A (Maybe) Thief in the Night

The bed shook ever so slightly each time a guest trudged their way down the stairs to the main room. All of them grunted and most of them cursed. Some in different languages, some admonishing the mystery liquor the Gauntlet served, and others cried softly for their mothers for the strength to get through the day.

The rumpled blankets beneath Percy Lee’s face muffled their indignant cries each time another guest passed their door. It was early, the sun peeking through the window told them that—and yet it seemed like no one wanted to be reasonable. To sleep in and let the day greet them.

“Bloody hell.” They whispered and flipped over, throwing their arms wide until they lay like starfish staring up at the cross worked wooden beams that held the roof up. They licked their lips and ran their tongue across their teeth, checking they were all there.

Thieves had a habit of getting punched. Percy might be quick—a grown person in a lithe body that could dodge and spin out doors and away from reaching hands—but they’d made it a habit to check every morning.

All thirty two teeth were present. Bending their arms, they cupped their palms behind their head and began planning their day. Daytime was Percy’s leisure time. When they cooked, cleaned, flirted, and painted. Later, when the day was closer to darkness than not, they would get to work.

Saudade, Elyndora’s capital and the center of memory magic, always brought a lot of work. Percy thought it odd—and frankly stupid—that Elyndora advertised that the capital was the best—and only—place to hold all memories given up by those seeking safety from the shadow mages of the northern continent. But they weren’t one to complain, since the memory protection trade brought prime targets for light hands to the Capital.

“What did Josephine serve last night?” Percy groaned, their brain rattling around in their skull like a goldfish in a fish tank. The Gauntlet was known for liquor that would take the top layer off your tongue. But this—an inability to remember anything from the night before—was unusual.

Percy rubbed a hand vigorously across their face and through their short, cropped hair before stopping to tug at the very back. It wasn’t just last night they couldn’t remember, but the entire day before.

Leaping out of bed they realized that, in fact, it was not their stuff leaning against the wall or hanging in the closet. Of course, they wouldn’t pay for a room upstairs from the establishment they likely came to steal from.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Percy gathered their clothing from beside the front door—breeches, worn brown boots and a tunic that had seen better days—and threw them on, annoyed that it had taken them nearly five minutes to realize that nothing was as it seemed.

Percy quickly threw water on their face from a basin in the corner and ran a finger over their teeth before gathering their bag from the corner and bolting.

The coast was clear. No one waited outside for Percy, but that didn’t mean it was safe.

Tiptoeing down the stairs instead of thundering like every other guest, Percy kept close to the wall, hiding from the eyes on the main floor while someone else slipped out the front door. All Percy caught of the stranger was a breastplate and the sword hanging at their hip.

Like many taverns, the bar and dining room occupied the ground floor, while the guest stayed upstairs beyond a narrow stairwell. It made stumbling into bed after a long night pleasantly easy.

Or it made you easy prey the next day.

As they landed at the base of the stairs a deep baritone announced, “You look guilty.”

The front door slammed shut with a thud as heavy footsteps paused somewhere behind them. They winced, the back of their neck exposed as they felt discreetly for their knives. But–much like their memories—they were gone. Tossing their bangs out of their eyes, Percy pivoted to find the stranger.

He was squarer than he was tall, with boulders for shoulders and a bald head. Most of his face was obscured with a salt-and-pepper beard. His dark eyes looked as unmoored as Percy felt.

“Beg your pardon?” Percy examined him while the stranger processed the question. While he was muscular, he stood just a little too heavy on one foot, indicating his left side was weak or injured. The coin purse at his waist appeared full and the single earring he wore was a diamond.

He was a perfect target.

Maybe he is the reason I’m here in the first place.

The man chewed on something imaginary before he narrowed his gaze. “Seems like you’re in a rush to leave. I wonder if you were involved in…” he gestured to the air as if Percy could read his mind or the invisible words floating between them. “Did you?” The merchant tapped one chubby finger at his temple. “Because if you did.” He then smashed a fist into his open palm as a threat.

The conversation, if it could be called such, was already giving Percy a headache. “I have no idea.” They mirrored the merchant’s earlier gesture, waving madly through the air. “I feel as beaten up as you do.” The merchant shifted, forgetting that he favored one side and hissed. “You might need to get that looked at.”

Percy turned to leave. The merchant’s hand lashed out, catching them by the wrist. “I saw you eying my coin purse, thief.” He had gotten way too close, his breath warming Percy’s neck. “Don’t lie.”

Percy’s headache cleared with the nearness of this man. The gall. “Unhand me or you won’t have one.” Percy turned, their lips dangerously close to the merchant, who, surprised by the intimacy, fell back. “If I wanted to steal from you, I would.” Percy lifted the man’s coin purse that they had just retrieved. “Alas, you have been spared.”

Between the almost-kiss and the sleight of hand, the man was shaken as he grabbed for his purse. The barmaid, who Percy had been sweet on for ages, came into view behind the bar where she gestured at the merchant.

“It’s alright, Joe.” They called, “He was just leaving.” The man twisted to sneer at Josephine.

“Right wench there.” He grumbled, fumbling as he reattached his coin purse. “I bet you did it. Drugged us all so you could take advantage of hard-working men and…” He glanced at Percy and wisely didn’t finish his sentence.

Josephine, who had heard it all, didn’t look up as he ripped open the front door and marched into a dreary Saudade afternoon.

Percy watched them go, weighing their coin purse in one hand.

“Men never learn.” They mumbled as they slid onto a stool before Joe, who looked up at the coin purse now between them. “I figured he may have stiffed the bar.” She didn’t answer, only swirled her drying cloth in the perfectly clean glass in her hand while mumbling something. She was avoiding looking at Percy.

Did we finally…. Do more?

Percy, going out on a limb, reached over the bar and touched her arm gently.

“Do you remember last night?”

Joe dropped the glass. It shattered on contact as the barmaid dropped out of sight cursing at her clumsiness.

Percy scurried to the gap in the bar and ducked under, stepping carefully around the shards until they were kneeling face-to-face with Josephine, gathering the broken pieces.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” Percy whispered, distracted by her perfume. Night jasmine.

I could see the door beyond the sway of her hips. Oh, those hips and all that I imagined underneath. Her hands already wrestled with her bun, pulling pins to release her braid as I reached for a button at the base of her neck. She swatted me away as we glanced down toward the now empty pub, except for a handful of patrons who slept in corners or across their tables.

“You have to wait,” she whispered as she grabbed my seeking hand and didn’t let go.

 “I’ve been waiting,” I growled. “I can’t anymore.” We reached the landing before I spun her toward me, my body surging into her until I had trapped her between me and the wall. “No more waiting,” my other hand tangled in her hair before my lips crashed into hers.

“Oh my.” I whispered, sitting back on my heels at what I was sure was a memory. Joe finished cleaning with a hand broom. “Did we?” I asked.

She glanced up, her gaze curious. “Did we what?”

Just get on with it.

Percy leaned toward Josephine on their hands and knees, a missed piece of glass digging into their palm, but they refused to withdraw as Josephine leaned in.

I’m going to be so mad if I never remember last night. They thought as they crawled toward her.

It was ridiculous. They both knew what likely awaited them on that floor, but, gods, Percy couldn’t look away—not from her eyes, now locked directly on theirs, nor, they admitted sheepishly, from the view down her dress. The neckline wasn’t particularly low, but from this new angle, they could make out the shape of her—and it was an excellent one.

“Percy,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

 “What I want.” They uttered.

She didn’t say no. She very much said yes, her eyes doing a quick scan before she reached for Percy’s face. “This is a very bad idea.” She mumbled.

“It might help us remember.”

This kiss was sweeter than the memory. Maybe because it was in broad daylight. Or because they were kneeling on a filthy floor after a night to remember that no one did. She tasted like sugar dissolving into tea. Joe’s hand reached up and tugged at Percy’s hair at the nape of their neck.

Percy broke away to growl, “Don’t tempt me,” to which Josephine smiled against their crooked teeth.

“But I want to,” Joe purred as Percy reached for her fully, their palm bloody. But they didn’t care as they came back together, the kiss deepening as they inched closer to the sound of the bar waking up.

“Excuse me?”

Like being doused in a bucket of cold water, they skyrocketed apart at the sound of the constable’s voice.

“Josephine?”

She fell away from Percy, her eyes glazed over as she grimaced at the blood on Percy’s hand. She checked herself, trying to see if they’d bled on her white blouse.

“You’re OK.” Percy added, swiping at their swollen lips and trying to sit back and not look terrified that the constable was visiting. “Go.”

She rose, giving them one last lustful look before she greeted the man across the bar with a smile. “Titus,” She tapped Percy with a foot, urging them to go.

Pivoting, Percy crawled away from the conversation toward the back door. The one they’d used numerous times.

“I’ve had reports of a memory incident.” Percy overheard Titus say. “Seems like it started here.” Percy paused, leaning against the bar and peering up to find the constable across from Josephine with an accusatory look on his face. “Something you need to share about the so-called ale you serve?”

They bristled. Josephine and her family had been serving the people of Saudade for ages. They’d never do such a thing. Or at least not intentionally.

She laughed, one of those appeasing ones that men always fell for before twirling her necklace. “Sir,” She started as she gestured around, “I would never cause harm to my patrons. Why would I drive business away? I was a victim too.”

He gave her a look. “You don’t remember last night?” The information appeared to change his tone.

“I do not.”

“That mark on your neck appears like you might want too.” Percy watched her blush, her hand covering what they now recognized was a kiss mark.

That was me. Percy was both horrified and incredibly proud.

“Well. We’ve got a missing person and a score of complaints. Some think they’ve been robbed, but no one can say what’s been taken. Others worried they may have done things last night that they can’t recall.” He gave Josephine a long look. “They were all here.” His eyes shifted, forcing Percy to scramble out of view.

“Do you have a friend back there?” Titus added, shifting on to his toes to glance behind the bar. “My. Of course. Percival Lee.” He said Percy’s name with a mix of affection and ‘gotcha.’ “Come on out.”

But Percy noticed him reach for his cuffs. They stood and gave him an affable grin. “Sorry. Not today.”

They bolted, sliding under the far gap in the bar before slamming into the door at full speed. The impact bruised their shoulder, but they didn’t stop as their legs carried them through the alley where they turned and made toward the center of Saudade.

Titus didn’t follow.

Percy bolted toward The Heartkeep. They hated the place. A part of them was horrified that all the citizens of Saudade gave something to the memory bank at one point. Even Percy. All they could remember is that their one and only compulsory visit was years ago. Percy figured that, in some way, they kept stealing and reselling memories with the hope that they might steal theirs back one day.

“You,” Someone yelled at Percy, who had stopped to lean against a brick wall, their chest heaving, “You were at the Gauntlet last night.” They turned to find a man dressed in a leather jerkin with a worn breast plate and a sword at his side. The one who had fled the bar that morning. Their gaze flickered, as if chasing a thought that kept dissolving as they watched Percy shift into a widened stance.

“I was.” Percy had no reason to lie. They never stole from mercenaries. They made little money and knew how to fight.

The mercenary gripped the handle of their sword. “You’re a thief. Right?”

Percy tipped their head. “Why would you say such a hurtful thing?”

The mercenary gave them a look. “I don’t care what you do.” He shoved a hand into a pocket and extracted a piece of paper. “Would this be you?”

Percy didn’t grab it immediately. It could be a trap. The man gave them an exasperated sigh, shook the folded piece open and presented it.

The thief will have the vials.

Kill them.

Percy reeled back, already seeking a swift exit.

“It’s not me.”

The mercenary folded the paper and placed it in his pocket. “I don’t think that’s true,” He mumbled. He shifted his stance, a hand drawing his sword halfway. “Hand over the vials and I’ll let you go.”

Percy fell back a step. “No,” They stammered, not out of fear but to stall. They eyed their surroundings for a weapon, anything sharp to dispatch this stranger who had it all wrong. “I don’t have your vials.”

Percy knew which vials he meant. The only ones that mattered in Saudade came from The Heartkeep, each holding a single distilled memory—apparently belonging to someone important enough to kill for.

Who hired Percy to steal it?

Whoever they were was an evil, two-timing bastard, thinking they could simply kill them and not pay up.

“This isn’t going to end well.” Percy muttered, their eyes having landed on a discarded piece of wood with nails protruding in three places.

“I don’t agree.” The man’s eyes were filled with blood lust as he launched himself at Percy, who ducked and rolled before leaping back onto their feet and sprinting for the makeshift weapon. They could hear the man coming as they yanked it out of the refuse pile, reoriented it, and pivoted, swinging as they moved.

He screamed as a nail collided with his face, sinking deep into his eye with a loud pop. He fell to the ground, cradling his face as Percy watched in stunned horror. It had been a perfect shot.

They didn’t wait to see the final outcome. Bolting for home, Percy rounded a corner and collided with someone. The force sent them both to the ground.

“Where is she?” Percy stared up into the storm grey eyes of a female warden. Her short dark hair falling forward as she held Percy to the ground by the collar of their shirt. “Do you have the vials?”

“I don’t have your fucking vials!” Percy snapped, the warden’s knee on their chest, crushing their lungs. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” The warden shoved once more before releasing Percy to sit on the ground.

“Who are you looking for?” Percy sat up and dusted themselves off.

“Beatrice.” The woman uttered, completely heartbroken. “She’s gone along with ten vials from The Heartkeep. She was last seen at The Gauntlet.”