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The Portrait

Part 6

His towel-dried hair open and still damp from the shower he had just taken, Milliardo walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but his favorite pair of jogging pants. Their once black color had long faded to grey but they were warm, and comfortable; perfect to lounge in.

Whistling quietly, the young man rinsed his dishes and cleaned the counter where he had earlier cooked his dinner. When he was done he grabbed the last beer from his makeshift cooler and headed into the former entertainment room, which at the moment was more or less his den. He had lit the fireplace earlier, before taking his shower, and by now the room was cozy and filled with the crackling sounds of burning wood.

Maybe I should forget about the bed and roll out my sleeping bag right here, in front of the fireplace, Milliardo thought as he dropped onto the leather couch. Putting his beer bottle down on the little table, he picked up the remote control instead and turned on the TV, only to realize that with just an antenna on top of the roof he could only watch the most basic channels.

How could you live like this, grandma? He grimaced and made himself a mental note to call the cable company. When he put the remote down again his eyes caught the stack of letters that was now sitting neatly atop of the leather-bound diary. After a few minutes of hesitation the young man reached out slowly and picked them up. He studied the elegant handwriting for a brief moment, still unsure if he should open the bundle or not. Finally he looked up.

"Alexander," he asked quietly, "Would it be alright for me to read them?"

Of course there was no answer, at least not verbally. But instead the bow that was holding the velvet ribbon together ,came slowly apart and the ribbon fell away.

"I'll take that as a yes." Milliardo smiled softly. "Thank you."

Carefully he unfolded the first letter, pausing briefly to study the broken seal on its back. It was dry and cracked by now, but from what he still could see it depicted a sword as well as a rose, probably parts of the duke's code of arms.

The letter itself was written in the same flowing style as the address on the outside.

"My Dearest Octavian,

I hope this letter finds you well.

The Charger has barely left port and I am already missing you. The coming two months might very well turn out to be the longest of my life. I can only hope that thinking of you and the wonderful times we shared will make the time without you a bit more bearable.
The photograph we had taken in Newcastle is sitting on the shelf in my cabin where I can see it when I lie in bed at night, thinking of you. Your smile is one of the new things that make this dreary place a little more cheerful.
But enough of me; tell me what is new with you since I've left; I want to know everything. You have started that job at your fathers firm, you told me about, haven't you? How is that going for you? If that doesn't work out I could always ask your father to let me take you in as my cabin boy. What do you think? …"

Milliardo couldn't help but grin at that line. Apparently Alexander also had a good sense of humor. He finished reading the last paragraph, which consisted more or less of small talk, before folding the paper back up and opening another letter. This one was written a few weeks later. Milliardo assumed that the duke sent all the mail he had written while at sea, when his ship was docked at a port.

Alexander spoke of the weather being dreadful during the last leg of their journey, but at least the sun was shining and the wind had died down when The Charger reached its destination. He wrote:

"Peritas* was so eager to get his four paws onto solid ground, he jumped over board and swam to shore, even before we had completely set anchor. He caught up with me later that night at the tavern near the port. What does it say about my habits, when even my dog knows where to find me?"

I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that he took his dog along on his travels, or that he had actually named him after the canine owned by his famous namesake. Milliardo stifled a yawn as he gazed at his watch. Almost midnight already? And I have a history lecture tomorrow morning, too. I'd better turn in. I can't afford falling asleep in class again.

The young man put down the letter and finished his beer with one last, long gulp. The wood in the fireplace was still burning brightly, and so he decided to follow his earlier idea of sleeping in this room. He took the empty beer bottle into the kitchen, and on the way back grabbed his sleeping bag and pillows from the bedroom. As he re-entered the room Milliardo turned off the ceiling lamp; the dancing flames in the fireplace cast enough light for him to find his way around. The sleeping bag was rolled out quickly, and moments later he slipped between its warm layers, stifling another yawn. With a content sigh he nestled his head into the soft pillow and whispered: "Good night, Alexander."

###

By morning the fire had burned itself out and there was a noticeable chill in the air. Milliardo pulled the sleeping bag tighter around his shoulders and hit the snooze button on his wristwatch…again. Another ten minutes more wouldn't make any difference. Besides, he was saving at least half an hour in traffic by not having to drive all the way from his apartment.

Just when he was almost about to doze off again the young man suddenly heard the soft sound of piano music coming from the attic. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. I know that song; Grandma used to play it all the time. Milliardo finally opened his eyes and yawned. Hands interlaced behind his head he lay there for a few more minutes listening to the music, before he finally crawled out of his bed. Shivering he pulled on a T-shirt and headed into the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker, then while it was brewing the young man disappeared into the bathroom.

A good half an hour later, Milliardo was drowning the rest of his breakfast with the last sip from his coffee cup, while he slipped his books and laptop into his backpack. He checked his watch and decided that he would have to wash the dishes when he got back after school.

Last night he had parked his car right out in front. As Milliardo unlocked the door and threw his bag into the backseat he looked up toward the house, and for a moment he could have sworn he saw the curtains move in the little window up in the attic. He is watching me. Don't worry, Alexander. I'll come back, I promise.

###

Bored to tears, Milliardo played with his pencil and tried hard not to fall asleep as he listened to his professor's lecture on Early European history. How anyone could make the scientific revolution sound so dull was totally beyond him.

As he looked around he noticed that most of his classmates had their laptops open and appeared to be taking notes of some sort. Although, he very much questioned if those 'notes' had anything to do with the lecture.

I probably could do something a little more productive, too, he thought. As he pulled his computer from his backpack, a folded piece of paper slipped out along with it. Milliardo instantly recognized it as one of Alexander's letters. It must have dropped from the table and into my bag this morning when I was cleaning up.

Quietly he unfolded the paper, and hid it from the teacher's view inside his laptop, so that he could read it without being noticed. The letter was sent several months after the ones he had read the night before; apparently on Alexander's next journey. He spoke about the passage and how much he missed Octavian, but also about a package from his lover, that was waiting for him when The Charger reached Southampton.

"I can't even begin to describe my delight when the Lieutenant delivering my post, handed me not only a letter from you, but a parcel as well. Imagine my surprise when I opened it to find a bottle of wine and a book. I have been meaning to buy "A Study in Scarlet**" ever since it was published. How did you know that if there is one thing I fancy even more than a good glass of Bordeaux, it is a good mystery?
I'm touched, to say the least, that you remembered my birthday. Although three days late, I shall celebrate tonight, by savoring your wonderful presents. And I promise to thank you properly the next time we meet.

As always, my thoughts and prayers are with you. I'm counting the days until we will finally be together again.

Lovingly yours,

Alexander

After Milliardo finished reading the letter, his eyes searched for the date in the upper right corner. He wrote it on March 18th, three days after his birthday. That would mean his birthday is…TODAY!

"Mister Peacecraft!"

The young man almost jumped at the sound of his teacher's voice right behind his back.

"I suppose I should give you credit for staying awake through my class today. However, most of fellow classmates at least have the decency of pretending to pay attention. What is that you are reading anyway?"

Milliardo tried to close laptop but the professor was fast enough to snatch the letter before he could do so.

"Professor, you can't…," he started to protest.

"You can pick it up this afternoon in my office." Without sparing at look at the paper, the older man folded it up and slipped it into his coat pocket. "And now, Miss Myers would you please tell Mister Peacecraft here, what the rest of the class has been doing for the past 10 minutes?"

#

Bracing himself with one last deep breath, Milliardo finally knocked at the door to Professor Bonaparte's office.

"Yes?!"

The young man opened the door and popped his head into the room. The professor, seemingly absorbed in cleaning his desk, didn't even raise his head. "Professor?!"

"Mister Peacecraft," he finally looked at his student. "I take it you came to pick up this?" He pulled the still folded letter from his pocket and put it at the edge of the desk. "What was it anyway, that you found so much more interesting than my lecture."

"Umm…I'm working on some extra credit, a 'exploring our roots' kind of report."

"As admirable as that might be, Mister Peacecraft, I'd prefer you would do it on your own time, and not in my class."

"Yes,Sir. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"I know it won't," the professor nodded, "or at least in MY class it won't."

"Sir?" Milliardo asked, somewhat puzzled.

"Today was my last day of teaching. Starting tomorrow, I'll be enjoying my retirement."

"You are leaving? I don't remember you ever mentioning anything about that before."

"No, I didn't. I hate big good-byes and all the fuzz and humbug that come with it, that's why I asked the headmaster not to mention anything, either. And, Mister Peacecraft, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your mouth shut as well, for the rest of the day."

"Of course, Sir," the young man assured him. "But who will be taking over your classes?"

"As far as I know, come Monday a new history teacher will be joining the school, but I have never met him and I don't even remember his name."

"Umm…well, I'm sure you are busy. I'll be on my way then, if you don't mind." Milliardo said as he reached for his letter.

The professor had already gone back to what he was doing and seemed to have all but forgotten about his student's presence. Milliardo waited a few seconds and when he didn't receive an answer; he shrugged and let himself out.

###

Brows knitted in concentration, Milliardo studied the display case in the bakery section at the supermarket he had stopped on his way home from school. So many choices.

"May I help you?"

He looked up and gave the young woman behind the counter a little smile. "Yes, I think I'll take one of those individual cakes, the little round ones." That should be perfect, he figured. After all, it's just supposed to be a gesture. It's not like he can eat it, anyway.

"And which one would you like?"

"Hmm…I'll take the cream cheese icing and the chocolate decorations."

"Would you like me to write anything on it?" she asked as he removed the little cake from the case.

"You can do that?"

"Yes, as long as it is only a few words."

"How about 'Happy Birthday'; would that work?"

"That should be fine. It will take me about ten, fifteen minutes, though. If you still have other things to buy you can come back when you are done."

"Thanks, I'll do that." Milliardo nodded. From the bakery the young man walked down to the floral department. If he thought that picking a cake had been difficult, things only got worse when he saw the selection of flowers.

I know he loves roses, but I don't think that would be appropriate. I don't want to send the wrong message. How about an orchid, they are pretty and don't need much care. Or wait…aren't those…"

"These are Hyacinths, aren't they?" he asked the man who was putting together flower arrangements behind the counter.

"Yes they are."

"Could I have the blue one there in the back?" He pointed at pot with a particularly colorful flower.

"Absolutely. Do you want me to wrap it up for you?"

"That won't be necessary, thanks." Once he had his flower Milliardo headed back to the bakery to pick up his cake, which was already in a clear plastic box and waiting for him.

Two down, one more to go, he thought with a soft smile. Last stop, Bluestone Videos around the corner.

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T.B.C.

Author's Note:
*Peritas was the name of Alexander the Great's dog. Not quite as famous as his stallion Bucephalus, he still made his way into the history books. As the story goes he saved Alexander's life by charging an attacking elephant. Later when Peritas died, Alexander named a city after him and put him to rest in a tomb at its gates.

**A Study in Scarlet was the first Sherlock Holmes novel published.