Lucky Coin

Thief

Rudenheim Square was already crowded with people. Lape’s father stood on tiptoe, searching for a while before finally spotting the postal office staff all crowded in the southwest corner of the square. He could only see the Postmaster General, who, at this time, had only the right to stand in a corner of the crowd; as for his direct superior, the branch director, there was no sign of him at all.

The postal office held a somewhat awkward position; in other departments, the highest level was the bureau, with the top official being the bureau chief. However, they only had a general office, with the highest official being the Postmaster General, putting them at a lower rank. The heads of other departments were all gathered in the center of the square, while their leader was stuck in the southwest corner. Officials from the Ministry of Finance, the Prosecutor's Office, and the Police Department could be seen in the square, but the postal office staff seemed to be hiding somewhere.

“We’ll have to take a detour. If I had known, I would have gotten off on Andervin Street,” Lape’s father complained.

Although he said this, he would never actually do it because he had already felt the pinch when he paid the fare.

“Dad, follow me; we’ll take a shortcut,” Lape offered. He could say this because he also worked at the postal office as a mail carrier. His job was delivering letters, so he was very familiar with every street and alley in Taren.

“Do I really need you to lead the way?” his father rolled his eyes. He had also started out as a mail carrier and knew the routes. The father and son quickly navigated through the streets and made their way around half the square.

Over there, the crowd was already thick, and the entire road was blocked. Everyone standing there was from the postal office. Finally, Lape’s father spotted his superior; the branch director was holding a bamboo pole with a welcoming banner hanging from it. Because he was short, Lape’s father could only see the red, shiny top of his bald head.

“You stay here,” Lape’s father instructed his son as he squeezed through the crowd toward the director.

Lape obediently stood there, not wanting to wrinkle his clothes, knowing he would be scolded by his mother when they got home. Besides, seeing his father’s subservient demeanor made him feel uncomfortable.

Lape never thought this was useful; he had a feeling that the director was not satisfied with his father. No matter how hard his father worked, how late he stayed to finish his tasks, or how respectfully he acted, even with all the flattery he dispensed, it made no difference. Lape felt it was unfair for his father to live this way; it was simply too difficult.

At this moment, Lape wandered around casually. There were some people around his age here, but he had no interest in engaging with them. Many of them were the children of officials from the postal office, and the rest were just sycophants trying desperately to win their favor.

So, Lape moved away from the crowded group.

Nearby, there was another group of people, chatting in small clusters.

Lape had always envied this group. They were known as the "new school," all of whom had attended university and formed the backbone of various political parties. They didn’t need to humble themselves or fight hard for recognition because the parties behind them would advocate on their behalf.

Lape’s father had originally wanted to send him to university, but three years ago, his mother fell seriously ill, and all their money was spent on her medical care, forcing him to abandon his studies and work at the postal office.

As Lape strolled near this group, he listened to their conversations.

As members of the elite and social vanguard, the topics they discussed were undoubtedly profound and hard to understand. After some time, Lape only caught snippets about things like reconstituting the constitution, royalists, conservatives, levels of assemblies, and national assemblies, along with discussions about tax increases and price controls. However, one thing Lape did understand was that these people were clearly dissatisfied with the important figure they were there to welcome.

Lape didn’t care much about this; it had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, Lape saw a boy about his age with curly hair, a freckled face, wearing a flat cap, a checkered shirt, a leather vest underneath, and baggy wool trousers. The boy was walking around in the crowd.

Lape didn’t recognize this boy, but he had a feeling that he was not the same kind as him. He even guessed the boy's identity—he was a pickpocket.

As a port city, there were many comers and goers, which meant there were also many pickpockets in town. Lape often encountered these types of people while delivering letters, as pickpockets, like mail carriers, spent their days wandering the streets.

Lape hesitated, wondering whether to report him or at least warn his colleagues who were engaged in lofty discussions. To his surprise, the little pickpocket walked over to him. When he reached Lape, he grinned and whispered, “Feel your coat pocket.”

Lape was momentarily taken aback. However, he instinctively reached into his pocket, and his expression changed instantly.

There was something in Lape's coat pocket—it felt like a necklace. He certainly didn’t own a necklace, as his family couldn’t afford one. However, his mother did have a necklace, which was part of her dowry and was meant to be passed down to his sister.

“This is a tip for you. Once you take it, just pretend you didn’t see anything,” the little pickpocket said softly.

This was not just a bribe; it was also a warning. Lape understood that if he reported the boy, he wouldn’t end up well either.

Lape was tempted; his mother’s necklace had been bought with half a year’s wages from his father, and this necklace should be more valuable than hers. Besides, he wasn't the type to seek trouble. If he reported the boy, there was a good chance he might retaliate. Even if the police didn’t believe the pickpocket’s story, that boy could very well come after him later.

Lape didn’t want to get stabbed in the back. Yet, he felt something was off about the situation, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it at that moment.

At that moment, the distant sound of drums and horns announced the arrival of the important figure.

Lape immediately forgot his earlier worries, as well as the little pickpocket.

The arrival of this important person had nothing to do with Lape; he was just there to enjoy the spectacle, and it was a good thing his father wasn’t around. He quickly pushed off the wall and climbed up, using one hand to grab the edge and hoist himself over.

Lape was quite familiar with this maneuver; sometimes, to deliver a letter, he had to go around an entire block, but climbing over walls was much quicker. Lazy mail carriers were all good at scaling walls.

As soon as Lape steadied himself, he saw the little pickpocket sitting on the opposite wall, swinging his legs. This kid was even better at climbing walls than Lape and nodded at him in greeting.

Lape ignored him, his gaze fixed on the direction of the square.

He saw a white open-top carriage slowly approaching, with a troop of cavalry leading the way. Inside the carriage sat a young man who appeared to be only in his twenties. He wore a silver wig, had a pale complexion, thin lips, and narrow, slightly slanted eyes that seemed lifeless, as if he were nodding off.

Lape understood that this was what they called noble demeanor. The prominent figures in the city all carried themselves this way, and the social elite shared the same lackluster appearance. It was only during arguments that they would abandon such pretensions.

“That guy’s nothing special; he just hit the jackpot by being born into the right family,” the little pickpocket commented sourly from across the way.

Although Lape didn’t show any reaction, he felt that the words struck a chord within him. If he had been born into a noble family, he too could enjoy such splendor.