Sneak Thief (Pt. 1)

The streetlamps in this part of town automatically dim after midnight. It's not that they go out, just that they go barely dim enough to leave a warm glow illuminating the streets and the lawns but not enough to bother the people living here. That's how you can tell it's a swanky neighborhood. That and the fact that even if the lamps were as bright as sunlight they still probably wouldn't touch the fronts of the houses, they're so far back from the sidewalk.

What the hell was I thinking? This job is way out of my league. Sylvis absently thinks to himself. This is the biggest job he's ever taken and certainly his first in this part of town. Even now he's amazed that such a job even came his way, a big break that could put him up there with the big ones, getting high line contracts left and right. If he can pull it off.

He climbs gently out of the shrubbery he's been hiding in patiently for the last three hours, carefully slinging his small satchel tightly over his back. He'd had to wear nice clothes for the taxi ride up, hoping to not make anyone suspicious, but the driver had still given him the stink-eye in the rear view. Surely the taxi guy could spot that he didn't belong here, not in this fancy ass high class neighborhood. Surely he could see that Sylvis was the scum of the earth and probably up to no good. The taxi drivers always could. He'd changed as quietly as he could after sneaking into the bushes, ending up in a tight leather and cloth black jumpsuit, a black mask covering all but his eyes and mouth with leather gloves and boots with soft soles covering his hands and feet.

Pulling the tiny slip of paper out of his pocket he glances at it again, probably the four hundredth time tonight he's done it tonight, and yes, it is still the same address. 2150 Bregandish Way. This address. A quick glance up and down the street shows no carriage lamps, not that anyone is out at this time of night except for the constables and sneak thieves like him. He hopes he's the only one tonight, at least.

He slinks across the street, moving quickly and deftly. He may be small time, but he's got practice and the balance of a ballerina. Small and light, moving silently has never been a problem for Sylvis and it isn't now. Coming up short in front of the ornate iron gate, he stops. It's a little dingier up close than it looked across the street, well kept but old, just like the fence extending to either side. He looks closely at it, moving his eyes over the surface of the filigreed handle, trying his best to spot any traps.

He grasps the handle and gently pulls down. The gate opens. It's not even locked! Not that it would've stopped me. He chuckles and pulls it just far enough open to slip inside and crouch by the hedges behind the fence.

Now that he can see the yard better he can tell that the house is indeed set far back from the road and the walkway leading to it winds through a complex landscape filled with carefully trimmed topiary and fountains. All of the fountains are dry at this time of night though, and grass is still. It's deathly silent tonight and no moon, part of the reason he chose this day to try it, after spending more than a week working up the courage and outfitting himself.

Slinking up to the house, keeping his movements slow and deliberate rather than quick and darting, he makes he way to the front of the house, edging towards the right side. He can't help but be awed by what a house it is. Sylvis has never seen anything like it and even after the taxi ride up and through the other neighborhoods, this house is a monster of wealth and old money. Surely the largest and most complex, even in this most illustrious of neighborhoods where any home would be worth the life of a thousand Sylvis's, this house is magnificent.

Much like the gate, up close it seems worn but well cared for, and it exudes character and class, but with a thin under layer of oddness and something a little sinister. He sneaks around the winding front porch, making his way from window to window, peaking in at the dim rooms inside. Most are dark but for a few with dimmed lights and no occupants. The contact said that only one old man lives here, aside from a couple of live in servants, and as outlandish as it sounded then, Sylvis believes it now. Of course, with a house this size though, he's more worried about his contacts info on the being wrong and less about being caught by an occupant.

Moving down to a dark room near the corner of the house, he tries a window, gingerly fingering the sill, rubbing his hands over the lip and trying his best to find any trace of a trap or enchantment. He opens it and it's easy as anything, sliding up silently and smoothly, almost as if it were well oiled and oft opened. Almost as if it were too good to be true. But it's too late to worry about that now.

Sylvis climbs gingerly over the ledge, his lithe body scaling the high sill with no problem, and he rests his feet on soft, lush carpeting, closing the window gently behind him. Please, for the love of all the deities, let him not have any magic wards here to stop me.

Fingering his good luck charm through the cloth of his shirt, feeling its weight on his chest suspended by its gold chain, he calms himself. If there were real magic here he'd sense it, just like he always has before, but he doesn't. Or at least not the harmful kind. Not yet. Again he kicks himself for believing that the old charm helps him see magic traps, but it hasn't failed him yet.

As his eyes become accustomed to the darkness inside he looks around the room he's in. Something like a large study or a small library, the room is lined with bookcases and shelves of artifacts, carefully arranged. Looking closer, he sees that many of the books are ancient and the artifacts. . . Sweet mother of. . . I could sell all that's in this room alone and live the rest of my days in luxury. What is this place?

Arranged on the shelves are things that he only could've imagine a few minutes before. Artifacts of such value and rarity that someone of his stature could only ever hope to see them in a museum. Taking a quick look around an wondering what else this place might involve he moves to the door, touching the handle gingerly before pausing again. They said that the old man was a prospector, an archaeologist, or something, but this. . . Surely he's a thief as well, Sylvis thinks. The artifacts and artwork here, while worth immeasurable amounts, are so strange and unique that even the most well-heeled would be hard pressed to match them. And this is only the first room.

Taking a deep breath he pulls his instructions out of his pocket once more, knowing he needs to focus before moving on. Reading the top of the carefully folded paper once more has a calming effect, though by this point he could recite the letter by heart.

“2150, Bregandish Way, Azure District, Skyway” and then the name of the occupant, “Enoch Wallisarn.”