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The thief hasted his way through the crowd. Running ahead of the announcement cart, he maintained quiet long distance from the weird man from whom he had stolen the pouch.
Did I rob someone I shouldn’t have? His heartbeat questioned him.
Or is this guilt? Braden asked himself again before running inside the coliseum. Braden crept through the crowded passage filled with people in fancy costumes where few of them held paper in their hand, trying to rehearse stuff for the play set for evening. Those papers in their hands had got them quiet an audience, majority of being female, trying to find something romantic in every word the actor was uttering.
He then set off for the dressing room where costumes waited for him.
Infront of the mirror, he clutched an old brush and tried to paint black spots on his face. The strokes were crisp. It made him forget he was yet to open what he had brought with him.
“You are just starting?” Play Master bumped in, making the idea of peeking inside the pouch unlikely.
“All I need is to wear the costume. It won’t take time.” Braden didn’t stop brushing his cheeks.
“Others are rehearsing already.”
“I am playing Wernh’An. I don’t need script or to rehearse.” Barden stopped painting his face, “Swing, swing, duck, stab. I know everything.”
“Whom to stab?” Play Master asked.
“The old Chosokabe.” Barden sighed, “Wutke and the third enemy would take care of the rest. I have seen this play twenty times.”
“HEY!” someone broke his way inside the room.
Old man? Braden’s heart came to his lips.
The moment he took a gander at the mirror’s reflection, he came to realization about his paranoia.
The man watched Braden for a second and began, “How did you even replacing me?”
“He agreed at a lower price.” Play Master pointed at Braden.
“I left the theatre to play Wernh’An.”
“The theatre price is not what we pay. I did not guarantee you this role, did I?” Play Master signaled Braden to keep on painting.
“You were vague.”
“Aren’t I obvious enough now?”
“Theatre is angry over me.”
“I am not pleased to have you here either.” Master turned around, “Now, would you leave me?”
“Because of your riddles I lost the pay for tonight. I will not go empty handed.” The man bellowed by looking at Braden.
“Would you quit your role, Braden?” Play Master patted him.
“No.” Braden replied.
“See,” he talked with the man, “no role for you. But you can do some costumes. Help the actors dress up. Can’t guarantee you silver but can give you couple of bronzes.”
He nod with unsatisfied expression and left the room.
“And as for you, Braden.” Play Master said, “What have you got in here, gold or bronze?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you beat him up while stealing this?”
Braden put the brush down, “It was clean.” He breathed and began pulling the thread which tied the pouch.
“Don’t do it.” Master put his hand on Braden’s, “Give it back to its owner or I will call guards.”
“I didn’t steal it from anyone in here. There was a weird hag on street dressed as Nobukazu Chosokabe.”
“Then you will know whom it belongs to when you see him next time.”
Braden sniffed, “Okay. If I spot him in crowd tonight then I will return it to him.
“What if you don’t find him?”
“I will leave it unopened till I die.” Braden looked straight in his eyes.
Play Master trusted a thief’s words.
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