Manon
- Robyn Weightman
- Jan 29, 2020
- 7 min read
“How dare he? The sleazy damp cloth,” Manon hissed as she tied her belt, daggers rattling against her thighs.
She’d show him. Become engaged to that bitch just because she’d left. He’d find out why people feared her. How she had become the greatest thief in all of Koros.
Grabbing a length of leather Manon slicked her blonde hair back into a ponytail, making sure no stray strands could tickle her face. She took hold of her satchel, swinging it across her chest and over her shoulder before exiting the room. She skipped down the stairs, swinging around the bannister at the bottom.
Vo and Ko were there, sitting by the front door on watch. Manon smiled warmly.
“Hold the fort, I shouldn’t be too long.”
Vo and Ko rose from their seats, large muscles tightening.
“Why not we come?” Ko asked.
“Always go with,” Vo said.
Manon shook her head.
“Not this time. It’s a simple job and one I must do alone. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before morning.”
She tapped both brutes on the shoulder before passing and striding into the dark street. She loved those two numpties. Brother and sister, twins.
Heart lifted, Manon braced herself against the cold night. Her neck prickled with the chill of the wind and she hugged herself tightly. She wrapped the purple fabric of her thieving garb tighter around herself.
She slunk through the dark city of Koros. The streets were quiet except the odd bark of a dog or cry of a cat. Puddles had formed along the edge of the street from the rain the previous day. Though deep, they remained small enough for Manon to jump over. No need to get her feet wet.
Quickly the streets changed from skinny alleyways to wide avenues. Closed shops lined the paths on either side. Street lights became more frequent. Manon stuck to the shadows, clinging to the walls at the street edge. No one saw her. No one ever saw her.
Her heart pumped hard in her chest, she could see her destination. Turning a corner Manon entered the rich estates Virtia, the wealthiest area in all of Koros. She knew these streets well. She passed by Stoway’s, their front gate tightly locked and barred, then Fionn’s, Caraway’s, and Magon’s. Until at last, she reached his house. Diat’s. His gardens were well lit, small gas lamps lining the pathway to the front door. Front gates locked and barred.
‘No problem.’
Manon snuck around the side of the house. These idiots never wanted their land touching each other. They made nice little corridors between each residence. Perfect for thieves. Reaching into her satchel she pulled out her grapple and rope. It was the perfect size. Small and light for someone of her stature but greatly effective and nigh unbreakable. The top section of the rope was coated in metal to make it harder for anyone above to cut before the assailant had clambered over the wall. Swinging the grapple hook expertly, she flung it at the top of the gate. It latched on. Manon gave the rope a quick tug to check its sturdiness and began her climb, the muscles in her arms tightened with the effort.
Upon reaching the top she swung her leg over the other side, straddling the fence, mindful of its spikes. The metal stung against her thighs. Its cold surface penetrated the fabric of her trousers. She threw the rope down the other side of the fence, ready for her escape and then jumped into Diat’s garden.
The grass was soft beneath her feet, her slight heels sinking into its dirt. She’d have to shine her boots when she got back. Not too big a pain but a chore she could’ve done without.
Tiptoeing in the shadows Manon made her way towards the house, then crouched below a large window. If she remembered correctly, it would lead to the dining room.
Reaching once more into her satchel she retrieved a glass cutter and a sucker. Licking her fingers she dampened the suction cup and placed it on the top centre plain of glass. It stuck easily. She then carefully cut around the glass, the thin blade squealing only minimally as she worked.
She held tightly to the sucker. Once the glass had been cut the weight upon it intensified and she pulled the circular piece of glass away, leaving a nice hole into the room. Reaching carefully through the hole Manon reached round to find the lock. The hairs on her arm stood on edge as the heat from the room lingered upon her cold skin. The lock was well oiled and opened easily.
After pulling her hand free she slid the window open and climbed inside. The room was warm, the change causing her skin to tickle. She wanted to curl up next to the big fire, wrap herself in the thick blankets she knew would be waiting. Lie in the soft bed…
Shaking her head Manon refocused. She was here on a job. She would find some dirt on this bastard and share it with the world. Not think about the comfy lifestyle she could have enjoyed.
She crept through the house, careful of the creaking floorboards. Cautious not to trip on the over tasselled rugs. She went into the library, choosing a few books to fill her bag with. A woman needed to keep her mind occupied. After this she found the drawing-room, taking a few select pieces of silver and bottles of delicious wine.
Bag heavy and having found no incriminating activities downstairs, Manon made the assent upstairs. She avoided the centre of the stairs, aware that it would be the most creaky with its overuse. Painting upon painting hung along the landing. Rich men, fabulous women. All garbed in their most expensive pieces. Manon tutted, she was well rid of that world.
She crept along the landing, feet like a dancer, she crisscrossed along the wall. Her heart fluttered, she was unsure. She’d never been upstairs before. It wasn’t the done thing. Looking down the hallway door after door spread out before her. But which went where?
She didn’t want a bedroom, though she was certain she could find questionable items there, it was too risky. A bathroom, parlour, dressing room would be great. But which door?
She stood for a moment, racking her brains. Her heart thudded a little too rapidly and she inhaled deeply before exhaling, repeating the process a few times until her heart calmed. She could do this. Just pick a door. Gingerly, Manon selected a door at random and crept towards it.
“Huh humph.”
Manon froze. A door creaked open, light spilling from it.
‘Shit.’
Manon grabbed the door handle of the closest room and leapt inside, closing the door behind her. She could hear footsteps passing in the corridor. A man coughing under his breath. She exhaled slowly as his footsteps receded and turned to look in the room.
‘Bollocks.’
She was in a bedroom. A lump lay in bed, rising and falling with every breath. Whose room was it?
Manon toyed with the idea of leaving, risking the hallway. Perhaps that guy had found his destination, but perhaps he hadn’t. A door on the wall to her left, straight across from the bed, perhaps that would lead somewhere?
Tentatively, Manon crawled across the floor. Clothes were strewn across it, apparently, someone wasn’t very tidy. She stopped as silk brushed against her hand. Looking down, she could just make out its purple sheen in the moonlight. Her favourite colour, her favourite shirt. She was in his room.
A wicked smile crept across her face. She’d find dirt on him in here. Certainly. She dragged the silk shirt closer and stuffed it into her satchel. It was her favourite.
With a little more spring to her movements, Manon made her way to the door and crept inside. It was a bathroom. Closing the door behind her she stood up and relaxed a little. She crept over to the window and opened it. Like a well-behaved house, the drainpipe was nearby. She could shimmy on down it and over the gate in no time. Escape route planned. All she had to do was find some incriminating substance.
***
The sun streamed through the triangular attic window as Manon rolled over in her bed. The sound of footsteps and the luscious smell of warm bread heralded the beginning of the afternoon.
She smiled and sat up, stretching out her shoulders. Her muscles were a little tense from last night, perhaps due to the cold night air. A short massage and she’d feel all shiny and new.
“Morning, good,” Vo stated as she entered the room, a tray balanced in her hands laden with delicious breads and jams.
“Good morning, Vo. How’re you and your brother this morning?”
“Good, all good.” Vo smiled.
More loud footsteps signalled the arrival of Ko. He was carrying the day’s newspaper and a tray with three cups.
It had become routine now, though Manon wasn’t quite sure how. Shifting her purple silk shirt to a more comfortable wrap, she moved to the centre of the bed. Vo crawled in to sit on her right, the tray balanced on her knees, and Ko joined them on the left. It was warm in between them, a nice contrast to the cold room.
“Paper,” Ko stated, placing it across Manon’s lap. Then Vo handed her a plate with bread and strawberry jam upon it.
“Thank you both.”
She spread the newspaper out before her and took a delicious bite of her breakfast. Well satisfied with her nights work.
Disturbing News
Lord Diat is a pervert!
Anonymous tip-off and proof given to the Heraldy last night shows Diat’s collection of unseemly photos of ALL the young aristocratic women of the city.
‘Pervert.’
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