Act One, Part Four

The carriage drew up at the hotel and Jim got out. He tossed the driver a coin, then entered the lobby and headed up in the elevator to the fourth floor. Soon he was striding down the wantonly opulent corridor with its red-flocked wallpaper and its luxurious carpet. Paintings lined the walls, and beautiful objets d'art of all descriptions - figurines, urns, bronzes - stood on plinths at intervals all along the hallway. Jim shook his head at the lush exhibition as he stopped by a bust of Shakespeare to knock on the door of Suite 412.

He waited a few seconds, then knocked again. "Mr Kutman," he called out. "Mr Kutman, it's James West. I need to speak with you." Jim waited a bit more, listening carefully. He didn't hear the sounds of someone trying to beat a hasty retreat - but then Kutman hadn't struck him as the sort who would be able to do such a thing, particularly not through a window from the fourth floor.

Heavy footsteps sounded and the door was flung open to reveal the ever-scowling visage of Merle Koch.

Jim smiled pleasantly. "Good, ah… guten Morgen," he said, drawing upon his sparse store of German. "Herr Kutman, bitte."

Koch's eyes swept over him, then narrowed as he said… something.

What precisely the man said, Jim didn't know. It sounded, though, as if it had been a question ending with "der Phönix." Assuming that Koch had inquired about the bejeweled bird, Jim spread his empty hands and said, "No. Nein, the Phoenix isn't here. But I need to speak to…"

The man snorted and cut him off with another question. If Herr West did not have the Phoenix, why had he even bothered to come here? But as ever, Koch spoke in German, and so Herr West did not comprehend.

Jim studied the man before him. The last word had sounded like "here" - unless it was "hear"? Ugh. This would be a lot easier with Artie at his side to translate! "Sprechen Sie English?" Jim tried.

Again Koch snorted, then countered with, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

Jim knew the answer to that question. "Nein."

Koch regarded the American for a moment, annoyed at the language barrier. How much easier, the German thought, it would be to speak with Herr West if only Herr Gordon were here to translate! Was there any point in advising the man to go get his friend and come back? Well… Likely he would not be understood, but it was worth a try. "Gehen Sie Ihren Freund holen und kommen Sie dann wieder zurück," he said and started to close the door.

Jim put out a hand and blocked the door. "I need to see Herr Kutman," he said. "Bitte."

"Herr Kutman ist…" and that was the only part of Koch's next statement Jim understood; the rest was an impenetrable mishmash of syllables. Kutman was what?

"Yes - Ja, Herr Kutman. I need to speak with him." Jim peered past the German, trying to spot the big man within the luxurious room beyond Koch's shoulders.

Koch turned his head for a moment to follow Jim's gaze, then frowned back at the American again. What was the man looking at? Why did he not leave? Koch had already informed Herr West that Herr Kutman was not available at the moment. Was it Koch's fault the American did not understand German? Scowling, he let West have a piece of his mind, growling out everything he had just been thinking - but all of it in Koch's native tongue, of course.

Jim sighed, trying to keep his patience as the incomprehensible sentences flowed over him. "Look, Koch," he said. His tone of voice was utterly reasonable, almost teasing, but there was an unwavering core of steel to it. "I don't sprechen any Deutsch, and apparently you don't sprechen any English, but I need to speak with Herr Kutman, and I mean to do so right now. Understand?" He fixed his eyes on Koch, smiling oh-so-pleasantly at the German. Anyone who knew Jim well would know that once he had that look on his face, it was wiser not to cross him.

Koch did not know Jim well. He scowled at the American a bit longer, then shifted his eyes to look up at the ceiling as he grumbled out, "Ach Himmel!" If only Herr West understood German! Well, he would try once more. Slowly, as if that would help, he intoned a sentence, then tilted his head to one side, closed his eyes, and laid a hand under his cheek. To accompany the next sentence, he opened his eyes and lifted his head, then held up both hands, all his fingers spread wide.

Ah! This Jim was fairly certain he understood. Judging from Koch's pantomime, apparently Kutman was still asleep, and would not be up until ten. Jim glanced at his watch and frowned. There was no way he was going to wait around for nearly two hours to speak with the man!

"Wake him up," he said decisively.

Koch shot him a puzzled look. "Was ist das?"

"Wake him up," Jim repeated. When Koch only stood there regarding him from under knitted brows, Jim added, "Either you wake him up or I will."

"Aber…"

That was enough. Looking beyond the man in the doorway, West called out, "Mr Kutman!"

Koch winced mightily. "Nein, Herr West! Seien Sie still! Scht!" He glanced over his shoulder into the room, then stepped quickly through the door and closed it behind him. Keeping his voice low, Koch earnestly implored the American not to disturb Herr Kutman. What if his employer blamed Koch for being awakened so early in the day? Koch certainly did not want to lose this job!

Jim pointed at the door. "I'm going in there," he promised.

"Nein!" said Koch. As West headed for the door anyway, Koch grabbed him to stop him.

The next thing the German knew, he was soaring through the air. He landed hard several feet down the corridor, sat up and gave his head a good shake to sling the cobwebs out of it, then bolted to his feet. West was just disappearing through the door and Koch scrambled after him. He dove into the suite a split second before West could slam the door and lock him out.

Unfortunately for Koch, his dive resulted in him landing hard once more, this time atop a gorgeous Persian carpet which skidded with him across the floor until both he and the carpet came to an abrupt halt crumpled up against the wall. Again he sat up and shook his head.

"That's all right, don't get up," said Jim. "I can find him on my own." He glanced around the elegantly appointed room, being sure not to lose track of Koch as he did so. Tall bookcases covered some of the walls, while the rest sported paintings and even a pair of crossed sabers. A grouping of sofas and chairs made for a conversation nook. There were four doors in view, including the one he'd entered by. One of the others was by itself, the final two in another wall opposite, just beyond an impressively large desk.

Other than Jim and the German, there was no one in sight. So Jim picked the isolated door and started toward it, calling out, "Mr Kutman!"

"Seien Sie still!" growled Koch. He scrambled up again and charged after West, grabbing his arm, swinging him around face to face.

And for his trouble Koch received a punch to the midsection. As the German doubled over, the wind knocked out of him, Jim caught the man and gave him a little spin that sent him sprawling onto the nearest sofa.

"You look like you could use a good rest, Herr Koch," said Jim. "You just take a breather; I'll see about Herr Kutman."

Koch glared after the man, sucking precious air back into his lungs, as West headed on across the room. Pushing himself up off the sofa, Koch made yet another lunge - but not after James West.

Jim reached the door of his choice and tried the knob. Locked. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, lifting also his voice to call out Kutman's name again, when there came a loud thock right by his ear.

A saber, still vibrating from the impact, was embedded point-first in the door next to his head.

Jim whirled. There across the room was Koch standing tall and upright, still breathing heavily, with the second saber in his hand. For the first time in West's brief acquaintance with the sullen German, the man was smiling.

Yes, laughing even. Koch chuckled deep in his throat, relishing this golden opportunity to match blades with the legendary James West. Quite forgetting about Herr Kutman, Koch bowed to his opponent, slipped fluidly into a fighting stance, and said, "En garde!"

Jim eyed Koch for a long moment, then plucked the saber from the wall and examined it to assure himself that it was not merely decorative. Satisfied that his weapon was a good one, West saluted as well and took up his own stance.

The German moved closer, then began to circle West, feeling him out. West turned with him, watching him, waiting.

With a sudden broadening of his smile, Koch attacked. The sabers met, clashing against each other three or four times before the German leapt back. Again the men circled each other, and now West lunged in and blade rang on blade once more.

They broke off again, eying each other, each looking for an advantage. Koch feinted, trying to draw West off guard. Jim ignored the feint and took a cut at Koch.

There was a ripping sound, followed by a Teutonic oath as Koch glanced down and saw the gash in his loosely bloused shirt. Scowling more deeply than ever, he lunged at Jim, forcing him back toward a sofa.

Instead of falling onto the sofa, Jim leapt up onto the seat, then to the floor behind it. Koch followed, one foot on the seat, the other on the back - and tipped the sofa over with a cry of "Ha-ha!" He started to take another cut at Herr West.

But the man wasn't there anymore. He was… where was he? Koch whirled to look for him, only to flinch back, finding that Jim's saber was now a mere inch from his nose.

"Yield," said West, neither advancing nor retreating from where he stood beyond the sofa again.

"Nein!" growled the German. Jerking back, he beat West's saber aside, then leapt over the fallen sofa to attack West yet again. As the combat continued and the blades clashed together over and over, filling the air with the sound of metal on metal, another sound arose to drown out the music of the sabers.

"What the blazes is going on here?"

End of Act One