Chapter 11

Duck followed Edel and Zurab to the upstairs living quarters above the Stein Jewelry Store. Ahead of them, Edel quietly recounted her trip to Zurab. Not wanting to intrude, Duck walked several steps behind them, and could only catch faint pieces of their conversation. But from the happy expression on Zurab's face, she guessed Edel must be telling the boy about his mother.

Once they'd entered Edel's small but neat apartment, the tall woman picked up a colorful paper box and handed it to Zurab.

"A present from deda for you, Zurab," the shopkeeper said with a smile as Zurab accepted the package and quickly opened it to reveal a toy train.

"Zug*, zura! Chu-chu!" the toddler shouted excitedly. Running into the living room, the boy sat down and began to roll the toy engine across the carpet, making train noises as he played with it.

Despite her depressed mood, the sight of a happy Zurab elicited a small smile from the redhead. Behind her, Edel inquired, "What kind of tea would you like, Duck?"

"Oh!" Duck turned and waved her hand, "anything is fine, Miss Edel!"

Edel nodded. "I'll make some Darjeeling, then. Something light to brighten the spirit."

Duck tilted her head quizzically at this odd statement and continued to take a seat at the dining table while Edel disappeared into the kitchen.

I wonder what Miss Edel wants to talk about… is it about Zurab's mama? Duck's brows drew together once again. Was there something Miss Edel wasn't telling the boy? Could Josefine's condition be worse than they had initially believed?

Lost in her thoughts, Duck's eyes snapped up when Edel reappeared with a tray laden with a teapot, cups, and a small plate of glazed biscuits.

"Thank you, Miss Edel," Duck said with appreciation as the older woman set the items down and proceeded to pour her a cup of tea. While Duck blew across the tea to cool it, Edel walked to the living room, checked briefly on Zurab—who was still absorbed with his new toy train—before turning to the small cabinet radio set against the wall. Tweaking two of the nobs, a light, upbeat tune began to play.

Edel returned to the table and the redhead looked to the mint haired woman as she tucked in her dress and took her seat.

"So, how is Zurab's mama doing?" Duck asked tentatively while Edel poured herself a cup of tea.

"Her doctor said her symptoms have improved significantly. They believe she can be discharged soon," Edel said, and Duck's earlier concerns were allayed by those words.

"That's good! I'm sure she must miss Zurab a lot," Duck said sympathetically.

"She does, and she asked that I bring Zurab a present in her name," Edel smiled, but her expression fell, and her sapphire-like eyes sobered.

"Though her illness has resolved, this ordeal has left her physically very weak, and she needs assistance with daily tasks. She tells me the nurses at the sanitorium are helping her, but her sponsor cannot afford for her to stay there indefinitely."

"Sponsor?" Duck echoed. As Duck had moved to the United States as a child, her mother had managed all of their immigration paperwork, and the details of the process were quite obtuse to Duck. Curious, she inquired, "Was the sponsor the person who helped bring Josefine and Zurab here from Georgia?"

Edel demurred. Pressing her lips together to consider her words, the shopkeeper answered, "That is correct. The sponsor, whom I have personally not met, had helped to arrange the trans-Atlantic voyage for Josefine and Zurab, as well as finding a place for them to stay when they first arrived. The original plan was for Josefine's husband, Konstantin, to join the family… but some difficulties have arisen."

"What kind of difficulties?" The concern Duck had felt earlier stirred to the surface once again. "I remember you said Zurab's papa is away on business. Did something come up that delayed him?"

Here Edel paused again, and the obvious hesitation in Edel's manners was beginning to make Duck uneasy. Thinking she must've touched on a sensitive matter, Duck held up her hands.

"Y-you don't have to answer that, Miss Edel! I don't mean to pry—!"

But Edel shook her head. Glancing behind her and satisfied that Zurab was still preoccupied, Edel lowered her voice such that with the radio on, only Duck, sitting across the table from her, could hear.

"The matter that Konstantin finds himself involved in is more complex and delicate than I may have initially led you to believe, Duck," Edel whispered gravely. "You see, he is a member of the Committee for the Independence of Georgia, and is in hiding right now."*

At Duck's confused and startled expression, Edel continued, "I'm not sure if you had read about this in the newspapers, but there was an unsuccessful uprising against the Soviets in Georgia last year. Konstantin was involved with the group that planned the uprising. He had hoped to expel the Soviets and free his country from their control. Yet, as devoted as he is to his mission and his homeland, Konstantin is a realistic man. He knew, should the uprising fail, there would be deadly repercussions for those involved, as well as for their families. A year ago, with the help of a state-side sponsor sympathetic to their cause, he arranged for Josefine and Zurab to be brought to America, with the intent that he would follow suit should the revolution be unsuccessful. Unfortunately, that scenario came true, and he's now in hiding in Europe."

"How did Zurab and—ack!" Duck began, but belatedly recalling the sensitive nature of this conversation, quickly covering her mouth before she could blurt out the rest of her question.

Duck was about to apologize again, but before the girl had a chance to speak—rather than changing or dismissing the subject—Edel gave the girl sitting across from her a small trusting smile, and quietly answered the question that Duck had held back.

"The journey that Josefine and Zurab undertook was a difficult one. They first traveled to Constantinople*, then to Athens, before finding their way to Marseille where they boarded a ship to cross the Atlantic. But before all that, just getting out of Georgia was a challenge. Josefine grew up in the Georgian capital of Tbilisi. For a woman with an urban accent to be traveling with a young child through the countryside, it was very conspicuous. The possibility of them being discovered by the Soviet secret police was a constant threat.

"In addition, there was no guarantee the guides and middlemen who were supposed to assist them in their journey did not have nefarious intent toward a young mother traveling alone with a child. Josefine had to be constantly vigilant and on alert, and as a result was under tremendous stress during her journey. That stress ultimately proved to be too much for her body, and she became ill after finally reaching safety."

Duck's brows creased. Recalling the strange game Zurab had described to her during their stroll through Bronx Park, she began tentatively, "A while ago I asked Zurab what games he played with his mother, and he said they played a game where, when asked where he was from, he'd answer he was from a farm, and that his name was Elene…"

When Duck's voice trailed off, Edel nodded. "Josefine convinced Zurab it was all a grand game to ward off fear as well put off suspicion to their true identities. I had previously told you that Zurab wears a skirt because his family has yet to breach him, but that was a fabrication."

Here Edel smiled ruefully. "The truth is, in order to avoid giving their real identities away at checkpoints, Josefine dressed Zurab as a girl and even gave him a girl's name. Zurab, to his credit, took to it and played the game his mother had taught him with aplomb. But a few months after mother and son arrived in the US, it became apparent that Josefine had developed consumption and had to be treated for her illness. Zurab stayed with her for a short time at the sanitorium, but upon the doctor's insistence, he was sent to live with me."

Against the raspy tune of a song playing on the radio, Duck pursed her lips and said, "But what will Josefine do if she can't stay at the sanatorium? Can she stay with you and Zurab?"

The smile on Edel's lips faltered and became a melancholic frown. "Their sponsor had already arranged for a small cottage in Saranac Lake for Josefine and Zurab when they first came into the country. That was where they stayed before Josefine grew sick. Now that she'll be discharged, Josefine can move back there. Her doctor also preferred for her to stay in Upstate New York over New York City, as the fresh air will be better for her health and recovery."

"But how will Josefine manage on her own if she's still frail?" Duck questioned. "Can the sponsor find someone to help her for a while?"

"We had discussed this topic during my visit. Josefine speaks very little English, and it's difficult finding someone who speaks either German or Georgian. While the doctor didn't address this, I feel that Josefine's heart is also very weary. Both her spirit and body would benefit from having people she's familiar and comfortable with during her recovery, and so…" Here Edel's voice hitched.

Even before the words reached her ears Duck could feel her heart sink as the shopkeeper uttered, "…I've decided to close the shop and move to Saranac Lake to care for her."

Duck blinked. With her heart in her stomach, she uttered, "Do you mean… permanently?"

Edel gave the faintest of nods. "It is difficult to say how long Josefine's recovery will take. It would be best if Konstantin could join his family here. But given that he is on the lam, it is difficult to say when, or if," she whispered, "he would be able to be reunited with Josefine and Zurab. Until then, I will take charge of Josefine, but it will be exceptionally difficult financially and logistically speaking to maintain the shop while I am away."

Groping for words, Duck could only manage a stammered, "O-Of course! She's your family, you should be with her…!"

Duck wanted to say more, but her throat was dry and her lips parted mutely as she lowered her gaze.

First Ma, then Pique and Mr. Kotin, and now Miss Edel… everyone's leaving me behind! A small voice cried inside of her. The voice threatened to make its way out, and Duck bit down on her lower lip to stop it in its tracks. But when she exhaled, she could not stop the tremor from reverberating through her body nor the tears from welling up into her eyes.

Her eyes cast downward, Duck at first did not notice the figure standing next to her until a pair of arms held her in a warm embrace. Blinking, she looked up to see it was Edel.

"I'm sorry, Duck," Edel apologized as she held Duck, the shopkeeper's eyes full of sorrow. "I wish there was another way. This news must be hard for you, especially given the recent changes at the Kotin Pointe Shoe Shop. It pains me to tell you this during such difficult times…"

But Duck shook her head insistently, sending tiny droplets of tears trickling down her face. "No!" Duck cried, "I understand, really—!"

Duck wanted to say more, but a small tug on the edge of her dress drew her eyes down to Zurab, who had abandoned his new toy and was looking at the redhead with his small brows pinched together in worry.

"Duck is crying again, zura… Don't cry, Duck…" the child whimpered, his own lips now quivering.

Duck covered her mouth, but again the tears fell from her eyes and she pulled the little boy in for a hug. For a long minute, the only sound in the room was the dissonantly upbeat tune playing on the radio. Edel was the first to step back, letting Duck and Zurab to cling to one another for a moment longer before they too reluctantly let go of another.

While Duck sniffled and wiped away the tears on her sleeves, Edel knelt down and dabbed away the tear stains on Zurab's face with a handkerchief. Smoothing Zurab's downy hair, the tall woman sighed softly. "Even the biggest and tallest tree can be felled in one night by a sudden storm."

When Duck looked up and two pairs of blue eyes—one azure, one sapphire—met, Edel managed an encouraging smile, and said, "But a fallen tree also gives seedlings the chance to reach for the sky, and ushers in new life and opportunities. Much has happened to you in the last year, Duck. Yet, despite all that transpired, you faced it all with steadfast courage.

"When one door closes, new ones will surely appear before you. And when those doors appear, if you open the one that feels true to your heart, you will find your way forward. I truly believe that you will." The shopkeeper ended by gently caressing Duck's cheek, and the young woman nodded.

But would that really be the case? Duck's doubt whispered tentatively.

Everything will be alright…

In Duck's mind, Edel's advice echoed Elsa's parting words. When Duck had been all alone after making a pact with Rue to disappear, her mother's words had given Duck reassurance and comfort. But now, try as she might, Duck could not rally herself to rise above the despair nipping at her heels.

After a long day of traveling, Fakir's tired feet gratefully stepped off from the tram towards his apartment. Shooting a quick glance towards Duck's window, the weariness on Fakir's face eased when he saw the soft glow emitting from behind her drawn curtains.

Walking into the dim tenement building, Fakir treaded up the squeaking staircase. Despite the reassurance the light from Duck's window had momentarily brought him, thoughts of Duck also unavoidably reminded Fakir of his conversation with Charon earlier that day. His heart heavy and mind preoccupied, Fakir did not notice his elderly neighbors until their figures shuffled past the stair railings one floor above him.

"…Can you believe it, Henry? Even Doris, who only comes to bingo once a month, has heard about the hubbub that happened here!"

"Yes, that was quite the hoopla we had, wasn't it?" Henry's quiet voice commented obsequiously.

"We?" Meredith gasped in equal parts astonishment and indignation. "My dear, the only connection we have to those young libertines at the center of all this nonsense is an unfortunate affiliation for the same hallway! Goodness gracious!" the old woman huffed, unaware that Fakir had stopped in his tracks as they continued their way down.

"To think there was a key hidden underneath the doormat! It must've been planted there for their late-night rendezvous. Scandalous! I watched that child grow up, and she must've fallen in with a bad crowd. Growing up without a father and then losing her mother—children can so easily fall under the ill influence of others without supervision and discipline, I tell you."

"That is unfortunate. She seems like a sweet girl, though…" Henry began in Duck's defense, but an exasperated gasp from his wife interrupted the old man.

"Looks are deceiving, Henry! She may look sweet and innocent, but would an innocent girl know where to find the key to a bachelor's apartment? You saw the way they were with each other while the policemen were buzzing all around! And to think, that man is also a police officer! If that kind of behavior doesn't invite trouble—!"

Meredith's shrill voice cut off sharply when she rounded the railing and found the man she had been openly chastising at the bottom of the stairs. In the gloom of the staircase, they couldn't see Fakir's icy glare from behind the rim of his fedora. Nevertheless, Fakir's stark presence was more than sufficient to encourage the suddenly reticent couple to hurry by, but not before Meredith cast a disapproving glance over her shoulder as they scurried past.

Fakir himself did not move again until he heard the distant clap of the front door closing. Unclenching his fists, he resumed his march upward. Once his feet reached the fifth floor, Fakir paused at the top of the stairs.

This was the first time he'd been back home while Duck was awake since the last time they had parted ways. A part of Fakir wanted to check on her and ask how she was doing, but Meredith's disparaging voice, still trilling in his ears, slithered back into Fakir's mind. With a twist of his lips, he reluctantly turned towards his own door instead.

Once inside, he shrugged off the heavy coat from his shoulders, and with no appetite to speak of, walked past the kitchen into his room. Tapping out and lighting a cigarette, Fakir ran his hand absently through his hair before turning to the window to let in the cool night air. As he pushed up the window pane, a flash of coppery red caught his eyes.

It was Duck, sitting with her chin resting in her folded arms on the windowsill, the tiny pricks of evening lights reflected in her blue eyes. Those eyes turned towards Fakir when his window opened, and their gaze met for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Oh! Fakir, you're home," Duck shifted as they each turned to face one another from the precipice of their windowsill.

The unexpected meeting stole the words from Fakir's tongue for a moment before he uttered, "Ah… yeah. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine…" the young woman answered demurely, before breaking eye contact and staring back down at the murky street below.

Duck's muted response, however, only added to Fakir's alarm. The memory of her muffled cries as he stood helplessly on the other side of her apartment door still fresh in his mind, the detective opened his mouth to comfort her, but Duck spoke before he had a chance and said, "I… I talked to Miss Edel today, when I took Zurab back."

The mention of the jewelry store owner mystified Fakir, but he waited for Duck to continue as he settled into a chair by the window. Her voice riding on the late evening breeze and punctuated by the background noise of the city after nightfall, Duck recounted, "She said Zurab's mother, Josefine, is recovering and can leave the sanitorium soon, so Zurab will get to be with his mother again."

"That's good…" Fakir murmured tentatively. Under normal circumstances, the detective would've expected Duck to be elated, seeing how attached she had grown to the child. But there was something deeply amiss. Duck's expression was somber and her voice was far too soft.

His concern was confirmed when Duck continued, "A benefactor has a place for them to stay while Josefine recovers, but she'll need someone to take care of her. So… Miss Edel has decided she's going to close her shop so she can help care for them until Josefine is well enough…"

Fakir chewed on the end of his cigarette, grimacing as he tried to unpack this unexpected revelation. Though he had not known the shop owner for nearly as long as Duck, any time he and Duck were in her presence Fakir could sense a maternal presence from Edel towards the young woman. Duck too, treated the shopkeeper with a familiarity that attested to her love and trust in the quiet woman.

Unsure of what to say, he began haltingly, "That's… unfortunate that she's decided to close the shop." Continuing on, he tried to sound a little more positive, "But it's good that Zurab's mother is getting better, and they can be reunited soon."

Duck gave the smallest of nods, but there was no verbal response from the redhead. As the protracted silence dragged on, Fakir couldn't help but feel there was something else Duck wanted to say. Not wanting to push her, Fakir waited until, minutes later, Duck's pinched lips parted and the voice that reached his ears was so soft Fakir strained to hear her.

"… Also, I haven't told you this… but Mr. Kotin is planning to move the shop to Manhattan. He'll only be able to employ one person at the new shop, though…"

At this, Fakir's eyes grew wide and he turned sharply towards Duck. But Duck remained unmoved. Sitting sullenly at her window, the girl stared unseeingly down at the dark streets below. In a resigned voice, she continued, "After Mr. Kotin first broke the news to us, Pique volunteered to leave. She's decided to take up secretarial training and has been gone for about a week now. Then today, Mr. Kotin's fiancée Miss Belyky came to the shop, and—while they haven't said anything to us directly—I think they prefer Lillie for the new store…"

"Why didn't—" Fakir began, but stopped himself. Asking Duck why she didn't tell him this earlier wouldn't help the situation and would probably only make her more upset, he told himself sternly.

Hell, she probably didn't tell me sooner because she didn't want to worry me! Fakir thought with a grimace.

Instead, he asked solemnly, "When will a decision be made?"

Untucking her folded arms, Duck took a deep breath and shook her head. "Mr. Kotin didn't give us a date. He's planning to stay on C Street until the lease expires at the end of the year. It's already October, so I imagine probably in a month or so, at most."

Seeing the usually cheerful and bubbly Duck grim and crestfallen, a part of Fakir yearned to reach over and comfort her, to tell her everything will be alright. But that would be a lie, wouldn't it? The cynic inside of him brooded as that haunting familiar feeling of helplessness returned, rooting him to his spot by the window. Unlike when Duck was kidnapped by Mytho, there was nothing Fakir—or anyone else, for that matter—could do to fix this situation. To tell her all would be well was akin to telling a man drowning at sea that land was nearby; it was an empty reassurance that did nothing to remedy the problem at hand.

Following Duck's eyes, Fakir watched as people walked past on the street below, each person striding forward with a specific destination in mind. But what of him and Duck? Where were they each headed at this junction in their lives?

After their lives had intersected, the two of them had carried on living in parallel to one another. Duck had walked a well-trodden path, having taken only a sharp but brief detour during her entanglement with the Corvos. But that familiar and comfortable path was now suddenly and irreversibly crumbling beneath her, and the road ahead had grown rocky and uncertain.

Fakir, on the other hand, was quickly approaching a crossroads himself, with one option to continue on ahead, or pivoting onto a different path that would lead him away from the road that he shared with Duck.

Should I tell her …? Fakir puffed on his cigarette, trying to mask the anxious twist of his lips behind his hand. As much as he wished Duck could have confided in him earlier, Fakir now found himself in a similar predicament. Duck was already clearly upset and the knowledge of his possible transfer would only further distress her.

Lacking the courage to speak what was on his mind, Fakir broke the protracted silence between them by saying instead, "…I think Andy told you about the news on Worm Tongue?"

Duck gave a small nod, her thin brows drawn together as she looked tentatively at Fakir. "Yeah… but he didn't know what exactly happened, just that that man is… well, he's dead. So, what happened? Do you know?"

"We've managed to pull together bits and pieces of his activities from the past few weeks…" Fakir began and gave Duck a brief summary of what he and Alex had learned earlier in the day. Taking another puff on the nearly spent cigarette, Fakir concluded, "the gun is now being analyzed, and we're waiting for the coroner's report, but it seems Worm Tongue decided he'd rather die by his own hands than get arrested," Fakir shook his head in disgust and ground out the cigarette on the sill.

"But you wanted to arrest him, right?" Duck asked quietly, picking up on the frustration in her neighbor's voice.

Fakir's eyes narrowed. The mass of conflicted feelings that had been brewing inside of him dredged back up to the surface by Duck's question.

"As a detective, my goal is to come face to face with my suspects, to get their side of the story," Fakir said slowly, "and if the evidence is there, see to it that they are punished accordingly for their crimes."

But the dark-haired young man knew he'd be a liar if he left it at that.

"But I'm also relieved that he's gone…" he confessed. Inhaling deeply, Fakir sought Duck's eyes and whispered, "…Because he won't ever be able to hurt you again."

Unlike the typical reactions Fakir saw from victims of violence, there was no tears or display of anger from Duck. The petite girl did not speak and her only response was to look away at the street below. After a long moment of silence, Duck finally said, "I still don't understand… and I guess maybe I never will, now that he's dead. How could he hate you—hate me—so much, when he's never met either of us. To the point where he'd want to kill us…" Duck's voice faltered.

Fakir had no ready response for Duck. He knew only too well how strong the desire for revenge could be, having spent nearly his entire adult life seeking justice for the death of his parents, only to find out those men had been claimed by the same vicious cycle of violence by which they perpetuated. Even now, despite having turned his back to that chapter of his past, there was, and probably would always be, a lingering question of "what if?" nagging in the back of his mind.

What if he had the opportunity to confront and corner those men? What would he have done? Would he have taken the high road, arrested them and put them through a long judiciary process, where the possibility of acquittal was present at every turn? Or would he have reached for his revolver and taken the quick and decisive solution, even if doing so would made him no better than the men at his mercy?

Fakir could not find answers to his own questions. As repulsed as he was by the thought he shared any traits with the thug that had assaulted Duck, Fakir was not so blinded by his own self-righteousness as to not see a small shadow of Worm Tongue's past reflect his own history.

Reluctantly, despite his thoughts and his emotions being at odds with one another, he said haltingly, "I don't know… but in some way, I can understand how consuming the desire for revenge can be. It becomes your reason for existence, the only thing you have to live for… and for him, it ultimately drove him to his demise."

Duck closed her eyes tightly. When they opened again, an unbidden thought slipped past her lips, "And none of this would've happened if I…"

The faint words faded into the evening breeze before they could reach Fakir's ears. But seeing the shuddered breath Duck inhaled, Fakir's dark brows creased. He watched as the pale lamp light from Duck's room reflected off the curvature of the red pendant hanging below the girl's throat whilst the deepening night carved shadows across her face.

What Fakir could not see were the conflicted emotions roiling in Duck's chest. Despite her relief, guilt gnawed at the girl, knowing it came at the cost of a life. Duck knew, as soon as the words began to leave her tongue, that in no way would anyone hold her accountable for Worm Tongue's actions. Yet a small part of her wondered if all this could've been avoided had she never become involved with the Corvos, with the police… with Fakir.

Don't you ever wish that none of it had happened… don't you wish you had never met Mytho, or Rue, or me?

Fakir had asked her this question once, but Duck wondered if Mytho, Rue, and Fakir might've been better off had they never met her. Everyone had been carrying on with their lives, but her existence threw a wrench into all that. Mytho was forced to prove his allegiance to Don Corvo, and in the process, Fakir had been kidnapped and beaten, and Rue was shot and wounded. Even her own mother, Elsa, might still be alive, had Duck never existed.

Have I only ever brought misfortune to everyone? Duck closed her eyes, but the unwanted thoughts continued to race through her mind until a familiar, worried voice made her snap her eyes back open.

"Duck? Are you alright?"

Seeing the concern etched on Fakir's face, the unhappy thoughts haunting Duck's mind were momentarily banished. Absently brushing back a stray strand of hair plucked loose by the wind, Duck admonished herself, What am I doing? Even without asking, she knew what Fakir's answer would be if she voiced her question to him.

He would call me an idiot, for sure, she thought, her hand cradling the pendant to her chest. The vermillion stone in her palm was cool and hard, quite unlike Duck's memories of Fakir's hand against her own. Yet, despite its size, the weight and soundness of the stone in her hand was enough to keep Duck anchored. Its presence kept her thoughts from slipping back into treacherous waters.

"I-It's nothing," she stuttered, her fingers releasing the stone. Trying to redirect the focus away from herself, Duck hastily turned back towards the detective. "It's already so late, I-I should let you go to bed! It's been a long day for you…" she said, rising from her chair, but Fakir remained unmoving. Reaching to pull down the window pane, Duck paused and looked back to Fakir.

As their eyes met again, each of them could see from the other's expression that there were more words they wanted to say. Yet neither knew how to express those tangled thoughts or where to begin. With a tinge of reluctance in her voice, Duck shifted and said softly, "Thank you for telling me about what happened… Goodnight."

"Yeah…" Fakir responded feebly, but remained at the window even after Duck had retreated inside and drawn the curtains.

Fakir stared down at his hands, balled up and clasped together. There was no joy and nary a sense of relief in that knowledge that Worm Tongue was dead. Duck was still hurting, even if she tried to hide it. What's more, the life that he had worked so hard to return to her was now slipping away.

Was everything for naught in the end? Fakir's fingers clenched. All he wanted was for her to be happy. But with each day, that seemed more and more like an impossible dream.

…As long as you'll let me, I'll always be here to protect you…

Fakir turned his emerald eyes up to the sky where a pale moon rode high on the horizon. He had made that promise to Duck once, but despite his sincerity it was ultimately a naïve pledge, one that was shattered to a hundred broken shards by Worm Tongue's actions.

Should he hold onto the tattered remnants of his promise and remain in New York City, then—as Charon surmised—he would continue to put both their lives in danger. But if he departed, he would be doing more than just going back on his words. With so many of the people close to her leaving and moving on with their lives, it would be another hard blow to Duck. He was in a bind, caught between causing Duck great sorrow or great peril.

The moonlight gave no answers to the many woeful questions on his mind, and once again Fakir found himself at an impasse. This time there would be no helpful shopkeeper to guide him or begrudging journalist to help him find his way.

This time, Fakir thought as he turned his eyes away from the silent silver orb, he would have to find the answer on his own.

The next day at the police precinct, Alex found Fakir lost in thought at his desk, his hands cupped underneath his chin.

"Sarg?"

Fakir blinked, then turned from the paper work he had been staring at unseeingly to his partner. The sight of Alex, who had donned his coat and was carrying his hat in his hand, jogged Fakir's mind as he rose from his seat. "Oh, is it time to go already?"

"Yeah," Alex nodded while Fakir grabbed his coat. As Fakir shrugged on his coat, Alex pursed his lips and said slowly, "Yesterday the captain asked me about the case report for the Corioli case, so I showed him what I'd got. It's my first case report, so I was kind of nervous showing it to him…"

"How did it go?" the dark-haired detective enquired, grabbing his hat off the coat rack. "Did he have any comments?"

Alex fiddled with the fedora in his hand and said quietly, "Not really. He said it was good, and well-written… but he said to put just my name as the lead on the cover page… at least, for now."

Fakir did not stop what he was doing, but with his back to Alex, he understood immediately the reasoning behind Charon's request and was not surprised when Alex next asked, "So… have you made a decision yet, you know… about Rochester?"

"No, not yet," Fakir answered tersely and began to walk towards the office door, followed closely by Alex. What he didn't tell Alex was that Charon had pulled him aside in the hallway earlier in the morning, not long after Fakir came into the office.

"Are you and Alex going to update Marco Corioli's family on the case today?" Charon had asked.

"Yes. We got the report from Col. Goddard last night, and the gun found with Worm Tongue was the same that fired the bullets that killed Marco Corioli. Alex and I will head over to Tiber Street as soon as soon as Alex gets in," Fakir responded.

Charon nodded, then said quietly, "I received a call back from Commissioner Enright this morning. He spoke to Police Chief Joseph Quigley—his friend in Rochester—last night, and Chief Quigley has confirmed the position he'd offered you earlier this year is still available."*

When Fakir didn't respond, Charon continued, "Chief Quigley is willing to have you transfer in at the rank of sergeant. He says you can start as early as November, if you're willing to make the move as soon as possible."

After a pause, Fakir asked, "Did he say when he needed an answer from me?"

"I asked Commissioner Enright that. With the year coming to an end soon, Chief Quigley isn't sure he'd be able to have the funding for this position next year, so the sooner the better, preferably by the end of the week, if at all possible." Here, Charon exhaled softly and began to walk away, but not before giving Fakir's shoulder an encouraging pat. "Consider it, Fakir."

As Alex and Fakir headed toward Tiber Street, the weight of the Police Chief's offer remained on Fakir's mind. When Alex finally parked the car in front of the tenement building, a group of children ran past, laughing as they rolled an old barrel hoop down the street.

Fakir's eyes followed the gaggle of kids, many of whom were of schooling age but were clearly playing hooky in addition to their game of hoop and stick. Recalling Eddie's distain for books and ambitions to join the Gaglinano squad, Fakir scanned the faces of the children but did not find the boy amongst them. His attention was then drawn to Alex, when his partner said uneasily, "Um, do you want me to talk to the family, Sarg, or should you?"

"Let me—" Fakir began, then stopped himself, and instead said, "Actually, you talk to them, Alex. They can understand you better since you speak their language. I'll chime in if needed."

With a nod, Alex plucked up his courage, and the men made their way to the Corioli residence. Once Sofia had let them in, the Corioli children emerged from the back bedroom to hear what the police detectives had to say. While Alex greeted and asked after Eli and Angie, each carrying a baby sister on their hips, Fakir saw no sign of the Corioli family's only male child.

"How is Eddie doing? Is he in school right now?" Fakir asked, recalling the group of truant children he had seen playing outside.

At his question, the two older Corioli girls looked at one another before Angie replied hesitantly, "Um… no. Eddie is working. Our finishing work isn't enough to make rent and pay for food, so Eddie found a job delivering telegrams."

"Oh," Fakir mouthed, surprised by her answer. It wasn't what he had hoped to hear, but the knowledge allayed the concern he'd felt earlier.

"I see," the dark-haired detective said quietly, and took a seat on a creaky wooden stool. Next to him, Alex took out his notebook and in Italian, recounted to the Corioli the progress of the case and Worm Tongue's suspected role in Marco Corioli's death.

Fakir couldn't understand the conversation, but judging by certain familiar sounding words and the reaction on the women's faces, Fakir got a gist of what was being said.

"Dov'è lui adesso? Dov'è questa 'lingua di verme'?" Sofia urged.

Alex frowned. Gravely, he responded, "Lui è morto. La polizia lo ha fermato nel New Jersey. Ma si è ucciso prima che la polizia potesse arrestarlo."

"Che cosa?!" Sofia exclaimed. The older Corioli girls look equally dismayed at first but after a moment Eli placed a hand on her mother's shoulder and whispered something to Sofia, who sighed and nodded resignedly.

To Fakir and Alex, Eli said, "That man took the easy way out. He should be punished for what he did to Papà! But even though that didn't happen, at least we now know who did this to Papà, and what became of him."

"Thank you for coming to tell us everything," Angie said. Glancing at her baby sisters, who stood half-hiding behind their mother's chair, Angie continued, "Now we can tell Rose and Lucia that the bad man who took Papà away won't hurt them."

Fakir's lips drew into a thin line. Memories of Duck's soft cries stirred in his mind, and he nodded. "Yes… he won't ever be able to hurt anyone else ever again."

After a few more short questions and a final word of condolence, the officers rose and took their leave of the Corioli family. Walking down to their parked car, Fakir gave another look at the children on the street. Noting his partner's gaze, Alex smiled.

"Looking for Eddie?"

"Yeah…" Fakir sighed and opened the car door.

"I'm sure his family will tell him," Alex said and got back into the driver's seat. "He's gotten himself a job now. I think that's a sign he's taken your words to heart and is staying out of trouble."

Fakir nodded mutely as the engine came to live and the car pulled onto the street. As they turned onto a busy commercial street, a boy on a bike rode towards them, then stopped in front of a small store. Noticing the familiar features on the boy's face, Fakir hurriedly said to Alex, "Wait! Alex, pull over!"

"Huh?" Confused, Alex glanced at what Fakir was staring at. Realizing whom Fakir had spotted, the young detective pulled the car over to the sidewalk. As soon as the car slowed to a crawling pace, Fakir pushed opened the door and hopped out.

"Give me just a sec and I'll be right—!" He began but Alex waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it, Sarg! I'll wait here for you, take as long as you need!"

With his partner's assurance, Fakir nodded and backtracked down the street to the shop where the boy had disappeared into.

As Fakir approached the store front, the delivery boy, an old leather mail satchel slung over his shoulder, stepped out and Fakir came face-to-face with a surprised Edmondo Corioli.

"Hi Eddie," Fakir, pausing to catch his breath, "do you have a minute?"

A/N

*"Zug" is German for "train".

*The August Uprising was a failed rebellion by the anti-Soviet political organization Committee for Independence of Georgia in 1924. The failed uprising marked the establishment of firm Soviet rule in Georgia, which remained in place until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. Zurab's father is named after the military leader of the uprising, Prince Konstantin Abkhazi. Konstantin was born into a noble family and was the son of a general-major in the tsarist Russian army. He was involved in the proclamation of independence of the Democratic Republic of Georgia and continued to fight for Georgian independence after the Soviet occupation in 1921. However, he was arrested and shot by Soviet forces in 1923. Much like Zurab, Konstantin's son, Nicholas, moved to Canada, where he and his wife built a home and garden on Vancouver Island now called the Abkhazi Garden.

*The Turkish city of Istanbul was once known in the West by the name Constantinople. The city's name was officially changed to Istanbul in 1923 upon the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the founding of the Republic of Turkey. However, Western countries were slow to adopt the new name, and the US State Department only began to use the name "Istanbul" in 1930.

*Joseph M. Quigley was Police Chief of Rochester, New York from 1909 to 1927. Based on my research, Chief Quigley was credited with adopting fingerprinting as a way to identify criminals, and setting up a telephone system with which policemen could quickly communicate information to and from dispatch at ten key locations around the city. Beyond that, I couldn't find much information about him or his personal life. While it's likely he knew of and might've communicated with his contemporary, Commissioner Richard Enright of the NYPD, I have no idea if they were well acquainted with one another, much less if they were friends or not. So take that with a pinch of artistic license.

Also, from what I read online, apparently when police officers transfer between different police jurisdictions, their ranks don't always transfer over. Supposedly, this is because each jurisdiction often has different systems and policing needs, so officers tend to start back up from the bottom so they can learn the ropes, so to speak. Again, this is based on what I read online, so please also take this with a grain of salt.

Thanks once again to Tomoyo Ichijouji for her edits and feedback!