Der Tod und Die Erbin

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Angelique
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Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by Angelique »

Disclaimer- this is an attempt at making my original character stand on her own. Any and all critique will be greatly appreciated, likely implemented, and duely acknowledged. Thanks so far to Elwing and Steyn!


Der Tod und die Erbin

The early 20th century

Leo sat on the beach, watching the sun set over Lüderitz Bay. Brigitte would be calling him in for supper soon, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep her and the children waiting on account of him, but he needed some time to think.

Poor Gitte. She never wanted to leave Germany in the first place. But she had since adjusted quite well to her role to her role as a Namibian farm wife. The first year here, they managed to make enough money to expand their property to include this strip of beach.

But now, how would he tell her? All along, she patiently humored him, going along with his insistence that raising cattle was only a backup to sustain them if prospecting did not pay off. He leaned his head against a clenched fist. He had expected to greet a moment like this with much greater enthusiasm, but that was before he had the reality right there, biting into palm of his hand. A handful of bright pebbles stuck to his grease table today, small for ordinary bits of gravel, but a few quite large for what he hoped to find.

“Sind sie…?” said Gitte, her clear blue eyes widening in astonishment as he laid the pebbles out before her, after the children were put to bed.

Leo Altheim nodded. “Diamanten.”


Generations later

“…and that was when Oma Gitte passed out.” Fridrich Altheim strolled down the dirt lane, not caring if he still looked out of place in this township. Jabulani, isiZulu for “rejoice,” would have seemed entirely inappropriate for the neighborhood if not for the lady who walked beside him. He had first glimpsed her helping at a mobile clinic while he was on his way from visiting the mining belt north of the township. Ever since, he figured it was the single loveliest place in or around all Johannesburg. He smiled, his ice-blue eyes carefully monitoring the woman’s reactions.

Adimu Mkhize laughed, her warm brown eyes sparkling. But she couldn’t quite relax. When Fridrich had been questioned about his frequent visits to Soweto, his family publicly stated their interest in giving back to the poor and revitalizing areas badly affected by the mining industry. That much was true, and it would make sense that Fridrich, while spearheading these efforts, would try to make some friends from the other side of apartheid. But the building suspicion that there was much more to his visits and the friendship that developed between them put her on edge. The fact that he tried to speak Zulu, and she felt she should learn German, rather than taking for granted their knowledge of English itself spoke uncomfortable volumes. She quickly banished these thoughts. “I probably would have reacted the same way,” she said.

“Sizobona,” said Fridrich, with a devious smile. “I heard that Columbia University accepted your application. You will go to med school.”

“Yebo, if I could get the travel permits, not to mention the money. Why did I let you talk me into applying?” said Adimu, suddenly gloomy.

“Because it’s what you have always wanted. As for the money and the permits, I would be happy to provide as much help with that as you need. I’ve already discussed this with your parents. I’d like you to accept this at least as a favor from a friend.” Fridrich suddenly pulled a small velvet box out of his coat pocket, snapped it open, and took her hand in his. He then whispered, “Or, if you want, your parents will count that toward lobola.”

Perhaps Adimu had underestimated her strength. Only her jaw hit the ground. In fact, she might have danced for joy. On the other hand, just who did that man think he was? Sure, since he began his philanthropic work in the area, he’d become a good friend, but she hadn’t made him any beadwork and gave no other indication as to her feelings for him. Yes, she had those feelings, but it was just dreadfully inappropriate. And then he had the nerve to suggest something impossible in the current climate, illegal! “I…we…WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? We can’t marry!”

“No, not here, by law,” said Fridrich. “But we could in New York, in the eyes of both God and the law.”

A few years later

Fridrich ran down the dirt driveway in full stride to greet his mother Angelika. Sure he knew she was coming out to Keetmanshoop, but the anticipation only served to sharpen the ache of her absence, almost to the point of childlike separation anxiety. He had not been welcome in Lüderitz for years, and the last time he’d seen his parents was now a distant but grievous memory. “Mama?” he cried, nearly scooping her compact form off the ground.

“Es tut mir leid,” said Angelika, her refinement not preventing her from almost roughly squeezing her son in return. “They were tarring the road just outside of town. I got here as soon as I could.”

“Nun gut, Mama,” said Fridrich, setting her down and kissing her cheek. “Du bist hier. Aber… Vater?”

“Your father is far too stubborn for his own good, but after what I had to say to him, I would not be surprised if he’s here by tomorrow.”

“Was war das?” said Fridrich, picking up Angelika’s bags.

“’Eine Krone der Alten sind Kindeskinder.’ I then pointed out that the Bible never said, ‘only white grandchildren count.’ Then I said I had put up with him keeping me away from my son for long enough, and if he had any sense, he’d pack his bags and come too. Besides, someone has to bring the next carload of things I got for the baby. It might as well be him. And where is your wife?”

Fridrich beamed, not just because he was grateful that his mother acknowledged his wife as such, and proudly to boot, but because of who stepped out onto the concrete slab that served as their porch with a broom in hand, and began vigorously sweeping. He didn’t think his wife needed to be this anxious about how she or the house looked. They did not have much in their small, metal-roofed house that could get dirty or create any clutter. She also looked lovelier now, with her figure beautifully rounded, her long, thick black braids shinier, her smile, her face, and her deep brown eyes warmer and more radiant than even on the day when she promised she would try to live up to the name of Adimu Mkhize Altheim.

But she operated under a firmly entrenched desire to make a good impression as well as in the throes of the nesting instinct. She put the broom down. “Guten Tag, Frau Altheim.”

“Adimu,” said Angelika, grasping her daughter in law’s smooth brown hands into her own, remembering with delight that her son’s bride had learned German precisely for moments like these, “there’s no need for this formality. You are a daughter to me. It’s high time I treated you like one. Sag einfach Mama zu mir, oder Oma.” She smiled, indicating Adimu’s burgeoning belly.

Fridrich sighed with relief as they headed back into the house, leaving him to continue unloading the car. His mother reacted almost the exact same way he’d hoped, deciding that she’d rather enjoy grandparenthood to the hilt than remain adherent to the same social conventions that once condemned him as an outcaste. He overheard snippets of conversation. “So you’re not wearing your wedding ring. I know, you’re the doctor here, but it’s my job to worry about you. Is everything all right?”

“Ja,” said Adimu. “It’s just the normal weight gain that’s made it feel a bit too tight. It will be back on as soon as possible after the baby is born.”

****
Translations:

German:
Sind sie…? Are they...?
Diamanten - Diamonds

Zulu:
Sizobona- roughly, we shall see
Yebo- yes

German:
Es tut mir leid: I'm sorry.
Nun gut- roughly, it's okay
Du bist hier- you are here
Was war das?- What was that?
Eine Krone der Alten sind Kindeskinder- from the book of Proverbs, "A crown to the aged are children's children."

Sag einfach Mama zu mir, oder Oma. Call me Mama. Or Grandma.

[Edited on 5/9/06 by Angelique]
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chicory
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Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by chicory »

Nice job so far, Ange! I especially liked the second part with the diamond ring and how the first part led into that.

Does the title translate to Death and the Heiress :?
For those who believe, no explanation is neccessary. For those who do not, no explanation is possible. ~Gino Dalpiaz
Angelique
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Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by Angelique »

Exactly!
Meddle not with the heartstrings of fans, for we are powerful and hold your pursestrings.

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www.heroesfallenstudiosinc.webs.com

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Angelique
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Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by Angelique »

Chapter 2

Not long after that, my mother Adimu gave birth to my brother Michael. She had to take that ring off four more times since. Once each for the birth of my sister Lucy, my other brother Vincent, and myself. But the most recent event I, Kassandra Altheim, could see in the timeline of that single pale blue princess cut carat that, in the rough set Brigitte Altheim swooning, was my mother’s struggle with her decision to remove it from her finger for the last time. My father was just murdered by a man I thought I loved, who suspected there was something different about me and wanted to exploit that for his own agenda.

My “condition.” Whether it was because my father was exposed to mining chemicals or my mother suffered from using cast-off radiological equipment doesn’t matter. Once we figured out what caused the fainting spells and drastic fluctuations in sleep and eating habits that plagued me in my teens, a stem cell transplant from a donor with abnormal healing capabilities effectively treated the side effects of my condition, but gave me a few others. Now, among the other things I can do, I can take a beating while I manipulate the flow of time, with no lasting damage. And I can mine the timeline of any person, place, or thing for information, which is one reason why I took this assignment.

The other was that this threat to international security also threatened Altheim Körperschaft. And I felt I owed it to my Opa to at least help out. After all, he did decide my grandmother was right, and welcomed Mama into the family when he realized that the only thing scandalous about my parents’ marriage was the way he’d initially reacted. The least I could do would be to help him weather a real scandal.

Diamonds are not forever, regardless of what our competitors might say. They aren’t even the most valuable of commodities, in my opinion. But the World Diamond Conference promised a motherlode of what I needed most- information. So rather than maybe going home to Keetmanshoop or to New York to celebrate my birthday with my friends, I had just flown into Antwerp from McLean, Virginia to spend quality time with our sightholders. I spent an hour showing them cubic zirconia models of Leo Altheim’s first find, and shared some tidbits of our family and company history, almost one and the same in this industry, leaving out a few details of course. I wanted to bolster their feelings that doing business with a relatively wholesome family company like ours was some unique privilege. It may not have been the exact truth, but it was not far from it.

And then came the question I had been bracing for all afternoon, from a Canadian buyer we’d been courting. “The recent surge in terrorist activity demonstrates to me that all your UN resolutions and industry procedures have failed. As an African based company, can you do any better to ensure conflict diamonds stay out of the market?”

I stiffened, then shut my eyes briefly. To the sightholders, it appeared as if I were taking a solemn pause after being visibly stung by the remark. And I was, but I also had to carefully weigh what I’d say and the consequences.

“That wasn’t very polite,” said another representative, from Escher Ltd., another one of our buyers.

I took a deep, shaky breath before I proceeded. “No, that’s all right. It is a good question. As some of you may already know, my grandfather did not hire me just because I may write a good press release. Rather, I had traveled with my mother and saw for myself the atrocities conflict diamonds had funded. The mutilations. Child soldiers riddled with shrapnel. Babies ripped with bayonets from their mothers’ wombs.

“Also, shortly before I moved to America, my own father was murdered by terrorists. Not only do I take the illicit diamond trade seriously, I take it personally. Finally, with the improvements we are making in tracing diamonds and their paper trails back to their sources, I can say with confidence that we have begun dealing with this problem effectively and aggressively, and regardless of religion, we all know what ‘mazel und brucha’ means here.”

Naturally, I was relieved to get back to my hotel, place an order at the Square, and prepare to meet my grandfather. I may have made a good, productive marketing presentation, necessary when you don’t own as many of your buyers as other companies do. However there are things I’d much rather do than speak in front of a group of people. Being flayed alive comes to mind.

I had just settled in with a newspaper. There was some article about new directions the diamond industry promised to take, including a profile on some new faces. Good. They got our press release. I knew they would, but it was nice to see it anyway. I screwed up my face like anyone would, reading a language that looks familiar, but is nonetheless foreign, when the sound of his cane on the floor announced my grandfather’s arrival. Heinrich Altheim looked almost exactly the way I figured my father would if he could live to that age. Sandy blond hair faded to dirty silver. His tall and lanky stature lost some height to hunching. A stroke he suffered shortly after my father died slowed his once proud and powerful stride to a distinguished and equally confident limp. However, his clear blue eyes seemed to shine all the brighter in contrast to his face, tanned and lined like old leather by the dry Namib climate.

“Opa?” I rose to greet him.
“Kassandra, Liebling!” He opened his arms, smiling, forgetting for the moment that even in this relatively tolerant city people would find it strange that a white man should give his darker-skinned, curlier-haired granddaughter a hug.

I reciprocated. Forgiveness doesn’t come easily to me even under the best of circumstances. The unrestricted access my condition gives to people’s histories is a bit of a handicap in this regard. But Opa had served his penance for how he’d treated my parents. God could forgive him, and so I had to as well.

“So, Daniel tells me you got a little emotional with the sightholders today,” said Opa, as we took our seats.
I nodded.
“Aber sei unbesorgt,” Opa said, “It worked, nicht wahr? Now we have something besides your birthday to celebrate.”
I nodded. “And I just ordered us Kaffee und Kuchen.”
“Das war doch nicht nötig,” said Opa.
“And you didn’t really need to book me a whole business suite,” I replied, as the waiter arrived and poured our coffee, then set a couple small plates of Moelleux cake before us. Indeed, I found the suites at the Astrid Park Plaza Hotel a bit excessive- almost as big as the house where I grew up, twice as big as my old apartment in Arlington. Forget about my old dorm room in New York. I may have been well-to-do, but was accustomed to a considerably more modest lifestyle. As long as I had my God to pray to, a good partner to fence or spar, and good music, I was content. Still, I should appreciate whatever bonus life or my grandfather chose to throw my way. “Aber, danke, Opa.”

“Und danke schön,” said Opa, sinking his fork into his cake, smiling. “I’m glad you could be here. We have some unpleasant business that needs to be brought to light.”

I leaned back and shut my eyes briefly, scanning instantly the possibilities of what could happen if anyone overheard us discussing my real reasons for being here. Most people I’d meet here would assume that I was just moving into my rightful, post-apartheid place as an Altheim heiress. While Opa didn’t know the whole truth, he still knew enough. “But we mustn’t discuss this here,” I whispered. Then I leaned in and added with a conspiratorial smile, “We have to protect our sources, nicht wahr?”

Opa leaned back and laughed, deeply and infectiously. I grinned. Anyone overhearing would have assumed that I’d just told an uproariously funny and perfectly harmless joke. “Das is wahr wohl. Anyway, we’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow. Meanwhile, there’s a concert tonight, and I have an extra ticket I’d hate to waste. How does ein Liederabend at Vrienden Conservatorium sound to you?”

My smile brightened. Opa had been a brilliant pianist until his stroke, and was proud to see that I shared what might eventually match his former aptitude and what already surpassed his passion for music. Even so, he’d have to know the nature of my abilities to understand fully. To me, at least since I discovered my unique and oft-contentious relationship to time, music was no more just invisible, ephemeral beauty. The ability of human beings to make something beautiful with only sound and time as a medium has the unique power to keep me grounded in reality, restore my faith in God when it flags, and even remind me when I’m feeling particularly misanthropic that, despite our polluted history, people really aren’t all that bad. At any rate, such a concert should be well worth the nuisance of getting dressed up.

And so we finished our cake and coffee, and after more small talk, I went back up to my room to clean up, get ready for the evening, and make a phone call. I instantly scanned the suite for bugs. Under these circumstances, not even hotel staff could be trusted.

“Hallo?” I said, quietly into my cell phone, aware that even the very building’s unique steel construction could be exploited to bug a room. “Het ist Zeitgeist. Uw nieuw contact zal aan het concert zijn. Ontmoet haar aan de ontvangst.” Even if I could get by here with Afrikaans, I figured it would be best if Zeitgeist spoke Dutch here. I then hung up the phone and quickly dug out what I planned to wear for the evening. Even if most of the media respected my desire for privacy, social events usually resulted in at least one picture in the gossip pages along with trivial drivel about what I wore where. Still, it was an opportunity to advertise our new “Strength and Beauty” line- deep yellow and black macles that might have been sold as drill stones or ground into diamond grit rather than cut and set in the earrings and necklace that complemented the black silk dress I slipped on.

****
Translations:

Mazel und brucha: Yiddish for "luck and blessing." In the diamond industry, these words are typically used to signal fidelity to one's word, sealing a deal or a promise.

German:
Aber sei unbesorgt- but don't worry
Du brauchstet nicht das tun. - You didn't need to do that.

ein Liederabend - literally, a song evening. Used to describe a concert devoted entirely to German art song

Dutch:
Het ist Zeitgeist. Uw nieuw contact zal aan het concert zijn. Ontmoet haar aan de ontvangst.

This is Zeitgeist. Your new contact will be at the concert. Meet her at the reception.

[Edited on 17/10/0606 by Angelique]
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Angelique
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Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by Angelique »

Chapter 3

“Vorüber, ach, vorüber, geh wilder Knochenmann. Ich bin noch jung. Geh’ lieber, und rühre mich nicht an.” The featured performers, Mieke de Zoet, a tall brunette glamorous in red satin, and her brother Willem on piano, both graduated from the Conservatory and had returned to give a small farewell performance before Mieke took off to New York in hopes of a career at the Met. I always preferred concerts like that. They always felt more intimate and relaxed, just the way a Schubertiad should be in the first place, but the music was also usually performed better. Yes, the evening would be entirely devoted to Franz Schubert’s songs, in honor of his birthday, which would be tomorrow. And Juffrouw de Zoet, the sort of singer my teacher would call eine Sopran mit einem Kellergeschoss, apparently thought she had the versatility to pull off “Der Tod und das Mädchen.”

She did not disappoint, though I found myself relating to the young girl stridently begging Death to leave her alone in more ways than she probably intended. She delivered the words as if trying to conceal her terror with firm reproaches, and it somehow pushed all the wrong buttons in me.

“Gieb deine Hand, du schön und zart Gebild! Bin Freund, und komme nicht zu strafen. Sei gutes Muths. Ich bin nicht wild. Sollst sauft in meinen armen schlafen.”

The soft, gentle, monotonous promises that Death came as a friend rang hollow, sounding even downright sinister as she dropped into that final low D. How she and the pianist accompanying her came to recognize death for what it was I might have to ask later. I dared not check their timelines now. It would have been too much. Death had proven to me to be not a friend, but an arbitrarily sadistic liar. I had seen the trouble my mother took to ensure that when death came for her patients, it wouldn’t hurt them- too badly. And how it took my father not gently, but with smoke and flames burning him inside and out, by the hand of a man who claimed to care for me
.
Opa touched my arm as the set concluded and the audience erupted into applause. “Kassandra, ist alles in Ordnung?”

I wiped away my tears to see that his eyes were also damp, then willed my grief into submission. If I allowed every untimely death I’ve witnessed whether in my own lifetime or in overall history plunge me into despair, I’d never know happiness, and Death would make up for its difficulty separating my body from soul with a victory far more devastating.

“Gut wie immer, Opa,” I said, leaning back and shutting my eyes to get my bearings as Mieke swept back out onstage for the final set. There was just something about Willem. Granted, Schubert was known to grant the piano almost an equally dramatic role in his songs, but was it about how Willem played, interpreted the pieces, or something else, that was particularly emotive? I had to check, and if I was being overly suspicious, well, that was my job. But all suspicion had to be set aside once his fingers took to the keyboard again, and the first arpeggios of Lob der Thränen filled the hall.

****

Of course there would be a reception after the concert, and I would have to attend. Events like these when I was in college usually had me begging my best friend to accompany me, even if he had a girlfriend. He was always quite the extrovert. Seeing him enjoy himself made these gatherings much easier for me. Opa was a bit like that. Unfortunately he was not content to let me remain unobtrusively in the background, an unnoticed wallflower content to watch others mingle through the hall. Still, that could work to my advantage, I mused as Opa busied himself introducing me to everyone there he knew and a lot of people he didn’t. I stopped time.

Immediately, everything around me faded and seemed to shrink, and the timelines of everyone and everything came into view, some of which looked a little suspicious. But I had to keep my focus. I zeroed in on my own timeline. Who exactly was it I had asked to meet me here? Willem? Somebody else who also happened to be a musician with a relative who wanted to emigrate? I followed the connection formed by that conversation, then restarted time.

“Jou vertolking van Die Junge Nonne was baie ongewoon,” said Opa, in Afrikaans, shaking Willem’s hand enthusiastically, then moving to shake Mieke’s.

“Dank,” they both said, a little hesitantly.
I had my contact. That he was a young, charming, and already renowned performer actually now standing before me and looking- I had to admit to myself- quite attractive in his tuxedo did not make this easy. I swallowed the nervous knot in my throat. It was time for me to actually speak up, if only to explain Opa’s idea of a compliment. “Ag, moet dit nie teen hom hou nie,” I said, “That’s high praise coming from him. He has more talent in his one good hand than most people have in both of theirs.”

“Sadly,” said Opa, shaking his head, “now I’m just limited to playing maybe Benoit’s pieces for right hand, and only on a good day. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Heinrich Altheim, and this is my granddaughter, Kassandra.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Mieke, looking a little puzzled.
“Don’t tell me you can’t see the resemblance,” I said with a smirk. “After all, times have changed in South Africa and Namibia.”

“And for the better,” said Willem, laughing. Good. I had spoken the sign, albeit in Afrikaans rather than Dutch, and he understood and spoke the countersign. Still some pretext must be maintained. I was glad to see he recognized that. If he was surprised that the case officer he was supposed to contact turned out to be yours truly- and he was, he did not show it.

“Oh, ja,” said Mieke. “I remember now. I read about you in the paper’s article on the upcoming conference. It said you actually studied at the Gemological Institute in New York. Is that right?”

“For a year,” said I, “but I figured I’d be of better help in public relations.”
“You know, Willem also studied gemology for a while,” said Mieke.
“But it’s far too cutthroat a business for me,” said Willem. “I just prefer to stick with music. Speaking of that, the article did mention that you play piano too. Is that right?”

“She sure does,” said Opa, “and if she ever tries to downplay her own ability, don’t believe it.”

“Opa..,” I said, blushing.
“So just how good are you?” Willem demanded jocularly, “I’d like to hear it.”
“Wim, you’re embarrassing her,” said Mieke, who was beginning to feel a little embarrassed herself.

“Ag, dat is gaaf,” I said, warming gradually to the idea. “As long as your brother is willing to help play, say, Schubert’s Rondo in A. I hope you know that one, Heer de Zoet.”

“Which part?” said Willem, grinning, gamely taking my hand and leading me to the piano, the twinkle in his hazel eyes making it clear that he’d gladly accept the challenge, and that I mustn’t back out.

My grandfather practically burst with pride upon realizing that I remembered one of the last piano duets we’d played together before his stroke paralyzed his left hand.

“Typical. Always has to show off for a girl,” sniffed Mieke, as she sat next to Opa.

****
A couple of hours, one piano duet, another song from Mieke, and a round of celebratory drinks later, it was time to take our leave. And by then, the people who remained were buzzing about how Willem and I seemed to have clicked. As long as Willem didn’t think this would turn out like some James Bond movie, good! He and I would be working closely together. Nobody would suspect a thing if they thought we’d simply developed something over a piano keyboard.

“My car has just arrived out front, unless you’d rather brave the snow,” said Opa, mercifully restraining what I knew was his urge to wink.

“Where are you staying?” said Willem.
“An easy walk from here,” said I.
"Still,” said Willem, “it’s quite late. Would you mind if I walked with you? And Mieke, don’t wait for me. I’ll take a taxi home.”

“Natuurlijk! I understand,” said Mieke. “And I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

I gasped at the implication, feeling the blood rushing furiously to my cheeks.
“And now look who’s embarrassing her,” said Willem, already steering me to the door. “Tot ziens, everyone.”

We then departed and remained quiet until we were almost past Nottehohmpark, when suddenly, I snickered nervously. Then a chuckle forecast the threat of an impending giggling fit. Willem didn’t help. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said, a smile tugging violently at the corners of his own mouth. Then in an artificially high voice, “’Wim, you’re embarrassing her!’”

I couldn’t help myself any longer, and nearly collapsed in laughter.

“I swear, whoever said Black women don’t blush has niets for brains,” said Willem, himself laughing as he wrapped an arm around to steady me.
I stopped laughing, reacting purely out of the firmly entrenched instinct to remain firmly on guard.

Willem apologized, reacting to the almost visible reinforcement of my defenses. Then after a pause that despite the heavy potential was not entirely awkward, he said, “I’d like to thank you in advance for helping Mieke out. She has the talent and the drive to succeed in opera. I think she deserves this chance.”

“Oh, well, it makes sense that I should help her establish her US residency, having immigrated there myself,” said I, finally allowing Willem to pull me closer. We would have to continue this conversation a bit more quietly to do so responsibly. “And it’s only fair, anyway. If you help me, I must do something in return. And I agree. I think Mieke does deserve the opportunity.”

“So, about the conference,” Willem whispered. “The usual suspects are little more fearful and secretive than usual, but that can be expected. Some have hired investigators of their own to look into this,” he added, with a knowing smile.

“I already know that,” said I, with a slightly flustered laugh. “Which ones seem the most suspicious to you?”

“I wouldn’t pin this on any one company. There seems one or two in each of them that is not dealing plainly. But Geodesco in general caught my attention. Their people seem a little too relaxed under the circumstances. And I also have to emphasize this because I’m already a bit worried about you. A few of their people at the reception seemed to be watching you and your grandfather a little too keenly. I know, you can take care of yourself but just…”

“It’s only corporate espionage,” I said a bit louder, almost flippantly. “It happens all the time.” Nobody could recognize that I suspected it was more than that.

Willem finally turned to face me and tipped my chin up so I had to look at him directly. “You don’t understand. Now that we’ve actually met, you’re no longer just someone who can help Mieke get to the States. You already mean something more to me, and I don’t want anything to happen to you. Be careful.”

I had to be careful. The sensitivity he showed, not just in his music or regarding his sister’s welfare, but toward me personally had great potential to relax the vigilance with which I had to guard my heart. It could induce me to trust again, and bring some badly needed warmth and softness into my solitary existence. Besides, the increasingly apparent weakness he had developed for me could work to my advantage. But if I was not on my guard, it could seriously muddle my thinking, or even worse. I might actually fall for him! Anything less than utmost caution was not an option.

“So,” he continued, more casually, “out of curiosity, why aren’t you speaking-”
“Shhhh!” I interrupted, stepping up on tiptoe, holding a finger up to his lips, then… Was ist das? This was not supposed to happen! I had only just met this man, he was an agent, of all people, and now I was kissing him! Just as well. If any observer thought we were doing nothing of greater consequence than continuing the flirting that began at the reception, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.

Willem didn’t seem half as shocked as I was by my own behavior. He slid his hands down to the small of my back as my fingers wove through his wavy chestnut brown hair. And did I just feel goose bumps down my spine as well as the quickening pulse? I could not let this continue, and yet I allowed my lips to graze perhaps more of his skin than necessary as they migrated up to just below his ear. “I hope you understand. We were just being tailed. Anyway, Dutch isn't one of my languages,” I whispered. Technically, I wasn’t lying, but verdammt, I had a cover to maintain here!

“Oh, ah… sorry,” said Willem with an obviously pleasantly surprised smile and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“No, you’re not,” I replied, smiling again.
“Dat is waar genoeg. I am not, about this.” Willem leaned in to kiss me again. I don’t know what possessed me to kiss him at all, let alone enjoy it, but it would look suspicious to any observer if I backed away now. So I let him.

“So will I see you tomorrow?” he whispered, as he retreated.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” said I, a little breathlessly. “I’ll be attending the 10:30 Mass tomorrow at the Cathedral. Could you meet me there?”

“I hadn’t been to Mass in years,” said Willem, a futile effort to restrain his sudden discomfort failing to escape my notice, “but sure. I’ll be glad to meet you there.”

I saw Willem off at the hotel’s main entrance, after exchanging with him shy smiles and sweet parting pleasantries, then took the stairs up to my room, humming lightly a few bars of Haiden-Röslein, still trying to act like it was not patently obvious to me that I was being watched. After all, it was no secret that the Altheims were staying at this hotel. As long as they did not know what exactly I was doing here, I wouldn’t exactly be safe, but at least they would not complicate my mission.

I shut and locked the door behind me, removed my coat, then collapsed into my desk chair with a rough sigh, eyes closed, fingers to my lips. Forget about any hope Willem had that his flirtation with me would be more than just a cover for our working relationship. I was more concerned about the rather unprofessional feelings I was already having for him. It didn’t take any metahuman abilities to predict the conniption my superiors would have if I applied for “close and continuing contact” with a foreign operative. Besides, he had been convinced to spy upon his fellow Belgians, and I had not nor would ever voluntarily reveal to him who I really was. Under no circumstances could that bode well for a relationship, and yet the memory of his kiss nonetheless liquefied my knees. Making matters worse, I’d have to use that as a point of reference to dig up some information on our shadows.
I pulled myself together as best I could, scanned the room for bugs and found none, then I got to work. I checked a couple of timelines. Strange. They both worked for my grandfather, and their resumes and background checks were impeccable. Their timelines, however, were not as old as they appeared, which could only mean one thing. They weren’t who they claimed to be. No matter. I had ways of finding out. I then pulled out my laptop and began digging through some company files. Yes indeed, I found my shadows. Opa would not be pleased to see just how badly these employees of his had lied on their resumes, but I’d need to confirm my suspicions. I ran a quick background check on their real names. During World War II, the Allies happily accepted information provided by a psychic known only as Anne. My superiors, on the other hand, demanded proof, I'm not exactly psychic, and I didn’t want them to know how I could plumb timelines anyway. People like me tended to encounter a certain degree of workplace discrimination. But they would neither question the reliability of my information nor ask how I acquired it as long as I provided convincing empirical or documented evidence and did not endanger the mission in the process. I then emailed a coded message to my station chief with a couple of attached files.

“Contact holds Geodesco under particular suspicion, but insists that every company at the conference has at least one or two people involved. While Heinrich Altheim comes up clean, C/O Zeitgeist has information on two of his employees. Kassandra Altheim was tailed en route from Vrienden Conservatorium by operatives working under cover as Altheim employees Daniel de Slegte and Claudia Stern. Shadows now know where Kassandra Altheim is staying, but are not aware of the nature of Altheim’s work with her contact. Also, C/O Zeitgeist is convinced that Altheim sightholder Escher Ltd. is mixing conflict stones with clean inventory.”

****
Translations:

German:
eine Sopran mit einem Kellergeschoss: A soprano with a basement. In other words, she can hit the low notes as well as the high.

Ist alles in Ordnung? Is everything all right?
Gut wie immer- Good as always.

Afrikaans:
Jou vertolking van Die Junge Nonne was baie ongewoon- Your interpretation of Die Junge Nonne was very unusual.

Ag, moet dit nie teen hom hou nie. Roughly, oh, don't mind him.

Dutch:
Dank- Thanks
Tot ziens- Goodbye
niets- nothing

[Edited on 17/10/0606 by Angelique]
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Angelique
Dread Pirate
Dread Pirate
Posts: 2882
Joined: Mon Aug 22, 2005 7:27 am
Location: sailing under the Jolly Wagner

Der Tod und Die Erbin

Post by Angelique »

Chapter 4

Opa and I met at Windows of Antwerp for breakfast afterward, and talked about nothing of any consequence, at least as far as my mission was concerned, except that I wanted us to have dinner privately with a couple of longtime employees, one of whom he’d regarded as a friend. Sooner or later I’d have to tell him their employment status needed to change. Not only would that be quite unpleasant, but the message I received this morning requested, among other things, documented proof that these people were operating under aliases, and so far, all I had were educated guesses as to who they really were. Afterward, we parted, Opa preferring to take his car, while I, of course, walked. No one would have noticed, but as I strode through Groenplaats, I kept a cautious eye out. Good. No one was watching my dead drop, not even a couple of shadows I knew were staying at the Hilton. Still, I didn’t want to take any chances. I stopped time, and in a single instant, dug a valuable secret from an innocuous looking, snow-covered planter and quickly slipped a tiny plastic-wrapped parcel into my pocket. Anyone watching would have simply seen me walk right past without any interruption.

Opa greeted me at the Cathedral’s north entrance. We walked in and blessed ourselves, and then I led him to where I saw Willem was already seated. Not kneeling. But when he saw me genuflect and Opa take his slight bow, he smiled and scooted in to make room. And when I put down and took my place upon the kneeler, he didn’t so much as whisper a single word for five full minutes until we rose for Mass to start.

After that, he only spoke to help with a word that I, ostensibly not speaking Dutch, might find difficult. Indeed, he seemed to have some trouble of his own. But I would not interrupt Mass to check his timeline under any but the direst circumstances. The result of possibly seeing those moments when time as we know it and infinity come together would only be mistaken for the stuff of mystics or madwomen. Being neither, I did not want there to be any room for confusion. But something about this maddeningly sweet and charming man did not add up. I’d try to figure it out after Mass.

And so we left, but not until the final strain of O Welk een Macht heeft Uwe Liefde finished resonating through the now mostly empty cathedral and Mieke joined us in the nave.

“So, my brother actually came home last night. Then he goes with me to Mass. Could it be he’s finally found himself a good girl for a change?”

“Hallo, Mieke,” said I.
“You sounded good today,” said Opa. “I’m sure the choir is disappointed that you are leaving.”

This time it was Mieke’s turn to blush. “Actually, they’re more excited for me than disappointed. In fact, we’re meeting at Fritkot Max for a little send-off. You can come along if you like.”

“Oh, I’ll let you young people have your fun,” said Opa. “I should go back and call my wife, anyway.”

“And…” said I, looking hesitantly toward Willem, “I’d be glad to go.”
So we arrived at Groenplaats’ cute little purveyor of beer and fried food, and I beat a hasty retreat to the restroom. Good. No one was in here, but what was this? A surveillance camera here? It would not catch me doing a thing. I washed my face and hands, then stopped time and pulled the parcel out of my backpack. To anyone else, it would have looked like an ordinary pair of quarter carat diamond stud earrings, just like the ones I had just removed from my ears and replaced in the box. But I knew better. These pretty pieces of tiny tech would transmit my conversations to my station chief, who would in turn record and submit them, all with the turn of a backing. I carefully rewrapped the box and put it back in my backpack, then restarted time and rejoined the others just as the first round of beer was being served.

“Welkome rug, Kassi,” said Willem. “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

“Dank,” said I, sliding in next to him.
‘So everyone,” said Mieke, “this is-”

I shot Mieke a mortified look. It was one thing for her to pick on Willem about the attention he gave me. But she would not introduce me as his latest girlfriend in that teasing tone of voice if I had anything to say about it.

“-Kassandra.” Good. Mieke was capable of showing mercy. “She lives in New York. Am I right?”

“Used to live in New York,” I replied. “But I still have friends there. In fact, there’s a music store nearby in Westchester that’s almost always hiring. There you can also get advance notice of auditions. You should apply there, and use me as a reference. The owners know me. Mieke, do you have a pen and paper? Good. Here’s the address.”

I dictated the address to her, carefully. Even though I could see no cause for concern in her timeline, my superiors would need some means of keeping tabs on her, just in case.

Mieke thanked me profusely as Willem looked on with a smile, his hand on my shoulder. After all, Mieke’s visa required her to find some music-related job to last her the year before she’d get her first Met audition, and this lead would be just what she’d need. Then I made sure to discreetly time every bite of fries or sausage, or every sip of beer so that no one would ask me any questions, stopping only to ask about where Mieke was planning to stay, and such. After all, this afternoon was all about her, anyway.

And Willem. Immediately after we finished, he pressed a handful of Euros into Mieke’s hand, to cover our part of the bill. “Thanks for inviting us, but we really should be going now.”

“Ah,” said Mieke. “U bent welkom. En Kassandra? Dank.”
“And you’re quite welcome,” I replied. “Now if you need anything else, please call me.”

And so Willem and I took our leave. Rather than heading directly back to my hotel, we meandered almost aimlessly, hand-in-gloved hand across Groenplaats, stopping briefly to admire the statue of Rubens. Almost out of nowhere, Willem asked, “You really do want to help Mieke out, doe u niet?”

I nodded, but I wouldn’t speak aloud about it. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another couple leaving a little too soon after we did for my comfort. But what would become of Mieke and her dream, if Willem did not come through for us troubled me.

“That’s what I like about you,” said Willem, pulling me closer. “You are one of the most caring and genuine people I’ve ever met, and not just within your line of work.”

“Really?” said I, feeling suddenly very uneasy.
“Really. It’s not just the interest you’ve shown in helping Mieke. I could tell at… especially at Mass.”

What was he going to say?

“By the way, I wanted to thank you for inviting me. The second reading is actually one of my favorite passages, and you seem like the all-too-rare sort that really takes the message to heart.”

“What makes you think I do any more than any of the other people there?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I had to hear it to be certain.

“Most of the people there were not even paying attention. They were only there because they can’t think of any other way to spend a Sunday morning. A few would remember ‘Love is patient. Love is kind,’ and so forth, but then decide that living by that is just not worth the trouble. But you,” said Willem, tipping my chin up, “seem determined to properly apply that teaching.”

“I’m not perfect.” I turned away just before Willem could kiss me.

“No, but you are sincere, and I find that refreshing. I’d consider returning to the Church if there were more Catholics like you.”

How could I tell him what he so badly needed to hear, without giving away what I suspected he wanted to hear? “Sounds to me like you’re judging the Church by its members’ failings rather than by its teachings. I’d have left too if I did that.” Would I have ever!

“You may have a point,” said Willem. “So where are we going, now?”

“I didn’t have anywhere in particular in mind,” I replied.
“How about your hotel room?” He smiled, raising an eyebrow.

The slightest hint as to his intentions immediately brought to my mind disconcerting images of us only making it as far as the hallway before falling upon each other in an explosion of passion. I did not see that in any timeline taking shape. This was pure imagination, but still….

I shrieked, wrenching my hand out of his. “Weren’t you just saying something about returning to the Church?”

“I didn’t say anything about resisting temptation, especially one so lovely…what was that for?” A clump of snow hit him squarely in the chest, crumbling into pieces all over his black great coat.

I darted away. “You, Heer de Zoet, are in dire need of a cold shower.” And with a wicked grin, I hurled another snowball at him before taking off running.
“Why, you little…” He shook off the snow and dashed after me, laughing, sending a snowball of his own my way.

Of course I dodged it. “Was? Got something against short people?”

“Only if they pelt me with snow but won’t stay still long enough for me to exact my revenge.” Willem lobbed another snowball, skidding on the icy pavement as he rounded a corner after me. No surprise. After all, he was wearing wing tips. “How can you run so fast?”

“Practical footwear,” I called out behind me, turning my head just in time to allow that powder-packed projectile to whiz right past. “You should try it sometime. You might just catch me.”

“And when I do, it will be in more ways than one. I promise,” said Willem.

Something about the way he said that made my blood run colder than the volley of snow I kept eluding. In blinking in and out of time to avoid snowballs or slipping, I had seen us not running through the streets of Antwerp, but someplace else, dodging bullets rather than snowballs. But there was something else. I turned and ran the opposite direction, throwing my arms around Willem. “Like this?”

“Something like this,” Willem chuckled, enthusiastically wrapping his arms around my waist.

“So, back to the hotel?” I whispered, appearing to fidget with one of my ears.

“What made you change your mind?” Was that a glimmer of restored hope in his eye?

“We just eluded a couple of shadows. Not the same ones as last night. I don’t want these to think we are going right back. But they’ll catch up eventually if we don’t keep walking. And when we get there, we’ll have some business to discuss.”

“Oh,” said Willem, sounding rather cute in his disappointment.
“And I’d like you to stay for dinner as well.”
Willem’s face brightened. “I’d like that, too.”


[Edited on 5/9/06 by Angelique]
Meddle not with the heartstrings of fans, for we are powerful and hold your pursestrings.

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