughly at his clothes. Every time she did, the man would cringe as if in pain. "He's all in black, he was carrying a lock-picking kit and a knife, and he fell OFF A ROOF! He's obviously a cat burglar. A pilferer. A burglar. A THIEF!"

Eaups stifled a laugh as her nose bobbed in the air, then turned the chuckle into a cough and sighed loudly, lowering his gaze again and wringing his hands in his lap. "M-maybe he's a good thief..." he suggested. Before Jesz could reply, there was a knock at the door. Then two knocks. Then three.

"It's Mel. Finally," Jesz said, limping over to the door of her small hut and opening it. Mel stood there, her expensive robes torn and dirtied and an ornate archery bow hanging around her body. Although she looked pissed at first, as soon as she saw Jesz's nose sticking out of the doorway, her face contorted in a muffled giggle.

After a moment, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, stepping inside. Her long, brown hair flowed behind her and brushed over Jesz. Mel was much taller and more shapely than Jesz; even her hair couldn't resist the chance to make her jealous. "The bounty got away," Mel said. "I lost him in the merchant district and it's too dark for Aryx."

Jesz glowered as she shut the door. "I knew it. This is just not my OW day..." she grumbled as she followed Mel back to the bedroom - one of two rooms in the hut. She looked over at Eaups and shot a pointed finger at him. "You! This is all your fault! You said we had your god's blessing!"

Guilt creeped over Eaups' features. "We did..we do... that's the problem with Murphy. We might have his blessing, but we don't know what it's for."

Jesz scoffed, waving her hand dismissively, "I doubt he's even real." This was a slap in the face to Eaups.

"He IS real! I've seen him!" he shouted, standing up and putting his nose against Jesz' in a rare display of emotion.

"Guys, quit it," Mel said as she looked at the man on the bed.

"Maybe you're just seeing things, huh? It's all that incense in the air over there in that temple." Jesz retorted, pushing her nose harder against his.

"Guys!"

"Well at least I have faith in something! You can only believe in what you see!"

"GUYS!" Mel, shouted, looking back at the bicker pair.

"WHAT?" they both shouted back in unison.

Beyond Mel, the man lay in the bed, eyes open, looking at them as they fought. He raised a hand, pointing to Jesz, and said in a very quiet, weak voice, "Nose." With a smile, he lowered his hand and closed his eyes, falling asleep again.

Jesz sighed, pulling off the bulbous nose and walking over to the man. "He can't stay here..." she said.

"It was your idea to bring him with us," Mel said. "Besides, Eaups is in a dorm, and there's no way my parents would let me keep a strange man in the house. Face it, you're stuck with him until he recovers." Some of the color faded from Jesz's cheeks as she realized this was true.

"What do you suppose happened to him?" Eaups asked.

Mel walked over to the bed and gingerly took hold of the arrow still stuck in him. She ripped his shirt open a little to look at the wound, then let her fingers drift along the shaft of the arrow to the colorful feathers. "This looks... familiar..." she said to herself.

Jesz, meanwhile, was watching the stranger's face as it periodically contorted in pain. "I guess he tried to rob the wrong house," she said softly without looking away.

"Not just any house," Mel replied, blanching. "The palace. This fletching is from the royal guards. I knew it looked familiar. See this banding in blue and white? If he was at the palace, we may all be in trouble for keeping him here at all."

Eaups frowned and moved closer. "I think maybe he was fated to run into us. I think we are supposed to take care of him," he said. "No one will know he's here. We can keep our eyes open for any alert on him, and if we don't hear anything, then I think we'll be ok." He smiled at Mel, then over to Jesz, hoping to sway one of them.

After a moment, Jesz took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fine... if someone comes knocking on the door, I'll take the blame. But if he or anyone else kills me in the night, I'm coming back to haunt you, Eaups."

Mel nodded in agreement. "Alright, he will stay here for now. I will heal and bind him tonight, and check on him tomorrow. If he does anything funny, I can put this thing right back in him, you know." She gave Eaups a wicked little wink before looking back at the man's wound. "Alright, let's do this. Jesz, get me some clean water if you can. Warm preferably. Eaups, I need some clean rags."