It was a complicated time of every extreme viewpoint being mixed in an acid filled cauldron of deceit and truth. We called it the "Time of Industry" and the "Era of Science." However, one watching this time would be constantly distracted by the mundane lifestyles of everyone. The poor were embellished in overwhelming poverty, forced to work long hours in the factories that at least three die in each morning or afternoon. The rich hid behind a massive wall in a large district, far removed from the rest of the ill city, to answer the most boring inquiries of life. Was the wine sweet enough? Did she wear that dress right? Was the High Princess doing well today? And general nonsense that anyone on the other side of the separating wall would promptly and resoundingly gag at. Then there were the likes of my family. Wealthy, but not so wealthy. Poor, but only on a couple of days. Busy constantly and consistently. A good day, a bad day. My father, Hondo Bell, was a banker. A skilled and important banker. My mother, a dressmaker, one of the best in our part of the city. Then there was my little sister, Aglea , who was skilled in vernacular well beyond her years. Finally, there was I, Elysia Bell, a seamstress and an aspiring lady.

At this time, I was of the age of twenty. Unlike most girls of my age and class, I had not married. Of course, it was not my fault in the slightest. More people recognized my beauty than my name. This sounds like boasting, but I assure you, this was the case. This era of time was also known for its style. Women were wearing less traditional clothes and stretching fashion to new heights. I was bound to be leading this charge, wherever it may be going. The neighbors knew me for this. People of my District looked at me and awed. I would design and create my own outfits to please the onlookers. It was my source of inspiration. It was my passion to be in center of attention. It was my life.

The only aspect of this era that could rival the fashion was the military. Lodona was an imperial nation. We were an empire, leading the world in just about everything. We had colonies on every continent on the planet. One could say that the "sun never sets on the Lodonan Empire." This accounted for many different fabrics and cultures to trickle into our capital. I had taken much inspiration from other nations and I was not the only one. The High Princess was in love with the Far Eastern styles and thus had the Grand Royal Palace refurbished in the liking of those enriched, but isolated, nations. This rise of imperialism was undoubtedly due to Lodona having the largest military ever conceived. Even in my part of the city, I could see Royal Guards, the most prestigious branch of royal infantry, in their armoured exo-suits that ran on steam or gas. Parading squads of dashing men in yellow or blue uniforms showcased the discipline of the Royal Army. Above us and even above the smoke of the factories flew the mighty airships that floated on the air with graceful ease. It was hard to miss the Empire's military might.

All the effects of these prominent reasons for success could all be seen in the capital of Lodona, which was my home city. To everyone here, we simply called it "The Capital" like it was the only important city in the world. To anyone outside the white walls and far from the myriad of spires and bridges, it was called "Anastasia." This was an old city, once sacked to nothing by an invading force to a nation long deceased. Before the sacking, she was known by a different name. The resurrection of this wondrous city brought her current name.

Anastasia was a vast city full of everything imaginable. She was perfect for the perfect and horrible for the horrible. Her architecture was the mix of a thousand nations colliding in one giant beautiful mess. From most high points in the city, one could not see the end of her cape of whitewashed buildings or towering minarets. On a clear day, which was rare due to the constant smoke, a looker could perhaps see the West Mountain or the valleys that went on into territory unknown to the average Anastasian.

From the wide cobblestone streets, an Anastasian would pass shops, carriages, stables, and boutiques. With the population filling in every corner and alley of the Empire's capital, it was exceedingly difficult to find a moment to oneself. Even with the wall that separated the wealth from everyone else, the middle class and the well-off were often mingling with the poor factory workers. To some, money was everything, to others, it was an optional lifestyle. For example, my father would never turn his nose up to a less-fortunate soul. Be it a suave nobleman or a lousy vagrant, he always knew what to say to create lovely conversations. His kind were not rare in the slightest. Many of the upper class would regularly speak to the poor. We were all Anastasians, they said and used that single statement to throw away with social classes.

Of course, this sentiment was not shared by all. The grumpy and tired factory workers would go about insulting anyone who was not their brother in the smoke-ridden places. They would shout and demand that something be changed for their well-being. Even I had been on the victim's side of their blaming and ridiculing. They would look upon satin or silk with disdain. They would mock me or anyone who resembled my class. Since the wall prevented them from looking upon the nobles, they turned to anyone who was slightly better off than themselves. If they somehow acquired a gun or weapon, they would swing them about like that object gave them authority. Protests, riots, and skirmishes between the workers and the police were often. Fortunately, they were only common in the poorer districts and away from my family.

There was no doubt something was brewing beyond the frivolous dresses and speedy advances of technology. My father, being observant and wise, could easily see this. At least once a week, he would come home with a frown that disturbed his graying goatee. It was always the same, he would place his black stovepipe top hat upon the rack and then take his large coat off without saying a word. At the supper table, he would comment how the day went, often with sly remarks that mocked one customer or another banker. His next words would always be about what he heard or saw. A conflict, an argument, an anti-government newspaper article, or even a group shouting for the High Princess's death.

"Mark my words, Elysia, my dear girl, a revolution is crawling over this city," he would tell me while he stared at me straight in the eye.

Perhaps he did this because I was the eldest child, perhaps he saw something in me he didn't see in his wife. Being a respectful daughter, I would always nod with complete understanding. I also knew of what he said. It was not hard to see what he saw. The people shouted, the people yelled, the people wanted change. They always wanted change.

The topic of revolution was not an easy one. Not being of the royals or the noble class, I could understand the hardships the lower classes endured. However, not being of a lower class, I always knew that not all the upper class had malevolent intentions when regarding workers. I was a spectator of both sides, if you will, and I could only hope my discernment would allow me to side with the right side. That or I could remain neutral, which seemed like the logical choice most of the time since either side dealt only in the extremes.

Despite the talks of revolution, not much happened beyond the small protests and skirmishes, allowing my family to conduct business. We were an industrious family, as both sides of my family rose from poverty due to shear will and determination. Lodona was a nation where one could possibly rise above where he or she was born. I considered it a blessing to live in such a nation as the tales of the other countries where rising in the social ladder was impossible terrified me. I helped my mother constantly with making dresses for any customer who had enough to pay. We even made suits for the hardy men. I had done so for all my life ever since I could stitch a sleeve together. I did not mind the work, not at all. There was a reward for work. That was money. The very thing that could build or destroy whole empires: money. Being a seamstress allowed me to earn money to let me continue my own fashion projects. I did not need to pack a midday meal and head out to a labor-filled occupation, but remain at home with Mother to create more crafts of satin and silk and any other material available.

My sister, Aglea, did not take to being a seamstress. No, she wanted more from the instant she boasted about knowing how to "boast properly." There was no doubt in my mind that she would surely surpass me in cleverness and general intelligence, so I tried my best to get out as much teasing and mockery of her a I could before she would stomp over me. Her words and speech patterns were well above her age. She was articulate and reasonable, yet still had childish instincts that she tried to escape, but never could. One moment she spoke like a knowledgeable scholar, the next she was throwing a tantrum because she broke her doll. It was fascinating to watch, if I must say.

Our lifestyle was a plain one full of routines and repetitions. I sparked the most conversation from my parents, as they both were the quiet and concise type. Being a fruitful young woman, I was ready to speak among the silence and break the tensions Mother seemed to create at the supper table. It was never told to me that it was my job to keep the family close, but I took it upon myself. This city was not a great city for us, so I made sure that we were experiencing our lives to the fullest.

By that, at the age of fourteen, I decided to make sure that we had plans for emergencies. We needed money for emergencies of course, so I helped with that without telling my parents. From the pickpockets in my part of the Capital, I watched and copied how they could slither between people and snatch valuables off them without a sound or notable action. I was a natural at stealing, so I soon became a pickpocket as well. I never showed my earnings to my parents, but instead hid the coins and bills in a box in my bedroom closest. It was to remain there until we absolutely needed it. It was my secret contribution to the well-being of my family that I loved so much.

One of the days when I needed this pickpocket skill was of a day in early spring. It was still chilly outside, as the hot summers Lodona was known for had yet to arrive with its ferocity. It was a peaceful, relaxing day, just like most. It had been several weeks since the last protest had ensued and the people were calming down about the revolution in general. It was passed, they would say. Such were the times when this particular day arrived.

The day started with my mother and me finishing the touches for a customer. Our customer was Miss Iris Sherwin. I had met Miss Sherwin's mother a week prior to this day. She was an odd lady of middle age and eyes that never seemed to hold still. I did not take liking to meeting her, but alas, a customer was a customer, and her daughter was in need of a dress for a banquet she was going to attend in a district just north of us.

After we accepted, she came back with Miss Sherwin. The girl was exceedingly similar to her mother, yet obviously smarter. She was also rougher than her mother, who was a lady in every right. With the two awkward women in our home, Mother and I had trouble deciding what to do. We did the logical action and simply listened to Miss Sherwin extremely precise request. She talked with the excitement of a little girl on her birthday and prattled like one who had her lips sewn up for years. She spoke fast, but was still able to pronounce every lightning syllable perfectly and clearly. I attempted to take notes of her request as she spoke, but my hand cramped up well before she even reached the halfway point in her speech.

"Is that all, Miss Sherwin?" I asked worriedly when she finally closed her mouth for over a second's time.

Her large blue eyes glanced back at me with slight confusion. It seemed that I had cut her off. In my chair, I leaned back and smiled, making sure I remained polite. I had to remember that the customer was always right and that the earnings were worth the trouble. Every business would collapse if they weren't willing to conduct business. I adjusted my skirt and crossed my legs. Miss Sherwin took this as a sign to continue and extended more requests to her overall request.

I twirled my ebony hair around my index finger as I listened to her. Well, listening was being used in a loose manner as I had lost interest. Mother would listen for me, I knew this. My lips were becoming dry, but I could not stir to acquire a satisfying glass of water. I had to stay there and act as if I were giving Miss Sherwin my time of day. My heeled black boot swung about as I hung my leg over the other. My legs would always find themselves in this position when I was lost in thought. It was my thinking pose, but neither did Lady Sherwin or her daughter know this, thus they still believed I was listening. Mother knew I was well away in thought and listened harder to the young woman's order.

Miss Sherwin's damaged lips kept moving, her bruised and weathered hands moved just like her lips. Up, down, side to side. Her fingertips acted as her teeth, coming together when she made an "s" sound. Her face was still as excited as her words, which only bothered me more. She was so odd and happy, much unlike most who come into our boutique. Not that everyone I met was unhappy, but she held herself like not a sin was being committed in the entire world. How peculiar. How strange. Her demeanor was the only aspect of her that did not allow me to completely wander in my fleeting thoughts.

"Is that all?" Mother asked in her deep, but kind voice. It was a voice often mistaken with rudeness or general grumpiness, but this was simply how she spoke. She looked happy and sad at the same time, no matter what she was actually feeling. She was a smart woman and one that I admired with all my heart, but she lacked social skills and had trouble with even the simplest of human interactions. She was the type of woman that would not have made it far unless she had a friend that loved her tremendously and would help her each day. That friend was my father.

"Yes," Miss Sherwin nodded with enthusiasm that would make a factory worker gag on his moldy bread.

"Fantastic," I smiled with all my will. "We will start and you shall be satisfied. We have never had a dissatisfied customer nor shall we. Thank you for coming, we shall complete this dress soon and with skill." These were well-rehearsed lines that Father instructed me to say whenever we were done speaking with a new customer. I had the terrible habit of speaking these lines with a drawl, but after a few years of practice, I now said these words with authenticity that none could challenge.

The two stood up, said their adieus, and left us to our quiet home. When they opened the door, the screaming sounds of carriages, people, and those new automobiles roared into the house. Usually it was wind that would ruffle the papers on tables or the decorations around a room, but it was the sounds of Anastasia that would do so. Upon shutting the door, the two shut us away from the restless city and all her petty annoyances.

"Did you listen to Miss Sherwin?" Mother asked me knowingly.

"Well, I can say I tried, my dear mother," I told her with a toothless smile that I was known for around my district.

"Hmph," Mother grunted and left for the kitchen. "Go forth and make use of yourself. I need you to bring Master Hopkins his new coat. I finished it yesterday."

"Of course," I said and took his thick black coat that was hanging on one of the racks. It was a heavy coat meant for the coldest days of winter, certainly an item he did not need during these days. He could easily wait on retrieving his coat, but it would not be proper to make him do so. Master Hopkins was a kind man, but mysterious in several ways. He was unmarried, yet was raising a son by himself, or so the rumors had it. He was the son of a tradesman, but did not take after his father. It seemed he grew up outside of Anastasia with a career he was not entirely proud of, but again, my only knowledge of him had been from the gossiping women that loved to sit on the street corners with their crooked mouths and sunken eyes. "Mother, I am not sure where he lives. I've never visited his home before."

Mother pointed at the wall, indicating the vague direction. "Thirty-four, Eighth William Street. After you're finished, don't lollygag and come right back."

"Thank you, Mother," I carried the coat out of the house and I entered the world of Anastasia. Once again, the sounds struck me louder than a battlefield in the colonies. Men in top hats, men in rags, and men in general walked about on their constant errands. Women talked among themselves or hung by their husbands while they talked. My heels clicked on the faded red cobblestone. Anastasia was a city with her darkness and bright white structures, but she was also a city of art and color. In the districts farther away from the industries, color was bright and warm. The streets were reds, yellows, and other vibrant colors that shouted joy to the heavens. When I was little, I remembered how spectacular some areas of city were, blooming with artistic skill and finesse that it was as if I tread within a painting. Cultures of some distant nations would have boastful colors on every wall, so likewise, we attempted to copy them. In the early days of my youth, men and women with paint-ridden garments would crawl on their knees to paint the stones beneath them. They all would carry the same color to keep the district they worked in that same color. The paint remained, but much of it was only a faded stain upon the still stones of the street. The walls of the structures, in their bright whiteness, retained their shine despite the years.

Besides the buildings was the never ending movement of the lively city. She was home to every sort of person imaginable. Being the capital of an imperial empire, Anastasia was filled with the inspirations of the cultures found in other nations. This could be seen in our technology, our designs, our fashion. Lodona used to be an empire of dark and dull fashions, but now color was quite accepted. The movements of the women in their bright pink or red dresses were but blurs in the flow of the river-like capital. The Capital hosted the high heels of the women's boots, the decorative swords of the men, and between either were the loose trousers worn by both sexes as they operated in the factories or the mills of the military. The past fifty years had turned Anastasia and Lodona from a quiet city full of quiet people to a boisterous metropolis filled with boisterous people. I, myself, was quite thrilled by this. All this expression in art, fashion, and architectural was beautiful in my eyes. I considered myself an artist, a creator, and thus I could relate to the many people who wanted to shape the capital into a massive work of art. Anastasia was not be the work of one artist, but many who cared for beauty like I did.

Despite all the creativity, the Capital was far from a city to honored. Among the arts were restricting boundaries. Among the creative minority were the depressing majority. A revolution was on everyone's tired lips for a valid reason. This city was ill. Father told me it had been dying for some time now, and now was the time the symptoms were clearest. Thirteen years ago, the King and Queen of Lodona had been assassinated. One would believe this to be a tragedy, but from what I remember, it was met with a rather neutral reaction. I was only seven at the time and did not remember how well the King or Queen were perceived. In their place was a young princess that was only five years old at the time. Her name was Amanda. She was the only child of ruling monarchs and thus was the sole heir to the thrown of Lodona.

Lodona was an empire ruled by a constitutional monarchy. Not only did we a king or queen, or high princess, but we also had an assembly of two hundred and fifty men and women called the Royal Iudex. The Royal Iudex, of which the members were often called "judges," would preside of matters of the day. Like most ideas in this nation, we had taken this from another nation. They were a republic long before republics were normal. When Lodona was but an average country, we implemented the Royal Iudex to limit the powers of the monarchy. It worked, but many of the Royal Iudex's decisions have backfired. The king before the latest king was a great lord, as I had been told, but his reformations were destroyed by the powers of the Royal Iudex. One of the reasons why so many were poor was because of the wage laws. To fix this, the Royal Iudex simply divided the poor from the rich through segregation of home. In the Capital, they created the districts.

My district was District Epsilon of Sector Three. The Capital was so massive that her occupants had to divide her into specific sections. The districts were named from Alpha to Omega and each sector (of which there were six) of have that many districts. Alpha Districts were home to the most wealthy of non-nobles. They were called "Alphamites" and were a class of men and women that earned their wealth. As one would go down the alphabet, the districts would even out in the poor and rich. Epsilon Districts were of the mid-to-upper classes, mostly with men of business and entrepreneurs. My family would be above average when dealing with most Epsilon people. Then one would find the Omega Districts, which were slums to dump the poor and homeless into. These districts were always in a part of the city that would be hard to discover unless purposely going there. The wide streets never turned their way, the shops and businesses avoided them, and the good Anastasians would not speak of them. They were the homes of the violent and the less fortunate. Most revolutionary riots would ensue on the edges of these districts. The Royal Guards never went deep into Omegas and would let anyone inside them defend themselves.

Despite this, the Royal Iudex was an honorable society of men and women that held up the empire. We were prosperous, we were far better off than most nations. Our middle class was most people's nobility. We had the finest technology, we had the finest military, we had the finest people the entire world could boast. I knew the faults of the Capital, but she was my home, like a second mother to me. I would have done anything to protect her.

"Good day, Miss Bell!" a gentleman tipped his hat to me.

"Good day to you tell, Master Stephens," I answered.

"Carrying an old cloak like some messenger, are you?" another man chuckled.

This man was in a bright blue uniform with gold buttons and a tall black hat with a little chin strap. One of his hands, hidden in a white glove, was resting on the pommel of his sword. His blue trousers were straight and unwrinkled. His boots of the finest quality and shine. He approached me with a smile between his golden sideburns. He was a young man, just  a few years older than me. I did not stop for him, but kept walking. He walked with me.

"Why yes, I suppose I am some courier," I laughed when he came beside me.

"Well, you, by far, are the prettiest courier then," he remarked.

I knew this man well. I would not go as far to say that we were friends, but he seemed to always find me when I left my house. He was Royal Officer Francis Skelton. Royal Officer Skelton, like all royal officers, was in both the police force and the Royal Army. One had to achieve such a rank through training and bribing. Royal Officer Skelton earned it through honest means. He was a kind man and a leader, but I never was fond of him as he was someone who could arrest me if he caught me pickpocketing. However, that did not mean I should be rude to him. I was a lady, I acted as one.

"Why thank you," I said. "I'm taking this coat to Master Hopkins. He'll be excited to see it."

"Ah yes, that old timer," he nodded with that toothy grin that was unique in every way. "May I escort you to him? His house is still a few blocks away."

"Don't you have other things you could be doing?" I asked back. "I think I'm quite safe with or without you."

"I was not offering you my protection, my lady. I must say, I am rather bored."

"I thought you had a lady to attend you."

"Sarah? Ah yes, but she is always busy. Quite the adventurous girl. No, we do not attend to each other during the day."

I stopped and raised a brow at him. "Are you saying I'll suffice until then?"

"Of course not," he defended himself. "Miss Bell, you are a lovely girl to speak with. I just rather speak to you then wander about the city and yell at the filthy children who wish to pester the old man at the wine shop."

"They are still doing that?"

"Yes, and growing cleverer in tactics."

"I wish them the best of luck then. The wine shop owner is a grouch. Fine, you may escort me."

I started walking once again and he followed terribly close. For being a Royal Officer, he was not regal or fancy like most were. His steps were with a bit of childish excitement. This was the opposite of me, as I carefully took upon the gait of a noblewoman. I wished to be elegant, so I tried to be elegant. While his steps were quick and sudden, mine were long and graceful. Since he was in pants and I was in a dress, he had much more room to move his legs, yet it seemed that I used my space wiser.

"Any news on the Capital?" I asked with the sole purpose of conversation.

"Well, I was up late last night due to the Hallowed Sniper gaining another victim," he said casually.

"The 'Hallowed Sniper?' I have not heard of such a name. Is this the newest murderer on the streets?"

"Why yes. He is more known in the northern parts of the Capital. Here in the southern districts, he is less known. We've never seen the bogey, but I have the suspicion that he is a Nationalist. He only targets politics, especially those who are Loyalists. One of them, a you know, was Sir Winston McHenry, a member of the Royal Iudex. The Hallowed Sniper has the members afraid of their own lives."

I did not appreciate such talk of politics and the topics of assassination. I received such talk with my father too often for my comfort, so experiencing it with this young man irked me. In some desperate attempt to the change the topic while not hinting to him that I was being annoyed by his company, I cleared my throat in a very unlady-like manner that was absolutely by mistake. I understood the techniques of interacting with people who you did not want to interact with, but this was one of the few times I mucked up my attempt at being polite.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, which was just the phrase that would irk me the most.

"Not at all," I answered with composed courtesy. "It is only a piece of bread caught in me, that's all. Now, Francis, my dear, any other news on the Capital? I would approve of some news that did not involve the Nationalists. How is your mother? I heard your father was visiting from Heavenshire."

He straightened at the sound of his family. "He is. This will be his fourth day in the Capital," his voice lowered with a sigh. "He still thinks that I only acquired my rank through luck and, heh, good looks. Well, he's right about one of those two at least. My mother, rather than living with him at my home, has taken residence in one of the neighbor's home. She and my neighbor are good friends. Always have been."

The two of us stopped in front of Master's Hopkin's residence, well I only knew it was by the address that was covered in grime. It was not the most clean of places, as it was clear the master of the home neglected his windows or even the steps that led to his front door. I had believed the man owned two servants to do such work, but I could only assume they had left. Some lowly servants had quit their jobs to join the growing Nationalist Party, which was confusing for me, since I did not understand the reasons they would do such a thing. The government was not oppressing them like the factory workers, so their reasons of rebelling against an almost competent leadership seemed irrational to me. However, like the workers, I did not understand what it meant to be a servant, so I did not hold such things against them.

He stopped at the small gate before the gentleman's abode to open it for me. I thanked him for his courtesy and walked up the steps to the door without him by my side. He simply kept his arms behind his back, slightly puffing his chest out to appear impressive, and remained there in case of trouble. I could only raise a brow at him, but he did not react, so I turned my full attention to the old red door. I did not want to knock on the door. It was full of grime and the paint was chipped horribly. It did not deserve to be touched with hands like my own, but I overcame this inconvenience and took a light hold of the knocker with only my fingertips. With a small action, I lifted the ancient knocker just enough for it to slam back down with a rather disappointing clang. I instantly feared that I had to touch the sticky knocker once more.

Fortunately for me, I did not need to do something so drastic. There was a scuttling on the inside, like three feet were attached to a single man; or was it two feet and one was actually a massive foot? Either way, it did not sound anything like a normal person's gait. The doorknob turned with a ridiculous speed and the red door was thrown open with an almost angry pull. When the knob turned, I turned my face into the most cheerful and pleasant smile I could conjure. It was only proper that I appeared as a respected woman.

"Eh? Wha?" the man who opened the door answered.

It was indeed Master Hopkins, hunched over on his left side, where a bent cane was present in his old grasp. He was dressed fashionably in clothes that were outdated by at least twenty years. His round chin was hidden by a sideways beard that almost clung exclusively on the right side of his body. The whiteness of both the beard and the few hairs on his head made him appear far older than what he was, which was still old by all means. He had two beady eyes, of which I could not tell you the color. I would say they were simply black and white and hope that would suffice in describing them. The eyes were mostly covered by a pair of thick glasses that were as fogged up and dirty as his windows. He looked up at me slightly, only shorter than me because of his leaning, smiled a nice smile full of surprisingly well-kept teeth.

"Miss Bell!" he welcomed me, "so good, so good to see you. You have my coat? Well, thank you so much, my dear lady."

I handed him the coat, which he had trouble grasping at first, but his weathered fingers took hold of it with a tightness like no other. For a moment, I thought he was about to rip it from my arms, but he instead rolled it up under his left shoulder. His kind smile remained there as he inspected me like he always did.

"I remember when you were a small girl," he nodded in fondness. "Ah, you were and still are a girl with high hopes and dreams. Do you remember when you and your father would go up to the top of the Overton Tower just to get a good look at the Grand Royal Palace?"

"Indeed, I do," I answered. "It wasn't that long ago, I assure you, Master Hopkins."

After a pause that made hm appear like he forgot the last few moments of his life, he nodded, bid me good day, and closed the door. Most gentlemen would offer me tea and a chat before letting me go on my merry little way, but he was an old man whose memory and etiquette were not the finest. I would not forgive any other man for such brevity. He was the only exception.

"He forgot to pay..." I growled lowly, just low enough for Francis to not hear.

With our business, one could pay up front or choose to pay once the product had been finished. Most chose the latter, as money was very precious among the people on the wrong side of the wall. Not receiving that money was hard on my body; it was hard on my soul. However, it felt rude to demand a few coins from the ageing fellow. He did not mean to forget, it was his lot in life. Demanding payment now would make me appear greedy and improper. What was worse, appearing greedy or going without a payment? Well, with Francis watching me, I decided it was the former. This reasoning did not prevent me from tightening my right hand into a fist at my side. It took only a moment to compose myself and turn to the Royal Officer with a smile.

"Well, my chore is complete. Thank you for escorting me," I told him kindly.

"By all means, it was my pleasure," he bowed.

I stepped down the short flight of stairs, thanked him again, and watched him bow once more before turning and walking down the busy street. I took a deep breath as I was glad he had left. Master Hopkins had not paid me, thus my mind was still troubled by the lack of money in my grasp. So I kept watching the Royal Officer leave until he was far from sight. I was not going to go back to Mum and say that he did not pay and that we were out of luck. No, that was not going to happen by any means. I, of course, could simply go and ask the old man, but if he ever realized that we basically gave him a new coat for free, then he would be in our debt. He may be of use in the future for a task or two to pay for what he did not. That or he would be extra careful next time and act like this first exchange never happened. I could only hope for the former. Anyway, I was not going to force him to pay but instead acquire what we need by other means. When I was younger, I would deliver newspapers from the printer and writer, Arthur Daniel, to his subscribers, but that was often considered a boy's job and thus I was replaced by a child of more athletic worth. Now, I had my way of gaining the money I needed and my thieving skills were about to be utilized once more.

My eyes instantly started to scan the immediate area. Ladies in their dress, men in their suits, and children in their youngling outfits. No, I never stole from the children, I had standards. No, I never stole from the poor as they did not have money to steal. Besides that the poor were often followed by a foul stench that could only be acquired from being inside one of the factories. It was extremely hard to concentrate on a wallet when you had to clog your nose up before gagging. It was best to go for middle class and above.

The hardest part of this task was to find an easy purse to snatch. Some men hid theirs in the inside pockets of their black coats. The women had theirs on their waists, which was far easier to spot and steal. To a trained thief, all were game, but to a non-professional, one had to be cautious before selecting a target.

My eyes landed on a fellow with curly hair. He was handsome and decorated. A son of a rich businessman no doubt. Folks around my age clung to their precious wallets far less tightly than the wise elders that could spot a thief through eye contact alone. The first rule of thievery is to never steal from the same person twice. They always remember and when you approach them again, they can smell the mischief in your heart. Fortunately, the Capital was so vast that running into the same person twice was seemingly impossible.

I approached this man with a casual air. He was looking down at his pocket watch, which I believed was odd because a tower clock was nearby, showing the time to be around 10:35 in the pleasant morning. Perhaps he was checking his time with the clock's, I wondered. Well, I quietly made my way to his side. I had to firstly locate his wallet before I made any attempt to take it. I had trained myself to look for bumps or squares in a man's clothing. I stood there, not looking directly at him, shifting my eyes occasionally at one spot of his body. He closed his watch and returned it to his inside coat pocket. It was at this moment I spotted the wallet. It was time to make my move.

I made my first step to be in front of where he would turn. He had his head low as he was adjusting his coat's sleeves. With a step as far as my dress allowed me, I walked right into him. We collided much harder than I anticipated since his first stride was as strong as a mule. During the collision, I reached in with my left hand and swiftly withdrew his little bag of money. I took my hand out faster than his hat could fall to the cobblestone. It was an awkward exchange, but I acquired the purse nonetheless.

"Excuse me, my lady," he said as he picked up his hat. "I need to watch where I'm going."

"Oh, don't worry," I told him gently. "It's my fault as well."

I smiled and hid his wallet behind my back while I helped him fix the mess that was his clothes now. After that, we spoke a few words about the weather and the usual lack of proper sunlight before departing. Not once did he ever suspect that I had his money in my gloved hands. He was either to unobservant to notice or he was too occupied in trying to appear impressive to me. He had the air of usual Alphamites. Born into wealth and believing such wealth made him special. Well, he could have been much worse. At least he was courteous.

As the routine, I slipped into an alley (a clean one as my dress and shoes could not afford to be ruined by a filthy ground) to count my reward. It was fifty-two shollens. Not as much as I had hoped, but it was enough to compensate for Master Hopkins. I also had  to remind myself that that was more money than some families had in total. Oh, the horrors of poverty were one that I abhorred to even think about. I dared not imagine a life any less fortunate than my own. However, I was a schemer, I was a planner. I knew ways of staying out of the poor Districts of this thriving and dying city. Nothing was going to tear my family down; not even a bloody revolution. Whatever happened, I was to be prepared.

So I took those shollens and threw the wallet into a pit of trash. The Bluecoats could fetch it out from there in the evening. Presenting myself once again in my womanly manner, I took to the sidewalks to return to my family. The clicks of my heels, the rustles of my dress, the ambient noises of countless crowds that slithered through the streets of the Capital. It was what I lived for. It was a city that only one that lived in it all her life could understand. The amazing towers and minarets, the fuming factories, the crowded Districts of gloomy slums, the fabulous neighborhoods of nobles, and the Grand Royal Palace that watched it all from its northern peak all showcased the might of the Capital. I loved my home and the nation it should for, but I never imagined what it was capable of. This Capital knew no limits. It was an age of extremism. Tough luck to those who resided in the middle of two raging ideals for there was no bunker, no shelter, no hideout that could keep one person safe from the events that unfolded in the upcoming weeks.

~*~