Long ago, back in 10th grade, I had to write a short story for one of my final exams. I came up with a young thief in a vague fantasy setting, The thief was a young boy called Monk. This would have been 1992, so it predates the comic strip version by almost 15 years (damn, I'm old). I've written a handful of unfinished shorts with the character over the years, but this is the first proper short story featuring him. He's now called Crow, to avoid confusion. Mine, not anyone else's.

As The Crow Flies



It was the joy of discovery that led Crow to thieving. Ideally the discoveries were along the lines of treasures secreted inside cheap vases, or beautiful women of questionable virtue who dreamt of dangerous strangers creeping into their rooms at night. His most recent discoveries were a different matter. He had discovered that Guildmaster Moon was a frighteningly light sleeper. Moon also, despite his intimidating size, had the speed, agility, and endurance of a man half his size and age. Finally, he discovered that being held over the ledge of a building by one hand, while trying to hold onto the tantalizingly heavy bag of gold he’d lifted from the sleeping man was exactly as painful and frightening as he had imagined it would be.

“I swear by the Goddess, if you don’t let me down safely I’ll drop your precious gold!” It was not the most credible of threats. He would sooner chew his arm off than let go of money that was, at the moment, rightfully his.

“Drop that gold and you’ll follow right after it!” He leaned in close, and a fearful tremor shot through Crow’s body, only to be chased away by the whiskey breath of the Guildmaster. “In fact, why don’t I just drop you now and pick up the gold after?” Crow felt the man’s grip loosen, and he acted before he could think. Feinting with a kick, he slammed his head forward, teeth biting down on the bulbous nose of his captor. Moon let go and reeled backwards, his hands flying to his bloodied nose. Crow caught hold of his collar as he did and was dragged back onto the roof with him. Rolling away quickly, he turned and faced the Guildmaster.

“You’ll die for that, boy!” Crow sighed, not at what he was about to do, but at the discovery that he was willing to do it.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” With arms long strengthened by the needs of his profession, the thief flung the bag of gold at Guildmaster Moon’s face with a considerable amount of speed and force. Had he been prepared for it, Moon likely could have caught the bag with one hand and thought nothing of it. Instead, he was startled by the heavy missile flung as if from a catapult and he stepped back and raised his hands to protect his throbbing face. He tumbled over the edge of the building and landed with an audible thud, closely followed by the sound of the bag landing beside him.

Crow never thought of himself as a killer, though there could be no argument about it now. He took a little comfort in the discovery that he had no taste for it, regardless of the necessity. He was a thief, by trade and by nature, and so he made these discoveries as his feet carried him as quickly as possible to the bloody bag of gold that awaited him on the street below.