Notes: Since this is more of a transitional chapter, I'm posting it ahead of schedule. That will then cause 13, which is a very big chapter, to also be posted sooner than it would have been originally. Thanks to Moon Shadow Magic for help with some things in this chapter!

Chapter Twelve

Charon was worried.

Nothing had been amiss in the industrial park when he had arrived. All of the warehouses, including Siegfried von Schroeder's, were untouched—not that he thought the gang would be so bold as to attack in the middle of the day. No one suspicious had been seen lurking around, either. The workers had been blasé and unconcerned.

But it was still a possibility that the gang might be planning an attack. Other than the warehouses' contents, there was not much of value in this part of town. It was doubtful that the police would or could do anything on such flimsy evidence, but Charon wondered if they needed to be called.

Still, part of him hesitated. What would happen if they came during the heist and found Fakir composing a Story that would help the gang get away? Would they arrest Fakir too, in spite of the horrifying circumstances surrounding his actions?

On the other hand, maybe it depended on how much the outside world knew and believed in the tales of the Story-Spinners. Charon had not traveled far outside of Kinkan since Drosselmeyer's tyranny had ended. It was possible that Story-Spinners were a thing of fairytales and legends, something to be scoffed at and not believed. In that case, Fakir would surely not be arrested just for holding a pad and paper and using them for their intended purpose.

Would he be arrested simply for being with the gang? Leonhard had said that he had not heard anything about Fakir being kidnapped. And if the notice had not gone out at all, as it was supposed to have done, the police could easy enough think that Fakir was just another gang member and arrest him too.

Maybe Charon could place an anonymous call to the police and tell them about the possibility of a robbery at the industrial park in the next several days. He could also say that the gang had a boy with them whom they had kidnapped from Kinkan Town and give Fakir's description. He might be able to discern if it sounded as though the police knew about the abduction.

He clenched a fist in agonized frustration. If only he knew whether or not he could trust Kirsch! He had never had doubts before and he did not want to now, but Autor's concerns about a spy unfortunately made sense. Now he was not sure who could be trusted other than Autor and Ahiru. It would certainly help if he could know that they had a friend on the police force.

He stood where he was, indecisive for a long moment. The kids might be awake now. Maybe he should go back to the hotel and find them before doing anything else. Hopefully they would not decide to go out looking for him. He had to believe that Autor would keep Ahiru grounded if she wanted to do that.

He started to turn, intending to head back to the car. Instead a nearby payphone caught his eye. He frowned at it, undecided again. Should he place the call?

At last he walked over to it. Hefting the provided phonebook, he soon located the number of the police department and began to dial. Once he hesitated, almost not finishing the input. But then he tapped out the rest of the digits in determination. The phone rang, droning endlessly in his ears. Was this the right thing to do? Should he hang up?

There was a click before he could make up his mind. Then the desk sergeant was introducing himself.

Charon drew a deep breath. "Are you looking for Anton Schuster's gang?"

He could hear the other man stiffening. "Who is this?" From the tone of voice, the sergeant wondered if it was a prank or a false lead.

"I'm someone who knows they've come here to Munich," Charon said. "Are you aware that they have a kidnapped boy with them from Kinkan Town?"

There was a shuffling of paper. "There was a report on that, yes." Charon rejoiced. "Have you seen them in town?" Now the sergeant had seemed to accept that Charon wanted to remain unknown. He was more interested in the purpose of the call rather than names.

"Not personally." Charon prayed this would keep the policeman's attention anyway. "But they were seen, going towards an industrial park near an Italian restaurant." He gave the address. "There's a chance they're planning to rob a warehouse in the next few days."

"Do you have any more evidence than this?" It sounded like the sergeant was scratching it down on a pad of paper.

"Not aside from knowing that they want to rob somewhere in town," Charon said. "I don't know where it is for certain, but these warehouses seem like a good guess."

"A plainclothesman will investigate." The sergeant was gruff. "What about the boy? Is he hurt at all?"

Charon's heart twisted. "I don't know," he said honestly.

"Does the gang know you?"

The murder attempt leaped to the forefront of his mind. "I'd say so."

"And you won't give your name?"

"I'd rather not," Charon said at last. "I just want to see that justice is done and the boy is returned safe."

"We'll do what we can. I trust you'll call if you learn anything more definite?"

"If I can," Charon said.

He hung up, breathing a sigh of relief. The police knew about the kidnapping. Maybe that meant Kirsch was trustworthy, as Charon had believed. He certainly hoped so.

Again he moved towards the car, this time feeling more confident that he had done as he should have.

xxxx

Many kilometers away in Kinkan Town, Detective Thomas Kirsch was also worried.

He was certainly not unaware that Charon, as well as his legal charge Ahiru and her friend Autor, had all disappeared. No one in town seemed to know where they had gone, including Charon's former charge Raetsel and her husband Hans. They only knew that Charon had quietly left the horse in their care for a while, but he had done that at other times when he knew he would be very busy.

Very busy doing what?

Kirsch knew what he was afraid they were off doing this time, and though he prayed he was wrong, he was sure he was not. They had likely all determined to set out in search of Fakir, not telling anyone because of fear of being prevented from going.

Charon was a responsible man. He had looked after some of the town's orphans for years. He would not deliberately put either Ahiru or Autor in danger, Kirsch was certain of that. But Charon was desperate to find Fakir and bring him home. To that end, he might end up being reckless with his own life.

Kirsch had to find him as well as Fakir. But he did not know where to begin looking.

The municipal police did not even have power in a large-scale case such as this. The state police were the ones who should be handling this major of a case, but for some reason it was not happening.

Kirsch had realized that something was wrong after hearing about the sniper brought in after attempting to shoot an old farmer who lived on the road the gang had traveled. There were holes in the story, leading Kirsch to believe that either the farmer was not telling everything or that his report had been edited.

Kirsch only knew about it because he had done some digging on his own time in an attempt to learn anything that could connect with the case. With this happening right in his own town, and more importantly, with Charon being an old friend, he had felt a certain responsibility to do everything he could to rescue Fakir.

When he had gone to visit the farmer himself, he had learned several very disturbing facts left out of the official report. Charon, Ahiru, and Autor had been there at the time, and were in fact the actual ones the sniper had been shooting at. The police who had been supposed to interview the farmer in case he had seen the gang had never arrived. And he had in fact seen them and even entertained them in his home for one night.

Someone in the state police did not want the investigation to go forward. They were trying everything in their power to erase news of anything connected with it. And that could only mean either that they were part of Schuster's gang or that they were being paid off by the gang to keep it quiet. It could have even been the officer Kirsch had spoken to when he had called to report the case. And if it was someone else, the person Kirsch had talked to was probably being kept busy so as not to realize that the investigation was not moving forward.

Kirsch was furious. On his own he had started sending copies of the initial kidnapping report to all the major cities in Germany in the hopes that it would finally start to spread from there. But it was not enough. He wanted to get out there and join the investigation himself, especially now that he was certain it was what Charon was doing.

At last he had requested a short leave of a few days, giving as his reason that he needed to take care of some important personal matters. It had been granted, but now that he had the time he still did not know what to do with it.

He was praying to learn of a clue, anything that would let him know of a continuation for his own search. At the moment he had driven clear to the end of the rural road and was sitting at a crossroads, unsure of what to do next.

"It would be a lot closer to Munich than any other major city right now," he spoke aloud. "But would Anton Schuster's gang really go there?"

It seemed more likely that they would want to get as far away as possible. On the other hand, maybe that was what they would want any pursuers to think. If there was one thing he had learned during his long observance of the investigation, it was that Anton Schuster was smart. Somehow he always seemed to be one or even two steps ahead of the police.

Kirsch longed to be part of the unit that would eventually be sent in to bring the kingpin down. Loyalty to Kinkan was the main thing that kept him grounded in the municipal police instead of applying for the state police. But really, there was very little crime in Kinkan overall. And the major offenses still had to be reported to the state police. He would likely be able to do more good there than in his current position.

Considering that would not help his present situation, however. He gripped the steering wheel, debating his choices. At last he turned it to the right, his decision sealed.

Munich was closer. It would make more sense to search there first. If Anton Schuster had put his usual smarts to the test, he might have likely sent the gang there assuming that the police would look further away instead.

It was a possibility that had to be examined in any case.

Even moreso when Charon and those kids with him had to be found too.

xxxx

Ahiru was having a hard time concentrating. She had barely been able to focus on the menu to determine her order or on the waiter to give it. When the food had arrived, the tantalizing scent had drawn her out of her ruminations long enough to admire it and begin to eat. As Autor tried to talk to her, however, she found that she was continually drifting into her own world. Well, either that or she was drifting into paying attention solely to the food.

But suddenly Autor exclaimed, "It's Charon! He's coming in!"

Ahiru's fork clattered to her plate. "He is?" she cried, looking around the dining hall. "Where?"

"He's near the entrance," Autor told her. He stood up, both wanting a better view and hoping to attract Charon's attention.

He received both. Seeing him, Charon moved toward their table at a brisk pace. Autor sat back down, relieved and pleased.

Ahiru leapt to her feet as Charon approached. "Where have you been?" she demanded. "Did you go looking for Fakir without us?"

Charon sighed. "I needed to look into something," he said. Pulling out a chair, he sank into it.

Ahiru sat back down as well, but leaned forward. "What was it?" she persisted. "Do you know where Fakir is?"

"I know where he was," Charon corrected. "And where he might be before long."

He proceeded to relate what had transpired in the past few hours. Both teens listened in stunned shock. In spite of themselves, a bit of hope was beginning to form—as well as more worry.

"We did come to the right place!" Ahiru cheered. "Fakir's right here in the city!"

"And going to help the gang rob a place in the city," Autor frowned.

Ahiru sobered. "What are we going to do?" she said, her voice lowering.

"I don't know." Charon shook his head. "Fakir could be taken and arrested with the rest of them. Then again, if the police don't know or don't believe in Story-Spinning, there might not be any problem."

"There shouldn't be anyway!" Ahiru retorted. "Fakir isn't a crook! The gang's forcing him into this!"

"They're probably giving him dire threats," Autor said.

Charon nodded. "At least the police do know he's been kidnapped," he said. "I found that out." He told them of his phone call.

"That should make a difference too!" Ahiru said.

"It should," Charon agreed, "but I don't know if it will."

"We have to watch that industrial place," Ahiru barreled on. "Maybe we'll see Fakir and we can get him back!"

"We're not going to do anything dangerous!" Charon inserted, his voice stern.

Ahiru gripped her fork. "But . . . you're going to go, aren't you, Charon?" she said.

For a moment Charon was silent. "Yes," he admitted at last. From his tone, he was not going to relent—either about going or about Ahiru and Autor staying behind.

"The gang wants you dead as well," Autor spoke. "Or at least, that's how it appears. What if something happens to you? What will we do then?"

Charon looked away. Autor was right. He could argue that he would be careful, but that was the same argument Autor and Ahiru could make. And maybe he would be able to handle himself better in hand-to-hand combat, but if the gang decided to shoot him down his chances would be the same as the kids'.

"I was under the impression that we had all decided we would be safer if we stayed together," Autor noted.

"That was before finding out how things were going to go," Charon said gruffly.

"If the gang has lost track of us, we should be safe enough," Autor said.

"And if I take you both to that industrial park, they might find us again," Charon snapped.

"You called the police," Autor pointed out. "If they decide to take stock in your warning, they will be there. But . . . that isn't good enough, is it."

Charon did not need to reply. They all knew it was not, especially when Fakir might end up arrested along with the gang. Each of them wanted to be there too.

Autor spoke again. "Any of us are in danger if we go, including you. I say we should either all stay behind or all go."

Ahiru looked back and forth between him and Charon, her eyes wide and hopeful. They had to be allowed to go. They could find Fakir and get him back. She did not want to be left behind; she wanted to be there, to witness what was happening . . . to help. If she could.

"Charon?" she said softly. "You feel like it's worth risking your safety to go. Well . . . Autor and I feel the same about ours. But we'd do everything we could to stay okay, just as I'm sure you would about yourself."

"And any of us could fail," Autor admitted. "We're all aware of that. But to get Fakir back, we have to take some risks."

Charon was conflicted. He had given in so much on this journey because of what he longed to do and felt he must do in order to try to save Fakir. He had gone against his better judgment so many times. But could he really continue putting them both in danger? What if something happened to them?

. . . What if something happened to him, as Autor had already asked?

"If we go, you have to stay in the car," he said finally.

Ahiru stared at him, her eyes wide. Suddenly she was unsure whether to rejoice or to protest.

"But what if Fakir's there?" she blurted. "Can't we go out to him or call to him or something?"

Charon was silent another long moment. "That depends on what's happening if we see him," he said.

He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to charge the gang, knock them all to the ground and send them running in fear and panic. He wanted to run to his son, holding him close and refusing to let any of those wretches near him again. He wanted to take Fakir back to Kinkan, where there were no robberies, no threats, and no gang.

But what he wanted to do and what he would be able to do were likely two different things. He could not do something foolish that would endanger all of their lives.

Albeit that was really what he was doing by consenting that Ahiru and Autor could come along. Wasn't it?

Maybe he was counting too much on his ability to keep them safe, as well as on Ahiru's powers of becoming Princess Tutu. She was not able to do that whenever she wanted, and even being Tutu was no guarantee of well-being.

He had long ago given his blessing for Fakir to take on the duties of being Mytho's knight. It had been then, on that dark night, when he had come to acknowledge that Fakir was growing up and that he had to let the boy follow his own path. He had accused Fakir of being afraid. Perhaps that had been true—but he could not have been more afraid than Charon himself.

Charon was afraid now as well. He was familiar with this gang. He knew what they were capable of. And because of his frantic quest to get Fakir back, he had agreed to take Ahiru and Autor into the lions' den.

It had started out as a simple idea, just visiting everyone along that road and asking questions about the gang's passage and Fakir. But they had not been able to stop with that, not after what they had learned. And deep down, what upset Charon the most was that he had known that would happen. He had known, and he had pressed forward anyway.

And could he really stop now, when they were so close?

He knew the same thing as before—he could not. Neither could Ahiru and Autor.

"If anything happens to either of you, God have mercy on my soul," he muttered. "Because I won't have any."

Ahiru looked down. "I'm sorry, Charon. You understand, don't you? We have to come. We have to be there, to try to save Fakir. Because . . . even if we can't do anything, we'll never know if we aren't there."

"And if there is a chance to save him, and we don't take it, we'll never forgive ourselves for not finding out if we could have got him back," Autor added.

Charon gave a tired, weary nod. "I understand," he said. "I know. Believe me, I know."

He leaned back. "I didn't feel like eating earlier," he remarked, glancing at Ahiru's and Autor's plates. "What do they have?"

"Lots of good stuff!" Ahiru exclaimed. "I'm sure anything you order is delicious!"

Charon managed a smile. "Alright then," he said, lifting a menu.

xxxx

If there was one thing Anton's gang loved more than cruelty, it was luxury.

Fakir sat on a fancy white couch in an equally fancy, spacious room. The couch and the room were part of one of the gang's hideouts—a large house owned by Heimbrecht. While the man was at work, the rest of the gang members milled around the abode, waiting for him as well as for the rest of their number—including Anton himself.

Every few minutes Fakir glanced at the grandfather clock across the room, watching the movement of the golden hands. A few seconds passed, then a minute, then several more. It felt like an eon.

He crossed his arms in frustrated impatience. He was not even sure what to make of such a house. He had been raised by Charon to appreciate the simpler things in life. He was so used to their small house attached to the antique shop that he doubted he could ever be at peace living somewhere so rich. To him, it would feel like wasted space that could be put to better use.

Ahiru would probably be happy living anywhere. She was fascinated by all kinds of houses. She could easily adapt to any situation in which she found herself.

And then Autor was Fakir's opposite. He had been raised by probably the wealthiest people in Kinkan outside of government officials. He had tasted the threat of poverty, however, and considered it something to be feared and avoided at all costs. His childhood had fallen away as he had worked hard to keep hold of everything his family had earned. He could never be happy living somewhere like the antique shop.

Why did Fakir have to continually refer to Autor as though he were alive? He was not. He was dead. And sometime or another Fakir was going to have to fully accept it.

Maybe he was trying to focus on anything other than what was to happen once it was dark. It was then that the gang would commit its first heinous crime with Fakir as an unwilling participant. And even though Fakir had thought he had decided there was nothing to do but play along for the time being, here he was at practically the eleventh hour, desperate to come up with a way out of this horror. He did not want to be a thief.

On the couch next to him was the paper holder, stacked with white sheets. His eyes narrowed as he looked at it. If only he could write something opposite to what the gang expected, without being discovered or held at fault.

But sitting across from him was his attentive guard, revolver in hand. It was hopeless. The moment he would try grabbing for his utensils the thug would be up and over to the couch to stop it.

Still, Fakir was battling with his feelings. He had to protect Charon and Ahiru. But they would never want him to help the gang. Wasn't there any way he would not have to?

He sank back against the couch. Right now, it did not look very likely.

Behind him, the clock continued to tick.