Mirages
Part 8

Laila pried up the broken tiles moving carefully and quietly. She'd found this hiding space only a few days after her arrival here and had watched it carefully for several weeks before using it.

It was a small space in the corner of the guest room Count Courland had been using. He was dining with Azura and Florian now and likely to be out for a while, but there was still the chance of being caught so she hurried.

Removing the cloth bundle, she tucked it into her clothing and quickly replaced the tiles. She carried it to her room and blocked the door with a chair before taking out the bundle and unwrapping it.

The tiny object rested in the palm of her hand, a clay figure of a person, clothed in scraps of cast off cloth with features made from minute fragments of tile. She'd made the figure soon after arriving in Azura's household – a totem for remembering and honoring her family when they were so far away. Crafting the figure had given her something to do in those first lonely nights after Florian had retired to bed and the household was quiet.

She carried the totem with her at first, but quickly realized that it needed to be hidden. The servants were curious about her and the totem would draw their attention, especially when she used it in the ritual of remembering.

She'd found the cracked tile in the guest room when she was cleaning it one day and had watched it carefully before entrusting her totem to it. Since then, she'd visited it daily when she could, practicing the ritual of remembrance. She didn't always take the figure from the hiding place – some days it was too risky – but she could at least trace the symbols of the ritual on the tiles concealing it.

She'd been practicing the ritual for as long as she could remember – tracing the sacred symbols first on a bit of slate and later on a totem her mother had made for her. It was larger and more elaborate than the one Laila had made, but it served the same purpose.

Sadly, she didn't know the origin or the purpose of the ritual – only that every woman and girl in her clan performed it daily without fail. She'd been told that she could never show anyone outside the clan those symbols or the ritual. When she'd questioned, they'd assured her that the secret of the ritual would be revealed on the night before she married, or on her twentieth birthday, whichever came sooner.

Laila had been looking forward to finally learning the secret on her next birthday but she'd been stolen away two short months beforehand and now the date was past.

She'd cried that day, overcome with loss at the thought that she might never know the secret. Florian had found her weeping in a corner of the garden and had held her, offering silent comfort. After a while, she had calmed and he had taken her back to his room where they shared tea and conversation until she felt steady enough to tell him why she was so upset.

He hadn't promised to make it better – hadn't made any promises at all, but his gentleness and compassion helped her through the worst of her sadness and she was able to return to her duties dry-eyed and calm.

She remembered that now as she placed the wrapped figure carefully in the travel case Florian had given her. He'd assured her that she would be going with them on their journey to Carthage and she wanted to be packed and ready to leave as soon as she got the word. She'd already mixed up a supply of ointments, potions and salves that might be needed on the trip – including something for Florian. He'd made her laugh with his stories of the mishaps he'd suffered because of his seasickness.

Casting a look around the room, she was content that she hadn't forgotten anything. She had a change of clothes out for the next day and the few other items she'd need. The rest of her belongings were packed. Now all she had to do was be patient.
 

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"Monsieur Tassel?" Solomon held his hand out in greeting to the brown-haired, bespectacled man standing on deck with a small boy at his side. The man and boy gave Solomon matching looks of curiosity making him smile. "I'm Solomon Sugar. I believe you spoke to Lady Fairmont about me."

"Ah yes. Certainly. The tutor. You're here in good time – plenty to get us all settled and be back on deck for the launch. I promised Noel we wouldn't miss it."

"Of course," Solomon assured them both. "We wouldn't want to miss that. Best part of the trip."

Noel looked up at him, blue eyes wide as he walked along between the two men. The boy was dressed in a sailor suit with short pants and carrying a stuffed bear nearly as large as himself.

"Papa," he whispered urgently pulling on his father's hand. "You forgot Betty Deux." He lifted the bear for emphasis.

"Oh dear. How thoughtless of me. Monsieur Sugar, this is Betty Deux. Betty, this is Solomon Sugar."

"Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss." Solomon shook the bear's paw.

"She likes reading," Noel assured him. "And coloring and music. She's not very good at math."

"Oh dear. Well then she will need to practice or all the stuffing in her head will go to one side and she'll fall over."

"That happens now." Noel said with a hint of worry in his voice. "It's not too late to fix, is it?"

"Not if she studies hard and eats her vegetables."

"Betty Deux doesn't like vegetables," Noel said seriously.

"Then you'll have to set a good example for her." Solomon noticed that the boy's father was having trouble keeping a straight face. Apparently the battle of the vegetables was still being waged between parents and children. He'd driven his own mother to distraction over his refusal to eat peas.

"We're here, Noel. Would you please show your tutor to his rooms?" He handed the key to Solomon.

"Come on," Noel urged, grabbing Solomon's hand and towing him down the hall to the next-door and waiting impatiently while Solomon unlocked it.

The boy allowed Solomon to enter first before following him into the suite. Solomon was pleased to find it so roomy – the last time he'd traveled by passenger ship he'd had to share a room barely big enough for the two bunk beds, a tiny table and a dresser.

"Look!" Noel scampered over and opened an interior door to show that it connected to the suite he and his father would share. He ran through and gave his father a hug before turning around and running back to Solomon.

"Noel!" M. Tassel called. "No running."

"Yes, Papa," Noel replied, slowing to a walk. He explored the rest of Solomon's suite while Solomon unpacked his suitcases. He preferred to travel light, but this was going to be a long trip and he'd need a variety of clothes – from a formal suit for dinners aboard ship to more casual, lighter clothing for when he was in Morocco. Pierre had teased him mercilessly about this wardrobe and then dragged him off to the shops. Solomon had purchased more clothing in that one afternoon than he'd bought in the last five years.

He had to admit that it was nice having the money to indulge himself a little. He'd taken Pierre out to dinner after the shopping marathon and they'd shared a bottle of excellent wine.

Now he was here in a first class suite about to become the temporary tutor of a young boy despite having no experience with children. He was on his way to a foreign land to face down a rich and reportedly ruthless man to free a young aristocrat whose mother had killed her own brother and his wife - a pair with ties to the Black Hand, the gang who had murdered his sister and brother-in-law and who had wanted to murder Madame Rochefort to get the family's legendary diamond. A diamond that would kill anyone who tried to possess it.

Solomon finished unpacking and stood up, pushing aside thoughts and worries about the real reason for making this journey.

Watching as Noel bounced Betty Deux on his bed, he had the feeling that distracting himself from his mission wouldn't be as difficult as he'd expected.
 

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"Breakfast is waiting. Get up." Azura slapped Florian's backside to get his attention. He'd been up for over an hour ordering the servants around as they made preparations for his trip. He'd let Ray and Florian sleep because it kept them out of his way. Now, however, he had had enough of the two men lying tangled together, sleeping peacefully.

Florian climbed out of bed slowly, sticky and sore. Ray moved a bit faster and was up and in the bathroom before Florian had put his robe on. Florian stumbled after him, yawning while Azura rang for the servants who were waiting outside to strip and remake the bed.

Ray was content to rinse off quickly and wear only a robe to breakfast, but Florian took the time to properly wash and dress in a suit. At first he was uncomfortable in the Arabian garb that Azura often insisted he wear, but now he was used to it and enjoyed the freedom of loose lightweight cloth. After last night, however, he felt the need to reclaim a little of himself by wearing a suit.

The tight clothing rubbed against his skin but he endured it. It wasn't the first time he'd been sore after a night with Azura.

He didn't allow himself to dwell on the events of the previous evening. Azura had no patience for what he called Florian's melancholies, and Florian himself didn't care to brood over it. What he felt for Azura – and Ray – was far too complex to ponder before breakfast.

Taking up his coffee cup, he inhaled the fragrance, letting it wake him. He was making mental lists of what he'd need for the trip and guessed that Ray and Azura were doing the same, given their silence.

When Azura casually speared a bit of fruit and offered it to him, Florian obediently opened his mouth, but when Azura did the same for Ray, the man refused.

Florian knew it was the wrong thing to do and wondered if Ray wasn't aware of that fact. Fortunately, Azura seemed to take the refusal in stride, reclaiming the morsel and eating it himself.

They finished their meal in silence.

"We leave at noon," Azura told them as he stood. He looked at Ray and then at Florian. "Have your suitcases packed and taken to the car by 11:00.I'll see you in the dining room then for an early lunch." He turned to Ray and added, "Make sure the girl is ready. I won't be delayed by a servant."

Ray and Florian watched him go, leaving the remnants of the meal behind as they went to do some final packing. Florian took a detour to find Laila and relay the message while Ray took one last inventory of the library for any additional books they might need.

A few hours later, they were all seated in the dining room, eating a light lunch and reviewing last minute matters before they departed.

Laila was in the kitchen having her own lunch and tucking away some bread and fruit for later.

When the men climbed into the car, she rode along behind them in the wagon with the other servants who were going on the journey as well as those who would transport the vehicles back home.

She looked back at Azura's home for as long as she could but the moment it was out of sight, she turned her gaze forward and didn't look back again.
 

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They had the use of three first class suites, all with interconnecting doors. Azura claimed the one in the middle and let Ray take his choice of the other two. Florian would probably spend most of the voyage in one of their beds but Azura liked having the extra space and it gave him somewhere to send Florian when Azura grew tired of him.

Florian was prone to seasickness, a weakness that Azura neither understood nor tolerated. He passed it off as one more of the boy's frailties – one that would have to be endured because he needed Florian along on this journey as both an enticement and a control for his impetuous friend, Ray.

Besides, there were a limited number of things one could do on a ship and Florian was always good for a diversion. He was also good at interacting with the other aristocrats and businessmen aboard when Azura didn't care to deal with them.

Azura did have to give credit to the boy's mother – he'd been well trained for social situations. Of course his beauty didn't hurt either – it had been a useful distraction at social functions before.

Ray was more of a wild card, you never knew if he would play the good aristocrat – and he could play the part well if he chose to. On the other hand, if Ray was feeling rebellious, he was just as likely to steal their jewelry while he was making polite conversation.

Ray had managed to make a rather scandalous reputation for himself in only a few short years in Paris between his mixed heritage, his reluctance to attend social events and his chosen career as a usurer. Of course that didn't mean he couldn't be charming and he had that roguish edge that ladies and certain men seemed to find intriguing.

Azura enjoyed a little of that himself – his scar and eye patch seemed irresistible to some people – a fact that he was always happy to exploit. He'd learned early and well to do what needed to be done – lessons that had been reinforced when Romwell had adopted him and taken him to America.

As Romwell's adopted son, he enjoyed wealth, power and privileges he'd never dared to dream of as an orphan on the streets of Morocco. He'd gladly endured the training and the punishments in exchange.

He could still remember standing naked in Romwell's hotel in Morocco, straight from the first real bathtub bath he'd ever had. Romwell had studied him, making him turn and pose so that every part of him was exposed.

He'd been wary and a bit defiant, doing as he was told, but never taking his eyes off the man for long. Azura was still adjusting to the loss of his eye and had to be extra aware of anything on his left.

In the end, Romwell had spent a week with him in Morocco, having Azura act as guide during the day and as his bed warmer at night. On day five, Romwell invited Azura to accompany him back to America as his adopted son in exchange for Azura's pledge to learn what Romwell wished and ultimately take over a small portion of his business in Morocco.

Neither of them could have predicted Azura's ability to learn and improve that business – nor his capacity for ruthlessness. Soon he was legally adopted as John Davis Romwell, Junior, heir to a vast fortune and owner of businesses worldwide. Only when the paperwork was final did Romwell let his son know about the final piece of his inheritance – the worldwide criminal organization, the Black Hand.

Eventually Azura had taken over responsibilities for one quarter of all business concerns, including the Black Hand, with more responsibilities to be added when Romwell deemed him ready.

Azura understood and agreed with that, for now. But he was already making arrangements for when his responsibilities increased. Finding this treasure would be one more step in that direction. It didn't matter if the legends were true – Azura doubted that they were. It was the symbol he wanted – a flask of pure gold engraved with the Queen's symbols – a sun, a tree, a dagger and a harp. It was said that the flask never emptied no matter how much liquid one poured from it. The liquid inside was supposed to look and taste like sweet red wine, but it could cure any illness or heal any wound. It wasn't immortality, but it was the next best thing – to grow old and never grow sick and frail.

As soon as Azura heard the legend, he knew he had to possess that flask. It had taken more than a year, using everything and everyone at his disposal, and the only thing of consequence he'd found was that riddle.

The man who'd had it gave his life to protect it, and that was reason enough for Azura to believe it would prove useful. It had also given him a reason to make contact with his childhood friend, Ray.

He'd often thought about bringing Ray into his organization – making him one of his closest associates. He'd been following Ray's success, first in school and then in business as a usurer and after-hours as Noir. Reading about his exploits had provided a great deal of amusement, and had proven that Ray had never lost his love for beautiful things.

When word of the Rochefort's financial woes reached Azura, it was one more step towards his goals. Getting the boy's wastrel of an uncle to persuade Florian to choose Azura had been almost too easy. Of course he hadn’t anticipated the mother's death or the destruction of the family home, but had gladly reaped the benefits, With no means or reason to stay in Paris, it was easy enough to take the boy abroad. Once in foreign lands, Florian was completely dependent on Azura. And that was when Azura revealed one of his reasons for wanting the boy.

He certainly couldn't say he didn't enjoy breaking him. It had been a long time since he'd had an innocent in his bed. It was even more enjoyable marking that flawless skin for the first time – watching as it bruised and bled. The tears had only served to sweeten those moments – as did the boy's defiant silence. Yes, Florian had proven himself far more interesting a creature than he'd expected. If he wasn't the perfect lure for Ray, Azura might have been tempted to keep the boy for himself – at least for a little while.

It was too perfect, however, and Azura never missed an opportunity to advance his own interests. He'd simply have to use the boy enough to tire of him before they finished their quest. In the end, he'd probably be glad to send him off with Ray.

It would be harder letting Ray go, but he'd do it. Ray wasn't what he'd expected – the way he protected Florian was proof of that. It would be better to teach him a few lessons – give him some reminders of who held the power in this friendship – and send him and the boy away.

Once he had the flask, Azura wouldn't have time for silly reminiscences anyway.

Content with his reasoning, Azura went in search of a servant to send for the girl.
 

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Solomon was exhausted. The trip had barely begun and he was already done for. How did professional tutors and governesses manage?

He settled into the comfortable armchair and took the lid off his meal. He'd been far too tired to endure a long dinner and conversation and had gratefully taken M. Tassel's suggestion that he order a tray delivered to his room instead.

Now he was greeted by the heavenly smells of well-cooked meat and roasted potatoes. He had a novel he'd been wanting to read close at hand, and he had peace and quiet with the probability of an early evening and a restful sleep.

He had to admit that the trip was going better than he'd expected - even with Noel's inexhaustible energy to deal with. Solomon certainly couldn't complain about the luxurious accommodations - it really was something to see how differently he was treated just because of his traveling companions.

Noel was a charming and mostly well-mannered child. He worked hard at his lessons and was usually attentive and polite when someone else was speaking. He enjoyed exploring the ship and Solomon had to admit that he'd enjoyed having the boy as an excuse to venture places he probably wouldn't have gone on his own. The boy had even charmed the captain into letting them see the bridge of the ship. Solomon had been almost as excited as Noel about that.

Thankfully, Monsieur Tassel was a pleasant and easy-going gentleman. He treated Solomon as an equal, and often seemed grateful for Solomon's companionship at meals or in the hours after Noel had gone to bed and before it was time for them to retire to their separate rooms.

The man was busy with business most of the day and spent most of his time either in meetings with other gentlemen passengers or in his room working on paperwork. After the first few days, Solomon made a point of including the father in on some of the boy's adventures and was rewarded by their happy smiles and laughter.

He'd found himself telling M. Tassel most of what had happened to bring him to this position, making sure to praise Lady Fairmont and Madame Rochefort for their help. He found that sharing the story with a relative stranger made it easier to distance himself from, and therefore examine the events more objectively.

A small part of him still thought he was on a fool's errand - what possible reason would the rich and powerful Romwell have for giving Florian up? From what Solomon had heard and seen, Florian was a striking man with a kind heart and mild manner – a good companion for someone like Romwell. Still, Solomon had made a promise and he intended to do his best to return Florian to Paris.

Meanwhile, Solomon found himself in the surprising position of trying to comfort and support the recently widowed M. Tassel. He still couldn't bring himself to call the man who was supposed to be only his employer by his first name - not that it would have been acceptable in public anyway. But even in private he couldn't make himself be so familiar with the man.

It was understandable that he was still grieving. Some part of Solomon was still grieving for his sister and she'd been gone several years now. Tassel was stoic in public, of course, that was expected among the aristocracy. But he never seemed to let go - not even when Noel was overtired and weepy, calling for his mother.

Solomon had lost sleep just two nights ago when the boy had had a nightmare and his distraught father had been too overcome to comfort Noel. The boy had clung to Solomon sobbing for his mother and clutching Betty Deux - a toy his mother had given him.

The next morning, M. Tassel had been embarrassed and apologized repeatedly for his unseemly behavior the night before. Solomon had found that far more unsettling than the late night show of emotion and had tried to tell the man that. When that failed to reassure the man, he'd solemnly accepted the apology and let the matter drop.

Later that day while Noel napped, Solomon thought about his own reaction to his sister's death. He'd raged at the skies at first, and then he'd gone quiet and morose for even longer. There had been many nights with tears, and others when he was sure he would go out of his mind. It was Pierre that had gotten him through, just by being there and offering support, encouragement, food, and quite often liquor.

It hadn't been the big things Pierre had done that had made the most difference - although taking care of the laundry was greatly appreciated. It was the small things that Solomon remembered most about those days. Even now those memories were a comfort.

Sending a silent thank you to his friend, Solomon vowed to take his example and use it to help M. Tassel and his son, Noel.
 

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Laila twisted the hem of her shirt and tried not to flinch under Azura's intense gaze. The man only had one eye, but he used it to best effect when glaring at someone. Right now he was demanding information about the legend of the Queen's Quartet and she was doing her best to answer while still concealing the secrets of her clan. She had missed out on her ceremony, but she'd had the training in preparation and was fully aware of what she could not divulge.

She was still missing vital information, however - things she would have finally learned at the ceremony. Only then would she understand some of the symbols and words she'd been made to learn and practice since childhood. And only then would she be considered a healer in her own right and allowed to wear the sign of her clan's healers - a tree.

She was from a large clan and each of them wore a symbol once they were past the age of initiation. Her mother and grandmother had worn the tree, just as she would, as would her daughters. As a farmer - a provider - her father bore the symbol of the sun. One of her cousins wore a harp symbol that strongly resembled Florian's little toy. According to the stories her mother told, only one member of their family had worn the dagger - the symbol of the elite - the protectors.

Unlike the others, she knew very little about the protectors. One of her old aunts had told her that the protectors were descendants of the Queen's elite guards, but Laila didn't believe her - she was the same aunt that liked to wear her shirt backwards and put sandals on her hands.

Azura changed his line of questioning, asking about her ointments and where she'd learned to make them. The change in topic allowed her to relax a little although he still seemed to be glaring at her. Thankfully Florian was standing behind and to the right of Azura and he was smiling at her to give her encouragement.

It was only after Azura had dismissed her and Florian had led her to his quarters and given her a drink of brandy that she realized that she was shaking.

Florian was kind enough not to comment about her condition. He made jokes about his seasickness - which was less severe than usual thanks to her potion - and then serenaded her with a tune played on his tiny harp.

It didn't sound too bad, she decided - a little tinny and nowhere near the sound of a real harp - but the tune he played was charming for its simplicity.

Laila took another sip of her drink and closed her eyes for just a moment while Florian smiled and launched into a tinny rendition of Frere Jacques.
 

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Florian was sprawled across the bed, face down. He was sleeping heavily, his skin shiny with sweat. Ray sat beside him running a warm damp cloth across his back. The initials he'd carved into the man's fair skin were healing well as were the older whip marks Azura had made. Most of the bruises were fading to yellow or already gone.

He felt a little guilty for using him and enjoying it so much, but he had done his best to make sure Florian enjoyed himself too. It helped that Azura was preoccupied with his quest. The man had had Florian working for hours noting down every fact and every half-formed theory they had about the treasure.

Azura had agreed with Laila's suggestion that they should start at the Queen's temple in Carthage. From there, he and Ray had mapped out three possibilities. They were counting on finding something in the temple to help guide them. With luck and Laila's help they would find the artifact within the month Azura had allotted. If it took longer than that, they would have to reassess their situation.

Perhaps he was feeling cynical, but Ray didn't think it would be as easy as Azura expected it to be. They certainly weren't the first people who had searched for the Queen's Tears.

Setting aside the cloth, Ray took up the jar of ointment Laila had given Florian to treat his back. Using the lightest touch he could, Ray smoothed the herbal mixture across the injuries. Laila had promised it would keep the skin soft and help prevent scarring. Ray hoped she was right – he hated damaging anything beautiful.

He thought of the pierced rings Azura had purchased for Florian. They were in the dresser just a short distance away – a fact Azura had taken great pleasure in sharing. Ray knew it was aimed at him more than Florian – a way to assert Azura's control of both men. Ray suppressed his growing anger at his friend's actions and focused on ways of ensuring that he and Florian would get away with minimal damage.

The easiest way for that to happen, was to make sure Azura got the treasure – or found irrefutable proof that it was gone. Laila had mentioned that one of the treasures had been stolen and for all they knew, it could have been the Queen's Tears.

He shook his head at the thought of Azura possessing the magical flask with its never dwindling supply of healing elixir. It was the very thing that would appeal to his egotistical friend. It was also the worst possible thing for him to possess. Ray didn't know what actually changed Azura – although he suspected the man's adopted father played a large part in the transformation. It hurt him to see what Azura had become and it made Ray wonder if he might have gone the same way without the timely intervention of his aunt and uncle.

He thought of his business as a usurer and how more than once he'd privately gloated after doing business with someone who had scorned him. He thought of one man in particular – how he'd made a point of snubbing Ray and refusing to be anywhere near "that heathen". How his wife had loudly lamented the state of present day aristocracy – that just anyone, even half-breeds and bastards were allowed titles when they should be flogged instead. Ray had taken great pleasure in making the man grovel for assistance. He'd drawn out their meeting, taking great pains to flaunt his own wealth. In the end the man had walked out with the money he'd needed to keep his house and feed his family, but he'd been utterly humiliated.

He looked down at Florian, and imagined how he might have treated the man if he'd come to him for help. He couldn't honestly say that he would have been kind to him. Not that he would have treated Florian as cruelly as Azura had, but Ray would have wanted to possess those magnificent amethyst eyes and he wasn't above taking advantage of someone in distress to get what he wanted.

Florian mumbled in his sleep and turned, moving closer to Ray's warmth. Ray was grateful for the distraction and used it to set aside his dark thoughts. Now was not the time to regret his past actions – he had to concentrate on the present for both his and Florian's sake.

Azura was in the next room and Ray knew he should join him, but he couldn't bring himself to leave Florian yet. He needed a few moments of calm. Five minutes, he told himself. He was asleep in three.
 

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