Ch 2
The next day, Sunday, again found Karolek in the small Orthodox church about six blocks from the coffee shop. He wasn't sure exactly why he still went. The preaching was, as it had been last week, uninspired and sleep inducing. Maybe if the priest didn't have that lisp.at least being in church for an hour or so gave him time to think on other things without worrying about his personal safety. If it wasn't for the fact that Nellie believed him to be a church-going man, he'd probably give it up. He sensed that he and the Almighty were about to reach a parting of the ways again.and some of that was probably due to Jacob Book.
The conversation with Erich in the bar yesterday had been extremely unsettling, to say the least. He'd hoped that in 75 years Book might have met a sticky end on the wrong end of a sword, but apparently that had been an idle hope. If only the man hadn't met up with Grayson, things might have worked out rather differently. Then again, if he'd finished off Book the way their kind were supposedly supposed to.Karolek sighed audibly, earning a reproachful look from an elderly lady with a kerchief on her head one seat over. He was starting to sound entirely too much like one of the MacLeods. He'd never really subscribed to that sort of brooding, at least not since his "headhunting" days a quarter millennia ago.
Thankfully, the priest wrapped up his sermon and began to serve communion. Karolek took his turn with the rest of the congregation, slipping out afterwards rather than waiting for a chance in the line for Confession. The priests in Washington weren't going to have the answers he needed.
The Russian Prince stepped out into the weak sunshine of late fall, drawing a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. It reminded him a bit of days he'd enjoyed before his death in Russia. Newsboys were on the corners, shouting about a sticky confrontation between US Navy sailors trying to inspect Charleston harbor and a group of Confederates on the docks.
Karolek tossed the boy a dime and took one of the papers. He snapped it open and began to read. The sailors had been forced to train their big guns on the men to make the crowd break up. He sighed. A year ago, the Rebs wouldn't even have thought of trying such a stunt. This new President of theirs, Jake Featherston, was all for stirring up as much trouble with the US as he possibly could. "What a waste of a peace." Karolek muttered to himself, walking back towards the shop. "Idiot won't be happy till he gets another go-round at the US. You'd think anyone with half a brain would want to stay away from war as long as he could. Especially a moron on the Roanoke front."
His mind grateful for the change in thought topic, Karolek continued to dwell on Jake Featherston and his Freedom thugs down in the CSA. Normally, national politics wasn't something he found himself caring about. He kept a half-eye to the court intrigue of the Romanovs, curious to see the goings on of his family line, but paid little attention to anything else. Sure, he'd thrown in his lot with the US during the Great War, but that had less to do with personal politics and more to do with his location when war broke out.
This though.this was something different. He'd picked up bits and pieces of Featherston's politics from both Americans and Confederates at the coffee house, and knew them to be both repulsive and enticing. Repulsive, in that he intended to set himself square with everyone who had ever wronged him, be it real or imagined. The generals, who he believed had botched the war; the blacks, who had risen up during the war and helped the US forces to gain a foothold in the trenches; the United States itself, for having the gall to defeat the Confederacy for the first time in two wars; the politicians and class system inherent in Southern politics. Karolek shook his head. A man fueled by the sort of wounded pride common among schoolboys.the sort of pride he'd often been victim to as a boy.was going to drag the whole world back into the fires of war, and all to settle a grudge.
He turned the last corner onto the street of the coffee house, and saw Clara sweeping the sidewalk while her mother wiped at the already clean glass. He looked around quickly to see if any policemen were about, and was satisfied that there were none. Washington's blue laws prevented anyone from working on the Sabbath, and he didn't want to see his friends suffer any more than they already were.
Clara spotted the young Immortal first, and stopped her sweeping to wave excitedly at the man. "Karo!" She called out, wanting to be sure she had his attention.
"Hush, Clara." Nellie sniped, swiping at her daughter. "It doesn't do to call so much attention to yourself."
"Yes, Mama." Clara growled, embarrassed at the slight in front of Karolek. "I just wanted to be sure he saw us."
Nellie shook her head. Youthful imprudence had gotten her into her fair share of troubles. Why was it that Clara insisted on ignoring sound advice? "Where else would he be going, Clara? He lives upstairs, and there is nowhere else to go of a Sunday, except a bar."
Clara chose to ignore her mother's muttered darkness in favor of greeting the teenaged waiter. "Good afternoon, Karo."
"Afternoon Clara, Mrs. Jacobsen." Karolek said, tipping his newsboy cap to the two ladies.
"Good afternoon Karolek." Nellie politely greeted the young man. "How was mass?"
Karolek offered a dry smile. "Woefully dull, I'm afraid. This parish drew the short straw when it came to priestly assignments. It's quite difficult to be inspired when one is having a hard time staying awake." Clara giggled behind her hand, earning another reproachful glare from her mother. Karolek grinned and offered the young girl a wink, before explaining the particular shortcomings of Father Yegor to Nellie. "Newsboys say the Navy boys got into quite a mess down in Charleston harbor." He said, displaying the newspaper in an attempt to change his employer's attention.
"Well, yes." Nellie agreed, turning back from the paper and swiping at a sticky spot on the window. She looked over at Karolek. "Doesn't sound like good news, does it?"
"No, ma'am." Karolek agreed, picking up a rag to work on the other window. "I think Featherston won't be happy until he gets another fight." He sighed. "And I think it'll come sooner rather than later, if he has his way."
Clara stopped her sweeping, looking at the Immortal with wide, fearful eyes. "You think we're in danger?" Her lower lip quavered, and she looked on the verge of breaking out into tears.
"Of course not Clara." Nellie said sharply. "Don't be ridiculous. Washington hasn't been in any danger since before you were born.
Karolek gently squeezed her arm. "No, Clara. I don't think we're in any danger yet." He offered the girl a smile not unlike the ones he used to defuse Nellie from time to time. "Teddy Roosevelt made sure to get a big buffer zone for Washington in the last war. All that land that used to be Virginia will slow down the Confederates for a good while. And Featherston can't fight a war without weapons, and right now he doesn't have any."
"You're sure then?" Clara pressed, grateful for the comforting words and a little thrilled at the ease of Karolek's comforting gestures. Even at 19, Karolek seemed to know so much MORE than her mother. Nellie was all practicality and stifling energy. She'd never been more than ten miles away from Washington DC, she NEVER paid attention to anything going on in the world outside of the city, and she was always checking up on Clara to make sure she wasn't doing anything improper. Karolek was so much more exciting. He was from Washington State, he'd served in the army, he even spoke another language and was related to royalty. 'Mama can say all she wants about danger, but what does she know?'
Another grin. "I'm sure Clara. Don't worry about it."
"Swell." Clara grinned back, returning to her sweeping.
Nellie watched her daughter out of the corner of her eye, discouraged by the growing signs of a crush that she saw her daughter developing on her shop assistant. Crushes led to desire, desire led to acting on it.and acting on it could lead to more trouble than Clara would think existed in the world. She'd had the same problem with Clara's sister Edna. Edna had wanted romance, and had steadily pursued the physical side of that romance despite all of her best efforts. She resolved to speak to Karolek if this crush didn't peter itself out. He was a man, after all, while Clara was still a girl, even if there were only 14 years between them. "Karolek, there's a new block of ice in the icebox that needs chipping up. Go and take care of that, will you."
Karolek chuckled to himself at the dark look on Nellie's face. He'd spent enough time in the company of women over the years to be able to read facial expressions, and Nellie was obviously displeased. 'More so than usual, too. Either she doesn't like the idea of Clara having a crush, or she thinks I'm too old for her daughter anyway.' Amused and slightly cheered at the thought, he "yes, ma'am"-ed Nellie and set off to the ice box.
Sunday past, the week flew by for all of the coffee shop inhabitants. Clara returned to school, Nellie and Karolek worked up a storm. Before he knew it, his half-day Saturday was over and he was headed towards the river and Erich's shipping warehouse.
As sure as he was that Erich wasn't planning any sort of ambush, the survivor's part of Karolek's brain still insisted that he be wary. A day's drinking in his company had given him a certain measure of insight into the man, but he readily admitted he knew very little about the German's character. Even the most decent in appearance could be a potential foe if one wasn't on guard. For the time being, he was banking on his threat of vengeance from friends and his superior age and past reputation to keep himself out of trouble. It was one of the only benefits he felt he'd taken from that period, aside from his second wife. If people thought you were dangerous, they tended to stay away from you, unless of course they were looking to make a reputation for themselves.like Carlsson. 'Damn. Is there nothing that I can think of these days that doesn't bring me back to Book?"
He smiled in appreciation as he approached Erich's warehouse. It was a large building, set well back from the main road and the truck turnaround. Few windows, only one obvious door to the street and probably a cargo loading bay on the other side to bring in goods from ships. It would make for a good place to practice without being observed, and it would be difficult to sneak up on. He pulled his coat around himself a little tighter and watched the few workers file out of the building.
"Mr. Hauptmann isn't hiring, buddy." One of the workers, a tall, stocky man with a long scar down the left side of his face called out.
"Come again?" Karolek asked, unsure of how else to respond to the seemingly random comment.
"The boss isn't hiring." Another man, with unruly tufts of red hair poking out of a fisherman's cap, repeated patiently. "He had to let Will Evans go last week, and seemed right sad to do it. I don't think he'll take on anyone new."
"Can't hurt to try, can it?" Karolek said, playing along with the conversation. Dressed as he was, he looked like a worker, where Erich was clearly an established businessman. He didn't think he looked as though he was seeking work, but then the newly unemployed tended to look a little less downtrodden than those that had been pounding the pavement for longer. "I'm young, I might work for less and longer than Evans did. Can you tell me where to find Mr. Hauptmann?"
"He's in his office, going over the books." The man with the scar said patiently. "But you're wasting your time." Stopping his intended lecture, he sized up the younger looking man. "You look awfully familiar, kid. Have we met somewhere before?"
Karolek's gunmetal eyes darkened slightly, and his eyes widened a fraction. Someone who didn't know him well would have been hard pressed to see the difference in his earlier countenance, and maybe 15 or 20 people in the world could read him that well. He recognized the scar, and now his mind put a name to the face. Finn Sullivan.from the barrel brigade in Tennessee. The man had gotten that scar from an artillery shell when it exploded right next to his machine.and now he recognized him. "I don't think so, sir." Karolek replied evenly, masking his inner thoughts and playing on his eternally young looks.
"Naw, I'm sure of it." Finn brushed off Karolek's answer, studying the face before him as if looking for the clue. 'Those eyes.' Finn mused. 'I've seen eyes like that before.on that boy sniper from the Rockies that Morrell was so fond of.' "I've got it." Finn declared. "You look just like Captain Romanov. I served with him in the war." Finn stared at Karolek's eyes, taking in the blond hair and face as his memories returned to him. "Bloody hell, you could BE Karolek Romanov, and you haven't aged a damned day.you're not, are you?"
'Of course I am. How nice to see you again, Finn. I'm glad to see that your face healed rather nicely. How are you doing? Married? Any children? No, none for me. Yes, it is amazing that I haven't aged at all in 18 years.' Karolek bit back the sigh that fought to escape his lips. "No, I'm not Karolek Romanov." He paused a moment. "He was my father."
"Your father?" Finn chuckled. "Of course. God, kid, you look exactly like him. How is your old man?"
"Died, three years ago." Karolek said softly, playing the role to the hilt. He was grateful that Finn took the explanation so easily that he was his own son. He'd met more than a few mortals over the years who continued to insist that he was his old self rather than his own son. Those who stubbornly believed the illogical truth rather than the easier explanation were never much fun to deal with.
Finn looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, kid. He was a good man, one of the best shots with a rifle I've ever seen." He patted Karolek on the shoulder. "Go on in and talk to Hauptmann. Tell him I sent you in. I don't know that it'll do you any good, but give it a try anyway."
"Thanks all the same, sir." Karolek offered the man his hand.
"Sure thing, kid. And the name is Finn. Sergeant Finn Sullivan." The burly worker picked up his lunchbox and motioned to the road. "I better catch the trolley home before my wife starts thinking I'm having an affair. Good luck, kid." Sullivan walked away after the rest of his co-workers, leaving Karolek standing at the entrance to the warehouse.
He turned to watch his old comrade-in-arms walk away. It would have been nice to talk to Finn again as an equal, as the Karolek he'd been rather than the one he was pretending to be now. Khan Seh had explained to him the dangers of mortal society finding out about their kind; dangers which had only multiplied in this highly militant society that had developed in the aftermath of the American Civil War. Logically, he understood all the problems inherent in Immortality becoming public knowledge. Emotionally, however, he wanted more than a few close friends that he could trust with his real age and his real past.
His musings were interrupted by the intrusion of an Immortal buzz onto his consciousness. Erich was waiting, he remembered, and from the movement in and out of his range, had probably resorted to pacing the length of the warehouse while he waited.
Chuckling at the younger man's impatience, he pushed open the door and called out, "Hello, Erich?" His Russian-tinged voice echoed through the half-full warehouse.
"Karolek!" The German accented voice of his new acquaintance called back. "I was beginning to be concerned that you had gotten lost until I realized you were outside. What happened?"
"I ran into some of your workers outside." The prince explained, taking off his cap and hanging up his coat in the office. He drew his sword and continued to explain, "One of your employees is a man I served in the war with. He thought he recognized me."
"Did he?" Erich asked, shouldering his Crusader's sword and sounding concerned.
"Of course he did." Karolek replied, bringing his blade up to eye level so he could examine it.
Erich took the extended silence for a full answer and stammered out, "And you told him what you are," with a note of incredulity in his voice. For a man almost twice his age, he seemed decidedly unconcerned about revealing his secret. His voice took on an edge it had missed before. "I suppose you told your employer and her daughter too. Or maybe her husband, before he died? Do you pass it out with the checks in that little café?" To von Ridesel, who so jealously guarded his own secret, this was the most dangerous of sins.
Karolek raised his eyebrows, surprised at the suddenness and vehemence of the tirade. A closer friend, such as Connor or Darius, would have seen the danger lurking in his gray eyes. Erich quite simply hadn't noticed what he had done. "I said nothing of the sort. I convinced Sullivan that I am my own son. He even told me what a good man and good shot my father was."
Erich had the good sense to look abashed. His abashed look, however, gave way to fear when he suddenly found his own sword on the ground and the Russian prince's sword at his neck. Eyes wide, he met the ice-cold gaze of the older immortal and realized the mistake he'd made. Buried within the seemingly innocent and unassuming exterior lurked a man he could EASILY see having been a headhunter.and a damned good one, at that. He swallowed as hard as he dared, realizing that his own death was not entirely out of the question at this moment.
Slowly, Karolek turned his wrist so that the sharp edge of the blade was set right next to the German's trembling neck. The way the two men stood right now, all Karolek would have had to do was swing his arm and that would be the end. His normally cheerful face was uncompromising and hard, his eyes flashing darkened gray, the same color of the gleaming steel blade currently making the other Immortal very, very nervous. When he spoke, it was in a low, almost guttural growl that reminded von Ridesel of the German spoken by the peasants near his boyhood home. "I am not an idiot or a child, nor do I appreciate being treated like one."
"I understand. I do. I'm sorry." The impassive mask did not break. "Good god, man, it was a mistake."
Karolek nodded once, lowering the blade from the German's neck. "See to it that you do not make the same mistake again."
Erich raised a trembling hand to his neck, as if to feel that it was still attached. "No goddamned kidding I won't make that mistake again." Keeping his eyes trained on Karolek at all times, he knelt to the ground and picked up his sword. "I am sorry." He said contritely. "It's just that Will was so intent about training me to keep Immortality a secret. I didn't even tell my first wife what I was. It's hard to imagine being open with my secret.it feels like a betrayal to him."
"I suppose I can understand that." He motioned to the sword with his free hand. "That's why you carry Schuyler's sword, da?"
"Yes."
Karolek swung his sword to rest the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "Understand something, Erich. It's not that I'm free with my secret. It's not a secret we SHOULD be free with. I've not told many mortals what I am. Aside from the descendents of my brother's family line, there is no one outside of the Game who does know." He sighed heavily. "I just wish that there was someone I could tell the whole truth to. To stop hiding, and be my self. Not whatever creation of paper that I am that year."
"Ours is a lonely and transitory existence." Erich admitted. "Mortals do not easily understand what and who we are. It's one of the reasons I wish I could put up my sword. I'm not really a fighting man."
"You could live on Holy Ground." Karolek pointed out unnecessarily.
Erich nodded his agreement. "True, I could." He smiled. "But as much as I am not a fighting man, I am also a man who enjoys living life. And if the price for that is a sword in hand, than that is the price I must pay."
"That's very philosophical of you."
"So it is." He laughed. "You came to fight. What say we get to it?"
"You're on." Karolek said with a chuckle. "En guard!"
Several hours later, the two Immortals finally called it quits. Karolek admitted that he would be expected back at the coffee shop for supper, and Erich had dinner reservations with a fellow shipper at a club across town.
"-Thanks.-" Karolek called into the office, where Erich was confirming his reservation.
"-You're welcome.-" Erich answered, wiping at his face with a handkerchief. "But what the hell are you thanking me for?" He motioned to the several bloody slices decorating his once pristine white shirt. "If this was a real fight, you would have walloped me pretty soundly. Frankly, I'm glad you took up my offer of not fighting." He nodded respectfully to the prince. "You're damned talented with a sword."
Karolek smirked at the vaguely irritated look on Erich's face. "Thank you." He pulled on the vest he'd discarded almost two hours ago and retied his ponytail. "No, my thanks is for the exercise. I haven't had a sparring partner in a long time."
"You mean a punching bag."
"Not at all." Karolek said kindly. "You're not a bad fighter at all. You were just born at a time when sword dueling was going out of style." He lifted one of the bloody tears in the fabric. "If you can, try stopping yourself from over committing on your backhand when there's no enemy's sword to stop you. It puts you off balance and leaves you vulnerable if your opponent has something he can swing in a hurry."
"I'll remember that for next week." Erich promised with a smile, taking the advice in stride. "Come round again?
Karolek pulled on his coat and returned the sword to it's place thoughtfully. "Sure. Probably about a half hour later, though. I don't want to take the chance of running into your dockboys again." He pulled on his cap and braced himself against the chill. "Till next week, Erich." He extended his hand to the German.
"Till next week," Erich said agreeably, returning the Russian's shake.
The next day, Sunday, again found Karolek in the small Orthodox church about six blocks from the coffee shop. He wasn't sure exactly why he still went. The preaching was, as it had been last week, uninspired and sleep inducing. Maybe if the priest didn't have that lisp.at least being in church for an hour or so gave him time to think on other things without worrying about his personal safety. If it wasn't for the fact that Nellie believed him to be a church-going man, he'd probably give it up. He sensed that he and the Almighty were about to reach a parting of the ways again.and some of that was probably due to Jacob Book.
The conversation with Erich in the bar yesterday had been extremely unsettling, to say the least. He'd hoped that in 75 years Book might have met a sticky end on the wrong end of a sword, but apparently that had been an idle hope. If only the man hadn't met up with Grayson, things might have worked out rather differently. Then again, if he'd finished off Book the way their kind were supposedly supposed to.Karolek sighed audibly, earning a reproachful look from an elderly lady with a kerchief on her head one seat over. He was starting to sound entirely too much like one of the MacLeods. He'd never really subscribed to that sort of brooding, at least not since his "headhunting" days a quarter millennia ago.
Thankfully, the priest wrapped up his sermon and began to serve communion. Karolek took his turn with the rest of the congregation, slipping out afterwards rather than waiting for a chance in the line for Confession. The priests in Washington weren't going to have the answers he needed.
The Russian Prince stepped out into the weak sunshine of late fall, drawing a deep breath. The air was crisp and clean. It reminded him a bit of days he'd enjoyed before his death in Russia. Newsboys were on the corners, shouting about a sticky confrontation between US Navy sailors trying to inspect Charleston harbor and a group of Confederates on the docks.
Karolek tossed the boy a dime and took one of the papers. He snapped it open and began to read. The sailors had been forced to train their big guns on the men to make the crowd break up. He sighed. A year ago, the Rebs wouldn't even have thought of trying such a stunt. This new President of theirs, Jake Featherston, was all for stirring up as much trouble with the US as he possibly could. "What a waste of a peace." Karolek muttered to himself, walking back towards the shop. "Idiot won't be happy till he gets another go-round at the US. You'd think anyone with half a brain would want to stay away from war as long as he could. Especially a moron on the Roanoke front."
His mind grateful for the change in thought topic, Karolek continued to dwell on Jake Featherston and his Freedom thugs down in the CSA. Normally, national politics wasn't something he found himself caring about. He kept a half-eye to the court intrigue of the Romanovs, curious to see the goings on of his family line, but paid little attention to anything else. Sure, he'd thrown in his lot with the US during the Great War, but that had less to do with personal politics and more to do with his location when war broke out.
This though.this was something different. He'd picked up bits and pieces of Featherston's politics from both Americans and Confederates at the coffee house, and knew them to be both repulsive and enticing. Repulsive, in that he intended to set himself square with everyone who had ever wronged him, be it real or imagined. The generals, who he believed had botched the war; the blacks, who had risen up during the war and helped the US forces to gain a foothold in the trenches; the United States itself, for having the gall to defeat the Confederacy for the first time in two wars; the politicians and class system inherent in Southern politics. Karolek shook his head. A man fueled by the sort of wounded pride common among schoolboys.the sort of pride he'd often been victim to as a boy.was going to drag the whole world back into the fires of war, and all to settle a grudge.
He turned the last corner onto the street of the coffee house, and saw Clara sweeping the sidewalk while her mother wiped at the already clean glass. He looked around quickly to see if any policemen were about, and was satisfied that there were none. Washington's blue laws prevented anyone from working on the Sabbath, and he didn't want to see his friends suffer any more than they already were.
Clara spotted the young Immortal first, and stopped her sweeping to wave excitedly at the man. "Karo!" She called out, wanting to be sure she had his attention.
"Hush, Clara." Nellie sniped, swiping at her daughter. "It doesn't do to call so much attention to yourself."
"Yes, Mama." Clara growled, embarrassed at the slight in front of Karolek. "I just wanted to be sure he saw us."
Nellie shook her head. Youthful imprudence had gotten her into her fair share of troubles. Why was it that Clara insisted on ignoring sound advice? "Where else would he be going, Clara? He lives upstairs, and there is nowhere else to go of a Sunday, except a bar."
Clara chose to ignore her mother's muttered darkness in favor of greeting the teenaged waiter. "Good afternoon, Karo."
"Afternoon Clara, Mrs. Jacobsen." Karolek said, tipping his newsboy cap to the two ladies.
"Good afternoon Karolek." Nellie politely greeted the young man. "How was mass?"
Karolek offered a dry smile. "Woefully dull, I'm afraid. This parish drew the short straw when it came to priestly assignments. It's quite difficult to be inspired when one is having a hard time staying awake." Clara giggled behind her hand, earning another reproachful glare from her mother. Karolek grinned and offered the young girl a wink, before explaining the particular shortcomings of Father Yegor to Nellie. "Newsboys say the Navy boys got into quite a mess down in Charleston harbor." He said, displaying the newspaper in an attempt to change his employer's attention.
"Well, yes." Nellie agreed, turning back from the paper and swiping at a sticky spot on the window. She looked over at Karolek. "Doesn't sound like good news, does it?"
"No, ma'am." Karolek agreed, picking up a rag to work on the other window. "I think Featherston won't be happy until he gets another fight." He sighed. "And I think it'll come sooner rather than later, if he has his way."
Clara stopped her sweeping, looking at the Immortal with wide, fearful eyes. "You think we're in danger?" Her lower lip quavered, and she looked on the verge of breaking out into tears.
"Of course not Clara." Nellie said sharply. "Don't be ridiculous. Washington hasn't been in any danger since before you were born.
Karolek gently squeezed her arm. "No, Clara. I don't think we're in any danger yet." He offered the girl a smile not unlike the ones he used to defuse Nellie from time to time. "Teddy Roosevelt made sure to get a big buffer zone for Washington in the last war. All that land that used to be Virginia will slow down the Confederates for a good while. And Featherston can't fight a war without weapons, and right now he doesn't have any."
"You're sure then?" Clara pressed, grateful for the comforting words and a little thrilled at the ease of Karolek's comforting gestures. Even at 19, Karolek seemed to know so much MORE than her mother. Nellie was all practicality and stifling energy. She'd never been more than ten miles away from Washington DC, she NEVER paid attention to anything going on in the world outside of the city, and she was always checking up on Clara to make sure she wasn't doing anything improper. Karolek was so much more exciting. He was from Washington State, he'd served in the army, he even spoke another language and was related to royalty. 'Mama can say all she wants about danger, but what does she know?'
Another grin. "I'm sure Clara. Don't worry about it."
"Swell." Clara grinned back, returning to her sweeping.
Nellie watched her daughter out of the corner of her eye, discouraged by the growing signs of a crush that she saw her daughter developing on her shop assistant. Crushes led to desire, desire led to acting on it.and acting on it could lead to more trouble than Clara would think existed in the world. She'd had the same problem with Clara's sister Edna. Edna had wanted romance, and had steadily pursued the physical side of that romance despite all of her best efforts. She resolved to speak to Karolek if this crush didn't peter itself out. He was a man, after all, while Clara was still a girl, even if there were only 14 years between them. "Karolek, there's a new block of ice in the icebox that needs chipping up. Go and take care of that, will you."
Karolek chuckled to himself at the dark look on Nellie's face. He'd spent enough time in the company of women over the years to be able to read facial expressions, and Nellie was obviously displeased. 'More so than usual, too. Either she doesn't like the idea of Clara having a crush, or she thinks I'm too old for her daughter anyway.' Amused and slightly cheered at the thought, he "yes, ma'am"-ed Nellie and set off to the ice box.
Sunday past, the week flew by for all of the coffee shop inhabitants. Clara returned to school, Nellie and Karolek worked up a storm. Before he knew it, his half-day Saturday was over and he was headed towards the river and Erich's shipping warehouse.
As sure as he was that Erich wasn't planning any sort of ambush, the survivor's part of Karolek's brain still insisted that he be wary. A day's drinking in his company had given him a certain measure of insight into the man, but he readily admitted he knew very little about the German's character. Even the most decent in appearance could be a potential foe if one wasn't on guard. For the time being, he was banking on his threat of vengeance from friends and his superior age and past reputation to keep himself out of trouble. It was one of the only benefits he felt he'd taken from that period, aside from his second wife. If people thought you were dangerous, they tended to stay away from you, unless of course they were looking to make a reputation for themselves.like Carlsson. 'Damn. Is there nothing that I can think of these days that doesn't bring me back to Book?"
He smiled in appreciation as he approached Erich's warehouse. It was a large building, set well back from the main road and the truck turnaround. Few windows, only one obvious door to the street and probably a cargo loading bay on the other side to bring in goods from ships. It would make for a good place to practice without being observed, and it would be difficult to sneak up on. He pulled his coat around himself a little tighter and watched the few workers file out of the building.
"Mr. Hauptmann isn't hiring, buddy." One of the workers, a tall, stocky man with a long scar down the left side of his face called out.
"Come again?" Karolek asked, unsure of how else to respond to the seemingly random comment.
"The boss isn't hiring." Another man, with unruly tufts of red hair poking out of a fisherman's cap, repeated patiently. "He had to let Will Evans go last week, and seemed right sad to do it. I don't think he'll take on anyone new."
"Can't hurt to try, can it?" Karolek said, playing along with the conversation. Dressed as he was, he looked like a worker, where Erich was clearly an established businessman. He didn't think he looked as though he was seeking work, but then the newly unemployed tended to look a little less downtrodden than those that had been pounding the pavement for longer. "I'm young, I might work for less and longer than Evans did. Can you tell me where to find Mr. Hauptmann?"
"He's in his office, going over the books." The man with the scar said patiently. "But you're wasting your time." Stopping his intended lecture, he sized up the younger looking man. "You look awfully familiar, kid. Have we met somewhere before?"
Karolek's gunmetal eyes darkened slightly, and his eyes widened a fraction. Someone who didn't know him well would have been hard pressed to see the difference in his earlier countenance, and maybe 15 or 20 people in the world could read him that well. He recognized the scar, and now his mind put a name to the face. Finn Sullivan.from the barrel brigade in Tennessee. The man had gotten that scar from an artillery shell when it exploded right next to his machine.and now he recognized him. "I don't think so, sir." Karolek replied evenly, masking his inner thoughts and playing on his eternally young looks.
"Naw, I'm sure of it." Finn brushed off Karolek's answer, studying the face before him as if looking for the clue. 'Those eyes.' Finn mused. 'I've seen eyes like that before.on that boy sniper from the Rockies that Morrell was so fond of.' "I've got it." Finn declared. "You look just like Captain Romanov. I served with him in the war." Finn stared at Karolek's eyes, taking in the blond hair and face as his memories returned to him. "Bloody hell, you could BE Karolek Romanov, and you haven't aged a damned day.you're not, are you?"
'Of course I am. How nice to see you again, Finn. I'm glad to see that your face healed rather nicely. How are you doing? Married? Any children? No, none for me. Yes, it is amazing that I haven't aged at all in 18 years.' Karolek bit back the sigh that fought to escape his lips. "No, I'm not Karolek Romanov." He paused a moment. "He was my father."
"Your father?" Finn chuckled. "Of course. God, kid, you look exactly like him. How is your old man?"
"Died, three years ago." Karolek said softly, playing the role to the hilt. He was grateful that Finn took the explanation so easily that he was his own son. He'd met more than a few mortals over the years who continued to insist that he was his old self rather than his own son. Those who stubbornly believed the illogical truth rather than the easier explanation were never much fun to deal with.
Finn looked slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, kid. He was a good man, one of the best shots with a rifle I've ever seen." He patted Karolek on the shoulder. "Go on in and talk to Hauptmann. Tell him I sent you in. I don't know that it'll do you any good, but give it a try anyway."
"Thanks all the same, sir." Karolek offered the man his hand.
"Sure thing, kid. And the name is Finn. Sergeant Finn Sullivan." The burly worker picked up his lunchbox and motioned to the road. "I better catch the trolley home before my wife starts thinking I'm having an affair. Good luck, kid." Sullivan walked away after the rest of his co-workers, leaving Karolek standing at the entrance to the warehouse.
He turned to watch his old comrade-in-arms walk away. It would have been nice to talk to Finn again as an equal, as the Karolek he'd been rather than the one he was pretending to be now. Khan Seh had explained to him the dangers of mortal society finding out about their kind; dangers which had only multiplied in this highly militant society that had developed in the aftermath of the American Civil War. Logically, he understood all the problems inherent in Immortality becoming public knowledge. Emotionally, however, he wanted more than a few close friends that he could trust with his real age and his real past.
His musings were interrupted by the intrusion of an Immortal buzz onto his consciousness. Erich was waiting, he remembered, and from the movement in and out of his range, had probably resorted to pacing the length of the warehouse while he waited.
Chuckling at the younger man's impatience, he pushed open the door and called out, "Hello, Erich?" His Russian-tinged voice echoed through the half-full warehouse.
"Karolek!" The German accented voice of his new acquaintance called back. "I was beginning to be concerned that you had gotten lost until I realized you were outside. What happened?"
"I ran into some of your workers outside." The prince explained, taking off his cap and hanging up his coat in the office. He drew his sword and continued to explain, "One of your employees is a man I served in the war with. He thought he recognized me."
"Did he?" Erich asked, shouldering his Crusader's sword and sounding concerned.
"Of course he did." Karolek replied, bringing his blade up to eye level so he could examine it.
Erich took the extended silence for a full answer and stammered out, "And you told him what you are," with a note of incredulity in his voice. For a man almost twice his age, he seemed decidedly unconcerned about revealing his secret. His voice took on an edge it had missed before. "I suppose you told your employer and her daughter too. Or maybe her husband, before he died? Do you pass it out with the checks in that little café?" To von Ridesel, who so jealously guarded his own secret, this was the most dangerous of sins.
Karolek raised his eyebrows, surprised at the suddenness and vehemence of the tirade. A closer friend, such as Connor or Darius, would have seen the danger lurking in his gray eyes. Erich quite simply hadn't noticed what he had done. "I said nothing of the sort. I convinced Sullivan that I am my own son. He even told me what a good man and good shot my father was."
Erich had the good sense to look abashed. His abashed look, however, gave way to fear when he suddenly found his own sword on the ground and the Russian prince's sword at his neck. Eyes wide, he met the ice-cold gaze of the older immortal and realized the mistake he'd made. Buried within the seemingly innocent and unassuming exterior lurked a man he could EASILY see having been a headhunter.and a damned good one, at that. He swallowed as hard as he dared, realizing that his own death was not entirely out of the question at this moment.
Slowly, Karolek turned his wrist so that the sharp edge of the blade was set right next to the German's trembling neck. The way the two men stood right now, all Karolek would have had to do was swing his arm and that would be the end. His normally cheerful face was uncompromising and hard, his eyes flashing darkened gray, the same color of the gleaming steel blade currently making the other Immortal very, very nervous. When he spoke, it was in a low, almost guttural growl that reminded von Ridesel of the German spoken by the peasants near his boyhood home. "I am not an idiot or a child, nor do I appreciate being treated like one."
"I understand. I do. I'm sorry." The impassive mask did not break. "Good god, man, it was a mistake."
Karolek nodded once, lowering the blade from the German's neck. "See to it that you do not make the same mistake again."
Erich raised a trembling hand to his neck, as if to feel that it was still attached. "No goddamned kidding I won't make that mistake again." Keeping his eyes trained on Karolek at all times, he knelt to the ground and picked up his sword. "I am sorry." He said contritely. "It's just that Will was so intent about training me to keep Immortality a secret. I didn't even tell my first wife what I was. It's hard to imagine being open with my secret.it feels like a betrayal to him."
"I suppose I can understand that." He motioned to the sword with his free hand. "That's why you carry Schuyler's sword, da?"
"Yes."
Karolek swung his sword to rest the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "Understand something, Erich. It's not that I'm free with my secret. It's not a secret we SHOULD be free with. I've not told many mortals what I am. Aside from the descendents of my brother's family line, there is no one outside of the Game who does know." He sighed heavily. "I just wish that there was someone I could tell the whole truth to. To stop hiding, and be my self. Not whatever creation of paper that I am that year."
"Ours is a lonely and transitory existence." Erich admitted. "Mortals do not easily understand what and who we are. It's one of the reasons I wish I could put up my sword. I'm not really a fighting man."
"You could live on Holy Ground." Karolek pointed out unnecessarily.
Erich nodded his agreement. "True, I could." He smiled. "But as much as I am not a fighting man, I am also a man who enjoys living life. And if the price for that is a sword in hand, than that is the price I must pay."
"That's very philosophical of you."
"So it is." He laughed. "You came to fight. What say we get to it?"
"You're on." Karolek said with a chuckle. "En guard!"
Several hours later, the two Immortals finally called it quits. Karolek admitted that he would be expected back at the coffee shop for supper, and Erich had dinner reservations with a fellow shipper at a club across town.
"-Thanks.-" Karolek called into the office, where Erich was confirming his reservation.
"-You're welcome.-" Erich answered, wiping at his face with a handkerchief. "But what the hell are you thanking me for?" He motioned to the several bloody slices decorating his once pristine white shirt. "If this was a real fight, you would have walloped me pretty soundly. Frankly, I'm glad you took up my offer of not fighting." He nodded respectfully to the prince. "You're damned talented with a sword."
Karolek smirked at the vaguely irritated look on Erich's face. "Thank you." He pulled on the vest he'd discarded almost two hours ago and retied his ponytail. "No, my thanks is for the exercise. I haven't had a sparring partner in a long time."
"You mean a punching bag."
"Not at all." Karolek said kindly. "You're not a bad fighter at all. You were just born at a time when sword dueling was going out of style." He lifted one of the bloody tears in the fabric. "If you can, try stopping yourself from over committing on your backhand when there's no enemy's sword to stop you. It puts you off balance and leaves you vulnerable if your opponent has something he can swing in a hurry."
"I'll remember that for next week." Erich promised with a smile, taking the advice in stride. "Come round again?
Karolek pulled on his coat and returned the sword to it's place thoughtfully. "Sure. Probably about a half hour later, though. I don't want to take the chance of running into your dockboys again." He pulled on his cap and braced himself against the chill. "Till next week, Erich." He extended his hand to the German.
"Till next week," Erich said agreeably, returning the Russian's shake.