VERY IMPORTANT, PLEASE READ: Chapter 1 has been completely overhauled, so if you read the original, please familiarize yourself with the changes or things won't make sense. Not only that, some of chapter 1 is now part of chapter 2. The carryover scenes in this chapter don't have as much reworking as those in chapter 1, but there are noticeable differences. Also, there is a completely new scene to finish this installment. I will give a day or two for readers to become acquainted with the overhaul, following which I will post a chapter containing entirely new material.

Chapter Two

Fakir's mood did not lighten as he walked. Maybe he had gone overboard with Autor, he thought to himself, but at this point he could not bring himself to care. He doubted Autor did, either. From what Autor had said, he was perfectly happy to have Fakir out of the way.

And Ahiru had sided with Autor, of course. Fakir really was not supposed to know whatever it was that they had gone to the jewelry store about. He probably never would.

And where had Ahiru been, anyway? She had been gone long enough to cause him to lose his temper, but then had appeared just in time to keep him from possibly hitting Autor. Not that he thought she had deliberately hid herself to watch the escalating argument. Lilie would do something like that, but not Ahiru.

He frowned. Maybe even just imagining Ahiru doing that was just as outlandish as what he had accused Autor of doing. But had he ever really believed his words to Autor, or had he just spoken in anger?

His eyes narrowed further. He did not know right now. And he was still upset enough that he did not want to try to figure it out.

The sudden voice, calling to him on the night air, made him stop short in surprise. Ahiru was coming after him? Why?

He turned, frowning as the red-haired tornado ran into view and up to him. "I thought you'd want to stay with Autor," he remarked bitterly before she could speak. "Since I'm the bad guy here."

Ahiru glared at him, her hands flying to her hips. "Just listen for a minute!" she burst out. "I was going to explain, but you stomped off before I could say anything!"

Fakir grunted. "What's to explain? And how come I couldn't find you after school?" he demanded.

"We probably missed each other," Ahiru said. "I looked all over the school for you and Autor after I finished cleaning! Then finally Malen told me she'd seen Autor leave and you'd left a long time after that. So I went looking for both of you and I found you grabbing Autor!"

Fakir crossed his arms, looking away. He was not in a mood to explain himself or to apologize.

Ahiru let out a big sigh. "Raetsel's birthday is coming up," she told him, her voice lowering as her fire faded. "I wanted to get her something really nice, but I didn't want to say anything to you because I wanted it to be a surprise for you and Raetsel both. So I went and asked Autor if he'd help me. That's why we were in the jewelry store. He was trying to help me pick out something for Raetsel! That's all it ever was!"

Fakir opened his mouth to retort but then fully processed what she had said. "What?" he croaked.

"He wasn't taking me there to give me something or to try to get me to date him or anything like that!" Ahiru said. "And going to the jewelry store was my idea, not his!"

Her shoulders slumped as the tears returned to her eyes. "But everything went so wrong," she said sorrowfully. "You're not the bad guy, Fakir; I am. All of this happened because of me!" She looked away, not wanting Fakir to see her cry. But she could not conceal the hiccupping, heartbroken sob that choked from her lips.

Fakir could only stand stock still, staring at her. He was not sure he had digested all that she had said yet. His mouth was dry, his mind blank.

But then it all crashed onto him at once, crushing him under its weight.

Autor had not betrayed him.

Everything had been innocent.

Ahiru was crying. She was blaming herself.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "H-hey, stop it!" He moved closer to Ahiru. "This isn't your fault. I'm the one who . . ." He clenched his teeth. "Blew everything out of proportion," he finished.

Ahiru trembled, looking up at him with woebegone eyes. "I should have just told you," she lamented. "Fakir, I'm so sorry! I didn't know someone would see us and it would get strung all around everywhere!"

Fakir swore under his breath. "It's a rotten set-up when you can't even breathe without everyone gossiping," he said. "When I saw the picture that was taken of you and Autor I tried to rationalize it. I didn't want to ask either of you about it because I knew it would look like I didn't trust you."

Ahiru bit her lip. "So you snapped at us and avoided us instead," she said.

"Yeah," Fakir said. "And then today, after going through hours of hearing those stupid rumors, my temper just somehow got away from me. I think it was knowing that you'd told Autor and not me that did it. I figured I must have done something terrible or you would have told me too. And then Autor said he'd promised not to tell. . . ." He shook his head. "And I finally just lost it and grabbed him."

His eyes widened in dismay at the memory of his harsh words. "I pretty much told him I never wanted to see him again," he gasped. "And worse."

Ahiru sniffled, shakily trying to dry her eyes. "You didn't mean it, Fakir," she said. "I told Autor you didn't mean it and you'd feel awful when you calmed down." She reached for his wrist. "Let's go back," she pleaded. "You can talk things over and make up!"

"If he'll even listen," Fakir said, looking back the way they had come. "I wouldn't listen to him. I deserve to have the tables turned on me."

"He'll listen!" Ahiru said, tugging on his wrist. "Come on, Fakir!"

But at that moment Fakir froze. Something cold had inched out of the darkness, leaning against his temple.

"So you're Ambrosius's boy," an unfamiliar voice hissed. "Glad to make your acquaintance. This meeting has been twenty years overdue, you know. It's too bad your father isn't here like he was supposed to be, but you'll do."

The very sound of the cruel man's tone was sending shivers up Ahiru's spine. She looked up in shock. A shadowy figure was pressing a gun against Fakir's head. And from the sounds of the dark laughter all around them, he had not come alone.

A cold feeling began to form in the pit of Ahiru's stomach. It was not likely now that they would get to Autor's house soon . . . or at all.

xxxx

Autor sank into the soft chair by the empty fireplace, looking at it without actually seeing it. He felt cold, but he doubted that setting the logs ablaze would bring him warmth. He hmphed, looking away.

And so once again friendship had proven to be a useless commodity. Fakir had no trust in him, or if he had, it had apparently evaporated because of this conflict. Fair-weather friend? Bah! Fakir was nothing more a hypocrite. If it had been a jury trial, Autor would already be condemned to his sentence.

This certainly was not the first time Fakir had lost his temper with Autor—though Autor was not sure he had ever before felt downright frightened of what Fakir might do. He only hoped his fear had not shown—or at least, that it had not been noticed. With Fakir in such a state, the last thing Autor would have wanted was to appear vulnerable.

He stood, restless as he wandered about the room and came back to where he had started. Well, perhaps he had been too harsh; friendship could not be useless, if Ahiru was still loyal to him.

But for how long?

He stiffened at the disheartening thought. Ahiru would not turn against him . . . would she? Could he really know? He had believed Fakir would not waver in his loyalty and now this had happened. Yet he knew very well how Fakir got when he felt double-crossed. He himself was the same, he supposed. What bothered him was that Fakir would even feel that way.

"I thought he trusted me," he said aloud to the lonely room. "I wouldn't take Ahiru from him. And I don't even love her that way."

He hesitated as he came to the couch. What if Ahiru was right and Fakir would calm down and feel horrible when she told him the truth?

He glowered at the floor. That did not make up for Fakir's lack of trust. That bothered him more than any of the harsh words Fakir had flung at him. Autor was no stranger to rough words, and he had said angry things too, in the heat of the moment. Barbaric, indeed!

He sneered. Considering that Fakir seemed to think striking first and asking questions later was a good policy, it had been an appropriate insult.

But then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. Ahiru was likely just as upset about hearing Autor's remarks, as she had been to hear Fakir's. She loved both of them and it broke her heart to hear them fight. And she had never before encountered them fighting as they had tonight.

The pounding on his door with both fists nearly startled him out of his mind. He looked up abruptly, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Autor! Autor, please come to the door! Autor, help!"

All thoughts of his own pain were forgotten. He hurried over, unlatching and unlocking the door before throwing it open. Ahiru was in such a panic that she almost beat her fists on his chest. Her eyes widened and she stepped back, shaking.

"What on earth is the matter?" Autor demanded, stunned and alarmed by her behavior. Was Fakir still angry? Could he have even . . . no, what was Autor thinking? Fakir would never hurt Ahiru! Autor gripped the door, his knuckles going white.

"Autor, these awful guys came out and they were all pointing guns at Fakir and me, and they said Fakir's dad used to work for them, and they forced Fakir to go with them or they'd shoot me!"

Autor stared at her. Even though he had come to learn out of necessity and habit how to process her frantic rambles, it still took a moment for this announcement to fully sink into his consciousness.

"Do you know where they're going?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Fakir went with them and I heard one of them say something about a mansion, but I didn't hear any more than that," she said. "Except that they had a long drive ahead of them." She looked at him in alarm. "They must be going out of town!"

"'A mansion' could refer to a lot of different places," Autor frowned.

"Don't you know of anywhere it might be?" Ahiru pleaded.

Autor thought for a moment. "There's a large mansion on the other side of the woods," he remembered. "But those roads aren't made for automobiles. If they're going there, either they're very foolish or maybe they have one of those all-terrain vehicles."

"Do you think they could be going there?" Ahiru asked.

"It's possible," Autor said. "No one's lived there for decades; they would be completely isolated."

Ahiru swallowed hard. "And Fakir would be in a place like that, with all those awful crooks," she moaned. "I don't know what to do! They said I couldn't call the police. They said they'd know and they'd hurt Fakir and . . ."

Autor stepped outside, pulling the door shut after him. "Let's go, then," he said.

Ahiru stopped, gaping at him. "Really?" she exclaimed. "But . . . Autor, you could get hurt too! I don't want that. I just don't know what to do and I was hoping you'd have some idea and . . ."

"I remember my parents saying that Fakir's father had a largely-unknown past," Autor told her over his shoulder. "He came to Kinkan from elsewhere and soon met and married the woman who was Fakir's mother. They thought someone had been shadowing him and perhaps chased him to Kinkan, but no one ever appeared and the rumors eventually faded and died."

He stopped near the silent fountain, frowning thoughtfully. "Perhaps Drosselmeyer didn't want them to come in because he had other plans, so he kept them out," he mused.

"And now that Kinkan is free, they came in!" Ahiru wailed, hurrying to his side. "They said something about the meeting being twenty years overdue and that they really wanted Fakir's dad, but they'd take Fakir since they couldn't have him! They said they wanted to see if Fakir had 'the gift' too. Autor, do you think they were talking about Story-Spinning?"

"Most likely," Autor said, looking to her. "Remember when we were taken prisoner by that man who wanted me to compose music for him?"

Ahiru nodded, cringing at the memories. "And he put us in the freezer," she said.

"Criminals everywhere would find great use for the Story-Spinning power," Autor said. "It sounds like Fakir's father may have possessed it as well and that's why they had him in their gang."

"But that means he would have had to have left Kinkan to meet up with them," Ahiru said. "And I thought people couldn't leave town."

"It all depended on Drosselmeyer's whims," Autor said. "Didn't you say you saw Prince Siegfried dancing at the lake?"

Again Ahiru nodded. "Yeah," she said slowly. Her eyes widened at the realization. "So even he left town sometimes!"

Autor took her arm. "And if this unfolding mystery involves Story-Spinning, we are the ones who should try to find out what's going on and rescue Fakir, if he can't save himself," he said. "The police wouldn't be much use even if it was safe to contact them. Nor would anyone else in town. The only person who might know something about Fakir's father's past is away on business."

"I guess that's true," Ahiru said, realizing he meant Charon. "But how are we even going to get there? There aren't a lot of cars in Kinkan and we're not old enough to drive and you don't like carriages and . . ."

Autor drew a shaking breath. "Walking would take too long," he said. "We'll have to take a carriage. I can rent one for a few hours and we can take another, safer path to the mansion."

Ahiru regarded him in awe. Ever since being trampled to death by runaway horses, Autor had had an acute fear of the animals. He tried to not have anything to do with them whenever possible. But with Fakir in danger Autor was willing to put all of that aside.

He glanced down at her. "Come on then," he said. "Let's go try to help him . . . whether or not he'll appreciate it."

"He'll appreciate it!" Ahiru assured him. "Oh. . . ." She looked to him, suddenly feeling guilty. "I was so worried I didn't even get to tell you—I told him everything. He feels just awful! We were going to come back here and he was going to try to talk to you and that's when those men surrounded us."

Autor was silent as they started to walk. "Perhaps," he said, "he should have simply trusted me—no, us—more to begin with."

Ahiru looked down sadly. The wounds torn open by this fiasco would not be resolved easily. She had to pray that they could be mended. She would never forgive herself if Autor and Fakir remained estranged.

xxxx

Fakir sat in an upstairs bedroom on a straight but padded chair, a gun held at the back of his head. His thoughts were churning about as fast as his stomach.

He did not even remember that much about his father. He had been so young when his parents had been killed. But he was sure that he had never known about his father's early life. The man had not seemed to want to talk about the years before he had married Fakir's mother. Whenever Fakir had asked, his father had grown serious before trying to put on a smile and finding a creative way to change the subject. It had been much the same with Fakir's mother when he had asked her.

Now he was being told that his father had been part of this gang. But it could not be true, not unless he had been an unwilling member, as they were trying to make Fakir. His father had not been a criminal! He could not have been!

"So you've got me in this place," he snarled. "Now what?"

"Impatient, aren't you?" sneered the man guarding him. "You'll find out soon enough. We just parked here at our hideout to get some supplies. Then we're moving on and you're coming with us."

"Tch. Do you really think you'll get far?" Fakir glowered at the guy. "You let Ahiru go free. She'll get help."

"She'll be too scared," was the scoffing retort. "We told her not to call the police or we'd find out and hurt you. She won't want to chance it."

"You won't hurt me," Fakir said. "Not if you really want me here."

"We don't have to blow your brains out to hurt you," the sentry smirked. "We could blow hers out, instead."

Fakir went stiff, the rage beginning to boil in his heart. "If you hurt her, I swear I'll . . ." He whirled to face his captor.

Instantly the gun was leveled between his eyes. "You won't do anything, punk." The man glared at him, then grinned in the darkness. "You're rash and impulsive, aren't you. That's why you went nuts with your buddy. Or should I say, former buddy?"

"You were watching?" Fakir cried. It had not even occurred to him that they might have been following him all the way back then. His stomach dropped. That meant they knew where Autor lived, if they decided they wanted to do something to him.

"I wonder if the girl will go to him," the guard mused. "That'd be a joke—two kids thinking they could take us on and come out alive."

The color left Fakir's face. Ahiru really might go to Autor. Charon was out of town and Ahiru would be feeling panicked and helpless. Autor was her best friend along with Fakir; the chances of her not going to him were slim, in spite of the horrible argument. She would not be able to stand by and do nothing to try to help Fakir.

"I'd love to watch your face if they died," the thug taunted. "I'm not sure which would be more fun—to see your friend kick the bucket, after the way you treated each other, or to see your girl get it, after you went ballistic at the thought of your friend being with her without you knowing why."

"If they die, you die," Fakir vowed.

Something in his face or in his tone must have forcefully gotten the message across that he was serious, because the man actually looked somewhat startled. But the look faded, replaced by the cold face of a hardened killer. Again the gun pressed to Fakir's head.

"If you actually managed to take me out, I'd take you out at the same time," was the merciless vow. "Your girl and your buddy would find you lying dead in your blood."

Fakir steeled himself, clenching his fists at his sides. He could not let that happen, either. Somehow he had to find a way out of this, before Ahiru and Autor could get here.

He just wished he knew how.