The Thief and the Crime Lord

[Conrad Jamboy]

Part One: Protégé
​

High above the sprawling tapestry of Karim, the crow wheeled lazily, wings outstretched to catch and ride the warm thermals of Mesa Roja’s perpetually cloudless sky. Night descended quickly over the desert city. While the distant glow of the Arc provided some light, it did little to dispel the shadows gathering in the city’s winding alleys and many-nooked rooftops. The crow’s ink-black plumage absorbed and dispersed the incoming rays, rendering it nearly invisible as it retracted its wings tight against its sides and swooped low, its gaze always on the high-walled compound below.

Even at this height, the crow made out the tiny forms of sentries patrolling atop those high walls—men, clad in dark clothing and armed with wicked rifles, pacing alongside hunting cats and larger birds of prey.

“Murkrow,” the crow rasped plaintively. His master had grown more daring of late, each target a higher risk than the last. His bold escapades had garnered Conrad Jamboy a certain notoriety, not only among Karim’s nobility, but the city guard as well. Tales of the thief echoed in council chambers and smoke-choked taverns, bathhouses and back alleys—tales of a figure, hooded and cloaked, infiltrating the most closely guarded manors and guildhouses of Karim and disappearing without a trace.

The crow croaked with mirth at that thought. Set in their superstitious ways, they likely thought Conrad to be a specter—perhaps a powerful wizard, or the agent of a supernatural entity, sent to punish them for some unknown crime. The sheer expertise with which Conrad conducted his heists had even caused many to look inward, suspecting rival houses or even members of their own families and guilds.

Karim had no shortage of thieves, the too-wise Murkrow knew. Trespassers were common in the lesser houses, where defenses were sparse. But Conrad Jamboy, bred by circumstance—forged by the unforgiving culture of the city’s underground into an almost preternatural pilferer—, had long ago graduated from such petty endeavors, and all before his sixteenth year. The crow croaked again, a wheezing sound not unlike laughter. It wished dearly to witness the reactions of Karim’s elite when they learned a mere street waif had introduced such chaos and paranoia into their midst.

Coming out of its dive, Murkrow settled atop the spire of a tall clock tower across from the compound. It craned its neck to see its master, a dozen feet below, crouched in the shadow of an ornately carved gargoyle. The crow gave a soft caw, and Conrad’s smiling visage turned upward to greet his beloved partner. A single flap of its wings brought Murkrow to Conrad, the crow settling easily on his shoulder.

“Murkrow,” the bird rasped quietly, anxiety evident in its tone. The two companions had run hundreds of these operations over the years, but this time Murkrow truly feared for its master. Few in all the Crossroads had tangled with Giovanni and lived to tell the tale.

“Quiet.” Conrad locked eyes with the crow, his expression severe. His brow unknit immediately, and he flashed a sheepish grin. “Sorry Murk. I just don’t want them to… you know.” He gestured to an oblivious guard atop the compound wall, less than thirty feet away.

The bird glared, but kept its beak shut.

Still watching the guard, Conrad pulled his red gloves tight and drew his hood tighter around his face. From a pouch dangling from his belt, he withdrew a handful of pellets. Peeling back a flap of fabric from each knuckle of his left glove, he inserted the pellets one by one, taking great care not to rupture them and release the potent spells they contained. The set of his jaw told Murkrow the time had come.

“You know the drill,” Conrad said tersely. The smile had faded from his face, but his steel-gray eyes showed their usual eager glimmer. “See you on the other side, Murk.” The bird bobbed its head, flapping its wings once and tucking its taloned legs in tight against its body, cloaked in shadow as it darted off over the compound.

Conrad leaned forward on his perch, careful not to emerge from the ensconcing shadows and risk being spotted. He counted off the guards again: four on the wall facing the clock tower; two in each of the sentry turrets forming the corners of the compound’s perimeter; and a handful of Pokémon, including a Pidgeotto, a Liepard, and an Arbok. Pokémon were rare in the Crossroads, Conrad knew, and those that did exist tended to be wild and untameable. In all his years in Karim, he had never seen one other than Murkrow.

That is, until Giovanni arrived in the city. The whispers spread rapidly of his collection of rare and dangerous creatures, often seen patrolling the walls of his palatial compound. As soon as Conrad heard the whispers and checked out the compound for himself, he had started planning to break in and see what was inside. Now, on the cusp of that very break-in, the young thief found himself hesitating. Was he in over his head, he wondered, perhaps for the first time in his life. Had he let his insatiable curiosity get the best of him?

He shook away the thoughts and gathered back his focus, dispelling the apprehension. He was Conrad Jamboy, perhaps the most prolific thief in Mesa Roja. He had stolen from guildmasters, wizards, even visiting dignitaries from across the Crossroads, and he had always escaped unscathed. “It’s what I do,” he whispered, steeling his resolve.

The guard across the way turned right—right on schedule—and started walking away, the coiled Arbok following his lead. Without another thought, Conrad hooked an arm inside the gargoyle’s gaping mouth and swung out from his perch, plummeting toward the ground some forty feet below. Just when it seemed his descent had grown too rapid to stop, he caught hold of a gutter and pushed off again, dropping onto a sharply sloping rooftop. His head shot up, surveying the guard and the enormous cobra to see if he had been noticed. The two continued their practiced routine, oblivious as Conrad landed catlike on the wide avenue running between the clock tower and the compound. Secure in his secrecy, he trotted across and flattened himself against the compound’s outer wall.

He drew short, shallow breaths, waiting for his heartbeat to settle after the exhilarating drop. Overhead, he heard the terse murmurs of the guards as they completed their revolution, settling into their new posts. To their credit, they seemed a lot more disciplined than the last place he broke into, Conrad noted. In Pasha Pook’s manor, he had slipped right past two guards throwing bones, less than five feet away, and still they hadn’t noticed. Somehow, he sensed he wouldn’t be as lucky this time around.

When his heartbeat had slowed, Conrad closed his eyes and fell within himself, reaching out for the consciousness of his avian companion. He sensed Murkrow, still wheeling high above the compound, waiting for its master’s call. When Conrad opened his eyes, his steel-gray orbs had been replaced by the yellow eyes of Murkrow. Instead of seeing the clock tower rising ominously above him he saw Giovanni’s entire compound from a literal birds-eye view—looking through the eyes of the faithful crow.

It took a moment for him to adjust to the abrupt shift in perspective, but when he did he took in the layout of the compound, memorizing its many courtyards, walkways, and clustered buildings. He looked to the wall against which he was flattened, but couldn’t make himself out in the deep shadows. Peering intently, he made out a spot on the other side of the wall. Reaching up slowly with one hand, he pressed his right thumb against the knuckle flap of his left hand, crushing the pellet nestled inside. The Murkrow vision broke, and he was again seeing through his own eyes…

… from inside Giovanni’s compound.

​

 

[Jim Raynor]

The shrill ring of the phone lifted Giovanni’s eyelids. Sighing, he propped himself up in bed and switched on the crackled lamp on his bedside table. He reached for the phone, untangling the curly wire that connected the handset to the rotary base. He stared at the wall as the bulb warmed up, spreading the light through his small room.

“Yes?”

“Giovanni sir,” Alfonso said, “there’s been a break-in at the compound.”

“And? Why are you waking me for such a trivial matter?” Giovanni said. “Why aren’t the Team Rocket operatives handling it? Why aren’t you handling it?”

“I would sir,” Alfonso said, his voice unaffected by the withering tone of his boss, “but it’s not an ordinary break-in.”

“And why is that?” Giovanni asked.

“A guard saw a fleeting movement in the compound but put it down to a shadow. It wasn’t until he noticed something flying above that he was sure he had seen a thief. We aren’t sure what he’s looking to steal but... we think he got in with the aid of a Pokemon.”

Giovanni furrowed his brow. “A Pokemon?”

“Yes sir,” Alfonso said. “You directed me to call you in the event of a Pokemon sighting, especially in town.”

“And you think this thief has caught and trained this Pokemon to assist in his burglaries?” Giovanni asked. “Which Pokemon is it?”

“None that any of our operatives have,” Alfonso said. “We would need you to identify it, but it’s a small bird with black feathers, hard to see against the night sky.”

Hmm, Giovanni thought to himself. Perhaps a Starly, or a Murkrow. Or one of their evolved counterparts.

“It seems you may be right,” Giovanni said. “Pokemon sightings are rare enough in this dimension. It would be unlikely that one would be wheeling about my compound in the dead of night unless it was helping its trainer.”

“What would you like us to do, sir?” Alfonso asked.

Giovanni threw off the blankets and stood out of bed. “Watch the thief. Track him. Let him search around. If he’s looking for something in particular, let him find it. Then when he tries to leave... I will conduct an impromptu meeting. I will be there soon.”

Giovanni slammed down the phone.

 

[Conrad Jamboy]

Shadow within shadow, Conrad crept across Giovanni’s compound. He had gleaned the general layout from above—a central courtyard of lavish gardens and topiary carved into the likeness of Pokémon unfamiliar to Conrad, surrounded on all sides by a web of tight walkways and guarded buildings. Presiding over it all, in the northernmost corner of the roughly diamond-shaped complex, loomed a magnificent structure of carved stone and etched marble, a classical vestige of years past, before technology from far-off worlds had started to insinuate itself into Karim’s architecture.

Conrad knew from his reconnaissance that Giovanni didn’t reside in that structure. For several weeks, his avian companion had monitored the crime lord’s movements into and out of the compound, noting with keen eyes his early morning arrivals and late evening departures. Never, though, had Murkrow been able to track Giovanni to his final destination outside the compound. Much like Conrad himself, the crime lord clearly knew how to keep to the shadows and avoid the prying eyes of pursuers. Still, his predictable routine offered a wide window during which Conrad knew he would be off the premises—a window the young thief now exploited.

Conrad knelt behind a row of finely manicured hedges as a pair of guards strode past, voices low in murmured conversation. Their disciplined movements and the bright red ‘R’ logo emblazoning their soldiers’ garb identified them as members of Giovanni’s most elite contingent, Team Rocket.

That sight gave Conrad pause. Never in their weeks of preparation had Murkrow seen Team Rocket patrolling out in the open. The duty of protecting the compound had always been reserved for the lesser guardsmen, men and women hired from the many tight-knit mercenary groups of the city, and for Giovanni’s seemingly endless supply of rare and dangerous Pokémon—Pokémon who, Conrad knew, kept the oft-malingering guards at the ready more than providing any practical defense.

As a tenured thief, even at his young age Conrad knew not to place much stock in coincidence. Reversing course, he slunk along behind the row of hedges, keeping pace with the murmuring guards. Though they kept their voices low, the snippets of conversation he managed to glean did more than confirm his suspicions.

“—keep our distance, the boss said.”

“Distance, my ass! We should just kill the mongrel and be done with it.”

“Keep your voice down, or—”

Unable to leave the concealing safety of the hedges, Conrad could only strain to hear more as the guards crossed the walkway and moved out of earshot. They knew. Somehow—impossibly—Team Rocket, and thus Giovanni, knew he was in the compound. Not for the first time, Conrad wondered if he had overstepped his considerable bounds by targeting one of Karim’s most powerful crime lords. He recalled Murkrow’s anxious warning on the clock tower, the wise bird’s not-so-subtle insistence that Conrad, ever daring, was in over his head this time. A quick survey of the courtyard through the gaps in the hedges showed him he would have little trouble making the wall and getting back across, leaving this whole foolish escapade behind him.

“No,” the young thief whispered, dispelling the uncharacteristic thoughts. The name of Conrad Jamboy had not become infamous in Karim’s most powerful circles because he shied away from a challenge. He was many things, but he was not a coward.

Besides, he thought, his grim expression splitting into a wide smile, he was having way too much fun.

 

[Conrad Jamboy]

As soon as the Team Rocket duo’s voices faded, Conrad tightened his gloves and slipped from his hiding place. He crouched catlike, with the practiced, ball-to-toe movements of a decade of infiltration, taking advantage of every gloomy recess and concealing hedgerow in his way across the courtyard. With every step he marveled at the sheer beauty of the gardens. Never in his sixteen years in the desert city had he witnessed so much green—tapering trees with broad, leafy branches, neatly trimmed hedges laden with ripe berries, and even exotic man-eaters from far-off Kraw, enormous plants with gaping maws and wriggling, rope-like vines reaching always for their next meal. The thought of getting wrapped up in those grasping appendages and dissolved whole made Conrad shudder and look away.

Soon enough, he reached the first cluster of buildings, small structures with sloping, tiled roofs and windows set high in their tan outer walls. Grasping at handholds imperceptible to a lesser intruder, Conrad scaled the wall with ease. The window above him was slightly ajar, wisps of acrid smoke and the murmur of quiet voices drifting out to meet the young thief. The deepening night had grown chilly around him, raising goosebumps on his bare forearms, but that chill paled in comparison to what the he saw when he peered furtively into the window.

The tiny complex of rooms inside had been stripped down to the studs and hung floor-to-ceiling with thick sheets of plastic. In each of the three doorless rooms, a row of workbenches sat beneath dingy, flickering light bulbs. Much like an assembly line, each set of workbenches were arranged the same way: the first, laden with several heaping mounds of varicolored powders; the second, with empty capsules not unlike those containing the potent spells in Conrad’s glove compartments; and the third, with fabric sacks overflowing with assembled and sealed capsules. Men and women, dressed in loose-fitting white cloth, each breathing through a heavy respirator affixed airtight against their faces, scurried back and forth in front of the workbenches like insects in a hive.

And through the center of the throng strode more black-clad Team Rocket members alongside prowling Persians and Liepards, wielding long, black rods buzzing at their tips with arcing, whitish-blue electricity. As Conrad watched, a woman at the nearest table, clearly exhausted, her face smeared with powder and her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, stumbled back from the table and looked around blearily, seeming not to know where she was. A moment later, she dropped heavily to the floor in a sitting position.

The nearest Team Rocket member wasted no time in hurrying to the woman’s side. Conrad expected her to haul the woman to her feet and lead her somewhere for medical treatment, but instead he brandished the black metal rod. The woman crawled backward with all the strength she could muster, but the soldier was quicker. The sizzling electricity pressed hard against the woman’s ribs. She howled and flailed, all control of her muscles lost, her hair dancing wildly on its ends. The soldier only tossed his head back and laughed. After several seconds, the smoke—smoke Conrad now realized, to his horror, bore the acrid odor of burnt flesh—filled the air once more, drifting out of the window through which the young thief peered.

Eyes wide with shock, Conrad lost his footing. He grabbed frantically at the windowsill, finding no traction on the smooth surface, before dropping heavily—audibly—to the ground ten feet below.

The young thief froze, every muscle tensing as he listened for sounds of alarm. For a few seconds everything was quiet, save for the muted moans of the tortured woman inside the building. Then, all at once, shouts filled the air, followed by the stomp of booted feet and the creak of a door swinging wide, just around the corner.

Without time to process the grotesque scene he had just witnessed, Conrad jumped to his feet and sprinted around the corner. The crisscrossing beams of flashlights and calls for a coordinated search came close behind. The young thief sped past a second building, then a third, banking hard to the right to stay close to cover instead of taking his chances back out on in the open expanse of Giovanni’s gardens. There he paused to suck in a heaving breath and, deciding to get a better picture of the numbers and strategy of his pursuers, allowed, just for a moment, his vision to slip inward, searching with his mind for the presence of his avian friend once more.

The shift in perspective came easier this time, and Conrad noted that Murk had swooped low over the compound, anticipating its masters needs. He made a mental note to reward the bird later—a note quickly washed away as he took full stock of his situation. No fewer than a dozen Team Rocket members, and several of their keen-sensed Pokémon companions, had congregated around the first building and started to fan out, combing the immediate area for signs of the intruder. Marking a clear path to the compound’s main building, Conrad’s vision slipped back to normal. He crept off, knowing well precisely how much time he had to move before soldiers came swarming around the corner.

A dull ache settled deep in the young thief’s stomach as he slipped through the shadows, swiftly putting distance between him and his pursuers. His thoughts swirled. He saw again the image of the woman, shocked and writhing on the dirt floor of the small building—heard again the chilling laugh of the soldier as he looked down on the woman with sadistic glee, the acrid stench of charred flesh filling the air. Not one of the other laborers had so much as lifted a hand or a voice in protest, due either to fear of their captors, senses dulled by exhaustion, or perhaps simple resignation.

What were they making in there, anyway? As far as Conrad could tell, they were engaged in the mixing of alchemical powders. Or perhaps some kind of mind-altering substances, but those usually came in the form of potent weeds, ground up and smoked with a pipe.

The young thief was no stranger to the criminal underworld of Karim. He had seen—and endured—his share of horrors, but never had he been as shaken as by the scene in Giovanni’s compound. Far from discouraged, though, Conrad knew renewed purpose in that moment, an upwelling of anger and a desire to retaliate in kind—to steal from Giovanni as he had stolen from that poor woman lying burnt and moaning on the concrete floor. And who better than a thief to visit exactly that revenge upon the crime lord?

Up the stairs of the palatial manor he went, crouched low to avoid the flashlight beams still darting around the compound. Huge wooden doors loomed forebodingly in front of him. Conrad tested the handle and found the door unlocked. Not uncommon, he reasoned, for a building inside one of the most well-guarded compounds in the desert city.

With a last glance around, and then up to the sky, searching unsuccessfully for the dark silhouette of Murk, the young thief heaved the door open and slipped inside.