Shadows and Light - Part the Last - Wherein Techniques of a Felonious Nature are Displayed

The rozzer tries the door as he walks past. Two minutes until he reaches the end of the block, two minutes that seem to last forever. As soon as he’s around the corner, I’m moving. The key works perfectly and I’m in, I lock the door behind me and crawl behind a desk. Another eternity and I hear the door rattle again. I count to twenty and head for the safe. And stop dead.

The watch in my pocket is buzzing like a wind-up toy. There’s strong magic here. I turn my head and squint, seeing what I fear, the faint wavering that means the safe is warded. At the least, someone will know when they’re disturbed; at the worst, they might trap me here or paralyze me for hours.

Fuck.

This round is blown. I crawl back behind the desk and wait for the peeler to pass while I try to figure out what to do. There’s only one thing, I decide. The next time the policeman comes by I wait three minutes and then move. I set the levers on the watch and hit the button. There’s a feeling of like a great distant weight being removed and I know the wards are gone.

I work fast. Wrap a silk handkerchief around the first key to mask any magical traces I leave behind. Key into the lock and the main door swings open on the first try. First things first, I try the inner compartment and the key sticks. Shit. I wiggle it a bit, praying it works and the lock snicks open. A parcel of currency comes out and my duplicate parcel goes in. A little fiddling and the compartment is re-locked. How many minutes has it been?

I grab things out of the main part of the safe, taking anything that looks remotely valuable and stuffing it into my bag. Papers scatter across the floor but I don’t worry about it, they’ll know they’ve been robbed soon enough. Keys and the handkerchief go back in my pocket and I go for the front door. I should have just enough time to get away before the peeler comes around the corner.

But I don’t. I’m only halfway down the block when I hear a shout of “Oy! Stop you!” and I take off running. The shrill note of a police whistle sounds behind me as I round the corner.

At this hour of the morning, the streets are almost empty. On the one hand, no crowds to hide in; on the other, no civic minded coves deciding to assist the rozzers. I risk a glance over my shoulder; just my luck, the crusher is a young chap. Hard to outrun this one. He blows his whistle again and in answer, other whistles sound ahead of me and to the right; the net has started to close.

The mouth of an alley looms and I turn into it, vaulting a pile of garbage. I’ve scouted escape routes, but not nearly enough. Another reason I hate rush jobs.  Halfway down the alley is the back of a carter’s yard, the wall’s topped with broken bottles, but there’s a spot to one side that’s clear on account of it being next to another building.  

I jump, grab, half expecting to feel glass slicing into my hand, and scramble my way up the wall.  The carter’s yard must be older than the building because the wall makes a narrow ledge along that side. I edge myself into the shadow and wait.

There’s the sound of running footsteps and a police whistle sounds almost under my feet. Another whistle sounds from the other street, it won’t take them long to figure out that I must still be in the alley; and once a sergeant or inspector shows they’ll start checking the buildings.

I edge along the wall, hoping the carter doesn’t have a night watchman or a dog. There’s a window here and I carefully peer inside but it’s too dark to see anything. Worth a look, anyway. It only takes a few seconds to slide a knife blade between the sashes and pry open the latch. I crouch carefully on the ledge and slide up the sash, hoping it doesn’t squeak too much.

The sound of snoring greets my ears as I open the window. “That’ll cover me up.” I think wryly, carefully stepping down into the room and closing the window behind me. There’s a squeak as the sash comes down and I freeze, but the snoring continues. It’s a small room, so there’s only a couple of steps before I’m at the door.

The key’s still in the door and I breathe a sigh of relief as I let myself out into the common stair. It’s still early, but I can hear the faint sounds that tells me the tenement is starting to stir. Costers, market folk, and the first factory shifts will be on the streets soon. Wait or go?  I debate with myself as I carefully work my way down the staircase to the street door.

I decide to go. With practiced hands I reach into the bag and tie a skirt and apron round my waist, a shawl goes over my shoulders, and my man’s cap is replaced with a working girl’s hat. I take the time to get it adjusted to the proper angle and secure it with a hatpin. The lock on the street door is simple and opens easily to one of my skeleton keys. Then I take a deep breath and step out into the street, praying that this works.

I count three rozzers from where I’m standing on the tenement steps; the net has closed indeed. I turn and lock the door then start walking. I don’t make it half a block before one of the rozzers asks if I’ve seen anything suspicious.

“Haven’t seen nothing.” I say shaking my head. “What’s happened?”

“Someone’s robbed an office.” he tells me and I just shake my head again and wish him luck catching the blighter.

Mister Worth is waiting when I open the office door a couple of hours later. He does not look happy.

“You made the papers.” He says as I walk in the door. There’s an ugly expression on his face and for the first time I am a little frightened of him.

“Safe was warded. It was that, or ditch the whole thing.” I answer. “Besides, if the papers are telling the truth they think I missed the inside compartment.”

Mister Worth grunts. He’s not looking cheerful, but not as unhappy and I am thinking that maybe I haven’t completely queered the job. “How did you get past the wards?” He asks.

“Bit of silver wire and some silk wipers.” I lie, because the watch is my secret and it’s staying that way.

He nods, apparently satisfied by the explanation since it’s the standard way of dealing with wards. “What about the swag?”

“About a hundred in coin, couple thousand in bonds and such, I burned the rest of it and checked the bag at Eastern Station. You want the ticket?”

He holds out his hand then gives me an odd look when I pick up the paper knife off my desk and start to pick stitches out of the lining of my hat.

“Well I wasn’t going to carry it in my pocket.” I say as I pull the ticket from  behind the cardboard that stiffens the hat and he almost chuckles. Peelers know to look for such things, after all.

Mister Worth goes into his office for a minute and comes out holding a couple of pieces of paper. “Take this and go have yourself a holiday somewhere.” He says, handing me a banker’s draft for fifteen hundred pounds. “That should cover your share.” The other is a letter of introduction, necessary if I’m going to open a bank account.

“Right.” I say, and realize I don’t know where to go. I haven’t left the City since I was a child. “Where should I go?”

“I don’t know.” He replies irritably. “Try the seaside. Just keep your head down and out of trouble. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.”

“Yes, sir.” I say meekly. We’ve worked out a series of codes for such occasions using the newspapers’ personal advertisements columns.

“Go. Sooner you’re out of town, the better.”

I take him at his word and it’s not more than two hours later that I’m standing at the Southern Station trying to figure out where to go. A poster showing two fashionably dressed ladies catches my eye. “Fashionable Brightpool!” it proclaims, “Trains four times a day!”  I’ve never heard of the place, which I figure is probably a good thing, and the fares aren’t cheap, which says to me it’s a place the rozzers might not think to look. Not like I’m likely to come up with a better idea.

“Second class single to Brightpool.” I tell the chap behind the counter.