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Princes of the Blood
Chapter 3
Prague, 1987
The park was filled with people, some lingering, others passing through, but under the enormous sky, blushed with the gentle entrance of spring, the noise of humans going about their daily lives seemed quite insignificant. The sun had not yet regained its strength from its winter battle, and while it shone brightly, it didn't lend much warmth. Paired with a driving breeze, folks passing along the cobbled streets still wore long coats and warmed their hands in their pockets.
Haji saw these things as he sat on a park bench, his cello speaking under the sure guidance of his hands. It was as if he saw his surroundings and yet did not – today was no different than any other day he'd spent in the park. He sat in the same spot and played to the same nameless throng who passed him. They thought he played for them, and so would shyly deposit money in his cello case. But he paid them no mind. There was only one person he played for, but she couldn't hear him.
The sun was slowly sinking, now playing hide and seek behind the trees, and the temperature was dropping, tugging his bass string out of tune. He paused to tighten the peg, but then thought better of it. He'd been here long enough. And in that moment he was uncertain whether he meant this quaint, out of the way park, or in Prague as a whole. He knew she was not here, and yet he gravitated back to this stronghold of history again and again. Prague clung to the past, glorying in it. It was a city in another time. It reminded him of himself. Carefully he cleaned the strings of his companion with a soft cloth, brushing rosin dust from the polished wood. As he crouched to stow the instrument in its case, he became aware that a pair of feet had stopped on the path directly before him. Other shoes continued on their way, but these did not. Hagi's sharp blue eyes lifted and took his measure of the man.
He was tall and lean, wearing a long wool coat and dark fedora, and his chocolate colored eyes were trained on Haji. "Good evening," he said with a smile, in a warm and inviting voice. In one elegant gesture he had swept his hat into his left hand and extended his right. Haji did not return the invited handshake, leaving his own bandaged right hand at his side. This did not escape the man's notice. "I'm sorry, how rude," he admonished himself lightly, withdrawing the offer and returning his hat to his head, covering wavy hair nearly as dark as his eyes. "I don't mean to bother you, but you looked to be leaving, and I've wanted to compliment your music."
Haji now realized why the man seemed so familiar. He'd seen him several times in as many days, standing under a tree some distance away. But this was the first time the man had spoken to him. He nodded, acknowledging the admiring comment. In the time it had taken to recall him, the man had been looking at Haji intently. He felt an ache in his right hand. This man stood so very still, only his eyes alive. Like a hawk. He flexed his bandaged fingers.
"I've not yet introduced myself," the man pointed out, his movements becoming fluid and easy again. "My name is Kazimer," he said with a slight bow. "And yours?" The smooth skin of his face and the maturity of the eyes did not match, Haji decided. It was disconcerting.
"Haji."
"What an interesting name," Kazimer said. "Where does it come from?"
A swallow was the only indication of Haji's uncertainty. "An old family name."
"An old name, as aristocrats tend to have. And to look at you, one would believe you are of the royal blood." Haji could feel the man's eyes taking in his long black, unbound hair, his black overcoat lapping around his legs. He smiled coyly at Haji's confusion and discomfort. "A prince, surely." Kazimer laughed lightly at his own private joke.
Haji's hand ached again, and he clenched it into a fist. "Gypsy," he replied dryly.
Kazimer smiled warmly. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Haji."
Haji nodded again, and reached for the handle of the cello case. "Ah, am I keeping you?" Kazimer asked politely. "If you have an engagement elsewhere, then I shan't interrupt. But I was rather hoping to talk with you." When Haji's expression gave no indication of his intentions, Kazimer continued. "Perhaps I might tempt you with a drink?"
"No, thank you."
"Then maybe you'll permit me to walk a while with you?"
Haji, in all the years of his long life, had learned to trust his preternaturally sharp instincts. And right now they were telling him that he did not want to be off his guard with this man. Kazimer was all smiles and courtesy, and yet there was something… he could only describe it as an unsettling familiarity, like having something in common with a person who annoyed. He did not reply. Instead he placed his cello case back on the ground.
Kazimer nodded his head slightly with a curious expression, almost as though conceding a point in a game. Yes, Haji realized. Kazimer was toying with him. But why? "Please, won't you sit?" the strange man asked, taking a seat on the park bench Haji had just vacated.
"As you wish," came out of his mouth like the reflex it was, and Kazimer responded with another smile and laugh, as though what Haji had said was endearing somehow.
"I won't keep you long," Kazimer assured the quiet cellist. "There is just something about the way you play. Though after meeting you, it seems a little clearer." Haji inclined his head in questioning form. "You are a man of few words," the man explained. "You speak with your music, and because of that, your music transcends the notes to something more poignant, something universal and… human."
Haji nodded once again, accepting the compliment in silence. "You have a particular affinity to Bach I think," Kazimer observed. "As you play, it is as though a story is playing out before my mind's eye. The fifth suite is exceptionally fine. However, the sarabande from the second suite, the one you played yesterday, truly caught my heart. It put me in mind of an old French poem." His dark eyes took on the misty look of memory. "With my forehead against the pane as a vigil of sorrow, I search for you beyond expectation. Beyond myself. I love you so much that I no longer know which one of us is absent."
Haji's breath stilled, and his hooded eyes narrowed. Who was this man? No person, no matter how great their love of music might be, could have pulled such words out of thin air. Kazimer sat with hands folded in his lap, and beneath the brim of his hat he looked out on the darkening park, but saw only his own memories. It was a convincing performance.
Kazimer roused himself and gave Haji a sad smile. "I'm sorry, I was lost in thought for a moment. And for each audience his own interpretation, right? Such is the burden of art. But the point is that you have a true gift, Haji. It is a gift that should be shared with the world."
Haji did not respond, and Kazimer turned on the bench to look at him more directly. "I would very much like to help you in that pursuit." He leaned forward slightly. "I know a person who would be very interested in hearing you play. He is here in Prague with the opera this season. In fact, I'm going to meet him now." Their eyes met. "Would you be interested?"
"I must decline. I have… other business to attend to."
Kazimer's face registered disappointment, but he reached inside his suit jacket and produced a card, which he offered to Haji. "Then perhaps you'll accept his card. I am sure he would recognize your talents… as I do." The last was delivered in the soft tone of confidences, and Haji felt a jolt of warning up his spine. He met Kazimer's intense gaze, and his impression was not dissuaded. "Consider it."
Haji and the disturbing stranger rose together, and Kazimer bowed slightly. "I will leave you to your business then. And Nathan is expecting me." He tipped his hat. "Until we meet again, Haji." With that, he turned and continued down the twilit pathway.
The dark chevalier retrieved his cello case, and gave into his need to be gone from this place, a sense of something nearing fright. As he walked he tried to convince himself that in fact he had not just been confronted in the open air by another chevalier. But all of his instincts came to the same conclusion again and again. Was it a trap laid by Diva and her followers? He had never met this man before, never heard his name. But there surely was some connection – who else could it be?
Feeling how alone he really was, how vulnerable and exposed, he walked quickly around the corner into an alley. Then he took to the rooftops.
Prague, Present: Night
Round globe streetlamps placed at intervals led him down the familiar path, shrouded in the fog from the river. It was a fitting scene, as his mind seemed foggier than not most days. He had returned here like a creature of habit, craving the familiarity, and yet, perhaps for another glimpse of the man who had spooked him all those years ago. Perhaps he had answers. Perhaps he was…. Haji didn't know to believe. He needed even the thinnest thread of continuity, something to pin his sanity to.
He felt like a wounded animal, teeth bared, ready to go down fighting. But what was he fighting? Or, rather, whom?
Haji took only a moment to rest his eyes on that bench, the one on which he had sat and played; the place where he and that strange fellow had met. He dared not linger, here or anywhere else. His senses were dulled by long injury and lack of blood nourishment, but he knew one thing for certain – he was being hunted. He dared not return to Her just yet, not when doing so meant putting her in danger. He had waited so long, the ache was hard to bear, but never would he let her come to harm.
He pulled his overcoat more tightly around his thin body, and continued down the path, holding his ruined left arm at his side.
Paris, Present: Night
A teenage girl looking travel weary and in need of a shower shuffled through the train station, dead cell phone in hand. "Stupid damn phone, won't keep a charge for half the damn Chunnel." She spotted a phone booth near the bank of windows before her and she shuffled a little faster. As she drew near, she noticed a man leaning against the booth, succeeding in blocking the phone. She scowled a little and continued, making every indication that she was intending to use the phone, whereas he was using it to lean on. He took no notice. He wore a black coat and black skull cap pulled over very short black hair. "Uh, excuse me man, but I need to…" Finally he acknowledged her presence, glancing up from under his dark eyebrows and pinning her to the spot with his gaze. The words dried up in her mouth. She stood this way, as if paralyzed, for an unusual amount of time before suddenly spinning on her heel and beating a fast retreat.
He did not watch her leave. He closed his eyes again.
When the public phone rang, he picked it up and spoke. "Go ahead."
"We have new information."
"Good. It seems he was here, but I'm still behind him. Catch me up." His voice was deep, with a hint of growling Scottish brogue beneath.
"I'm on it. Our southern source has new info, but I'll save that for later. The hawks are hunting in the former Soviet Bloc. They're circling Prague."
"Is there confirmation of the target?"
"Not yet, just tracking the players right now."
"Understood." There was a pause, and the man scowled. "Anything else?"
"Donovan, just so you know… the new player is entering the game."
Eyes as gray as the underbelly of a thundercloud narrowed. "Timetable?"
"Soon."
"Understood," he repeated. "Best wrap this up then." Donovan pulled up the collar of his pea coat and blended into the passing crowd. Keep running, he thought, addressing his quarry in his mind. So long as I'm the one to catch you.
Argentina, Present: Day
Nathan was lounging beside the sublimely turquoise pool, baking his skin in the sun when the servant timidly approached and bent to whisper in his ear. "Really! Thank God, another playmate!" he exclaimed with delight, bouncing up and heading back across the stone veranda to the main manor house.
When he entered the huge, airy entranceway to the grand villa, the object of his glee was already shedding his sport coat and hat, stifling in the oppressive humidity that glazed everything. Nathan halted; a hand perched playfully on one hip and one eye closed, the comic posture of scrutiny. What he observed was a handsome man in his late twenties with chocolate eyes and olive skin, shaved head glistening in the subtropical air.
"Well," he sighed when he noticed the man had graciously stood still for the inspection, "you still look the same."
The man's mouth curled at the corners. "So do you." Both delivered half hearted smiles. The exchange had the feel of a long standing joke whose humor had long fled and left a sting in its place.
"Except for the bald head, of course," Nathan clarified. "I'm so happy you took my advice about that. You look marvelous, like a young Ben Kingsley." Then he pouted. "Honestly, Kaz, you are so lucky. You have the most remarkable look – you can fit in anywhere. And you don't even need power of the blood to do it." He flounced away into the airy parlor whose patio doors were flung open to catch any passing breeze. "If only I had your looks," he decried, flinging himself onto a silk chaise, "then I wouldn't need to be here in the god forsaken third world, your permanent houseguest."
Kazimer had followed him in and had taken a seat near the forlorn Nathan. "Hardly third world. And if you had not been, shall we say, so self indulgent in your visibility, we wouldn't have to hide you away here. Are you saying that you are not enjoying my hospitality?"
It was delivered airily, but Nathan visually sobered somewhat. "Not at all, my dear Kaz. Your accommodations are first rate. But I've been here two long years – it feels like forever. I can't tell you how happy I am that you're here to entertain me."
"I'll do what I can, but neither of us are here for entertainment I'm afraid."
Nathan sat up somewhat, the fey act evaporating on the tropical breeze. "I'm a little surprised to see that you're alone. Are the others not come to witness the resurrection?"
Kaz was looking thoughtfully at his fingernails. "They will join us later. I have sent them on a hunting expedition."
Nathan's blue eyes widened. "Oh my," he drawled. "So I wasn't the only one to make it out of there alive?"
"Apparently not."
"It's a shame to do him in. He's delicious." Kaz rested his cheek in his hand, eyes glazed in memory. He looked contemplative, but Nathan could read no further into the expression. Nathan sighed and fell back unto the pillows again. "Well I trust your judgment in all things, Kaz."
This produced a sly smile and sidelong glance from Kaz. "Nathan, won't you call me 'big brother' as you did to Amshel?"
Nathan groaned and made a face. "Absurd. You are older than me, but no more my brother than he was." He placed a hand to his forehead dramatically. "I chafed under his idiocy."
"Is it the same for me?"
"No," Nathan replied quickly. "You at least have a kernel of intelligence."
"Only a kernel?"
"Well, I didn't want to flatter."
Kaz had a teasing glint in his dark eyes. "By all means, please do."
Nathan suddenly sat up, crossing the large, airy room to the patio doors, winding his hand in the gauze panels of curtain that breathed in and out on every breeze. "Why?" he questioned, running the feather light material over his hands. "Everyone credits you for founding the brotherhood. You are the master architect to this brave new vision we've banded together for. What more flattery do you need?"
"And did I not draw us out of the darkness?" The voice was low, confidential, and right behind him. Nathan startled, but did not turn. He nodded instead. "And does our bond of blood not make us brothers?" Kaz continued in a murmur. "Does our common ancestry not make us family?"
Now Nathan turned, Kaz's inscrutable face inches away. For once, Nathan was subdued, deferential. "Always you are right… big brother."
Kaz clapped the blond man jovially on the back. "I'm just kidding, man, you don't have to call me big brother." He turned and sauntered back into the room, and Nathan's eyes followed him. "You'll be happy to know your assignment here is nearly at an end, at least if the good doctor is correct."
"Yes, thank heaven," Nathan agreed, rejoining his host in the room. "Though he is insufferable. I suggest we drain him after this is over."
Kaz looked to be considering this. "An intriguing idea, but he may prove useful again."
Nathan pouted. "Fine. But my opinion stands. You, after all, have not had to deal with his incessant whining all this time."
"Imprisonment will do that to a man. And remember, we are in his debt for what he has been able to accomplish." Kaz beckoned to the attendant standing outside the door. "Send for Doctor Collins." He turned back to Nathan. "I can't wait to meet the newest Prince. Tell me, what is he like?"
Nathan sat back and brushed the curls from his forehead. "A fool for love."
Kaz's smile was slow and enigmatic. "Perfect."
Author's Note: We've left Kai and Saya back in Okinawa for the moment, and moved on to meet some old faces and some new ones. Don't worry; we'll head back to Japan pretty soon. I hope you're enjoying the turn the story is taking! Please feel free to share your thoughts; I look forward to seeing what you think. And thank you for reading!
Poem: Le Front aux Vitres, by Paul Eluard, translation by Richard Branyon.
