"Get up, you lazy bastard." A whip crack and a line of fire across his buttocks yanked Erik from his doze. The day was unusually hot for late spring in France and the heat combined with a lack of water and food drove him into semi-consciousness.
The boy scrabbled to his knees and crouched against the pile of filthy straw that served as his bed. "I'm awake," he whispered.
"Good." Davos curled the whip in his hand. "The gorgers will be here soon and we want our little devil to be ready to put on a good show."
'Put on a good show' was Rom for keeping the people distracted with his face while the other, normal, gypsy children darted among them and picked their pockets.
He clenched his jaw, keeping every speck of feeling off his face. He hated them all. Wanted to kill Davos and the others, but he couldn't. Not as long as he was locked in this cage. He had no choice but to do as he was told and wait patiently for the right moment to escape.
He winced as a pail of cold water was thrown on him, followed by the slap of a greasy rag.
"Clean yourself up. The gates are opening and there are pockets to pick. Put on a good show this time and maybe you'll get clean water with your dinner tonight." Davos's ugly laugh trailed off into the air.
The boy used the cleanest part of the rag to wipe himself down. He'd never be completely clean, and his thin hair was matted with clots of dirt thrown at him during an earlier show. Still, he did the best he could. He knew what awaited him if he didn't obey. He had the scars to prove it.
Bracing himself for what was to come, he pulled a rough burlap sack over his head and tightened the twine that served as a belt for his ragged trousers, then stood barefoot at the front of his cage gripping the bars as Davos led the townspeople to see the demon child. The viewing went well, only a few children threw rotten vegetables at him and tried to strike him through the bars.
The only advantage he had over the other freaks was that he was horrible enough that Davos always set his cage apart from the other attractions so no one would see him before Davos was ready for them to. The man liked the element of shock and surprise. Davos particularly liked the screams when he pulled the rough burlap sack from the boy's head. The screams added to the distractions allowing the little pickpockets to do their work.
As soon as it was over and Davos led the crowd away to the next attraction, the boy dropped down on the straw pile and closed his eyes, turning the damaged side of his face against the straw. He could rest for an hour until the next bunch came through and he'd be on display again.
A soft noise broke through his doze, startling him. He opened his eyes to see two brown eyes staring back at him from the face of a young girl. They were pretty, he thought, with flecks of green and gold like sunlight filtering through the trees.
"Your eyes are two different colors." Her voice held a hint of wonder.
Are they? He thought. He didn't know, hadn't looked at his face in years. The only memory he had of looking in a mirror was of screaming at the monster his mother showed him when she shoved the bit of reflective glass in his face.
"Boy, can you hear me?"
Yes. And now I'll hear you. He lifted his head giving her an unobstructed view of his deformities and her hand flew to her mouth.
So now she knows. She's seen the freak and now she can leave. He closed his eyes again, lowering his hideousness back to the straw, blocking her out.
"Boy?" Her soft voice floated to his ears. "Boy? Are you all right?"
He sat up then, brushing the straw from himself. "I'm fine." He lunged at the bars, looked her full in the face, and waited for the screams.
She only stood there, looking at him. "What happened to you?"
Her question took him aback. Nobody ever asked him questions and everybody screamed. "You mean my face?"
She nodded silently.
"Nothing. I was born this way."
"Oh. I'm so sorry." She took a step forward and touched the bars between them. "Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Is that why you're locked up? Because of your face or did you do something bad?"
"I was born," he snapped, the questions were getting annoying and too personal. "That's why I'm in this cage. What do you want, girl?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. I just thought you might need some help. Do you?"
For a moment, he was stunned into silence. No one ever offered to help him "Can you open the lock?" He glanced at the cage door.
She tried, pulling and pushing, but it wouldn't budge. "I'm sorry."
"You tried." He sank down back into the straw. The bars clanked and he saw her holding a dipper of water from the pail Davos kept just beyond his reach.
"You look like you could use this."
He took it from her hand, drinking quickly then wiping his arm across his wet lips. "Thank you."
"What's your name?"
He just shook his head. "Doesn't matter." He didn't have a name;, he didn't think 'bastard' or any of the things he remembered his mother calling him were appropriate names to give a girl like her.
"Of course it matters." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "How can we be properly introduced otherwise?"
What was she talking about? Nobody was introduced to him and he certainly wasn't introduced to people. He didn't need a name; he'd gotten this far without one and there was no reason to think he'd be needing one anytime soon.
"Here, take this, too." She pulled an apple from a pocket of her full skirt.
He wanted it more than he could say. "I can't take your food."
"Oh, please. I want to help you." A tear slid down her cheek. "Take it." She pushed it between the bars and into his hand.
She seemed genuinely concerned. That was new and he couldn't find it in himself to be annoyed and yell at her to get away. An angry shout startled them both. Davos was coming. He couldn't let him see the girl. He'd only hurt her.
"You've got to run. Now." He shoved the apple under the straw then turned, looking in the direction of the shouting. "Go! He'll be here in a minute and he'll hurt you."
"No, I don't want to leave you."
She was so brave, it stunned him. No one ever stood up to Davos. Then he truly looked at her. She was well dressed, too well dressed to be one of the villagers. And she was so clean. He'd seen other children dressed like her, but none of them ever offered him even a kind word. He didn't know how to react. He was torn between wanting to thank her for her concern and cursing her for the feeling she'd awakened in him.
"You must go," he hissed. He looked around the small cage for a weapon, anything he could give her to help fight off Davos when he came. He had nothing. Nothing he could give her to protect herself. "Please. Go. I don't want him to hurt you."
She moved forward again, pushing something between the bars. It was a piece of ribbon pulled from her hair, green like the lush grass in summer. "Don't forget me. I will come back. And I will help you."
He took the ribbon, pushing the straw aside so he could hide it with the apple. Something glinted among the filthy straws and he reached for it. A small gold heart-shaped charm glimmered in his hand. Someone must have dropped it when they were taunting him and throwing things at him through the bars. It's mine now, he thought. It was the only thing he had except for the green ribbon in his other hand. Wordlessly, he held the charm out to her.
She took it, not shrinking at the dirt on the hand holding it out. "Thank you." The shouting grew louder. She looked scared then back at him. "Will they hurt you?"
"No." He lied but it didn't matter. He had to do what he could to protect the girl.
"We're leaving tonight, but I'll come back. My parents come here every year. I'll make them bring me back and I'll find you."
He nodded, knowing in his heart he'd never see her again. "Goodbye, Girl."
"Goodbye, Boy." Then she turned and ran.
. . . .
Erik shifted in his chair. Even with the lights dimmed, it was still too hot in the ballroom. He felt the sweat running from his brow and trickling between his shoulder blades.
Lillian looked up, scanning the room. The people were sitting rapt, hanging on her every word, just as they did every time she told her story. "I did go back the next year. And there was a gypsy caravan as before, but it wasn't the same one." She shook her head. "I never saw the boy with the ruined face again. But I never forgot him, either."
She rubbed her hand over her chest. "He still lives here, in my heart. I couldn't help him but I learned that I could help others. The mission of the Danby Foundation's Hospital for Disadvantaged Children is to not just help unfortunate youngsters but to especially help those born with facial deformities that prevent them from living full and happy lives.
"And now, if you'll indulge me just a little further, I'd like to introduce Mr. Benjamin Sholokhov, one of the noble physician-surgeons who dedicates his time and knowledge to our Foundation and will tell you just a little bit more about the work we do and how much your contributions will help this cause. Thank you." She stepped aside to make way for the man and returned to her seat.
Nasir leaned in to Erik and whispered. "She tells a good story. I'm sure it's all balderdash, but she does manage to sound convincing. And look," he gestured around the ballroom. "They're eating it up. We'll have to watch her closely if she comes to the club."
Erik nodded, barely hearing what Nasir said. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to get out.
Before Nasir could stop him, he pushed up and away from the table, ducking through the nearest door. It took him into the kitchen where he darted between cooks and waiters carrying heavy trays. He followed a brightly lit tiled corridor and pushed through another door. This one led him to an alley.
He stopped just beyond the exit, panting heavily, his heart was pounding and his stomach roiled. He stumbled a few more yards from the door, then turned to lean his head against the wall and vomited.
Nasir found him a few minutes later, sitting on the ground with his back against the alley wall, his head bent, and his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. "Erik? Are you all right? Do you need me to get a doctor?"
"No." Erik whispered, dropping his head on his knees for a moment. Then he raised it and pushed up against the wall. Nasir grabbed his arm and together they brought him to a standing position. "Sorry." Erik wiped his hand across his mouth, frowning at the sour taste. "I think the pork was a bit off. You're lucky you didn't eat it."
Nasir had a feeling something was off and it wasn't the pork. "Come, my friend, let's get you back to your apartment and cleaned up."
Erik pulled away. "I can walk."
It wasn't a long walk from the hotel to Club Incognito and the two apartments upstairs where they lived. Erik took the stairs two at a time and slammed his door in Nasir's face.
"Erik." Nasir knocked on the apartment door. "Erik are you all right? Let me in."
"Go away!." Erik sounded angry.
"Erik, please, let me in."
"Leave me alone!" Something crashed against the door.
Nasir hesitated, not wanting to leave his friend in this state, yet knowing that until Erik gained control of his rage, there would be no talking with him. He leaned against the door, keeping his voice gentle. "I'll be in my rooms if you need anything."
The Persian had been with the man long enough to know that Erik would talk when Erik was ready to talk. And trying to make him talk when he wasn't ready was an exercise in futility. But maybe Erik wasn't the only source of information.
Nasir settled down in his parlor with a cup of strong tea. He had to stop thinking like Erik's friend and look at the situation from a daroga's point of view. Erik's change of behavior came immediately following the lady's story.
It was all fantasy, of course. A sob story to tug at the wealthy heartstrings and loosen the wealthy purse strings. Unless—his cup clattered on the saucer. Could it be true? He knew almost nothing about Erik's life before Persia except that Erik had traveled with gypsies.
He worked with the Russian gypsies, that Nasir knew for a fact. They treated him as an equal, but could it be that his earlier travels were involuntary? When they'd first met, Erik was a young man of twenty performing for nobility. But before then, what if her story was true? Could Erik be the captive youth she spoke of? There was only one way to find out, and find out he would.
. . . .
"Tilly, I'll need the blue bombazine for the luncheon and then I'll wear the ivory silk for tonight's event at the Masters' home. You can choose the appropriate accessories, I think."
"Yes, my lady." Tilly bobbed a quick curtsey and moved into Lillian's dressing room to prepare the required ensembles.
Lillian Featherstone, took a quick sip of tea and then turned her attention back to her appointment book. Her schedule was full, as it always was with these fundraising junkets, still she hoped the luncheon would end earlier than scheduled, giving her a few hours of time free to walk around the city and see a little of San Francisco for herself.
"Excuse me, ma'am." Jackson, her American secretary on this tour, walked into the suite. "There's a man here to see you."
"Does he have an appointment?" She noted he'd said 'man' and not 'gentleman.'
"No, ma'am." Jackson frowned. "He says he saw you at the gala last evening and wished to have a word."
"Did he bring a cheque?" She was used to men coming to see her unannounced. It was a particularly American thing to do, and she found the farther west she traveled in the country, the more casual the rules of polite society. She usually granted them five minutes of her time if they brought an offering for the Foundation.
"Yes, ma'am. However, if he was at the gala, he wasn't part of the society coterie." Jackson looked uncomfortable. "He said his name is Nasir Khan and that he is the general manager of an establishment called Club Incognito. I believe that is a gambling hall." Jackson paused to clear his throat. "He was very insistent."
The gala had gone very well and Lillian was feeling generous. "Very well. I'll see Mr. Khan for a few minutes." She set her cup down and dabbed her mouth with a linen napkin. "Please ask the gentleman to come in."
Jackson nodded and opened the door between the outer sitting room and Lillian's private parlor. "The Honorable Lady Lillian Featherstone, may I present Mr. Nasir Khan?"
Khan nodded at Jackson and walked into the woman's parlor. "Thank you for seeing me." He bowed slightly then clasped his hands behind his back.
She rose to greet him, silently acknowledging his unwillingness to touch her. "Mr. Khan. Am I correct in assuming you are a gentleman of the Middle East?"
"I am from Persia." His eyes narrowed. She was intelligent to pick up on his reluctance to touch her ungloved hand.
"I have been to Persia, and enjoyed it very much." She returned to her chair, gesturing to the sofa opposite her. "Mr. Jackson says you've come personally to offer a donation for the Danby Foundation."
Nasir smiled slightly. "I have, on behalf of my employer, Mr. Erik Dantes, owner of Club Incognito."
"A gambling club, isn't it?"
Nasir nodded, noting there appeared to be no recognition of Erik's name. "I'm not here to be rude, madam, but I know I won't have much of your time and aside from delivering our donation, I must ask you a question."
"It must be important if you've come here personally." She leaned back in the chair. "Especially if you're willing to buy my answer with your cheque."
She was canny, picking up instantly on his reasoning. "Very well then, I'll get to the point. I want to know about the story you told last night. Is it true or merely a fabrication to empty wallets?"
"You are direct, Mr. Khan." She grinned. "I like that.
"Whether you choose to believe it or not, what I said last night is true." She turned serious, biting her lip. "Have you ever met anyone who changed your life profoundly?"
"Actually, I've met two people who did that. One was my late wife, Bahar. The other is the reason I'm here today."
She looked perplexed. "I don't understand."
"It's no matter." He stood, pulling a bank cheque from his coat pocket and then placing it on the low table between them. "Thank you for your time, madam. I wish you success in your endeavor. Goodbye."
"Goodbye." She watched him leave, then picked up the cheque. "What a strange man."
Khan walked swiftly from the hotel towards Club Incognito. So it was true after all and that led him to one conclusion: Erik was the boy in her story. That explained his actions last night. But what to do with the information? He shook his head. There was nothing he could do at the moment. This wasn't his story; it was Erik's.