To Catch a Thief
Copyright November 2012, Sofia Bane
I had wrapped myself in a monk’s robe, forgivingly thick and loose, so not as to give myself away as I pilfered the church.
The lock was easy, only requiring a few knocks with a stone before it fell away. I crossed myself as I entered the cold stone building – the gesture half-irreverently ironic, half-sincere. And I had to resist clutching the bottom of the robe like a skirt as I hurried up the center aisle.
The would keep the offering plate locked away, and the majority of their coffers somewhere else altogether. But if I knew Father Grimm as I did – all too well, the nearsighted sweet oblivious man – the key to the coffers would be laid right beside the offering plate, so he’d never forget it as he transferred the coin. And that was what I was after today.
I slowed my pace to look appropriately monk-like, clasped my hands in front of me, and shuffled past the altar into the vestry, a small room just off to the side. Filled with – for lack of a better word – props for the Mass, the room looked in no order whatsoever. I got to digging.