The Invention of Crime (an Autyre Novel)

The Invention of Crime

S.E. Batt

Copyright 2013 by S.E. Batt

Smashwords Edition

Contents

LEGAL MALARKEY

1. Copyright

THE INVENTION OF CRIME

1. Chapter One

2. Chapter Two

3. Chapter Three

4. Chapter Four

5. Chapter Five

6. Chapter Six

7. Chapter Seven

8. Chapter Eight

9. Chapter Nine

10. Chapter Ten

11. Chapter Eleven

12. Chapter Twelve

13. Chapter Thirteen

14. Chapter Fourteen

15. Chapter Fifteen

16. Chapter Sixteen

17. Chapter Seventeen

18. Chapter Eighteen

19. Chapter Nineteen

20. Chapter Twenty

21. Chapter Twenty One

22. Chapter Twenty Two

23. Chapter Twenty Three

24. Chapter Twenty Four

25. Chapter Twenty Five

26. Chapter Twenty Six

27. Chapter Twenty Seven

28. Chapter Twenty Eight

OTHER GUBBINS

1. Thanks

2. Other Works

3. An Excerpt From ‘A Hero Unto Death’

THE INVENTION OF CRIME

by S.E. Batt

CHAPTER ONE

~~~

Crime, as it generally goes, is a ridiculously simple thing to invent.

It starts with a feeling of possession, which could date back to when the cavemen of Autyre roamed the world. One caveman decided that the stone tool that they've just made should be with them until the day they die. Should Caveman Number Two want to use the tool, but find that its original owner is far too reluctant to donate such an advanced piece of technology to a nut-job trying to invent 'the wheel', the first thing to appear in his mind is the concept of borrowing from a friend, and conveniently forget about the 'friend' part. The tool is acquired with care while the owner is off beating a dinosaur across the head with a comically-sized club, the new owner using it for his own needs. Unlawful use has been invented.

Of course, the tool is a very nice tool. It has a good shape, the sharp bit stays sharp, and it created this round rock with a hole in the middle very amiably -- whatever the hell it's for. As he goes to place the tool back in its original spot, he realises the possibilities of tucking it within his sabre tooth tiger skin clothing and pretending that the tool was misplaced somehow. Theft has been invented.

While the other cavemen around the world were slowly discovering this brilliant concept of effortless gain, one pocket of people didn't seem to get the hint. Not that they were dumb, by any means; while other cavemen were tugging at each other's hair and yelling in developing languages about who took what mammoth tusk and why, this small pocket had already invented fire, and decided that the best use for it was to sit around it and sing primitive campfire songs with one another.

As time went on, so did civilisation as a whole, as they generally end up doing. Some people reckoned that crime was, in fact, very much their cup of tea, and that they'd like to make a living off of the skills that their ancestors had so mercifully donated. Some people stalked in dark alleys and grabbed people as they walked by, using the age-old and tested concept of the adversity to dying to acquire coins from their fellow man. Some people thought bollocks of the skulking part, instead choosing to bring the crime directly to their victim's literal front doors through break-ins and robberies. It was a lot more personal and better sheltered if it started raining, which was universally agreed as the number one spoiler of a good night's thieving. Some clever people invented the art of scamming, tapping into the vein of having the victim steal for you.

Lying, cheating, backstabbing and assault -- all of these developed over time into worryingly precise and detailed arts which made creepers of a lot of people. Others were hired to take care of these delinquents; while they would seek out evildoers by day, they would also lie, cheat, backstab and assault during the secret-holding properties of the night. In short, crime became a seductive activity for all, with everyone taking their own shots at the craft. Some even made it a family activity. It kept the kids occupied, by any rate.

Everyone but one town, that is.

Crystal Lake Town was unique. A tourist visiting the town would struggle to come to terms with the abnormality, meeting face-to-face with the nicest and most inviting culture shock they've ever had. The pubs and bars, usually home to parties of adventurers and almost-spontaneous fights, were filled with smiling faces that wouldn't punch a man if he asked. The dark and dank alleys, a tourist warning sign to pickpockets and muggers, instead featured little old ladies with a broom, some soap, and several apologies that she let the alley get as dark and dank as it got, threatening the tourist with a lengthy conversation about how busy her schedule is these days. The tourist would find themselves feeling very silly indeed when purchasing an item using coins hidden in their shoe, given that everyone and anyone that lived in Crystal Lake Town wore their bulging money pouches on their sides, in plain sight. Ridiculous idea to put them in places where they're hard to grab, they'd say. Much easier to give the tenth spontaneous donation of the day when the money bag is right by your side.

Of course, there is one flaw with this description, and that is that it implies that Crystal Lake Town has any visitors at all. The forest that surrounds it on all sides acted almost as a gift from the gods of nature, as if to protect these naive and golden-hearted souls from the evils that lurked outside. The forest carried a defence mechanism against all those that dared to probe its depths, by having an aura to it that strikes the feeling of 'you know what, on second thought, I can't be arsed' in the hearts potential explorers. Even the finest cartographers had to obey its command, placing a large empty blob on the map and writing 'sod it' in the centre whenever the forest appeared. Every time one of the hapless, fragile town-folk start thinking about trading outside of the town, the forest was quick to supply the denizen with whatever they needed, stopping what the forest saw as a trade between a child and a crocodile.

Three people, however, had managed to penetrate the defences. The forest watched nervously as the strangers entered its domain, looking at a strange glowing orb that seemed to be telling them where to go. They were far too engrossed in it for the defences to work, their sense of not being bothered completely inhibited by their entranced staring at the orb. It was so bad, one of them would stumble over an easy-to-see rock or root, with one even slamming face-first into a tree trunk. Its only line of defence compromised, all the forest could do was hope that these were very nice people who enjoyed a mug of tea and friendly banter.

The forest would have been a little less hopeful if it knew what a band of thieves looked like.

CHAPTER TWO

~~~

Just admit it, Archibald said. He had an appearance about him that stated 'I told you so', despite the fact that he wished that the problem didn't exist in the first place. The stupid thing is broken.

No. Hold on a minute. Dudley held out a hefty hand as he peered into the orb in the other. We're nearly there.

Phillip watched the commotion in silence as they trudged forth. He didn't feel especially qualified to delve into the matters of two professional thieves, especially given that they knew how good they were. After all, Phillip was the one that approached them with a request to become a 'volunteer thief' to help boost his work experience and get a job at a higher-up, more reputable gang of crooks and peddlers. As far as pecking order went, he was still a chick blundering out of an egg.

One thing he had learnt in the month he'd been with the pair is that you cannot take your eyes off either of them, which was problematic to say the least. Archibald, being the older and more lanky of the three, would not be seen visiting the local brothel or engaging in a good drink, calling such things 'a waste of the human soul; a degeneration of what separates the man from the ape'. He would bring his razor-sharp philosophies into all things; the method of theft, the engagement of outside parties, and the ingredients in his poisons. 'If you're going to kill a man with a drop in the drink or a knife in the gut,' he'd say, coating his dagger with the substance, 'you might as well give the poor soul a chance to feel it. Just not fair, otherwise'. He was the most likely to dish out a vicious backhand, a stabbing glare, or a dismissive 'hmph' in your general direction.

Of course, watching Archibald closely meant you had two eyes less than what you needed to keep track of Dudley. While Archibald crept from the shadows, grinning like a Cheshire cat as his victims sat unaware of his approach, Dudley was the one who would barrel through the front door and punch the first man who looked at him funny. The Thieves Guild didn't take too kindly towards a man who didn't see the point of 'all that sneaking and stuff, just whack the sod', but his big frame and wrestler-sized muscles secured his position in any argument. While the thieves generally wore a black face mask to go with their black leather armour and trousers, Dudley found that wearing a piece of cloth around his mouth got in the way when he went to bite his victim's ear off. Realising its importance to mask his identity, he took to using the mask upside-down, hiding the other half of his face. It gave him free reign of his gnashers, but required weeks of practice to fight, steal, and do night operations with a mask over his eyes. Phillip always got a laugh (from a distance, of course) from thieves who thought they could pull funny faces and make rude gestures, thinking Dudley couldn't see them. In fact, Dudley sometimes had better sight than Phillip, which comes in great handy when scouting police, finding hidden stashes, and punching thieves making funny faces and rude gestures.

Look here, Archibald said. You purchased that useless trinket at the market, and now you've gone and sunken us into even further trouble. I don't even know where I am. Archibald cranked his head around, his pointed nose looking like a compass. Where on earth are we?

Dunno, Dudley said, giving the orb a small shake. Of course, a small shake from a tank such as Dudley meant that the orb looked like it was ready to break apart from wind resistance alone. It says we're almost there.

Truly? What a rotten thing. You seeing this, Phillip? You seeing this failing of a thief in the line of duty?

Yes, sir, Phillip said. I'm seeing it.

Do you agree that it's a failing?

Well... Phillip eyed the heavy frame of Dudley. Six, maybe seven broken bones in one punch? I'm sure it'll work in the end, right?

Right. That's what I keep sayin', but this spindly sod is having none of it. Oi, little woman. Dudley gave the orb another hefty shake. Where we at?

Phillip peered inside the orb, waiting for an answer. Inside of the see-through orb was a tiny female pixie. She would usually be wearing an equally-miniature pair of glasses if they hadn't just been shaken off of her face like a deck of cards in an earthquake. Let me do another calculation, she said, returning the glasses to her face. She reached out to one of the miniature books that sat all around her, accompanying the maps and compasses that were spread haphazardly in the orb. She flicked through the pages, muttering words such as 'take a left on Dragon Way' and 'first right on the roundabout', before closing the book with a triumphant snap. You've reached your destination, she said in a cheerful voice totally unfitting for their situation.

What? What do you mean, 'our destination'? Archibald snatched the orb from Dudley, who looked like a dog whose favourite toy had been taken from it. This isn't our destination, you insufferable dolt. I told you specifically to take us to King's Reach.

Yes, and this is it. This is King's Reach.

"King's Reach is a city."

Oh. Well I don't bloody know. The pixie threw her arms up in surrender. All I know is that it's supposed to be here.

Useless bloody thing. With a wail from Dudley, Archibald brought the orb over his head and threw it against the rock, spilling the contents within. The pixie tumbled out, rolling through the grass before coming to a stop. Where she rested, a brief flash of light appeared. The pixie rose into the air, her new pair of wings glittering in the cool forest air.

Good bloody luck getting back out, that's all I'll say, she said, in-between collecting scattered books and maps into her arms. Thanks for the freedom, though. Good to be back out in the air and not in some clod's hands. With a burst of pixie dust, she flew off like an arrow into the air, leaving a shimmering trail behind her.

Dudley's bottom lip was quivering.

She called me a clod, didn't she? he said, pointing a shaking finger to himself. It was me she meant.

Archibald gave a hoarse sigh. No, Dudley, she didn't mean you. The mean, nasty pixie didn't mean you. I guess she was...talking about me. Even Phillip knew the disaster of letting Dudley cry. His heart was as big as his fists; easily to seduce as it was to break in half and discard the remains in pig slop. As soon as the waterworks turned on, it took a lot of baby-words and cooing to get him to calm himself, a tactic Phillip had to learn first-hand while burglarising a noble's house in the dead of night and Archibald calling Dudley a fool.

It's alright, Phillip said, resting a hand on one of the cliff-edges of Dudley's shoulders. I'm sure we can get a new one. Maybe King's Reach will have a market for trinkets.

Book says it doesn't. Dudley was referring to the bestseller in the Thieves Guild, 101 Places to Loot Before You Die, where he got to 67 before being caught by a nomadic civilisation that punished theft by removal of hands, at which point writing any kind of book became a spot of trouble. Just boring armour and weapons and other stuff.

Not true, said the townswoman. We have bread.

Yes, but what value is bread? Archibald said. Bread is bread, a mere foodstuff for the poor and the animals. We have no desire for bags full of bread.

We have nice gems, too. We sometimes find them in the dirt. They look nice after we make them all shiny.

Unless they're enchanted, cursed, or some other mystical and price-hiking property, we're unlikely to give them a second chance. Apologies.

Maybe if they're really well-cut, Phillip said, they might have good value.

Our little 'establishment' is up to its eyeballs with 'well-cut' gems, Archibald said. Only the truly exquisite will be able to cut above the rest.

Oh, I see. I don't think we have any of them, the townswoman said.

Then why do you still waste our time?

Oh, sorry sir. I'll get heading back to town straightaway. With a small bow, the townswoman trudged through the forest.

'Make them all shiny', she says, Archibald repeated to himself, with a tut at the end. Honestly, now. What kind of person would be totally content with making a gem 'shiny'? I could do that with a handkerchief and a globule of spit.

Shame they weren't enchanted, Dudley said. I like the enchanted ones.

Yes, well. As soon as we get out of this forest, we can do a hit on whatever town is nearby. First, though, there's the problem of this forest.

Yup. Dudley nodded

With no clue as to where to go.

Dudley nodded a second time. Sounds about right.

And a penny just dropped in my mind, and I don't know why.

Funny you should say that. Mine did too.

Archibald scratched his head. He rubbed his chin, he tapped his foot, and made a small 'hmm'. Finally, he locked up in what appeared to be a sudden dose of shock before turning towards where the townswoman went and running at full pelt.

Yes? What is it? the townswoman said, after her attention had been grabbed by two men and a young male hollering at the top of their voices in desperation.

You have to direct us to the town that you talk about, Archibald said between pants. We want access to your town.

But I thought you hated bread and gems.

Yes, but... Archibald began to flail his hands in a circular motion, a symbol that his best laid plans had just returned to bite him.

I don't, Phillip said. I love them. Not a day goes by where I don't eat bread or look at gems.

Even ones that 'aren't special'?

Especially. They have a...normalness to them that can't be rivalled. Please, you must take me to your bread and gem market. I am all out of both.

Deary me. That does sound like a spot of bother, doesn't it? Well, come along with me then. We very rarely get visitors, but I'm sure the townspeople will be happy to sell you the finest bread and gems we have on sale.

Thank you, Phillip said, omitting the correction that any purchase the three would make today would be made with the currency of quick hands, big cloaks and a healthy dose of adrenaline.

The trio followed the lady through the forest. She was so adept at it, Phillip believed he could put a blindfold on her and she'd still be able to walk into her own home with the utmost confidence that the man she just kissed was her husband. The other two -- one rife with embarrassment due to his earlier mistake, the other somewhat shy around ladies -- shuffled behind as Phillip spoke to her about where she came from. She said that, while she didn't know of any city named after royalty stretching to grab something, she herself came from a very nice place called Crystal Lake Town, and that it had lots of bread and a few gems on the market, so he had nothing to worry about.

One thing that confuses me, though, Phillip said. I notice that you went out hunting, but had no armour or weapons on you. Why is that?

Hunting? Oh, you mean the act of killing animals? No, I don't do that. I'm out gathering.

Gathering? Without tools or any means to protect yourself?

Why would you need tools? All you need to do is stand under an apple tree, like this one. Then, all you have to do is say 'Oh, gee, I really wish I had an apple about now. I suppose I should leave the woods to find some'. On cue, an apple dropped into her outstretched hand. Is this not how everyone gathers food?

Phillip opened his mouth to speak, but didn't manage to formulate any words before he was shunted out of the way by a greed-fuelled Archibald. I must try this immediately, he said, standing in place of the townswoman. Tree, you will surrender to me your fruits or I'll make a dagger hilt of your bark. The tree showed it's appreciation to the newcomer by 'missing' his opened hand, the apple rebounding off of his head.

It even works for animals, as well. Any kind of meat you like, you can summon with a simple declaration of desire. It's really quite nice.

Really? Dudley said. I've been killin' for a steak since we left the last town.

It wasn't the moo itself that had an eerie property; what made it weird was the mental image of a cow in a forest. Despite rubbing his eyes, Phillip could not stop seeing the black and white beast idle up to the party, bending down to tear up grass with its teeth. It chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, gave a contented moo, and fell over onto its back with a hefty thump, its legs pointing rigid into the