Date:         Thu, 5 Jan 1995 00:30:48 -0500
Reply-To:     NancySSCH@AOL.COM
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         "N.L. Cleveland" <NancySSCH@AOL.COM>
Subject:      Final Repost Aloha Ch 1.p 36-42

c 1994 N.L. Cleveland   Aloha Ch 1 p 36-42

<Probably thinks he's a pickpocket. Probably  right, too.>   Jonathan
intercepted the man before he reached Jari.  "I'm here for the auction.The
boy is with me. I'll vouch for him."  The detective nodded stiffly and
withdrew, casting occasional glances back at the pair as he prowled the other
side of the lobby.

<He won't forget us. He's memorized our faces. > Jonathan handed Jari the
windbreaker."Put this on, now, and stay close to me. Otherwise you'll end up
out on the street."

Jari zipped up the tan jacket, pulling the oversized sleeves up over his
wrists so the fabric bunched instead of hanging over his hands. <Much better.
>

In his pocket, Jonathan carried the embossed, gilt printed invitation. He
took it out and showed it to one of a pair of heavyset men standing by the
ballroom's closed doors. <Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad
to see me? >

The first guard glanced at the invitation, and stepped aside to let him and
the boy pass inside. The second stepped forward and blocked their path. "I
see only one name on this?" He made it a question.

"We're together, obviously." Jonathan stared him in the eyes, not expecting
trouble here, but willing to deal with it if it came. He had already noted
the extra security, plainclothes operatives, circling the lobby with what
they probably thought was invisible subtelty. He began counting them, from
the reflection in the polished marble walls over the guard's shoulder,
watching to see if any of them were moving in.

 "Let me check with the sponsor. Please wait." The guard turned and spoke
inaudibly into a small throat mike, then listened intently. He had a
miniature receiver taped to his ear. It hummed in response.

<These guys act like government issue. I thought this was a private affair. >
Jonathan's  senses were on alert now. Something more than just an auction was
happening here.

<Leave. Run. Get out, now.  >  He ignored the inner warning, the stronger
pull of curiosity overriding his normal caution. <What are these items worth,
to rate this security? >  He'd dabbled in antiques, had purchased a few,
 very few, very good pieces of ancient Japanese art, furniture, and weapons,
when he'd come to the Islands. He'd had a house to furnish and wanted to feel
at home. Wanted to see some of the familiar items he'd spent so much time
among, in Japan. He'd even struck up a passing acquaintance with the most
reputable dealer on the Islands, to get some items that were not readily
available. And expensive. That was why he'd received this invitation, he'd
supposed. Now, he was re-examining that premise. He'd been to private
auctions before, but never one with this level of security. He was almost
sorry he'd brought the boy along now. If something else was happening here,
he'd brought him into danger.  But again, he wasn't entirely sure. And the
boy seemed eager to go inside. It would be a shame to disappoint him.

The guard  turned back to them and attempted a smile. It never reached his
eyes.  "Sorry to hold you folks up" He opened the door. "Please, go right in.
Enjoy the exhibit."

Jari slipped past the guard, eying him sideways like he expected the man to
bite. He looked like he might, at that. <What the hell, if the Agency wants
me, they know where to find me. > They would hardly try anything in public,
like this. He was here, he might as well enjoy the show.

Jonathan followed the boy inside. The room was dusky. The lights were
lowered, to heighten the impact of the spotlights on the dozen or so items
exhibited for inspection prior to the sale.  Jonathan noted them with half
his mind, reviewing his strategic situation with the rest.

<It's definitely time to give Vulcan a call. And to check with my contacts in
the District. They wouldn't dare try a termination. They know what my death
will do to them. The Director would never risk it. So what's going on?  Who
is the target?  >

He scanned the room, walking casually after Jari towards the exhibit area,
looking for patterns of motion, surveillance.  < Nothing.   Maybe the whole
place is wired? >

The boy stood in front of a rusted, cracked shield. Faint, faded enamels
decorated its battered, dented surface. It hung in midair, suspended by
shimmering, almost invisible nylon strands, glowing under the beam of a
single baby spot light. Jonathan moved to his side. "What do you think of it,
Jari?

"This rusty old junk? Who cares. All this stuff is all beat up and broken. I
thought you said these were really valuable. I've never seen anything like
this in anybody's house... " He broke off, abruptly, biting his lips and
glancing at Jonathan to see if he'd caught the slip.

<Anybody's house you broke into, you mean.>   Jonathan finished the sentence
for him, silently. He  smiled at the boy, and winked. Jari looked down,
embarrassed.

"Real antiques, things that have authentic history attached to them, often
are not pretty and presentable. Like the people who made them matter, they've
been through a lot. Do you know whose shield this was?"

Jari shook his head.  Jonathan stepped back from it, squinted his eyes. <Yes,
it brought out the faded enamels a bit more. >  "This carries the house of
arms of a King of England. See the lions, and the gryphons, here and here.
Richard the Lionhearted carried this on the Crusades. He lost it when he was
captured during a battle outside Jerusalem, in the 12th century. " Jonathan
glanced at the boy. No reaction so far. <But he's still here.>  "It has been
in the private collection of the Caliph's family, ever since. This is the
first time in almost 600 years this has ever been offered for sale, or
exhibited in public. You would never find something like this in a suburban
mansion in Hileah. It is unique, like everything else in here."

Jari squinted at the design. "What's a gryphon?"

<Well, it's a start..>  Jonathan pointed.  " Here, and here. It's a
mythological beast with the head of an eagle, the body of a lion, wings, and
 the tail of a dragon. It represents unconquerable power."

Jari looked at the shield dubiously. "It still looks like junk to me."

"Appearances can be deceiving." Jonathan moved on to the next exhibit, his
senses alert for any particular ripple of interest in the random patterns of
motion in the room. Several dozen prospective purchasers browsed from item to
item, some carrying small notebooks in which they recorded their impressions
of the pieces. No nibbles yet.

A tattered, pale silk banner hung in the pool of light. It was stained, worn
and almost translucent, the fabric was so old and fragile. "What's this? Some
old flag?" Jari looked thoroughly bored.

<At least he's asking questions.>   Jonathan paused. Someone was interested.
A man was hovering, just behind them. Jonathan  moved casually around the
banner, and the shadow followed. <Bingo! Now let's find out the agenda.>  He
turned to the boy. "Have you ever heard of Jeanne D'Arc? Joan of Arc?"

Jari shook his head. <There is no cultural context here.  How can I connect
to someone with no sense of history? No understanding of the past? > Jonathan
sighed. The shadow still hovered, but had moved to the other side of the
banner, so the light outlined his silhouette, leaving his face and features
in the dark. The shadow was scribbling notes into his pad, glancing down,
then at the banner,  checking  all the details.

<Very professional. I approve. Let's see how you make contact, now. > "Joan
of Arc was a peasant girl in 14th century France. The country was at war,
with  the Franks. They are called the Germans, now. " Jonathan glanced at
Jari, to see if he was still listening. He was, with something that looked
like faint interest on his features. Encouraged, Jonathan plunged ahead.

"France was losing, they were about to be conquered. Joan saw a vision, of
the Virgin Mary, leading the French to victory. She walked to the town where
the king and his military advisors were camped, and insisted on speaking to
him. She convinced him that her vision  meant the French should attack. He
let her lead the army in battle. They won. The enemy was defeated. The
kingdom was saved. This was her banner."

Jari looked up, intrigued..  "I didn't know girls could be generals back
then. What happened to her afterwards? Did she get a reward?" Jonathan was
caught up short. This was not the lesson of history he had really wanted to
share.  <Maybe I should have let this one slide.>  He hesitated, then
continued.

"Sort of. She was  given honor,  money, and lands, and  led the army to other
victories." He edged cagily around the point as gracefully as possible.

The shadow moved forward, emerging in the shared pool of light as a middle
aged man, dressed in a dark, elegantly tailored suit. He had black close
cropped hair and  a neat moustache.  His even features were marked by pitted
scars.

<Smallpox? No one gets smallpox anymore. > Jonathan felt the hair on the nape
of his neck rise, as if someone had walked across his grave. A sense of
ineffable menace hung over his spirit. He wondered if this man had been sent
to kill, or only to watch.

"What he isn't telling you, young man, is that she was burned at the stake,
by the very same king she saved  a nation for." The man's voice was
remarkable, an almost musical  baritone, with an indefinable accent.

<Turkish? Possibly. > Jonathan looked at his eyes. They were unreadable. Deep
liquid pools of ice. Cold as death. <That was the message. Who was it for?  >

"Wow." Jari was impressed, this time. "What about Robin Hood? Is any of his
stuff here?" Jonathan stepped closer to the boy, subtly blocking the shadow's
line of attack. The man smiled faintly and stayed put., as if saying 'See,
I'm no threat.'

<Sure. Just out for a Sunday picnic. Right.  > Jonathan tensed, scanning the
room for backup. No one else was evident yet. So far, a solo operation.
"Robin Hood was just a myth, Jari." Jonathan tried to smooth out the anger in
his voice, to keep Jari from thinking it was at him.  <Damn the Agency and
their labyrinthian plots. Who was this man?  > "He was a legend. He never
really existed."

"Oh." The boy looked disappointed.

"Actually, there was a Robin Hood." The shadow moved forward, cutting through
Jonathan's perimeter, standing next to the boy. His eyes glinted with some
secret joke. Jonathan tensed, keyed up, ready. <Where were the others? >

"Robin Hood was the son of a small landholder, a Saxon country squire. His
family lost their land to the Normans, when we...they.... conquered England.
He spent his time skulking in the forest, trying to stir up an insurrection,
and robbing anyone foolish or weak enough to be caught by his band of
ruffians." The shadow spoke lazily, but there was a peculiar relish to his
words.

<It's almost like he knew the man, personally. >

"What about Little John? Maid Marion?The Sheriff of Nottingham?" Jari was
entranced. "Were they real people too?"

"With your permission?" The shadow raised his eyebrows in mock inquiry to
Jonathan.

"Be my guest." Jonathan returned irony for irony. Let's play this out. Just
leave the boy alone.  He was controlling his breathing, pulling in deep slow
lungfuls of air, ready to use the extra oxygen to explode into action in a
split second. But against whom?

"Let me think now." The shadow pretended to muse. "As I recall, Little John
was a fat giant of a man, his specialty was sitting on his enemies until he
suffocated them. Maid Marion, alas, was not quite the beauty of legend. She'd
had the pox, you see". He touched his own cheeks, almost regretfully.

"What about the Sheriff? What about the archery contest?" Jari was impatient,
caught up in this new vision of history and myth.

"The Sheriff, yes, he was quite a man. History, like legends, can distort
things. Don't you ever forget that." The man stared intently at the boy. Jari
nodded, uncertainly.

The shadow continued. "He and Robin had quite a time. The Sheriff did finally
catch the outlaw, and put him in his dungeons, to rot. He was well rewarded.
The townsfolk and the king were grateful. But the storytellers took the tale
and turned it upside down. Never trust a storyteller, boy. They care more for
the romance, than the facts." There was a bitter, mocking edge to his voice,
as if the story mattered more, and less,  than it should.

Jonathan cut in, impatient with the dance. Wanting to get to the point. To
flush out the game, the meaning of this whole charade.  "And how do you know
these facts?"

The man smiled, and held out his hand. "Kassmir Atatul. I have a passion for
history. That's why I'm here today. And you?"

"Jonathan Raven." Atatul's hand was hard, capable. There was an odd pattern
of calluses on the palm. A flash of recollection. The hand of the sword
master, in the Black Dragons, had felt the same. This man was a master
swordsman, or at least one who practiced steadily, every day.

<The Black Dragons? Here? >

Unlikely, but not impossible. But this man didn't fit. He wasn't Japanese.
And the Agency didn't go for swords. Guns, poisons, bombs. Not swords. <So
who was he working for? >

Jonathan glanced at Jari, who had turned away, heading for another exhibit.
"Thanks for the insight. I'm sure he enjoyed it."  <See, I can be civil too.>
  He stood, apparently at ease, his knees slightly bent, ready to kill in an
instant. He sensed that the other man knew it, and was somehow laughing at
him. It angered him, but again, he had nothing to pin down, nothing to go on,
but this feeling.

" I enjoy sharing my little tidbits of history with such an eager audience."
Kassmir followed Jonathn's glance,his eyes tracking the boy, who had wandered
to the next display. Kassmir paused, then looked directly at Jonathan,
inquiring in an apparenlty  casual tone. "Are you interested in any
particular item?"

Jonathan sensed an undercurrent to the question. <Something is here I'm
supposed to want?  Personally?>  Jonathan thought back to the catalog.
Nothing came to mind. <Maybe it wasn't listed?  How well does he know me,
anyhow? What is his brief?  >

He shugged, smiled tightly and responded. "Everything here is unique, very
special. Just seeing it is a treat, for us."  Play the innocent, let him
lead.

"I collect swords, myself." Kassmir moved easily towards a small pool of
light across the room. Jonathan followed, allowing himself to be reeled in.
Jari seemed engrossed in whatever he'd found. No one was close to him. He
looked safe for the moment.

"There's a truly excellent specimen here. I don't believe it was in the
catalog." Kassmir continued, then paused to let Jonathan join him in admiring
the display.

A sword, a simple katana, hung in the light. It was suspended horizontally,
the bare blade catching the light like a molten bar of silver, almost
glowing. The scabbard hung below, its lines paralleling the curve of the
blade. Intricate knotted golden cord and a long elaborate fringe dangled
beneath it.

Jonathan stepped closer.

<Was that a dragon, etched into the blade? A black dragon? >  A small black
marble stand held a white, neatly lettered card. He read the inscription.

*The katana of Okiko Matogawa.*

<The founder of the Black Dragons. Why was it here? This could never be sold,
not as long as a single Black Dragon was alive. Did this mean the clan was
gone? >  Wild surmises tumbled through his brain. He turned to Kassmir.

Kassmir was staring fixedly at the entrance to the room.  A tall, dark haired
man had just entered, and the two locked eyes across the ballroom.

"Excuse me, please. I have just seen an old...friend. We'll talk again,
later." Kassmir was gone, his voice distant, distracted, stalking across the
rug like a cat, hunting. The other man walked to meet him, tension screaming
in every line of his body, to Jonathan's experienced eye. <Didn't anyone else
see? >

The other patrons continued their browsing, oblivious to the two men
approaching one another in the center of the room. Jonathan watched,
remembering  two samurai, both accomplished assassins, and  bitter enemies,
he had seen approach one another in a similar way, in the hall of the Black
Dragons. Those two had screamed simultaneous challenges, and fought a
ferocious duel to the death, right there. Both had died, one stabbed through
the heart, one with a gaping wound to his neck. Their blood had mingled,
staining the floor, together in death.

He blinked, cleared his eyes. For a moment he thought he'd seen swords.
Poised, to clash. Impossible. The two men stood in the center of the room.
They exchanged a few words, turned and looked towards him, then walked
together to another exhibit. They kept a careful distance between them.

Interesting.  <So was Atatul here for me, or for him? I'll keep an eye open
for that man. We'll  talk.  >

But this katana...He turned back to the exhibit case. <What did it mean?  Why
was it here? >
   * * * * *


Duncan paused as he entered the ballroom. His still damp hair tickled his
neck, a solitary drop inching its way down his back. Yomo had been gone, when
he'd returned to the suite, the katana with her. He looked around, wondering
if she was mingling with the browsers. Then the buzz came.

<Yes, he was here. Across the room.  There. >   A shock of recognition from
 *inside*.

* We know this man.*

** He's  a killer.**

*  Assassin. *

**  Murderer. **

* An Immortal who kills mortals and Immortals, for  pleasure. *
=========================================================================