Blackstone Cove

There's more to jumping out of a window than one might think. A great deal of care and research must first go into it, or there's a good chance a person might plant their ass firmly into a rock. Rory knew this well enough. After all, this wasn't the first time he'd jumped out a window to escape the ire of a building's occupant. Damn shame he was on the wrong side of the place, but sometimes burgling required improvising, especially when its occupant gave chase. Tonight was one of those nights.

Rory was quick on his feet, but this fella was a damn quick one too! He caught him right when he'd pocketed the goods; a couple of rings, and a small box of baubles. It never paid to be greedy; anything more than he could fit in his pockets was a burden. Burdens drew attention. It's easy to hide jewelry. It's a damn lot harder to hide bags of coin or that silver crockery that all those rich folks loved so much. A fella haulin' around a bag of silver plates and platters was pretty easy to spot in the street, even at night.

It'll be easy Rory! Just a quick lift n' slip!

Boy, Barney was wrong about that! On a good night it was that simple. Tonight wasn't a good night. It was always a hell of a lot easier to slip out a door, or a downstairs window. Getting chased complicated things, but this wasn't his first job, and damned if it was gonna be the last! But that fella kept right up with him. Most rich folk never run a day in their lives, why would they need to? Rory ran all the time, and he was damn good at it. From the law, to half-naked housewives, angry husbands, and now this person. Ain't no way he was a rich one, not how he ran.

Rory barely out the chamber door with his hands still in his pockets when this fella was on him. And there he was, running down the hall toward that window. This one was gonna hurt. It was always better to crash his ass into a row of bushes; preferably the ones without thorns. But, a good few thorns and pricks at the bottom of a planned fall was a hell of a lot better than getting caught. But tonight wasn't a good night. There weren't no bushes at the bottom of that window.

He ran as hard as he could, and damn he was fast! He gulped each breath as his arms pumped like the pistons of those steam engines. Cold beads rolled and tickled his brow right into his eyes. He blinked away the burning sweat, but it just kept on coming. The thuds of his footsteps clunked off the walls as he sprinted, keeping time with the drumming stomps of the fella at his heels. The pursuer's hot breaths cooked his neck; the coarse, low huffin' and puffin' told him that the fella was a biggun. Not the type of one to get crossed.

Diving may have made for a bit of a dramatic exit, but that resulted in a broken neck. It was always better to go feet first. Let the boots do the bloody work of breaking through glass. Feet out, ass down, and then go limp. Go down stiff, and a fella might get driven into the ground like a dart, with all sorts of busted up bones. It sounded simple, but there'd been a few missteps before: a bad fall, or the wrong window, which was usually worse. After all, on the bluffs, the north side of buildings had a fair few meters into some hedges; the south--about thirty meters down the cliff into the black water below.

Piss on that!

But there he was, jumping out that south side window over the cliffs.

This is gonna be a hell of a surprise for Barney.

His half-brother likely waited at the jetty a stone's throw down the bluffs, at least that's what he hoped. This amount of ruckus was going to stir up the law something fierce! Feet out, he crashed through the window, covering his eyes, and hoping to hell that the fall wouldn't kill him. It was a long, long way down. Long enough to know that an ass down fall would break his back. Rory straightened his legs and crossed his arms tight against his chest. The bulk of his score pressed against his ribs hard enough he thought he might press it right through. The corners on the box of baubles bit right into him like fangs.

The surf's brool loudened in his ears as he fell through the cold night air. Luckily the seas were calm otherwise he'd be a gonner. Away went his hat before he plunged into the cold, salty waters of the Northern Seas. A good five meters he delved into the black depths. The roaring, bubbling of the frigid ocean bit his arms and legs and stiffened him into a pole. He wanted so badly to gulp a breath from the icy shock, but he'd practiced this. So many times he spent dunking himself into cold waters so not to pull in a breath of the sea. He couldn't swim if he was too busy hacking up the ocean, and he was a shit swimmer already.

Rory was a gazelle when he was runnin', but damn if he wasn't any better at swimmin' than a camel. He kicked and flailed and up he went but it was about as slow as a slug on a leaf. At least that's how it felt. His lungs burned for air. He didn't even care if it was the shit smellin' air of Heart Harbor. One clumsy stroke after the other, he raked at the water, toward the bright dancing light of the moon. Closer and closer he got to the surface thinking he might suck himself inside out from holding his breath. Finally, in the biggest gulp of air he ever swallowed, he broke the surface of the salty water. A bit of chop splashed at his face, and it was even colder than the water he was treading! Damn it was cold!

Then a splash, not a wave on a rock, no, that fella followed him right down into the water!

Damn if he ain't a nutter!

Rory couldn't believe it. No one ever followed him out a window before especially to a thirty meter fall off a cliff.
"Barney get that damn dinghy over here, had to change the plan!" Rory's voice bounced off the face of the cliffs behind him as he shouted out into the black night.

"Fook sake," came a contemptuous voice eastward along the bluff. Barney probably hadn't expected a sea recovery, but the most successful burglars were flexible to change.

Rory kicked and flailed himself along toward Barney's voice. The going wasn't fast but at least it was going. Crashes of water behind him urged him to swim harder. That big fella broke the surface, and he grunted and growled louder than a bear that had been kicked in the ass, and madder than a hornet.

"I swar to de See Mooder that I'll fookin drewn ye when I ketch ye!" His voice could sink a ship.

That threat was all the motivation Rory needed. He might not have been much of a swimmer, but if that bull of a man caught him, the game was over. He thrashed through the water harder than a marlin on a hook line. The white shimmering line of the moon's reflection broke black to the silhouette of Barney's dinghy drawing closer.

Only a few more meters.

"Wicked waves! Who the fook is that?" Barney tossed the mooring line out to him and fumbled in the dark of the small boat.

Rory couldn't have gripped it harder if he were scaling down the cliffs. Pulling one hand after the other, he dragged himself across the icy chop of the sea toward the dinghy, swallowing more salt water than his stomach and bladder could have fit in a week. That bear of man got hold of him around the ankle, and damn if didn't nearly squeeze his foot off. Still, he pulled until his aching hand found the splintery rail of the boat. The fella, pulled himself up Rory's trousers, gripping handfuls of his jacket and wrapped his legs around him like a constrictor before his other hand could clamp onto the rail. Underwater he went, but he held on to the boat.

Massive hands patted and clawed at his jacket as he pulled his head back above water. He'd hoped to see Barney's hands ready to pull him aboard, but he wasn't there. Under he went again, and his finger's slipped. There wasn't much strength left in his hand. He pushed and flailed with his other, throwing back the man's search for the score.

One more time above water, and the wooden thud of an oar thundered just above his head, cracking him under once more. This time though, the man's probing hands weren't there. Nothing was there other than Barney hooking his own grip beneath his armpits and pulling him up.

"Mother be good, Rory, what the fook happened?"

The froth of the icy water pattered and splashed like shattered glass as Rory hauled himself aboard. His breaths gulped and gulped but there just wasn't enough air in the world to fill his lungs. He spat the brine of the sea out of his mouth and wiped the cold tendrils of water off his face as he turned around to the dark lump floating face down in the chop.

"I dunno, Barney, he come out of nowhere he did. He ain't one of them rich folks to be sure."

"Who the hells is he then?" Barney asked as he pulled the mooring line back into the boat.

Rory patted at his inside pockets, and the air came back as he felt the welcome lump of the score meet his tired hands. "He was tryin' to take what I stole."

It didn't make much sense to him, but maybe he was one of the place's attendants, still, even they didn't know how to run like that. No one ever kept up with Rory. He was the damned fastest fella in Heart Harbor! The only ones that even came close to matchin' his speed were the other thieves and pickpockets.

"Well fook him then, can't take it now, can he?" Barney readied the oars over the side of the boat as planted his ass on the bench.

The lump in the water kept floating there, a small string of blood from his head, snaked away in the froth.

Can't leave him.

"We can't leave him, Barney, he'll drown."

Rory was an outlaw but he wasn't a murderer. Even if the fella meant what he said, the Sea Mother would remember this night when it came his time to meet her.

"Well what the fook do we do with him then, Rory?"

"We can leave him on the shore somewheres, he'll be alright on one of the beaches outside the city."

Barney scoffed and spit a few curses, but Rory knew he'd give in. He was as much a good lad as any. He shook his head and threw down the oars. "Fookin hell, Rory! One day that heart o' yours is gonna get us killed."