Manhattan was unmistakable. A blanket of coal-fueled haze mixed with the beam of gas lights to bathe the whole of the city in a warm glow. Glimmering street signs and marquees lurked in every street, the fog disguising the buildings behind to give the appearance that they were floating in an endless sky; and in that sky, the lamps were as plentiful as stars of the night.
Other stars lived here, too. The port of New York and its venerable successes attracted great minds, great talents, and great wallets alike. Here, opportunities for growth and prosperity seemed endless, and the dreams of its inhabitants were as tall as the city's modern-day towers of Babel stretching towards the heavens for selfsame glory.
However, not all dreams were to the benefit of humanity. Not all wealth was good-gotten and not all that glittered was gold. Behind the façade of altruism, tycoons wrestled amongst one another for dominance over the twin industries of steel, coal, and its myriad of children. One such blessed child was the business of tincture mogul Elliot Maycoff. He manufactured and sold a cure for all varieties of ailment at a low, low cost. Little did his customers know, that their relief was placebo and their bodies and minds were being slowly poisoned by his so-called miracle elixirs. Yet, at a poker game with like minded businessmen, he let his secret slip. In doing so, Maycoff placed a target upon his back by those who envied his position - a target that Tybalt and his band of talented individuals would not hesitate to strike.
The Fifth Avenue Hotel counted itself among one of the most exclusive in New York City. By the growing fame of the Cirque du Volés, it opened its doors to Tybalt LeGrand. With some effort, he was able to ascertain when Maycoff would be staying - and when they could strike.
Assembling key members of his circus around a grand table aboard the Redempteur, he laid out the plan.
"Lawrence. Study the locks. Copy his room key. Leave it in the potted plant by his door, then rendezvous with Rien."
As Lawrence sauntered from the speckless windows to the equally as unblemished front-faced mirrors, he shamelessly grasped the opportunity to orient the embroidered collar that clasped neatly around his limber neck. According to the reddish gold-buttoned overcoat, the snowy gloves and dark slacks, he was hotel staff. According to the name tag he adorned that belonged to some poor bloke, passed out drunk in the alley two blocks down, he was Joe.
Legs trudging as he jostled a creaky cart constructed from springy Ashwood, Lawrence mentally recited the words of the Ringmaster in constant intervals. Mold the key and meet with the noblewoman. A woefully light role when accounting his expertise, but the grand plan was also breathed by his own machinations, and this type of work was done most efficiently by his hand.
Reading the rooms as he passed, Lawerence’s steps stilled. He met the fringe of the door that recited 476. After a customary head glance at each precipice of his jacket's pauldrons, he sank to one knee and began the operation in earnest.
Of course, he had tried to fetch a direct key when he had begun his ascent in the lobby. But the particularly crooked always held unfortunate neurotic tendencies, whether it was always looking over one's own shoulder or insisting on a room that skated out of the reach of both master key and present duplicates. He didn't appreciate the shrinking of options, but the excessively prepared Lawrence was not so foolish as to not have multiple methods to accomplish a single task.
Eyes glowing with fickle bluish flame, he brought his lips close to the lock and puffed a single instance of hot breath directly into the keyhole. Like pricks on his skin, he read... or more accurately felt the air complete every metallic indent. Working his hands simultaneously as he rapt his thoughts to what he picked up, he brushed away the curtain that covered his carriage to reveal an ornate contraption. A favorite of his collection, it could effortlessly mold key blank in a matter of seconds.
As he settled, the numbers droned into his mind. Drifting his hand to his device, he flicked the keycode into the respective combination reader and with a light hiss, the box opened up to reveal the freshly stamped key.
Wasting no time, he took the metallic trinket and patted it into the soil of the nearby pot, then ambled off with a cart to link with the Prince of Shadow.
Satisfied that Lawrence knew his role to play, Tybalt moved to the next members of the heist team.
"Rien. You will lead the acquisition team. Pepper and Karolin will accompany you to the room dressed in fine garments; the man is well-known for his affinity for women, so it will surprise no one that you three were granted entry. Once Lawrence gives you the signal, proceed up to room 476 and use the key to enter the room."
Once a lady, always a lady. It was easy for Rien to slip back into a role of refinement. Oozing with confidence and armed with a demure smile, the Duchess hid half of her face behind a fan clasped in her left hand. She used the right to wave teasingly to the doorman, who pulled open the glass door to allow them entry. Men were far too easy.
With gloved fingers, Rien pushed the button for the lift to take them up, snapping her fan shut as soon as it was safe.
The lift came to an abrupt stop at the top floor; where red carpet cushioned their steps, their heels silent against the plush ground. As soon as they parted ways with the elevator, a shadow detached itself from her Rien’s feet, slithering across the red carpet and to the closest potted plant, excited to do something. Her shadow slithered to a second and a third, rustling the petals of potted dahlias, searching for the key, before returning to the Duchess. "Nearly there," Rien murmured, knowing that Pepper could hear her just fine.
The hallway was empty, save for the three ladies. In the daytime, however, the hallway served as a gateway to the bedrooms of celebrities and savvy businessmen who could afford to sleep in the lap of luxury.
Rien’s footsteps ceased in front of door 476. Her shadow swirled excitedly around the correct plant. Rien knelt down, relieving the ceramic pot of its treasure. Holding the copy-cat key made by their very own Lawrence, Rien turned towards their first real obstacle. The key slid easily into the lock and with a satisfying click! the door unlocked.
Rien ushered Pepper and Karolin inside, closing the door and locking it behind them. She tucked the key into the pocket of her gown.
"Alright ladies, let us get to work."
"The information we have suggests that the safe will be hidden behind an enormous painting of Roman nature. Karolin will assist you with the rearrangement of furnishings to the end of locating it, as well as the procurement of the heavy gold bullion said to be stored inside," Tybalt explained.
Karolin's gorgeous silk dress contrasted starkly with the sheer strength that it took to remove the described painting. Apparently, it weighed a few hundred pounds, given its solid gold frame and large size. It was less a painting than an entire framed mural, yet Karolin displaced it and set it aside as if it were little more than a child's drawing stuck to a wall.
Behind it was their next challenge.
"Pepper. Your target is the vault. It has a brand new Yale 6020 pin-tumbler cylinder lock. I will entrust it to your picks and capable ears."
Pepper’s belief was that everything had a song—it was just a matter of time, place, and occasion. Hence why she had been lightly humming a light tune to herself and her comrades, to pace their beating hearts. She repeated the same tune over and over, even if it was under her breath at points, and didn't stop—not until she began to sing in a whisper;
"Round and 'round the cobbler's bench
The monkey chased the weasel,
The monkey thought 'twas all in fun...
... Sing along if you know the lyrics!"
Regardless of her compatriots' responses to the attitude she was bringing to a serious task, she continued to sing softly as she fiddled with the lock with the lockpick she drew from her show. This was her mint-condition instrument—it could be manipulated in a countless number of ways, and each had their own notes. Yet, despite its boundless potential, this instrument was only built to play one song.
"A penny for a spool of thread
A penny for a needle,
That's the way the money goes...
... Hel-looo?"
The girl waved her had around expectantly, although whether she was making a demand of her cohorts or looking for something else, she didn't exactly make clear. The pace of her nursery rhyming wavered as she adjusted her rhythm, tuning herself as she tuned the safe in turn. To an outside observer, it may not have looked like much, but within Pepper’s sound space; all that was mechanical was laid bare. One only needed to prod at all the keys to make the notes come out—and once she knew all the notes, the song came naturally to her.
"A half a pound of tuppenny rice,
A half a pound of treacle.
Mix it up and make it nice..."
A few clicks of the tongue finished her verse—followed by identical clicks of the lock, only audible to her.
The clown-incognito finally went quiet for a moment, and was nearly still. However, it was yet another moment before she took her ear off of the lock and stood to face her friends to finish her song, bouncing left and right with a big smile, she operated the lock behind her, the clicking of clockwork mechanisms backing her vocals like a drum set.
"I've no time to plead and pine,
I've no time to wheedle,
Kiss me quick and then I'm gone..."
The singer then stepped out of the way as she pulled the safe open with a showy pose, cheering; "Pop! Goes the Weasel!"
The lock opened with a resounding click, the door swinging open on its hinges; giving way to the goods inside. It was a wonder how Maycoff traveled with such a hefty load. The interior of the safe was lined with every kind of dazzling jewel, an overflowing bag of gold, and documents that surely proved all of the fraud Maycoff had been committing.
Karolin stepped forward, it was her turn next. She reached into the safe with ease, lifting the heavy bag of gold as easily as if she had picked up a kitten by the scruff of its neck.
Rien summoned her void, gesturing for Karolin to drop the goods inside. One by one, Karolin deposited the gold and jewels into the shadowy mass on the ground, until the safe had been licked-clean of its treasures. When the safe had been emptied, Karolin replaced the portrait in front of the empty container, as if they had never been there.
It was then that a voice urged in a whisper in their ears like a gentle tickle, "Maycoff is coming."
They needed to move.
Rien threw open the window and in her haste, made a grave mistake.
Karolin had moved the other way, leaving out the front door while they fled down the metal fire escape.
The escape plan, the most important detail of all, was something Tybalt did his best to hammer into their minds. "If all goes well, you three will leave the room by the front door, make your way to the lobby, and exit, taking this route to the train station which will bring you back to port," the Ringmaster said, tracing a red line he had drawn across a map of that portion of the city.
"Commit the route to memory. If you are at risk of discovery, leave instead through the window and down the fire escape, then proceed to the station. You will not outrun the police on foot, so I will give you each the money you need to charter a horse and buggy if necessary." What he did not account for, however, was that Karolin would forget to change plans. She left through the front door, shutting it behind her and began walking towards the elevators.
Maycoff, accompanied by two policemen on his payroll, caught sight of Karolin attempting to pass him in the hallway. A paranoid glance at his doorway made his heart sink. His door had not closed all the way. "Stop her," he ordered, blowing air through his nostrils and clenching his teeth. His feet could be heard stomping indignantly in the hallway as he approached his room.
Pepper would have been with Karolin, had she not noticed Rien had not followed. She ran back to the window to tug on her arm, chiding her in a whisper, "Rien, why are you deafening—uh, defense-is-straight—why are you jumpin' out the window?!" She jogged back to the door. "The Big Cheese said we run out the way we came—like civilized folk, not get caught like rats. See, Karolin remembered—" The girl sucked in air as something seemed to disturb her. Seemingly not so trusting about her means of egress, she carefully peeked out the door and gasped at what she saw, before scampering back to the window, squeaking, "Nevermind, skedaddle! What are ya’ waiting for, let's go!" She was practically shoving at Rien to escape.
This would not be the first time a part of their plan had gone wrong. A high profile target was bound to come with complications. This was, however, the first time any of them had gotten caught. It would do them no good to go back, having them all arrested would be a travesty that would become a detriment to the circus.
By the time Rien and Pepper had exited the window, it was too late to go back. Poor Karolin was apprehended by the police while the rest of them jumped through the window frame; careful to close it behind them. The fire escape swayed, from this high up, the metal creaked with the cold of the winter chill. "Come on," Rien urged, still not having noticed that one in their party was missing. Down they went, from the highest floor in the hotel, to the first. The last rung on the ladder hung five feet above the ground. They needed to make haste, someone on the opposite side of the building was yelling for the police.
"What about Karolin? She went ahead and I heard..." Pepper was hesitant to elaborate, a hint of worry in her voice. Once she found her feet on solid ground, she took a deep breath and reassured, ”... She'll be fine, she's a good girl. And tough. We'll do a little rendezvous soon... But we gotta be quick, or she'll beat us there—I can hear her running in her cute little dress shoes right now! Let's go!" Pepper gave Rien's hand a firm grip and tugged her along, urging her to move quickly. Pepper’s palms were sweaty.
Rien jumped, offering Pepper a hand down. "Karolin?" The shadow weaver blinked, looking up at the ladder as if she expected the tall girl to be standing there, awaiting instruction.
"Oh… oh no." Pepper grabbed her hand, pouring on the speed towards the train station, where they were supposed to meet should they get separated.
"Pepper-" Rien pressed her lips together. If Karolin tried to run from the police and lead them right to the train station, where they were waiting; there would be trouble. "I do not think Karolin will be there." Rien spoke softly. She slowed, forcing Pepper to slow down when they reached the main street. They needed to blend in. Rien turned towards Pepper, fixing her fur stole. "There are eyes everywhere Pepper, you must remain calm." Rien took her hand once again, warm even through her gloves, and resumed the walk to the train station. Even if she managed to school her features into a calm expression, her heart was fumbling inside of her chest. This was her fault, Rien thought. She should have been more careful to check that Karolin was with them.
"Of course," Pepper sighed, smiling and looking around as she maintained a pretty stroll alongside her friend. "She must have taken a carriage, then, with the money from Mister Tybalt." She suggested rather optimistically, "So she could get home faster. Maybe one of those new carriages with no horse? What a scam! That must be like selling a clock with no hands—or a coffee with no cup! Must be some kind of city-fad; getting nowhere fast. Guess we'll get there first, after all."
"Still," Pepper sang, with a playful tilt of her head, "We promised to rendezvous, so we'll rendezvous!" She seemed to take a liking to the word. "... Even if it takes a little while."
Manhattan's Grand Central Station was a welcoming sight, with its stony exterior and warm interior. Even at midnight, everyone scurried like rats with a destination in mind. Steam trains entered and departed the station with a purpose. Passengers lugged large suitcases or small children in their trail, offering plenty of protection from prying eyes. "This way," Rien pulled Pepper to the side, where they were supposed to meet with another from their team before returning to the ship. No one would notice two women standing near one of the marble pillars. "We will wait here." Rien's voice managed to remain gentle.
Pepper maintained a chipper disposition—they got the job done after all. She didn't say much else, however. Whether or not she was disturbed by the possibility that they had abandoned one of their own, she wasn't vocalizing it.
The time ticked on; first five minutes, then ten, twenty, and thirty. The longer they waited, the more trains passed them by, and the more certain it grew that Karolin would not be joining them at the station.
Perhaps Karolin forwent the station and took a carriage all the way to port. Certainly, Tybalt had given her enough money to charter a ride straight there, but it would have been less conspicuous to take the train. Nevertheless, they hoped that they would find Karolin at home aboard the Redempteur, for the last train of the day was pulling into the station.
"All aboard!" came the call of the conductor, sounding his bell through the station.
"Come Pepper, we mustn't keep them waiting," Rien lifted the hem of her dress, leading Pepper up the train steps and onto the carriage that would return them to their home. The train deposited them a few blocks away, at a stop with a flickering lamp on a quiet street, well past midnight. Once situated on the ground, Rien rid herself of her heels in a most un-lady-like manner and unfurled her hair from its intricate coif.
"We are nearly home," Rien murmured, her heart thumping loudly in her chest. Her nerves were coiled. Even if their gathering exploits had been successful, Rien could not help but blame herself for not keeping a closer eye on her compatriots.
The ship loomed at its spot in the port, its girth casting a welcoming shadow. One night had managed to stretch to feel like a century. At long last, they were back.
Boarding via the front ramp, the girls found the ship carrying on business as usual. There was always a bit of tension in the air when a heist was carried out, but only those who needed to know about it were ever made aware of it. The fewer loose ends, the better; and those with vulnerable consciences were protected.
The usual crew were kept at least somewhat in the loop when one was planned, in case one of them needed to be substituted on short notice. Memphis was one such crewmember made aware of the plan, though Tybalt had yet to make use of his talents on a heist. Why was Karolin chosen to participate before him? According to Tybalt, it was because his particular talents—and rambunctiousness—were ill-suited to a mission of stealth. And though Karolin was a bull in a china shop on the best of days, she could at least keep quiet when needed.
Still, it must have rubbed him the wrong way to be passed up.
The audacity. Memphis's most outstanding achievement as the family traitor was so clandestine that he could not even take credit for it. Mayhaps, Tybalt was saving the best for last.
Memphis blocked the returning duo's route with arms stretched wide for an embrace that was unlikely to happen and a discreet congratulatory grin. "Welcome home! I missed you, missed me?" He said, his eyes entertained by the fine garments they donned for their heist. As a duchess, the look fit Rien like a glove, but Pepper, he had to stare a little longer to be sure.
Arms dropped, along with his confidence of mind. "Hold on, Call me blind; I only see chuckles and the love of my life…" Memphis did not miss the opportunity to fill the remainder of the day, annoying Lawrence, the bellboy. Another person was missing from the count.
"Where's Karolin?"
There was one waiting in the wings upon their return. Memphis's familiar face was a welcome sight. "How could we not?" Rien teased in reply. If one looked closely, they could see the signs of fatigue wearing down her features.
Rien's complexion was pale and there were circles beneath her eyes that the pressed powder she wore had trouble covering. Fatigue went hand-in-hand with use of the Void.
Memphis’s next question made Rien's heart sink. Pepper too, must have been saddened to hear she had not made it back. Even if it was unrealistic, some part of Rien had still hoped that Karolin would find her way home.
"Karolin was caught." Rien's voice was soft and low. Pepper would have heard it because she was Pepper, but had anyone else been near, they would have missed her words. "Where is Sir Tybalt?"
"She'll be home soon," Pepper reassured in a whisper and a light smile, before she walked past Memphis without another word—looking to make herself scarce. She didn't have very many smiles left to give for the night.
Word spread quickly aboard the close-knit ship, but Violetta was waiting in the bay, ready to relay the message even quicker. She and Lawrence had arrived earlier; now she whispered for Tybalt to present himself.
It was only a minute before the Ringmaster presented himself, chin-up yet stoic. With Violetta's words to steal him; he stepped across the deck in his tall black boots, standing dignified before Rien, Pepper, and Memphis.
"Welcome home," he said, bowing his head and removing his hat in greeting.
Rien stepped forward. From his expression, he had already been briefed on the situation. ”Our evening exploits have been semi-successful," Rien admitted. She opened up the Void, depositing their winnings onto the ground. In gaining these riches, they had lost something far more important to them.
"It is my fault. I will shoulder the blame for the events that took place after."
A gentle hand clasped Pepper's shoulder. Memphis shook his head discouraging her retreat for a few reasons. Particularly, "You're saying it wrong." He twirled her to face him, releasing once he had her attention. "She'll be home soon," He declared like a fact with all the confidence in his being before tousling her hair done up for the disguise back down to Pepper-esque.
"And I am ready for a turn." Memphis added, eyes darting from Rien to Tybalt.
The short girl's lips curled up into an embarrassed smile as she cringed away from Memphis's petting. Seeing her positive outlook reflected back at her seemed to recharge some of her spirits. "Yeah. I mean, we got the job done. That is at least worth a golf-clap?"
Tybalt furrowed his brows. Few people on the ship knew for sure what was going through his head, but everyone knew that look meant trouble. In their years of asset repurposing, failures were few and small. Yet the time was going on two in the early morning, and she had not arrived.
"I am afraid your eagerness to commit crime must yield place to the more dire matter of our missing companion," he answered Memphis, "but should I have a need for a jail-buster, your services will not go unsolicited."
He reached forward and placed his hand on Rien's shoulder, looking into her eyes. "You played to the tune I composed. It is no more your fault than a violinist's for a broken string, but the conductor will face the crowd's ire. Blame me."
Then, he swiveled round, plucking his cane from beneath his arm and walking with it. Late as it was, this could not stand. With a look of determination, he set off to find the one person he knew aboard the ship that spoke Russian: Armel.
A long exasperated sigh escaped Memphis, underestimated and misunderstood as usual. He thought himself quite capable of stealing a woman, especially stealing a woman back.
Eavesdropping on Tybalt’s comforting words, he neared to pass by with words of his own. "If I may conductor, the longer you silence a violin, the harder it is for it to find its true voice again." Then bowed to take his leave, seeing as he was not needed... again.
"You can join me if you like, Peps." He offered company with a cheerful smile, whistling away the sulk as he strolled off in search of a bottle of whiskey.
The moon sat at its highest peak, offering some natural light to Armel's dimly lit atelier. Dried colors splattered on the floor and walls, and the dust of sculpted clay decorated the small room's floor and walls. It was messy and showed Armel's meticulous efforts — finely detailed sculptures, finished and unfinished paintings of different scenery, and people all laid around the room.
For tonight, his current painting was simply an excuse not to sleep. After helping Ines rest, Armel hauled himself inside to work, his hands and clothing bearing the evidence of the long hours he had been there — covered in small blotches of paint. A rare sight for the well-dressed Armel, but here he had no reason to keep appearances.
His focus lay on the canvas before him, slathered in shades of blue, black, white, yellow, red, and orange — strategically placed and mixed to depict a bright moon and starry sky. No real reason for the inspiration; it had merely popped into his head.
However, for the last hour, he had run into a stump. The painting was rather plain to his keen eyes, it needed something more, but Armel did not know what. Maybe this was a sign of stopping, along with the bristles of his brushes beginning to fray, "Well..." Armel sat down his equipment and stretched, "Perhaps it is time for some rest." as if to answer his question, there was a knock on the door.
Armel let his head fall forward dramatically and sighed, "Or not." he whispered.
"Un moment!" He stood up and walked to the window, opening it wide to air out the room. He did not want the smell of chemicals to violently attack the visitor's senses, especially if it was Ines.
After a moment, he walked to the door, wiping his hands on his dirty apron, "Oui-" Armel opened the door and froze at the sight before him. In front of him was the last person he expected to see tonight, "Tybalt? To what do I owe this visit?"
The normally-chipper Ringmaster had a somber expression, far unlike his usual demeanor. His head was held high, yet Armel knew instantly that something was wrong. On the eve of a heist, this could bode only poorly.
"Apologies for disturbing you," he said, gripping to the head of his cane, "but there has arisen a pressing need for your services." There was no need to be cryptic, as in a few minutes the whole of the ship would know something had gone wrong.
"Karolin is missing."
Armel blinked, "...Excusez-moi, missing?" His surprise turned into an urgent attitude as he processed the information.
Considering that the crew was carrying out a mission, Karolin could be walking around the city lost. However, the word missing could be a favorable conclusion rather than the correct answer. Karolin, when left alone, would stand out amongst a crowd. Therefore the worst and most likely answer is, "Did the police take her?" he mumbled, frustrated.
Armel tossed off his apron and switched it for a plain black coat. He had no time, so a coat would have to cover the paint on his white sleeves, and he'd have to do with his paint-covered hands — luckily, the rest of his attire was well-kept.
"Alright, shall we go find her?" he asked urgently with his lips curved in a calm smile — maintaining his composure is essential.
Tybalt nodded. His words were chosen carefully, and Armel reasoned the truth out in short order.
"She is, by all accounts, detained by local police. We must act with haste and surety if we are to recover her," he further explained. He stepped lively after Armel recomposed himself, taking long strides so as to make it quickly to the elevator. "She was apprehended exiting the apartment; I do not know if she was seen in the process or merely in the vicinity, and the authorities are not likely to reveal the truth to us."
Tybalt brought the elevator down to the main deck with Armel in tow, then marched his way forth from it towards the ramp which led to the city. "This is a proper fiasco, the first of its kind. Her freedom lies in our hands. Let us prevail."
-----
The sun rose upon Manhattan and still the men had not yet returned with Karolin. Hours passed, leaving the ship in mild disarray. Tybalt had not appeared for rehearsals, nor was he present at the galley's dining table for breakfast. His guiding hand had, for the briefest of moments, disappeared, for the first time in many years.
And then, finally, by midday, the two arrived back at the ship, not having slept through the eve, the morning, nor the afternoon.
Worse yet, they remained alone.
Tybalt, dragging his feet, re-entered with a gait like a shambler, clutching what looked like reams of paperwork and legal documentation under his arm. He did not say a word, but disappeared once more into the elevator, looking wholly drained of color.
The circus would find him missing from the table for lunch and supper as well.