A/N: Disclaimer- Sadly, I still own nothing. : ) Thank you for the wonderful reviews. Please keep them coming. Star Sheep, sorry if my story's a little confusing. I will try not to make it confuse you. I will most likely explain stuff later on anyway. To anyone else who finds things confusing, please let me know what confuses you. I will try to clear it all up in later chapters. I will most likely have some sort of a flash-back into Erik's past, which in my story is similar, but not exactly the same as in Susan Kay's wonderful novel. ShadetheSanders: I'm glad you like the beginning. I hope my story will be mostly original, but it is based on that portion of Kay's book. As for the "OC," I will do my best to make her unlike the typical "other woman." I do hate Mary-Sues with a passion, and I would not be happy if I were to create one. Who knows, she may not even show up in the story, or only show up briefly.
Chapter Two
The Journey to Mazenderan Begins
The following morning, I was roused by the sound of some of the other performers packing up their tents. The fair was moving on once again, and so was I; however, this time we were headed in two separate directions, they to Moscow, and I to a large province in Persia known as Mazenderan. Contrary to what might be expected, I had known that they would be moving on when I spoke with the Daroga the night before. Should he have taken my advice to come back for the show the following night, I would have been miles away, and he most likely would have been forced to spend many more long months searching for me. That supposition was of little matter now, for true to my word, I would soon be on my way to his homeland.
With a yawn, I reached for the little gold pocket watch that never left my sight. The object was the sole position in my ownership that had once belonged to my father. I reached out for it without so much as bothering to open my eyes, groping drowsily over the small table beside my bed. At last, my hand came to rest on the object. Slowly, my eyelids drifted open and I glanced blearily at the timepiece. Nine twenty-seven. I sat up with a start. That could not possibly be right. I had overslept. That blasted Persian would be here for me in thirty-three minutes!
In a short time, I had dressed and had begun to gather my belongings. A rustling sound at my back brought my hand swiftly to the end table. In a flowing motion that came second nature to me, I fastened my mask securely in place just in time for the Daroga's entrance. I breathed a sigh of relief, and then turned a cold stare on my visitor. The man had stepped into my tent without any warning. He had nearly seen my face.
"Curse you, Daroga," I murmured, as I moved toward his approaching form, halting his endeavor to speak with a gesture of foreboding. "Tell me, Monsieur, do you always burst in like this, unheralded, without the decency to knock or speak a word of warning? It is quite rude you know."
To my great satisfaction, his eyes widened with fear and he gave a nod of apology. Then the fool Persian began to mumble his apology. "I am gravely sorry," he offered, speaking again in the language of his homeland. "I did not mean to offend you in the slightest. When you told me to arrive at ten I assumed that I would be expected. I only…"
"Do not babble on so, Daroga," I said with a dismissing wave of my hand.
"Forgive me, Sir. If there is anyway that I may be of assistance, do not hesitate to ask. I am at your service, Mister…" He paused and then gave me a questioning gesture. "I do not believe I caught your name, Sir."
"Garron," I filled in for him. "Erik Garron."
"Well Monsieur Garron, if you will allow me, I will assist you with your luggage. I trust that you slept well. We have a long trip ahead of us."
I could not help but laugh at his attempts. As if his Russian had not been bad enough, the Daroga's French pronunciation was atrocious. The man seemed shocked at first and then perhaps a bit calmed at my change of moods, and this time he seemed almost relieved to hear my laughter. It felt a bit odd for me, as laughing is something I rarely do, but, in the moments that followed, I found myself strangely relaxed in the presence of this stranger. I did not trust him. That fact I made evident. I could never learn to trust any human—I refer to them as such, for I have long since abandoned all association of myself with that vile race. At least not in so short a time. However, I attempted to appear as amiable as possible. After all, we two had a tedious journey before us and I saw no reason in making an enemy of one who could be of some use to me, be it as a companion or simply a tool to gain prestige.
"It is Garron," I corrected him. "But perhaps you had better simply address me as Erik. And yes, I slept quite well, thank you."
"And you may call me Nadir," he returned the favor, his lips turning upward ever so slightly. "Shall we be on our way then?"
"Yes, of course," I replied with a nod.
With no further words I collected my bag along with the case that held my cherished violin, and we began our journey. The bag containing the few articles of clothing that I possessed, I entrusted to the Daroga, but I carried the small satchel that held all of my most treasured belongings. Among my handful of possessions was my drawing pencils, a pen, the portfolio that held all of my previous compositions, as well as a plethora of sketches—some architectural and some merely aesthetic—done in my spare time. Little else filled the bag, aside from various props for my performances. Outside, we met with the Daroga's servant, Darius. He too offered to help me with my luggage, but I assured him that I wished to carry it myself.
The Daroga, Darius, and I traveled on horseback for the first part of the journey. I rode Moon-dancer, the trusty black stallion, which I acquired at the close of my years with the gypsies. To be perfectly honest, I stole him when I left them, but there was not reason to tell my traveling companion that fact. His mount was a grey, obviously Arabic, and of excellent breeding. Even Daruis rode a fine creature. No doubt the Daroga spent a great deal of money to obtain these horses. He seemed like an honest man, and I was certain that he would never stoop to thievery as I had.
The trip was long and unbearably dull. From time to time, I would disappear to explore along the way. This always terrified the Daroga. The poor man never knew where to find me. When at last I would return to the main road—sometimes after several hours of absence— he would look exceedingly relieved.
"Where were you?" he'd always ask in a tone much like that of a worried father. "Why did you go off and leave us like that? I had no idea where you went. That cave is not safe, Erik," he'd say, or "There are wild animals in that forest." or "That river is crawling with poisonous snakes." or "Thieves constantly lay in wait along that path, and you are unarmed. You could have been injured or killed, and I would not have been able to find you perhaps for day. I know that you like to explore, Erik, but please try to stay with me."
I would always shrug off his warnings, stay with him for a while, and soon be out of his sight again. When I returned, I would receive the same lecture from the vexed Persian. When we reached Kazan, it was a simple task to convince the Daroga to take me through the famed mausoleum. I merely told him that I would stay close beside him for the rest of the journey, a promise which I soon "forgot" about entirely.
One reason for my frequent disappearances was the fact that I suspected that his concern was for what the Shah might do to him if I were not found and not for my own well-being as he said. He was lying and he deserved to be aggravated. I also found immensely enjoyment in the look of surprise on the Daroga's face when I vanished and then seemed to suddenly reappear hours later, sometimes revealing my hiding place, and leaving it a secret on other occasions. Exploring these strange lands interested me, but even if it did not, I most likely would have done it for the sheer amusement of the shocked expressions on the older man's face.
When we reached the Caspian Sea, we boarded a rather unstable looking ship. The corridors were tightly packed, and the cabins reeked of dead fish. I voiced this opinion indignantly and then retired to my chamber. At least the Daroga had secured a private room for me. I certainly did not wish to stand on the deck with the numerous other passengers and members of the crew, so I informed Nadir that I was tired, and I remained in my cabin for the next several days. I passed the time sketching endless architectural plans.