Chapter Six

"Autor? Are you okay? Wake up, please!"

Ahiru's worried voice pierced Autor's consciousness. Still half-asleep, and a bit confused, Autor forced his eyes open partway. Ahiru was kneeling on the bed next to him, gripping the comforter.

"What's wrong?" he mumbled.

"You weren't waking up!" Ahiru exclaimed. "And I thought maybe it was because of the concussion thing after all and I was worried and tried to talk to you but you didn't answer me and . . ."

Autor let his eyes drop shut. "No. . . . I think I was just in a deep sleep," he said. "One I'm not entirely removed from."

"Oh." Ahiru sighed in relief. "I'm sorry, Autor. You go ahead and sleep some more."

"Thank you," Autor slurred. He was already three-quarters of the way there.

Ahiru carefully slipped off the bed, trying to be careful not to jostle it. Autor barely felt it as he drifted back to sleep. Ahiru stepped onto the floor, quietly pulling the quilt better over Autor before crossing to the window.

It was a pretty day, she thought as she pulled back a yellowed curtain. The sun was shining through the trees at the edge of the woods. And the sky was blue and clear. Maybe, once Autor woke up, they needed to start heading back if he thought he could make it.

Where was Fakir today? Was he safe? Was he still afraid that he had killed Autor?

She looked down sadly. If only there was some way to let Fakir know Autor was okay. But the only way they could do that was if they found Fakir. And how long would it be before that happened? They only knew the direction the cars had taken and the license number of one of them.

What if they could not get in touch with Charon? Autor had said they needed help. Who would they get if Charon was not available? Would they go to the police in spite of the warnings? What was the right thing to do?

She left the window, heading back to the bed. Her stomach gave a loud growl of displeasure as she moved. She had not eaten since lunch yesterday afternoon. And unless Autor had eaten either before or soon after he and Fakir had quarreled, he had also not had dinner.

She sighed, sinking and slumping onto the mattress. Would they really be able to walk all the way back to town? They would have to go through the forest. And Autor would surely be weak from the fall and maybe from lack of food.

"Oh, why did they have to find the horses?" she bemoaned aloud. "Why did any of this have to happen?"

A slight stirring from the other bed brought her to attention with a start. Autor had moved back the quilt and was starting to sit up, reaching for his glasses on the nightstand.

"Autor!" Ahiru exclaimed, swinging her legs over the other side of the mattress and leaping up. "You're getting up now?"

"Yes," Autor said, looking over at her. "How long have you been awake?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Hey, do you remember me waking you up a while ago?" she asked.

Autor frowned, leaning back as he thought. "Vaguely, perhaps," he said. "You were worried. . . ."

"Yeah!" Ahiru nodded. "You didn't really wake up and you went back to sleep."

"I'm awake now." Autor winced, gingerly touching the back of his head.

"Are you hurting a lot?" Ahiru went over to him, wishing she could help. From Autor's expression, the spot where he had struck the ground was very tender.

"I don't particularly feel like running a marathon," Autor said.

"It must be really bad or you wouldn't even say that," Ahiru worried. "How can you walk to town like this?"

"I don't know." Autor glanced out the window. "I don't like to send you off by yourself, either. It's a long journey."

"I could do it!" Ahiru said. "I could run back down the path and get help and come back." She wrung her hands in her lap. "But . . . I'd be gone for hours. I really don't like the thought of leaving you here alone all hurt!"

"I could manage," Autor said. "I've lived on my own for years."

"Yeah, but have you been sick like this?" Ahiru retorted.

Autor sighed. "No," he admitted. "Though I had a bad fever once."

His visage darkened. Why had he said that? If Ahiru questioned him further, she would only worry more. He had tried to take care of himself that time but had ended up collapsing. The servant had come in to take care of some errands and had found him swooned on the floor.

"That's terrible!" Ahiru cried, bringing him back to the present. "What did you do?"

"I took some hot tea and went to bed," Autor said. More correctly, he had been carried to bed after having blacked out. He had been mortified upon reviving and learning from the servant what had happened. Before that illness, he could not recall ever having fainted before.

Ahiru scrunched up her face, not pleased. "What if we walked slow and took a lot of breaks?" she suggested.

"It's possible," Autor said. "But it might take all day to get home. We can't take up so much time. The longer it takes us to reach Kinkan, the further away Fakir is going to be."

Ahiru looked down, discouraged. "Yeah, that's true," she said.

Autor pushed back the sensations of pain. "I'll tell you what—let's stick to our original plan and go."

She looked up with a start. "Really, Autor?" She frowned worriedly. "I don't know how you can."

"I'll probably feel a lot better once we start walking," Autor said, though he was not sure of that at all. If he found he could not make it after all, he would have to convince Ahiru to go on ahead while he waited.

"The criminals probably took every scrap of food with them," he continued, "but let's have a look at the kitchen in case they forgot something. Then we'll leave."

"I bet they didn't forget," Ahiru mumbled.

"I doubt they would," Autor said. "But normally you would be more optimistic." He slipped into his shoes and stood, keeping hold of the bedpost for balance.

"I guess I'm not feeling it right now," Ahiru said. She tried to smile. "But some things have gone right. You're alive and not as bad off as you could be and we have another chance to save Fakir."

"We'll just have to make sure we do it right this time." Autor took a few tentative steps forward.

Ahiru hurried to his side. "Can you make it?" she asked.

"I think so," Autor said. As he reached the door he seemed surer of himself. "Yes, I can make it."

"You'd better not just be saying that," Ahiru scolded.

"I'm not," Autor said. "I mean it."

They soon discovered that the criminals had indeed taken any food that had been stored there. Ahiru turned away after the fruitless search, sighing in discouragement.

"Well, I guess that's that," she said. "We'd better go before we get any hungrier."

Autor nodded, trying not to make it too obvious that he was half-holding onto the wall for balance. "Come on," he directed.

Ahiru trailed after him. "Did you even have any dinner last night?" she asked as they made their way to the front door.

"I didn't have the chance," Autor returned. "Any appetite I might have had evaporated after the confrontation with Fakir."

"That's what I was afraid of." Ahiru came alongside him, watching as he opened the door and stepped outside. She scurried after him and was promptly greeted by the bright sun. As Autor shut the door Ahiru shielded her eyes with her hand. "Aren't you feeling really weak, Autor? Without food and having fallen and hurt yourself and . . ."

"Nevermind that." Autor walked past her and towards the woods. "If possible, we need to try to make it back to Kinkan before the onset of the warmest part of the day."

"Can we?" Ahiru exclaimed, rushing again to catch up.

Autor was already calculating in his mind. "Considering the length of the path and the average speed of a healthy human being, it is possible," he said. "But when you subtract the speed due to injury it becomes more nebulous."

"You talk like a textbook!" Ahiru groaned. "What's 'nebulous'?"

"Unclear," Autor said.

They stepped under the trees' clasped branches and into the anonymity of the woods. The sunbeams immediately became obscured by the dense foliage, which dropped the temperature to a gentle chill.

"Did you always talk like that?" Ahiru wondered.

Autor regarded her in some amusement. "My vocabulary expanded over time," he said. "No, I did not 'always' have such an ability. I did not emerge from my mother's womb speaking in full sentences, let alone speaking at all."

Ahiru stuck out her tongue at him. "Fakir says he remembers you used big words when you met him when you were kids," she said.

"Yes," Autor said. "I drove him crazy. Not that he didn't irritate me in return."

"You must be feeling pretty good if you can talk like this," Ahiru said.

Autor averted his gaze. "I suppose," he said. In actuality he was talking to try to give a sense of normalcy, as well as to try to get his mind on something besides the aches encompassing every part of his body.

"It's kind of weird that we're wandering through the forest like this," Ahiru said. "Remember, it was here that you finally told me that you think of me as a friend."

"I remember," Autor said. "And we were looking for Fakir then, as well."

"And we both fell that time," Ahiru mumbled.

Autor absently laid a hand over his stomach. He recalled that without a doubt, particularly how he had felt as though he had been punched in the abdomen after the crash. They had probably fallen farther then, but it had been down a steep hill with a large tree branch rather than the straight trip from the balcony to the ground he had taken last night, without anything to break his spill.

He stumbled to the side, nearly tripped by a tree branch half-buried in the dirt. Out of instinct he threw out his arms to catch himself, while Ahiru exclaimed in alarm.

"Autor!" she wailed, reaching to steady him. "You're going to get hurt!"

Autor went red in frustrated mortification. "I just need to be more alert," he said.

"Well, you would be if you hadn't fallen off the balcony!" Ahiru said. She shuddered at the memory. She had felt so horrified and helpless, wanting it to be a nightmare to wake up from and not reality. But no matter how she had cried and she and Fakir had called Autor's name, the nightmare had not ended. They were still in it now, and for poor Fakir it was surely far worse.

Autor's thoughts were running in the same direction. He fell silent as he and Ahiru continued the journey through the woods, pushing himself to keep going. The sooner they could get out of here, the sooner something could happen towards rescuing Fakir. Hopefully it would not be a trial to get in touch with Charon. They needed his help, not to mention that he deserved to know what had happened to Fakir.

The trees ahead began to divide, suddenly doubling their number. Autor paused, blinking at the sight. His vision corrected itself then, merging the trees back to their original amount.

"Autor?" Ahiru had stopped with him. Now she was peering at him in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," Autor replied abruptly. He began to walk again, hoping that his double vision would not return for a while. They could not afford a delay.

"Why did you stop?" Ahiru persisted, jogging after him.

"I didn't mean to," Autor said. "It happened without me thinking about it."

"Maybe we should stop and rest," Ahiru said.

"We should keep going," Autor returned.

Ahiru bit her lip, recognizing the pointlessness of protesting. "Do you think anyone might send out a search party for us?" she said.

Autor glanced to her in surprise. "I've wondered that," he admitted. "If the horses go back to the rental agency, I suppose it's possible."

"Then we might be found by someone before we get out," Ahiru said with hope.

"It wouldn't do us much good if they didn't have some form of transportation available," Autor said. "Then we would still have to walk."

"That's true," Ahiru sighed. "Autor, how are you really doing? No trying to be strong or something for my sake!"

"I can walk for a while yet," Autor said. After a short pause he added, "But I'll let you know when I need to stop."

"Well, okay," Ahiru said slowly. Fiercer she said, "You'd better!"

"I doubt I could do much else," Autor said. "When I realize I need to stop, you'll know it before I say anything."

He was unsure of how much farther they walked before he reached that point. When the double vision returned, it brought dizziness with it. He stopped again, removing his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, however, he still felt lightheaded.

"Ahiru," he said, slipping his glasses back on, "I think I need to stop now."

Ahiru took his arm. "I know you do!" she wailed. "There's a log right here you can sit on!" She helped him forward, crying out in alarm when he tripped and stumbled. Immediately an arm went around his waist to support him.

Somehow she half-dragged him to the fallen wood and helped lower him onto it. He half-fell on it as his knees buckled. Ahiru lost her balance at the sudden pull of weight, plopping into his lap.

Both of them went red. "Um . . ." Ahiru scrambled away and sat on the edge of the log. "I'm sorry!" she burst out.

Autor looked to her, then back to his now-empty lap. His shoulders shook as he chuckled.

Ahiru stared at him in confusion. "Autor? Are you feeling even worse than I thought?" she gasped.

"I was just thinking," Autor said, pushing up his glasses, "that would be an awkward position for Fakir to find us in. He would think something was going on for sure."

Ahiru gave an uneasy laugh. "Yeah, I guess he would," she said. "I really didn't mean to do it, Autor; I lost my balance when you fell down!"

"I know." Autor sobered with a sigh. "I shouldn't make light of it, I suppose, considering what happened last night." He reached behind himself, stiffening as he tried to rub at his aching back.

Ahiru watched him worriedly. "Will you be able to go on, Autor? Maybe I should run on ahead and see if I can find help. But I hate to leave you here! What if you get really bad off and I'm not here to help you?"

Autor closed his eyes. "If I rest here I should be fine," he said. "Yes, I think you should keep going. As long as you stay on the path, you shouldn't end up lost." Idly he wondered how far they had gone. He had tried to keep count, but sometime after the onset of the double vision he had lost track.

Ahiru clutched her skirt, her knuckles going white. "You promise not to move?" she said at last.

"Not unless the log gets too uncomfortable and I feel that I can travel around the area," Autor said. "But I won't try to go after you, no. Unless of course you don't come back in a reasonable amount of time."

"I will!" Ahiru leaped to her feet before she could change her mind again. "I'll bring help." She tried to smile. "I guess I am glad you aren't still in that creepy house. But I hope it wasn't a mistake to let you walk this much. . . ."

"Ahiru, I'm alright," Autor assured her. "I just need to rest."

Ahiru swallowed hard. "Okay then," she said. "I'm going. Just stay here!" And she turned and fled, her braid streaming out behind her.

Autor watched until she was out of sight. "Stay safe," he said quietly.

Ahiru was not sure how long she ran. She tried to keep her mind from wandering and focus only on the path ahead of her, but it was impossible not to let her thoughts turn back to Autor and also Fakir. Her heart raced in her chest.

She had to get help for Autor. They had to get back to town and Autor had to rest and they had to figure out how to save Fakir. Those were the important things right now.

The sound of a surprised horse penetrated her awareness. She gasped, falling back as a brown stallion she had not even seen ground to a halt in front of her. Her heart pounded in her ears. Now she knew at least a hint of the fear Autor had of being trampled. She breathed heavily, clutching the orange brooch at her throat.

"Ahiru?"

She looked up with a start at the voice. "Charon!" she cried.

xxxx

It was nearly noon before the cars pulled in at a gas station to the side of the road. Fakir looked up as the one he was in came to a stop by the pump.

"Get a paper while I take care of this," the driver growled at the man in the passenger seat.

"What do I do?" Fakir asked coldly. He was stiff from the long drive. Right now he wanted to get out and stretch his legs, but the thug at his side had other ideas.

"Both of us wait right here," the criminal told him.

Fakir had expected it, but he clenched his teeth in frustration. "I still don't even know what you want with me, besides that I'm supposed to be fulfilling my dad's 'debt' to you," he said. "Just when are you planning to tell me what's really up?"

"When we get to where we're going," the driver retorted. "Anton will tell you everything you need to know." He exited the car, fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. As Fakir watched, he swiped a card through a slot at the pump and then reached for the gas nozzle.

Fakir did not even notice the front passenger's departure until he was returning with a copy of the regional newspaper. The grim man got back into the car, opening the paper with a flourish.

Fakir started at the sudden crackling. He leaned forward, trying to see the front page. Just supposing Ahiru and Autor had been found, maybe there would be a story about them in there somewhere. Maybe he would be able to know if they were safe . . . or if Autor was . . . gone. . . .

"Don't get your hopes up."

He shot a hard look at his sentry, who only gave a cruel grin. "There won't be anything about them in there. Not yet. And if they ever pop up in the paper, it'll be bad news."

"Ahiru wouldn't just stay there at the mansion," Fakir retorted. "She'd go for help."

"Or because she'd know there wasn't any point in getting help," the guard said. "She'd need to get an undertaker."

Fakir cursed under his breath. Louder he said, "You don't know Autor's dead. You didn't really look him over."

"Okay," the crook replied, "so let's suppose he's not dead. Do you really think he could walk away from that fall?" His lips pulled back in a wicked sneer. "He wouldn't be walking ever again. And you'd be the one who put him in that mess. Maybe he'd rather be dead."

Fakir's temper snapped. "Someone tampered with that balcony railing!" he yelled. "Autor wouldn't have fallen if that hadn't happened!" He lunged, his eyes flashing.

Instantly the gun was at his heart. "Get back, punk." The thug's eyes were as twin lumps of stone. "Even if that's true, you can't prove it. And you'll never have the chance to. We won't make the same mistake we made with your old man. You won't be getting away."

Fakir held still, meeting the man's gaze. Then, slowly, he drew back into his own seat.

Before long the driver was back as well. He started the car, pulling forward and away from the pumps. Fakir glowered at him.

"We've been driving for hours," he said, "and taking all the back roads possible. Where are we going? You can tell me that, can't you? It's not like I'm going anywhere you're not going."

"You'll find out soon enough," the man retorted.

The lonely dirt road they continued to take led into another forest. Fakir frowned, leaning forward in the seat. The trees were thick on both sides, all but blocking the sun. When he squinted, he could just make out shapes of cabins through the foliage.

"You guys really like the woods, don't you," he said.

No one answered. He glared, watching the buildings as they passed by.

Were Ahiru and Autor still at the mansion? Maybe they had started for home. Or maybe that was impossible. He gritted his teeth. Was it true that if Autor were alive, he would likely be paralyzed? That was too horrible to think about. Fakir ran his hands over his face.

He only realized they were arriving at their destination when the car stopped. He looked up with a start. They had parked in front of a two-story vacation house, painted white. Fakir glared at it. It had to be white, like the mansion where Autor had fallen. There was no balcony that he could see, but there was a widow's walk on the roof. He raised an eyebrow at the foreign design.

"Anton's inside," the driver said as he got out. "He's waiting."

"You talked to him on the phone when he was here?" Fakir said, his voice tinged with suspicion. "How would a signal get through?"

His guard prodded him in the back with the gun. "He has a satellite phone," he said. "Now come on."

"I'm going," Fakir snarled. He opened the door, stepping onto the dirt.

The driver walked ahead and up to the house's door, where he gave a swift and determined knock. It swung open, revealing a thin and balding older man with a burn scar down the left side of his face. He studied the group with a grim expression before stepping aside, allowing them entry. "Anton's impatient," he said. "What took so long?"

"The car started acting up," was the reply. "We had to stop for the night and have it fixed."

The gang members trouped inside, keeping Fakir with them in their midst. He glanced around the well-furnished living room, studying the varying décor. Most seemed to be of Italian origin, but there were some definite German pieces as well. His eyes widened at the sight of a particular floor-length clock. Autor had one that looked identical in his replica of Drosselmeyer's study.

But if the timepiece was a shock, the cruel man who opened a door in the hall and stepped into the living room was much more of one. In an instant Fakir's memory flashed back, matching the loose black hair, merciless visage, and husky build with an old photograph he had found buried in his father's desk.

"I know you!" he burst out.

The newcomer blinked, but otherwise gave no indication of surprise. Instead he fixed Fakir with a gaze so cold it chilled the boy's blood.

"That may be," he said, "but don't think you have the advantage. I know you as well, young Fakir. And before your term here is over, you're going to wish I didn't."

"It's too late," snarled Fakir. "I already do."

The broad man snapped his fingers. Instantly the butt of the gun came down on Fakir's head. Fakir gave an involuntary cry, dropping to one knee.

"Your father had a lot of lip, just like you do," he was told. "I like my people to have minds of their own, up to a certain point. When they cross that line, they go from intelligent to a hindrance. Mark my words, Fakir—I know where your loved ones are. And I can make them pay if you don't cooperate."

"You're already doing that," Fakir spat bitterly.

"The other boy, Autor. Yes, I know." Now the man gave a beckoning gesture. Fakir was hauled to his feet by beefy hands under his arms, grasping too tight for him to struggle away. The host half-turned to re-enter the room he had just exited.

"Bring Fakir in here and leave him with me," he directed. His eyes narrowed. "We have a lot to discuss."