The Blue-Eyed Thief

written by Bob Liddil

The guards at the gate are men-mountains. They carry curved steel swords in their belts and they eye each passer through the gates as though they be thief or beggar, which of course, many are. Every so often, they stop a cart or wagon and poke tridents or swords into the hay or what-have-you. Sometimes a howling, wounded miscreant bursts forth to be dragged off to the Major of the Guard’s torture dungeon. It is a punishable offense for anyone to try and sneak into the city and this fact is posted out and down the roads away from the gates for those who can read to read.

And I--thief, low born wanderer, son of a mountain woman and a flatlander soldier, created as I was amidst the smoke and fire of a burning village -- walk past the gate guards, ignoring their comments about the shabbiness of my thobe and gutra. I have donned the head rag and robe of a pauper with purpose. They call attention away from the blue eyes that would mark me instantly as being from other than the city or surrounding desert. Those eyes make me memorable, a thing I do not wish to be.

I am Wahid, pickpocket, master thief. Well, perhaps that is immodest, I am Wahid, cutpurse, burglar, liberator of coin and jewel from the ownership of those too tight to share with the likes of me. I promote charity in the wealthy - the gods look favorably upon those who give generously to the poor (even if involuntarily). No mere gate guard may stand between me and the fat wallets of the city. Still, this is no place for arrogance and my lowered head offers them the illusion of respect. I pass without being stopped.

Though I have not been here before, I am well acquainted with this city. It was here, two years ago, my brother Ali was executed in the Square of Justice for stealing the purse of a noble. The laws are unforgiving. A hand severed for stealing bread, an arm for stealing a coin. For a purse, a head. Poor Ali, he always was a little dull-witted.

I make my way through the fruit bazaar, which is the outermost to the gate of all the venues frequented by dwellers-outside-the-city-who- shop-within, which is what I have represented myself to be. I can feel the eyes of one of the gate guards on me as I cross the square. I reach into my thobe and fetch forth a copper, choose a small basket of dates and pay for them, a move that allows me a sideways glance to see if the guard has indeed followed me beyond the gate. He has, but turns away, apparently satisfied as to my intentions.

I melt into the crowds now, and allow the movement of the multitude to carry me deeper into the city. Several targets tempt me, but I am after bigger game than small purses of dubious coins carried by ordinaries who have earned them by sweat. No, cutpursing in crowded streets is an open invitation to a beheading, as I pointed out to my late brother no small number of times. How careless these people are though. It is such a temptation.

My quarry lies beyond the first level of the city, on the street of nobles at city center, on the hill that commands a view of the entire wall and all who dwell within. My target is a merchant, an owner of caravans, a dealer of spice and a lover of precious things. It is for these precious things that I have traveled far and risked much.

The sun crosses the sky and stretches the shadows in different directions as I make my way through the streets, working inward at increasing risk of discovery. Now, the shabbiness of my clothing works against rather than for me, calling attention to who I am in relation to where I am. I cannot allow myself to become too noticeable and so I duck into an alley. I disappear from the main thoroughfare and blend into the deepening shadows. I am close now. There is plenty of time for movement later.

 
I spot the unlocked cellar door of what looks like a little used building and I decide to slip inside. I am safe here. As I close the door above me, I get the feeling that I am indeed safe. I have had a long walk to and into the city and I shall allow myself the luxury of a brief nap. I must be alert for what I am about after the sun goes down.

A noise awakens me. It is the merest crunch of a footstep on sand but I am instantly alive and ready. I peer through cracks in the old door and I see that dark is not quite arrived, but dusk is heavy. I can make out two figures walking in the alley toward me. One is tall, heavily bearded and wearing the yellow kafiyah of a city constable. The other is younger, smaller and his skullcap is red, that of a lawmaker. They are discussing a thing that I cannot quite make out, arguing and joking. Obviously, they are friends.

They are joined unexpectedly and quickly, from out of the shadows, by three armed men, two with short swords, one with a crossbow. It is a robbery. Curse the bad luck that has placed me near it, for I will surely be blamed if I am caught for any other offense related to this part of the city.

The tone of the conversation changes dramatically. The younger man argues with the thieves. This is stupid. If I allow this to go on, someone will surely die - me most likely - or that loudmouth of a lawmaker.

 
I am no fighter. I depend on stealth and I have never slain anyone. But I burst from my hiding place like the demon itself. Screaming like a madman I rush toward the thieves and their would-be victims as though I were attacking with a force of ten and the strength of twenty.

The one with the crossbow fires his bolt over my head by accident. It worked. I unnerved him. The marshall is well armed and takes advantage of the commotion to draw his blade. Everyone has his hands full. No need for me here. I vacate the alleyway, leaving all to their fate. Precious dark is near and I am urgently needing to be somewhere else very quickly. 

As the sun flees, I make my way through the upper inner avenues that leads to the street of nobles. It is completely dark by the time I reach where I am going. The lights in the great house are gone out and I, master of stealth, creep through the courtyard and enter. 

I have shucked my beggar’s togs in favor of a thobe and gutra of raven’s wing black. These render me invisible to even the practiced eye. Here there are no eyes watching. There is no guard standing across the door. This merchant believes he is protected by the laws of the city -- those laws do not protect him from me. What is his is mine and I choose freely from among the finest jewels he has. These rich, they are all the same. They gather hoards of treasure together for the taking and then whine when I do. My belly growls. Before I depart, I take some dates and a bit of bread. Then, like a black ghost, I am gone.

The sun is my enemy, but I cannot avoid it. I have discarded the burglar’s uniform of the night in favor of less obtrusive attire than that of either thief or beggar. To exit the city requires only that I walk past the gate guards and out onto the outer highway. I must avoid direct eye contact, but at the same time, in this costume, I cannot walk with my head down, for it is not in keeping with whom I pretend to be.

I move casually past the date stand of yesterday, in the fruit bazaar and stroll purposefully toward the gate. I am pleased to see that today’s guards are not the same as yesterday’s. That less complicates things. My escape is almost complete.

"Hold on, my friend." comes a voice from behind me, a cultured voice. "How have I offended you that you would take leave without saying farewell?"

My voice flees and with it any answer. 

"Surely," he continues, "you will allow me to make amends for my poor hospitality of last evening, by offering you a noon meal." 

I stare straight ahead. My knees are knocking in fear. The man who speaks is the owner of the house I have robbed. I have his gold and jewels strapped to my body on a belt underneath my robe. 

"Do you not see that I wish to make amends for my lack of manners?" He pleads in such a voice that others are beginning to take notice. If I do not act, mine will be a face to remember. I turn with a smile of recognition on my face.

"Of course." I manage to find my voice now. "How thoughtless of me to allow you to bear such guilt. I will accompany you, so that we may come to an understanding by which we may part more amicably."

Together, we depart the city gate. Before I can offer protest, he hails a cart-for-hire and we ride the distance, in comfort, that I covered yesterday with such difficulty. When we arrive, he pays the driver with a single silver coin and to that worthy’s delight, waves off any coppers coming in change. I am ushered, by way of the front door, into that place which I entered by stealth before today’s sun. I am trapped and I know it.

I am Wahid, honored house guest. Fifteen days have passed since I entered the home of my host and he has treated me most elegantly. I have been presented with the most succulent dates, the finest wine, the most aromatic breads that any stolen wealth could have bought. I have witnessed supple dancers, decked in golden bands and jeweled silks, smiling at me through their gyrations. I have shared in the fruits of the very wealth I so freely stole - freely given from the victim to the thief. I am Wahid, not respected by myself.

As many years as I have been walking, I have been a thief. I have stolen for every crumb of bread I have ever eaten. At no time, until now, have I ever seen the face of my victim for more than a split second. Now, I find this merchant to be undeserving of the hatred I have always felt for his kind. There is no repentance in me for the life I have lived and yet I find myself crying out for forgiveness. I cry out for an end to this undeserved graciousness.

Who is this Wahid who has removed the belt from his waist that contains his death sentence? He presents the belt to his host. 

"I have stolen these things from you," I hear this unknown Wahid say, "and I am sorry that I have done this. At no time in this life, have I met anyone who did not serve only himself. But you, I think, possess qualities I desire in myself. I am better for confessing this crime and shall steal no more." 

So saying, I place my life in his hands, not wishing to continue life as Wahid the thief.

An expert in gold and jewels, as well as spices and silks, I am Wahid the merchant. Fifteen years have passed since I departed the house of my benefactor, he who taught me the art of caravan trading with distant cities. I am widely known for my honesty and my astute sense of bargaining. It is known, but less widely, that my prowess at identifying the value of precious stones was acquired as a thief in my much younger days. Ah, but then, aren’t all merchants thieves at heart? We are, if the customer in the marketplace would be believed.

I am not unmindful of my past and I am not careless concerning my future. That which is the bulk of my fortune is sequestered in a vault under heavy guard, along with the fortunes of many others of my trade. I do, however, keep many pretty gems and unusual artifacts within my house on the street of nobles.

Last night I was paid a visit by a thief. He was young and he was quiet and he wore the invisible robes of a black cat. He escaped into the night carrying a good treasure and at this moment, he believes he was completely unobserved. I have alerted the guards at the gate he will try to leave by. 

I am standing near the date stand in the fruit bazaar, waiting for him to make his exit from the city. Ah, there he is now. Will he panic and run? Does he have the courage to turn and face me? We shall soon see.

"Hold on, my friend, " I hear Wahid the merchant say, " How have I offended you that you take leave without saying farewell?"

He stops. He does not turn around. As I continue to speak familiar words, I can sense the fear pulsing through him. When I fall silent to give him his chance, there is the longest hesitation, then he turns to face me. He is the first one to have done so in all the time I have followed thieves to this gate.

By the gods. His eyes are blue.

He says,"Of course," and smiles tightly, "How thoughtless of me............"

And so closes the circle.

(C) 2000 by Bob Liddil All Rights Reserved

This story originally appeared in DRAGON Magazine and is currently available on their CD ROM compendium of stories