Dom's Journal 1

Arina Inuit Carion the Thirteenth.

An old family name. An old family. Born into power and raised as gods of the upper world, apart from the slums, the beggars, the sick and sorry. I remember her as sure as I remember my own name, but that's only because I loved her. She was the first girl I loved, as a matter of fact--besides my mother and my sister, of course. Want to know about her? Well, keep reading.

I was sixteen when I met Arina. I had been hired by someone outside the guild to break into this old man's house and steal back something that was "rightfully his". I doubted it, but he paid me well and in advance, so who was I to pass it up? I was starving and I needed a ticket to get on the cargo ship heading for the southern continent anyway. The object in question was a jewelry box that he said belonged to his wife and had been stolen by old man Carion when he had come over for one of those big, ritzy parties that rich people throw for no reason. Anyway, he said he had given it to his daughter as a present for her seventeenth birthday and that's when he knew.

Whatever. I went to the house. I waited until all the lights had either gone down low or snuffed out completely--a sure sign of people sleeping or nearly being there. And I was a quiet boy, really. In, out, my feet barely touching the ground, all the time. Since I was small and thin, I suppose that was an advantage too. I got to the girl's room and eased open the door, looking in. Her light was on, but the candle was down to its last flicker and I saw her shape lying beneath the sheets. My eyes scanned the room (they were green, back then) until I saw the gold and gem-encrusted jewelry box on her dressing table. Bottles of expensive-looking stuff stood around it, as well as jewelry that could go for a really huge price. I couldn't help myself--I felt the natural-born thief in me revving up, purring in satisfaction. All that gold warmed my blood and got me all excited. That's probably where I first went wrong.

Leaving the door open for a quick escape, I slunk into the bedroom and made my way over to the dresser. The box looked heavy, but nothing I couldn't handle. I eyed it and all the jewelry lying around it, wondering if that many rubies and diamonds and pearls were scattered around on the outside, how much did she have on the inside? I lifted the cover and instantly regretted it. A small tinkling sound escaped it and it sounded as loud as shattering glass. I jumped, slamming the box closed, and succeeded in knocking some of the bottles over. I winced each time they clanked and fell against one another, waiting for the footsteps, the shouts, and I glanced toward the window to see how far down the ground was so I could make a jump for it or something. But twelve stories up is a long fall, even for me. So I waited silently, holding my breath, listening.

Nothing happened.

I couldn't believe it, and it took my brain several seconds to convince the rest of my body that nothing had happened. No one had heard the noises. I let out the breath I had been holding and relaxed, turning back to the box. And in the mirror of the dressing table, I saw a gleam of silver rising over my head. I spun, grabbing the jewelry box as I did so and tucking it under my right arm, my left making quick with the knife work and blocking whatever had been coming at my head with one of my daggers. It was a rapier, I noticed, and I also noticed that the woman holding it looked mad as all hell. She was also very beautiful. But when you have a sword point inches from your throat, that fact can be easily overlooked.

"What are you doing in my room?" she hissed, her voice seeping with venom. I flinched at the coldness there, but I tried my hardest to keep my cool. I forced a smile onto my lips.

"Just your typical nightly stop-and-go," I answered with a laugh and her eyes flashed dangerously. I was treading on thin ice.

"Place the box back where you found it, and I won't slit your throat you filthy urchin."

My anger started to rise but I swept it back with my usual quickness. "Filthy urchin, am I? Well, it just so happens that your father is just like me--a thief. He stole this box from someone's house, and I'm merely returning the deed." I gave her another smile, this one, my charmer. "See? I'm a nice urchin, if you give me the chance to explain myself."

She pulled the sword away and I believed for half a second that I had talked her into a corner and she would let me go. Nope, not a chance. She was preparing to lunge. I leapt away from the dresser and the rapier point shattered the glass of her mirror. I tisked, the smile still on my face.

"Tut tut, princess. Your mirror's all broke. Whatever will you do now?"

She whirled on me, hurling the rapier like a javelin. I blinked in surprise, and then I found my shoulder pinned to the wall. With the sword in it. I looked up at her--the smile was gone.

"Alright, lady," I seethed, yanking the point out of my flesh, wincing only slightly at the pain. I felt hot blood spilling down my arm and I knew it was falling onto the gold box, staining it crimson. It could be washed off in a river--I didn't care at that point. "You want to play tough with the street punk, is that right?" Her chest was heaving beneath her white silk nightgown, and for the scond time that night, I dismissed her prettyness, this time in anger. "Alright, you got what you wanted. Let's play."

I threw the rapier down at her feet. She ducked to get it and I lashed out with my dagger, swiping her across the arm. She let out a tiny yelp and looked at me momentarily with the eyes of an innocent creature. 'What did I do to deserve that?' was what the look said. Then she grabbed her weapon and we began fighting. Normally, I use two daggers, so I was at a little of a disadvantage. Plus, I had something heavy under one arm, which was wounded, and bleeding badly. Regardless, I was still good to go, as they say. But this girl was putting up a fight, I mean, a good one. She was excellent at swordplay; her form was close to perfect. Again, the fact that she was beautiful crossed my mind and left it. Movement in battle is a very graceful thing, and if you don't know what you're doing, you can get fucked up. But she knew what she was doing, better than most men I've fought. But no matter how good she was, I would be better. Because I needed this money more than she would ever understand.

Obviously, sword fighting is a loud business. Even if the duelers aren't saying anything, the grunts and pants that escape involuntarily can't be missed. And of course, neither can the loud clashing of metal on metal. So, when footsteps finally came running, I wasn't all that surprised this time around. I had left the room door open, so I knew exactly how far down the hall they were and how much time I had before I was seen. I used her jabbing to steer myself toward the window, and then, when she lunged one final time, I jumped and wedged my feet up against the windowframe and her bed's corner post. Her swordtip shattered the window. I laughed and she looked up at me in fury. She pulled the sword back and swung up at me in an arc, which left her body open. I released my feet and dropped down to the carpet, wrapping my free arm around her waist and tackling her to her bed. She cried out finally, more in surprise than anything else, and I heard the rapier fall from her hand. I grinned down from atop her, staring into her flushed face and feeling her heart beat wildly against my chest. And in that moment, something grabbed at me and would not let go. I felt it trying to choke me--I couldn't breathe. Then someone was in the doorway and I was off her like a flash and out the broken window.

Remember, twelve stories.

I landed in the garden--something cracked--and rolled to my feet, cringing at the pain. I still had the box. Tucking it under my arm, I limped as fast as I could toward the tall stone wall, and I heard shouts from behind and knew I was going to be persued. It was now or never. Steeling myself against the pain, I took off running toward the garden wall, leapt up, used my good foot to boost myself just a little higher and caught the top of the wall with my free hand. I flipped myself up over the wall and landed in a dark back alley leading toward the eastern slums of the city. Perfect. I had to get lost for a couple of days anyway. But this damn leg...

I sat in the shadows, too close to the crime scene for comfort. I held my breath and prayed that they didn't have guard dogs. Because some did, and my scent was all over that girl. They could use her nightgown as something to go by--they saw me on top of her, they knew. And they probably thought that's what I had been in there to do, the sick, ego-inflated bastards. There were barks and I heard myself groan aloud. Guard dogs. Just what I didn't need. I looked around me and saw the manhole cover and knew what I had to do. Ripping my shirt off, I wrapped the gold box in the green cloth and tied it tight, then looped it into my belt. Then, wincing as my bad shoulder stung, I dug my fingers under the manhole cover and lifted it at an angle, sliding my legs in first and working the angle until I was pushing the cover away from my chest. It was a simple slide down, but the challenge was not to brain myself with the lip of the hole or the cover itself. I took a last deep breath of clean air, and let go, dropping into the darkness of the sewer.