The Book Smuggler Chapter 6, a hetalia - axis powers fanfic

Chapter 6

Tilsit, East Prussia, 1864-1865

Eduard chewed his bottom lip, watching his cousin wipe away a layer of soot blackening the window with the sleeve of his coat. Tauras cupped both hands around his eyes and bent forward to peer in. The building had been empty for nearly a year, and it — like everything else in this part of Tilsit — was covered in a layer of factory ash driven down from where it hung in the air by the shifting winds and rain. Even the floor and stair banister inside had a fine coating of grey dust, giving the whole place a feeling it was suspended in time.

"So...what do you think?" Eduard asked, pulling Tauras back to the present. "It's a little rundown, but the rent is reasonable. And it's by the river! I know how much you like the water."

"It...certainly looks big enough. I won't be able to move all of Herr Drucker's equipment, but I wasn't planning to anyway. I can sell whatever we don't need."

"There are rooms upstairs," Eduard continued. "We could finally have our own place. No more sharing rooms in dingy boarding houses."

Tauras straightened up. "Instead we'd be living in a dingy waterfront flat," he smirked.

Eduard rolled his eyes with an exasperated sound.

Tauras looked around at the buildings on either side, the small warehouses near the docks. A breeze from the water pushed against his back. He folded his arms, hunching in for warmth.

"I don't know, Ed. What kind of business do you think we'd get down here? Herr Drucker's shop is right in the middle of town. I know rent is expensive there, but...it's already established. I'm not sure our customers would follow us down to the riverfront."

"We'd still need lodgings," Eduard pointed out. "And this place already has that covered. Besides, there's more than just warehouses and boats here. There's places to eat" — he gestured down the street at a corner pub — "and it's right off the high street. A quick walk down from the market."

Tauras shook his head. "I've only been an apprentice for six months. I'm sure there's so much more I haven't learned. The idea of opening my own shop just seems ludicrous."

"Then...what are you going to do with what Drucker left you? Sell it all? You'll just be back where you started when you first came here. And if you stay in the city's center, you'll work yourself into an early grave like Drucker did just trying to make rent. The man died a bachelor because he was too busy working for anything else. Why do you think you were his only employee? Because it was cheaper to pay an apprentice than to have any kind of staff." Eduard put a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "I know it's risky, but...you just have to trust it. It's a good decision."

Tauras' print shop had been open a little over a year. As he had predicted, they lost a handful of customers following the move to the riverfront. But gradually, he and Eduard began to rebuild their base, even managing to attract a few people from the smaller village across the river.

Almost all of his customers were Lithuanian — either refugees from the rebellion, like him, or emigrants who had earlier fled from the Russian empire's encroachment. Tauras had met a few when he first arrived. But now having his own shop, with his name prominently displayed above the door, it had become something of a beacon. Word quickly spread throughout the Lithuanian community about the printer down by the river and his business saw an uptick. Things were still lean — at least to Tauras, who was still adjusting to working class life. None of it fazed Eduard, though, who had grown up straddling the line between the well to do and the common folk. And it was at his insistence that he and Tauras take in Raivis the day the scrawny, curly-haired orphan showed up on their doorstep asking for work, assuring his cousin they could support caring for the boy.

It was in the fall, shortly after Raivis' arrival, that Tauras started hearing the rumors from his customers about the new measures that had been implemented in their home country. Russians were being encouraged to settle on Lithuanian lands; churches were closed and Russian grammar schools soon took over the local parish schools; Cyrillic replaced the Latin alphabet; and all publications in the Lithuanian language were banned.

Tauras listened to it all, commiserating and offering words of consolation when he could, his indignation tempered by the knowledge he was powerless to do anything about it — until he found out about the smugglers.

Tauras knew, from being smuggled across the border himself, all kinds of product was brought over from both sides illegally. And one of his new customers, a brewer, had been smuggling ale back home for many years. He was the one who had first told Tauras about the press ban, how the people had been fighting back, refusing to give up their language. He had contracted with a Prussian printer in Tilsit to print Lithuanian hymnals to be smuggled across the border when rumors about a language ban first began to circulate a year ago. But the printer kept raising the prices to cover the risk should the border guards ever find out. Then the brewer heard about Tauras' shop and brought the books to him. Tauras completed the job, but an idea — the thought that he could help his country again, could make up for his failing in the rebellion — soon took hold.

"I know that look," Eduard said one night after Raivis had gone to bed. He and Tauras were upstairs in the second floor sitting room, having a mug of ale in front of the fire. "Something's on your mind."

A small frown creased Tauras' brow. "Hearing all the news of what's happening back home...I feel like I should be doing something about it, you know?"

"Like what?"

Tauras eyed his cousin over the rim of his mug, then told him about the brewer and his illegal hymnals.

"...Books?" Eduard quirked an eyebrow.

Tauras nodded.

His cousin scoffed. "If you're going to smuggle anything, why not make it something useful, like weapons."

"Our country doesn't have the strength for that kind of fighting. Not right now. And there are other ways to fight — to resist — that don't involve bloodshed."

Eduard gave him a dubious look. "With books."

"It's not just about the books, Ed. It's about preserving our culture, our language. It's...a chance to take something back."

The look in his cousin's eyes was earnest, almost pleading, but Eduard had nothing he could say.

Tauras felt his words shatter in the silence stretching between them. "I should have known better than to think you would want to hear any of this," he snipped. "You never cared for our country. You and my father." Tauras stared at the fire while Eduard's eyes went to his drink. "We had always been a family of rural nobility, but he wanted us to be more than that. Lithuanian was a commoner's tongue, only to be used when speaking to the servants and lower classes. Polish or Russian was always preferable. My father thought we deserved a higher place — and the only way to improve one's social rank was to improve one's associations. And all the higher class nobles spoke Polish and practiced Polish customs, so we should too." Tauras raised his mug, taking a long sip. "I never understood how someone could look with such disdain on the land that bore them. But then I never cared much for political or social maneuvering the way he did." His eyes found Eduard's. "I don't want to lose this, Ed. After everything that's happened...this feels like a second chance, and I don't want to lose it."

Eduard leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Despite his best efforts to shut away the part of him that was Lithuanian, he had found living with Tauras only made him face it more. A twinge of sympathy tugged at him as he listened to his cousin. Sympathy coupled with a strange sense that he should have been there too, fighting alongside his cousin, whenever Tauras spoke of the rebellion.

Eduard felt himself being drawn in, the shape of a plan beginning to form. It was risky, to be sure. But then so were all his other ventures. Smuggling was nothing but another form of deception, like the shell game he used to run on the streets of Leipzig. Like the fake medical practices he set up throughout Saxony. People were so desperate to believe what was right in front of their faces, they never wanted to spend the effort it took to find the lie.

"It would have to be me," he said at length. "Smuggling the books across, I mean."

Tauras began to protest, but Eduard held up his hand. "Trust me. It would have to be me. You're most likely still a wanted man. And if we bring anyone else into this, there's always the chance if they're caught, they'd give us up to the border authorities."

Tauras' eyes shone. "Ed, I...I can't ask you to do this."

"You're not. And I'm telling you: I'm doing it. I can see how important this is to you, and...well, quite frankly, Tilsit is boring. I haven't been able to run any of my usual cons. Every job I've done has been small scale, nothing elaborate. I need this," Eduard said, the look on his face suddenly insistent. "I need the challenge."

Tauras considered his cousin. He knew full well what he was asking, what Eduard was volunteering to do. He just wondered if his cousin understood the implications as well. If Eduard was caught, he'd find himself on a one-way trip to Siberia. If he was lucky. And Tauras would have another life ruined to add to his already heavy conscience.

He turned back to the fire, watching the flames dance in the hearth, eyes growing wide. What began as a simple idea now seemed as if it was already happening before it even started. It was too real too fast. Like the day he left the seminary. The day he joined the resistance.

But it was still a chance. A chance to make up for his past mistakes. To help his country.

Tauras brought his ale to his lips and nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."

Eduard gave a sharp grin, raising his mug in salute. He downed the rest of the contents in one go and began laying out a plan that started with their first trial run. Tauras listened, leaning almost out of his chair as he hung on his cousin's every word, as Eduard's plans grew into something larger. The idea that had been consuming him for days suddenly felt doable, tangible, and yet...

"What about material, though? Paper and ink?" Tauras slumped back, looking suddenly defeated. "We barely make enough to cover our current expenses."

Eduard's mouth curved mischievously, as if already having anticipated this perceived snag. "I know someone in Leipzig who might be able to help."

Tilsit, East Prussia, 1869

Tauras sat at his desk, swirling the tea in his cup. It had gone cold long ago, but he still drank it as he calculated the week's earnings in his ledger. It had been considerably less than the previous weeks, which he had been expecting, but was still disheartened to see. The sudden uptick in business they had seen before Fasching suddenly dropped off. He and Raivis had even closed the shop and dined early that day since they had no jobs to print and no one was coming in to request anything new. It seemed with the start of Lent, people were tightening their purse strings as well as their belts.

Tauras sighed, resting his cup against his temple. Days like this one made it hard to keep pressing on. More than a few times, he'd wondered if he should just give it all up and go to work for one of the merchants in town, or one of the factories up river. But then what would happen to Raivis? Hell, maybe with a factory job, he could afford to send the boy to school. And what about Eduard? His cousin had poured just as much into this, even managed to talk Tauras into keeping up with printing the smuggled books when he wanted to quit, though Tauras never understood why. Eduard's reasons were his own, he supposed.

Tauras sipped his tea, eyes catching on the shapes left by the leaves as the rest of the liquid drained away. He had been seeing the same three symbols lately, ever since that day Eduard had come home with the professor's book. A cross for trouble, lines for travel, and the tree for prosperity. He set the cup on the desk, as far away from him as possible, not wanting to think about those symbols or what they meant. It was just a silly superstition, as Eduard said time and again —

A loud, heavy pounding at the door interrupted any further thought about tea leaves.

Tauras went to answer — and managed to barely just catch his cousin as he tumbled through the entry.

Eduard's face was a shocking white. The vibrant blue color of his eyes had drained away, dulled to an almost grey. Sweat beaded along his forehead despite the cold, plastering his blonde hair to his head. He leaned heavily against Tauras, sending his cousin a lopsided grin.

Tauras would have guessed he was drunk, had it not been for the hole and dark stain that blossomed around it on the left sleeve of his coat. He managed to get his cousin on his feet and over to a stool at the work table in the middle of the room.

Footsteps thudded on the stairs. Raivis.

"I saw — "

"He's hurt. Get me something — water, and a cloth — quick!" Tauras snapped.

But the boy continued to stand there and stare, eyes darting back and forth from Eduard to Tauras.

"Raivis!"

The boy blinked, coming back to himself, and darted through the door to the kitchen.

Tauras unfastened the buttons of his cousin's coat with shaking hands. Eduard swayed on the stool, wincing as Tauras peeled away the coat. There was a hole through his shirt, matching the one through his coat. Under it ran a deep gash through Eduard's arm, as if the layers of skin and tissue had been carved away.

For a moment Tauras forgot how to breathe. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"We need to clean it," Eduard said, his voice weak from the loss of blood.

Tauras shook his head back and forth. "You need a doctor."

"No!" Eduard's hand shot out, vising around his cousin's forearm. His breathing was labored, but his eyes shone with an intensity Tauras had seldom seen. "There's no time. We can do this — you...you can. I'll walk you through it."

Tauras was about to protest again when Raivis came back with a bucket of water and a rag.

"Do you know...where my medical kit is?" Eduard asked the boy.

Raivis nodded and dashed up the stairs.

Eduard stood, swaying a moment on his feet, then shouldered his way through the kitchen door.

"What the hell are you doing!" Tauras hissed, grabbing the bucket and following his cousin.

Eduard retrieved the bottle of vodka from the cabinet and collapsed into a chair at the table. He eased his arm out of his shirt, then uncapped the bottle and poured the alcohol on his arm, his face twisting with a wince.

"Ed — "

"We need to clean it," Eduard said again. He drank a measure of vodka and slid the bottle over to Tauras. "The alcohol helps minimize the risk of infection. Just...trust me," he added at the look of confusion etched across his cousin's face. "And drink. You'll need that as much as me."

Tauras sat and tipped the bottle back, taking two long pulls.

The kitchen door opened and Raivis entered. He set the black bag on the table then left again to watch the shop on Tauras' orders. Eduard opened the bag and began pulling out various instruments until he came to a needle hooked like the talon of a bird. With a singular focus, he threaded it, his hands remarkably steady despite the sizable and still bleeding gash dug out of his upper left arm.

What little color remained in Tauras' face drained away as he watched his cousin. "I don't know what any of this stuff does, Ed. You need a doctor. A proper doctor. I can't — "

"Yes, you can! If you just listen...and do everything I say."

Eduard handed the needle to Tauras, took another swig of vodka, and instructed his cousin on how to suture and bandage the wound.

Tauras' hand shook as he brought the needle to his cousin's arm, his brow just as damp now as Eduard's. He brushed the hair clinging to his face away with the back of his free hand, then used the rag Raivis had brought to clean away more of the blood on Eduard's arm. He glanced up at his cousin, but Eduard had turned away, a look of numb resignation on his face.

Tauras swallowed, gripped his cousin's arm, and plunged the needle in.

Eduard grunted in pain, his jaw tightening. The fingers of his good arm curled into a fist, knuckles glowing white. Tauras wanted to stop right then and there, but Eduard would not let him.

"Finish it," he said behind clenched teeth.

And Tauras did.

Eduard slumped back against the chair when it was done, the bottle of vodka held loosely in his fingers. The white dressing around his left arm was already turning a rust colored red as it rested in a makeshift sling against his stomach. The eyes behind his glasses were unfocused, glassy, though Tauras was sure that had more to do with the wound than the drink.

He helped his cousin to his feet, supporting Eduard under his good arm, and took him upstairs to his room. Tauras drew back the sheets and laid his cousin in the bed, removing his glasses and setting them on the nightstand. Eduard's eyes slipped closed in an instant, his head lolling to one side. Tauras pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed and lit the oil lamp, turning the wick down so it only gave the dimmest of light. He took his cousin's right hand, laying on top of the bed coverings, and pressed it to his cheek as hot tears welled in his eyes.

"I am so, so sorry, Ed. Please forgive me."

Tauras held his cousin's hand well into the night, whispering prayers he had thought long since forgotten until sleep overcame him.

A cold rain lashed against the window in Eduard's room, rattling the panes in their sashes. Tauras awoke with a start, forgetting for a moment where he was or why he was there. He had fallen asleep slouched in the chair, the wooden spindles digging into his back. He stretched, pushing himself up, rubbing the spots where the wood had pressed in. The wick of the lamp still burned, though more than half the oil was gone. There was light beyond the window, but the iron grey sky made determining the time of day difficult. Tauras turned the wick all the way down, extinguishing the feeble light and wanting to save as much of the oil as possible. He then returned to his vigil, watching over his cousin as he slept, hoping Eduard would soon wake.

A shuffling noise from behind drew his attention. Tauras turned to see Raivis peeking around the door. He turned back to the bed, elbows resting on his knees. Raivis took that to mean he was allowed to enter.

"Will Eduard be all right?"

Tauras shook his head. "I don't know." He scrubbed a hand over his face, the weight of exhaustion and worry still clinging to him. "What time is it?"

"Almost seven o'clock."

Tauras reached for the wallet in his pocket and handed Raivis a few coins. "Get yourself something to eat at the cafe once it opens. In the meantime, get some fresh water from the pump."

The boy pocketed the money with a quick nod and disappeared down the stairs. A moment later, Tauras heard the shop door open and close.

Eduard coughed in his sleep. Tauras held his breath, hoping it was a sign — a sign his cousin would wake up and be okay.

Eduard's head turned. And slowly, his eyes opened.

"...Hey," he said with a half grin, voice ragged from sleep.

Tauras, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, compromised and did both.

"Haven't seen you do that in a long time," Eduard observed.

"What?"

"Smile."

Tauras laughed again, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"You did a good job," Eduard said, indicating the makeshift sling on his left arm.

"H-how are you feeling? Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

Eduard shook his head. "I'm fine."

Tauras nodded, his tongue suddenly weighty with all the pleas for forgiveness that went unheard last night as he looked at Eduard. A thick silence was quickly filling the room, and both cousins sought to dispel it by speaking at once.

"Listen, Ed, I've been thinking — "

"I need to tell you something, Tauras — "

There was a pause followed by a shared laugh.

"You first," Eduard said.

Tauras swallowed and looked at his hands, now clasped before him. "I've been thinking...M-maybe it's time we...we stop. The smuggling is eating away at the material and the shop's revenue...it has been for awhile now, and...with all the risks you take" — Tauras' eyes flicked up to Eduard's arm — "we're fighting a losing battle."

"No. We can't." Eduard pushed himself up in bed with a wince. "We can't stop."

Tauras blinked, not believing what he was hearing.

"Listen to me," Eduard insisted. "We have to keep doing it. Whatever it takes."

"Ed — "

"Look in the drawer."

Tauras eyed his cousin dubiously but did as was asked and opened the top drawer of the nightstand. There, resting on top of sundry papers and other trinkets, was the mythology book he had given Eduard when they were boys.

"You kept this?" Tauras asked, lifting the book and opening it.

Eduard nodded. "Between that and your letters, I never lost the language."

Tauras traced his fingers over the embossed title, the lines of filigree patterning that decorated each corner. "I always thought you hated it," he murmured. "Yet you agreed to help me with this — the smuggling — even though it meant going back there."

"Of course. It was important to you," Eduard said simply. "I realized, as I got older, it wasn't the country I hated. It was all the things I couldn't change. After finding out who I was...that I had been given my mother's surname and not his."

Not yours hung in the empty air between them. Eduard looked away. Tauras' grip tightened on the book. He set it back on the nightstand, worrying his bottom lip as he studied his cousin. Downstairs, the front door opened and shut. Raivis was back from his errands. Tauras knew there was not much time before he had to open the shop, but there were so many things he did not understand and wanted to know.

"And now?" he asked. "You still want to keep this up even after..." His eyes settled on the sling around Eduard's arm.

His cousin nodded. "We have to."

"Why?" Tauras breathed. "You can't possibly still want — after what — what did happen to you, Ed?"

"This?" Eduard said, nodding at his arm. "It's quite simple: I was shot. The bullet grazed my arm. I suppose I should count myself lucky it's winter and my coat was thick. The border was within sight, but this Russian soldier surprised me and I ran. He gave chase and started firing off rounds. One of them hit me, but I managed to outpace him and get to Laugszargen. I had planned to hide out there but knew I couldn't, not while hurt, so I stole a horse and rode it here. I let it go when I reached the river and paid a ferryman to take me across, no questions asked. Then I stumbled through the front door and you know the rest."

Tauras raked his hands through his hair, a mix of guilt and exasperation churning in his gut. He regretted, truly, what happened to Eduard, but to sit there and listen to his cousin recount his story so nonchalantly, to hear his cousin still — still — wanted to keep their operation running after what just happened was beyond belief.

"And how are we supposed to keep smuggling while your arm's mending? Not to mention the Russians will probably have posters of your face going up around the county — "

"We'll find a way — "

"How!?" Tauras leapt to his feet and started pacing. "Do you even hear what you're saying? You are so blinded by your own recklessness — this isn't some petty street game! Christ, Ed, you were shot! Why are you so insistent — "

"Because they're gone, Tauras."

Tauras stilled, brow furrowing as he looked at his cousin. "...Gone? Who's gone?"

"Your family."

Tauras gripped the back of the chair, steadying himself. All the fight left him in a breath with those simple words.

"What do you mean — they're gone?"

"I mean...the house was empty. There were sheets over the furnishings and the gardens were overrun with weeds."

Oh no. Oh no no no. He promised! Tauras thought. Ivan promised no harm would come to them...

"Do you know where?"

Eduard nodded. "Kaunas."

Tauras rubbed his brow. "This is my fault...all my fault," he muttered to himself. "I never should have..." Then, addressing his cousin: "How did you find out?"

"Last month, when I was in Tauragė, I stopped at a tavern for a drink before coming home" — Eduard swallowed, eyes dropping down to the bed — "and I saw him, Tauras. I saw my father. I wanted to talk to him then — to confront him — but...he looked straight through me. He couldn't even recognize his own son even though I still look just like him. And I couldn't...couldn't bring myself to go over and tell him who I was. I was too afraid. The moment I came home, I immediately regretted not taking the opportunity I'd had. That's why I was so hell bent on going back. I wanted to find him again.

"I'm sorry," Eduard said. "I should have told you." He leaned against the headboard, his complexion waxy.

"You need your rest," Tauras said, the tone suggesting it was more out of courtesy than concern. There was a distance in his eyes, a look Eduard had seen before. One of shadow, like clouds passing before the sun. "We can discuss this later — "

"No. Please, just — let me finish. I want you to understand."

Tauras sighed and sat. "All right. Continue."

"As it turns out, I needn't have been so hasty to return," Eduard said. "Your uncle and his wife have been living in Tauragė since the rebellion ended. Their lands were seized and turned over to the empire. Same with your family's."

"Benas told you all this?"

Eduard nodded. "I found him in the same tavern as last time, begging anyone for a game of cards if only they'd buy him a drink. His gambling habits have apparently gone unchanged," he added disparagingly. "So I sit down and buy us both a vodka — even though it looks like he's already had three or four — and I introduce myself, tell him who I am to him, and..."

"And?" Tauras prompted.

A bitter smile twisted Eduard's lips. "And...nothing. He just shrugged, drank his vodka and said he had nothing for me. I told him I wasn't there for money. I didn't care about any of that. I just...I wanted him to see me. To acknowledge me. But all he could do was stare as if I was a stranger..."

Tauras reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Though his own relationship with his father had been less than ideal, he'd at least had one. And it was something, Tauras felt certain, Eduard could have had if any number of circumstances been different. If Benas had not cowed to his older brother's wishes. If Tauras' own father had had a different heart. If...

Eduard blinked, throat bobbing up and down a few times, trying to swallow past the lump that had lodged there during his story's retelling.

"I was ready to leave then," he continued, voice growing quieter. "But next thing I know, these two Russian soldiers pass by our table and all of a sudden Benas begins cursing them under his breath. He launches into this tirade about being driven from his land, having to live in the city without any kind of status. He then starts in on your father, saying Juozas wants nothing to do with him even though they're in the same boat: estate seized and family forced from their lands. I laughed it off, thinking it was nothing more than the drunk ramblings of a jealous younger brother. But then Benas looked me dead in the eye and said to go see for myself. So I did, only because of how serious he'd been. And it was true, everything he'd said."

Tauras let go of his cousin's hand and straightened his back. He sat, staring at some spot only he could see for a few moments, lost in thought.

"Don't you see?" Eduard pressed. "We have to continue this. Your family was one of the most loyal to the tsar, and even they could not escape repercussions."

Tauras' eyes flicked sharply up. "Yes. Because of me. Because I ran instead of staying and atoning for my actions." He stood, resuming his pacing. Downstairs, the shop door opened and closed. A man's voice was asking for him.

"You were fighting for your country, fighting against the empire — there was nothing for you to atone for." Eduard coughed again, wincing. "You couldn't have known what would have happened had you gone to Kara. Your family's lands were liable to be rendered forfeit anyway. You can't keep blaming yourself, Tauras."

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Raivis, coming to fetch him. Tauras looked down at himself, at his ruined shirt, one side stained a reddish brown from his cousin's blood last night. He was not in any sort of mood for dealing with customers today, but he needed the business.

"We will discuss this later," Tauras said tonelessly. "I'll send something up to eat in a little while. Until then, get some rest."

Eduard watched his cousin leave, frowning slightly.

Tauras caught up with Raivis in the sitting room on the second floor landing.

"Mr. Kuprys wants to order some announcements for his daughter's wedding," the boy said.

"Tell him I'll be down in a minute. I need to get cleaned up."

Raivis nodded and hastened back downstairs. Tauras looked over his shoulder at his cousin's room. From the angle of his head, he could tell Eduard had fallen back asleep. A bone-deep exhaustion was settling over him — one that had nothing to do with the late night spent patching Eduard up and watching over him. No, this feeling was tied to something else — to a sense of inevitability. He'd felt it when he first arrived in Prussia though he tried to push it away, to deny it could ever really happen. He had purposely cut himself off from any contact with his family for this very reason. For six years, he'd been running, but in the end it did not matter. His past was finally catching up with him.

Golden light streaked through the sky, the setting sun chasing away the last of the rain, as Tauras drew the curtains and locked the shop door. All day, he found ways to keep himself busy, to keep from thinking about the things Eduard had said. But now that evening had fallen, now that the presses had ceased their mechanical clacking, Tauras felt the utter stillness and silence waiting for him.

There were other things, too. Things he had tried to ignore as he went about his day now clamored for his attention. The tattered backpack that had fallen from Eduard's shoulder, hastily pushed into the corner behind the door, away from customers' eyes. The dark spots on the flagstone floor that were not drops of ink. The bloody coat, shoved under the work table. And in the kitchen, the chair where Eduard had sat.

Tauras retrieved a bottle of vinegar from the pantry and started cleaning what he could.

Tauragė, Lithuania

Captain Ivan Braginski scratched a hand through his thinning hair and sat back in his chair. His shoulders were feeling the ache of having been hunched over a desk all day reading and writing reports. Perhaps tomorrow he would go inspect the patrols. More and more contraband was slipping through, meaning either his men were slacking in their duties or there were gaps that needed filling. If the cause was the former, it would reflect poorly on him as a commander — and he really could not afford another set back, not after what happened six years ago. If the cause was the latter, it meant more paperwork begging for reinforcements, which was just as equally unappealing, given his current mood.

The captain stretched and stood, going over to the window. It was hardly evening and already the light outside was fading. Ivan clasped his hands behind his back. How he longed for summer, with its longer days and warmer weather. The winters in this part of the empire could be just as unforgiving as those back home. Needless to say, this backwoods country endeared itself to him less and less.

"Sir?" a voice said, pulling the captain from his thoughts.

Ivan turned to see his senior ensign standing in his office doorway, arms laden with books.

"Another raid?" the captain asked in a bored tone.

"Yes sir."

Ivan sighed and gestured to the far corner. "Put them over there with the rest."

The ensign gave a quick nod, then let the books fall from his arms onto the top of the steadily growing pile in the captain's office.

Ivan went over and lifted the topmost one. The book was thicker than the others and bound in a simple brown cloth. The cover was not even embossed with any decoration or title. Ivan flipped it open to the front page, knowing he was being naively hopeful if he thought to find any sort of printer's mark there. And he was right. It was blank except for the name of the book.

"Let me guess: the village priest was running an illegal school while the parish children were supposed to be at their Sunday catechism."

The ensign stared back, astonished. "Y-yes, captain. How did you know?"

"Because that's what it always is, ensign. You can't trust the clergy. I should know," he added in an undertone.

The ensign nodded, regaining himself. "We've brought the priest to the customs house jail, if you wish to speak with him."

Ivan shook his head. "Tomorrow. I'm far too tired tonight. Dismissed."

The ensign saluted and left.

Ivan brought the book over to his desk and sat. He lit a taper candle and began examining the words. Such a strange language, he thought, fingers ghosting over the printed pages. Why they fight to keep it when no one can understand it but them? It wasn't like French or English, German or Russian — languages spoken and understood beyond their nations' borders. As far as he was concerned, these Lithuanians could keep the other objects of their culture — their superstitions and holidays, their pagan symbols — but why keep such an old, convoluted language when ideas could be expressed just as easily in Russian?

He knew, though, it wasn't just about the language. These people had been trying to force the empire out for decades, undermining any authority wherever they could. He thought of the young revolutionary, the one who had escaped all those years ago — the one who had cost him his promotion, his chance to return home. Laurinaitis. The name rang through his head as clearly as if someone had just spoken it. Such an honorable family — such a disappointing son. It was because of him that Ivan was stuck, forgotten in this marsh-infested land at the far edge of the empire, all because of that one escaped prisoner. But that young man was more than simply a fugitive — he was an ember, a spark, and wherever he landed, the flames of rebellion were sure to catch once again. And it had been Ivan's job to ensure that would not happen. And he had failed.

Ivan slammed the book closed and threw it into the corner with the others. Tomorrow it would go into the bonfire with all the rest, where it belonged. Though he had half a mind to set the pile alight right then. But he would not deny his men a chance to see such a spectacle, nor the chance to bring a little light to them during this long winter.

Ivan stood, donned his coat and hat, snuffed out the candle, and set his feet on the path to the tavern.

Tilsit, East Prussia

Dinner that night was a thin soup made with leftover sausage and sauerkraut. Raivis had used some of the money Tauras had given him for the cafe and bought a bag of their day old bread. It wasn't anything like the fresh rye loaf Eduard had brought last month, but it soaked up the juices and filled them more than just the soup would have.

Tauras brought a bowl up to Eduard's room, with Raivis trailing behind him. Tauras let him — he was too drained to fight the boy's protestations about not being allowed in. Besides, whatever was to come of this would affect them all.

Eduard was awake when Tauras entered. He was sitting up in bed, glasses on, his face a shade healthier than it had been, but still too pale for Tauras' liking.

Tauras set the soup on the nightstand. Raivis sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed and tucked his hands under him, eyes shining with joy and relief at Eduard's apparent recovery.

For a while, no one said anything. The only sound was that of the spoon scraping the bowl as Eduard ate. Tauras slowly paced the width of the room, his face pensive, one finger rubbing his chin.

Then, unable to stand the silence any longer, Eduard broke it: "Have you thought any more about what we discussed?"

Tauras nodded. "I have."

"You still think we should stop smuggling?"

"Yes. I don't see how we can keep this up. You're likely a wanted man by now, and I'm a traitor to the empire, remember?"

"It's been six years, though. Do you really think anyone would recognize you?"

Tauras' shoulders gave an involuntary twitch. "It doesn't matter whether or not they do — I have the marks to prove it."

Eduard's cheeks turned a light pink. He focused instead on his soup. "I never said it needed to be either of us. We could get someone else to be our runner."

"I'll do it," Raivis piped up.

"Don't be ridiculous," Tauras scoffed. "You're much too young. And besides, you don't speak Russian or Lithuanian."

Raivis' lips twisted in disappointment. He had traveled on his own from Königsberg to Tilsit when he was no more than ten years old, fending for himself and avoiding those that would have put him in an orphanage or workhouse, but he would forever be "too young" in Mr. Laurinaitis' eyes.

"You know most of the Lithuanians here," Eduard continued. "Would any of them be willing — "

Tauras shook his head emphatically as images of his fallen squadron, of Eduard sitting at the table with his arm bleeding, swam before his eyes at the suggestion. "Absolutely not! I don't want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

His eyes fell on the small book of Lithuanian mythology still sitting on Eduard's night stand. Something his cousin said echoed in his thoughts. What it represents matters. Eduard had understood, then. Understood more than Tauras. For him, the books had been personal, a way to make up for his own failings and ease his guilt. He had been too short-sighted to see the bigger picture. Tauras never feared losing his language because he still had people he could speak it with freely. But what about those that came after him, born to a country with no mother tongue? Losing the language meant losing part of a national identity, part of a culture. Generations would grow up not knowing what it meant to be Lithuanian. Tauras could not let his country become just another jewel in the empire's crown.

"I'll do it," he said quietly. He had ceased his pacing, coming to stillness beside his cousin's bed, green eyes alight with a resolve Eduard had not seen since they were boys. "I'll take the books across the border."

A/N A big thank you to everyone who's read/commented/favorited this story! It really does mean so much to me. Gilbert should be back for chapter 7, and he and Tauras will have a little more...interaction ;). Now on to history notes stuff:

Lithuanian nobility and the Lithuanian language — Polonization efforts had been well underway in Lithuania since the time of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Much of the Lithuanian nobility had adopted Polish customs and spoke Polish as the preferred language, believing their own native tongue was better suited for the lower classes. However some of the rural noble families still retained their Lithuanian customs and language.

Lithuanian book smugglers and priests — Just as many of the first books smuggled into Lithuania were religious hymnals, many of the first smugglers were Lithuanian clergy. They set up secret societies aimed at preserving their language, which included the printing and smuggling of books, as well as secret schools within their parishes to teach the language to the village population.