Incredible Spy Detective. Poets and Liars. Stella Fracta
up – Christopher, on the other hand, squinted.
“You didn’t hug me!”
“Because you’re not her partron,” William smiled forgivingly, as if speaking to a child.
“Don’t worry, I’ll hug you too.”
Alexandra walked around Christopher and positioned herself so she could lean down with her arms outstretched, while the young man continued to lean further back.
“Circus,” William commented as he walked further inside and sat in Alexandra’s chair.
She never did get the chance to hug Christopher – both of his chair’s legs slipped on the linoleum, he fell to the floor with a loud crash.
While Alexandra helped him up, William, lost in thought – as Alexandra was before him – looked off into the distance, past the bottle and the three goblets.
“Even if you don’t like chess, you’re already playing,” William began when the woman and the young man finally settled down at the table. “You’re on the board.”
He pressed his finger on the glass surface of the table, and Christopher swallowed.
“Both of you are playing – you and Christopher’s partron.”
They exchanged glances.
William continued, “Now’s your move, Alexandra. Such are the rules of the genre – you represent the forces of chaos.”
“And me?” Christopher widened his eyes.
“Your partron desperately clings to order, but soon he will understand that there will be no more old order – because he has already begun his path to becoming.”
“Hooray!” Christopher exclaimed. “I mean, I hope it doesn’t tear him apart and all, and I’ll finally get to meet him.”
“So what’s going to be my move?” Alexandra spoke.
“Any – it depends on your wish to move the plot along. To push what’s already moving.”
“Christopher’s partron,” Alexandra concluded. “He came into motion.”
William nodded.
“So I need the one who acts in a circus, jumps through fiery hoops, spies for the British Queen, and he’s on the first stage of the Great Work already?”
“Exactly,” William agreed.
“What should I do with the wine – and the fact that someone wanted to kill me?”
“Trust your intuition. They didn’t intend to kill you – it was a counter-move, an attempt to provoke a reaction.”
“Why a counter-move?”
“You’re successful,” Christopher answered for William. “They’re afraid of your radiance. Your existence is like a red flag to them.”
“After what happened, there will be even more resonance.”
“They’re foolish. They’ve read your books, but they didn’t understand anything.”
“That’s how it always goes—”
“Our lot, Alexandra, is to be out of time and place in our era,” William rose from the chair, adjusted his jacket’s lapels. “And to get slaps on the back of our heads from those who speak a different language.”
“It’s a wordplay,” Christopher added. “They can speak our language just fine.”
Christopher repeated after William as he stood, Alexandra watched them walk to the exit, as always, no goodbyes.
The young man turned around.
“Circus,” he reminded.
Alexandra nodded. When they disappeared, she mouthed the word – to make sure she remembers.
10. Breakfast
[Great Britain, London, City of Westminster]
Alexandra was in the bathroom, Richard was leafing through the red notebook that she left on the table, brows furrowed on his handsome face. The words arranged into formulas, in English and Russian, the notes were divided into chapters, sectioned by associative array.
Keys, lists of names and phrases – sorted by the stages of the Great Work, according to her personal system of symbols … Turning the notebook over and opening it on the other side, Richard found conventional notes, sorted chronologically.
As soon as she woke up, she wrote down: ‘Christopher’s partron acts in a circus’.
The word ‘circus’ jolted Richard – it had to be a coincidence, she can’t have found out about the Circus. ‘Partron’ is most likely a neologism, or Poet jargon.
There was a knock at the door, Richard shuddered. He quickly put the red notebook back to where it was, to its former position, and walked for the door. The breakfast was served appetizingly on a cart, Richard knew Alexandra will be happy to see the pot of coffee and a jug of hot milk, but won’t even touch the food … Once again, he wanted to display himself as trying to be thoughtful, though not always getting it right.
She came out of the bathroom in her underwear, her hair in a messy bun, her bangs parted on her forehead. Richard sat in the chair in his underwear, too, scrolling through the news on his phone, appearing bored, he took some time before turning to her.
“Good morning,” he smiled.
He was awake when she woke up, and pretended to be asleep. His eyes closed, he listened to her stir and stretch across the wide bed, as she glanced at the body lying on her left and sighed through a slight smirk.
Right away, she got up and went to the living room to write something in the red book.
Now she seemed unhappy to see him – unhappy that he didn’t think to leave.
“Good morning, Richard,” she said.
Richard put his phone down and approached her – he headed to the bathroom. Alexandra appraised him openly, half-smiling, he stayed in his underwear on purpose, to show off his six-foot tall bodybuilder figure – broad chest and shoulders, six-pack and round ass … The white snake of a scar on his left shoulder, a pink blot of a scar on his right pectoral, something pale, a barely noticeable scar or burn, on his left thigh. If she turned to follow him with her gaze, she’d have seen two more – under his left shoulder blade and under his right knee.
He walked past her, closed the door, and met his own eyes in the mirror.
He needs to find out who Christopher is.
Alexandra didn’t wait for Richard as she went to pour her coffee, climbed onto the couch – it still glittered from yesterday – and stared into the void until the bathroom door opened.
“I’m afraid to read the news,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Then don’t. Your managers will tell you everything you need to know – the rest doesn’t matter.”
His hair was wet as if he didn’t dry it at all, wetness glistened on his neck, shoulders and thighs. He won’t be able to seduce her with that.
“I forgot to thank you. Thanks. For sticking with me through this, for— Well, you know—”
She waved her hand – the empty cup in her other – as she tried to explain her feelings, but it was a rare moment when Alexandra the wordsmith was at a loss for words.
“I was happy to help. And I will be happy to help – if you let me.”
She did not respond, she simply sighed.
“The lawyer didn’t call. They’ll likely take our fingerprints – you, me, everyone in the official lists. They