Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Products of their respective creators.
I haven't been to Lafayette Park since I was in 8th grade, so I don't remember if there really is a building like I'm putting them in. It's based loosely on one at a park in my hometown.
"I don't like being dead" is borrowed from Forever Knight. Hopefully, Lacroix won't mind. :)
Chapter 6: Hail to the Chief
Saturday, March 15, 1936
If anyone had been there to listen, they would have heard the swift clanking of steel on steel from several yards away. They would have seen two men, one dark haired, one blonde, dancing back and forth with swords in hand. They could have heard the dull sound made by the blade of a broadsword slicing through a forearm, followed by a yelp of pain and the clack of a Crusader's sword hitting the concrete floor.
"Goddammit, Erich!" Karolek yelled angrily, lowering his sword from its fighting position. "What the hell are you doing? I've never seen you fight this badly. My last student didn't even fight this badly the first time we sparred!" Not usually prone to thoughtless outbursts, Karolek's anger at the way the afternoon had been going was starting to come to a head.
"Thanks for the pick-me-up." Erich muttered dryly, removing his hand from the deep wound on his right arm. The gash was healing; in a few moments it would be gone. He stooped to pick up his fallen weapon from the ground, putting the flat of the blade on his shoulder before stalking away to get a drink of water.
Shaking his head, Karolek followed the German to the office. The only sounds in the warehouse were of his own booted feet and the light click of Erich's shoes. Slipping into the office, he leaned his sword against the doorjamb before removing Erich's sword from his hand and setting it aside. Hopping onto the desk, he folded his right leg underneath him and used his left foot to push Erich into the straight-backed chair and hold him there.
The German Immortal struggled against the boot planted firmly on his chest. "Come on, Karo. This isn't funny. We have work to do."
"Yes, we do." Karolek agreed cheerfully. "More than I thought with you fighting like this. It's like you're a newbie all over again."
Groaning, Erich ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "God, are we back to this again? I swear, you're really quite rotten at bolstering one's confidence, Romanov."
"Be that as it may..." the Russian replied with a sunny, almost innocent grin, "the fact remains. You are two hundred and twelve years old, and you're fighting like you're 30 again. So I ask, what's the problem." Silence greeted him. "It's Book, no?"
"What else would it be?" Again it struck him that for a man twice his age, Romanov seemed perfectly happy to ignore the obvious. He couldn't decide whether it was intentional or just an annoying character quirk. The Inauguration of Al Smith would be on Monday. The whole town was getting ready for the ceremony. The newspapers had been enthusiastically reporting on all of the goings on for weeks, including printing dispatches from the embassies in Philadelphia as to who would be attending the event. Last week, the British Embassy had confirmed that Ambassador Sir Edward Philips would be attending, along with 'his personal aide, James Tudor and several other key staffers.' Fate was finally working in his favor - he knew where Book was and would be, and would at last be able to put his teacher's ghost to rest.
Since the article last week, however, his fighting skills had gradually been slipping away. In the few weeks before their blow-up over fighting Book, Erich had started to become a good challenge for Karolek. Little by little, the sneakiness had been evaporating, leaving a man who was fighting by the numbers. Now, he wasn't even doing *that* well, and he knew it. The German had been hoping that Karolek, who had coming over nightly after his coffee house shift was over since their reconciliation at The Filibuster, would leave him alone about it.
"You know..." Karolek began, speaking slowly to try and choose his words properly. "Fighting on nothing but vengeance and rage will only take you so far before it will get you killed." His pale gray eyes could easily read the disbelief in Erich's eyes. "Seriously. Take it from someone who tried the vengeance route. Raw emotion is an *incredibly* powerful motivator. Maybe the most powerful of all those is rage. But rage makes you sloppy, and in our game, sloppy will get you killed."
Erich cocked his head thoughtfully, relaxing into the chair. Satisfied his friend was not going to make a break for it, Karolek removed his foot and let it dangle over the edge of the desk. Erich's brown eyes studied his friend's face, thinking on the few sentences the Russian Prince had just offered. 'Take it from someone who tried the vengeance route...most powerful of all is rage..." Unwittingly or maybe not, for Karolek had always struck him as someone very calculating when it came to anything related to the Game, bits of annoying ignorance/innocence aside, the Russian had just given him a rather tantalizing tease about his past. "Who were you avenging?"
"My fiancé." Karolek replied softly, leaning back on his arms. "She would have been my third wife two weeks after she was killed."
Intrigued, Erich decided to press further. "What happened?"
Karolek sighed heavily, staring at the gleaming silver hilt of his sword without actually seeing the old and familiar weapon. What happened, indeed. Some days he still found himself asking that question, when something came up that reminded him of Sabine. It happened more now than it had in the past: he saw Sabine's caring nature in the way Clara Jacobsen had pushed aside her anger and fear after watching him take Ruiz's Quickening to tell him that he was hurt and offer to help. Collecting his thoughts, he offered distantly, "-The same song, new singer.-"
"And in English this time?"
"Nothing that should surprise you, given how much you know about me. I was living in Germany in the 1840's. Sabine was the daughter of a minor local noble. A treasure, if ever there was one. Why she agreed to marry me, I'll never know." Karolek shook his head, clearing away cobwebs from memories he tried not to revisit too often. "Another old enemy from my headhunting days looked me up. He saw me out with Sabine, and decided that she had to go before he could do a proper job on me. The Baron found her murdered in her bed the next day. Throat slit ear to ear."
"How did you know that her death was because of you?" Erich asked, thinking back to his homeland. As much as he loved it, he knew that some of the local leaders could be...overzealous in their control.
"I didn't. Not at first, anyway." He looked at Erich and saw understanding in his eyes as to the point he was about to make. "The Baron tended to be heavy handed in his internal dealings and didn't have a great reputation with other nobles. I thought it was entirely possible the enemy was just as easily his as mine." Seeking the comfort of the familiar, Karolek vaulted off the desk and picked up his sword. Standing just outside the door, he started rotating his wrist to change the angle of the blade, switching from hand to hand as he spoke. An old, childhood lesson on loosening his wrists, it now became a calming motion as he told a new friend of an old pain. "The day of the funeral, on my way back to the castle, Saul ben Solomon presented himself before me and confessed to his crimes. I swear I saw red at that moment. I had never wanted to kill a man so badly before in my LIFE, even when I was headhunting for a century."
"Understandable." Erich commented, seeing where Karolek was tying this in with his earlier point.
"I was so angry, I think I could have taken his head with my bare hands and a spoon." Erich chuckled dryly at the image of Karolek attempting to do just that. "I was so angry, I nearly got myself killed in the first five minutes. I overexerted myself on the attack, and he beat me back and stabbed me through the leg. I fell to the ground and rolled out of the way at the last second. I spent twenty minutes fighting on one leg before I was sound enough to go on the attack again." Settling the sword across the back of his neck, he rested his hand on the flat of the blade and looked pointedly at Erich. "I wanted revenge, and in turn almost gave him his. Book won't care about Schuyler or why you're fighting him. All he'll care about is the fight. You can't avenge William if you're dead. It's that simple."
Erich stood, collecting his sword from it's resting place in the doorway. "Point well made and taken. I'll try to calm down." He paused, looking at the blade in his hand. "For Will."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, March 17, 1936
Clara Jacobsen was up early. School was canceled for today, in honor of the inauguration of new President Al Smith. Nellie, already awake and dressing in her own room, heard the noise Clara was making and wondered why her daughter could never be this easy to wake up on days when she really needed to.
Quickly dressing and combing her hair back from her face, Clara went to the small apartment kitchen to find something for breakfast. Whatever it was, it would have to be simple. Edna, along with her husband Merle and their children Armstrong and Lorraine, was coming over in a little less than an hour so the family could get a good spot to watch the Inauguration. Cracking the eggs against the bowl, Clara idly hoped that Armstrong would pick today to act like a twit in public. Then maybe Uncle Merle...or even Karolek, would give him what the fourteen year old brat had coming to him. The girl chuckled at the idea of Karolek, a 400 year old, well armed former prince giving Armstrong a thrashing with a belt.
Clara's pleasant thoughts about what sort of ill her Immortal friend could wreak on her nephew was interrupted by the arrival of her mother. Seeing Clara beating eggs for breakfast, Nellie nodded her acceptance and moved to start the water for morning coffee. "Clara, what's this?"
Pausing to turn and look at her mother, Clara cocked her head as she looked at the small scrap of folded paper. "I don't know, Mama. I didn't notice it there before now."
Nellie unfolded the note, reading the few hastily written sentences written in Karolek's familiar, calligraphic writing.
"Left early for the Inauguration. Meeting a friend, don't look for me there. Might not be home for supper. Sorry. Karolek."
"What's it say, Mama?" Clara asked, her curiosity getting the better of her as she put some bread on the stove for toast.
"It says that Karolek has gone to see the Inauguration with a friend of his." Nellie answered, putting the water on to boil. She saw her daughter's shoulders slump at the news. The new closeness that seemed to be developing between Clara and Karolek had her more than a little nervous. Yes, Clara was a senior in high school, seventeen and graduating in May. Yes, Karolek was only barely 21. That didn't mean she wanted to encourage any sort of scandalous behavior, and part of that meant reigning Clara in a bit. "Pay attention to the eggs, Clara, they'll burn."
"Yes, Mama." Clara said, darkly. She knew damned well why Karolek had snuck out early to meet Erich, and it had nothing to do with wanting to get their early. Last night, he'd told her that he and the German were going to be looking for an old enemy, and he might not be back afterwards.
"I don't understand." Clara complained. "Why are you looking for this guy?"
"Because he's not a nice person, Clara. He killed Erich's teacher. He's killed a lot of people."
The retort was swift and tight. "So have you."
Hearing the words struck Karolek like a physical blow. It didn't matter that he knew them to be true - at times, hated himself because they were true. Having them tossed at you by a seventeen year old girl made them sound all the worse. "I don't like it, Clara. This man does. I haven't seen him for 75 years. Erich hasn't seen him for almost 20. If we don't do this now, we might never get a chance to do this again."
"So...what, then?" Clara began cautiously. She'd seen that Karolek's temperament could change directions like quicksilver, and didn't want to do anything to make him angry with her, or that would make him think she was just an annoying, ignorant little girl. "You'll fight him?"
"At the Inauguration tomorrow. It will either be me or Erich that does it." He paused. "If it's me that he fights, there's an even chance that I might not be coming back."
Clara choked a laugh into a cough. "What are you talking about? You're a great fighter. I saw you that night. I've seen you doing all those drills when Mama goes out to get supplies for the coffee house. Why wouldn't you be back?"
It was the last bit of Immortal reality that Clara couldn't accept. Not that it was a big surprise that she didn't. He'd balked at the idea of fighting to the death when Khan Seh had explained it to him. He was fairly sure that every new Immortal resisted the concept of mortal combat...until they were actually forced to engage in it to keep their heads and their lives. Making mortals, particularly mortal friends and lovers, understand the concept was all the harder. Maybe this was why Khan had warned him against mortal entanglements. "I might not win, Clara." "Of course you'll win." Clara's voice sounded a little less sure. "You're great." "So are a lot of other people, Clar. Not everyone can win all the time." Karolek stood up from his place on the floor, stretching out the abused muscles in his shoulders. He hadn't worked out this much since he'd been a new Immortal, training with Khan. "Not even me." He saw the beginnings of tears forming in Clara's eyes. "Hey, none of that, kiddo." He knelt down and sat back on his heels. The Russian pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the teenager. "I've had a long life. I've been and done a thousand things I never dreamed I'd be able to do in 1540. If I don't win, then it was just my time to go." Clara sniffled and nodded, pretending to understand. "Promise me something?" "Sure." "You'll do everything you can to make it back for supper on time? Mama'll be mad if you're late." Karolek couldn't help but laugh at Clara's request. "I always try. And I will do my level best to make it home for supper. Mrs. Jacobsen is making pork roast, isn't she?" Clara nodded. "Well there you go. Something else to live for."
"Clara, the eggs." Nellie's angry voice cut through the mini-flashback that Clara had been preoccupied with. "They'll be like eating tires. Get them off the stove!" She shook her head, wondering what on earth could be so fascinating to Clara, who was such a picky eater, to take her attention away from cooking.
If only she knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standing at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 17th street, Karolek read a copy of yesterday's paper while he waited for Erich. The two Immortals had agreed to meet here and walk to Lafayette Park, where the president- elect would take his oath of office and give his speech. The stage for the President and visiting dignitaries to sit on had been erected for a week - and heavily guarded by soldiers since then. Karolek didn't like the idea of not being able to scout out where he was likely to be fighting, but knew that he had to make the best of the situation.
The gradual increase of an Immortal buzz brought his attention away from the paper and down 17th street. Seeing the familiar brown hair of Erich von Ridesel allowed him to relax. Though he'd expected it to be the German, with at least one other Immortal known to be in town, it was best to be careful.
"Guten Morgen, Karolek."
"Dobroye Utro, Erich." The Russian grinned at Erich's good mood. It beat the funk he'd been stuck in for the better part of the week. Tossing his paper aside, he gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that the German Immortal offered him. His eyes widened at the taste. "Your own blend?"
"A little bit of vodka." Erich admitted. "But only a little."
"Whatever." Karolek dismissed, in the manner he'd commonly seen Clara use with her few friends that braved the coffee shop to visit. "Vodka is good any time."
"Shall we?" Erich gestured in the direction of Lafayette park down the road. "We do want to get good seats."
"So we do." Karolek said with a chuckle. "Though I imagine it won't matter much in the grand scheme of things."
"No, I guess not." Erich considered. "You sound like a man with a plan."
The Russian grinned. "Always. Don't take this the wrong way, Erich, but you need to get away from me."
"I beg your pardon."
"No, at the park. My plan is for you to be at one end of the dais, me at the other. Since there have been no seating plans available, and the soldiers are keeping everyone away from the park until today, I don't know where the British ambassador is sitting. Meaning I don't know where Book will be, either. With us split up, there's a better chance that he'll find one of us." Tossing the paper cup into a trash bin, Karolek continued, "If he sees you, motion him off stage somehow. I don't know where there is to fight around here, but you're a smart fellow."
Erich laughed at that. "You're getting better at this positive comments thing, Karo."
"Swell." Karolek said with a grin, pushing a stray lock of blond hair out of his light gray eyes. "I'm not a complete bastard all the time, Erich. And I have had students before."
"Have you?" Erich repeated, following Karolek into the park. The soldiers working the entrances had the two Immortals open their coats and turn out their pockets, to be sure they weren't carrying guns. The two men complied, glad for the cold snap that let them wear heavy coats to conceal their swords and other weapons. Waved past, Erich continued his question. "How long ago?"
"Back in the 1870's. Hawaiian by the name of Kamani. Not bad, all things considered."
"I'll know to avoid him, then." Erich answered. "That was only one."
The Russian chuckled. "So it was. This is not pry-into-Karo's-past day. This is Inauguration day."
"Good grief." Wading through the early crowds, Erich motioned to stage left. "I'll go stake myself a spot up front."
"I'll head yonder." Karolek cocked his head in the direction of stage right. "Keep an eye on the crowds, and watch your head."
"You too." Erich clasped Karolek's forearm, Karolek doing the same in return. "If God wills, I will see you after the Inauguration at the Capitol end of the Reflecting Pool."
"If God wills." Karolek nodded. The German melted into the crowd, leaving the Russian prince to stake his own spot and wait.
~~~~~~~~~~
To the world, John Tudor appeared to be the perfectly attentive aide. He was standing just off the stage, leather folio held to his chest by crossed arms, eyes focused in the newly installed Vice President, presently giving his speech. In reality, Jacob Book was thoroughly bored. The new Vice President was about as exciting as a bowl of oatmeal, and therefore well suited for one of the most meaningless jobs in contemporary politics. 'Not altogether different from being a second son,' the 303 year old Brit mused, 'who only gets in on the power if big brother meets an untimely demise. How the damnyankees ever managed to build a political system like this, God only knows.'
After listening to a twenty minute speech, the likes of which made eternity seem longer, the Vice President wrapped up. Jacob applauded politely, deciding to stretch his legs a bit by walking to the front of the cordoned off area designated for staffers of officials. He wanted to see if Sir Edward was as bored by the proceedings as he was. Jacob had argued against going to the Inauguration in the first place, but the government had insisted it was important to maintain civil relations with the United States.
As he reached the barrier, Jacob stopped dead. Thrumming through the base of his skull, the sensation of another Immortal. In a crowd like this, the other would be almost impossible to find. He backtracked to the steps to the stage, climbing a few of them so that he could see over the heads of the people now cheering the swearing in of President Smith.
The first sweep of the crowd, he didn't see anyone actively searching for him. Everyone was quiet, listening to Justice Harper give Smith the oath of office. On the second sweep, he spotted the misplaced stillness in the crowd.
A pair of gray eyes, staring directly at him. Wisps of blond hair blowing in the slight breeze, fluttering across a pale face. The man brought a gloved hand up to his face, tucking the strands of hair away, and nodded once at Jacob.
Karolek Romanov. The murdering sonofabitch who had killed his teacher and made a fool out of him, staring him down from the crowd of workers. His chance for revenge, delivered right to him.
Jacob descended the steps quickly, looking for one of the soldiers working on guard duty. A young corporal was standing at loose attention, Springfield rifle in hand, at the edge of the clearing. "Corporal." Jacob called quietly.
"Yes, sir?" The corporal, a young boy with dark black hair and a flat Midwestern accent looked over at Book, wondering what one of the British officials wanted with him.
"Can you leave your post long enough to go fetch a man from the crowd for me?"
The corporal raised his eyebrows at the request. "He looking to cause trouble for us, sir?"
The Briton rapidly shook his head, causing his red hair to fall into his eyes. Irritatedly pushing it away from his face, he explained, "No, no. He's not trouble." But what was he? "He's one of our staff, must have gotten caught into the crowd. He should be back here, Sir Philips will want to speak with him. Wouldn't want to get him in trouble." The corporal was softening, but wasn't prepared to go just yet. "There's a five in it for your trouble." That was the magic word.
"Sure, sir, I'll go get him. Point him out to me, will ya?"
"He's about four rows of people back, right at the end of the stage." Jacob said, leading the corporal over to the gate. "Right there, in the gray coat with the long blond hair."
"Sure." Corporal Wesley nodded, catching Karolek's eye and motioning him up to the gate. The soldier's motion had the crowd splitting slightly, enough to allow Karolek to slip up to where Book and Wesley were standing. "You with him?"
"Sure am." Karolek answered the corporal, affecting a British accent. To anyone who'd ever been to England, it would have sounded incredibly fake. To an 18 year old boy who'd never left home before joining the army, it sounded real enough.
"Right. Hop over." Wesley watched as the blond stranger easily hopped over the military railing to the staff side. It seemed to him like there was something odd in the flow of the man's jacket...he shook the notion off, deciding he was just tired from standing guard last night. He accepted the five dollar bill from the red-haired aide, before returning to his post to listen to the rest of President Smith's address.
Walking away from the stage towards the shuttered gazebo at the other end of the park, Jacob and Karolek looked like friends to any casual observer. It would have taken a hard look at the faces of the two well-schooled warriors to see that they were restraining some heavy emotions.
"How've you been, Jacob?" Karolek asked dryly as they began descending the slope that hid the gazebo from the rest of the park, including the big Inauguration crowds.
"Oh, wonderful." Jacob replied acidly. "I believe swell is the word they use nowadays? Or is it still 'bully' after that abominable Teddy Roosevelt."
"Swell will do."
"So kind of you to ask, though. I wouldn't have thought you capable."
Rolling his eyes at the hostility masked in civility, Karolek thought it better to keep quiet. Jacob deftly broke the padlock on the door, motioning for Karolek to precede him into the room. "I think not," the Russian quietly growled. "You go first."
Jacob smiled ferally, turning so that his back was to the open door, before taking several slow, deliberate steps into the building. He hit the switch for the overhead lights, which flickered several times before finally coming to life and casting a dim yellow glow over the room. It was cluttered with maintenance tools. Several large lawnmowers stood against the far wall, next to a chest which presumably held pruning shears and things of that nature. Snow shovels were leaning closer to the door, next to a small pile of bags with rock salt and sand in them for the park paths. Whoever managed the place had left the Immortals with a space about six feet by six feet in which they could easily fight without tripping over things.
Karolek closed the door behind them, never taking his eyes off of Jacob. He drew his broadsword from his coat, shedding the item and draping it over the salt bags. Book did the same, producing a schiavona from his own jacket, which was relegated to hanging from one of the lawnmowers.
"Out of curiosity, Karolek, where have you been hiding of late?" Jacob asked Karolek, who was twirling his sword by moving his wrists, the same action he'd been doing when he told Erich about Sabine.
"I haven't been hiding anywhere, Jacob." He moved his sword into the ready position, darkened eyes locked on his opponent. "My name was right there for you to find anytime you wanted. Let's do this."
"As you wish." Jacob answered, bringing his own sword up to meet Karolek's.
It was clear from the first parry that Grayson had done a magnificent job with Jacob. Compared to where the Brit had been when Karolek first met him 250 years ago, Grayson was owed all the credit for Jacob's still being alive. The two Immortals exchanged a series of quick thrusts and parrys, testing each other's skill without over committing. Neither really wanted to be the one to strike first.
After a few minutes of dancing around each other, Jacob's long-simmering desire for revenge fueled him to make the first really aggressive move. He lunged forward, putting more power into his strokes, forcing Karolek to back up several feet in defense. Book managed to get through the Russian's guard and put a decent sized nick in his right arm.
Karolek was so angry he'd have spit on himself if it were possible. That was just the sort of move he'd warned Erich about so many times, and now here he was victim to it himself. Redoubling his efforts, he went on the attack and forced Jacob back to the center of the old gazebo. He launched a few semi-attacks with his left arm, wanting to give his right a chance to heal up. This Jacob wasn't likely to fall into traps usually set for the inexperienced, so the Russian prince was going to have to wait him out.
Jacob parried the half-hearted attacks easily, trying to find the move that would allow him to return to the offensive. Defense wasn't a position he was used to finding himself in any more. He'd developed a reputation for being aggressive, netting a few strong heads in the past few decades, including William Schuyler and Marius. Preoccupied with the offensive, he wasn't prepared for the fourth of Romanov's halfhearted attacks to turn into a bona fide one. He frantically tried to regain the upper hand. Karolek executed a magnificent spin move, following it with a backwards thrust which caught Jacob through the shoulder. He hissed in pain, pulling back away from the attack.
The fight seesawed back and forth like that for the better part of half an hour. Book would get a cut in, Karolek would recover before dealing one of his own. Both men were bloody, as was the floor and the once gleaming silver of their blades. Both Immortals were also starting to tire from the furious flurries of combat and the repeated blood loss.
For some people, fatigue makes them slow and ineffective. For others, it galvanizes them into a more focused effort.
Jacob moved forward to start another offensive. Karolek allowed Book to catch his sword in the guard of the schiavona, moving forward into a clinch. He grabbed Jacob's blade hand at the wrist with his right hand, pulling the Brit's sword hand across his body. As Book followed the momentum, Karolek twisted his wrist so that his broadsword blade slid away from the guard and back into free air. He used his knee to force Book to stumble, before letting go with his right hand, spinning and cutting Jacob through his right flank and across most of his back, deep enough to slice the spinal cord.
Book melted to the ground, legs no longer able to hold up his weight. His eyes widened, knowing that he'd been dealt a mortal blow. The next thing he knew, his sword arm had been cut, deeply, and he dropped his sword to the ground.
The Russian prince kicked the blade back from Book's hand, putting his own sword to the Briton's neck. "You shouldn't have messed with Schuyler, Jacob. He was a good man with good friends. And you shouldn't have messed with ME."
"Pity you can't say the same, bastard." Jacob rasped back. "End it." Karolek complied, drawing his sword back and neatly severing the man's head.
"Maybe not, but I do have good friends." Bone-weary with exhaustion, Karolek stepped back away from the body and picked the bloody schiavona from the floor. He fell to his knees on the ground as the blue-white mist of Book's Quickening began to swirl around him. His second Quickening in as many weeks...there would be hell to pay for this later, but as the bolts of energy started to hit him, he didn't really care.
~~~~~~~
Back at the Inauguration, Erich felt a light tingle go down his spine...almost as if a large quantity of energy had been released nearby...like a Quickening. He thought he saw lights down beyond the stage, where some new Socialist functionary was praising the new President. Maybe it was his imagination. Fighting his way out of the crowd and out of the park, he made his way for the reflecting pool. He only hoped that things had gone well.
~~~~~~~
Further back from the stage, sitting in the bleachers with her mother and the rest of her family, Clara Jacobsen would swear that she saw lights in the distance too. Then Armstrong threw an elbow into her ribs, and she responded by stepping down hard on his toes.
~~~~~~~
No matter how long he lived or how many heads he wound up taking or had taken, Karolek would never and had never gotten used to the Quickening. No human body, he'd long decided, even an Immortal one, was meant to take bolts of lightening like that. They hurt like hell, but at the same time were uniquely energizing. As a former headhunter himself, he could see how people got used to the rush. He'd been courting death as a hunter, but most others were motivated by the surge that came from taking on so much energy. It could be as addictive as opium or alcohol if you were of the right mind.
Moving slowly, he stood up and surveyed the damage. Two of the lawnmowers were toast, and some scorch marks were evident on the walls and the floor. The lights in the ceiling were wrecked, and in looking down he could see that so was he. A dozen bloody cuts marred the arms and torso of his blue shirt, and his striped silver vest was purple from the blood.
Taking Book's scarf from where it hung on a third lawnmower, he wiped the blood from his broadsword and the schiavona. His piece went back into the scabbard, Book's into his belt as he'd done with Maximiliano Ruiz's rapier not two seeks ago. He shrugged his coat over the mess he'd made of his clothes, buttoning it up all the way so the mess was covered. He pulled the leather band out of his hair and combed it back from his forehead with his fingers.
After a last check to see that nothing remained that would show he'd been at the building, he slipped outside into the spring air. The padlock was set into place so that it looked shut.
Karolek's practiced gray eyes saw that a few people were beginning to slip away from the Inauguration. That meant that Smith was probably done speaking. Rather than heading back towards the crowds, he headed for the other end of Lafayette park. There, he caught a taxi for the short ride to west Potomac park and the reflecting pool.
The cabbie, an immigrant from somewhere in eastern Europe, dropped him off as close to the pool as he could get. The man sensed that Karolek was in no mood to talk, and pocketed the fare without a word. Karolek headed for the pool, hands shoved in his pockets and a stiffness about his walk as he tried to work off the after-effects of the fight and the Quickening.
Shortly before reaching the pool, the sense of another Immortal hit him. He grinned lightly as he saw Erich almost melt in relief.
~~~~~~~~~
Erich made quick progress once he got out of the Inauguration crowds. At the edges, people were starting to drift away, having seen the new President speak. He joined in the bustle and made his way directly down 17th street to the reflecting pool. He found a bench near the edge which faced back towards the road and sat down, resigned to having to wait. He decided that if Karolek didn't show in about an hour, he would go back to where he'd seen the lights and check to see how the Challenge had turned out. If Karolek was dead, he'd hunt Book no matter what it required.
The German's patience was rewarded when, twenty minutes later, he saw a figure in a gray coat with loose, shoulder length, pale blond hair. As the figure drew closer, the familiar tingle of an Immortal sensation flooded across the back of his neck. It was Karolek. Erich let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, suddenly relaxed.
Karolek closed the distance to Erich's bench, feeling better with the movement. As he reached the destination, he was surprised when Erich embraced him with a strong hug.
Drawing back, Erich's brown eyes met Karolek's gray ones. "Danke schoen, Karolek."
Karolek sighed heavily. "To be perfectly honest, Erich, I didn't do it for you." He looked down at the ground. "Jacob's dead. Schuyler's avenged. Be happy with that."
"I assure you, I am." Erich said hastily. "And I will thank you again, all the same." Karolek nodded wearily, saying nothing else. "What now?"
"I think maybe it's time to leave town. Washington is too crowded." The Russian confessed.
Erich nodded. "I suppose you are right. I've been contemplating leaving myself. Where will you go?"
"West, I think. There's plenty of land out there where a man can be by himself if he wishes." Romanov glanced towards the south, where well beyond the horizon the specter of the Confederate States and their new, fanatical President lay. "The world will be back to war by the end of the decade. I'd like to get my peace while I still can. Where will you head?"
"I think maybe to the Caribbean." Erich responded. "It's warm there. Somewhere little, remote, that no superpower pays attention to. Trinidad, maybe, or Barbados." Shuffling lightly on his feet, he asked a question. "Will I see you again?"
"Twenty years." Karolek answered. "July 4. There's a pub in New York that a friend of mine raves about. MacMartin's, on 40th street."
The German laughed. "That, my friend, is a date I will remember." He extended his hand. "Good luck to you, Karolek Konstantinovich Romanov."
"And to you, Erich von Ridesel. Keep your head." The two men shook, before Karolek turned and walked away from the pool. Erich stood and watched him leave, hair and coat moving in the brisk breeze of a Washington spring.
~~~~~~~~~~
EPILOGUE, two weeks later
"Mama says you're going." An accusing voice commented from the door.
"Your mother would be correct." Karolek answered, putting a shirt into his suitcase.
"You didn't say anything."
"I was hoping to avoid having this very conversation with you, Clara." The Immortal responded dryly, watching as the girl came in and sat down on the edge of his bed. "But please, come in, sit down."
Clara glared at him. "Why are you going?"
Karolek looked at the spitfire girl. "Two beheadings in two weeks? The cops are on edge, Clara. People saw me leave with Book from the Inauguration, and people saw me leaving the gazebo. It's only a matter of time before they come looking for me. The death penalty won't kill me dead, but it will put me out of commission for quite some time. I don't like being dead. It's rather annoying, actually." He sighed, putting some more clothes into his suitcase. "Better I go before they find me."
"You could stay." Clara insisted.
"I can't." Karolek said sharply. "And you know it."
Deflated, Clara answered reluctantly, "Yes, I know it." She sat silently as Karolek finished packing his suitcase. Two long, bulky parcels lay on the bed next to the suitcase, as did the Russian's carefully laid out overcoat. "Where will you go?"
"First to New York, to see a friend." Karolek replied, snapping the locks shut on the case. "Then west. To Montana, maybe, or up to Alaska. Somewhere. I haven't really decided, yet. I suppose it depends on what mood strikes me when I leave Connor's."
"Well, have a good trip." Clara said sincerely. "Will you send me a postcard?"
Karolek grinned. "I think I will, on both accounts." He picked up one of the parcels. "Before I go, I have a present for you."
"For me?" The teenager in Clara returned instantly. "Really? What is it?"
"Something your mother can't see. Is she still downstairs?"
"Uh-huh." Clara chuckled. "She's still training Gloria."
Karolek handed Clara the lighter of the two long packages. Clara took it eagerly, surprised by its weight. She untied the string and unfolded the paper, revealing a rapier with a glittering gold hilt and a smaller, plainer dagger. "For me?"
"Yes." Karolek sat down next to her on the bed. "They belonged to the man who helped me introduce you to a secret world you never dreamed existed. You can sell them if you want. They'll fetch 100,000 dollars on the auction block in the condition that they're in. I hope you'll keep them as a reminder of what you've learned in the past few months."
"I...I will." Clara ran a hesitant finger down the length of the blade. It gleamed in the sunlight slanting into the room. It seemed so long ago that she'd stood in the snow and watched a 150 year old Spaniard try and kill her 400 year old friend...watched that blade flash red with Karolek's blood...watched the electrical storm that was a Quickening. She'd learned a lot, grown up a lot in the past few weeks and months, and she knew it. "It's pretty, in it's own way."
"That it is, Clara, that it is." He grinned. "Just keep it hidden from your mother, da?"
"Da." Clara giggled. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Karolek's neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you. It's my first real adult present." She leaned back. "How do you say thank you in Russian?"
"Spasiba"
"Spasiba." Clara repeated. "And not just for the sword. For everything...being my friend, talking about Mama and Armstrong with me...for telling me about the real you."
"Clara, it was a real pleasure." Karolek assured her. "You're a good kid. I think you'll make a smart adult, no matter what Nellie says." He stood, pulling on his jacket and picking up his suitcase and the flat case that held Book's sword. He planned to put it in storage in New York. He placed a friendly kiss on Clara's cheek, saying, "Have a good life, Clara Jacobsen. Be happy."
"I will." Clara promised, staying on the bed as she watched Karolek walk out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Where are you headed?" The portly, balding businessman in a pinstriped suit who was sitting next to him on the Union Station bench asked.
"New York." Karolek replied, letting his accent come through.
"You have family there?" The businessman asked, hearing Karolek's accent.
"Nyet." Was the answer. "A friend who might as well be family." He looked over at the man. "Karolek Nikailov."
"Bratton Gregory." He extended his hand to the young man, who shook it firmly. "It's nice to meet you Karolek Nikailov."
"Likewise."
"You have work waiting for you in New York?" Bratton asked.
"No."
Bratton took a card out of his wallet, handing it to the Immortal. "Corporate finance. Impressive."
"Thanks." Bratton smiled smugly. "With all the federal money out there, I think we're making real progress. Come and see me when you get to New York. We can always use sharp young men."
The call for the New York train sounded over the loudspeaker. "I appreciate the offer, Bratton, but perhaps you should save it for someone who can really use it." Karolek shouldered his back and picked up the sword.
"I always seem to land on my feet."
THE END
A.N.: Thank you to the people who took the time to read and review this. It's my first published fan fiction, and I'm thrilled by the responses.
I have an idea for a sequel to "The Russian Prince" that follows Karolek after he leaves Connor in New York. Is anyone interested?
I haven't been to Lafayette Park since I was in 8th grade, so I don't remember if there really is a building like I'm putting them in. It's based loosely on one at a park in my hometown.
"I don't like being dead" is borrowed from Forever Knight. Hopefully, Lacroix won't mind. :)
Chapter 6: Hail to the Chief
Saturday, March 15, 1936
If anyone had been there to listen, they would have heard the swift clanking of steel on steel from several yards away. They would have seen two men, one dark haired, one blonde, dancing back and forth with swords in hand. They could have heard the dull sound made by the blade of a broadsword slicing through a forearm, followed by a yelp of pain and the clack of a Crusader's sword hitting the concrete floor.
"Goddammit, Erich!" Karolek yelled angrily, lowering his sword from its fighting position. "What the hell are you doing? I've never seen you fight this badly. My last student didn't even fight this badly the first time we sparred!" Not usually prone to thoughtless outbursts, Karolek's anger at the way the afternoon had been going was starting to come to a head.
"Thanks for the pick-me-up." Erich muttered dryly, removing his hand from the deep wound on his right arm. The gash was healing; in a few moments it would be gone. He stooped to pick up his fallen weapon from the ground, putting the flat of the blade on his shoulder before stalking away to get a drink of water.
Shaking his head, Karolek followed the German to the office. The only sounds in the warehouse were of his own booted feet and the light click of Erich's shoes. Slipping into the office, he leaned his sword against the doorjamb before removing Erich's sword from his hand and setting it aside. Hopping onto the desk, he folded his right leg underneath him and used his left foot to push Erich into the straight-backed chair and hold him there.
The German Immortal struggled against the boot planted firmly on his chest. "Come on, Karo. This isn't funny. We have work to do."
"Yes, we do." Karolek agreed cheerfully. "More than I thought with you fighting like this. It's like you're a newbie all over again."
Groaning, Erich ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "God, are we back to this again? I swear, you're really quite rotten at bolstering one's confidence, Romanov."
"Be that as it may..." the Russian replied with a sunny, almost innocent grin, "the fact remains. You are two hundred and twelve years old, and you're fighting like you're 30 again. So I ask, what's the problem." Silence greeted him. "It's Book, no?"
"What else would it be?" Again it struck him that for a man twice his age, Romanov seemed perfectly happy to ignore the obvious. He couldn't decide whether it was intentional or just an annoying character quirk. The Inauguration of Al Smith would be on Monday. The whole town was getting ready for the ceremony. The newspapers had been enthusiastically reporting on all of the goings on for weeks, including printing dispatches from the embassies in Philadelphia as to who would be attending the event. Last week, the British Embassy had confirmed that Ambassador Sir Edward Philips would be attending, along with 'his personal aide, James Tudor and several other key staffers.' Fate was finally working in his favor - he knew where Book was and would be, and would at last be able to put his teacher's ghost to rest.
Since the article last week, however, his fighting skills had gradually been slipping away. In the few weeks before their blow-up over fighting Book, Erich had started to become a good challenge for Karolek. Little by little, the sneakiness had been evaporating, leaving a man who was fighting by the numbers. Now, he wasn't even doing *that* well, and he knew it. The German had been hoping that Karolek, who had coming over nightly after his coffee house shift was over since their reconciliation at The Filibuster, would leave him alone about it.
"You know..." Karolek began, speaking slowly to try and choose his words properly. "Fighting on nothing but vengeance and rage will only take you so far before it will get you killed." His pale gray eyes could easily read the disbelief in Erich's eyes. "Seriously. Take it from someone who tried the vengeance route. Raw emotion is an *incredibly* powerful motivator. Maybe the most powerful of all those is rage. But rage makes you sloppy, and in our game, sloppy will get you killed."
Erich cocked his head thoughtfully, relaxing into the chair. Satisfied his friend was not going to make a break for it, Karolek removed his foot and let it dangle over the edge of the desk. Erich's brown eyes studied his friend's face, thinking on the few sentences the Russian Prince had just offered. 'Take it from someone who tried the vengeance route...most powerful of all is rage..." Unwittingly or maybe not, for Karolek had always struck him as someone very calculating when it came to anything related to the Game, bits of annoying ignorance/innocence aside, the Russian had just given him a rather tantalizing tease about his past. "Who were you avenging?"
"My fiancé." Karolek replied softly, leaning back on his arms. "She would have been my third wife two weeks after she was killed."
Intrigued, Erich decided to press further. "What happened?"
Karolek sighed heavily, staring at the gleaming silver hilt of his sword without actually seeing the old and familiar weapon. What happened, indeed. Some days he still found himself asking that question, when something came up that reminded him of Sabine. It happened more now than it had in the past: he saw Sabine's caring nature in the way Clara Jacobsen had pushed aside her anger and fear after watching him take Ruiz's Quickening to tell him that he was hurt and offer to help. Collecting his thoughts, he offered distantly, "-The same song, new singer.-"
"And in English this time?"
"Nothing that should surprise you, given how much you know about me. I was living in Germany in the 1840's. Sabine was the daughter of a minor local noble. A treasure, if ever there was one. Why she agreed to marry me, I'll never know." Karolek shook his head, clearing away cobwebs from memories he tried not to revisit too often. "Another old enemy from my headhunting days looked me up. He saw me out with Sabine, and decided that she had to go before he could do a proper job on me. The Baron found her murdered in her bed the next day. Throat slit ear to ear."
"How did you know that her death was because of you?" Erich asked, thinking back to his homeland. As much as he loved it, he knew that some of the local leaders could be...overzealous in their control.
"I didn't. Not at first, anyway." He looked at Erich and saw understanding in his eyes as to the point he was about to make. "The Baron tended to be heavy handed in his internal dealings and didn't have a great reputation with other nobles. I thought it was entirely possible the enemy was just as easily his as mine." Seeking the comfort of the familiar, Karolek vaulted off the desk and picked up his sword. Standing just outside the door, he started rotating his wrist to change the angle of the blade, switching from hand to hand as he spoke. An old, childhood lesson on loosening his wrists, it now became a calming motion as he told a new friend of an old pain. "The day of the funeral, on my way back to the castle, Saul ben Solomon presented himself before me and confessed to his crimes. I swear I saw red at that moment. I had never wanted to kill a man so badly before in my LIFE, even when I was headhunting for a century."
"Understandable." Erich commented, seeing where Karolek was tying this in with his earlier point.
"I was so angry, I think I could have taken his head with my bare hands and a spoon." Erich chuckled dryly at the image of Karolek attempting to do just that. "I was so angry, I nearly got myself killed in the first five minutes. I overexerted myself on the attack, and he beat me back and stabbed me through the leg. I fell to the ground and rolled out of the way at the last second. I spent twenty minutes fighting on one leg before I was sound enough to go on the attack again." Settling the sword across the back of his neck, he rested his hand on the flat of the blade and looked pointedly at Erich. "I wanted revenge, and in turn almost gave him his. Book won't care about Schuyler or why you're fighting him. All he'll care about is the fight. You can't avenge William if you're dead. It's that simple."
Erich stood, collecting his sword from it's resting place in the doorway. "Point well made and taken. I'll try to calm down." He paused, looking at the blade in his hand. "For Will."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Monday, March 17, 1936
Clara Jacobsen was up early. School was canceled for today, in honor of the inauguration of new President Al Smith. Nellie, already awake and dressing in her own room, heard the noise Clara was making and wondered why her daughter could never be this easy to wake up on days when she really needed to.
Quickly dressing and combing her hair back from her face, Clara went to the small apartment kitchen to find something for breakfast. Whatever it was, it would have to be simple. Edna, along with her husband Merle and their children Armstrong and Lorraine, was coming over in a little less than an hour so the family could get a good spot to watch the Inauguration. Cracking the eggs against the bowl, Clara idly hoped that Armstrong would pick today to act like a twit in public. Then maybe Uncle Merle...or even Karolek, would give him what the fourteen year old brat had coming to him. The girl chuckled at the idea of Karolek, a 400 year old, well armed former prince giving Armstrong a thrashing with a belt.
Clara's pleasant thoughts about what sort of ill her Immortal friend could wreak on her nephew was interrupted by the arrival of her mother. Seeing Clara beating eggs for breakfast, Nellie nodded her acceptance and moved to start the water for morning coffee. "Clara, what's this?"
Pausing to turn and look at her mother, Clara cocked her head as she looked at the small scrap of folded paper. "I don't know, Mama. I didn't notice it there before now."
Nellie unfolded the note, reading the few hastily written sentences written in Karolek's familiar, calligraphic writing.
"Left early for the Inauguration. Meeting a friend, don't look for me there. Might not be home for supper. Sorry. Karolek."
"What's it say, Mama?" Clara asked, her curiosity getting the better of her as she put some bread on the stove for toast.
"It says that Karolek has gone to see the Inauguration with a friend of his." Nellie answered, putting the water on to boil. She saw her daughter's shoulders slump at the news. The new closeness that seemed to be developing between Clara and Karolek had her more than a little nervous. Yes, Clara was a senior in high school, seventeen and graduating in May. Yes, Karolek was only barely 21. That didn't mean she wanted to encourage any sort of scandalous behavior, and part of that meant reigning Clara in a bit. "Pay attention to the eggs, Clara, they'll burn."
"Yes, Mama." Clara said, darkly. She knew damned well why Karolek had snuck out early to meet Erich, and it had nothing to do with wanting to get their early. Last night, he'd told her that he and the German were going to be looking for an old enemy, and he might not be back afterwards.
"I don't understand." Clara complained. "Why are you looking for this guy?"
"Because he's not a nice person, Clara. He killed Erich's teacher. He's killed a lot of people."
The retort was swift and tight. "So have you."
Hearing the words struck Karolek like a physical blow. It didn't matter that he knew them to be true - at times, hated himself because they were true. Having them tossed at you by a seventeen year old girl made them sound all the worse. "I don't like it, Clara. This man does. I haven't seen him for 75 years. Erich hasn't seen him for almost 20. If we don't do this now, we might never get a chance to do this again."
"So...what, then?" Clara began cautiously. She'd seen that Karolek's temperament could change directions like quicksilver, and didn't want to do anything to make him angry with her, or that would make him think she was just an annoying, ignorant little girl. "You'll fight him?"
"At the Inauguration tomorrow. It will either be me or Erich that does it." He paused. "If it's me that he fights, there's an even chance that I might not be coming back."
Clara choked a laugh into a cough. "What are you talking about? You're a great fighter. I saw you that night. I've seen you doing all those drills when Mama goes out to get supplies for the coffee house. Why wouldn't you be back?"
It was the last bit of Immortal reality that Clara couldn't accept. Not that it was a big surprise that she didn't. He'd balked at the idea of fighting to the death when Khan Seh had explained it to him. He was fairly sure that every new Immortal resisted the concept of mortal combat...until they were actually forced to engage in it to keep their heads and their lives. Making mortals, particularly mortal friends and lovers, understand the concept was all the harder. Maybe this was why Khan had warned him against mortal entanglements. "I might not win, Clara." "Of course you'll win." Clara's voice sounded a little less sure. "You're great." "So are a lot of other people, Clar. Not everyone can win all the time." Karolek stood up from his place on the floor, stretching out the abused muscles in his shoulders. He hadn't worked out this much since he'd been a new Immortal, training with Khan. "Not even me." He saw the beginnings of tears forming in Clara's eyes. "Hey, none of that, kiddo." He knelt down and sat back on his heels. The Russian pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the teenager. "I've had a long life. I've been and done a thousand things I never dreamed I'd be able to do in 1540. If I don't win, then it was just my time to go." Clara sniffled and nodded, pretending to understand. "Promise me something?" "Sure." "You'll do everything you can to make it back for supper on time? Mama'll be mad if you're late." Karolek couldn't help but laugh at Clara's request. "I always try. And I will do my level best to make it home for supper. Mrs. Jacobsen is making pork roast, isn't she?" Clara nodded. "Well there you go. Something else to live for."
"Clara, the eggs." Nellie's angry voice cut through the mini-flashback that Clara had been preoccupied with. "They'll be like eating tires. Get them off the stove!" She shook her head, wondering what on earth could be so fascinating to Clara, who was such a picky eater, to take her attention away from cooking.
If only she knew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Standing at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 17th street, Karolek read a copy of yesterday's paper while he waited for Erich. The two Immortals had agreed to meet here and walk to Lafayette Park, where the president- elect would take his oath of office and give his speech. The stage for the President and visiting dignitaries to sit on had been erected for a week - and heavily guarded by soldiers since then. Karolek didn't like the idea of not being able to scout out where he was likely to be fighting, but knew that he had to make the best of the situation.
The gradual increase of an Immortal buzz brought his attention away from the paper and down 17th street. Seeing the familiar brown hair of Erich von Ridesel allowed him to relax. Though he'd expected it to be the German, with at least one other Immortal known to be in town, it was best to be careful.
"Guten Morgen, Karolek."
"Dobroye Utro, Erich." The Russian grinned at Erich's good mood. It beat the funk he'd been stuck in for the better part of the week. Tossing his paper aside, he gratefully accepted the cup of coffee that the German Immortal offered him. His eyes widened at the taste. "Your own blend?"
"A little bit of vodka." Erich admitted. "But only a little."
"Whatever." Karolek dismissed, in the manner he'd commonly seen Clara use with her few friends that braved the coffee shop to visit. "Vodka is good any time."
"Shall we?" Erich gestured in the direction of Lafayette park down the road. "We do want to get good seats."
"So we do." Karolek said with a chuckle. "Though I imagine it won't matter much in the grand scheme of things."
"No, I guess not." Erich considered. "You sound like a man with a plan."
The Russian grinned. "Always. Don't take this the wrong way, Erich, but you need to get away from me."
"I beg your pardon."
"No, at the park. My plan is for you to be at one end of the dais, me at the other. Since there have been no seating plans available, and the soldiers are keeping everyone away from the park until today, I don't know where the British ambassador is sitting. Meaning I don't know where Book will be, either. With us split up, there's a better chance that he'll find one of us." Tossing the paper cup into a trash bin, Karolek continued, "If he sees you, motion him off stage somehow. I don't know where there is to fight around here, but you're a smart fellow."
Erich laughed at that. "You're getting better at this positive comments thing, Karo."
"Swell." Karolek said with a grin, pushing a stray lock of blond hair out of his light gray eyes. "I'm not a complete bastard all the time, Erich. And I have had students before."
"Have you?" Erich repeated, following Karolek into the park. The soldiers working the entrances had the two Immortals open their coats and turn out their pockets, to be sure they weren't carrying guns. The two men complied, glad for the cold snap that let them wear heavy coats to conceal their swords and other weapons. Waved past, Erich continued his question. "How long ago?"
"Back in the 1870's. Hawaiian by the name of Kamani. Not bad, all things considered."
"I'll know to avoid him, then." Erich answered. "That was only one."
The Russian chuckled. "So it was. This is not pry-into-Karo's-past day. This is Inauguration day."
"Good grief." Wading through the early crowds, Erich motioned to stage left. "I'll go stake myself a spot up front."
"I'll head yonder." Karolek cocked his head in the direction of stage right. "Keep an eye on the crowds, and watch your head."
"You too." Erich clasped Karolek's forearm, Karolek doing the same in return. "If God wills, I will see you after the Inauguration at the Capitol end of the Reflecting Pool."
"If God wills." Karolek nodded. The German melted into the crowd, leaving the Russian prince to stake his own spot and wait.
~~~~~~~~~~
To the world, John Tudor appeared to be the perfectly attentive aide. He was standing just off the stage, leather folio held to his chest by crossed arms, eyes focused in the newly installed Vice President, presently giving his speech. In reality, Jacob Book was thoroughly bored. The new Vice President was about as exciting as a bowl of oatmeal, and therefore well suited for one of the most meaningless jobs in contemporary politics. 'Not altogether different from being a second son,' the 303 year old Brit mused, 'who only gets in on the power if big brother meets an untimely demise. How the damnyankees ever managed to build a political system like this, God only knows.'
After listening to a twenty minute speech, the likes of which made eternity seem longer, the Vice President wrapped up. Jacob applauded politely, deciding to stretch his legs a bit by walking to the front of the cordoned off area designated for staffers of officials. He wanted to see if Sir Edward was as bored by the proceedings as he was. Jacob had argued against going to the Inauguration in the first place, but the government had insisted it was important to maintain civil relations with the United States.
As he reached the barrier, Jacob stopped dead. Thrumming through the base of his skull, the sensation of another Immortal. In a crowd like this, the other would be almost impossible to find. He backtracked to the steps to the stage, climbing a few of them so that he could see over the heads of the people now cheering the swearing in of President Smith.
The first sweep of the crowd, he didn't see anyone actively searching for him. Everyone was quiet, listening to Justice Harper give Smith the oath of office. On the second sweep, he spotted the misplaced stillness in the crowd.
A pair of gray eyes, staring directly at him. Wisps of blond hair blowing in the slight breeze, fluttering across a pale face. The man brought a gloved hand up to his face, tucking the strands of hair away, and nodded once at Jacob.
Karolek Romanov. The murdering sonofabitch who had killed his teacher and made a fool out of him, staring him down from the crowd of workers. His chance for revenge, delivered right to him.
Jacob descended the steps quickly, looking for one of the soldiers working on guard duty. A young corporal was standing at loose attention, Springfield rifle in hand, at the edge of the clearing. "Corporal." Jacob called quietly.
"Yes, sir?" The corporal, a young boy with dark black hair and a flat Midwestern accent looked over at Book, wondering what one of the British officials wanted with him.
"Can you leave your post long enough to go fetch a man from the crowd for me?"
The corporal raised his eyebrows at the request. "He looking to cause trouble for us, sir?"
The Briton rapidly shook his head, causing his red hair to fall into his eyes. Irritatedly pushing it away from his face, he explained, "No, no. He's not trouble." But what was he? "He's one of our staff, must have gotten caught into the crowd. He should be back here, Sir Philips will want to speak with him. Wouldn't want to get him in trouble." The corporal was softening, but wasn't prepared to go just yet. "There's a five in it for your trouble." That was the magic word.
"Sure, sir, I'll go get him. Point him out to me, will ya?"
"He's about four rows of people back, right at the end of the stage." Jacob said, leading the corporal over to the gate. "Right there, in the gray coat with the long blond hair."
"Sure." Corporal Wesley nodded, catching Karolek's eye and motioning him up to the gate. The soldier's motion had the crowd splitting slightly, enough to allow Karolek to slip up to where Book and Wesley were standing. "You with him?"
"Sure am." Karolek answered the corporal, affecting a British accent. To anyone who'd ever been to England, it would have sounded incredibly fake. To an 18 year old boy who'd never left home before joining the army, it sounded real enough.
"Right. Hop over." Wesley watched as the blond stranger easily hopped over the military railing to the staff side. It seemed to him like there was something odd in the flow of the man's jacket...he shook the notion off, deciding he was just tired from standing guard last night. He accepted the five dollar bill from the red-haired aide, before returning to his post to listen to the rest of President Smith's address.
Walking away from the stage towards the shuttered gazebo at the other end of the park, Jacob and Karolek looked like friends to any casual observer. It would have taken a hard look at the faces of the two well-schooled warriors to see that they were restraining some heavy emotions.
"How've you been, Jacob?" Karolek asked dryly as they began descending the slope that hid the gazebo from the rest of the park, including the big Inauguration crowds.
"Oh, wonderful." Jacob replied acidly. "I believe swell is the word they use nowadays? Or is it still 'bully' after that abominable Teddy Roosevelt."
"Swell will do."
"So kind of you to ask, though. I wouldn't have thought you capable."
Rolling his eyes at the hostility masked in civility, Karolek thought it better to keep quiet. Jacob deftly broke the padlock on the door, motioning for Karolek to precede him into the room. "I think not," the Russian quietly growled. "You go first."
Jacob smiled ferally, turning so that his back was to the open door, before taking several slow, deliberate steps into the building. He hit the switch for the overhead lights, which flickered several times before finally coming to life and casting a dim yellow glow over the room. It was cluttered with maintenance tools. Several large lawnmowers stood against the far wall, next to a chest which presumably held pruning shears and things of that nature. Snow shovels were leaning closer to the door, next to a small pile of bags with rock salt and sand in them for the park paths. Whoever managed the place had left the Immortals with a space about six feet by six feet in which they could easily fight without tripping over things.
Karolek closed the door behind them, never taking his eyes off of Jacob. He drew his broadsword from his coat, shedding the item and draping it over the salt bags. Book did the same, producing a schiavona from his own jacket, which was relegated to hanging from one of the lawnmowers.
"Out of curiosity, Karolek, where have you been hiding of late?" Jacob asked Karolek, who was twirling his sword by moving his wrists, the same action he'd been doing when he told Erich about Sabine.
"I haven't been hiding anywhere, Jacob." He moved his sword into the ready position, darkened eyes locked on his opponent. "My name was right there for you to find anytime you wanted. Let's do this."
"As you wish." Jacob answered, bringing his own sword up to meet Karolek's.
It was clear from the first parry that Grayson had done a magnificent job with Jacob. Compared to where the Brit had been when Karolek first met him 250 years ago, Grayson was owed all the credit for Jacob's still being alive. The two Immortals exchanged a series of quick thrusts and parrys, testing each other's skill without over committing. Neither really wanted to be the one to strike first.
After a few minutes of dancing around each other, Jacob's long-simmering desire for revenge fueled him to make the first really aggressive move. He lunged forward, putting more power into his strokes, forcing Karolek to back up several feet in defense. Book managed to get through the Russian's guard and put a decent sized nick in his right arm.
Karolek was so angry he'd have spit on himself if it were possible. That was just the sort of move he'd warned Erich about so many times, and now here he was victim to it himself. Redoubling his efforts, he went on the attack and forced Jacob back to the center of the old gazebo. He launched a few semi-attacks with his left arm, wanting to give his right a chance to heal up. This Jacob wasn't likely to fall into traps usually set for the inexperienced, so the Russian prince was going to have to wait him out.
Jacob parried the half-hearted attacks easily, trying to find the move that would allow him to return to the offensive. Defense wasn't a position he was used to finding himself in any more. He'd developed a reputation for being aggressive, netting a few strong heads in the past few decades, including William Schuyler and Marius. Preoccupied with the offensive, he wasn't prepared for the fourth of Romanov's halfhearted attacks to turn into a bona fide one. He frantically tried to regain the upper hand. Karolek executed a magnificent spin move, following it with a backwards thrust which caught Jacob through the shoulder. He hissed in pain, pulling back away from the attack.
The fight seesawed back and forth like that for the better part of half an hour. Book would get a cut in, Karolek would recover before dealing one of his own. Both men were bloody, as was the floor and the once gleaming silver of their blades. Both Immortals were also starting to tire from the furious flurries of combat and the repeated blood loss.
For some people, fatigue makes them slow and ineffective. For others, it galvanizes them into a more focused effort.
Jacob moved forward to start another offensive. Karolek allowed Book to catch his sword in the guard of the schiavona, moving forward into a clinch. He grabbed Jacob's blade hand at the wrist with his right hand, pulling the Brit's sword hand across his body. As Book followed the momentum, Karolek twisted his wrist so that his broadsword blade slid away from the guard and back into free air. He used his knee to force Book to stumble, before letting go with his right hand, spinning and cutting Jacob through his right flank and across most of his back, deep enough to slice the spinal cord.
Book melted to the ground, legs no longer able to hold up his weight. His eyes widened, knowing that he'd been dealt a mortal blow. The next thing he knew, his sword arm had been cut, deeply, and he dropped his sword to the ground.
The Russian prince kicked the blade back from Book's hand, putting his own sword to the Briton's neck. "You shouldn't have messed with Schuyler, Jacob. He was a good man with good friends. And you shouldn't have messed with ME."
"Pity you can't say the same, bastard." Jacob rasped back. "End it." Karolek complied, drawing his sword back and neatly severing the man's head.
"Maybe not, but I do have good friends." Bone-weary with exhaustion, Karolek stepped back away from the body and picked the bloody schiavona from the floor. He fell to his knees on the ground as the blue-white mist of Book's Quickening began to swirl around him. His second Quickening in as many weeks...there would be hell to pay for this later, but as the bolts of energy started to hit him, he didn't really care.
~~~~~~~
Back at the Inauguration, Erich felt a light tingle go down his spine...almost as if a large quantity of energy had been released nearby...like a Quickening. He thought he saw lights down beyond the stage, where some new Socialist functionary was praising the new President. Maybe it was his imagination. Fighting his way out of the crowd and out of the park, he made his way for the reflecting pool. He only hoped that things had gone well.
~~~~~~~
Further back from the stage, sitting in the bleachers with her mother and the rest of her family, Clara Jacobsen would swear that she saw lights in the distance too. Then Armstrong threw an elbow into her ribs, and she responded by stepping down hard on his toes.
~~~~~~~
No matter how long he lived or how many heads he wound up taking or had taken, Karolek would never and had never gotten used to the Quickening. No human body, he'd long decided, even an Immortal one, was meant to take bolts of lightening like that. They hurt like hell, but at the same time were uniquely energizing. As a former headhunter himself, he could see how people got used to the rush. He'd been courting death as a hunter, but most others were motivated by the surge that came from taking on so much energy. It could be as addictive as opium or alcohol if you were of the right mind.
Moving slowly, he stood up and surveyed the damage. Two of the lawnmowers were toast, and some scorch marks were evident on the walls and the floor. The lights in the ceiling were wrecked, and in looking down he could see that so was he. A dozen bloody cuts marred the arms and torso of his blue shirt, and his striped silver vest was purple from the blood.
Taking Book's scarf from where it hung on a third lawnmower, he wiped the blood from his broadsword and the schiavona. His piece went back into the scabbard, Book's into his belt as he'd done with Maximiliano Ruiz's rapier not two seeks ago. He shrugged his coat over the mess he'd made of his clothes, buttoning it up all the way so the mess was covered. He pulled the leather band out of his hair and combed it back from his forehead with his fingers.
After a last check to see that nothing remained that would show he'd been at the building, he slipped outside into the spring air. The padlock was set into place so that it looked shut.
Karolek's practiced gray eyes saw that a few people were beginning to slip away from the Inauguration. That meant that Smith was probably done speaking. Rather than heading back towards the crowds, he headed for the other end of Lafayette park. There, he caught a taxi for the short ride to west Potomac park and the reflecting pool.
The cabbie, an immigrant from somewhere in eastern Europe, dropped him off as close to the pool as he could get. The man sensed that Karolek was in no mood to talk, and pocketed the fare without a word. Karolek headed for the pool, hands shoved in his pockets and a stiffness about his walk as he tried to work off the after-effects of the fight and the Quickening.
Shortly before reaching the pool, the sense of another Immortal hit him. He grinned lightly as he saw Erich almost melt in relief.
~~~~~~~~~
Erich made quick progress once he got out of the Inauguration crowds. At the edges, people were starting to drift away, having seen the new President speak. He joined in the bustle and made his way directly down 17th street to the reflecting pool. He found a bench near the edge which faced back towards the road and sat down, resigned to having to wait. He decided that if Karolek didn't show in about an hour, he would go back to where he'd seen the lights and check to see how the Challenge had turned out. If Karolek was dead, he'd hunt Book no matter what it required.
The German's patience was rewarded when, twenty minutes later, he saw a figure in a gray coat with loose, shoulder length, pale blond hair. As the figure drew closer, the familiar tingle of an Immortal sensation flooded across the back of his neck. It was Karolek. Erich let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, suddenly relaxed.
Karolek closed the distance to Erich's bench, feeling better with the movement. As he reached the destination, he was surprised when Erich embraced him with a strong hug.
Drawing back, Erich's brown eyes met Karolek's gray ones. "Danke schoen, Karolek."
Karolek sighed heavily. "To be perfectly honest, Erich, I didn't do it for you." He looked down at the ground. "Jacob's dead. Schuyler's avenged. Be happy with that."
"I assure you, I am." Erich said hastily. "And I will thank you again, all the same." Karolek nodded wearily, saying nothing else. "What now?"
"I think maybe it's time to leave town. Washington is too crowded." The Russian confessed.
Erich nodded. "I suppose you are right. I've been contemplating leaving myself. Where will you go?"
"West, I think. There's plenty of land out there where a man can be by himself if he wishes." Romanov glanced towards the south, where well beyond the horizon the specter of the Confederate States and their new, fanatical President lay. "The world will be back to war by the end of the decade. I'd like to get my peace while I still can. Where will you head?"
"I think maybe to the Caribbean." Erich responded. "It's warm there. Somewhere little, remote, that no superpower pays attention to. Trinidad, maybe, or Barbados." Shuffling lightly on his feet, he asked a question. "Will I see you again?"
"Twenty years." Karolek answered. "July 4. There's a pub in New York that a friend of mine raves about. MacMartin's, on 40th street."
The German laughed. "That, my friend, is a date I will remember." He extended his hand. "Good luck to you, Karolek Konstantinovich Romanov."
"And to you, Erich von Ridesel. Keep your head." The two men shook, before Karolek turned and walked away from the pool. Erich stood and watched him leave, hair and coat moving in the brisk breeze of a Washington spring.
~~~~~~~~~~
EPILOGUE, two weeks later
"Mama says you're going." An accusing voice commented from the door.
"Your mother would be correct." Karolek answered, putting a shirt into his suitcase.
"You didn't say anything."
"I was hoping to avoid having this very conversation with you, Clara." The Immortal responded dryly, watching as the girl came in and sat down on the edge of his bed. "But please, come in, sit down."
Clara glared at him. "Why are you going?"
Karolek looked at the spitfire girl. "Two beheadings in two weeks? The cops are on edge, Clara. People saw me leave with Book from the Inauguration, and people saw me leaving the gazebo. It's only a matter of time before they come looking for me. The death penalty won't kill me dead, but it will put me out of commission for quite some time. I don't like being dead. It's rather annoying, actually." He sighed, putting some more clothes into his suitcase. "Better I go before they find me."
"You could stay." Clara insisted.
"I can't." Karolek said sharply. "And you know it."
Deflated, Clara answered reluctantly, "Yes, I know it." She sat silently as Karolek finished packing his suitcase. Two long, bulky parcels lay on the bed next to the suitcase, as did the Russian's carefully laid out overcoat. "Where will you go?"
"First to New York, to see a friend." Karolek replied, snapping the locks shut on the case. "Then west. To Montana, maybe, or up to Alaska. Somewhere. I haven't really decided, yet. I suppose it depends on what mood strikes me when I leave Connor's."
"Well, have a good trip." Clara said sincerely. "Will you send me a postcard?"
Karolek grinned. "I think I will, on both accounts." He picked up one of the parcels. "Before I go, I have a present for you."
"For me?" The teenager in Clara returned instantly. "Really? What is it?"
"Something your mother can't see. Is she still downstairs?"
"Uh-huh." Clara chuckled. "She's still training Gloria."
Karolek handed Clara the lighter of the two long packages. Clara took it eagerly, surprised by its weight. She untied the string and unfolded the paper, revealing a rapier with a glittering gold hilt and a smaller, plainer dagger. "For me?"
"Yes." Karolek sat down next to her on the bed. "They belonged to the man who helped me introduce you to a secret world you never dreamed existed. You can sell them if you want. They'll fetch 100,000 dollars on the auction block in the condition that they're in. I hope you'll keep them as a reminder of what you've learned in the past few months."
"I...I will." Clara ran a hesitant finger down the length of the blade. It gleamed in the sunlight slanting into the room. It seemed so long ago that she'd stood in the snow and watched a 150 year old Spaniard try and kill her 400 year old friend...watched that blade flash red with Karolek's blood...watched the electrical storm that was a Quickening. She'd learned a lot, grown up a lot in the past few weeks and months, and she knew it. "It's pretty, in it's own way."
"That it is, Clara, that it is." He grinned. "Just keep it hidden from your mother, da?"
"Da." Clara giggled. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Karolek's neck and hugged him tightly. "Thank you. It's my first real adult present." She leaned back. "How do you say thank you in Russian?"
"Spasiba"
"Spasiba." Clara repeated. "And not just for the sword. For everything...being my friend, talking about Mama and Armstrong with me...for telling me about the real you."
"Clara, it was a real pleasure." Karolek assured her. "You're a good kid. I think you'll make a smart adult, no matter what Nellie says." He stood, pulling on his jacket and picking up his suitcase and the flat case that held Book's sword. He planned to put it in storage in New York. He placed a friendly kiss on Clara's cheek, saying, "Have a good life, Clara Jacobsen. Be happy."
"I will." Clara promised, staying on the bed as she watched Karolek walk out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Where are you headed?" The portly, balding businessman in a pinstriped suit who was sitting next to him on the Union Station bench asked.
"New York." Karolek replied, letting his accent come through.
"You have family there?" The businessman asked, hearing Karolek's accent.
"Nyet." Was the answer. "A friend who might as well be family." He looked over at the man. "Karolek Nikailov."
"Bratton Gregory." He extended his hand to the young man, who shook it firmly. "It's nice to meet you Karolek Nikailov."
"Likewise."
"You have work waiting for you in New York?" Bratton asked.
"No."
Bratton took a card out of his wallet, handing it to the Immortal. "Corporate finance. Impressive."
"Thanks." Bratton smiled smugly. "With all the federal money out there, I think we're making real progress. Come and see me when you get to New York. We can always use sharp young men."
The call for the New York train sounded over the loudspeaker. "I appreciate the offer, Bratton, but perhaps you should save it for someone who can really use it." Karolek shouldered his back and picked up the sword.
"I always seem to land on my feet."
THE END
A.N.: Thank you to the people who took the time to read and review this. It's my first published fan fiction, and I'm thrilled by the responses.
I have an idea for a sequel to "The Russian Prince" that follows Karolek after he leaves Connor in New York. Is anyone interested?