Little Time Thief Ch. 02

In the Stygian night the growing sound of a whirring tick; like a struggling clock hand, fell on deaf ears. Presley and her handmaiden Gloria, were asleep in the small, Victorian house and a plain wooden clock on the mantle in the living room read almost one in the morning, that magical hour when the world seems most still. On the untouched table in that same living room, where hours earlier guests had laid down gifts and trinkets respectfully for the Duke family, where now a blue satin pouch still sat in the dark. It had been left by the young, handsome male Presley had briefly spoken to and was now wriggling like a trapped bug, feeling for an escape rout.

With a tin like clatter a brass box falls from the pouch and to the floor, bouncing once before flipping onto it's side heavily. From the moonlight streaming in through the window; illuminating the quaint gift, it looked plain and lifeless like any seamless box would. But then the box seemed to shiver, the sound growing momentarily louder before it opened, pieces of the box seeming to part from the main body, expanding. Folding out of itself like a blooming flower the former box now stood at a good foot taller than it had been moments ago inside it's pouch. The device was brass in color and make up, though now appeared as a conglomeration of cogs and wheels making the form of a clockwork spider.

The clockwork arachnid hummed in the night, pin like brass legs tapping against the hard wood floor as it gained a steady footing, and with an almost excited gesture launches forward; scrabbling its way towards the front door. Its small hinges ticked over while it raises a few more inches in height, legs stretching. Two very fine appendages fold out and probe into the lock of the door, twisting and pressing, wriggling into the hidden crevices. After a soft thud the deadlock opens and the clockwork creature scuttles out of the way just as the door knob turns, the door swinging open as Dara steps over the threshold having been waiting in the unlit alcove of the front porch for over an hour.

After shaking off the already melted snow from his overcoat he snapped his fingers; the device folding back in on its self, returning to the brass box from which it had emerged on the floor; wobbling from side to side with the lingering vibrations of movement. Bending down to pick up the brass box, Dara slips it into his pocket before peering down the dark hallway, careful to listen out for sounds of stirring. With a light foot he makes his way through the small house, his eyes more than able to see in such darkness, passing by the room he had seen earlier that day until he reaches a great oak door and with practiced ease slips inside unnoticed.

"Mr Duke's office..." Whispered Dara, instantly heading towards the desk and sinking to his knees while he runs his fingers down along the inside wall of the desk, searching for an inconsistency in the wood to prove his trip worthy.

The whole reasoning for Dara to have taken such a risk in coming back to this town was to retrieve the apparatus, a huge mission for him to be trusted with and one that he was to do with haste, lest he be found out. Yet he remained the only one capable.

With a gasp of relief Dara's fingers found a slight disturbance in the wood, a crack where there shouldn't be but perfectly on ball with his own knowledge. Leaning back onto his hunches with the intention to retrieve a letter opener or leverage of some sort from the surface of the desk, Dara looked up to find a shadow standing above him. Surprised into silence he doesn't notice it to be a girl until the lest moment. Dara was even more shocked to see she was wielding a fire poker like she were channeling Boadicea.

The girl, in her white night dress; had been dozing in and out of consciousness on the window seat when the young invader had entered the room. She had slipped from her fathers boots and snuck up behind him, intending to incapacitate the intruder and call for help, thinking him but a common thief. Before she could place the grey eyes that now met hers, Presley swung the iron poker with a fierce force, striking the man on the back of his right shoulder and gaining a pained groan for her efforts. Raising her weapon once more she stood back, prepared to fight as her voice took on more bravery than she herself felt. "I'm not afraid to hurt you and I can scream very loud so I suggest you leave at once Mister!"

Suddenly the hunched figure leapt up from its crouch and with and almost gentle strength came down on the girl, who now squealed in fright and dropped the poker to beat at the huffing man with her fists.

"Would you quit it girl, my god!" Gasped Dara, awkwardly trying to pin down her arms.

Ducking down quickly Presley freed herself before she picked up the poker and darted to the other side of the table, distancing herself from the man as her heart threatens to burst from her chest; his scolding words barely registering in her mind.

"Why...Who are you?" She asks, her voice not as steady as the hand that points the poker at him, his back and shoulder to her as he hunches over, inspecting the spot where she hit him and expecting a bruise the next morning.

"I'm...I knew your father. I am just looking for something I swear, let me get it and I will be out of your hair and you will never have to see me again!" Slightly exasperated, more from being caught than from the beating, Dara inwardly scolded himself for having let his guard down and not checked the room first.

Presley eyed him dubiously, her brow furrowed as she tried to think, not even sure if she was really awake or if not sleeping enough had finally taken its toll on her mind. "How do you...did you know my father?" The words came out between clenched teeth, not from anger but a strain to say none the less. "And why on earth would I let a stranger take something of his?!"

Straightening up Dara turned and took a step closer to the girl, figuring he should give her a break under the circumstances. "He worked with, ah, well we worked together. A few years ago. He was a great man." He replied, unsure what to say but thankful when Presley seemed to deflate a little; if her father had trusted him, she should at least give him a chance. In the back of her mind she faintly registered the hope that sprung from the slim connection to her father but she pushed it down, resolving to concentrate.

The young seemed like riff raff, dressed in plain brown trousers, matching jacket and thin soled black boots and the men her father usually worked with wore suits and monocles. She backed up until she hit the arm of a chair and slowly slumped down into the seat, keeping the copper weapon on her lap. She looked at the male almost sleepily. Her eyes drifting from his boot laces all the way up to the ruffle of his hair. Though with a squint she found herself staring into his eyes, they were still the same unusual grey; the pupils seemed to pick up the light oddly, it was almost as if they were in a constant fluid motion, dancing in the dull candle light.

"You don't look like.." She trailed off and shook her head, gathering her thoughts and through the cloud of fog clutched onto the one connection she still had to her dead father. "What are you looking for? Maybe I know where it is."

Dara stalled, stepping around behind the desk once more, his eyes watching her as his hand searched for some kind of wedge. He didn't want to tell her, he couldn't. The mission was to get in, get the device and get the hell out, not fraternize with the boss's daughter.

"Its um..." His fingers found nothing on the tables surface so he quickly made the decision to use brute force, figuring once he had the panel open she couldn't stop him anyway. Drawing his foot backwards as he hmm'ed and ha'ed Dara swung his foot forward and kicked in the hidden panel, a much louder thunk echoing through the room that he had expected.

With her eyes wide, Presley flew out of her seat and practically pounced on the young man, both of them toppling to the ground. At her sudden burst Dara sprawled, crying out in surprise, unable to stop her before he found himself with his back against the bookcase, floored by her. Presley almost groaned, darting frustrated eyes at him as her hands pressed over his mouth, silencing the stranger while she tried to listen out for footsteps.

Not hearing any more than the usual creeks and groans of the old Victorian house Presley slowly uncovered his mouth, though she seemed not to be aware of the fact that she had managed to fall into his lap, her small frame straddling his.

"Are you crazy?! You could have woke Glory you blundering numpty!" Whispered Presley harshly.

At that Dara chuckled, looking up at the light girl with the same curious smile he had worn earlier that day, the spark of life in the girl not unlike that of her fathers. Curling his fingers around her small wrists he stilled her hands and met her eyes, feeling genuine in his statement. "I'm sorry, really, you don't have to be scared of me."

She pouted slightly, her cheeks heating under her pale skin as she became aware of her position, the warmth of his skin as his hands seemed to encompass hers entirely and more than that she realized she wasn't scared. "I'm not...I just...I want to know what's going on." She covered, twisting slightly, letting her rump fall from his lap to sit beside him instead.

Clearing his throat Dara released her wrists, both of them ignoring it even as their fingers brushed against each other. He rolled onto his knees and crawled under the table, making room for the girl to kneel beside him as they beheld the busted open panel. But before they could pull away the splinters of wood the study door burst open and fresh candle light illuminated the room. Moving to look for the source of light, Presley shot up from her knees and hit the top of her head on the edge of the table, a surprising curse escaping her lips and she tentatively peered out over the table, rubbing at the growing bump on her head.

"Presley? Sweetie? What on earth is all that noise you're making?!" Asked Gloria, Standing in the door way with motherly concern spread across her weathered features. Presley stood and made her way to the door, hoping to catch the maid before she discovered their late night intruder.

"Gloria, I'm sorry I woke you! I ah... fell, off the chair. I was sleeping and I hit the desk when I fell. I'm OK though, you should go on back to bed." Came Presley's voice, even before she thought to say the words. Not sure herself why she didn't give up the male hiding beneath her fathers desk she ushered a confused Gloria out the doorway, their voices drifting off as they wandered down the hallway.

Dara waited, afraid to be caught by another soul, his eyes closed until he felt a light touch on his shoulder at Presley's return. She knelt once more, her eyes not meeting his as she spoke softly. "She doesn't know you're here...but I will only keep that a secret if you tell me what's going on."

Instead of speaking, Dara nodded. He might have to tell her, he might not, but right now he wanted to get what he came for and get some space, some time to think before he made his next move. Reaching for the small space Dara cleared away the debris and looked inside the hole and asked. "Candle, I can't see."

Presley placed a small holder in his hand and he tilted it, directing its light and illuminating a small plastic sleeve to be the only contents in the secret panel. With a frustrated and confused expression Dara pulled it free and lay it on the floor, cursing under his breath.

Picking up the plastic sleeve while the young man stubbornly searched the gap in the desk, Presley turned it over in her hands, peeling it open and flicking through the pages held within. "These are just documents, this is what you came for?" She asked.

"No, I came for a... give it here." Gruffed Dara, looking at each page before tossing it between their knees. The pages held hand written notes, drawings, mostly nothing but all about the device Dara himself sought. From between his hands a small, torn piece of paper, that Presley recognized from her fathers stationary, fell to the floor that he didn't notice, more focused on the absence of what he sought. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands to read the side that held a series of numbers scribbled across it.

Frowning Presley mused over the numbers, trying to remember pass codes or phone numbers and came up empty handed. After having found nothing he didn't already know on the pages, Dara looked up, and saw that the girl had, had more luck. Presley gave him a funny look as he tugged the paper from her fingers, and looked at the numbers, a black expression on his face.

"What do they mean?" Asked Presley, sighing as she climbed off the floor and slid into her fathers chair.

"Well... er, I don't know?" Dara said, pausing as he thought. "I can't leave without it, I need to find more, there must be something else." He mused further, eyes glancing around the room as dawn light up slowly behind the office curtains.

"I want to help." Presley simply stated, her mind going almost a mile an minute, even if she was completely naive to Dara's plans or what exactly he wanted. But she hadn't been ready to lose her father and now she wanted to latch onto what was left, as little as it was; it was all that was left. "I can help. Whatever you're looking for must be in the house. At least let me try to help, I am my father's daughter after all."

Dara thought she sounded almost sad, the way she sat tiredly in the chair and the fact that she was wearing her fathers boots hadn't gone unnoticed either. He was supposed to be incognito on this mission but what harm could it do to let the girl search the house for him? It might even help seeing as now the only lead he seemed to have was a series of intelligible numbers.

"Ah...sure. But keep quiet. I mean, this is for your father so we don't need to tell the breakfast club, alright?" When he got a scowl for this comment, Dara chuckled, slowly climbing to his feet and dusting down his ragged clothing.

"I'm not a social butterfly; I won't tell a soul." She mumbled, a little embarrassed to admit it and as he stood she wondered what would happen now, the excitement having died down somewhat. "Where are you staying, I should think it rather late to be retiring at this hour?" She mused, standing herself and coyly making her way to the door, quite tired after the small adventure, a feeling she fully welcomed.

When she didn't get an answer Presley turned and looked over her shoulder to find the young man, paused as he pocketed the small piece of paper. She pressed him. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"Oh. Sorry. I'm ah... I wasn't supposed to be staying.. over night I mean." He eventually replied. He clearly hadn't though any further than his main mission and now felt a little awkward standing Presley's house. Clearing his throat he bent to pick up the remaining pages and moved towards the door. As he handed the pages to Presley with an apologetic look he turned the door handle as quietly as he could manage, peeking out his head to look down the dark hallway.

Deciding it was clear, Dara made his way into the dark; letting Presley fall into step behind him. "Where will you go?! You can't just run off, what if something happens to you?" She whispered harshly after him, her fingers lightly nipping at his sleeve as she tried to get his attention. He didn't know what he was going to do but he knew what he wasn't, he had to hide before it was day light and anyone saw him.

"I'll.. camp, plenty of folk do it these days, Presley." It was the first time he had said her name, and it rolled off his tongue awkwardly, felt too formal, too personal though Presley herself hadn't noticed..

"You could...stay here... there's room up in the attic and Gloria wont have a clue you're even here if you're quiet enough!" She offered, not wanting him to go lest she lose the only tether she had left to her father.

Dara had reached the front door and he turned to face the girl, tall enough to look down at her, his broad chest almost towering over her own frame. "Stay here, in your house?"

"Yes, silly! You said yourself you have no where else to go, right?" She had a point, he didn't.

"In the attic?" He asked again with a frown.

With a roll of her eyes Presley reached forward and curled her fingers in the young mans sleeve, turning on her booted heel and dragging him along after her as she headed for the thin staircase. The attic was on a third level of the house, a small staircase hidden behind a second doorway in Presley's room lead up to the surprisingly large space. There were dusty boxes scattered across the floor, a rack of forgotten clothes and a small cot bed under the circular window that faced the street.

"See, a bed, boxes to search, what more could you want." Said Presley in a snaky voice, trying to get her own back for his previous comments.

He looked around unimpressed before finally nodding. "Thanks... I guess..."

Presley sighed once more, wishing Dara would at least try to be polite, before making her way back down the stair case. "I'll bring you food tomorrow...if you're lucky. " She mumbled, knowing he would hear all the same.

~ ~ ~

The next morning Dara woke with a cough, having fell asleep on the dusty mattress; he had inhaled a cloud of it messed up into the air by the stir of his body. Once he caught his breath, he stood and walked a little ways down the attic, dusting down his clothes as he went.

The attic looked no better with day light streaming in through the dirty window evenly above his cot, the faded colored panes making a yellow tinted rainbow. Boxes sat upon boxes, chests overflowed with old clothes and a layer of ancient dust masked everything from it's former life. This was going to be harder than he thought; mused Dara as he pulled a bulky, knob ridden device from his pocket. It was odd and looked almost like an old radio if much smaller and with copper wires protruding from it's back. Dara twisted and pushed it's buttons for a few moments before he held the device to his ear, faint static leaking from it's speaker before a voice answered.

"Marcus, it's me." He said in a quiet but hard tone and waited for a minute, a delay between the unknown receiver's reply.

"No. There was a slight...complication." Continued Dara.

"I don't need back up, I just need more time."

"Yes. I can get the job done."

"I don't need to go there! Not yet, I have another couple of leads I can follow..."

"Yes Sir." The static was quickly cut off.

The conversation ended as briefly as it had started and Dara put the device back into his pocket, sighing as he took a moment to close his eyes and simply be still. He needed his bag. He needed to talk to his source. He needed to find that device.

When he opened his eyes they were full of hard determination and he strode silently towards the staircase, his shoulders set in a hard line as he resolved to sneak out of the house; not wanting to have the girl follow.

He heard voices as he neared the door and remembered it led directly into Presley's room, the girl he had only seen in pictures until last night.

"You must get dressed girl! Today is a new day. You know what season it is and as the new head of house.." Muttered the round woman, her feet nosily shuffling around on the hard wood floors as Dara gently knelt to peer through the keyhole in the door.

On a high backed white chair at her vanity table sat Presley, green eyes even visible to Dara as she seemed to scowl at her reflection, the other woman fussing over the girls hair.

"Yes, Glory; I know." She pouted, the action making her look younger, though she seemed to have a renewed spark in her eyes she hadn't possessed yesterday. "And I will do my duty as lady of the house. Up until I not longer need to. You know it's nonsense, Glory!"