Post by Eloran on Apr 17, 2024 19:23:15 GMT -5
The knock at Tom's door was crisp. One-two. Then a waiting.
There were two men there on his landing. They'd come up the stairs and both looked perfectly patient there, though between the two of them there were some differences in carriage that might in any setting have been read as discrepancy in status, or in nationality. They were both of average height, but the one who had knocked was slightly taller and dressed in the grey of business instead of the cream of summer leisure. He wore a coat, and had a hat in his hands. His mustache was trimmed and tidy and very fashionable for the last thirty years. That he was younger than Tom seemed evident, but he was still in the upper quadrant of his middle years, and had the slight thickening of nose and neck and waist to show for it.
Next to him was a man with a cane and black fur on his collar at the tail end of summer. He didn't look like he cared too much about the heat, or about the fashion faux pas mixing seasons gave it. He peered around idly in a suit and shoes that, if sold, could have fed a family of six for four months, and seemed taken by the flag that flew outside. He had a mustache, too, as most men did, and it was a very dark brown. The few lines of grey were in the beard and at his temples, but of the two of them he was the one who looked like he could vault a railing or race along the spine of a train if he had to, the cane notwithstanding.
It took Tom a few minutes to hobble down to his doorstep... When he opened the door, he was dressed impeccably as he always did. Looking every bit the western, but clean cut American he was. He on the full outfit, short of the jacket, in a faded blue, almost gray. His slacks were blue, as was his matching waistcoat, with his shirt a white, and tie a darker blue. His hair, his facial hair, both well maintained and combed to near perfection. Though he was only fifty, he probably looked a bit older-- with only tiny bits of brown peeking out here and there to give away his original hair color. His slate gray eyes were keen as he focused on the two men. He cleared his throat. "May I help you?" he asked in his rough voice.
The man who'd knocked offered him a card as he said, "Mister Tomlin Jefferson? My name's Hauser. Germaine Hauser." That was what the card said, certainly, in conservative print. Though he did not have an apparent accent, he went on to say: "I've of late been with the Frontiersmen in Antwerp."
He accepted the card and brought it up to read it as the man continued to speak. He read the card twice, then tucked it away into his breast pocket. "Nice to meet you, Mister Hauser," he said. His tone was carefully neutral. He neither confirmed or denied that he was Tomlin Jefferson. Nor did he give any recognition of the name of the Frontiersmen. "I would invite you in, but I need a moment to recover after coming down the stairs." He gestured to the cane he braced himself on. "Bad leg, you know."
"I do know, sir," Hauser assured him, looking down at Tom's leg pointedly, and then back up. With a slight hesitation, he said, "I really think we should speak in private, Mister Jefferson."
"We can wait, Mister Hauser, until Mister Jefferson catches his breath. I don't have a dinner engagement, do you?"
Hauser looked at the man next to him with a frown, and then turned a little to scan the world around them a little, as if noting passersby.
Tomlin regarded Hauser with narrowed eyes, then looked at the other man. He'd already taken in them both, but had dismissed the second. Now, he reevaluated... He took a step back and opened the door a little wider. "Please, come in. Have a seat upstairs in the sitting room." He gave them enough room to walk past him to go up to the main spot of his apartment. "Forgive the bed in the sitting room-- my charge is not home at the moment."
They went, heading up the stairs, Hauser looking around as if for a place to stow his hat and coat once he got up there. He asked, "Is your charge still cleared to know Frontiersmen business, Mister Jefferson?"
The other man, who had indeed had an accent, kept quiet, but finally peeled off his own hat and bore it with his cane up the stairs. He'd sounded Mediterranean for certain.
Inside the doorway, directly to the left, there was a small hallway/room. It had a coat rack, a place for umbrellas and canes, and up against the wall, what served as a closet with a bar running across the narrow space with a couple of coats and jackets hanging from it. Tomlin continued up after them, taking it one step at a time. "As far as I know."
The men hung their coats and their hats with them, Hauser turning to help his companion out of his and settling it for him as he was closer. The man with the grey-shot beard went first into the sitting room and looked around. He paused by the bed and after a second reached down. Straightening, he turned a few stray red hairs between his fingers.
Hauser said, "We need to find Gerold Schoen. As quickly as possible, sir, and there is some belief that you might know where he is."
Tom sat down in his favorite chair-- next to him was a table with a few books on it, as well as a telephone on a stand. He offered Hauser the slightest of smiles. "Well, I don't know where he is... i've been looking for him myself." He looked to the other man. "Please do not take his hair."
The other man turned and made a show of fanning out his fingers, so that the hair might drift down. He looked bemused.
Hauser frowned. "In that case, I am instructed to deliver orders from Von Eldreger, sir, that you join the search. We search also for MacIlroy, who has gone missing. --Failed to report in, that is, when he was expected in Geneva."
Tom's thick eyebrows went up at the name drop, then one lowered itself and the other seemed to get even higher. A very arched look. What does the Grand Eye want with Schoen? he asked. With the two name drops and the knowing of both his charge and Gerold, he knew they were the real deal and now could drop with the torture of his vocal chords. When was Macllroy last seen?
Hauser's companion was studying the decor, but Hauser himself was focused on Tom with increasing signs of distress. When the psychic talk breached the gap between them, he blinked but recovered swiftly. As if he'd known it on paper, but still hadn't know what it would feel like. Part of his regaining of control was a sudden clearing of his throat before he forged on: "I don't have the details, but the office of the Grand Eye believes he and other agents, and possibly also MacIlroy, are being hunted. This is over in the Other World"--what the Flynns referred to as World B--"where our networks have always been shakier, as you know, and most especially recently. And with the death of--"
Hauser huffed out a breath and spoke more softly: "And with the death of the Arbiter, the main heart of our cause is currently not beating so strongly. Until another should appear."
Hunted by who? He asked immediately. He saw the increasing signs of distress. He took silent note of that. How Hauser had recovered from that mental contact. When Hauser mentioned the death of the Arbiter, he nodded slowly. Truthfully, the death of the Arbiter hurt us all.
Hauser nodded, for a moment mute with feeling. Older agents had come through times between Arbiters, of course, but some touched more than others. Blinking himself back, Hauser sighed. "The slitherings are clear, as are the disappearances, but I don't think there's a name yet." He'd told Tom he had no details, but at least he recognized that a sense of the situation might hold a space for now. "Von Eldreger is aware of the turmoil here, and has held off recalling Seth. I heard Gaderin say that he waited too long, as now they seem not to be able to do it at all. For lack of anyone picking up or passing on orders."
Not able to do what? Recall Seth? He had his own thoughts about that... But he kept his face neutral after the arched brow.
Hauser nodded. "That was my impression."
Tom made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. Do either of you smoke? he asked, seemingly random.
Hauser smiled, but before he could say anything the other man said, "Good God, no. --Listen." The other man's accent could have been Greek, or farther east in Europe. "This one who sleeps here, with the red hair. Has this always been a male?"
Hauser looked horrified.
Tom's eyes shifted, very fast, from Hauser to his companion. The look that thay man received was a mix of disbelief and annoyance. He has a penis. I wasn't present at his birth.
Unperturbed, the man made a thoughtful sound in his throat and eyed the bed. "Is he fair or dark? What color are his eyes?"
The carpets match the drapes. So genetically, one would assume fair of both skin and eyes. If you want to meet him, come back in a few hours.
"Carpets...?" Eyes narrowed, the man looked to Hauser--
--who cleared his throat violently. "Ah, forgive me, Mister Jefferson, this is Mister Diamandis, from--"
"Antonin Diamandis," the man said, nodding curtly to Tom. "I do not know what you mean with carpets. And I do not move forward with assumptions, so please simply state whether he is fair or dark."
Tom smiled ever so slightly. He is Scottish in just about every way possible, Mister Diamandis... He is fair. Light green eyes. And remarkably freckleless.
"Green." Diamandis breathed it, matching it to some hidden calculation. "Does he have siblings? Littermates? --This is the one Ebulard spoke of, yes? That the late Arbiter put in special service?"
The first questions were asked vaguely in Tom's direction, but the second set came with a slight twist again in Hauser's.
Hauser looked more uncomfortable, and apologetic toward Tomlin. "Please--Mister Diamandis is not, mm--"
Diamandis arched a combed black brow.
Hauser coughed out: "--familiar with London manners--"
"Oh, please," the man scoffed. His name was Greek. That was probably the accent, then. "Have I been rude? I ask questions, that is all. I would know if he has a cousin or a sister, perhaps. Red hair, green eyes. Lovely, lovely. And if he is not the one with yellow eyes, then I will be asking after that one, too."
"He asked to accompany me," Hauser tried to explain. "I thought it wouldn't be any harm."
Tom was quiet for a long time... Then he stood up. To Diamandis, he said, It is my understanding that his siblings are deceased. Ice was in his tone. He walked up to Hauser, met his eyes, then moved to step past him and towards the kitchen. Do you smoke?. He asked again, heading for the small porch and stairs that led off of his kitchen door.
"Ah--" Hauser looked from the retreating Tom to Diamandis, who was right then pulling out an ornate, gold-chased case of calling cards and dropping one atop Ethan's bedding. "I'm afraid," Hauser stammered, "that I must beg off. I'm Mister Diamandis's escort--but if we've given offense...."
Not my place to be offended for a boy well on his way to being a man... Though I will ask you not to refer to his siblings as... Litter mates... When and if you speak to him.. He looked to Hauser, nodding towards the side door. I don't smoke in the house if I can help it. I do not mind us continuing our conversation. I am just stepping out to smoke.. He explained.
"No," Diamandis said breezily for Hauser, "we will go. Please have him call on me. These two have broken some things, and I am not angry. I demand no recompense. I wish to speak with them, however. Good day."
Hauser seemed to have shrunk a few sizes the moment Diamandis opened his mouth for the first time, and now he was left scrambling and met Tom's eyes. "Ah--yes--I'll be leaving, too. The matter of Schoen, though. And MacIlroy, and the others. You have your orders, and now you can assist."
That had been the main topic, after all, though suddenly Hauser was acting like he couldn't reassert it enough.
He nodded, watching Diamandis go. But when Hauser went to leave, Tom grabbed his arm. Only for Hauser to hear, he said, what about this man aren't you telling me? He demands no recompense?
Diamandis went for his coat as if the other two were barely of interest to him. That did leave a little space for Hauser's confusion to shine through. "I'm not fully sure who he is," he admitted in the lowest whisper possible--maybe not from stealth. Puzzled as he clearly was, embarrassment was there, too.
He bowed his head until he'd caught Hauser's eye again. Focus on my voice. Focus on me. Think what you want to say, I will hear it. If it helps, just mouth the words silently and think them at me... Who assigned you to escort him to me?
Hauser frowned at Tomlin and took on a hurried concentration. He did mouth the words, to help himself focus. No one--he was outside Von Eldreger's offices, and he said, 'oh, you're going to London? So am I.' He told me he needed to be shown around.
If you weren't assigned to be his escort, why did you bring him here?
He asked. Hauser looked defensive at that. He said he was coming to see you, and as I was, too, we might as well arrive together.
So he knew of your assignment and destination before you did? he asked. His tone was becoming slightly more alarmed.
Diamandis wasn't far away, and he had his coat on, his cane back in hand. "Hauser."
Hauser hadn't lost that edge of defensiveness. He was in the office of the Grand Eye of our Order, with a dozen people around. He must have known the assignment because he was there when it was decided upon.
Tom's hand tightened on Hauser's arm a fraction before he released the other man. Keep him away from my charge, Mister Hauser.
I leave for New York tomorrow, Hauser told him, frowning. That defensiveness of what had brought him here was finally at war with a sense that he might have assumed one thing too many. He pulled away from Tom to go and get his coat, coughing into his fist to clear his throat as he passed Diamandis.
Diamandis stood with his back to Tomlin's sitting room, as if there were no one there. As if he were waiting for a valet or other servant.
Tom's eyes stayed glued to the back of Diamandis. He stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for them to go. And possibly to shut the door behind them.
They did go. Diamandis led the way; Hauser followed, putting his hat back on his head once they were outside. Diamandis didn't look back, but Hauser did once.
As Hauser walked away, after that single glance back, Tom relayed one more message to him-- Watch your back with that one. Something's not right.
There were two men there on his landing. They'd come up the stairs and both looked perfectly patient there, though between the two of them there were some differences in carriage that might in any setting have been read as discrepancy in status, or in nationality. They were both of average height, but the one who had knocked was slightly taller and dressed in the grey of business instead of the cream of summer leisure. He wore a coat, and had a hat in his hands. His mustache was trimmed and tidy and very fashionable for the last thirty years. That he was younger than Tom seemed evident, but he was still in the upper quadrant of his middle years, and had the slight thickening of nose and neck and waist to show for it.
Next to him was a man with a cane and black fur on his collar at the tail end of summer. He didn't look like he cared too much about the heat, or about the fashion faux pas mixing seasons gave it. He peered around idly in a suit and shoes that, if sold, could have fed a family of six for four months, and seemed taken by the flag that flew outside. He had a mustache, too, as most men did, and it was a very dark brown. The few lines of grey were in the beard and at his temples, but of the two of them he was the one who looked like he could vault a railing or race along the spine of a train if he had to, the cane notwithstanding.
It took Tom a few minutes to hobble down to his doorstep... When he opened the door, he was dressed impeccably as he always did. Looking every bit the western, but clean cut American he was. He on the full outfit, short of the jacket, in a faded blue, almost gray. His slacks were blue, as was his matching waistcoat, with his shirt a white, and tie a darker blue. His hair, his facial hair, both well maintained and combed to near perfection. Though he was only fifty, he probably looked a bit older-- with only tiny bits of brown peeking out here and there to give away his original hair color. His slate gray eyes were keen as he focused on the two men. He cleared his throat. "May I help you?" he asked in his rough voice.
The man who'd knocked offered him a card as he said, "Mister Tomlin Jefferson? My name's Hauser. Germaine Hauser." That was what the card said, certainly, in conservative print. Though he did not have an apparent accent, he went on to say: "I've of late been with the Frontiersmen in Antwerp."
He accepted the card and brought it up to read it as the man continued to speak. He read the card twice, then tucked it away into his breast pocket. "Nice to meet you, Mister Hauser," he said. His tone was carefully neutral. He neither confirmed or denied that he was Tomlin Jefferson. Nor did he give any recognition of the name of the Frontiersmen. "I would invite you in, but I need a moment to recover after coming down the stairs." He gestured to the cane he braced himself on. "Bad leg, you know."
"I do know, sir," Hauser assured him, looking down at Tom's leg pointedly, and then back up. With a slight hesitation, he said, "I really think we should speak in private, Mister Jefferson."
"We can wait, Mister Hauser, until Mister Jefferson catches his breath. I don't have a dinner engagement, do you?"
Hauser looked at the man next to him with a frown, and then turned a little to scan the world around them a little, as if noting passersby.
Tomlin regarded Hauser with narrowed eyes, then looked at the other man. He'd already taken in them both, but had dismissed the second. Now, he reevaluated... He took a step back and opened the door a little wider. "Please, come in. Have a seat upstairs in the sitting room." He gave them enough room to walk past him to go up to the main spot of his apartment. "Forgive the bed in the sitting room-- my charge is not home at the moment."
They went, heading up the stairs, Hauser looking around as if for a place to stow his hat and coat once he got up there. He asked, "Is your charge still cleared to know Frontiersmen business, Mister Jefferson?"
The other man, who had indeed had an accent, kept quiet, but finally peeled off his own hat and bore it with his cane up the stairs. He'd sounded Mediterranean for certain.
Inside the doorway, directly to the left, there was a small hallway/room. It had a coat rack, a place for umbrellas and canes, and up against the wall, what served as a closet with a bar running across the narrow space with a couple of coats and jackets hanging from it. Tomlin continued up after them, taking it one step at a time. "As far as I know."
The men hung their coats and their hats with them, Hauser turning to help his companion out of his and settling it for him as he was closer. The man with the grey-shot beard went first into the sitting room and looked around. He paused by the bed and after a second reached down. Straightening, he turned a few stray red hairs between his fingers.
Hauser said, "We need to find Gerold Schoen. As quickly as possible, sir, and there is some belief that you might know where he is."
Tom sat down in his favorite chair-- next to him was a table with a few books on it, as well as a telephone on a stand. He offered Hauser the slightest of smiles. "Well, I don't know where he is... i've been looking for him myself." He looked to the other man. "Please do not take his hair."
The other man turned and made a show of fanning out his fingers, so that the hair might drift down. He looked bemused.
Hauser frowned. "In that case, I am instructed to deliver orders from Von Eldreger, sir, that you join the search. We search also for MacIlroy, who has gone missing. --Failed to report in, that is, when he was expected in Geneva."
Tom's thick eyebrows went up at the name drop, then one lowered itself and the other seemed to get even higher. A very arched look. What does the Grand Eye want with Schoen? he asked. With the two name drops and the knowing of both his charge and Gerold, he knew they were the real deal and now could drop with the torture of his vocal chords. When was Macllroy last seen?
Hauser's companion was studying the decor, but Hauser himself was focused on Tom with increasing signs of distress. When the psychic talk breached the gap between them, he blinked but recovered swiftly. As if he'd known it on paper, but still hadn't know what it would feel like. Part of his regaining of control was a sudden clearing of his throat before he forged on: "I don't have the details, but the office of the Grand Eye believes he and other agents, and possibly also MacIlroy, are being hunted. This is over in the Other World"--what the Flynns referred to as World B--"where our networks have always been shakier, as you know, and most especially recently. And with the death of--"
Hauser huffed out a breath and spoke more softly: "And with the death of the Arbiter, the main heart of our cause is currently not beating so strongly. Until another should appear."
Hunted by who? He asked immediately. He saw the increasing signs of distress. He took silent note of that. How Hauser had recovered from that mental contact. When Hauser mentioned the death of the Arbiter, he nodded slowly. Truthfully, the death of the Arbiter hurt us all.
Hauser nodded, for a moment mute with feeling. Older agents had come through times between Arbiters, of course, but some touched more than others. Blinking himself back, Hauser sighed. "The slitherings are clear, as are the disappearances, but I don't think there's a name yet." He'd told Tom he had no details, but at least he recognized that a sense of the situation might hold a space for now. "Von Eldreger is aware of the turmoil here, and has held off recalling Seth. I heard Gaderin say that he waited too long, as now they seem not to be able to do it at all. For lack of anyone picking up or passing on orders."
Not able to do what? Recall Seth? He had his own thoughts about that... But he kept his face neutral after the arched brow.
Hauser nodded. "That was my impression."
Tom made a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. Do either of you smoke? he asked, seemingly random.
Hauser smiled, but before he could say anything the other man said, "Good God, no. --Listen." The other man's accent could have been Greek, or farther east in Europe. "This one who sleeps here, with the red hair. Has this always been a male?"
Hauser looked horrified.
Tom's eyes shifted, very fast, from Hauser to his companion. The look that thay man received was a mix of disbelief and annoyance. He has a penis. I wasn't present at his birth.
Unperturbed, the man made a thoughtful sound in his throat and eyed the bed. "Is he fair or dark? What color are his eyes?"
The carpets match the drapes. So genetically, one would assume fair of both skin and eyes. If you want to meet him, come back in a few hours.
"Carpets...?" Eyes narrowed, the man looked to Hauser--
--who cleared his throat violently. "Ah, forgive me, Mister Jefferson, this is Mister Diamandis, from--"
"Antonin Diamandis," the man said, nodding curtly to Tom. "I do not know what you mean with carpets. And I do not move forward with assumptions, so please simply state whether he is fair or dark."
Tom smiled ever so slightly. He is Scottish in just about every way possible, Mister Diamandis... He is fair. Light green eyes. And remarkably freckleless.
"Green." Diamandis breathed it, matching it to some hidden calculation. "Does he have siblings? Littermates? --This is the one Ebulard spoke of, yes? That the late Arbiter put in special service?"
The first questions were asked vaguely in Tom's direction, but the second set came with a slight twist again in Hauser's.
Hauser looked more uncomfortable, and apologetic toward Tomlin. "Please--Mister Diamandis is not, mm--"
Diamandis arched a combed black brow.
Hauser coughed out: "--familiar with London manners--"
"Oh, please," the man scoffed. His name was Greek. That was probably the accent, then. "Have I been rude? I ask questions, that is all. I would know if he has a cousin or a sister, perhaps. Red hair, green eyes. Lovely, lovely. And if he is not the one with yellow eyes, then I will be asking after that one, too."
"He asked to accompany me," Hauser tried to explain. "I thought it wouldn't be any harm."
Tom was quiet for a long time... Then he stood up. To Diamandis, he said, It is my understanding that his siblings are deceased. Ice was in his tone. He walked up to Hauser, met his eyes, then moved to step past him and towards the kitchen. Do you smoke?. He asked again, heading for the small porch and stairs that led off of his kitchen door.
"Ah--" Hauser looked from the retreating Tom to Diamandis, who was right then pulling out an ornate, gold-chased case of calling cards and dropping one atop Ethan's bedding. "I'm afraid," Hauser stammered, "that I must beg off. I'm Mister Diamandis's escort--but if we've given offense...."
Not my place to be offended for a boy well on his way to being a man... Though I will ask you not to refer to his siblings as... Litter mates... When and if you speak to him.. He looked to Hauser, nodding towards the side door. I don't smoke in the house if I can help it. I do not mind us continuing our conversation. I am just stepping out to smoke.. He explained.
"No," Diamandis said breezily for Hauser, "we will go. Please have him call on me. These two have broken some things, and I am not angry. I demand no recompense. I wish to speak with them, however. Good day."
Hauser seemed to have shrunk a few sizes the moment Diamandis opened his mouth for the first time, and now he was left scrambling and met Tom's eyes. "Ah--yes--I'll be leaving, too. The matter of Schoen, though. And MacIlroy, and the others. You have your orders, and now you can assist."
That had been the main topic, after all, though suddenly Hauser was acting like he couldn't reassert it enough.
He nodded, watching Diamandis go. But when Hauser went to leave, Tom grabbed his arm. Only for Hauser to hear, he said, what about this man aren't you telling me? He demands no recompense?
Diamandis went for his coat as if the other two were barely of interest to him. That did leave a little space for Hauser's confusion to shine through. "I'm not fully sure who he is," he admitted in the lowest whisper possible--maybe not from stealth. Puzzled as he clearly was, embarrassment was there, too.
He bowed his head until he'd caught Hauser's eye again. Focus on my voice. Focus on me. Think what you want to say, I will hear it. If it helps, just mouth the words silently and think them at me... Who assigned you to escort him to me?
Hauser frowned at Tomlin and took on a hurried concentration. He did mouth the words, to help himself focus. No one--he was outside Von Eldreger's offices, and he said, 'oh, you're going to London? So am I.' He told me he needed to be shown around.
If you weren't assigned to be his escort, why did you bring him here?
He asked. Hauser looked defensive at that. He said he was coming to see you, and as I was, too, we might as well arrive together.
So he knew of your assignment and destination before you did? he asked. His tone was becoming slightly more alarmed.
Diamandis wasn't far away, and he had his coat on, his cane back in hand. "Hauser."
Hauser hadn't lost that edge of defensiveness. He was in the office of the Grand Eye of our Order, with a dozen people around. He must have known the assignment because he was there when it was decided upon.
Tom's hand tightened on Hauser's arm a fraction before he released the other man. Keep him away from my charge, Mister Hauser.
I leave for New York tomorrow, Hauser told him, frowning. That defensiveness of what had brought him here was finally at war with a sense that he might have assumed one thing too many. He pulled away from Tom to go and get his coat, coughing into his fist to clear his throat as he passed Diamandis.
Diamandis stood with his back to Tomlin's sitting room, as if there were no one there. As if he were waiting for a valet or other servant.
Tom's eyes stayed glued to the back of Diamandis. He stood at the top of the stairs, waiting for them to go. And possibly to shut the door behind them.
They did go. Diamandis led the way; Hauser followed, putting his hat back on his head once they were outside. Diamandis didn't look back, but Hauser did once.
As Hauser walked away, after that single glance back, Tom relayed one more message to him-- Watch your back with that one. Something's not right.