Chapter 96: Unnatural Prowess
Jared was now outside the target window. The casement was bolted shut from within. He produced the ornate dagger, slid its fine point into the narrow gap of the window frame, and began to work on the iron bolt. Before the operation, Jared had told me this would be the easy part. The second-story windows had no security grilles, only simple interior locks.
He had come prepared with a small saw blade and a rock, with two possible plans of entry. The first was to patiently saw through the iron bolt from the inside, a slow but silent method. The second was to simply shatter the windowpane with the rock and reach in to undo the latch—a swift solution, but one that would raise an immediate alarm. Each plan had its advantages and its drawbacks, and he was prepared to improvise based on the situation on the ground. In the end, however, he used neither of his two prepared methods. Instead, he used the short dagger to cut the bolt. And to my astonishment, it was over in seconds. The dagger slid back out, and the window swung open. I could see the severed ends of the iron bolt from where I stood.
Wait a minute. How was that possible? This wasn't just a matter of being sharp. The blade had no serrations, and he'd had no leverage to apply any real force. How could it cut through solid iron as if it were a block of butter? With that kind of impossible edge, even iron grilles would have been useless.
Jared slipped inside. So far, so good, I thought, a flicker of relief in my chest. All he had to do now was grab the cosmetics and get out. But then, a cry of pure, animal terror echoed from within the room. It was Jared’s voice. What had happened? What had he seen in there? I was blind, helpless, a spectator to a drama I couldn't see.
“What was that noise?!” Worse, one of the footmen from the front of the house had heard it. A burly man, he came running into the back garden to investigate. At that exact, terrible moment, Jared scrambled back out of the window, his face pale with a panic I had never seen before. The footman saw him instantly.
“You! Who are you? Thief! Stop, thief!” the servant roared, and charged towards the base of the wall, ready to grab Jared the moment he landed. Jared, in his blind panic, simply leaped from the second-story window. He hit the ground hard, tumbling head over heels, then scrambled to his feet and began to run. The servant was on him in an instant, launching himself in a flying tackle. It was over. I knew it. Once he was on the ground, the other servants, their shouts already echoing from the front of the house, would be on him in seconds. They would beat him to death.
My heart seized in my chest. I was useless, a helpless observer. The servant’s hands closed around Jared’s fleeing form. But then, something impossible happened. Jared, still running forward, simply swung the hand holding the sack of cosmetics behind him. The blow, which should have been a clumsy, defensive gesture, sent the burly servant flying three meters through the air to land in a heap in a flowerbed, where he lay groaning, unable to get up.
My mind reeled. How? The servant had the full force of his momentum, and Jared was running away from him. It defied the laws of physics. At the same time, I saw a flash of silver in Jared’s right hand. My blood ran cold. He had drawn the dagger. If the servant had managed to tackle him, Jared would have stabbed him through the heart without a second thought.
The other servants running up behind, having been caught by surprise, came empty-handed—not one had even thought to grab a broomstick. Given Jared's ferocity, and the uncanny sharpness of that dagger, I was absolutely certain that if these poor men had pressed the attack, they would have been nothing more than lambs to the slaughter. I am now incredibly grateful that Jared sent that burly servant flying. Otherwise, what started as a simple theft would have escalated into robbery and murder, and that would have been a far more serious matter indeed.
The other servants, now rounding the corner of the house, stopped dead in their tracks, stunned by the sight of their comrade lying broken in the flowerbed. Jared seized the opportunity and vaulted the garden fence.
“Come on!” he yelled, grabbing my hand and pulling me into a run. You idiot! I wanted to scream. They were after him. They didn't even know I existed. He could have escaped easily on his own. With me, he was slowed, burdened. Jared, the veteran thief, couldn't possibly have overlooked such a simple fact. He must have been so terrified by whatever he saw in that room that his judgment had fled.
And sure enough, with me in tow, his speed was halved. I couldn't run fast, my legs weak, my lungs burning. Worse still, unable to shake them in the narrow alleys, we were forced out onto the main street, the hue and cry of "Stop, thief! Stop, thief!" rising from the mob at our heels.
The moment we burst onto the main street, we became the center of attention. Heads turned, and some of the braver citizens even tried to block our path or make a grab for us. And then, to make matters worse, I saw them: a patrol of peelers, approaching from the far end of the street. These weren't the brutish constables of the factory district. The peelers of St. Lawrence were a different breed entirely. They were dressed in bright yellow, ceremonial uniforms, with curved sabers at their hips. They looked less like men who solved crimes and more like decorative soldiers, hired to keep up appearances, settle minor domestic squabbles, or act as private security for the gentry. But for all their decorative appearance, they could still run. And the news of a robbery at a wealthy home was a rare opportunity to curry favor. They joined the chase with gusto, and though they may have been just for show, they were certainly faster than the panting servants.
They were gaining on us. We were about to be caught. "Let me go!" I cried to Jared.
My thinking was simple, brutal even. Better one of us be caught than both. At worst, I would play the innocent victim, tell the peelers he had grabbed me at random, that I didn't know him. Whether they believed such a flimsy tale was out of my hands. Even if it meant a beating, I reasoned they would be less harsh on a girl than a boy. It was a grim calculation, but a necessary one. I had already resolved myself to the sacrifice, ready to trade my freedom for his.
Jared suddenly stopped. I thought he was going to let me go. But instead, he spun around, scooped me up in his arms, and continued to run. The moment he lifted me, it was as if some internal governor had been released. His speed exploded. He wasn't just running; he was flying, a blur of motion that left the pursuing servants and peelers in his wake.
My God, what was this speed? He was as fast as a professional sprinter from my old world, and he was carrying me and a sack of stolen goods. He weaved through the crowded streets with an impossible grace, leaping over obstacles, his movements a fluid, unstoppable dance. Using his intimate knowledge of the city’s underbelly, he ducked into a maze of narrow, winding alleys, and with a few more impossible leaps over crates and sleeping vagrants, we were gone. Behind us, the peelers, winded and red-faced, could only stop at the entrance to the labyrinth, utterly, completely defeated.
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