The Cursed Thief

In the claustrophobic Riquewihr streets, the narrow cobbled path led out toward guarded gates. Two perche (1 perche= 20 feet) from the wall stood a solitary grey brick construction, standing two-stories high and windowless. It had a single iron-fortified doorway with a heavy rust lock.

The fort had been constructed to the exact specifications of the merchant, except the half rusted lock on the front. The lock he had purchased for 838,945,628 groten (1 groten = .000435 dollars 838,945,628 groten~ 364,941 dollars), had been delayed by the poor weather plaguing the continent. Winter across Heilig Rijk had come early. And, as only one maker of the Gennadius Lock existed in the Heilig Rijk in the town of Milan (470 km from Colmar ~100 Lieue) , the storehouse remained locked with the archaic rust lock to the great displeasure of the merchant.

The lock created by the renowned Decius Peltrasius Gennadius remained some 50 Lieue (1 Lieue= 4.9 km)to the southeast of Colmar. Without this lock, the storehouse was no less secure though. That early fall night in the Riquewihr province of the Southern Alsatian Kingdom, Haut Rhin, the moonless sky shivered, frost bitten, not unlike the night the general was murdered in the Northern Alsatian Kingdom, Bas Rhin.

My notes: (109 years ago)(in Strasbourg the capital of Bas Rhin)

The time aberrant murderer, the thief, hunger driven and hollow, ran. The silence extended its cold hand, undisturbed as it chased him. He had climbed the creaking service ladder attached to the side of the stone-thatched building in the alley and ascended to the low roof weaved with vines and leaf. The plant carpeted the roof and slunk down the side of the building in coils and snakes. With the old cloth bags he had tied on his feet laced at his ankle and part way up his calf, he could scarcely be heard as he followed the gable to the subsequent building attached seamlessly. The gothic rough-cut stone and red brick buildings lined the narrow cobbled streets, only occasionally breaking form to allow another alley and row of connected buildings to peel away. It was safer from the rooftops to steal away unnoticed like the alley cats that slank about by night up and down the thatch roofs and over the occasional low stone wall.

The thief moved quickly, scrambling up the decorative and oddly shaped gables, occasionally springing across gaps in buildings to follow a new string of buildings. Finally, he settled on the tip of the grey-stone inn, embellished with the crisscross of wooden beams. He let his eyes follow the downward slope of the building. His chest heaved, his figure only slightly outlined by the stars that tiptoed around him. He swung down from his perch and descended the rickety ladder into the empty streets toward the merchant’s storehouse. He unfastened the screws on the rusty lock with his pocket knife, holding it together and then disjointing the shackle from its notch so that it flipped outward, releasing the door.

As the clock struck its first mellow tone, he slipped into the building. Buumm! A wet earthy smell filled his lungs as he plodded past the staircase on his right where the merchant snored in the chambers above. The sound was faint, a subtle assurance of his unnoticed presence.

The locked room beneath hid away the merchant’s goods. Inside, the vaults were fastened individually with bronze fixtures. He pricked the silver storehouse lock with a glinting needle, he had fashioned from a silver wire taken off a piece of jewelry. The polished latch swung open delicately and he entered; the chilled air turned his warm breath into drifting smoke. He came to the first vault. He hoped silently for food before retrieving two carefully handcrafted needles. His long, bony fingers moved mechanically. The fleshy part of his fingers held the needles steadily as he gently inserted them, applying slight pressure until they clicked. The lock dropped into his rough hands. He allowed the door to open just a crack, holding back his breath. It was food. The crates bore an official insignia and scrawled “His Majesty’s Apples”, a bold and grotesquely haughty proclamation in his opinion.

His hands trembled for a second with uncharacteristic hesitation and reproach. Buumm! He breathed it out, snatching the bag on top, all hesitation erased. He closed the door, refastening the vault’s locks. Quickly, quickly, quickly...the mantra in his mind, the pounding in his heart. He relatched the inner door to the merchant’s storehouse, and then the final rusty lock on the outer door. He faded back into the cold, moonless night. As he ran, he clutched the sack of apples to his chest. Buuumm!

The night the thief stole apples the merchant slept just above his storehouse and vaults within his chambers peacefully, blissfully unaware of being robbed. It was just as all the other families had been when the thief had visited them ever so briefly in their homes, uninvited.

Before reaching the dark alley where he had started, he removed the cloth tied around his feet to avoid unnecessary wear. Then, silently, he dropped to the ground. His now bare feet sent up a pall of dirt that settled lightly on his pale skin turning it slightly darker. The people in the alley looked up as he started forward. All of the children gathered around him, recognizing the familiar sway of his step that left the impression of floating. They pulled at his clothes lightly and asked in whispers what he had brought this time. He knelt down, opening the sack for them all to see. He set the apples out on the sack and one by one began slicing them with his silver pocket knife.

Each of the dirt stained faces broke into grins as they whispered to each other, decidedly happy,

“Apples!”

He sat cross legged in the dirt, slicing sparingly so that hardly any core remained. Tossing the cores back in the sack he began distributing all of the slices until they were evenly distributed, leaving only the cores for him to eat. While they filled their stomachs, the thief re-covered his face and went away without a word.

He wandered along the rooftops toward the inn again where he had discovered a broken window, several nights earlier. The thief lay down on the roof of the inn with the sack of apple rinds instead of climbing through the broken window, as he had on colder, damper nights, he stayed on the rooftop. He took the rinds out, one by one, and bit through the hard center, swallowing the seeds whole.

Staring up at the clear sky stars, he finished off the last bite of apple rind and seed, all of the evidence, before closing his eyes and allowing silence and the night to catch him.