A guide by Magnus Varro

‍Rule 1: Know the landscape  
Rule 2: Get your timing right
Rule 3: Know what you’re stealing
Rule 4: Have an escape route
Rule 5: Trust no one, it’s best to work alone
Rule 6: Lookout for mercenaries and guards
Rule 7: Bring small tools and weapons with you
Rule 8: Do not rob people; only cargo
Rule 9: Know when to run (humiliation is not worse than death)
Rule 10: Don’t get caught

Cold stone was rough against Lei’s hand as he gripped the grooves of the block in the aqueduct. Twenty metres in the air, wind whipped past his ears. His masquerade mask slightly skewed the edges of his vision. Cogs and gears were carved into the gold and copper alloy. The mask sat cold and uncomfortable against his skin.

Below him grass fields painted the vast terrain various shades of green. He followed the horizon line beyond the rolling hills into the city. It was so much smaller from up there. More insignificant.

With steady hands, he hauled himself up, block by block. Despite his linen tunic disguising him against the warm-coloured stone, his black hair that sat in a bun may as well have cast a spotlight on him. He stopped climbing and glanced at his watch. Time seemed to laugh at him with how slow the seconds ticked by. It needed to hurry up.

‍Rule 2: Get your timing right.
‍The cargo would be arriving in three minutes. A burn seared through his forearms as he held on to the blocks. He always knew he was close to the top when the smell of the freshwater spilled along the sides of the channel. Water ran smoothly along the stone, a soft sound, reminiscent of the rivers he grew up with. He allowed himself a moment to close his eyes and remember. But only a moment. He had a job to finish.

‍Rule 7: Bring small tools and weapons with you.
‍He plucked a metal piton from the leather satchel attached to his belt, and carefully placed it in the grooves of the rocks in front of him. He scaled up to the peak of the structure before swiftly kicking the peg in and placing his foot on it. Slowly, he raised his head just enough so that his eyes peered over the rocks, and he surveyed the long aqueduct.

‍Rule 6: Lookout for mercenaries and aqueduct guards.
‍Movement in the distance captured his attention. Two mercenaries sat on a raft with the cargo floating down the channel; their obnoxious laughter boomed, a warning for those who may be loitering nearby. Families in the mountains rarely hired guards to monitor their shipments, but there was no mistaking them. Their emerald trousers contrasted their tucked lavender shirts with billowing sleeves cinched at the wrists. Curly, blonde hair spiralled in all directions from one of the guards. Her hands held the waist of her companion. He was a Nesari. Pale blue and green hues reflected off his slightly scaly head in the sunlight and his webbed toes were outstretched bare on the raft. 

With one hand gripping the stone, Lei used the other to reach into his pocket and pull out a crumpled piece of paper, ripped at the edges. He folded it, so Rule 9 sat on top.

‍Rule 9: Know when to run (humiliation is not worse than death).
‍‘Humiliation is not worse than death,’ he recited, ‘easy for you to say Varro.’

What did he know? The guy died over twenty years ago. Granted, it was risky, and Lei knew the consequences of capture well. Shipment guards were trained pistoleers. One mistake and Lei was done. Still, Lei's employer needed that cargo and he’d already scaled a 30-metre wall.

Fuck running. That guide was due for an upgrade, anyway.

From his burlap sack, he retrieved a small mechanical bird. A little improvisation never hurt anybody. The contraption was painted black with copper cogs on its torso. The wings were a light, black fabric attached to alloy boning.

Lei slowly turned himself around so that his back was flat against the wall, and he balanced himself on the peg. Plucking the bird’s leg out, the compartment transformed into a spanner. He cranked the bird's leg against the wheel lock, winding quickly. The gears clicked rapidly within its cog-ridden body, and the wings began flapping. He carefully turned himself back around, looked at his watch, and peeked over the edge. They were close.

‍Thirty seconds.He flicked a small lever on the underside of the automaton activating a repetitive tick. One eye closed, he lined the bird in the direction of the raft and let go. A small mechanical whir followed by a whining crow cry stopped the guards in their tracks.

‘What is that?’

‘Is that bird… ticking?

’The bird hurtled toward them. The ticks raced, faster and faster. It soared dangerously close, and the guards’ eyes widened as a chilling realisation struck them. It was about to explode.

‘Jump!’

‍Boom.

‍Broken metal on metal reverberated as gears and cogs decorated the air in metal rainfall. Lei swiftly ducked behind the stone for the immediate impact as a frenzied splash echoed in the distance. Then, he wasted no time and propelled himself on the channel walls.

Sun gleamed off the water as the cargo continued floating down on the raft in Lei’s direction, with the guards swimming in tow. The Nesari swam ahead of his co-worker, the water running smoothly off his scales; his webbed feet pushing him through the water.

The thing about improvisation is there’s usually little time for planning and considerations such as that a Nesari guard would, in fact, have a biological advantage when forced into a body of water. Luckily, Lei was quick on his feet.

Lei and the guard propelled toward each other, eyebrows furrowed, and vision focused. They fought to reach the cargo first.

Water splashed up the side of the channel and the guard grasped the raft the moment Lei slid down to grab the cargo. Sharp stinging unfurled from his knee as coarse stone grated the skin. Lei reached for the box through gritted teeth.

With his free hand, the guard raised his pistol out of the water but as he did, Lei knocked the gun sending it to the aqueduct floor. The Nesari’s jaw tensed, and his blue skin nearly turned red. Pressure encased Lei’s extended wrist as an icy grip latched on, seizing him down toward the water.

For a second, the world dematerialised. The grip was familiar. Images flared in Lei’s mind; memories he’d imprisoned in places he’d longed to keep locked up.

‘Pull him in!’ the other guard called out from a distance, breaking Lei from his trenches.

With his free hand, Lei latched onto the wall's edge. Piercing aches exploded from his nail beds as they dug into the unforgiving roughness of the stone.

Arms mingled in a frenzy of slashes and punches. A hand swiped up at Lei’s face, the guard's hand narrowly missing his mask but grazed his face. Too close.

Blood fell from Lei’s lip, the metallic taste trickling on his tongue. The guard eyed the wound and Lei instantly swiped his arm down, his forearm slamming him under the surface.  

Lei held him there and leaned over him. He watched his blood drip into the clear water.

‘Let him go!’ the forgotten guard had nearly caught up with them.Quickly, Lei grasped the box from the raft, and he released the guard. He threw the cargo in his burlap sack and sprinted.

‘Hey!’ a voice yelled behind Lei.

‍Don’t turn around, just keep running. You did your job.

‍‘I recognise you,’ the voice called out again, halting Lei in his tracks.

Lei turned. The guard hanging on the stone’s edge. He was now accompanied by his partner. She frantically examined his face, ensuring he was alright, but his eyes were locked on Lei’s. A subtle twitch played on Lei’s lips, and he lowered his upper body in an exaggerated bow. He resumed his sprint, his steps perfectly in time with the incessant thumping of his heart beneath his chest.

With each step, the impact shot up his shins which only pushed him to run harder. He sprinted until he reached a hill beneath the aqueduct, and he climbed over the side of the channel wall.

‍Rule 4: Have an escape route.
‍Waiting for him was a long, thick rope he’d attached earlier that day. The coarse fibre burned the palms of his hands as he descended the fifteen metres to the condensed shrubbery below. Adrenaline interlinked with his blood, like it was a part of him.

He shouted triumphantly, letting a laugh fall from his mouth and into the green abyss.

Dewy sweat glazed his skin and so the metal mask all but fell from his face. He placed it in his satchel. He loosened his hair, letting it cascade down his spine. And he made his way back into town, with the box hanging at his side.

Once he entered the city walls, sunset fell on the paved streets in a glossy orange sheet. The roads bustled with market goers, business owners, inventors, alchemists. The smell of fresh herbs and roasted meats spilled into the streets as people began preparing their dinners. There were hundreds of people around him, and no one had any clue what he had just pulled off.

Approaching the stone facade of his employer's home, he saw the tall and ornately carved cast iron pillar mailbox. From his satchel, he found a set of keys. With a simple black key, he unlocked the large door of the mailbox. Within it, like a safe locked away in a palace dungeon, sat a second box. Taking the smaller, more intricate key his employer had given him, he unlocked the compartment and placed the cargo inside. Soon, his employer would collect it and before long, Lei would get his cut.  

The metal key was cold against Lei’s hand as he locked the evidence of the crime where no one could find it.

While navigating his way home, the guard’s words played on repeat in his mind.

‍I recognise you. Lei instinctively felt the grooves of the mask through his satchel.

They almost got him.

Almost.

His reputation was growing, his mask a beacon for trouble. Security would tighten its grip; guards would descend upon the shipments in increasing numbers and weaponry. He needed to be more careful. Capture was not an option. Varro’s guide may be outdated, but he sure as hell got one rule right.

‍Rule 10: Don’t get caught.