It was an early morning in spring. But it could have easily been midwinter. The fields were covered in a thick frost and a gauzy fog hovered above the ground, stretched thin in long layers and blocked out the dawn. If I waited, the sun would eventually burn through the fog, however, there was no time to delay, she would have the paddle steamer fired up and ready to go. One thief alone – always caught, two thieves – disappear like ghosts.
The frost melted around my canvas trainers as I ran; it formed an undulating water mark of dark blue and my toes were cold even though I had started to sweat in the thick mac. The further I ran into the fog, the thicker it became and before long, it surrounded me. I stopped. It’s always best to stop when you are not sure. Take stock…you know, take a moment and think. If you panic, the answers become blurred. And when you need answers, you need to be clear headed. That was one of my strongest qualities. The ability to think clearly when everyone else is lost in hysteria.
Standing still made my feet feel even colder and wetter. The fog cut close to my face and as I breathed it in, the damp hung in my lungs, seized its membranes, and forced me to take suffocating short, quick breaths. Cold induced asthma took hold, but I stuffed my hand into my coat pocket and pulled out my inhaler. I sucked in two quick puffs and closed my eyes waiting for the drug to work. Slowly, my chest eased, my lungs were released from the freezing fog. I replaced the lid and pushed it back into my pocket and grabbed hold of the silver compass. It was attached to a silver chain, but I had refused to wear it, it was Mother’s and wearing it somehow seemed wrong. I pulled it out. It was cold, the kind of cold where you couldn’t tell if the silver was burning or freezing in the palm of your hand. I rubbed the compass with both hands to get it started; the sapphire set in the centre of the radiating sun rays glowed. I clicked the catch at the bottom, the lid popped open. I watched the arrow spin and then headed due south.
I was slightly off course, but not too far. As I neared the river, my shoulder ached with the weight of the satchel and the leather cut into my collar bone. I had slung it over my head and diagonally across my body so it wouldn’t fall off. I could never carry the school satchel on one shoulder; the strap would always slide off my narrow shoulders. But now, it wasn’t filled with my computer, books, or a pencil case. I carried silver, and silver was heavy and necessary; it was the only chemical that could link the compass with its originator. The brown leather bulged and was held closed by only one of the straps. The other, flapped freely as I followed the compass.
I heard the chugging of the paddle steamer but saw nothing; it was a whispering ghost waiting for me. As I neared the river, the fog thinned, and I caught the glint of gold at the very tip of the bow. If you weren’t looking, you would miss it. The rest of the steamer was veiled in a ripple vacuum, but I knew the small red outline was there, with the paddle wheels at the stern and the smaller thin wheel on the port side. It was as if a small wooden train engine was set in the hull of the boat; it had a small deck at the front and stairs up to helm.
“Run!” Ornella allowed her voice to break through the vacuum.
I looked behind and could see dark shadows growing larger in the fog. There were at least three. I snapped the compass shut, held it tightly and ran towards her.
“Hurry sister!” she said.
Ornella was older than me at fifteen, but only slightly, by ten and a half months. However, that ten and a half months meant the difference between giving orders and receiving them. The compass pointed me directly to the small port side paddle wheel; I trusted in the compass completely and launched myself over the river. Ornella pulled me up onto the deck.
“Let’s go, Odinia!” She shouted as she jumped up to the helm and pushed the steamer into action; it rumbled underneath my feet and we were off.
The shadows had slowed. I knew they couldn’t see anything. I watched as they faded into the fog then joined Ornella at the helm. Dropping the satchel behind her, I sunk into the folding chair by the fire and slipped off the canvas trainers and hung my wet socks over the arm of the chair to dry. Ornella was strong and serious, when she turned and looked at me, she smiled but I knew as soon as her back was to me, her mouth would be drawn in a tight, thin line piloting The Phantom to our next heist.
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The Gold Shoe Writer 