Notes: Kudos to anyone who knows what series the guest-starring brothers are from.

Chapter Ten

Ahiru stared out the window in discouragement as Charon began to pull out from the lonely and dark house on the road. Her eyelids were drooping, a physical display of her utter exhaustion. "Well," she mumbled, "that's the last one."

Autor sighed. "They seem to remember the car, as many others have," he mused. "And that one person acknowledged seeing Fakir in it. Unfortunately, none of that is information that's very useful. We know the car had to go down this road once it was on it, unless it turned back. And that would be highly unlikely."

"At least the police seemed nice," Ahiru said, "when they came to Mr. Mueller's house to get that creepy guy. And they knew who he was, too!"

"He still refuses to talk," Autor said in annoyance. "Either he's confident because of having an ally on the police force or because he's sure that he'll be able to get out some other way. Or he's just inane. He couldn't even be swayed by the offer of reduced charges for his cooperation."

"He may change his mind after spending a couple of days in jail," Charon said, "but we can't wait for that."

Ahiru leaned forward. "So we're going to Hamburg?" she exclaimed.

"Yes." Charon's eyes were narrowed as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. "The police in Hamburg have been alerted, but a killer associated with the gang being from there is still just shaky evidence."

"They may have several bases of operation," Autor said.

"That wouldn't surprise me," Charon said.

Ahiru slumped back in her seat, staring at the ceiling. "Hamburg's all the way up at the Northern part of the country, almost to the border!" she moaned. Autor had found a map while they had been waiting for the police and showed her. She clenched a fist. "But we're going to find Fakir there!"

". . . The police did say the license could have been a plant," Autor spoke after a moment.

Ahiru frowned. "Oh yeah," she said, her determination deflating as a balloon. "And I asked what plants had to do with it and said it didn't look like a plant."

"Really, Ahiru." Autor sighed, shaking his head.

Ahiru pouted. "Moles, plants. . . . I don't get all this weird police talk!"

Charon gripped the steering wheel. "If someone else could just be found who saw them," he berated. "They might have turned in a completely opposite direction from Hamburg."

"But without that vital information, we only have Hamburg to go on." Autor pushed up his glasses. "The police will know soon enough if the license was actually issued, but even that won't tell us if the man has lived in Hamburg. He could have falsified documents. Or he might have even lived in Hamburg when the license was issued, but have moved by now."

Ahiru nodded. "The officer said the guy's worked in all the big cities," she said. "Frankfurt and Munich, too."

"Munich," Autor repeated. He leaned forward, gripping the back of the seat in front of him. "Munich is much closer than Hamburg," he said, growing excited.

Ahiru tilted her head. "But wouldn't they want to get further away from here?" she said, puzzled.

"Yes, unless they want to do the opposite and get us further away," Autor said. "If the license was a deliberate plant for us to find in case of the sniper being caught, why would they want to lead us close to them? If they used a false location, they might be able to convince us to go up there, while they would remain down here and use the nearest large city for their planned robberies."

Charon's knuckles were white. "I could believe this Anton would be that smart," he said.

Autor nodded. "And even if the license was not a plant, they might count on us having the idea that they would want to get further away," he said. "I'm not saying any of this is the case, but it's a possibility."

"So what do we do?" Ahiru exclaimed. "Go to Hamburg or Munich or somewhere else? And what about telling the police?"

For a long moment Charon was silent. "We still don't know if there are moles in the police departments," he said. "In any case, Hamburg should be getting investigated by the legitimate officers. But we don't know if anyone has thought of checking Frankfurt, Munich, and the other large cities, or if they have, whether they'd check as thoroughly as in Hamburg."

"We could easily get to Munich in two hours or so, depending on where this road connects with the federal highway," Autor said. "Why not slip away and see what we can find there?"

Ahiru blinked at him. "Without telling the police?" she said in surprise.

"Not for a short while anyway," Autor said. "Just in case there is something amiss."

Charon's frown deepened. "You're both involved in this far more than you should be," he said.

"But . . . Fakir!" Ahiru protested. "Of course we're both involved, because we want to get Fakir back!" Tears pricked her eyes. "We're just as worried as you, Charon!"

"I'm not trying to say you aren't." Charon sounded both weary and resigned. "But I'm responsible for your safety." Now his voice tightened. "Do you think I could live with myself if I lost one or both of you to Anton Schuster's gang?"

Ahiru stiffened. "No," she said quietly, lowering her head.

Autor regarded the man in surprise. Even though he knew Charon considered him part of the family, the intensity in Charon's voice was not something he had expected to hear. No adult had spoken like that in reference to him since his parents' deaths. Perhaps Charon was mainly thinking of Ahiru, since she was his legal charge and he thought of her as a daughter. A while ago Autor would have been convinced of that idea, but now he was unsure. Charon sounded as though he would feel just as terrible if something happened to Autor.

He cleared his throat. Not quite certain how to address his feelings, for now he would set them aside. "Then what are we going to do?" he queried.

Charon sighed, glaring at the dark road ahead of them. "Go to Munich," he said finally. "From there I can't begin to imagine."

Ahiru looked up with a happy start. "We'll figure it out when we get there!" she declared. "Maybe we'll find a clue!"

"Or maybe we won't find anything at all," Autor said. "Ahiru, please don't get your hopes set too high."

"I won't," Ahiru assured him. She clasped her hands around her knees, her eyes sparkling. In spite of Autor's warning and her reassurance, it would be impossible to not hope that they would find Fakir. They would. They had to! If not in Munich, then somewhere else.

Anton's gang could not have him.

Fakir was coming home with them and that was that.

xxxx

Fakir stared with blank, bleary eyes at the steaming mug in front of him on the table. It had been an endless, nearly sleepless night after they had gone to their place of lodging from the von Schroeder building. Now, with morning upon them, he and his guard were at a café somewhere near the planned site of the first robbery. After they ate, he was going to be briefed on the details. Anton wanted the job done that night.

Fakir was hungry; he had barely eaten the past night. But instead he kept gazing at the tumbler, idly watching the plumes rising from the hot liquid.

Technically he had not done anything illegal last night. The gang had just not wanted to be seen going out of the building and he had written that no one would think them out of place or unusual or even remember anything specific about them.

But tonight he would be helping them commit robbery. Someone could even get killed. If he did not write the Story, that someone would be Ahiru or Charon.

He grabbed the mug, taking a slow sip. There was not anything he could do, was there? He had gone over it countless times. The gang was keeping a close watch on every move he made. He had not even been able to go wash up before bed without his shadow insisting on staying right outside the door, which was to be left open a crack and never shut tight or locked. And they did not trust him enough to let him write without one of them reading every word as it went onto the paper. If he tried to betray them, Anton had made it clear that the order would go out for his loved ones to be killed. After seeing the photographic proof that someone was spying on Ahiru and Charon, Fakir could not take a chance.

If he could stick with this long enough to gain their trust, then he might be able to write without them constantly looking over his shoulder. Then he could find a way to break free, get them arrested, and go back to his family.

The main question was whether he would be able to do everything it might take to gain their trust. Over and over it kept going back to his fear that he would have to kill someone. And he did not know that he could do that, even if it would mean Ahiru's and Charon's lives would be forfeit if he did not. Could he live with himself if he sent an innocent bystander to his or her death?

Could he live with himself if he in essence killed Ahiru and Charon? He had already killed Autor.

He swore, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose. He did not want to think about the argument and Autor's fall from the balcony. Not again. But there was no escape from it; the memories held him far more captive than any physical vise. When his mind replayed Autor's shocked and disbelieving expression and Ahiru's screams of horror, he felt like he was going to scream too.

No. No, no, no. Autor can't be dead. Don't you understand? He can't be! Please, God, he can't be.

But it was no use. What kind of idiot was he, praying for something to be unmade that had already been made? There was no turning back from this. Autor was dead and he was just going to have to deal with it somehow. He had seen the body. And Anton had told him there were even photographs of it. The sniper had sent them along with the others.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up with a start. A boy around Ahiru's age was standing next to his table, concern in his wide hazel eyes. He was dressed smartly—likely some rich kid—and had his magenta-colored hair pulled back in a bushy ponytail. He also had freckles—like Ahiru, Fakir noted.

Fakir straightened. "Yeah, what is it?" he said. He took up the mug and sipped from it again in an effort to look more natural. His guard was sitting in the same booth. If Fakir did anything stupid he could put anyone and everyone in danger, including this kid.

"I'm sorry," the younger boy said. "I know it's none of my business, but you looked upset and I just wondered if . . ." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "If you're alright," he finished.

Fakir regarded him in surprise. "I'm fine," he said, setting the mug on the table.

The kid gave a nervous smile. "Oh good," he said. "I'm sorry for intruding."

Fakir grunted. "It's not intruding to care about someone's safety," he said.

The magenta-haired boy looked surprised now. "I guess not," he said. "Well, I'll go now and let you get back to your drink." He smiled, more cheerful now. "My brother is waiting." With a small wave he hurried back across the aisle and into another booth.

Fakir could not help raising an eyebrow when he saw the guy already seated there. His hair was light pink and long, trailing down his back. Fakir was not sure if the man's purple suit complemented or clashed with the weird hair color. He was studying a menu, but glanced up when the boy climbed into the booth. From an ensuing snatch of conversation, it sounded like the kid's name was Leonhard.

The guard leaned over without looking conspicuous. "The guy with the long hair is Siegfried von Schroeder," he said. Fakir froze in shock. The thug's expression twisted in a darkly amused sneer. "Yeah, that's right, the guy whose building we waltzed through last night. The kid's his younger brother."

"The kid already said his brother was waiting," Fakir said, his voice nearly forming icicles. "And I'm sure you heard that. I don't need you to state the obvious."

He snuck another glance at the duo. Completely aside from the weirdness of a business executive looking like that, it was a strange coincidence that he had run into the von Schroeders here. So much so that he had to wonder if it was really a coincidence. The sentry did not seem surprised at all to see them here.

But what reason would the gang have for wanting Fakir to see them?

"Is this their favorite place to get breakfast?" Fakir asked, keeping his voice low.

"It could be," the guard said with a shrug. "I don't know. They probably usually eat at their castle."

Fakir's eyes shot open wide. Their castle?

He shook his head. Now he was getting distracted by stupid things that did not matter. And he was probably blowing this all out of proportion, overly paranoid because of what had been happening during this nightmare. There was no reason why this meeting would deliberately take place.

The guard straightened in his seat. "Aren't you almost done?" he said in annoyance. "You've been nursing that mug for half an hour."

"Yeah, yeah." Fakir took another drink. By now it was cool enough that he did not have to worry about burning himself. He leaned back, regarding the man with suspicion. "I still don't know what you guys are planning to do tonight."

"What we're planning to do," the thug corrected. "You're an integral part of this, punk."

Fakir's eyes narrowed further. "Somehow I can't picture you guys going after supermarkets or even banks," he said, only partially sarcastic.

"You're right," was the sneered reply. "That's how some of us started, but now that we've moved up in the world we focus on specific people who . . . owe us."

"And if they don't pay up, you kill them," Fakir said matter-of-factly.

"If they don't pay up with interest," the sentry said. "A lot of them forget the interest. Or they don't know how to calculate and they don't give us enough." He relaxed against the corner of the booth. "Sometimes we just go help ourselves to their stuff without trying to force them to cooperate."

"Which way is it tonight?" Fakir asked. He found himself hoping it was the latter. Maybe then there would be less likelihood of someone being killed.

A shrug. "We'll have to see."

Fakir turned to face him more fully. "Why can't I just write that you get your stuff and no one gets hurt?" he said.

"First, because we want the chance to try to make it work for ourselves. Anton doesn't want us to rely on your Story without even working with this on our own. Then we'd get weak.

"And second, you should know better than any of us that the Stories don't always do what you want them to." The guard looked entertained by Fakir's remark. "Sometimes they backfire."

"One of mine could do that," Fakir said.

"Your loved ones wouldn't get punished for an actual backfire," the guard said. "But if you write something deliberately to betray us and just say it backfired . . ."

"I know. You don't have to say it again," Fakir snapped.

The man stood, casually stretching. "Either finish that thing or leave it and come on," he said, suddenly annoyed. "I don't have all day. I never wanted to get stuck looking after you in the first place."

Fakir's lip curled. "And I never wanted to get stuck with you, so we're even." He downed the rest of the mug's contents and got up, walking out of the booth.

The guard stalked after him, staying close behind as they walked up the aisle. Fakir could not help but catch a snatch of conversation from the von Schroeder brothers' table.

"Siegfried, I think something's wrong with that guy. He seemed upset."

"It's none of our concern," Siegfried answered. "Perhaps he's having problems with his father."

"I don't think that man is his father," Leonhard said. "He didn't look . . ."

Fakir reached the door and pulled it open. The noise from the city block outside drowned the rest of Leonhard's sentence, but Fakir could guess at what it was. He stepped onto the sidewalk, not bothering to hold the door for his shadow. The guy caught hold of it as it started to swing shut, giving Fakir a dirty look while coming through the doorway.

"No one said I have to show you any common courtesy," Fakir said, his voice dark. "I don't feel very courteous right now."

"Have it your way," the criminal replied, letting the door close after him. "But just so you know, the von Schroeders were probably eating here today because Siegfried plans to check on his warehouses down the street."

"And why would I care about . . ." Fakir trailed off as the truth hit him. Apparently it showed on his face, as the sentry sneered.

"I see you finally got it," he said. "Yeah, it's him we're taking from tonight."

"So he's mixed up with you?" Fakir frowned. "I guess executives like him will do anything to stay ahead."

"Oh, he doesn't know he's mixed up with us," the guard said. "He's been in contact with one of Anton's more . . . legal fronts. But things didn't go the way they should have and Anton is tired of waiting for all the red tape to clear up. So we're going to make sure we profit from this deal, one way or another."

"Your boss is nuts," Fakir retorted. "A bigshot like this von Schroeder probably has all kinds of security."

"He does. But that shouldn't be any problem for you and your Stories," the man said.

Fakir swore under his breath.

The guy seemed anxious to get away from there and down to the warehouses before the brothers could finish their meal. He looked coldly at Fakir, silently telling him to go first. After giving him an equally frosty look, Fakir went.

He could feel the creep's eyes boring into his back as they journeyed up the sidewalk.

xxxx

It had taken a bit longer to reach Munich than they had thought. The old dirt road had gone on for quite a ways before it had connected with a paved road that in turn led to the federal highway. And from there they had gotten lost attempting to find the correct directions into the metropolis. By the time they were at last approaching, the sun was up.

Neither of the teens had been able to sleep. Now, Ahiru could not help but look out the window in awe as they drove into Munich's city limits. On the other side of the car, Autor was doing likewise.

"It's incredible," Autor breathed. "Munich is the third largest city in Germany. It's highly expensive to live here, however."

Ahiru pressed herself against the glass, staring at the tall buildings, modern traffic, and crowds of people. "It's so big," she exclaimed. "Maybe when we find Fakir we can all look around at stuff!"

"We don't know we're going to find him here," Charon interjected.

"I know, but we've just got to!" Ahiru cried. "He has to be here."

"It's ironic if they are here," Autor said, pushing up his glasses.

Ahiru turned to face him, blinking in surprise. "Why's that?" she wanted to know.

"Munich has a very low crime rate," Autor said. "If that gang is here, that statistic might become a thing of the past."

"Then we'll stop them before they commit any crimes!" Ahiru declared, clenching a fist in determination.

"That's certainly our intention, but it might not work that way," Autor said.

Charon nodded. "I still don't want either of you getting into a situation that we know is going to be dangerous," he said.

"I don't know how we're going to avoid it," Autor said.

Inwardly he was still worried. What if something terrible went wrong and they not only got into danger, but also were hurt? What if Fakir would get hurt? Or even Charon?

What if Autor would feel that he was to blame?

He had to stop such thoughts. Where was his confidence in himself? Had it completely fled because of his and Ahiru's disastrous attempt to save Fakir? He did not always subscribe to Ahiru's power of positive thinking, but this was simply realistic—he would not be able to do anything, at least not well by any stretch of the imagination, if he did not have some level of confidence that they would succeed.

However, it was also realistic to think about the possibility that someone could get hurt. That had been his problem before, really; he had not stopped to consider that enough and had blindly felt that he and Ahiru would be able to save Fakir all by themselves. If he had been his usual self he would have been more cautious and aware of all the angles.

Perhaps the root problem was that he actually had subscribed to Ahiru's power of positive thinking and had taken it too far.

Or maybe he had taken his caring of both her and Fakir too far and had let it cloud his reasoning abilities. Would they even be in this mess if not for his handling of the situation?

Fakir would likely still be missing, and the gang probably would have taken the same path. But at least he would not be carrying the burden of believing that Autor had been killed. Fakir's eyes were still haunting him.

Autor clenched a fist. He had made a terrible mistake, and somehow, someway, he had to rectify it. He had to do his part to bring Fakir home.

"We're all exhausted and hungry," Charon said. "We should find a place to stay and get something to eat. Not necessarily in that order."

"We should," Autor said. "After we've rested and ate, we should be more alert to cope with what we plan to do about our reason for being here."

"Yeah, I guess," Ahiru said. She sounded far away as she gazed at their new and fascinating surroundings. More than anything, she wished that this was a pleasure trip and that Fakir was here to enjoy it with them. She prayed that they would all be able to look around and have fun when this was over. Fakir needed something fun after what he had been going through. They all did.

"I wish we could look for Fakir right now," she said, finally turning back to look at Autor and Charon. "It feels like he's been gone for so long. And now that we're here, I don't know if I can eat or sleep or anything until we've at least tried to find him."

"We should never stop looking," Autor said. "While we're driving to find a restaurant or a hotel or whatever it is we're going to first, we should be watching in case Fakir passes us."

Charon nodded his agreement. "If the gang is here, they could be anywhere," he said.

"We should talk to people too," Ahiru said. "Maybe someone will have seen him!"

"It's doubtful anyone would remember," Autor frowned. "In such a large place, the people must have more on their minds than those back home do. However, you're right, Ahiru—we should ask anyway."

"People are nice here too, aren't they?" Ahiru said, frowning as well.

"Of course they are," Charon said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

She nodded as though confirming something to herself. "Then someone will have seen him and remember," she declared. "He can't look happy right now. Maybe someone will wonder if he's okay."

Charon allowed a slight smile at Ahiru's innocent assessment of the situation. He had to hope she was right.

Autor was more inclined to doubt it, although he would not fully dismiss it, either. But in his experiences, people were scarcely concerned with anything other than their own lives. If Fakir were around looking grim, Autor would not be surprised if no one bothered to notice.

"What's that?" Ahiru exclaimed, breaking into his thoughts.

Autor looked up with a jerk. Ahiru was pointing out the window to a large building with many stories and windows. An H in an oval was at the top corner.

"It's a hotel," Autor said. "The Hilton. They're an international hotel chain."

"That's a hotel?" Ahiru gasped, whirling to look back at him.

Charon was amused. "It's different from the local inn, isn't it," he said.

"Is it!" Ahiru said. "It's huge! It's bigger than the biggest house in Kinkan!" She gestured wildly. "It's like Mytho's castle!"

"And some of the rooms are probably almost as large as his," Charon said. "Unfortunately, the Hilton is out of our price range."

"It isn't out of mine," Autor said.

Charon glanced back to him. "I couldn't have you pay for all the costs," he said. "I can imagine what they would charge for just one room. Two or three would be outrageous."

"There wouldn't be any harm in finding out, anyway," Autor said. "It's near the city center, so from here it should be easy to spread out and search downtown."

"I'm sure there's plenty of more reasonably-priced hotels near the city center," Charon said. But he maneuvered the car towards the Hilton anyway. Autor was right, he supposed; checking the charge would not hurt.

Even so, he found himself cringing and feeling slightly sick when they were told of the various prices. Autor himself did not look that pleased at the cost of just one night's stay—particularly when none of them knew how long they would be in the city. By mutual consent, the trio determined to look for something that would be more agreeable to all of them.

It took several recommendations and more calls than they had really wanted to make, but at last they were located in a modest but still pleasant hotel close to the downtown area. To keep the cost as low as possible, Charon and Autor were sharing a room while Ahiru was in the connecting room next to it. Autor found it awkward to board with someone else, but under the circumstances he was willing to make the compromise.

At the moment Ahiru was standing at the window in her room, gazing out at the panoramic view of the city. Her long hair, unbraided and damp after a quick shower, cascaded down her back and over her left shoulder as she absently brushed through it.

"Well," she spoke softly, "we're here, Fakir. Are you here too? I like to think that we're a little closer to finding you now. But are we?"

The only sound in response was the quiet whirr of the central air system as it blew the lightweight curtains about.

"I wish you were here," Ahiru continued. "I've never seen anything like this hotel or this city. And . . . I'd really like to share it all with you."

After a moment she gave a sad and weary sigh. Finished with her grooming, she crossed to the bed and hopped onto it, setting the brush on the nightstand. She would re-braid her hair later. Right now she felt ready for the rest Charon had talked about. She pulled the soft pillow close to her as she snuggled into it. Within five minutes she was sound asleep.