A Simple Heist

Dark clouds blotted out the stars with the threat of an imminent downpour as wind blew across dark streets. If not for the bobbing lanterns of the watch weaving through the streets the city would have appeared to be dead.

From the shadow of an alleyway, a figure leaned against the wall. The shadow stared hungrily at the manor house beyond the wall ahead and studied the hired badger thugs - armed with mean-looking spears - keeping watch outside the walls. 

The figure in the alley stepped forward a bit, the long lithe body concealed by the green cloak, her muzzle just barely poking out: A ferret’s. The creature tapped her claws against the alley. Any minute now. 

The ferret folded her arms and let a sound of disgust leave her muzzle as she waited. Soon, though, came the moment she was waiting for. 

A trio of wolf watchmen approached the gate, their armor clinking as they walked. She caught the sound of loud voices as the watchmen trading insults with the manor guards. The city watch distrusted private guards, and the hired guards thought the watch incompetent. A few rumors whispered in the right ears and she had the perfect distraction. 

“You louts are just dumb muscle! You got no business saying those things.”

“Piss off watchman, go eat another sweet roll!”

The ferret cackled. “Marvelous how fragile egos can be,” she thought.  

The arguments continued as the ferret sprinted for the wall and leapt, her claws found purchase and the nimble ferret scrambled up and over the wall, her metal grappling claws making little more than a slight scrabbling sound. Over the walls the ferret leapt and landed with a soft thud. She found herself in a garden. 

“Oh, so fancy,” the thief marveled to herself, running her paws over a large stone urn holding some kind of large flora. “Imagine having enough money to buy all these plants and then hiring people to maintain them.” 

The ferret had been in her line of work since a kit on the streets, and the things the wealthy bought - and how much they were willing to pay - never ceased to amaze her. 

For she was Farah the Thief, and thinking about wealth was part and parcel to the trade. 

Farah ventured further into the garden, eyes on the imposing windows of the manor house, even as the plants seemed to surround her. It made Farah think of a small slice of jungle right in the middle of the city. 

As she drew closer to the walls, Farah suddenly felt her foot jerked out from under her. With a yelp she fell to the ground as she felt herself being dragged across the ground. 

“You getting handsy with me?” Farah growled as she rolled over to her back to find, instead of a claw or paw, a long green vine. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Farah huffed. 

Looming before her was a large plant bulb lined with thorns, ichor dripping from its ‘mouth’ in anticipation of the yummy ferret treat it was about to consume. 

“Oh, hells no.” Farah exclaimed as she freed ‘Claw’ - her handaxe - from her belt. 

With a snarl the thief chopped the vine free of her ankle. The plant seemed to shudder as its bulb opened wider. 

“Time to prune!” Farah said as she hurled her axe into the gaping maw. There was a sickening pulpy squelch as her axe found its target. The plant writhed and twitched but made no sound, Farah then drew her shortsword ‘Fang’ and closed in, slashing away at anything that moved until things stopped moving. 

When she was done Farah felt sticky sweet sap matted against her fur and clothes, her weapons coated in the stuff. 

Farah caught her breath and smoothed her leather shirt. “Who keeps such plants? Why? Rich folk are so very strange!” 

After the scuffle with the carnivorous plant, Farah pressed on to the wall of the manor - carefully avoiding any vines covering the wall or ground - and made her way to the servant’s entrance: A small, unassuming door. 

Cracking her neck, Farah set to work on picking the lock and pushed the door open. Thankfully, the door was well-oiled and made no creak. The thief shut the door behind her and paused - listening and waiting as her eyes adjusted. Farah found herself in a kitchen area and promptly helped herself to an apple on the table before venturing further into the manor. 

Snores from the servants quarters filled the air - all of them blissfully unaware of the intruder among them. Deeper and deeper the ferret ventured, finding herself in the main hall within a few moments.There was, of course, a guard by the door: Another badger, pacing back and forth with a crossbow. Farah memorized his patterns and made her way closer to the large badger. 

A flick of her wrist and the ferret put a dart in his neck, which he promptly smacked. 

“Damn mosqui—!” the badger muttered as he felt his limbs go weak, the crossbow fell from his hands and he slumped against the wall. Farah smirked: the toxins would ensure he would be in a deep slumber for some time. She extracted the dart and continued on, hopefully if anyone came across the guard they would assume he was sleeping on the job.

Up the marble staircase Farah ran, pausing and checking for more guards every now and then until she came upon the room she sought: A darkened private library, dusty tomes and scrolls lined the walls. Books of poets, epics of great heroes, and plays of the masters. 

Farah had stolen plenty of books in her time, but this time it was different. She was after something entirely different. The ferret scanned the walls and then her eyes narrowed as she saw her prize. 

An oil painting depicting a coyote girl with a pearl stud in her ear and a blue turban atop her furry head. 

“Hmmph,” Farah scoffed.

Approaching the work of art she noted the ornate frame, it had to be made of gold. Why would anyone waste gold when wood worked just as well? 

“Rich folk are so very strange,” Farah thought to herself.

Checking the frame and the wall for any traps, the ferret carefully lifted the portrait from its place of honor. As much as she wanted to take the gold frame with her, Farah had to carefully undo the painting from its moorings on the back and carefully rolled it into her pack: She had to stay light. 

Farah looked up - footsteps - and scurried away behind a shelf as the doors banged open. The thief held her breath in anticipation. Had something given her away? Was a guard coming? 

The ferret glanced through a gap in the tomes to see a frazzled looking cat making his way through the library. 

“I just have to know,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Who wrote the origina—” His voice trailed off as he saw the frame on the floor. 

“Oh-oh dear! GUA—ACK!”

He was cut off as the dart found his shoulder and Farah leapt over his unconscious body and sprinted out of the library. She prayed to the god of thieves that she did not need to put another to sleep - she only had one good dart left. Exiting out the main entrance, past the sleeping guard, Farah felt the cool night air running through her fur as she made for the wall - wary of any other surprises. 

Her client was waiting for her at a seaside inn, one of the fancier ones. He had a suite overlooking the lapping waves of the Eastern Sea.

The well-dressed otter breathed a sigh of relief as Farah carefully unrolled the painting. ““Thank you! It’s just what I wanted!”

“Yeah,” Farah grunted, tired and dirty and wanting a warm bath. “You’re welcome. Money please.” 

The otter looked crestfallen as he handed over a pouch of gold. “Have you no appreciation for art? I’ve always fancied this painting. This painting… well, it speaks to me: It calls me by name.” 

“I’m sure.” Farah nodded. “You know what’s calling my name right now? Madame Veesus’ bathhouse - I’m still covered in sap.” 

The otter sighed and nodded: the poor and desperate were so strange, he thought. “Very well, thank you for your services. Perhaps you can steal another work of art for me again in the future?” 

Farah nodded. “Perhaps so. You recall how to contact me?” 

The otter nodded as he unrolled the piece onto the table. As she left she shook her head: why that painting was so sought after she didn’t know, but someone was willing to pay handsomely for it. 

“Rich folks are so strange,” Farah shrugged as she scampered into the night.