Disclaimer/Blame: Not mine, not mine, not mine... Quit looking at me, would
you?!
Author's Note: This chapter written while listening to "Braver Than We Are" and "Carpe Noctum," both from "Dance of the Vampires" (which, as an interesting side note, both Michael Crawford and Steve Barton had the lead roles in as Count Von Krolock. Just thought I'd run that by you). So if this one comes out strangely, it's not my fault.
Journeys By AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 2 - Rejection
(( What a hovel, )) Nadir thought as he drew rein. Though the weather was cool, the horse was lathered and blowing as though she had run the entire distance from Tehran. Not surprising, as he had forced the poor mare down a treacherous mountain road still icy from yesterday's frozen rain for the better part of today. Not without mercy to the creature, however – but less for the horse's sake than for his own. It was cold enough that he had to keep moving, on horseback or not, and there were some sections of road that they would not have made it across if he had not dismounted and led...
For six days and five freezing nights, the Daroga had forged his way across the plains and steppes, leaving the carcasses of three horses already strewn across the wilds to mark his way home. Few roads existed between Tehran and Novgorod as yet, and all avoided the worst terrain. Nor was this the season to travel in this country at all. Yet he had two weeks to bring this man to the court of Tehran, and already that was almost half gone. Seventy men would die for that, should he fail, not to mention he himself. The Shah had said "treason." And the khanum, most likely, as well. (( I do not care if the woman goes to bed in a sty full of sows, all I want is to keep my own head, thank you! ))
Now, Nadir stood beside the panting horse on a knoll, overlooking the last thousand yards to the quaint medieval city of Novgorod - "quaint" meaning it had a romantic air about it from a distance, "medieval" a more fitting description up close. The road beside the river running through the city looked like hell and it would be highly advisable to walk the horse in, but the police chief took only brief notice of that. His attention was focused mainly on the mass of tents on the other side of the river. Somewhere in that riot of color was the man that he sought.
Somehow, Nadir suspected that it would not be too difficult to find him. After all, this was the Walking Corpse that he sought.
Nadir saw to his horse first, stabling it at a seedy little inn with a scurrilous wooden plaque hanging over the door. The name was in Russian and Nadir didn't care to know what it translated to – it was a safe guess that the placard was all the explanation needed. At least the smells from the kitchen were a little less foul than at some of the other roadhouse inns along the way, and the horses coming out of the barn looked like they'd had some care. The Daroga wolfed down a bowl of stew, not entirely certain what was in it and much more sure that it was something else he didn't want to know, and then set out about searching for the Walking Corpse.
The carnival was lively today, with tents of all kinds making a riot of colors and the presence of so many people making an unbelievable odor.
His first few attempts at asking were met with shakes of the head as he ransacked his mind for every dialect he could remember. Unfortunately, "Where can I find the Walking Corpse?" was not a phrase that most people would think to learn in multiple languages, and Nadir soon regretted that he lacked any real facility with them.
But finally he ran across a coarse, bearded man with a heavy Western European accent – German, Nadir thought – who laughed at the daroga's feeble attempts to reproduce English and promptly replied, 'Ja, ja, he show in ten minutes," and pointed to where a large crowd was beginning to gather.
Feeling more than slightly foolish, the Daroga smiled and bowed, hoping he'd take it as a thank-you, and hurried over to the crowd. The barker was already stirring up the crowd – "Hide the women and children, music this good with a face this hideous is the mark of the devil himself!" – while taking admission fees. Nadir, disgusted, asked the barker in his rough English if he could speak to the man: the barker sent off someone else to see about it. Quickly enough the man returned, white-faced and shaking, babbling in bastard Russian that it was not good, that "the freak" would see nobody.
The policeman held up a small pouch of gold discreetly. "His tent? I wait."
The barker stared at him for a moment, forgetting for a moment to build the crowd's anticipation, then shook his head. The white-faced man who had run took Nadir by the arm and tried to throw him out.
"Stop," said the barker in Russian. He turned to Nadir and spoke in passable Persian. "Look, man, are you deaf, stupid or just suicidal? Nobody goes looking for the Walking Corpse outside of a show. Let me tell you, that creature is one cold bastard. He pays well, that's why we're here, but I jump when he says jump and ask how high. He finds you in his tent, he'll kill us all."
"Then show me where, I won't go in." Nadir handed him another pouch like the first.
Again the barker's jaw dropped. "You're insane," was all he said. "Go, if you're determined to get yourself skinned alive. I'll take you there once the people are in. But I didn't show you, understand? I'm running like hell the moment I get paid for tonight."
"Understood."
True to his word, the barker showed Nadir to a dingy brown canvas tent very near to the performance tent. The smells in the area, near the latrines, were indescribable, but the stiff breeze down from the surrounding mountains blew it away as fast as it could build up. Also true to his word, the barker quite literally ran away from the tent as quickly as his feet could carry him.
(( Idiot, you only draw attention to yourself. ))
Knocking gently on the tent flap, Nadir waited.
There was no reply.
He parted the flaps and entered.
A single kerosene lamp, the wick trimmed, burned low on a low, small table beside the pole that held the tent's roof up. Another table, long and low and placed at the far end of the small interior of the tent, held several books: examining the titles revealed little, as the few he could read had nothing in common that he could see. Several novels – the only one he could read was in English – sat between what appeared to be a book of handwritten music (only the first few pages were filled) and what appeared to be several technical manuals of some sort.
None of this was any help in understanding the man who called himself the Walking Corpse. Nadir turned to leave –
And found a rapier touching his chest, held in a steady hand by the most singularly horrifying man he had ever seen in his life.
The dim light only made the visage of the Walking Corpse that much more hideous, but it did not need it. Four deep but bloodless gouges laid open his cheek, like a catamount's never-healed slashes, crossed again and again by twisted ravines. Nadir was not certain, but he thought he could make out the faint twitching of a vein laid bare in one of those gouges and the gleam of bone in another. But by far, the most frightening thing about the Walking Corpse was the amber glow that shone in the semi-darkness from where his eyes should have been.
The man – Nadir had difficulty bringing himself to use that word for the apparition before, spoke something that the policeman simply could not understand. Apparently guessing the problem, he repeated it again, this time in English.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
This, Nadir understood – Britain was having an undeniably heavy impact upon Persia at the moment and there was not a soul in the court of the Shah – save perhaps the newest concubines – who did not understand at least some of the barbaric tongue. Speaking it was another matter, but Nadir had learned. After a fashion.
"My name is Nadir Khan. I am here on orders to bring you to Persia."
The twisted lips compressed into a thin, white line as the rapier lifted to Nadir's chin. "Must I warn you of the fate of the last men who tried abducting the circus freak?"
"I am not trying to abduct you," Nadir said, trying to keep his calm. (( Don't anger him any further. )) "I have a proposal you may wish to listen to."
"Really? Speak. If it's amusing enough I might let you live long enough to steal a horse and get out of town."
(( He sounds for all the world like the Shah himself! ))
"The Shah's mother, the Khanum, is dying. He wishes you to come to Tehran and save her, if you can. You will be compensated for your time and trouble most handsomely."
The rapier lifted and disappeared with a sliding, serpentine hiss into a scabbard that appeared from nowhere. "Ride quickly, Persian. If I hear that you are still in town within two hours, I will hunt you down myself."
"And if I ride to Tehran?"
The Corpse looked at him aside, almost as though surprised he was still there. For all the world just like the Shah. "You will not make it that far."
"Seventy men will die if you do not come. The khanum will follow them quickly enough."
"I could believe that you care about the men, but I doubt you'd shed a tear from the woman," replied the circus freak, bending to turn the wick of the dying lamp up a little more. "And as for the Shah-in-Shah... well, I have heard of his reputation even in this little hole in the wall. However, you have a bigger problem that that. I do not give a pig's ass about you, your Shah, your Shah's mother, or your men."
"He wants to meet you, in person. He told me something of your own reputation." (( I do not know what else I can say, if a plea for so many will not move him. ))
"Indeed? So, what exactly has this humble man done, that news of it has traveled so far as to reach the attentions of so highly exalted an individual?" the Corpse replied dryly. Nadir winced at the scornful inflections of the words "humble" and "exalted" – clearly, this was going to be a more difficult job than he had thought. Had the man no concept of rank?
(( Allah, this whole journey will be for nothing if he behaves like this to the Shah's very beard! ))
A thought struck him.
"Come with me to Tehran, and you will find out."
The Corpse smiled. "Clever, aren't you? But that still leaves you with a problem. I come and go at no man's beck and call, and I prefer to leave it that way. Nor have I any desire to go to Persia. Perhaps if it were any but the Walking Corpse that you sought, you might have better luck."
"If it were not the Walking Corpse that the Shah-in-Shah calls for, I would not have ridden three horses to death on the journey here."
"That eager to see me, eh? Flattering, to be sure, but no."
"I do not particularly care about you myself, it is the Shah who wants you."
"He can take his pick of any opera singer in the world, I can recommend a few good ones, a litany of those not to bother..."
"I'm sure you'd place yourself first on that second list," Nadir retorted, annoyed.
The Corpse laughed for the first time, a cynical smile twisting his deformed lips. "It depends on the reason for not bothering me. You were not at the show, were you? I would have remembered – ah, but I do remember now, one of Peter's assistants told me about a little Persian who wanted to talk to me before the show. Told me you were causing quite a scene."
"Not precisely, no," the Daroga replied uneasily.
A shrug greeted that. "I assume Peter led you here. No wonder he was jumpy." The man stood , his arms folded, apparently at ease but looking Nadir straight in the eye. "It does not change anything. I go nowhere. Get out of here, you're not worth the effort of killing."
"Wonderful. I get an official excuse to leave Tehran and I run across yet another fool I must flatter beyond reason," Nadir muttered to himself in Farsi. "Allah's punishment for something unspeakable, certainly." Continuing in English, he said, "Very well. A good night to you."
Nadir stalked out of the tent of the Walking Corpse furious. (( This entire trip, wasted. I cannot believe he scoffed away seventy human lives so coldly! )) His fury kept up all the way to the squalid little room he had booked.
(( I have no choice. I must return in the morning and report my failure. ))
The Daroga of Mazanderan did not sleep that night.
~*~*~*~
To Be Continued...
~*~*~*~
Is this any good or should I just aim for the trash bin right now? Feed me, please! ::opens wide::
- AC
Author's Note: This chapter written while listening to "Braver Than We Are" and "Carpe Noctum," both from "Dance of the Vampires" (which, as an interesting side note, both Michael Crawford and Steve Barton had the lead roles in as Count Von Krolock. Just thought I'd run that by you). So if this one comes out strangely, it's not my fault.
Journeys By AngelCeleste85
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Ch. 2 - Rejection
(( What a hovel, )) Nadir thought as he drew rein. Though the weather was cool, the horse was lathered and blowing as though she had run the entire distance from Tehran. Not surprising, as he had forced the poor mare down a treacherous mountain road still icy from yesterday's frozen rain for the better part of today. Not without mercy to the creature, however – but less for the horse's sake than for his own. It was cold enough that he had to keep moving, on horseback or not, and there were some sections of road that they would not have made it across if he had not dismounted and led...
For six days and five freezing nights, the Daroga had forged his way across the plains and steppes, leaving the carcasses of three horses already strewn across the wilds to mark his way home. Few roads existed between Tehran and Novgorod as yet, and all avoided the worst terrain. Nor was this the season to travel in this country at all. Yet he had two weeks to bring this man to the court of Tehran, and already that was almost half gone. Seventy men would die for that, should he fail, not to mention he himself. The Shah had said "treason." And the khanum, most likely, as well. (( I do not care if the woman goes to bed in a sty full of sows, all I want is to keep my own head, thank you! ))
Now, Nadir stood beside the panting horse on a knoll, overlooking the last thousand yards to the quaint medieval city of Novgorod - "quaint" meaning it had a romantic air about it from a distance, "medieval" a more fitting description up close. The road beside the river running through the city looked like hell and it would be highly advisable to walk the horse in, but the police chief took only brief notice of that. His attention was focused mainly on the mass of tents on the other side of the river. Somewhere in that riot of color was the man that he sought.
Somehow, Nadir suspected that it would not be too difficult to find him. After all, this was the Walking Corpse that he sought.
Nadir saw to his horse first, stabling it at a seedy little inn with a scurrilous wooden plaque hanging over the door. The name was in Russian and Nadir didn't care to know what it translated to – it was a safe guess that the placard was all the explanation needed. At least the smells from the kitchen were a little less foul than at some of the other roadhouse inns along the way, and the horses coming out of the barn looked like they'd had some care. The Daroga wolfed down a bowl of stew, not entirely certain what was in it and much more sure that it was something else he didn't want to know, and then set out about searching for the Walking Corpse.
The carnival was lively today, with tents of all kinds making a riot of colors and the presence of so many people making an unbelievable odor.
His first few attempts at asking were met with shakes of the head as he ransacked his mind for every dialect he could remember. Unfortunately, "Where can I find the Walking Corpse?" was not a phrase that most people would think to learn in multiple languages, and Nadir soon regretted that he lacked any real facility with them.
But finally he ran across a coarse, bearded man with a heavy Western European accent – German, Nadir thought – who laughed at the daroga's feeble attempts to reproduce English and promptly replied, 'Ja, ja, he show in ten minutes," and pointed to where a large crowd was beginning to gather.
Feeling more than slightly foolish, the Daroga smiled and bowed, hoping he'd take it as a thank-you, and hurried over to the crowd. The barker was already stirring up the crowd – "Hide the women and children, music this good with a face this hideous is the mark of the devil himself!" – while taking admission fees. Nadir, disgusted, asked the barker in his rough English if he could speak to the man: the barker sent off someone else to see about it. Quickly enough the man returned, white-faced and shaking, babbling in bastard Russian that it was not good, that "the freak" would see nobody.
The policeman held up a small pouch of gold discreetly. "His tent? I wait."
The barker stared at him for a moment, forgetting for a moment to build the crowd's anticipation, then shook his head. The white-faced man who had run took Nadir by the arm and tried to throw him out.
"Stop," said the barker in Russian. He turned to Nadir and spoke in passable Persian. "Look, man, are you deaf, stupid or just suicidal? Nobody goes looking for the Walking Corpse outside of a show. Let me tell you, that creature is one cold bastard. He pays well, that's why we're here, but I jump when he says jump and ask how high. He finds you in his tent, he'll kill us all."
"Then show me where, I won't go in." Nadir handed him another pouch like the first.
Again the barker's jaw dropped. "You're insane," was all he said. "Go, if you're determined to get yourself skinned alive. I'll take you there once the people are in. But I didn't show you, understand? I'm running like hell the moment I get paid for tonight."
"Understood."
True to his word, the barker showed Nadir to a dingy brown canvas tent very near to the performance tent. The smells in the area, near the latrines, were indescribable, but the stiff breeze down from the surrounding mountains blew it away as fast as it could build up. Also true to his word, the barker quite literally ran away from the tent as quickly as his feet could carry him.
(( Idiot, you only draw attention to yourself. ))
Knocking gently on the tent flap, Nadir waited.
There was no reply.
He parted the flaps and entered.
A single kerosene lamp, the wick trimmed, burned low on a low, small table beside the pole that held the tent's roof up. Another table, long and low and placed at the far end of the small interior of the tent, held several books: examining the titles revealed little, as the few he could read had nothing in common that he could see. Several novels – the only one he could read was in English – sat between what appeared to be a book of handwritten music (only the first few pages were filled) and what appeared to be several technical manuals of some sort.
None of this was any help in understanding the man who called himself the Walking Corpse. Nadir turned to leave –
And found a rapier touching his chest, held in a steady hand by the most singularly horrifying man he had ever seen in his life.
The dim light only made the visage of the Walking Corpse that much more hideous, but it did not need it. Four deep but bloodless gouges laid open his cheek, like a catamount's never-healed slashes, crossed again and again by twisted ravines. Nadir was not certain, but he thought he could make out the faint twitching of a vein laid bare in one of those gouges and the gleam of bone in another. But by far, the most frightening thing about the Walking Corpse was the amber glow that shone in the semi-darkness from where his eyes should have been.
The man – Nadir had difficulty bringing himself to use that word for the apparition before, spoke something that the policeman simply could not understand. Apparently guessing the problem, he repeated it again, this time in English.
"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"
This, Nadir understood – Britain was having an undeniably heavy impact upon Persia at the moment and there was not a soul in the court of the Shah – save perhaps the newest concubines – who did not understand at least some of the barbaric tongue. Speaking it was another matter, but Nadir had learned. After a fashion.
"My name is Nadir Khan. I am here on orders to bring you to Persia."
The twisted lips compressed into a thin, white line as the rapier lifted to Nadir's chin. "Must I warn you of the fate of the last men who tried abducting the circus freak?"
"I am not trying to abduct you," Nadir said, trying to keep his calm. (( Don't anger him any further. )) "I have a proposal you may wish to listen to."
"Really? Speak. If it's amusing enough I might let you live long enough to steal a horse and get out of town."
(( He sounds for all the world like the Shah himself! ))
"The Shah's mother, the Khanum, is dying. He wishes you to come to Tehran and save her, if you can. You will be compensated for your time and trouble most handsomely."
The rapier lifted and disappeared with a sliding, serpentine hiss into a scabbard that appeared from nowhere. "Ride quickly, Persian. If I hear that you are still in town within two hours, I will hunt you down myself."
"And if I ride to Tehran?"
The Corpse looked at him aside, almost as though surprised he was still there. For all the world just like the Shah. "You will not make it that far."
"Seventy men will die if you do not come. The khanum will follow them quickly enough."
"I could believe that you care about the men, but I doubt you'd shed a tear from the woman," replied the circus freak, bending to turn the wick of the dying lamp up a little more. "And as for the Shah-in-Shah... well, I have heard of his reputation even in this little hole in the wall. However, you have a bigger problem that that. I do not give a pig's ass about you, your Shah, your Shah's mother, or your men."
"He wants to meet you, in person. He told me something of your own reputation." (( I do not know what else I can say, if a plea for so many will not move him. ))
"Indeed? So, what exactly has this humble man done, that news of it has traveled so far as to reach the attentions of so highly exalted an individual?" the Corpse replied dryly. Nadir winced at the scornful inflections of the words "humble" and "exalted" – clearly, this was going to be a more difficult job than he had thought. Had the man no concept of rank?
(( Allah, this whole journey will be for nothing if he behaves like this to the Shah's very beard! ))
A thought struck him.
"Come with me to Tehran, and you will find out."
The Corpse smiled. "Clever, aren't you? But that still leaves you with a problem. I come and go at no man's beck and call, and I prefer to leave it that way. Nor have I any desire to go to Persia. Perhaps if it were any but the Walking Corpse that you sought, you might have better luck."
"If it were not the Walking Corpse that the Shah-in-Shah calls for, I would not have ridden three horses to death on the journey here."
"That eager to see me, eh? Flattering, to be sure, but no."
"I do not particularly care about you myself, it is the Shah who wants you."
"He can take his pick of any opera singer in the world, I can recommend a few good ones, a litany of those not to bother..."
"I'm sure you'd place yourself first on that second list," Nadir retorted, annoyed.
The Corpse laughed for the first time, a cynical smile twisting his deformed lips. "It depends on the reason for not bothering me. You were not at the show, were you? I would have remembered – ah, but I do remember now, one of Peter's assistants told me about a little Persian who wanted to talk to me before the show. Told me you were causing quite a scene."
"Not precisely, no," the Daroga replied uneasily.
A shrug greeted that. "I assume Peter led you here. No wonder he was jumpy." The man stood , his arms folded, apparently at ease but looking Nadir straight in the eye. "It does not change anything. I go nowhere. Get out of here, you're not worth the effort of killing."
"Wonderful. I get an official excuse to leave Tehran and I run across yet another fool I must flatter beyond reason," Nadir muttered to himself in Farsi. "Allah's punishment for something unspeakable, certainly." Continuing in English, he said, "Very well. A good night to you."
Nadir stalked out of the tent of the Walking Corpse furious. (( This entire trip, wasted. I cannot believe he scoffed away seventy human lives so coldly! )) His fury kept up all the way to the squalid little room he had booked.
(( I have no choice. I must return in the morning and report my failure. ))
The Daroga of Mazanderan did not sleep that night.
~*~*~*~
To Be Continued...
~*~*~*~
Is this any good or should I just aim for the trash bin right now? Feed me, please! ::opens wide::
- AC