Foxheart

Chapter Four

Fox slipped along the shrubbery that was pressed against the house's walls, keeping amongst the leaves as best as he could as he sought out the basement steps. Before long, he found them; a thick set of steps leading below the house's ground floor and towards a locked wooden door.

With the guard and his dog still patrolling, Fox waited again. He didn't want to be caught in the act of picking the lock. A few minutes passed and he pressed himself against the wall, hoping no one would peek out the window above him, as the guard passed again with his dog calmly trailing him like a shadow. Fox waited patiently, growing pleased when the smoker called out and the pair began to talk, their voices rumbling in the still night air. He had more time now.

Fox dropped down into the alcove of the undercroft door, snuggled up closed and checked the type of lock, and set to work in no time. Whipping out a thin wallet from his pocket, Fox picked out two long picks from the assortments of combs, safe picks, pick wires, door picks, tension tools and various key shapes; all to unlock a variety of safes, cabinets, desks, doors and the occasional car. He shook his head to focus when he momentarily recalled the long lessons his father gave him as child, teaching him how each pick and lock worked.

Fox listened vaguely to the voices of the guards as he worked, noting the moment they went quiet and his time began ticking. Thankfully he was a quick worker with the modern locks, it was the older ones he struggled with sometimes, and the door clicked open. But it was not safe yet. Alarm systems were popping up everywhere these days and his notes told him every door leading to the outside was connected to a particular closed-curcuit bell model, one that would activate with a spring mechanism and electric current cut off the moment the door opened, setting it off to clang its bell and call in the bobbies or security company it was connected to. This is why the glove was so handy. Before he'd had to faff about with magnets, plastic and clippers to get through which ate away at time rapidly. Now he could either keep the current flowing or blow the battery it was connected it entirely.

Switching it to the electrical option, he began to try find the wiring about the door, all the while keeping an eye out for trouble. The moment he saw the small fire poking out, he smiled. As soon as he touched it, he activated the glove. A powerful surge of electricity tore through the wiring until it reached the battery, keeping the power flowing. With the alarm now deactivated for a brief time, Fox opened the door, careful to keep the electricity-pumping glove close to the break connection. Fox slipped inside and closed it firmly in place, plunging himself into total darkness. The moment he removed his hand, the alarm was back on again.

Fox took a moment to breathe and pull out the blue-prints. The goggles around his ahead enabled to him to see what was just in front of him but not at a great distance. Trying to predict where he needed to go would help manoeuvring in the house.

He traced his black gloved fingers along the scribbled halls, noting he needed to move down the west side of the house, through the massive wine storage, and pass a couple of guard rooms. Where he was currently was the gardening shed and usually left empty but, just down the corridor, a guard would be sitting, half-heartedly listening out for trouble. The light peeking beneath one of the doors told him he was correct; the guard was beyond there. Fox was glad he didn't have to worry about that one as there was a path through the darkened door on his right. The fewer people he'd knock out, the better.

Fox tucked the map away and began to walk silently forward, pressing his feet against stone in shoes specifically made for silence. Padding up along the wall, trying his best not to jangle the dangling gardening tools or kick the buckets and flowerpots on the floor, he fumbled his way to door he needed to go into.

He jiggled the door handle and slipped into the wine cellar when the door gave way, closing it as quietly as possible behind himself and hunkered down. He gazed at the rows of numbered racks of bottles and the meticulously organised large barrels. The room was long, too deep for him to see the end, and stank of dank must, damp wood and alcohol. He knew a patrol would come through here. If the numbers on the racks were years, these bottles were expensive and needed to be checked periodically. But Fox wasn't just a standard thief. He was an Obtainer. His target was the only thing he was going to take from this house, nothing else.