Two children skittered through darkened streets on their way to steal a treasure. In the dead of night, beneath a glittering sky, they raced through alleys in dark green hoods. Towards The Wall and under the gate, into the elven district where they really didn’t belong, a young boy and a younger girl flung themselves behind a bush. They clutched the grass beneath them, hearts pounding, cheeks burning, as their fingers dug deep into dirt and dew. The girl held a tiny saw.

The boy took a deep breath. He counted to three and looked up over the bushes, which made the little girl panic. She yanked his head down, shoved it straight into the mud on accident, and then smacked him on purpose. Then she grew more embarrassed than she’d ever been in her life, dropped the saw, and covered her face with her hands.

The boy lifted his face from the mud. He shot her a glare and rubbed his bruised forehead.

She peeked out through her fingers and mouthed an apology.

He sighed and wiped off the mud. Then, feeling empathetic, he set a hand on her shoulder and gave her a determined grin.

That made her feel better. She took in a breath, slapped her cheeks, and nodded. Together, the two lifted their heads.

A starlit night over the Elven District—a beautiful, moonless sky. The gentle lull of ocean waves swept high over rooftops. The scent of salt lingered on the breeze. Twenty yards ahead, on one side of a red brick road, a tall streetlamp burned brightly with a brilliant orange flame. The lantern swayed in the breeze, rocking gently on an iron hook, casting light over green hedges, red brick, and glimmering glass.

Past the lamp, up snug against The Wall, sat a red brick building with a curved wooden roof.  It stood neat and proper on a small patch of grass with two oak trees beside it: the first red building in a row of sixteen. Two round windows and a dark walnut door adorned its face, and hanging from the eaves swung a beautifully carved sign bearing a needle and thread. On the closest side sat two square windows, one stacked atop the other. Great glass panes with three hinges each, they opened like shutters outwards into the night. Candlelight spilled from within.

The boy grinned wide. He watched the window with fiery eyes.

The shutters closed. The candles inside flickered out.

The girl yanked her partner’s cloak, slamming his head into the dirt. She made herself small and pulled up her green hood, peering through the space in the branches.

The boy reared up from the mud. He opened his mouth to shout a few strong obscenities.

The girl shushed him. Shrilly.

The walnut door opened.

Out from the shop stepped three chattering elves—tall and merry with dark hair and smiling faces. They continued a hearty chuckle about some strange thing or other before one drew a ring a keys from his pocket. He locked up the shop, tugged on the door for good measure, and turned to leave with his companions.

The girl sneezed.

The boy turned in disbelief.

With an awkward pause, the elves stopped moving, turning an ear to the breeze. They looked about the street, from the lamppost to the Wall, and finally towards the bushes on the other side of the road. The lantern creaked on its hook.

One elf took a step towards the bushes.

The girl sucked in a breath. She cupped her hands hard over her mouth, then pulled her hood deeper. When neither of those things made her turn invisible, she shoved her foot against the ground and prepared to sprint off like a rabbit.

The boy snatched her wrist.

With a finger over his lips he pulled her back into the bushes, setting a hand on her shoulder. They crouched down to the earth, moved the branches over their bodies, and covered the rest with their cloaks. Then they held their breath and waited.

The elf looked down into the bushes.

Only shadows, or so he thought.

His expressions softened, and the elf began to laugh. He made some remark to his companions on the trickery of the breeze, then complimented the stars hanging in the sky that night. They set off down the road conversing happily amongst themselves, and disappeared.

The children let out a pair of ragged breaths.

“I’m sorry!” the girl blurted out. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the boy said. “We’re fine, calm down.” Then he put a hand on her head and rocked it gently back and forth. It made her smile.

“I think that’s the worst of it,” the boy continued. “We’re in the clear now.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. Together they glanced through the leaves. With no one left on the brick-paved road, they had a clear shot to the building: to a shadowed corner where a pair of oak trees grew surrounded by a little hedge.

“Okay…” the boy whispered. He held up five fingers. Four, three, two…

The children rushed out from the bushes, dashing straight across the road. They jumped beneath the lantern, dover over the hedge, and ducked to their bellies behind the oak trees…

…or the boy did. The girl tripped twenty paces back and fell flat on her face beneath the lamppost.

The boy’s stomach lurched. He leapt out from the bushes, snatched her up, and dragged her behind the trees. There he waited for consequences.

None came.
The little girl collapsed into tears.

“Forget it!” she whispered, rubbing her cheeks and nose. “I hate this. I’m done. No treasure is worth this, I can’t believe you tricked me into coming.”

The boy raised an eyebrow.

“Rhiley, you literally threatened me to let you come,” he said.

“You can’t prove that,” she mumbled, wiping away a tear. “Or are you saying you can remember perfectly everything I’ve ever said in all of history?”

“If you don’t let me come, I’ll tell mom I caught you sneaking out,” the boy repeated from earlier.

“Who said that?” the girl asked. “Are you saying it was me? When I’ve never threatened you even once in your whole life?”

“If you don’t clean my half of the kitchen, I’ll tell mom you broke the vase by the door. That was yesterday, Rhiley. You literally threatened me yesterday.”

“What kind of terrible person would blackmail you like that? You should tell her to go home.”

“Skies above, just hush.”

The boy stuck his head out from behind the tree, surveying the quiet streets. When everything looked as quiet and still as it could get, he moved to the building’s window, cupped his hands over the glass, and peered inside.

The whole of the shop lay quiet and still: no lanterns, no candles, no lights. Rows upon rows of free-standing shelves held bolts of cloth and folded fabrics. Rugs, tunics, trousers, robes, and cloaks lay draped over mannequins or piled into cabinets: all elven made, all blue and orange and copper and purple and red, trimmed with gold and silver. Some with buttons, others big brass buckles, and others still woven tassels and ties. Then, tucked away in a corner stood a big stuffed mannequin draped beneath a long, deep, crimson hooded.

The boy grinned from ear to ear.

The girl yanked him down into the bushes. His forehead smashed into the dirt.

“Damnit, Rhiley, three times!”

“Shh!” she hushed.

Two elves walked up from the seaside, laughing and chattering in the night. The boy lifted his bruised forehead and watched them pause.

“Oh,” one said. He reached down and picked up a small, jagged hand saw from the brick road.

The boy pursed his lips. He looked down at his sidekick.

She stared, embarrassed to tears, and pulled her hood down over her face.

The elf made some remark or other before lifting the hacksaw and placing it into a satchel at her side. Then the two left.

The little girl hung her head.

“I hate this,” she mumbled. “I hate this so much.”

The boy sighed and scratched his head. He looked to the window, towards a tiny gap between the shutters where a wooden pull lock linked the two. It might have given way, were it sawed in half.

“I don’t want to go on an adventure anymore, Xeno.”

“Come on, Rhiley, don’t say that.”

“Don’t ‘come on, Rhiley’ me. I take it back, I’m sorry. I won’t tell mom, lets just go home.”

“We’re already here.”

“Let’s be here at home instead.”

“I’m not leaving. We made it past the gate, we dodged those stupid elves—we made it. We’re gonna’ get what we came for, or die trying.”

“Die? What do you mean die? Why would you say that? Why would you use those words?”

“Please just hush.”

The boy looked back towards the window. He reached out and tried to pull out the panes, knowing full well it wouldn’t work.

The shutters didn’t budge.

He sighed, placing a finger through the gap to fidget with the wooden dowel.

It moved back and forth behind the glass.

“Well, that’s it then. Guess we have to go home,” the girl said and wiped her eyes.

“Skies above, shut up, Rhiley.”

“You’re so mean! It’s not like this is my fault. If you really think about it, it’s your fault for letting me come.”

The boy ignored her. His eyes swept the outside of the building, from The Wall to the thick branches above. He looked up at the second window and paused. There, high off the ground, the glass opened outwards just barely.

A way inside.

His heart went wild. The girl at his side followed his gaze and looked up.

“You can’t get up there,” she chirped. “You’d need a ladder, or a rope, or a rope ladder. Or a grappling hoo—”

“Rhiley, please just shut up for a second.”

“Rude, you are so rude to me. Has anyone ever told you in your whole life how absolutely rude you are?”

“Rhiley, you woke me up this morning with a bucket of dirty water. That your socks were in.”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, why would you bring that up?”

“It got in my mouth, Rhiley. Sock water got in my mouth.”

“Is it my fault you sleep with your mouth open? Are you saying I’m responsible for what you do when you sleep?”

The boy turned back to the window, staring upwards.

“We’ll have to get it opened all the way,” he muttered.

“How?”

He looked from the window to the oak tree beside, staring at the branches and leaves. Plenty near the window, thick enough to swing from maybe, but not wide enough to stand on. Then he looked towards the trunk bending up over The Wall. Then to the shop’s roof.

“I have a plan,” the boy said. “I think.”

“I have no confidence in it.”

He turned to his partner and looked her dead in the eye.

“I need your help.”

She pursed her lips.

“Don’t give me the look, Xeno. I don’t want to do this. I want to go home.”

“I can’t do it without you.”

“You’re doing the look. Stop it. Stop doing the look.”

“Please.”

The girl heaved a sigh. She dropped her eyes and balled her fists.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

The boy swelled with confidence.

“Follow me.”

He jumped up and caught an oak branch, pulled up his legs, hung upside-down, and wormed his way onto the branch. Then he reached a hand down.

“Don’t act like I can’t climb a tree,” the girl snapped. “Maybe I can’t do anything else, but I can climb a stupid tree.”

“Wow, okay, skies above—just come on.”

The girl reached up and gave a small leap. She awkwardly caught the branch. Then, with more effort than she’d hoped to exert, the girl struggled up into the oak tree.

“You’re right, that was way better than letting me help,” the boy said.

“Shut up, I did it, okay?”

“Good job.”

The two began to climb.

Four thick wooden arms branched out from the trunk, reaching up and over The Wall. The two scaled the tree, leapt down onto the stone, and dropped quick to their bellies. They crawled along, glancing once down towards the human side of the city and once down towards the elves’, before scurrying just beside the brick shop. They jumped down onto the roof of the building.

The girl looked over the rooftops towards the sea.

“Okay,” she said, as a puff of wind stroked her hair. “Actually, I like it up here. Maybe this isn’t so bad.”

With careful steps they moved around the slanted wooden roof, over to the side with the shutters.

The boy crouched down at the edge. He laid flat on his stomach, stuck his head over the eaves, and looked down at the window below.

The glass was unlocked, one pane opened slightly a few feet out from the eave: a way inside, if it could be reached.

The boy pulled himself up.

“I think I can swing inside.”

“Swing inside,” the girl repeated. “Like a monkey? That fits you.”

“Skies above, shut up, Rhiley.”

“Look I’m nervous, okay?” she muttered. “I’ve never been on an adventure before.”

“You’re doing great,” the boy said. He looked down over the eave again and reached an arm over the edge. He grasped at the shutters, stretching his fingers, and tried to fumble them open.

Too far to reach.

“Okay,” he said, pulling himself up. “Okay. Here’s the plan.”

The girl looked over intently.

“You come lay here on your stomach and reach down and pull those shutters open. I’ll hold your legs so you can get way over the edge and not fall.”

The little girl blinked.

“What?”

“I can’t reach it, but if I hold you while you reach over, you might be able to.”

Another few blinks.

“Okay,” she said. “So you want me, a small, breakable girl of ten summers, to dangle upside-down off a roof over the side of a two story building, where I could easily fall and snap my neck, to open a pair of stupid shutters so that you can then swing inside like a monkey, just so you can have some stupid hood? That’s your plan?”

“Right but I’m going to hold your legs so you don’t fall.”

“I’m going home.”

“Rhiley stop, get back here.”

“Nope. Nope! Nope, nope, nope.”

She jumped up from the roof and made her way back to the Wall. With a quick hop she snatched the stone with both hands and pulled herself up.

“I’m going home, your plan is dumb and you’re dumb.”

The boy glared back at her.

“Fine, go then,” he said. “Not like you’ve helped so far anyway.”

She whirled around with a glare.

Without another word the boy dropped to his stomach, leaning back over the eaves. He snapped a small branch off the nearby tree and waved it towards the window, trying to pry it open. Hand outstretched, straining his shoulder, he leaned far over the edge of the roof.

Then he began to slide.

Panic shot through his chest. The stick fell from his hands. He slid three inches down over the edge of the roof as he fumbled for something to grasp.

The girl caught him by the ankles.

“You’re the worst,” she hissed. “I hate you so much. You’re so heavy!”

The boy put a hand beneath the eave. He reached for the window, fumbled with the edge, and just barely pulled open the shutters.

“I got it!” he said. “Pull me up.”

“I can’t,” the girl moaned. “You’re too heavy.”

The boy jerked his head around. He snatched one of the oak tree’s branches.

“Let go,” he called back.

He shot suddenly forward. Over the edge of the roof, sliding flat on his belly, he pulled up his legs as the branch bent down. He shoved his boot against the sill of the window, reached beneath the eaves with a hand, and flung himself inside. Then he plummeted eight feet down straight into a stacked pile of cloth.

It scattered across the store in a plume.

The boy jerked to his feet. He swung an arm backwards for balance, and smacked one of the rows of standing shelves.

It toppled over. Then it hit the next in the row, and the next. Fabric and bolts toppled violently to the floor, scattering silk and wool and linen across the shop with a loud crash.

“Skies, stop breaking everything!” the little girl hissed. Then collapsed on the roof, panting. “Gods, my arms. How much do you weigh? Stop eating so much.”

“That’s a lot of lip considering I totally just nailed it,” he snapped back.

He watched her face peer over the eaves.

“You actually did it…”

He caught his breath, looked around the store, and tried not to break anything else.

“Go be lookout,” he called.

“On it.”

The boy’s heart raced. His eyes scanned the cabinets and shelves. Any bolt of colored wool might fetch two pouches of silver; a silk bolt doubly so. He ran a hand across the fabric, lifting some and wrapping it up, wondering how much he might conceivably make off with. Then he looked over at the crimson cowl.

It shimmered red and gold in the dark.

A frenzied tap came from the window.

The boy whirled around. His knuckles smacked a small cabinet on the wall, knocking it open and scattering its contents.

“Goddamnit Rhiley!” he hissed, fumbling with the shelf and shaking his throbbing hand.

“Xeno!”

“What?”

“They’re coming back!”

He froze.

Out the glass window, past the oak trees just before the lamppost, three elves walked back towards the shop. They passed beneath the lamp, joking merrily, and made their way towards the front door.

Every nerve in his legs went numb. He dropped to the floor and scooped up thread and thimble, shoving them back into the cabinet. Then he raced towards the fallen shelves and yanked one up. He threw a few bolts back onto it before glancing out of the round windows at the front.

The elves moved up the shop staircase and pulled out a ring of keys.

He spun around: he wouldn’t make it. They’d open the door, and he’d be caught. He spied a large standing cabinet, weighed his odds, and flung himself into it. Then he slammed the doors shut, curled up inside, and began to pray.

They’d see the mess for sure, even in the dark—they’d search for the thief. And when they found him—

“Umm, excuse me!”

The boy’s stomach lurched. He pushed open the cabinet doors and shot towards the window.

There, beneath the lamp post, courageous and exposed, stood his partner. She fumbled with her hands together, glanced down at the dirt, and twisted her fingers into a lock of gold hair. Then she took a deep breath and nearly shouted.

“Umm!” she shouted. “I know you’re busy, and I’m really sorry for being here, and I know you don’t like us very much, and you’re really scary, but I’m lost and could you please help me get back to my side of The Wall even though you don’t like us and probably don’t want to help me?”

The elves looked to each other. They glanced down towards the dirt and then back towards the girl—pitying, yet remarkably uncomfortable. They avoided her gaze and they shuffled their feet where they stood. One finally stepped forward and asked what on earth she was doing here this late. His voice sputtered, bumbling and nervous; as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her.

“I’m uh,” she mumbled. Her brow wrinkled and her face scrunched. Then she just couldn’t take it anymore and blurted out the first thing she could think of.

“I’m looking for my dog!” she shouted.

The boy blinked.

“He ran off, because he’s stupid, and reckless, and selfish, and terrible, and has no consideration for the situations he puts me in, and even though I told him not too, he ran off like a selfish, stupid, ugly dog. Because that’s what he is!”

Then she glanced at the dirt.

“But I like him, so I’m trying to find him anyway.”

The elves looked over awkwardly.

“I’m sure he’ll find his way home eventually,” she mumbled. “So could you please just help me find the gate back to my side?”

The elves gave a tentative nod and moved forward, choking out a few consoling words. One reached out to pat her on the shoulder, but couldn’t manage to. Then, moving wide around her like she might be deathly contagious, they beckoned her to follow along.

She cast one last glance towards the window before hurrying on behind. Slowly, the group disappeared down the road.

The boy raced through the store. He dashed towards the fallen shelves, wrenched them up, and shoved the bolts clumsily into place. He folded up the cloth, threw the bundles into a corner, and then bolted to the front of the store. There he snatched the red cowl from the mannequin. He threw it over his shoulders, pulled up the hood, and beamed. Then he lunged for the window, pulled out the pull-lock, and flung the shutters open wide.

He paused. The boy took a step back from the window. He turned around, glanced about the shop, and looked for something expensive that his partner might like. At the front, next to the door, hung a long elvish robe and a scarf. He plucked the pair from their hanger, sprinted back to the window, and leapt straight out into the bushes. Then he slammed the shutters closed and raced off into the night—

—with what would be his first spoils of many.