Three Fates

gaze upon the Irish coast, Felix assumed he’d remain a thief for many years to come.
    He was good at his work—not brilliant at it, he’d be the first to admit, but good enough to make ends meet. Good enough, he thought as he moved quickly down the corridors of first class in his stolen steward’s uniform, to have gathered the means for third-class passage back to England.
    Things were just a bit hot professionally back in New York, with cops breathing down his neck due to that bungled burglary. Not that it had been his fault, not entirely. His only failing had been to break his own first rule and take on an associate for the job.
    Bad choice, as his temporary partner had broken another primary rule. Never steal what isn’t easily, discreetly fenced. Greed had blinded old Two-Pint Monk, Felix thought with a sigh as he let himself into the Wyley stateroom. What had the man been thinking, laying sticky fingers on a diamond-and-sapphire necklace? Then behaving like a bloody amateur by getting drunk as a sailor—on his usual two pints of lager—and bragging over it.
    Well, Two-Pint would do his bragging in jail now, though there’d be no lager to loosen his idiot tongue. But the bastard had chirped like the stool pigeon he was and given Felix’s name to the coppers.
    It had seemed best to take a nice ocean voyage, and what better place to get lost than on a ship as big as a damn city?
    He’d been a bit concerned about the war in Europe, and the murmurs about the Germans stalking the seas had given him some pause. But they were such vague, distant threats. The New York police and the idea of a long stretch behind bars were much more personal and immediate problems.
    In any case, he couldn’t believe a grand ship like the Lusitania would cross if there was any real danger. Not with all those wealthy people on board. It was a civilian vessel after all, and he was sure the Germans had better things to do than threaten a luxury liner, especially when there was a large complement of American citizens on board.
    He’d been lucky indeed to have snagged a ticket, to have lost himself among all the passengers with the cops two steps behind him and closing.
    But he’d had to leave quickly, and had spent nearly all his wherewithal for the ticket.
    Certainly there were opportunities galore to pluck a bit of this, a bit of that on such a fine, luxurious vessel filled with such fine, luxurious people.
    Cash would be best, of course, for cash was never the wrong size or the wrong color.
    Inside the stateroom, he let out a low whistle. Imagine it, he thought, taking a moment to dream. Just imagine traveling in such style.
    He knew less about the architecture and design of where he was standing than a flea knew about the breed of dog it bit. But he knew it was choice.
    The sitting room was larger than the whole of his third-class accommodations, and the bedroom beyond a wonder.
    Those who slept here knew nothing about the cramped space, the dark corners and the smells of third class. He didn’t begrudge them their advantages. After all, if there weren’t people who lived high, he’d have no one to steal from, would he?
    Still, he couldn’t waste time gawking and dreaming. It was already a few minutes before three, and if the Wyleys were true to form, the woman would wander back before four for her afternoon nap.
    He had delicate hands and was careful to disturb little as he searched for spare cash. Big bucks, he figured, they’d leave in the purser’s keeping. But fine ladies and gentlemen enjoyed having a roll of bills close at hand for flashing.
    He found an envelope already marked STEWARD and, grinning, ripped it open to find crisp dollar bills in a generous tip. He tucked it in the trouser pocket of his borrowed uniform.
    Within ten minutes, he’d found and claimed nearly a hundred fifty dollars and a pair of nice garnet earbobs left carelessly in a silk evening purse.
    He didn’t touch the jewelry cases—the man’s or the woman’s. That was asking for trouble. But as he sifted neatly through socks and drawers, his fingers brushed over a solid lump wrapped in velvet cloth.
    Lips pursed, Felix gave in to curiosity and spread open the cloth.
    He didn’t know anything about art, but he recognized pure silver when he had his hands on it. The lady—for it was a woman—was small enough to fit in his palm. She held some sort of spindle, he supposed it was, and was garbed in a kind of robe.
    She had a lovely face