• Chapter 3


    The fork was raised into the open mouth, hidden for a moment under the stretched skin of the man's tight lips, then revealed again, picked clean of the roasted chicken that had recently occupied its prongs. The process was repeated, yet again, by the wielder of the fork; a fifty-something-year-old man, gray hair pulled into a comb-over, wrinkled chin clean-shaven. Even as he ate, he watched his captured thief with amber eyes, showing what seemed to be no emotion whatsoever.

    Like a statue, thought Jack grimly, A living, moving statue only granted life for its absurd lack of emotion.

    "I have heard a lot about you, Mr. Sublime," the old man began, setting the silver fork onto the desk separating the man from Jack, "Rather, us and London's banks have heard of you. Your fame in the London Underground is almost legendary. Some debate your very existence, which is quiet remarkable for a man as young as you. Which brings a rather curious question to my attention: Mr. Sublime, how old are you?"

    Why would I tell you, idiot? Jack was tempted to say. However, he managed, through clenched teeth, "I've just reached the age of twenty-one, sir."

    "So young for a legend. How on earth did you accomplish such a feat?"

    "I just have a natural affinity for thievery, sir."

    "Hm." The man sat silent for a moment, examining Jack with a pensive expression. "I almost regret having to turn you in to the authorities, Mr. Sublime. Your skills could have been most useful to London. Most helpful indeed..." The man's voice trailed off into thought, again staring at Jack. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and he leaned over his plate towards the thief. "Mr. Sublime, I have an offer to make you. There is an object of value that lies inside Julios Manor, a prized secret of the Julios family. It is said that this object will reveal the location of some form of treasure, one that will allow the discoverer to live like a king for the rest of his life. Naturally, the Julios' disclaim any such rumors as to protect the secret. But I believe it is not just rumor..."

    Jack smiled. "And I presume you want me to acquire this object for you?"

    The man nodded. "However, you will not be without resistance. I cannot allow you to leave in perfect order; that action would result in the loss of my position. London's authorities would know I let you go, so I must ask you to take no offense from my sending my guards to capture you."

    Jack smiled again, and drew out his pistol, the ropes falling to the floor. "None taken, sir." Then, with a wink, he pulled the trigger.

    The bullet landed in the region of the kidneys on one of the guards behind the man. Before the other guard could react, Jack had fired a second bullet, felling the neighboring guard as well. Leaping out of the chair, he smashed the hilt of the revolver onto the man's head. As the man collapsed, a dazed expression written on his stone-like face, Jack hissed, "Nice doing business with you," then leaped out the window into the main streets of London.

    He landed on a wagon filled with hay, just as he expected. The farmer who drove this wagon came by the building every day at exactly two o'clock to sell his wares. Jack hadn't thought of it until barely ten minutes ago, when he had glanced at the man's silver wristwatch to see the time. The time had reminded him of the farmer's non-changing schedule, and if it hadn't been the time he chose to jump, he would have remained in his seat, stalling until the wagon appeared underneath the window.

    His amazing sense of timing nevertheless frightened the farmer, who turned around with an odd yelp of fear. Jack put a finger to his lips, then said, "A lord's after me." The man's face visibly reddened in anger at the word's, and he nodded with understanding. He motioned for him to hide under the haystack, which Jack willingly obliged to. Surrounded in the warm, straw-shaped wheat, he drifted off into sleep, exhaustion from the day finally catching up to him...