Date:         Thu, 5 Jan 1995 01:01:36 -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 43-49

Aloha c 1994  N.L. Cleveland   Ch 1 p 43-49

** To hurt and torment others. **

* For money. *

** For no reason at all.**

Duncan shivered, the cool air raising goosebumps on his skin.  <Worse than I
expected. Sheer evil.  >  He stared hard across the room. <Who was he talking
to? A friend? A victim?   > So much for the relaxing vacation.

They stared at one another, then walked closer, both drawn together by a
force stronger than either of them.  "I am Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan
MacLeod."  <And several hundred others.>  Duncan grated out the words through
stiffened lips, trying to control his  expression, not to show his disgust
too openly in the public room.

"I am Kassmir Atatul." The man smiled at him lazily, a cat contemplating its
prey. "I will meet you later, but right now I am... involved."

Duncan smiled back, showing all his teeth, throwing civility to the winds.
"Who are you stalking now, you bloody killer? You'll deal with me before you
kill another mortal." He glanced at the dark haired man watching them from
across the room. "Is this your intended prey? Leave him alone."

Kassmir emptied his face of all expression, matching Duncan's rage with ice.
"I'm here for the auction. Are you so eager to die? We can meet tonight, no?
An opportunity to see these treasures, it only comes once or twice in a man's
life. Even an Immortal's. Come, look."  He stepped back and gestured
gracefully towards the nearest display.

 Duncan was drawn, despite himself, towards the pool of light. <He's right.
Why miss this show. One of us will be dead, by tonight. What do we lose, to
spend a few hours honoring the past.  >

** No. He lies. It's a trick. A trap. **  Duncan  brushed aside the inner
voices, impatiently.  "Very well. Tonight. " He pushed aside, as well, the
small flare of unease he felt at the flash triumph he thought he glimped for
a second in Kassimir's eyes, as the man turned to the display in front of
them. <What difference can a few hours make, after all?>

He smoothed away his concern and stood next to Kassmir, still wary of the
man,  gazing in silent appreciation at a small mace. It had finely worked
gold filigree, chipped and gouged in places. Some of the teeth on the head
were missing. It was still beautiful, and lethal. A woman's weapon, for a
 noble warrior.  Berengaria. Last fighting queen of the Saxons.

*I knew her. She was as deadly as she was beautiful.*

<Later.  Tell me about Kassmir, now.  >

"Ladies, Gentlemen."  A quiet announcement stirred the small groups of
people, they swirled and began to gather in the rear of the room, where
padded chairs had been set up for the bidding. Kassmir offered Duncan an
ironic bow, and gestured towards the seats. "After you?"

Duncan saw Yomo talking with one of the staff, next to the impromptu stage.
She was wearing blue. A high necked silk dress in a deep rich midnight color
that brought an answering lustrous sheen to her hair . She had on a single
strand of pearls, each perfectly matched in size. If they were real, they
were worth a fortune.  Duncan wondered again whose money was behind her. He
took a seat near the rear, to watch the other bidders in action, and keep an
eye on Kassmir.

There were over a dozen items, according to the catalog. Duncan thumbed
through it , noticing that at least one had been left out, Yomo's katana.
Perhaps there were others, too. He mentally reviewed the resources he was
willing to commit to purchasing. Since he'd sold the antique store, he'd put
most of his possessions in storage. Some of his more valuable pieces, things
he had no particular attachment to, were on consignment with other dealers.

He'd come more to look, and to relax, than to bid aggressively for anything.
He didn't have any purchasers lined up, a standard practice for any dealer
bidding in such a high stakes game. Anything he bought today, would be for
himself, or for a speculative future resale.

His cash position was good. No shortage there. And anything bought here today
would only appreciate. Each item was unique. But nothing stirred him with a
desire to possess it. Nothing, except that katana. <I'll wait and see what
the competition is. Perhaps no one else is interested. >  He settled back in
his seat,  to listen.

The first three lots went quickly, bought by a representative of a private
collector. Heir to a huge oil fortune, he could afford whatever he wanted,
and his agent beat down the competition by simply doubling the last price
bid, each time. Duncan had seen him in action before. I< wonder if he's just
going to clear everything out? >

Angry murmurs from the audience followed his closing bids. Several dealers,
including at least two Duncan recognized as representing major museums,
walked out, furious, shut out from the start on the only items they wanted.
After securing the third lot, the agent rose and left the room. An almost
audible sigh of relief moved through the audience.

<At least the rest of us have a chance at something, now. >

The bidding was brisk on the next three lots, and the victors were flushed
and triumphant as they completed their paperwork to certify payment and set
the pickup date. One man even insisted on paying cash, producing a pile of
$10,000 bills and demanding his trophy on the spot. He left, carrying it
himself, trailed by two watchful bodyguards. Duncan recognized him as a Capo
of the Union Corse.

<The customers are almost as interesting as the merchandise. Of course, who
 else would want old weapons, but old fighters? Old killers? >

The next three lots moved  quickly again, this time the bidding evolving into
a one on one high stakes contest between a Japanese dealer and an Arab
dressed in flowing robes and headdress. Two for the dealer, one for the
sheik.  Both looked satisfied as they completed their paperwork, then left.

Three lots remained. Several more of the smaller dealers and collectors had
drifted out of the room by now, their choices gone. Dozens of empty seats
were scattered among the audience. Kassmir was still there, though,  calmly
reading the catalog. He hadn't bid on a single item yet.

<Well neither have I.  Maybe the game is too rich for his purse, too. >

The final three lots  went excruciatingly slowly. Almost every person left in
the room, it seemed, wanted to at least put in a bid. The last  listed piece,
the gun used to assassinate Abraham Lincoln, went up in price by tiny
increments, the battle swinging among almost a dozen individuals. Finally one
put out a substantial jump, and the others folded. As she stood to complete
her paperwork, there was a general movement towards the door, purses and
jackets reclaimed and voices raised in reminiscence and regret. Kassmir
hadn't budged.

Duncan stayed in his seat and glanced around the room. So did a few others,
including the man Kassmir had been speaking with earlier. A bored looking
teen squirmed in a seat beside him.

<What about Yomo's katana?  >

There was a pause, then the modulated announcer's voice. "Ladies, Gentlemen,
the next item was added to the sale after the catalog was printed.
Information is now being  distributed. We apologize for the delay."

Paper rustled around the room as an assistant passed out still warm sheets
from a copier. Only a dozen people remained. Yomo sat, calm, in the front
row. All Duncan could see was the top of her shining hair.

< At last. >   Duncan examined the provenance. Verified in the strongest
terms, authenticity vouched for and guaranteed.  This was the real thing. A
true koto, forged in 1234. By Anko Itsusai, the teacher of Japan's most
famous sword smith, Goro Masasume.

<Now who's my competition? >  Duncan glanced around the room, counting  fewer
than a dozen persons still seated.  <Interesting, they waited to add it
formally until after  most of the dealers had left.  Hess's man would have
snapped this up in a second. So would Toyokara. > It was odd.

The bidding opened at $100,000. Rather low for an item of this quality,
Duncan mused. A few desultory bids from dealers, obviously speculating they
could line up a purchaser later. None of the individual collectors were left,
at least none Duncan recognized from among the super rich. He waited until
the bids stalled on $250,000, then nodded at the auctioneer.

The man nodded back, and moved it to $300,000. The previous high bidder shot
Duncan a poisonous glare, then folded his arms. He was out. None of the other
previous bidders made a move.

<That was easy.  >  Duncan's lips curved up,  a small trickle of excitement
 stirring in his heart. <To hold that sword again.>

The  auctioneer  glanced around the room. "Gentlemen? Ladies? Do I hear
another offer?"

That man, the one Kassmir had been speaking to, stirred in his chair. The
auctioneer raised his eyebrows, then smiled."I have $350. Do I hear $400?"

<Damn. Where did he come from?  >  Duncan's euphoria evaporated immediately.
He wondered if Kassmir was working with the man. P<erhaps he's fronting for
him? Well I'll be damned if I'm going to lose this. Not without a fight.>
 Duncan frowned, then nodded at the auctioneer again.

"$400. I have $400 thousand. Do I hear $500?" The auctioneer was smiling now.
  <Competition always made them smile, >  Duncan thought, dourly.

Kassmir lifted his catalog.

"$450, I have $450 thousand. Do I hear $500?"

<So much for that theory. >  The other man turned to look at Kassmir, his
stare flat and neutral, then turned back to the front. His nod was almost
imperceptible from Duncan's perspective, the back of his head all Duncan
could see, but the auctioneer picked up on it immediately.

The auctioneer was in his element. A three way competition. He fairly glowed
with satisfaction as he chanted the next bid. "$500, I have $500 thousand. Do
I hear $600?"

<Damn and double damn. > This was getting too rich for his pockets. <One last
try.  > Duncan  tugged at his earlobe. The auctioneer nodded.

"$525. I have $525 thousand. Do I hear $550?"

Kassmir again.

<Blast him. I should have dragged him out and killed him when we met. Is this
what he was so anxious to stay for? >

$550. I have $550 thousand. Do I hear $600?"

The other man lifted his catalog.

"$600. I have $600 thousand. Do I hear $700?"

The auctioneer looked at Duncan, inquiry in his face. Duncan shook his head
and looked away. *It's worth it. You know it is. You'll regret this.*  Duncan
ignored the inner voices and sat silently.

Kassmir folded his arms, and shook his head to the auctioneer's insistent
gaze. The man searched the room again, chanting his litany, then brought down
his gavel, once, twice, thrice.

"Sold, for $600 thousand."

<Less than half what it could have fetched, if it had been up sooner. Kassmir
  looks as pleased as if he'd gotten it, himself.  I wonder why?  >

The room was emptying rapidly. The last bidders had left, and the
auctioneer's staff were sorting their paperwork, and packing the items for
storage, until payments were verified and they were delivered to their new
owners. The man who had purchased the sword stood at the clearing table,
writing a check.  The teenaged boy waited next to him. Yomo was no where to
be seen. She must have gone back to the rooms. Duncan  stood and moved toward
the table.  Be a good sport.  Congratulate the man.

Kassmir stepped into his path, intercepting him. He hissed a low voiced
warning, one meant for Duncan's ears only. "Leave him alone. He's mine. When
I'm done with him, I'll come for you. Tonight. If you interfere, I'll go
after all your friends, too. And you won't be around to protect them."

Duncan stopped and glared back at him. "No one threatens my friends. No one.
You'll never even get a chance to see them. You'll be in hell."

Kassmir smiled.  "Perhaps. But you'll be there before me."

Duncan kept his face still, trying not to show his revulsion, and rage, at
the blatant threats. At the morally bankruptcy of the Immortal who faced him.
This man represented the worst aspect of Immortality, someone who cared
nothing for the rules of law or man. Someone who deserved to be exterminated.
 "Why should I even let you leave this room alive?"

"Because if you don't, I'll kill that boy right now." Kassmir stepped out of
Duncan's reach, and showed him a glimpse of a snub nosed revolver, held under
his jacket, the dully gleaming barrel protruding barely an inch.  "The man is
dead, but I'll let the boy live, if you don't interfere."

Duncan considered. Kassmir was lying. He had no compunctions about killing
anyone, ever. The boy was as doomed as the man, if he had his way.

* Let him think you agree. *

Duncan nodded. "Fine. I just wanted to congratulate him on his new
acquisition. You don't mind that, do you?"

"Of course not. I'll even join you." Kassmir relaxed, confident of victory.

<We'll see about that. >  Duncan strode past Kassmir, and approached the man
and boy, who were now waiting for the auctioneer's assistant to verify the
check was good.

"We can make delivery this evening." The assistant put down the phone and
smiled, briskly.

"That would be fine. You have my address."  The man turned to go, the boy at
his side.

Duncan stepped forward, held out his hand, smiling.  "Congratulations. I had
hoped to take home that sword myself. I'm Duncan MacLeod."

The man hesitated the barest moment. His eyes searched Duncan's, assessing
his intentions.  "I'm Jonathan Raven. Thank you." His hand felt hard,
competent.  <And familiar? >  Something tickled the edge of Duncan's
consciousness.

 Raven kept his other hand protectively on the shoulder of the boy.  <His
son?>

Kassmir broke into their little circle, radiating charm and bonhomie. "Yes,
Jonathan Raven. Congratulations. It looks like my friend Duncan and I will go
home empty handed. That's life. To the victor goes the spoils." He smiled.

Friends indeed. Charming as a rattlesnake, and about as deadly.   Duncan
turned back to Raven. <How to warn him?  >  "Are you a collector? I haven't
seen you at international auctions before."

Raven looked steadily at him, then shifted his gaze to Kassmir, his dark eyes
balancing, calculating, trying to add up the situation. He looked vaguely
puzzled.
"No, I don't usually attend. Interesting that they had me down to invite.
Tough on my bank account, too." He grinned, quizzically.

"Not many people would know what to do with that sword. Do you intend to
resell it? Or keep it for display?" Duncan probed, watching Raven, alert to
Kassmir for any reaction. Again that disturbing look. <Unusual for a mortal
to have eyes that seemed to have seen so much, to be so old. >

"I intend to keep it."

<Hmmm. What does this Raven do for a living? There's something about him.
Something  that smells of death. But whose? > On an impulse, Duncan spoke a
phrase in Japanese, a simple greeting, one used  among students of the
martial arts as well. "Konichi-wa."

Raven blinked, then responded. "Konichi-wa."  Duncan inclined his head,
sketching a hint of a formal bow. Raven returned the gesture.

< A connection.>  "Well  I hope you enjoy it. It's a beautiful piece.
Functional, too." Duncan put a subtle stress on the word. "Keep the boy away
from it, he might cut himself."

Raven's eyes shifted to Kassmir, then back to Duncan's. A flicker, in their
depths.
Duncan faced Raven, using his shoulders to block Kassimir's line of sight,
and folded his hands together briefly into the gebakuken-in, one of the
meditation hand postures used by many branches of the Japanese martial arts.
This gesture was used to focus on tearning down illusions,  and on generating
an expanded awareness to allow the practitioner to sense a coming threat.

Raven's eyes narrowed slightly as he acknowledged Duncan's message,  his gaze
searching deep into Duncan's own, but his body making no other overt motion.

<There. Message sent. Message received. >  Duncan nodded at the boy and
stepped away. Kassmir shot a fast, furious glare at Duncan, sensing someting
vital had just been exchanged but not knowing what, then turned his back on
him. He remained, chatting with Raven about Japanese customs and law. Angling
for an invitation to his home, it sounded like.
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