Chapter 3 - The Thief

He jumped to his feet and sprinted outside, slamming the door behind him and whirling to pin Cricket to the wall. “Missing?” he demanded. “You mean someone stole it?”

“How else would it have disappeared? It's been taken! It's gone!”

“We have to gather the villagers!” he said to the mayor. “Surely someone would have seen it!”

“I'll help!” Cricket said at once. “Mayor, why don't you get the ones who live on the west side, and I'll get those from the east!”

“Thank you, Cricket, that would be a tremendous help,” said Carmichael. Cricket dashed away. “Wilfre, could you help me?” implored the mayor. “You wouldn't mind gathering the villagers from the southwest, would you?”

“Of course not, Mayor,” he said, and ran to do as he was told.

“Who's there and what do you want?” shouted Isaac when he knocked on the door.

“It's Wilfre! Someone's stolen the Book of Life! We're gathering the villagers for a town meeting!”

The door flew open; he only just jumped back in time. “Stolen?” echoed Isaac, his eyes wide and incredulous—maybe even a little afraid—behind his glasses.

“Yes! Stolen! Or it's disappeared at any rate, and I can't see how else it would have vanished!”

Isaac narrowed his eyes. “This isn't a trick, is it?”

“Of course not!” he shouted, frustrated. “Isaac, this is an emergency! It's no time for mistrust and—and—personal bias!”

“Let it never be said that I was biased,” Isaac sighed, and hurried away to vanish behind the trees.

He ran from house to house, hammering on the doors and shouting. Finally, exhausted, he went to the town square on Lia's heels.

Mayor Carmichael had already gathered the villagers from the north, and was standing by the Eternal Flame, looking flustered. “Oh, Wilfre,” he said, relieved. “I have to thank you.”

“Oh, it was no problem,” he said, and stood by the Flame as well.

A moment later, Cricket came running. “I've gotten them all!” he hollered.

“Thank you, Cricket,” the mayor called. “Villagers, if you'll gather around here, please...”

Everyone crowded in to hear the mayor's calm, quiet voice.

“Something terrible has happened,” announced Mayor Carmichael. “Something that yesterday would have been unthinkable.”

You should start thinking ahead more, Mayor, he thought, but he didn't dare voice the opinion aloud. He didn't think anyone would call him on it, but he couldn't risk the chance someone would.

“I would never have believed it was possible,” Carmichael went on, “but the Book of Life—the very same ancient tome containing the drawings our Creator drew our world from—has been stolen.”

“If anyone has seen anything regarding the disappearance of this sacred treasure,” shouted Cricket as he pushed his way through the crowd, “please don't hesitate to report it to us!” He reached the center of the square and stood proudly next to the mayor.

“Yes, please, report any information you might have immediately, to aid us in the capture of this...treasonous criminal.”

Everyone began murmuring, but no one seemed to have any solid information to present. They waited a few minutes, and no one spoke up.

“If no one has seen hide nor hair of the thief,” mused Cricket, “Then I have a good idea who must have done it.”

“Who's that?” he asked.

“Why, none other than the infamous master thief...Zsasha!”

“Master thief?” he echoed. “Oooh, that sounds bad. Won't he be hard to find?”

“Which is exactly why we need to get started right away,” said Cricket. He raised his voice above the villagers. “People of Rapoville! We must begin an investigation at once! We'll have to search for the infamous Zsasha if we want to find the Book!”

“If you are willing to help in the investigation, see Cricket at the station,” said Mayor Carmichael. “This meeting is over.”

He slipped away with the rest of the Raposa before anyone could tell him to come back or try and enlist him in a futile hunt for a master thief.

By the time night fell, his little house was so full of shadow-things he had to rip out several pages and tear them up to get rid of some. He had a hundred pages more of notes and wasn't any closer whatsoever to finding an explanation for the way his creations had turned out.

He worked until his eyes were so tired from the lamp's dim glow that he could barely see, and then decided he'd done enough for the night and, frustrated and unhappy, went to bed.

The next morning, he didn't bother to go down to the fountain or to Cookie's before getting straight to work. Before he could lead the way into the Age of Creation, he had to solve any problems, work out anything wrong with the idea of drawing in the Book of Life. He had to understand what made the drawings so dark and mutated when they came to life.

Time seemed to pass strangely, slowly. Pages turned and shadows grew from nothing. He filled his pen with different colors of ink and wrote with a feather and with three brushes, and nothing helped. His mind was vaguely aware that there was a sharp pain in his stomach—had he eaten since breakfast yesterday?--and that he ought to have been tired, but he'd worked himself into a fervor over the inky shadow drawings. There wasn't much but adrenaline and willpower keeping him going, but he could stay awake for days on adrenaline and willpower.

“What the Rapo is THIS?”

He jumped to his feet and whirled to face Mayor Carmichael, standing in the doorway, looking shocked and horrified. “What are you doing in my bloody house?” he demanded. “Get out!”

“Wilfre, what are these—things?”

“Nothing!”

“Nothing? These—nothing?”

“They're monsters, okay! From Shadow! I wanted to--study them!”

The mayor narrowed his eyes. “You're not meeting my gaze when you say that, Wilfre.”

“I swear! It's true! I swear to the Creator! I swear on the Book of Life!”

“I'm not sure I trust your oath when it's sworn upon the Book. You didn't seem to believe it was so sacred a few weeks ago.”

“I do believe the Book is sacred! I believe the Creator drew our world to life in its pages! I just don't believe it should be forbidden for the Raposa to draw in it as well! We have brilliant minds! We could create too!”

“I've heard this too many times, Wilfre,” the mayor sighed. “Get rid of these things at once.”

“I—I--” He was breathing hard and fast, and he couldn't seem to slow his heart rate down. He was getting too excited, too nervous, and when he was in an excited state already... “I can't!”

“Why not?”

“I have to study them!”

“Why?”

“I—can't tell you!” His head was spinning, his pulse thundering in his ears.

Mayor Carmichael glared. “I'm telling you now—what are you hiding behind your back?”

“Nothing!”

“Step aside, Wilfre.”

“I'm not hiding anything!”

“Please! I only want to see!”

“It's only notes--”

“Then why won't you let me see them?”

“I can explain, Mayor, I swear I can, I can explain--”

“I'm sure you can, Wilfre,” said the mayor curtly. “But I would like you to step aside. Please.”

“No! I—can't! Please, Mayor, let me explain, I can explain--”

The Mayor moved quickly for a Rapo of nearly forty years, and one with a limp at that. He was taken by surprise and even his normally quick, now heightened reflexes weren't fast enough.

“You,” whispered the mayor, and there was a terrible fury in his eyes. “I should have seen this coming. Even so, I must say I'm very disappointed.”

“I can explain,” he said for the fifth time, but he was no longer panicking; his voice was steady, calm, and even.

“I know you can; I've heard it,” said Carmichael shortly. “Enough times that I should have known this would happen. Even so, I expected better of you. I see now that I was wrong.”

“Carmichael, listen to me,” he said coldly.

“Don't bother. I already know what you'll say,” the mayor snapped. He turned and walked to the door. On the threshold, he turned. “We'll see about this, Wilfre.”

The door slammed behind the mayor as he stalked out.

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