Chapter 4

A surge of energy woke Annemie before the sun had time to climb into the sky. It was an antsy energy that itched in her fingertips, but as early as it was, her options were limited. When she turned six, about seven years before she entered the military, waking up like this early was normal. Mother had fallen ill around that time and she soon after hung herself in the basement. After mother gave up and father continued to remain useless, …, the eldest brother, and Marion, Annemie’s older sister, became responsible for the family's income. Early mornings were the best time to find odd jobs to occupy Annemie’s day and to pay for a meal here and there if father didn’t come home with any new debt collectors, as he often had. They themselves were almost always half drunk themselves, staggering and their words slurring between bouts of profanity. But it was the sober men that scared her the most. The way they spoke to Father and the threats made her body stiff and her heart pound in her throat. It was one of these sober collectors that convinced … to leave and work for him, leaving behind the family to make ends meet on their own. Forcing Marion and Annemie to bear the weight of Father’s debt.

 But now, at 21, this energy seemed wasted. She didn’t want to be awake yet. She knew she should wash her uniform but she wanted to settle how she would catch the thief, not simply because of her orders. 

She sat down at the desk, tried to smooth her uniform that she had slept in again and pulled out parchment and ink. In her mind, the most pressing problem was how she would catch her thief. 

Since they had come to the town, everyone had been made aware of their purpose, which meant that the thief, if still present, would be much more cautious. This would make him more difficult to catch. He wouldn’t likely show himself or make any significant robberies for the time being. He would need more cover, a distraction of sorts. 

As the festival was quickly approaching, and she figured he was well aware of this, she felt she could safely assume that he would at least stick around till its end. In the midst of a sea of strangers, coming to see the festival he could easily snatch things. These nights would be the perfect distraction to allow him to steal and escape without any suspicion. 

She began writing, detailing the plan. At the bottom of the page she made a note to speak with the townspeople. When she had finished, she sat back and surveyed her work. Smiling to herself, she filed the parchment and ink away and went back to her bed. The energy had been used and as the sun still hadn't shown itself. She wrapped herself back up and closed her eyes. 

Some time later, her eyes startled open to the sound of heavy footsteps clomping up the stairs and Markus's voice frantically begging,

"Wait, please! She asked us not to disturb her!"

 Then the merchants gruff voice followed,

"I have waited two whole days. I will not wait any longer!" he boomed, in the early morning light as he climbed the staircase. Annemie sat up angrily as the merchant burst through her door. She was glad she hadn’t decided to do her laundry and that she had slept in uniform. The merchant’s disappointment was obvious. 

“I have been....waiting...the thief. I want to know where he is now!” he stuttered out of breath and exasperated.

“It has only been two days. I haven’t caught the thief but I have found a way to catch the thief,” She made her way over to the desk by the window slowly. She pulled out her plan and the list of his workers.

“I already made a full inventory of the spreadsheet of your employees,” She drawled, handing him the list and the plan she had drawn up, “and concluded that it couldn’t be any of them. My opinion, I think that the thief is extremely skilled and very likely not from around here. I plan to use the festival as bait for the thief. Since we have entered town he will undoubtedly remain quiet for the time being.”

“The festival is weeks away. Besides, how will you recognize the thief?”

“The time will allow me to set up a trap that will ensure his capture. And having seen him once before and as an officer, I am certain I can recognize a thief when I see one.” 

 “You’ve seen and yet let him get away?!”

“It was the middle of the night. And let me remind you of the time you let him get away. At least I saw him.” (note: look for a way to insult his character, underhanded, backhanded, psychological abuse)

She smiled and continued, 

“I’ll take this. If you are finished, I am going to have to ask you to leave now. I have work to do.” She asked Markus to escort him out. 

“I am a merchant, I do good work, I am not an officer. And some officer you are. Sure you may recognize a thief but can you catch him? That’s what I want to know. Women weren’t really made for this sort of...” He remarked, trailing off as Markus tried to usher him out the door with one final apology for their intrusion and she sat down angrily. She had read in total, 481 books, spending her nights studying infantry, theory, fighting technique, even anatomy and psychosis, all of this to prove herself. She ranked highest in the academy and spent more time in the sparring practice ring than any other soldier in training. Despite fractures, black eyes, and bloody fists, she never left that ring unless on top. She wasn’t some token female officer. 

She wasn’t satisfied with her partial victory.  It reminded her too much of fights with Father. Nothing she said lasted long enough to sink in, in the end he always believed he was right, he always had some smart, cruel remark to finish her off. But what she hated even more was that in her efforts to win, she sounded more and more like him. She slammed her fist into the table, the pain reverberating up into her arm. She clenched her teeth. She imagined slamming her fist into his face and making him cry. 

The more she thought about his smug face the more she itched to slug him. She tried to breathe deeply and clear the thoughts swirling through her head like a movie on replay, her father’s voice and her voice echoing in every hollow. Her father’s voice mixing with hers and distorting, until the difference was indiscernible. The sensation of wanting to scream set heavy on her lungs. Suffocating.