The Merchant Thief
“How much for that?” I asked, nodding at my sword hanging on the wall.
“Well, what do you plan on doing with it, beautiful?” the merchant inquired, leaning over the foldable table. The man was about in his thirties, with salt and pepper hair and a cocky attitude. Just like all of the locals here in the middle of the desert, he had dark brown skin and white clothing.
“That’s none of your business, sir,” I said, trying to contain my anger.
“That’s unfortunate, because now I can’t sell it to you,” the man said.
Huffing in frustration, I tucked my dark brown hair behind my ear and tried to think of a way that I could nab my sword. Being a silver longsword and having a black leather hilt, I cherished it. An amethyst crystal in the center of the sword is what made it valuable, though.
My father, who is six feet under now, gave the sword to me for my twelfth birthday. That was just after a guard killed my pitiful excuse of a mother by a bullet in the neck. Fighting through the desert, I looked for the treasure my grandfather had promised me. Of course, other people had heard about ‘The Great Treasure of Maven Bashara’; that made it difficult for me to discover it. But, nothing can stop me, Maleaka Bashara, trained by the great swordsman, Mahzar Bashara, my father. I’m definitely not society’s ordinary sixteen-year-old.
“How much?” I said forcefully, making sure that the merchant knew there was no room for discussion.
“Why do you want it so much?” the man questioned.
“That’s none of your business,” I snapped.
The merchant shook his head and replied, “You’re not getting that sword. Even if I wanted to sell it to a child, you wouldn’t have enough money for it.”
“I hoped it wouldn’t come to this,” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that, sweetheart?”
Boiling over with anger, I knew that the merchant was going to regret his decisions. Not only did he withhold the sword from me, but the merchant called me imbecilic pet names!
Taking a deep breath in, I put down my light brown leather satchel on the ground and said, “Sir, this is your last chance to give me the sword.”
“And what could a little girl like you do to me?” the man chuckled.
Popping my neck, I climbed over the table to get to the man. I mentally prepared myself for another fight.
“What, what are you doing?’ the man asked nervously, stuttering a little.
Smirking, I grabbed the man’s white collar and lifted him up off the ground. I chuckled at the terrified face he was making.
“Looks can be deceiving,” I hissed.
Setting down the shaking merchant, I grabbed my sword and slid under the makeshift table. I swiftly picked up my satchel and started running, wary not to impale myself with the longsword. I faintly perceived the merchant calling guards about a robbery. But, technically, he nicked it from me.
Almost victorious in a battle, my sword suddenly tumbled out of my hand. Acquiring the daggers from the holders on my wrists, I kept fighting. I finally chased off the thief that had tried to steal my sword. Emphasis on tried. Panting, I looked around for my sword. Unable to locate the blade in the sand dunes of the desert, I started to panic.
I vaguely heard sand slipping down the dunes. There wasn’t any wind that day, so I fathomed that the sound had come from another thief. Striding to where the noise originated, I found a man on the ground. He must have slipped on some loose sand.
The man stood up and ran in the direction of the market. Cursing, I knew that he was a merchant. The man must’ve heard the fighting and came over to check for loot.
Following the man inaudibly, I tried to think of a way to get my sword back without causing a scene.
As we walked closer, my brain went into panic mode. I could practically glimpse the flashing red lights from inside my head. The man went behind the counter and hung up the sword.
Shaking away the flashback, I darted away from the two guards chasing me. About five hundred feet ahead, I saw the large brownish-orange rock that served as the door to my hideout. I can make it, I noticed, still running.
Hearing the guards panting behind me, I turned around, facing them. I took out my sword and slashed it through the air. The guards flinched and stepped back. Heads hanging in defeat, they turned around and started walking back to the market.
Throwing my sword into the air, I did a cartwheel and caught the hilt when my feet touched the ground again. Smiling, I laughed and entered my hideout.
To be honest, my hideout is a dingy place. Having a dusty smell, it was the perfect place for a person like me. I could hear bickering coming from deep within the hideout.
“What’s going on, guys?” I said casually, setting down my satchel and sword on the dusty ground.
“Nothing much, we’re just fighting over whether we should strategize or relax,” Conner answered. Conner’s black hair stood out from his pale, freckled skin. Almost looking gray, he had clear, blue eyes that would make anyone squeal from cuteness. Having all the traits of a peacemaker, he was kind, honest, neutral, and calm.
Alea huffed and said, “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.” She tucked her fiery red hair behind her ear, which was a frizzy mess. Alea had freckle-free, fair skin, with hazel eyes. She was the one to start fights and get us into more trouble.
“We don’t want to fail! We need to prepare for the possibilities. There could be a sandstorm while we’re looking for the treasure, there could be quicksand!” Ian argued. He had dark brown skin, like me, and black hair. With enticing light brown eyes, he could turn an army into our soldiers with his puppy dog face.
I shook my head at them, bickering like two-year-old’s. Alea was sitting in my chair, about to fall asleep; Ian was on the ground, looking at the map that I had stolen; Conner was drawing smiley faces in the dust. Pushing Alea off the chair, I sat down and grinned at my friends.
“Why are you grinning like your mad?” Ian noticed, looking at me like I might explode.
“What are you talking about? I am crazy,” I said with a laugh.
Ian smiled and erased Conner’s doodles just to annoy him. Conner pouted, looking at where the smiley faces used to be.
“Conner, there’s no need crying over spilt milk,” Ian ruffled the smaller boy’s hair.
As I watched them try to cheer up Conner, I knew we would be able to find the treasure and escape with our souls intact.