The Thief

It is a curious thing that we do when we glorify certain individuals, who do not work within the rules of polite society and would ordinarily be met with disdain, merely because they have a distinct character, or are noteworthy for their expert skill-set.

The “Gentleman” Thief known only as ‘The Ghost’ was one such character, although, from many accounts he was far from anything that one might consider a true gentleman.

His exploits, and, it must be said, exceptional skills in stealing things that might generally be considered un-stealable, had made him the talk of the town. They called him a modern day Robin Hood, although he was more interested in stealing from the rich to amuse the poor, rather than give to them. The high-rollers feared for their belongings and locked themselves away in their ivory towers while the police ran rings around themselves in an effort to bring him to justice.

In the shadows though, where the less savoury sorts are to be found, the Ghost was well known, and through a convoluted game of knowing someone who knows someone, and assuming you had enough coin to make it worth his while, could be found and hired for his specialist skills.

It was these skills which were sought by Aristotle Whyte, a distinguished gentleman, and one well respected by finer society. Whyte was in an unusual position as he had been victim to The Ghost himself, but had, like many, simply had to applaud the audacity and skill of the man, even if it had cost him a precious heirloom to do so.

The Ghost was not used to facing past ‘clients’ and apologised to Whyte, using the excuse that he was hired to steal the item and that it was nothing personal.

No matter, Whyte had said. It was a terrible ugly piece after all, and, truth be told, he was glad to be rid of it. However, it was worth considerable money and, as payback, The Ghost could do a job for him that would benefit them both.

Seeing no other way out of the awkward situation that did not involve resorting to violence, The Ghost agreed, and, curiosity peaked, asked for further information.

The item that Whyte sought was an ornate blade, known as Grdh and believed to have belonged to, and been used by, the infamous Jack the Ripper. These were just one of several curiosities which were purported to lie in the vaults of the city’s ornate library. The vault's whereabouts were known only to the secretive Folio Society, a Masonic-like group who, if rumour be true, had many such vaults secreted around the country.

Whyte, being a well-read gentleman, and oft-purveyor of the library, suggested that The Ghost accompany him on his next visit, whereupon The Ghost might, under the guise of being his guest, search the library for clues as to the whereabouts of the hidden vault. The Ghost agreed, noting that finding entry to a hidden vault would no doubt be easier than entry into the Folio Society - members of which he had stolen for in the past, although he was unaware of this fact. The following afternoon was when their plan began to take shape.

Whyte watched with fascination as The Ghost (real name still unknown) moved into thief mode almost immediately, and began to, if using the proper vernacular, case the joint. He started with a casual lap of the library - no mean feat as it is a sizeable room, especially when one includes the numerous separate chambers which hold the more esoteric titles. The Ghost was more interested in the patrons of the library though, than the books, and was making mental notes of their comings and goings. Whyte, trailing alongside - to keep up appearances, tried to figure out The Ghost’s intent but soon gave up. Most fascinating of all to Whyte was when The Ghost walked slowly, and methodically from one side of the vast library to the other. To the casual observer he was merely taking in his surroundings and perusing the books. It was only when Whyte attempted to engage him in quiet conversation that The Ghost raised a finger to shush him. Clearly he was focusing on something and did not want disturbed. Whyte decided to take the opportunity to pick up a couple of titles that had caught his eye since he was clearly of little use as far as thieving skills went.

He had just chosen his books when The Ghost sidled up and announced that he had one last thing to check but he was done with the interior for now. Whyte, no further forward, checked out his books and then met up with The Ghost outside, where he found him, once again, methodically walking the length of the building. It was clear that he was deep in concentration so Whyte parked himself on a nearby bench and, in order to pass the time, began to read.

He was partway through a chapter when The Ghost appeared and sat down beside him. Whyte marked his page and gave his guest his full attention. ‘I believe,’ The Ghost said, ‘if my measurements are correct that the vaults, if they exist, must lie underneath the library.’

‘Measurements?’

‘Yes, by counting my steps inside and out, and taking into consideration the placement of windows etc, I could determine where any extra rooms might lie, but all the space is accounted for. The only anomaly is near the rear corner of the building which, I suspect, may hold a stairwell. At least two people disappeared into that area while we were there and never returned. Since there is nothing observable in that area, I concluded that they must have been able to move somewhere we cannot see.’

‘Under the library?’

‘That would be my guess.’

‘And you believe you can access it?’

The Ghost merely smiled the smile of a man very sure of his abilities.

***

Under cover of night, The Ghost returned to the library. Security was mostly non-existent. The Ghost was surprised that anyone had even bothered to lock up; the wealth of knowledge clearly not worth as much as the wealth of material goods. He made his way through the shadows to the far corner where he suspected he would find the entrance to the vaults, but, if it was there, it was not making itself obvious.

Recalling his earlier observations he retraced the steps of those he had watched disappear this way, only to be faced with a blank stone wall. Undeterred, The Ghost set to work doing what he does best and looked for keys to locked doors. Even with the limited moonlight filtering through the windows he could see that scuff marks from shoes gathered in greater number at a certain point. Standing in the same area The Ghost used one of his great tricks: a licked finger. Yes, you may, like I, assume that a thief of such renown would have at his disposal a toolbox of fascinating expert items but, in this case, he merely licked his finger and moved it gently around in front of him until a cool draft revealed itself.

It was enough to tell The Ghost that he had found a hidden door- the breeze finding its way through a well-disguised edge. He traced this edge until he found a stone that seemed slightly out of place, and applied pressure to it. A gentle click came from somewhere in the wall, and a door opened before him. The mechanism must have been one of great engineering as it moved with grace, and, befitting a library, only the lightest of sounds. The faint moonlight caught the edges of stone steps spiralling downwards into darkness. The Ghost allowed himself a self-satisfied smile before moving through the doorway and beginning his descent.

The moment of happiness was short-lived as the door closed as silently as it had opened, plunging him into an ocean of darkness. For a man so used to moving in the shadows this sudden loss of his most important sense brought on a surprising moment of panic. Usually so sure of himself, he was now suddenly unsure where his foot was going to land, if it were going to land at all. He tentatively stepped forwards, genuinely fighting against the thought that his foot was going to keep dropping and plunge him forwards into an endless void.

It landed on stone.

As did the next foot, and the one after until, after what felt like an age, he stumbled slightly upon reaching level ground. He took a moment to slow his heart rate and feel around himself for supporting walls. He found them close to hand. He was now clearly in a corridor. The walls were cold, damp stone, telling him he was now deep under the library. Ahead of him, some distance away was the faintest of flickering lights. He waited a moment to make sure it wasn't moving towards him, before continuing onwards.

Each step was still tentative into the darkness but the flickering light was a comfort and soon revealed itself, upon a sharp left turn, to be a candle mounted on a wall. The return of his sight was a relief and he could see this next stone corridor stretch out before him as far as the single candlelight could reach. The candle holder unnerved him though for it was in the uncannily realistic shape of a hand holding a dagger (the candle sited in the base of the hilt, the blade pointing to the floor), as though someone were reaching through the wall to stab him. His expert eye lingered on the dagger, as it was a work of expert craftsmanship and inlaid with several jewels, and as such, well worth taking upon his return.

He continued onwards, constantly turning left and guided by the next flickering, unnerving candle, all of which seemed to get closer the further he travelled, leading him to conclude that he was moving down and around as if inside an inverted pyramid. Self-doubt was never an affliction that had troubled the ghost in the past but here he began to feel like a mouse trapped in a maze. His only exit was now a long way behind him, and if anyone had followed?

He shook off the thought and continued on. Left turn followed left turn with tedious predictability, so, it was with considerable surprise that upon turning a new corner The Ghost found himself in a vast chamber. It took him a moment to adjust and take in the sight. The chamber stretched upwards and outwards, clarifying the inverted pyramid thought. In the middle of the room was a stone altar surrounded by a dozen people in elaborate flowing garbs, wearing emotionless masks. They turned in unison to look at him. The Ghost turned to flee but was stopped as his arms were grabbed by two figures standing either side of him, whom he had failed to notice. An expert thief he may be, but a fighter he was not, and though he struggled valiantly the two figures, staring through their own emotionless masks, dragged him with ease towards the altar.

‘Finally,’ said the figure standing at the head of the altar, ‘our guest of honour has arrived.’ Upon which note he removed his mask, revealing himself to be none other than Aristotle Whyte.

Too paralysed with fear to fully comprehend this latest revelation, The Ghost simply submitted to his fate. He was manhandled onto the altar whereupon the surrounding figures moved in and held him down. Whyte produced an ornate blade from his robes, which, The Ghost noted, was similar to the candle holders he had observed earlier, and had planned to steal on his way out. The thought made him laugh as he realised he was not leaving this room alive and his desire to steal such an item, any item, was now utterly meaningless.

‘The blade of Grdh,’ Whyte said, holding said blade out so his guest could observe it. ‘You found it. Just in case you were curious.’

The Ghost wasn't listening. He stared past the blade up into the darkness above him. The geography of the room, expanding upwards and outwards layer by layer was suddenly quite mesmerising. So much so that it was only the sudden pressure upon his chest that clued him into his imminent demise. The endless dark void above him came down to meet him, and he took its hand.

It is rather fitting, I felt, that ‘Grdh’ translates roughly as ‘greed’. The Folio Society as a whole agreed that sacrificing such a character as The Ghost upon an altar of greed was too good to pass up. It is not the blade's only point of interest however, as it also has the uncanny ability to transfer the thoughts of the victim to its wielder, which is how, dear reader, I am able to recount much of the tale you have just read.