Tauras let out a slow breath. Gilbert's cup still rested in his palm. He set it on the work table. His fingers, he noticed, were covered in black ink. He really ought to do a better job cleaning them.
He thought again of his shop sign. Of Gilbert, climbing up to clean it. Of Gilbert...
Tauras ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the loose strands back, as the door opened again. He picked his head up, wondering. But it was only Raivis and Eduard, back from the bar, flooding the shop with sudden conversation. Stealing what little remained of the moment that had just passed.
"Will you be needing anymore help tonight, Mr. Laurinaitis?" Raivis asked.
Tauras straightened his back and turned. "No. You can go wash your face and get ready for bed."
The boy nodded and mounted the stairs.
Eduard glanced over, following him up, then looked back at Tauras. "Is he gone, the Prussian?"
Tauras nodded.
A relieved look spread over his cousin's face. He pulled up a stool and sat. "Managed to find a few people in a gambling mood." Eduard took out a roll of paper money, a leather bag jingling with coin, and tossed them both on the table. "This should cover the cost of your papers for the trip. Should have them in hand in a few days." Next he pulled out a silver pocket watch, a brooch, and man's gold ring. "Plus a little extra for whatever we might need until the next run is complete and we get paid properly."
Tauras folded his arms, looking down and away.
"Oh come on. Don't act like you suddenly have morals."
"There's a difference between gambling and stealing."
"No, there isn't. A cheat is still a cheat, cousin, whether done for fun or covertly. It's all the same to me.
Tauras pursed his lips. "Fine. I'm just not sure how I feel about my apprentice learning your little tricks."
Eduard leaned on his elbows, fixing Tauras with a hard look. "Do you think I want him growing up the way I did? Raivis wanted to come. What was I supposed to do? Tell him no? You've got to let him experience a few things in life, cousin. He's old enough. 'Sides, the barkeep's a friend of mine. Put the kid to work cleaning tables. Gave him a nice little payment too. Or would that make you feel better — using Raivis' money since it was earned legally?"
Tauras sank onto a stool, looking apologetic.
Eduard eyed his cousin a moment, then took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. He settled them back on his nose and picked up the watch, flipping it open and testing the winding mechanism.
"We need to do something about your hair," he said.
Tauras blinked. "W-what? What about my hair?"
"If you're traveling to Tauragė as a German aristocrat, we need to do something about your hair. Cut it. Polish you up. You know...make you look the part. I can alter one of my suits so it'll fit."
Tauras hunched his shoulders, suddenly uncomfortable as his cousin's eyes made a quick scan, top to bottom.
"Won't my customers notice?"
"That you started paying attention to your appearance?" Eduard smirked. "Probably. That's why you do it slowly. We'll start with just a trim first. Nothing major." He was on his feet then, undoing the leather cord holding Tauras' hair back.
Tauras started, trying to swat Eduard's hand away, but his cousin's fingers were too fast. His hair tumbled down, hitting just above his collar bone.
Tauras glowered up, his brown hair like curtains framing his thin face. Eduard grinned back.
"I'm glad you find this amusing," Tauras snipped.
The sharp smile eased away as Eduard's face relaxed, his gaze focused, running through some quick assessments in his head. He swept a lock behind his cousin's shoulder to determine length for the first cut.
Tauras' neck tensed.
"Ed," he said quietly. But his cousin did not hear him, his hands moving to Tauras' right, combing the long strands forward and back, pushing them up to his chin, then his cheekbones, then —
Tauras drew away with a sharp inhale. "Eduard!" His hand knocked into the teacup, sending it shattering against the stone floor. The sound echoed in the ringing silence that followed.
Eduard blinked, seeming to come back to himself. He looked at his cousin, looked at the cup.
"Please stop now," Tauras said, his voice tight.
Eduard swallowed and nodded. "…Y-yeah. Are you...okay?"
"I'm fine."
Tauras' shoulders shifted up and down as he stiffly stood. Eduard traced the motion, knowing his cousin was lying. He bent to clean up the broken cup but Tauras cut him off.
"Leave it. I can manage."
Eduard smoothed his hands down the front of his vest. "Sure. Of course."
He went to the stairs and mounted them, pausing a moment to watch his cousin before disappearing to the second floor.
Tauras retrieved a broom and dustpan and swept up the pieces. Some of the tea leaves still stuck to the edges. The rest were now damp flecks littering the floor. He tipped the waste into a bin, then sank back onto a stool, one hand rubbing his brow.
.
o
.
Gilbert sat at the desk in his garrison office. Booted heels rested on top of its dark surface as he leaned back in his chair. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting its orange glow upon the walls. Shadows danced in the corners. Gilbert did his best to ignore them, looking instead at the wanted poster he had received from sergeant Kohler the day before. His headache had finally subsided and his thoughts now begged for attention, his body no longer exhausted from having slept a good portion of the day. His routine was off. And though he knew he would be irritable come morning, he could not force himself back to sleep.
He lit a cigarette, eyes scanning the drawing and the Cyrillic text underneath. He had studied French and English at school, not Russian. The thought made him frown slightly. He would need a translator.
Or a printer who could translate….
Tauras.
Hardly two hours ago, they had been alone together.
Alone.
The first time since...the night in the alley.
He could still feel that body pressed against him. A hand gripping in. Teeth at his lips. The moan in Tauras' throat….
Gilbert shifted in his seat, pulse hammering in his neck. His hand shook as he took a deep drag from his cigarette, trying to ignore the unanswered ache.
He had allowed himself to get close. Too close. His personal feelings were getting in the way of his better judgement — a risk that could greatly compromise his position. A risk he could not afford. Not again. Not with Kohler looking for any opportunity to unseat him. And certainly not after what happened last time. With Drechsler.
He had been warned to be wary of the Lithuanians before he arrived in Tilsit. They are a people of two nations and a single loyalty, his commanding officer said. Their duty would forever be to their homeland and its people, never to the kingdom now housing them.
Gilbert reminded himself of that now, remembering the way Tauras had looked at him — that momentary quiver, a candle guttering in the wind. And it had not been just that night. He had seen that guarded look cross Tauras' face on several occasions. The festival. The tavern. The tree...
He exhaled a cloud of smoke at the timbered ceiling above. He had tried — tried — to keep his dealings with the Lithuanians and the townspeople fair and just. But suspicion was a hard thing to shake, especially when it had been planted in the mind so early.
Gilbert flicked his cigarette into the fire, dragging his eyes back up to the face on the poster, its characteristics indistinguishable for the beard hiding most of it, save for perhaps the shape of the nose and brow. And the glasses...
A man with glasses had given him tea. For his migraine. Tauras'...cousin? Eduard. There was some resemblance in the face, though his cousin was taller and fairer. But Eduard's accent was not the same. If Gilbert had to guess, he would say it sounded more Saxon than anything.
He brought his legs down, leaning both elbows on his desk now, the floorboards creaking at the sudden shift in weight.
Tauras had not mentioned his cousin when Gilbert asked about his family that night at the tavern. Though maybe that was because Eduard's family had left sometime before the rebellion….
Still. It was…curious. Just like everything else about the Lithuanian.
Gilbert rubbed his eyes and blinked. They were starting to feel bleary, hard to focus. His head, too. But...
There was something there, pricking at the edges. Just out of reach. If only he could figure out what...
Gilbert looked one last time at the poster, as if it held some answer. As much as he hated to admit it, he could not help but feel Kohler was right: there was something familiar about that face.
.
o
.
The sign above Tauras' door was slowly acquiring a new layer of soot. The gold letters no longer caught the light of the morning sun. Their luster, faded. Tauras noticed a few days later as he returned from the water pump. He set the buckets in the kitchen, then hauled a ladder out of the storeroom to climb up and clean it.
His efforts were soon interrupted, however, by an austere: "Good morning, Mr. Laurinaitis."
Tauras looked down. The sun glinted off the polished buttons and boots of a gendarme uniform.
"Sergeant-major. Enjoying the day so far?"
"Hm. I've come about a job."
Tauras climbed down, hanging his rag on a lower rung. "How can I help?"
"Inside, if you please," the sergeant-major said, nodding at the door. The grey-tinted lenses he wore obscured his eyes. His white skin seemed even paler set against them.
Tauras swallowed, wiping his hands on his apron, then turned the knob and entered.
The sergeant-major removed his helmet and tucked his lenses into the breast pocket of his jacket, the face behind them set, unsmiling.
His eyes swept over the shop. The boy was in the back, cleaning and oiling a machine, his attention on his task. The cousin was nowhere to be seen.
Gilbert turned, took a folded paper from his pocket, and flattened it on the work table.
For a moment, Tauras forgot how to breathe.
Staring up at him was the poster of Eduard. The one his cousin had taken from Gilbert and shown him just days ago.
"Is this something you'd be able to reproduce?" Gilbert asked.
Tauras clenched his jaw and nodded. He kept his face impassive, reminding himself of what he had told Eduard: no one knew the truth except them.
"And the Russian...is that something you'd be able to translate?"
Tauras nodded again. Then, feeling Gilbert's eyes on him, he picked up the poster as if to get a better look.
"'Wanted for suspected smuggling activities'?"
"Is that what it says?" Gilbert asked. "Anything else?"
Tauras glanced over. The gendarme was now standing at his shoulder, examining the lettering as if he could read it, too. The scent of bay leaf and morning coffee lingered on him. His eyes met Tauras' for the briefest of moments. Tauras felt his breath catch. He had not even seen Gilbert move.
"...Just...the description," he said, clearing his throat and looking away.
"Yes?"
"...Tall. Blonde. German."
Gilbert's eyes narrowed a fraction at that. He backed away, coming to stand opposite Tauras at the work table.
"Did you...just need the one done, or...?"
"No. These are going up around the city. How much would a run of twenty-five cost me?"
"Ah. Well" — Tauras tucked a stray lock behind his ear — "the, uh...most of the expense — in this case — comes from the labor involved in reproducing the drawing." He brushed by Gilbert, going over to his desk to get a pencil and piece of paper. He did some quick calculations, breaking down the cost and circling the final sum at the bottom. He brought the paper back over to Gilbert and set it before him.
"Done. When can I expect them?" The sergeant-major had hardly glanced at the number before he was fitting his helmet back on his head.
"A-about a week. Possibly sooner."
"Good." Gilbert picked up the pencil and scribbled an address at the bottom of the calculation sheet. "For when they're ready." His eyes met Tauras' again. A fleeting look. Gone too quickly to divine its meaning.
The sergeant-major slipped his tinted lenses on and left.
Tauras sank onto a stool, feeling the air return to his lungs, and slid the poster over.
Raivis joined him a moment later, his brow smeared with machine grease. He looked at the poster, looked at Tauras.
"Eduard's not going to like this."
Tauras nodded. "I know. But unfortunately the sergeant-major has seen my work. He knows this is something I can do. I couldn't turn him away."
"How much did you quote him?"
Tauras showed Raivis the calculation sheet. The boy whistled through his teeth. "Twenty 'thaler!? Are you crazy!? At most, it should have been eight."
"I was trying to price him out. It was the only thing I could come up with to get him to take the job somewhere else."
"Too bad it didn't work," Ravis said. "But maybe the money we'll make off it will counter Eduard's anger a little."
.
o
.
The hotel was one of the newer ones near the train station, about a twenty-minute walk from Tauras' shop. It was far enough away that Eduard didn't need to worry about running into any of their regular customers, though he still kept a watchful eye over his stein of beer at the hotel bar.
The man sitting across from him smirked as he shuffled a deck of cards, the smoke from a pipe curling around a head of messy blonde hair.
"You've hardly touched your lunch," Jan said, tipping his chin at the plate in front of his stepson.
Eduard set his beer down, speared a potato, and shoved it in his mouth. Jan started dealing the cards.
"I'm not in the mood to play."
"Suit yourself," Jan shrugged, starting a game of solitaire instead. "Somethin' on your mind."
It wasn't a question but a statement. An observation. One Eduard knew better than to hide from his stepfather — not that he was really trying.
His left arm buzzed as he reached for his beer. Eduard straightened it, curling his fingers into a fist, waiting for the sensation to pass.
Jan lifted a brow at that.
Eduard cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at his stepfather's piercing glare. "Things have...not been going well lately at work."
"Ah," Jan said, knowing "work" to mean the book smuggling operation Eduard and his cousin had started a few years ago. He had supplied them with paper and ink when money was tight and gotten forged travel documents for Eduard so he could cross the border without garnering suspicion. And he was there now, delivering fake papers for the cousin. Eduard never said why — just that he needed them.
"You want to talk upstairs?" Jan offered.
Eduard finished his beer. And nodded.
.
o
.
Jan's room was a third-floor corner suite. He lit a fire and made them both a cup of coffee.
"What did this set you back?" Eduard asked, taking in the lavish accommodations.
Jan opened the balconette doors for some fresh air. "Not as much as you'd think. And as much as I like having you visit, I thought I'd treat myself for this trip. Prices in Tilsit are still reasonable. Not like back home. Got a developer gentleman who keeps comin' by the house, wantin' me to sell. The offer's been a tempting one, too. But the decision isn't mine to make."
They settled into armchairs on either side of the fireplace. Eduard sipped his coffee, feeling again like the lost fifteen-year-old kid he had once been, looking for a home, and finding it with Jan. He almost wished he hadn't left Leipzig. That he and Jan were still running cons together. But looking at his stepfather now, he wondered what kind of a toll that life took. There were wisps of white coloring Jan's hair, and though his eyes were as quick as they'd ever been, he spoke and moved like a man much older than his forty-something years. Like he was slowing down, wearing down.
"So what's on your mind, kid? Your fire's gone. Could tell the moment I saw you."
"...I don't know how much longer we can keep this going," Eduard said, his voice quiet. He looked at Jan, then let his gaze fall away. He showed his stepfather his arm. Told him about nearly getting caught, the wanted poster. And Gilbert.
"He and Tauras have...they've become...friendly."
Jan had struck a match, halfway to lighting a new pipe. "Friendly?"
Eduard swallowed, adjusting his glasses as if he had not heard the question. "We don't need someone like that poking around our shop."
"Why not?"
"Because he's a gendarme for one thing — "
"So? The more you act like you've got somethin' to hide, the sooner he's going to sniff it out. You remember what I taught you about how to deal with dogs, right?"
Eduard shifted in his seat. Whenever their jobs had involved a break-in, it also inevitably involved contending with the homeowner's dog. And he hated it. There was always too much that could go wrong, even with all their planning.
"Dogs bark at anything unfamiliar," Jan continued. "So you toss them a bit of food, like their master would. Show them they can trust you."
"...And you're saying I should, what, invite him to stay for dinner?" Eduard asked with a dry look.
"Not necessarily, but maybe stop trying to shove him out the door like he's got the plague. A person like that is good to have around. It gives you ears, for one thing, knowing what's happening in the city, where the guards are focusing their attention. And for another...dogs don't bite the hand that feeds — unless that hand has turned on them. You follow?"
Eduard nodded.
"Good."
Jan brought his cup up to drink but was overcome by a sudden fit of coughing. He spat into the fire when it was done. Red stained his bottom lip. He turned away, dabbing at the spot with a handkerchief. But Eduard had already seen.
"...Jan...you're not...please tell me you're not..."
His stepfather wet his lips, tucking the cloth back in his pocket.
"You didn't tell me....Why didn't you tell me!?" Eduard demanded. He was on his feet, hands clenched at his sides.
"Same reason you didn't tell me about your arm," Jan said, facing him. "There are some things that...you just can't put in a letter."
"Christ, this is just like before! And when were you going to tell me, hm? Never? Just like with her!?"
Jan said nothing. He went over to the wardrobe and took something off the top shelf. A small bundle of papers tied with twine. He tossed the documents to Eduard.
"For your cousin's trip. Let's call it even on this one," he said, forcing a grin. "No payment needed."
Eduard just continued to stare at his stepfather, silent.
"...I've got a job planned. End of the month. Could use your help on."
Eduard scrubbed a hand over his face, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. "No, Jan...the doctors...Nothing we tried worked. They just kept bleeding us of our money."
"I know, kid. I'm doing this for me. What's my alternative? Sit around for two, three years, waiting to die? I don't think so."
"You could...c-could stay here. Stay...with me."
Jan put a hand on Eduard's shoulder a moment before pulling him into a tight embrace. Eduard's fingers curled in the back of Jan's jacket. He squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Think about what I said, okay? Not just the last part, but...all of it."
Eduard sniffed and nodded.
They drew apart, Jan squeezing his shoulder one last time.
Eduard made his way back to the print shop, head down and hands shoved in his pockets, mind occupied with the things Jan had said, the things he had left unsaid.
Raivis was unpinning sheets from their drying line as Eduard entered. Tauras sat perched on a stool at the work table, working on a sketch. One Eduard recognized immediately. Even as his cousin made to cover it with another piece of paper. Eduard looked from the paper to Tauras, his cousin's gaze dropping guiltily to the floor.
"…Why do you have that?" he asked, his voice low, deadly.
"Ed…I — "
"Why do you have it!?"
"I didn't want to take the job. Believe me — "
An animal sound tore from Eduard's throat as he rubbed his brow and started to pace. "I should have burned that fucking piece of paper! I should have — are you so hellbent on ruining everything — " He stopped suddenly, his jaw working. For a moment, he was a boy again. A boy and hiding in a secret passageway, eavesdropping on a conversation he wanted no part of, but Tauras had insisted they stay. He blinked the memory away, hands on his hips as he exhaled a lungful of air. "You are only sabotaging yourself. Do you know that?"
"I tried to put him off, Ed, I tried — "
Eduard shook his head. "I can't hear anymore." He went into the kitchen and poured himself a vodka. Behind him, the door opened and closed.
"I said I don't want to hear it!" He turned, the glass halfway to his lips. But it was not Tauras who had followed him in.
Raivis stood there, wiping his hands on the front of his apron.
"What do you want?" Eduard snapped.
The boy blinked, momentarily wrong-footed. He and Mr. Laurinaitis' cousin had always gotten along well — he had never been on the other end of one of Eduard's moods before.
"He did try," Raivis began. "Mr. Laurinaitis — he priced the job really high."
Eduard snorted, skeptical. He knocked back his drink and poured another.
"Oh? And just how high are we talkin'?"
"Twenty. More than double what it should have been."
Eduard tilted his glass, arching a brow with a sideways glance.
"But the guard didn't seem to care about the cost," the boy continued. "And I don't think Mr. Laurinaitis is trying to hurt us — or himself. He just didn't have any other choice."
Eduard sighed. "Yeah, I know kid." He took a seat and removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I just...don't know what to do anymore, short of packing everything up and leaving town. But Tauras would never go for that." He put his glasses back on, swirling his drink. "I've always had a plan. But this one feels like it's falling apart faster than I can put it back together."
"What makes you so sure things are going to go wrong?"
Eduard picked his head up, his first instinct ready to point out the obvious: the poster, the increase in a certain gendarme's presence. But something the boy said made him pause. Made him remember what Jan had said hardly an hour ago.
He didn't need Gilbert to stop sniffing around necessarily. He just needed...to toss the gendarme a bit of food. To redirect Gilbert's attention. To get him to trust them. Implicitly.
.
o
.
Kaunas, Lithuania, 1869
The house stood on a tree-lined avenue just north of the river, near the city square. It was modest in size when compared with the sprawling country estate the family once owned, but no less impressive. As Ivan waited in the parlor, though, he noted the considerable dearth of servants since the last time he visited. The family's wealth had been stripped down to less than half of what they were used to, enough to live comfortably in the city and show their faces among society. But not enough to reclaim their land, their estate. And what titles they had only existed in memory now. All done in retribution for the eldest son's actions.
As Ivan looked around, admiring the paintings that had been salvaged from the manor house — knowing they would most likely be sold in the intervening years if the family's fortunes failed to change — he considered himself lucky. He still had his career, his status. His faults would soon be forgiven, once he put an end to this smuggling business. And if perhaps, by some turn of fate, he managed to apprehend the revolutionary who had evaded his capture, the tsar would bestow his mercy on the Laurinaitis family as well.
"Captain?"
Ivan turned, his heart stopping a moment.
Framed in the doorway stood a young man whose face was all too familiar.
.
.
.
A/N A chapter without a flashback? It's more likely than you think. Take it, take it, I'm done lol! Oof this one just did not want to be written. I went through so many revisions! But on the plus side, I have a lot written for chapter 12, soooo *hopefully* it won't take me as long to update? I hope you guys enjoyed it and thank you for your patience! Onto history notes and stuff...
'Thaler: aka Vereinsthaler was the currency of Prussia from 1857-1873 (also I may have spent way too long researching prices for lithograph prints during this time period. Because I am just that Extra about things. I did find a helpful website breaking down the cost of living in France from 1830-1870 and it included prices for books of lithograph prints! Win! Then I just had to convert francs to vereinsthaler :facepalm: and did the best I could, lol!)
The average pressman wages in Germany around this time was $.65-$.81 (in U.S. dollars) or approximately .75 vereinsthaler — so Tauras basically quoted Gil almost a month's worth of wages for this print job. Printers also worked around 10-12 hours a day, approx. 60 hours per week (and as a former printer myself, I can tell you those hours haven't changed much riiiip).