"Those are the prints of a large horse-drawn cart, if I'm not mistaken," thought Harvey, staring at the ground where a number of messy marks were left on. The marks consisted of two pairs of deep ruts spaced a few metres away, some messy hoofprints scattered around randomly in a small spot, and multiple different sets of footprints leading to and away from the apartment.
"So," said Harvey triumphantly. "We've found his home at last?"
"Well, the only thing we can be sure of is that somebody has moved into this apartment block very recently, probably within the last few days."
"And how do you know that?" questioned Harvey inquisitively, although he had already formed the same conclusion minutes ago.
"I'm sure you can answer that for yourself," replied Sigerson sardonically. "After all, you've been staring at the ground for more than a minute now; you must have some idea of what's going on now."
Harvey gave a short 'heh', and pointing to the marks on the dirty ground dramatically, he said pompously, "Very well. I'll explain everything. Those ruts in the ground—"
He pointed to the rectangular ruts impressively.
"—were made by a rather large cart drawn by not one, but two horses, as can be seen by the two differently sized sets of hoofprints. This shows that a horse-drawn cart had stopped here for some time. Now, the cart must have been heavier than an average cab— the two horses present suggests the load was too heavy for a single horse. Footprints going between this cart and the apartment indicate people have been walking to and fro, presumably unloading things from the cart, since the weight of the cart greatly diminished after the horses pulled it away. See here—"
Bending down, Harvey ran his finger across a faint valley etched into the ground before continuing.
"I can infer the course of the events somewhat accurately from here: a cart pulling some heavy stuff arrived, people unloaded whatever it was into the apartment, then the two horses pulled away the empty cart. What do you think?"
"My thoughts exactly," responded the detective with alacrity.
"All that's left now," yawned Harvey, ruffling his hair carelessly, "is to find out whether it was Hartland who moved in."
As Harvey got up from the ground and stretched around, Sigerson couldn't help but feel perhaps a bit too relaxed. Harvey sure was something he'd never experienced before.
"Anyways, let's get going now."
"Oh, right," said Harvey promptly, rushing to knock on the door and call for the landlady. When she finally came out, a middle-aged woman also stepped out with her. Seeing that they were not to be separated after the older woman gave him a hard stare and placed a firm shoulder on her daughter's shoulder, Harvey quickly asked smoothly, "Has a man named Patrick Hartland moved in lately, ma'am?"
"And why should we tell you?"
"Mother…" implored her daughter pleadingly, casting a fearful look at Sigerson who was hanging around the apartment.
As if he could read her mind, Harvey said soothingly, "There's no need to worry; we're not spies or anything for the Enforcers. Besides," he added laughing. "I'm only a kid anyways, so how could I be a threat to you?"
"O–Oh, that's a relief. Why don't you come in then, um, sir?"
Harvey snuck a glance at Sigerson. He nodded but clearly wasn't going to expose himself and told Harvey with a look to get in there himself to gather the information. He alone was the only one left who could accomplish the task.
How much time is he going to take? Ten minutes passed already. Surely it wasn't that difficult to confirm whether or not Hartland was lodging in this apartment block. Or could something have happened?
Keep calm and give him a bit more time. I hope he's not spending his time enjoying himself in there…
A peal of feminine laughter slipped out from the crack of an open window.
Clink.
The door opened and out came Harvey along with the two women. It was extraordinary; both of the ladies' moods seemed to have lifted, allowing them to laugh and converse freely. Without a hint of suspicion left in her, the mother bowed her head ruefully at Harvey and apologised profusely. Reassuring her not to worry, Harvey bade them farewell, then swiftly made his way towards Sigerson. He gave him a wink, gesturing for him to follow him into a quieter corner where the shouts of the street vendors would not trouble them so much.
A cold, damp corner lay before their eyes; Sigerson sat on one of the empty wooden crates then asked, "Did you get it?"
"Course I did," grinned Harvey, his face beaming with mischievous energy. "He's residing on the bottom floor by himself, according to the landlady."
"Good. Do you think you could possibly break into his home then?"
"Probably? I mean, there's not much protecting it, so yeah."
Sigerson considered his choices. He could either rush it and strike while Hartland was still unaware and unprepared, or he could wait and make preparations himself.
"So there's nothing that would hinder you from breaking in and stealing?"
"Umm… There is one thing. He has an iron vault tucked away on his shelf, which I assume protects his bank key. He is a very practical man, so keeping jewelry or anything of the sort seems exceptionally unlikely to me."
"A key is required to open the vault?"
"Yep, but getting the key won't be easy since he keeps it on him wherever he goes. Aiming for the bank key would be inefficient so I think our best shot would be an ambush."
"I suppose so…"
Rubbing his forehead wearily, Sigerson suddenly remembered something important.
"Oh yes, we also need to prevent him from contacting Blight, otherwise it would hardly be difficult for him to figure out what we're doing."
"No problem; leave it to me. I've already thought out a plan."
"Good."
Sigerson sighed deeply, lifting his head to the skies, which had turned a magnificent orange as if an egg yolk spilled all over the sky.
""For now, let's return to the homely arms of Turner's shack. I've told him to meet back there, so we can discuss your plans later."
—
Days passed, and as the final preparations were made, Sigerson couldn't help but feel a sense of dread crawling up his skin like an irksome spider.
Why was Blight still showing no signs of retaliation? Was he willing to give up already? That seemed far too unlikely to be true.
"Come on Sigerson," prompted Turner, shaking him out of his thoughts. "We goin' now. Everything alright?"
Sigerson covered his face with his hands before jumping up, completely changed.
"I'm fine. Come on; let's go."
Under the cover of night, the three foxes snuck out; their hunt had begun. The detective breathed in deeply and felt the wondrously cold, refreshing air fill his lungs— staying in doors had really made him lose his appreciation for the great outdoors.
Unluckily for them, the weather was merciless to them; rain poured from the pitch black skies as if they were crying in sorrow from the depravity of the world.
"In order for the plan to work," said Harvey quietly, "we need to separate his coat, which contains the key to his vault, from him. Turner, the key's in his left pocket, so be quick when you take the coat."
"Are you sure it's in his left pocket?" asked Turner uncertainly, his wrinkled face showing scepticism.
"I'm sure," answered Harvey with a voice bursting with confidence. "I've been observing him for the past few days; he always puts his key into the left pocket. Even if you just look at him, you'll be able to tell. Anyways, we're nearly at our first stop. Do you both still remember the plan? Turner? William?"
Since there were no replies, Harvey went on talking, sure that both of his taciturn companions had the plan fully stuck in their brains.
"In a minute, Hartland will be making his way out and over to that tavern we saw earlier. William, you should stay out of sight while keeping an eye for police that might stop us from taking the coat. Turner, you're the one who's gonna be creating the diversion for me to swoop in and steal the coat. By the way, if you need assistance—"
"I'll be fine," said Turner hastily.
"Sure. Well, I'll be inside of his apartment over here in case he leaves it behind. Since I've already made a good impression on the landlady, it shouldn't be too much of a problem. When I've confirmed that the key is missing, I'll come and join you guys. Is that good?"
No one spoke.
"Good. We'll come back together in about… roughly two hours? Alright then, let's do this!"
A sole beacon of enthusiasm, Harvey trotted off to the apartment door and was immediately granted access in.
"Time to find our man then," said Sigerson, pulling the dark cloak's hood over his head tighter. "He should be at the tavern we gathered in a few days ago. Around this corner, I think."
He was spot on— just around the corner, a sign indicated their destination had been found. The laughter and noises could be heard even from a distance away. When they approached the tavern, a pandemonium of noises heralded the pair of sombre men.
"Do you think he's already inside?"
"Perhaps. There's no way of telling whether he arrived or not from the outside. Can you go in yourself? I really don't want to risk showing my face to anyone."
"I've told ya both already," said Turner, waving the detective's doubts away. "You can rely on me."
"Be safe, alright? I'll be watching you through the window in case things start to look ugly."
Turner gave him a thumbs-up and scuttled away into the raucous domain of the tavern. The moment Sigerson was alone, a soft clip-clopping noise softly made itself heard among the rain's crashing noises.
Whirling around, he found himself staring at a cab stopped right behind him. When a familiar pudgy figure emerged from it, he felt a sense of irresistible danger. Here was one of the few men connected to the greatest mind in the country. No rash moves were to be made here; every little action was crucial.
"Thank you, cabbie," said Hartland courteously.
A jingle of coins rang out as Sigerson moved away cautiously, then the cab was off again. While he watched his target disappear into the tavern, Sigerson kept silent, staring at the window with all his attention.
"Focus," muttered Sigerson, his eyes reflecting off the rain-stained glass.
Inside the bright tavern, he could barely make out the two figures he was searching for. Turner and Hartland were sitting next to the door, each taking enormous gulps from their mugs while a crowd of onlookers cheered.
"Everything's going according to plan," whispered Sigerson to himself, watching Turner take off his coat. Hartland followed his example, taking off his own coat and laying it carefully next to him.
Both men had flushed faces after what Sigerson presumed to be their tenth mug of full strength beer, their eyes focused on the small pile of money in the middle of the table. Turner raised his hand in defeat, surrendering the gold to the victorious Hartland, whose complexion gave the impression of an exploding tomato.
However, before he could grab his reward, a flash of bright orange lunged forwards, nicked the coat right off the chair and whipped out into the rain. As the crowd stood dumbfounded, finally realising that a robbery had been committed right in front of their eyes, a slip of paper fluttered into the air and landed in Hartland's hands.
His eyes widened and his hands trembled violently as he saw the contents.
All there was in his hands was a simple piece of paper. At first, it may have seemed like a piece of rubbish with words and numbers scribbled all over but with careful inspection, it was clear that the words formed a list— a list of the payments Hartland received from Blight monthly for his alleged help. Just as life stirred back to the crowd, Hartland stuck his hand out and said shakily, "D–Don't go after him! The police? N–No, that won't be necessary. There was nothing of importance on the coat anyways, so please don't trouble yourselves."
With more reassurances, he managed to stop the people from chasing after the thief and restore peace to the tavern. Hartland glared down at the wooden table with a look of absolute horror on his face.
How on earth did anyone manage to get their hands on those records, let alone some random pickpocketer? If anybody saw the contents of that list… My life would be equal to living in hell. Either the police would get a hold of it and send me to the gallows or Blight would find out and personally hunt me down— a fate as unescapable as death itself. No— no one will ever find it if I can help it. No one must ever catch that thief… He probably doesn't even know the weight of the paper he had…
He got up unsteadily, the alcohol still going strong in his system, and made his way out with drunken steps— after clearing the table and collecting his prize money, of course.
In that very moment, Sigerson crawled closer to the window and indicated to Turner on the other side to return back to their hideout before suspicion lingered on him.
Before anyone could realise he was gone, Hartland heaved himself up from his chair and snuck back out, the refreshing night air instantly sharpening his senses once again.
"Did Harvey get it? My memories are kind of mixed up at the moment, so I can't really remember much."
"He's got it," returned Sigerson, helping his older companion walk on the dry footpath.
"I must say, the plan is going much smoother than I'd expected, but—"
He checked around him warily.
"—we can't always be sure we're not being watched."
The key was theirs and with it came the bank key. When they were reunited under the dingy roof, the path became clear for Sigerson. The next step could now start.
—
Early the next morning, Harvey, carrying the key safely with the keychain attached to it, strolled over to the bank and withdrew over a thousand sovereigns. It had been revealed during the first hours of sunlight that a house had been broken into stealthily by an unidentified robber. Nothing of value had been taken, save for a small key, locked up in a formidable vault.
As Sigerson continued to hear the news, he slowly began to see his young companion in a new light.
He's confident but not impatient or careless. The caution he showed during the raid… He'll be a big help when I'm away for sure…
"What's up?" asked Harvey cheerfully, throwing and catching a small leather pouch in his hand, the golden coins jingling animatedly.
"I've just been thinking, now that I've been able to observe you for the past few days," said Sigerson slowly. "I've come to realise something important."
"What would that be?" asked Harvey inquisitively, a shadow of worry immediately clouding over his face.
"Well, it's not too bad to have someone you can trust with you, is it? I mean, not everyone is to be trusted of course…"
"So you've finally come to your senses, have you?" teased the boy, his grin spreading to Turner, who also smirked.
"Even the genius understands now, eh? You know, Sigerson, when you grow up a bit more you'll probably understand that trust is probably one of things you need most to survive in this world—"
"I don't need to hear that from you, thanks," snapped Sigerson, though his face conveyed no signs of annoyance or aggression.
"You've probably betrayed around twenty organisations now, I believe?"
"Lost count over the years," said Turner indifferently, smiling serenely.
"Anyways, let's get down to business," said Harvey, half-seriously. "You tell us what to do now that we've successfully pulled off that raid."
"Right then."
Sigerson cleared his throat ostentatiously.
"Listen up you two…"