Klaus was perturbed. He hadn’t expected Koldan to go so far as to summon him from the middle of the most important ball of the year. The young officer scoured the entirety of the great hall, skimming his eyes through the dancers and the diners, the musicians and the ramblers, the daring and the faint of heart. And yet he couldn’t find his wretched cousin.
“What’s the matter, Klaus?” said Natalya, curious about his conversation with the butler.
“Nothing much, just Koldan being an arse and a half,” grumbled Klaus. ”My good man right here says that my cousin is inside the great hall, but I can’t seem to find him.”
Natalya’s left eyebrow shot up. “Isn’t that your cousin right there? He certainly looks the part.” She said, pointing towards the top of the first set of stairs.
Lo and Behold, there stood his cousin, arms crossed and a stern look in his eyes mastered through years of constant, rigorous practice. It was aimed solely at Klaus, who refused to make eye contact again for even a matter of seconds.
“Yep, there he is,” Klaus mused as he looked for some sort of excuse to avoid meeting his cousin so soon for business.
Surprisingly enough, it was not the butler who begged him to have a few words with Koldan but Natalya, giving him a little push from the back, beckoning him to go talk to his cousin.
“There is no way Koldan would come here by himself if it wasn’t for somebody forcing him to,” Natalya whispered into Klaus’ ear. “You should at least hear him out, you know. And it’s been months since you last talked to him.”
Klaus was not keen on engaging in conversation with his older cousin, but he sensed the reason behind Natalya’s words. She was right- with what they knew about Koldan’s temperament, they could sufficiently prove that the man would not have approached them first if not for some official business-related reason.
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a few words with him.” Klaus sighed, submitting to his fate.
He turned around to look at Natalya, and felt a throb of pain in his heart when he saw the bittersweet smile lingering on her face.
“Well, I suppose this is where we part ways for the night,” said Natalya.
“Back to that man of yours, hmm?”
“He is not my ‘man’, Klaus. But yes. I will try to enjoy tonight for all it’s worth.”
“Well, have a great night then, Miss Yavorska,” said Klaus, a bemused smile exposing his desire to stay and talk to her some more.
“You too, Klaus. You too.”
They bid each other goodbye, and Klaus turned to leave with the butler by his side.
They walked to and up the stairs at a leisurely pace, Klaus trying to delay the conversation to come by a few marginal seconds, and the butler simply trying to keep pace with his higher-up.
As they reached the top of the staircase, Klaus was able to get a clearer look at his Strangian cousin, who stood only a few paces away. He was a tall man, with a muscular stature and eyebags more prominent than Klaus’, as was the family tradition. He wore a simple white robe, fashioning two silver rings on his right hand and a single gold one on his left. Dark brown hair hid his ornate earrings quite well, the latter being a gift from their great-grandfather. Who was still somehow alive, to their constant wonderment.
Koldan seemed calmer than usual, to Klaus’ surprise. The older man looked at Klaus with exasperation clear in his eyes, coughing a little just before Klaus came within companionable distance.
“Are you alright, sir? Should I fetch a handkerchief or a towel of some sort?” the butler said, concerned for Koldan’s wellbeing.
“Don’t worry about it, Vern. It was a courtesy cough for our esteemed guest here.” Koldan said sarcastically.
He was an annoying man. “No heartfelt welcome for your dearest cousin eh, Koldan? Not even a little hug?”
The older man spread his arms out hesitantly, rolling his eyes as Klaus dove into his embrace with faux passion.
Breaking off the hug, Klaus leaned back and looked at Koldan’s face, trying to find even a hint of his purpose in calling for him. The young officer noticed that the older man had set his intent gaze on him, looking for an answer to mysterious questions Klaus did not know of. The mood sobered up, and Klaus stood a little straighter.
“Speak your mind, cousin,” said Klaus, putting an arm on the other man’s shoulder as if to ease him into divulging the word he carried with him.
Koldan, despite his honest temperament and a penchant for lingering anger or passion, wasn’t very susceptible to speaking his mind. A great listener, and nothing more than that.
Klaus could remember a time when they were mere kids, goofing around in the village of Paska where they went to school. Back then, an academic pursuit was at the rock bottom of their priorities, and so some of the other kids abandoned their studies for a “short while” and went to horse around with the neighborhood girls who were often too busy for anything other than small talk. By then, Klaus’ heart had already been enraptured by a rather beautiful girl in his hometown, and thus he used to hang around with Koldan, moseying about with the village boys who hadn’t seen a proper piece of literature in their entire lifetime.
Young Koldan wasn’t necessarily timid, or socially awkward. On the contrary, he was an excellent conversationalist, able to talk for hours on end about virtually any topic that came to his mind. No, the issue with Koldan lay in his inability to truly share his mind. And when the other kids realized that he never spoke his mind on anything, things changed.
He got taken advantage of on multiple occasions, such as when the older kids piled their work on top of his shoulders for an entire year, Koldan risking a beating every time he tried to refuse. Many of Klaus’ ‘close friends' often treated Koldan like a tool to vent their emotions on, with no regard for his wellbeing. Some kids had even outright avoided the boy, unwilling to get closer to him for he came off as a ‘dubious individual’.
Things got better when Klaus came into the foray, taking action against the particularly aggressive kids and staving off the quiet, judgemental types. Over time, he became Koldan’s inner voice, leading conversations on his behalf and speaking for him when he was unable to. They became virtually inseparable, and yet Koldan became noticeably more miserable by the day.
One night, he barged into their dorm room and started gathering his belongings, a dismayed look on his face that alarmed Klaus. He tried to talk to his cousin to no avail, the latter choosing to stay silent as he frantically packed up his luggage in a small bag. It was when Klaus snatched the bag out of Koldan’s grasp in annoyance that he finally exploded, letting out the feelings he had relentlessly bottled up within him since the day Klaus had begun assisting him with his predicament. They screamed at each other, scrapped to no end, and called each other some very colorful words- plain signs of a full-blown argument. The conclusion to this messy ordeal was predetermined; that Klaus would not hear from his older cousin for the next ten years, till the day he graduated from the prestigious Romanova Military College, part of the Strangian Academy of Civil Education.
Has he even forgiven me for how I tormented him all those years ago?
Koldan had changed a whole lot since he was a wee little lad, but that characteristic inscrutability of his hadn’t faded away in the slightest.
Perceiving the butler’s veiled interest in what was to be discussed, Koldan dismissed him, telling the middle-aged man to wait in his chambers until further commands.
“As you wish, Sir Koldan.” Vern bowed out, a disappointed air around him as he left for his chambers located outside the keep.
Koldan looked behind himself, gazing at the Scholar’s Square where all the prominent intellectuals of Stranga gathered.
He had a pensive look in his eye. Klaus didn't like that look one bit.
“The Speaker wants to speak to you. Says it’s about the letter you delivered to the Duke of Borovny on his behalf.”
Klaus was shocked beyond belief. The Speaker? Summon him, a young college scholar who hasn't even been part of an infantry squad yet.
And in addition, Klaus had obtained that mission from the academy itself- it was the reason why he stayed in Borovny in the first place! How did the Speaker know of it?
Noting Klaus’ bewildered expression, Koldan continued. “I know, I know. You got the assignment from Romanova’s dean, but both the Speaker and the dean are working in tandem. For what, I do not know.”
“And now he wants to talk to me?”
“I suppose so.” Koldan had donned that unreadable look of his again, which infuriated Klaus to no end. “We have wasted enough time already. You must leave for the Speaker’s Office right this instant.”
Shaking his head in concern, Klaus bid farewell to Koldan, who patted him on the back and wished him luck.
He rushed through Scholar’s Square, walking through ostentatious hallways, a low-hanging ceiling over his head holding a long column of gold-laced gas lamps that showered his path with a bright yellow light. The hallways were relatively bare, most of the residents either barely sleeping through the festivities, or celebrating the tenth Martyrs’ Feast with fellow compatriots of science and the arts.
After a whole lot of backpedaling, Klaus was able to reach the Speaker’s office, squeezed in between a couple of other nondescript rooms. He had found the Speaker’s office by chance, the name “Ilyas Shapiev” etched into a nameplate right outside the room.
The hallway that housed Professor Shapiev’s office was rather bare in appearance, and dimly lit to boot. It made Klaus wonder if Shapiev was as much of a shut-in as the rumors claimed.
Klaus approached the door, noticing that it had been left open. Out of courtesy, however, Klaus knocked on it, expecting to get a response whenever the Speaker felt comfortable enough to let him in. When he didn’t get one after waiting for an entire ten minutes, however, he knocked again, only to be interrupted with a gruff “get in” at the first knock.
Klaus pushed at the door gingerly, wincing at the loud creaks it produced. Closing the door behind him, Klaus turned to look at the Speaker, realizing that whatever predetermined assumptions he had held about the man before were utterly wrong and, at times, blatantly offensive.
First and foremost, the man did not exude even a shred of docility, contradicting what was rumored to be a key characteristic of his. It was as if Klaus was standing in front of a grizzled war veteran. Salt and pepper hair buzzed down to the roots, weathered skin, even a gruesome burn scar that decorated his left cheek- the Speaker looked to be a man who had fought to survive since the day he was born.
“A pretty sight, aren’t I?” grunted the Speaker, stunning Klaus into wide-eyed silence.
“Klaus Wiermann, no? Sit, sit. We have a lot to talk about.”
The young officer stiffly gaited his way to the chair across from the Speaker, keeping his head down in embarrassment. He kept his eyes to the floor and was a little surprised to notice that it was made out of plain oakwood, a huge contrast from the marble flooring located everywhere else in the castle.
Looking at his surroundings, Klaus determined that Shapiev had a rather drab and minimalist taste in architecture. There wasn’t a lot of significant furniture around the room except for a pair of large bookshelves, three small couches facing a brightly lit hearth, and the Speaker’s desk, all plain and old in appearance. Even the walls were left largely undecorated, a large portrait of the Speaker positioned right over the hearth being the only piece of decoration around the entire office.
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Klaus sat down on the chair, trepidation roiling his guts. Why did the Speaker, the left-hand man of the Premier, request a personal meeting with a newly graduated noble of little significance?
Taking a few short breaths, Klaus calmed himself before facing the Speaker.
Shapiev looked to be sorting out a few documents strewn about the front of his desk, sheafing through them in quick succession and then putting them back in their respective piles.
“First and foremost, I’d like to thank you for delivering that letter of mine. It was pretty important, you see,” said Shapiev in the process of cleaning up his desk.
The man’s eloquence in speech did not match his rough appearance. “No, thank you for allowing me to visit my hometown for the first time in two years, Lord Speaker,” responded Klaus, albeit hurriedly.
The man let out a loud chuckle, putting the last of his documents away in neat piles. “I’m happy to hear that, Klaus. I truly am.”
The Speaker stretched out a little bit, muttering “work” as he wiped at his reddened eyes in an attempt to keep himself awake.
Klaus had many questions lingering at the forefront of his mind- What was the connection between the college and the Speaker? What was written within that letter that warranted sending a young officer-to-be on a fetch quest? Why had Natalya’s father, the Duke of Borovny, accepted the letter without any questions asked?
Realizing that the answers were probably way beyond his station to know of, Klaus queried the Speaker with a single, rather simple inquiry.
“...Why was I chosen for this mission, sir?”
The Speaker seemed taken aback for a second there.“Well, because you’re quite close with the Yavorska clan, considering that you were their ward for a majority of your childhood.” The Speaker had finally decided to pay attention to Klaus, his unforgiving eyes gazing through the young man.
Viscous globes of dark gray pinned Klaus in place. He felt a strong desire to look away, but he couldn’t.
To be more exact, he wouldn’t.
Eyes don’t lie, Junior.
“I got news of the formation of your new squadron. Though I don’t know why the M.I.C. would entrust a couple of young greenhorns with the responsibilities of maintaining one.” said the Speaker, changing the subject. His scarred hand stroked the neatly shaven stubble around his jaw.
The M.I.C.- the government’s well-known intelligence corporation- were an odd bunch. They roamed around the land posing as upstanding civilians, often picking up jobs as laborers and midwives to build their preferred persona. The one trait they all had in common was that they tended to skirt around conventional law for information that might be handy to them. Law enforcement was kept unaware about who was an agent and who wasn’t, and so a large portion of convicts arrested for breaking the law turned out to be spies who were simply trying to go about their respective missions.
One such agent, a man named Milov who posed as a servant working inside the castle, had attached a seal of approval from the higher-ups of M.I.C to Klaus’ breakfast plate two weeks ago. The seal of approval had his name imprinted in cursive, permitting him to form a squadron of about five or six talented individuals. Unwilling to cross the M.I.C, Klaus went to work almost immediately.
“Natalya Yavorska, a talented strategist with a gift for networking; Sergei Grigorev, widely known for his academic talent and athleticism; Karna Leon, an apprentice to Agent Kim of the M.I.C.; Yelena Zhukova, a former detective-to-be turned military officer; and last but perhaps not least, Zahar Kuzav, who we know virtually nothing about.” Shapiev read the names of those Klaus had chosen out loud, an inscrutable look on his face as he took a deeper look at their bios. “The graduates are quite talented, a good choice on your behalf. Though I do have some qualms about the foreigners.”
Klaus felt a little prick of annoyance at the Speaker’s skepticism over his choice; after all, he had spent days wondering who to recruit for this squadron, finally coming to a decisive conclusion after considering every aspect of the situation.
Sobered up at last, Klaus thought over the Speaker’s doubts, carefully choosing his words to convey his position to Shapiev as convincingly as possible.
“Let me explain my decisions, Lord Speaker. I chose not those who are merely prodigious and leagues above their peers, but rather I chose the people that I believe will be able to nullify our weaknesses through specific specialties and excellent team coordination. Everyone in this squad is someone I have a positive history with, those that I found to not just be talented, but willing to compromise and work with their fellow man.”
“Karna is an amazingly clever spy who can make up for her lack of combat prowess with polished scouting and intelligence gathering abilities. She is an obvious addition to the squad, for we need someone who can gather intelligence effectively in case a need arises.”
“...I can only say one thing about Zahar- that he is loyal to me. Utterly.”
The Speaker’s left eyebrow shot up, no doubt skeptical of Klaus’ lack of convincing proof for Zahar’s case. Klaus could feel his throat tighten. Nervous anticipation zoomed back and forth through his gut like an anxious rat.
After a moment of tense silence, the Speaker unwinded and let out a pleased smile. Klaus’ stomach, however, tightened up even more firmly at the sight of that inscrutable smile.
“Well, your confidence sure is reassuring, Klaus. I’m certain that you have chosen wisely.” Said Shapiev, the suspicion in his eyes softening into acceptance.
Klaus staggered in his chair, eyes widening in surprise. He hadn’t expected the Speaker to accept such a half-baked explanation.
Shapiev phased back into a contemplative state. It seemed as though the man was giving great thought to what was meant to be a rather meaningful subject, at least for Klaus himself.
The young man sat deeper into his chair, bracing himself for whatever was to come next.
“Well, where to begin. First of all, the M.L.C. thought you worthy enough to give you the privilege to form a guerrilla squad, something that not all greenhorns can boast about,” said Shapiev. “Though if they thought you worthy enough for your extensive connections with talented graduates or because of your deep relations with the Yavorska clan, I do not know.”
It hurt to hear from the Speaker of Stranga that the only redeemable qualities Klaus possessed were his connections to the people around him. But he managed to hide his little wince of pain pretty well.
“But hearing you speak about your soon-to-be comrades, it is evident that you’re a well-spoken and more importantly, a confident young man.” A little playful wink biffed Klaus as Shapiev managed to somehow read his mind almost effortlessly.
He blew out a candle by his side, standing up and grabbing a wooly scarf off a hanger as he gazed at Klaus with earnest intentions.
“There is a reason behind everything that the M.I.C. does, Klaus Weirmann. I know you've been looking for an opportunity to get some field work done. You will be assigned a mission soon enough.” The Speaker put his hands on the table as he leaned on it, a sincere smile on his face.
Klaus was excited by the prospect of an assignment- especially when such a short amount of time had passed between his graduation and the Tenth Martyr’s Feast- but the academy had drilled into him the consequences of an overly enthused psyche. He felt that the Speaker was being intentionally vague, and for a reason Klaus could not get to the bottom of.
“That is news I hadn't expected, Lord Speaker. Could I possibly get more details about this…mission?” said Klaus hesitantly, distinctly aware of the Speaker’s seniority over him.
The Speaker chuckled away Klaus’ inquiry. “Unfortunately, that is the M.I.C. 's responsibility to bear,” said Shapiev, putting the scarf around his neck as he grabbed a large briefcase. “My authority over this endeavor ended when I revealed the details behind the M.I.C’s intentions to you, Klaus. I apologize for being so unhelpful. I really do.”
He slowly made his way to the door, passing by a disappointed Klaus as he picked up his hat from the hat stand. He inched open the door, looking back at Klaus with a reassuring look on his face, eyes scrunched up in sympathy.
“For now, you should enjoy the ball. It looks to be in a rage as of right now.”
“Young’ins first.” Shapiev held the door wide open for Klaus, waiting patiently for the young man to cheer up and make his way down to the ball.
Klaus stood from the chair and marched up to the Speaker, quickly rushing through the door and waiting for the older man to come out. After locking his door and putting the key in his wide trouser pockets, the Speaker walked out.
In the middle of the drab hallway, the two men made eye contact, younger man astonished by the fatherly casualness he was addressed with throughout the summons, older man smiling with a kindness few of his station would deign to provide to a total greenhorn.
“Well, it’s about time we part ways for the night, Sir Klaus.”
“Good night, Lord Speaker.” Klaus was barely able to scrape together a hasty military salute to bid farewell to the man.
Shapiev laughed kind-heartedly at the shoddy attempt, walking away as he raised his hand to wave goodbye to the young officer. Klaus stared at his back for a while before going the opposite way.
Staggering through the dimly lit hallways was an ordeal. Klaus was stuck within the confines of his own mind, unable to comprehend his exchange with the Speaker moments prior. He still felt as if huge portions of the puzzle were being intentionally kept from him. The young man felt an emotion he had never experienced before- something akin to hope surrounded by a vast sea of disappointment and inevitable doom.
He reached the staircase in a matter of minutes. Looking down at the great hall, alight in its tempered festivities, Klaus felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. He gulped down the bile surging up his throat, grasping the railing until his knuckles turned a pure white as he descended the stairs.
Klaus had never been afraid of heights before. But for now, he felt as if he could understand what those poor sods went through on a daily basis. He just hoped a good night’s sleep would shake off this terrible spell.
The young man somehow reached stable ground, sweat coating his forehead. He pulled a rather juvenile handkerchief out of the pockets cut into his breeches, wiping at his damp forehead as he walked past nobles, foreigners, and government officials alike.
The orchestra still played their smooth jazz, an immortal euphoria lingering in the air. The dancers swung to and fro with unimaginable glee, and even the most reserved of participants bobbed their heads around to the tune of the Domra.
Klaus had half a mind to simply walk past the festivities and go back home. He couldn’t keep up with the pace of the ball, lethargy overtaking him in a matter of seconds.
Of course, just as he had convinced himself to go about retiring for the night and letting his mind and body recuperate for tomorrow, another familiar voice yelled out his name, calling him to engage in yet another tiring conversation.
“Ah, Klaus! When did you return? I’ve missed you, my dear friend!”
It was Sergei. Despite his half-asleep mind, Klaus would never fail to recognize that voice. Or that face.
Sergei had been his friend for a while now, since their second year of college to be exact. Seeing him with a half-empty glass of wine and an all-too-awake look on his face didn’t surprise Klaus- despite his academic and athletic responsibilities, the man never forgot to prioritize partying and simply lazing around.
Klaus’ eyelids felt heavy. His legs were crumbling by the second, and his throat felt congested. Had he been poisoned?
“Come, come, my friend. We have a lot to talk about, eh? You never told me…left for Borovny…” Klaus could only hear Sergei in chunks and pieces, exhaustion sapping away his presence of mind.
He followed Sergei-who walked along rather excitedly- to a corner beside the orchestra, bumping into a few people who in turn thought him a foolish drunk. But he eventually reached his destination.
“Well...introduce you…wonderful people…Draga…Neven…hail from…the Land of Makedonia,” said Sergei.
Klaus could barely discern anything beyond the fog that obscured his sight. Next to Sergei stood two shadowy figures with something akin to a wine glass in their hands- a tall, feminine figure with an imposing presence and a short yet lean man by her side. To be honest, the woman named Draga looked like she could probably saw him in half. Klaus could not understand how the man beside her could appear so nonchalant standing next to her.
“Klaus?” Sergei looked at him with soft concern. Looking beyond the young man, Klaus found that the woman had an amused twist to her face and the man beside her masked his displeasure quite poorly.
“O-oh, I apologize for not paying attention. Suppose I’ve had a few too many tonight.” Klaus chuckled hazily, choosing to go with that excuse even though he hadn’t taken a sip of wine yet tonight. “My name is Klaus Weirmann, and I am uhh, a close friend of Sergei’s from the university.”
Draga burst out laughing, the man beside her forced to reprimand the intimidating woman for being too loud. “It’s fine, Cica Neven…haven’t had the pleasure of meeting…as Sir Klaus…stressful day…dry conversation…nobles and public officials.” She wiped a few tears of laughter from her eyes, then took a few sips of her wine as she calmed down.
Klaus was embarrassed, yet pleased at the same time. He didn’t know why. His dog-tired mind didn’t allow him to find out.
“First you leave…whole week…come back without any notice…not even have…pints…now you dare…ball…leave unannounced?...cruel man, Klaus,” grumbled Sergei, a huge frown on his face as he brooded over Klaus’ supposed “betrayal”.
All of a sudden, his foggy face brightened with a smile as he caught sight of something or someone. Klaus looked to where the other man was looking, and his already frail heart sunk all the down to the wretched depths.
“Speak of the devil!...still have a few glasses…no?” Sergei grabbed a glass of wine off the waitress’s wine plate- a waitress that looked suspiciously familiar behind all that fog- and handed it to Klaus, who held a horrified look on his face.
“Drink up, brother! This is one of the only nights we’ll be able to indulge in such a luxury.”
Klaus tried to refuse, but his weak protests wouldn’t be heard by his stubborn friend.
Hesitance and exhaustion were clear by the expression on Klaus’ face. He looked around and found that everyone in his social circle stared at him in anticipation. Draga had a mischievous glint in her eyes, while Neven sported a look that conveyed curiosity. And Sergei, well, he appeared blissfully ignorant as always.
Klaus peered down at the blood-red wine, finding a distorted reflection of himself staring back at him. The bags under his eyes appeared to be twice as deep. His cheeks were bereft of any semblance of energy, his mind fraught with terrible exhaustion.
Resigning to his impending fate, Klaus buckled up and downed the whole glass of wine in one fell swoop.
He never looked back.