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AMSTERDAM
Words can be superfluous. Redundant. Unnecessary. But how much pleasure laid in the right word play- Oscar was greatly aware of. The sweet victory of besting an opponent in a viva voce duel; well, few things could compare.
His early career had rested on words, those bouncing off scrappy morning papers, the ones adorning the pages of expertly-bound editions, and not to forget, those spoken in jest and falling on the delighted ears of high London society.
Words could be superfluous, yes, but Oscar readily admitted he was quite fond of them. But, even he understood the profound value of silence in instances where no words of comfort could possibly hope to bring any amount of it.
Their first meeting after months of separation had come to a sudden stop. Zolf had not stormed out nor menaced Oscar with his curiously absent strident, however, he had stopped talking completely.
Oscar had just broken the news of Sasha and Hamid’s fate in Rome. Somehow, saying it to Zolf had hurt more than hearing it from Einstein, despite all the months of “getting used to it” that lay in between. When he’d first found out, the people he’d failed were gone, whereas now, that person was right in front him.
Zolf stared fixedly at the uneaten breakfast plate in front of him. Meanwhile, the brouhaha of the pub carried on.
Oscar had picked it for the relative privacy it would offer. On a Tuesday morning like this, sailors and eager travellers scurried in and out, wolfing down some eggs and bacon before remembering they had a ship to catch and running off again. No one spared them a glance.
In retrospect, perhaps a quiet place would have been better. The frenzied activity had its charm, but now Oscar rather wished everyone would leave and respectfully let his friend process this terrible piece of news.
Rarely had he felt so powerless. In some capacity, he knew Zolf. He knew which buttons to press to make the cleric drop freezing water on him or how to provoke him into uttering various bucket-related threats. He understood and respected his commitment to doing the right thing, no matter the cost. Yet, what did he know about consoling him? Zolf wouldn’t appreciate being coddled, that much was obvious. But could he still welcome futile sympathies in moments like these? Or would he calmly order Oscar to shut up if he dared say anything.
Finally settling on silent companionship, Oscar took a sip of whatever had been poured into the pint resting by his own untouched plate. He grimaced. What he would give for a good shot of British absinthe. Or two. Or enough to transport himself back to that day in Hamid’s apartment- to get the chance to flirt salaciously with Bertie again, to listen to Hamid’s adorable attempts to intimidate him, to watch Zolf grow increasingly irritated and feel the cool edge of Sasha’s dagger at his throat.
Before he had a chance to set his glass down again, Zolf had already scraped his chair back and stumbled out the front door. After hurryingly tossing a few silver coins on the table, Oscar attempted to clear a path to the exit through the rowdy crowd.
Having found his way outside, his eyes scoured the busy marina, discarding one figure after another, until they came to a sudden halt at the sight of a dwarf standing still on the pier. Oscar took a step forward then stopped, hesitation gnawing at him. From here, Zolf gave no sign of grief, motionless as he seemed in the backdrop of dock workers running from errand to errand and families and friends wishing each other tearful goodbyes by a great passenger ship.
Solitude was a shield Oscar was deeply familiar with, one whose merits he valued when the company of others felt lonelier than being alone. Now the question was whether to leave Zolf to his seclusion or partake in it.
Later that morning, had anyone in the marina taken a second to glance over at the seaside, they would have found one elegant, tall man standing beside an imperceptibly shaking dwarf.
CAIRO
Oscar woke up to the sound of shouting. In under thirty seconds, he had jumped out of bed, slipped on a pair of pants and seized a thin adamantine dagger, which he held concealed behind his back as he cracked his bedroom door open and poked his head out.
Saira was heading down the corridor, bathed in a dim halo of light cast by a lantern in her hand.
“Saira!” he called out in a whisper.
A loud clang reverberated in the hallway as the lantern collided with the floorboards and started rolling on the wood, generating what seemed like an unimaginable amount of noise, until it came to an abrupt stop under Oscar’s bare foot.
Saira sent him a sheepish look. “Sorry. You gave me a heart attack.”
“I assure you that wasn’t my intention,” he told her, quietly shutting his bedroom door behind him. “Did you also hear some shouts?”
She crept closer to him and whispered back, “Yes, I think they came from the front garden.”
“I’ll go have a look. You stay here.” He leaned down and picked up the lantern. Hopefully, it hadn’t alerted any potential intruder to their location. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”
Saira shook her head in reply.
Oscar offered a quick pat on her shoulder as he brushed past her and started down the dark corridor.
Save for the unavoidable floorboard creaks, all was quiet within the house. Reaching the end of the hallway, he halted his footsteps and listened for any noise. His brows furrowed at what sounded like the echoes of distant laughter.
In a slightly more relaxed manner, he pursued his investigation of the al-Tahan mansion, eventually leading him atop the great marble staircase in the main foyer. With his lantern providing just enough light for him not to miss the next step, it took him almost a full minute to notice a dwarf-sized shadow facing the large bay windows, his silhouette traced by a pale sheen of moonlight.
Wondering how close he could get before the other noticed his presence, Oscar carefully set down the lantern between two bars of railing.
The answer proved to be quite close. Whatever spectacle Zolf was contemplating appeared to have him fully engrossed, so much so that he gave a violent start when Oscar, having inconspicuously slid by his side, craned his neck forward to look down into the courtyard.
Oscar accepted the ensuing shove with a gracious smile. To be fair, he did sort of deserve that one, and besides, Zolf never did give his jabs any force.
With a slight scowl lingering on his brows, Zolf twisted back towards the window pane and parted the sheer curtains he had released in surprise. He pushed a finger to his lips and nodded at Oscar to come closer, each of his movements reinforcing his request for him to remain silent.
Impossibly intrigued, Oscar obeyed and tiptoed forward until his side was pressed snuggly against Zolf’s, who promptly slid an arm up and around his waist, leading Oscar to crouch down slightly, and lifted his free hand to point at the grounds below.
Though the moon was out in all its glory, the garden remained a scene of shadows and tall, undistinguishable shapes, concealing perfectly cut hedges and symmetrical shrubbery. Nonetheless, Oscar discerned two conspicuous figures, whose staggered movements easily gave them away in the stillness of the night. They were close enough for him to recognise them as humans, but too far for their faces to escape the cover of darkness, making their identities difficult to ascertain. Or at it least, they would have been, had one of them not started singing at the top of his lungs.
Oscar gradually peeled his eyes away from the window to turn towards Zolf, who seemed to be waiting for his reaction, his gaze fixed on Wilde. Through the rising of eyebrows followed by an obvious diagonal glance, Oscar checked with Zolf: ‘Is this really happening?’
In the form of a pained and pitying grimace, Zolf confirmed that yes, those figures were none other than Barnes and Carter, and yes, Barnes was indeed attempting to haul a furiously intoxicated Carter towards the house.
His suspicions confirmed, Oscar set free a grin that could have easily swallowed up the moon and excitedly jumped back to his observation. Carter was now sprawled over the grass, his hands latching on to Barnes’s pant leg, while Barnes fought a desperate struggle to get Barnes back on his feet. This show was only getting better and better.
“You know what comes next! Come on!” Carter’s encouragements carried over into the foyer. No wonder the whole front of the house had woken up.
Oscar felt Zolf’s body shake with barely contained laughter, threatening to spread and take over his own body as well. Before yielding to it, Oscar was hit with one sole pang of sympathy for Barnes and reluctantly caught Zolf’s attention with a nudge.
‘Should we...’ he started mouthing, but was cut off by loud chanting from outside.
“-Two silver coins, three drunken sailors, four pretty girls and five Swedish dancers! Your turn!”
At his side, Zolf shook his head vehemently. His answer couldn’t be clearer: ‘Not even for ten thousand gold.’
Oscar released a chuckle and pressed closer to Zolf, if only to combat the slight chill that crept from between the window panes. He couldn’t say he disagreed with Zolf; the show was much more enjoyable from up here.
OSAKA
Either Oscar needed to get his eyes checked, or the words on the report he was reading had actually started melting into each other. Oscar hoped for the latter- glasses would definitely not suit him.
With a sigh, he attempted to straighten his back by leaning back into his chair and giving his shoulders a generous roll. Internally, he scoffed at the weariness he felt deeply seated within him. Where had his wild and young years gone?
His eyes fell on his desk-side candle, on the verge of burning out. Letting out another long sigh, he reached for a drawer below, and rummaged its contents for a match box, which stubbornly refused to be found.
After a minute of fruitless searching, Oscar shut the drawer a bit more aggressively than he’d opened it. His body then froze absurdly as he noticed a match box sitting quietly by his quill holder.
He was too tired to fight the feverish laugh that rose within him and escaped from the corners of his lips. Passing a hand through his hair, he cast a glance at his watch. 3 am. Why had he even bothered to check the time? What would it change?
His hand froze on its way to his quill as he heard the door to his office creak open, giving way to Zolf, dressed in a pale nightshirt that fell below the intricate machinery at his knees.
This not-unwelcome intruder took a long look at him before coming in the rest of way, leaving the door open behind him.
Without so much as a greeting, he strode to Oscar’s desk and gathered the papers strewn upon it in a somewhat orderly pile- something Oscar was deeply grateful for. He enclosed these in a nearby folder which he pushed to the side of the desk farthest from Oscar.
Zolf’s gaze found his and held it, as if daring him to voice his protest, but Oscar held his tongue. With a satisfied hum, Zolf slowly slid up behind his chair and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.
Receiving the message loud and clear, Oscar pushed himself up, unexpectedly assisted by the hand still on his shoulder and a kind one on his arm.
He let himself gently be led out of his office and down the hallway leading to his small but comfortable bedroom. They both paused at his door, as Zolf reclaimed one of his hands to turn the doorknob.
Inside, all was bathed in darkness, apart from one streak of moonlight peering its way out from the shoji doors. Suddenly eager at the idea of blissful sleep, Oscar walked purposefully towards his bed and flopped unceremoniously onto it, witnesses be damned.
His bones felt too weary to verify the source of huffed laughter that sprang behind him. He continued to lay face down even as he heard the muffled noise of footsteps on tatami and the brief clack of something being shut.
When finally he mustered the strength to twist around and open his eyes, he found complete darkness. The sliding panels leading into the garden had been shut, and Zolf was nowhere to be seen.
Oscar tangled himself comfortably into his sheets.
Perhaps late nights had their advantages after all.
Somewhere in the vicinity of TOKYO
Zolf walked surprisingly quickly for someone who used to have a peg-leg, Oscar was tempted to remark. On second thought though, it wasn’t quite on par with his usual jests; he would keep that one to himself.
Instead, he accelerated his pace to catch up to Zolf’s long strides, who kept advancing without a glance backwards. Oscar felt sweat pearl at his brows and temples. It was still dark outside, but unlike the sun, the stifling humidity never took breaks during Japan’s relentless summers.
Crickets chirped in a buzzing choir while wild strands of dew-drenched grass caught at his ankles and his knees, but Oscar was not fooled. He knew restless Tokyo stretched hidden somewhere behind those hills.
They had been walking uphill slowly but steadily for almost half an hour now. The second they had stepped out of their improvised quarantine cell, a.k.a a hotel room, Zolf had told him he wanted to show him something and they’d set off with nothing but their clothes on their back and Zolf’s glaive, now refashioned into a convenient walking stick by its owner.
Oscar was starting to regret their lack of preparation as he somehow doubted Zolf’s destination included a minibar or anything to quench his thirst. Still slightly ahead, Zolf appeared unaffected, easily keeping the same pace they’d started off at. He led the way as if he’d walked this exact path in his dreams last night. Not for the first time, Oscar wished he was privy to Zolf’s thoughts.
As hot and out of breath as he felt, Oscar cherished the sense of freedom that came with every new patch of grass he flattened under his boots. He had left their room sore and aching, having done little else but sit and read in an uncomfortable sofa chair for an entire week. Now, each lungful of air was a balm; it soothed the strain in his lower back, kissed his sun-deprived skin, reminded him that they had avoided the worse once more. As long as it was not towards another makeshift cell, Oscar would follow Zolf for as long as he needed him to.
They now walked side by side, wandering hands occasionally brushing taller strands of grass, and occasionally, each other. Eventually, fingers caught one another, drew themselves closer and refused to let go. For the rest of their hike, Oscar had no more trouble keeping up.
By some miracle, or perhaps some amazing timing on Zolf’s part, they reached the hilltop right when the sun began its ascent over Tokyo’s steel giants. They stood in silent awe- struck and humbled by the beauty of it all.
OKINOSHIMA
Oscar told himself he wasn’t hopeful. He’d hoped for likelier things in the past, and look how they’d turned out.
Let them return from Rome safe and unhurt.
Or at least, let them return alive.
A month went by without a word from them. His wishes turned more reasonable.
Let some of them return.
Give me a sign, any sign, that they’re alive and need my help.
A year.
Please.
Now a sign had come. A year and half later. A year and half too late, it felt like.
He had mourned. Gone back to Prague, flown to Amsterdam, then it was Cairo, then Japan. Already a man who rarely gave out his trust, he learned to trust more warily than before. Friends who returned with weary smiles and new wounds after long weeks of separation should be avoided, not embraced. He’d gained a new scar which reminded him daily of this. Zolf had cut his hair. Switched faiths. Nothing was the same.
And yet, Curie’s message had him hoping it could be, despite all the red flags. Eighteen months was a suspiciously long amount of time to disappear before popping back up on the map from out of nowhere. Though all the hostages were safe, Grizzop and Sasha were missing. The dying optimist in Oscar whispered they’d only been delayed; they’d decided to stay back momentarily to give the others a shot at escaping whatever situation they’d been in. His defeatist side assured him it didn’t matter anyway as probabilities implied Hamid and the others had most likely been compromised during their absence.
Oscar stopped pacing. This wasn’t a puzzle he could solve now. First, they needed to arrive in Okinoshima, then, they would wait a full week. Whatever followed would follow. Que sera, sera.
His swirl of thoughts now slowing down, Oscar smiled when his nose picked up a sweet and spicy smell wafting between the thin walls of the inn. Someone must be having a late lunch.
The pleasant odor steered him towards the kitchen, which he found disappointedly empty. A pot of white rice had been left on the stove, its lid lying upside-down on a side counter. As Oscar lifted the cover of an adjacent pot cooking on a low flame, his senses were at once overcome by a steam cloud of spicy vapors. Feeling his eyes begin to water and his nose tingle uncontrollably, he slammed the lid back on and turned just in time to release a sharp sneeze away from the stove. Whoever was responsible for this curry had had quite a heavy hand with the seasoning.
Oscar decided he could do without lunch today. Besides, he wasn’t sure his nerves would allow him to hold down any sort of meal, even the non-lethal kind. Maybe some fresh air could help.
At this time in the afternoon, the inn was more than often devoid of any customers, as the locals appeared to prefer their sake around dusk, and so far, locals seemed to be the inn’s only customers, Zolf and him excepted. This allowed Oscar the quiet pleasure of roaming across the wooden deck that wrapped around the inn completely undisturbed.
The twilight of autumn had brought a new element of splendor to the garden. Stone footpaths and summer grass had disappeared under layers of golden, amber and reddish leaves, having abandoned their former hosts, the maple trees now left bare to face the elements. Under a delicate layer of white, perhaps the grounds would become an even greater reflection of natural serenity, but Oscar doubted he would get the chance to find out.
As he turned the next corner, he was met with a curious head turn from Zolf, who sat with his legs hanging off the edge of the deck. Greeting him with a smile, Oscar wandered up to Zolf and lowered himself until he sat cross-legged beside him. So this was where he had been hiding all day. Oscar had had his suspicions, but had left them unconfirmed. Zolf was a man who liked his privacy, after all.
A delicately-assorted bento box rested on his lap, its little compartments offering rice, pickled-radish, cured fish as well as an awfully-familiar looking curry.
“Ah, so you’re to blame for my recent near-death experience in the kitchen?”
Chopsticks paused in the air as Zolf gave him a quizzical look.
Oscar tilted his head towards the bento, his eyes throwing an accusing glare at the curry. “Are you looking to add poisoning to your skills repertoire?”
Zolf gave a non-committal huff in response and resumed eating. Although, perhaps less eating, and more using his chopsticks to pick up one slice of radish before letting it drop again, Oscar observed.
“Nothing to say in your defense?” he teased gently.
“Don’t eat from the pot without asking first.” Zolf’s voice lacked the usual playfulness he’d grown used to in these kinds of chats.
Oscar didn’t have to rake his mind to guess at the worries on Zolf’s mind; he was sure he shared most of them. But Zolf’s current state didn’t match his earlier response, when as soon as Curie had ended their call, he had pulled Oscar down into a fierce embrace and sobbed his relief into his shoulder.
Oscar hadn’t been immune to the news either, and he’d let silent tears roll down while he still had the reassurance of Zolf’s arms tightly wound around him. When they separated at last, Zolf had muttered something about needing a walk and left the room, but not before briefly pausing in front of the sliding door to quietly admit that he had hope.
Zolf replaced the lid on top of the bento and made a move to get back on his feet.
At once, Oscar pinned a hand just above Zolf’s knee. “Wait.” Zolf’s gaze drifted down to where his hand lay, making Oscar immediately retract it. “Wait,” he repeated.
To his relief, Zolf did wait, though with a frown forming at his brows.
Oscar gave himself a few seconds to consider his next words. “There’s- you have something weighing on your mind, don't you? I mean, apart from Hamid and the others’ return?”
Having apparently struck a nerve, Zolf turned to face the garden, his mouth shut in a tight line.
He studied Zolf’s demeanor with meticulous zeal, as if the tautness of his hands gripping at the deck or the tense hunch of his shoulders might disclose the magic words to appease him.
“Zolf, I know in the past many have called me something of ‘a social virtuoso’,” he started, his fingers drawing graceful air quotes at ‘social virtuoso’, “but even I can recognize I’m not so gifted as to pretend to read minds.”
Still no answer.
Oscar could let him leave, let him sort out his own thoughts, as he knew he often needed to. Except he worried he might be tied to the source of Zolf’s discomfort. Had he noticed Oscar’s lingering hand on his arm when releasing him from their embrace earlier? Had he held on too tightly and given himself away?
“I know we’re both terrible at this- this talking about our feelings nonsense. Perhaps you more than I, or maybe it’s the opposite now, I’m not sure, it’s hard to keep track.” He placed his hand gently on top of Zolf’s in a desperate attempt to make him meet his eyes. “My point is, let’s just get it over with now, like ripping off a bandage. Start on a clean slate before the others arrive,” he tried, a forced cheer in his voice.
The green of Zolf’s eyes slid to where their hands sat connected and Oscar summoned all of his willpower not to snatch his hand away again. A few seconds passed, then Zolf mercifully tore his gaze away to finally meet Oscar’s.
“Is this gonna change?”
Oscar blinked, surprised at Zolf not having run away yet and now actually talking to him. “This?”
“I mean us.” Oscar became aware of his fingers being laced between Zolf’s and instantaneously felt grounded, and safe, and sure. “And this.”
For the first time in many years, words failed Oscar. They simply refused to answer his call. He found the background rustle of leaves to be all he could wrap his mind around.
Zolf filled the gap by continuing, “Oscar, once the others get here, once- when it’s not just the two of us anymore, are you still going to want this?” He held his gaze firmly as he squeezed Oscar’s fingers between his.
Oscar hesitated to take a breath, desperately afraid to be reading this wrong. “You still haven’t specified what this is.”
Zolf slowly leaned forwards and planted a delicate kiss on his lips. It was over in seconds, and Oscar was tempted to call the whole thing off as an extreme case of daydreaming, had Zolf’s reddened cheeks not suggested otherwise.
Zolf gave a low chuckle, face still dangerously close to him. “I thought you’d gone to Oxford.”
“I’m afraid I skipped many, many classes,” he lamented, shaking his head. “Though clearly, it may have been a mistake, if these are the sort of things they taught there.” His hand flew up to brush at a spot behind Zolf’s ear, but was caught in Zolf’s grasp before it could reach its destination.
“So?”
“So?” Oscar echoed, his thinking faculties currently severely impaired by Zolf’s extreme proximity.
As if aware of Oscar’s struggle, Zolf straightened back up, releasing an exasperated sigh. “You still haven’t answered me.”
“I thought it was quite obvious,” Oscar replied innocently, suppressing the coy smile threatening to form at his lips.
Zolf set their hands down on his lap. “Humor me,” he insisted, drawing a grin from Oscar.
This time, it was his turn to hover closer and brush his lips over Zolf’s half-parted ones, before pulling back just inches away. “Very well. I’m yours, Zolf.” He placed a feather-kiss on his cheek, and felt absurdly pleased at seeing Zolf’s lashes flutter in surprise. “Nothing, apart from your own wishes, will change that.” Now, a peck on his other cheek. “Does my answer satisfy you?”
“You’re insufferable,” Zolf breathed back, his exasperation an obvious cover for a much tenderer emotion.
Oscar offered him a glorious smile. “Please, go on, I do love when you compliment me, Zolf.”