Season of Ashes Ch. 03-05

"So, handsome." The rage had truly evaporated; she was back to her usual self. "Mind giving me your number?" She fiddled with the phone, pulling up her directory.

She looked up while she waited, staring past the indoor-facing window in front of her to the ground floor below. The station looked even busier from an aerial perspective. A major train must have arrived recently; hordes of travelers dragged their valises across the foyer, heading toward the front doors. There was no sign of the driver, but Milicent spotted the familiar silhouette of the bundled old beggar that had accosted her earlier. The woman was speaking to a security guard, gesticulating wildly, no doubt pleading her innocence. Milicent smiled; it had been so long since she had indulged in the forbidden pleasures of schadenfreude.

Milicent's heart skipped a beat. The woman was pointing at the kiosk; her half-gloved fingers were angled toward the wanted poster; her other hand motioned in the direction of the souvenir shop.

"...Fuck." They needed to board at once.

Dominik

The phone chirped cheerfully in Dominik's hand as he powered it on, a brand he'd never heard of -- and likely would never hear of again -- announcing its presence to the world. He ignored it as he let Milicent lead them toward their destination, an elegant lounge on the second level of the station. While some saw rail travel as the discounted cousin of the airlines, it was clear that Beaufort was not interested in such debates. Judging on appearances alone, they were as concerned with their passenger experience as any high-end airline, and willing to spend money to ensure they were as far removed from the busy station as possible.

That suited them just fine. They needed a quiet place to ignore the prying eyes and omnipresent cameras, to slip away from the dangers of Paris before they were whisked away for good.

Dominik rolled his eyes at Milicent's remark, but his reply was cut short by seeing their faces plastered across the security kiosk. "They certainly do. We need to get out of here without any more distractions." His tone was a little distant, as he scanned the crowds around them for any signs of wayward attention or overly focussed eyes. He didn't see any, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

Nevertheless, he breathed a little more easily when they were safely ensconced in the peaceful oasis of the lounge. He let Milicent do the talking for them; he was beginning to see that she had an innate sense of expectation that the world would adjust itself according to her whims. It was a powerful force when dealing with those too weak-willed to stand up to her. Probably most people fell into that category. Even with the dark cloud of anxiety lingering about him, Dominik felt a smile teasing at his lips as he watched her work her magic on the man. He was content to merely loom over Milicent's shoulder, eyeing the man through his mirrored sunglasses.

The lounge was devoid of other patrons; for all the bustle of the station outside, few people chose to -- or were able to -- make use of the amenities of the Beaufort lounge. He leaned on the bar next to Milicent, and tapped away at the screen of his new phone as he tried to pull up his new number. Milicent might view a blank phone as a reminder of what she had lost, but Dominik felt no such longing as he waited for the slow device to load. Phones were tools to him and little more -- and he had fewer attachments to reminisce upon. His career hadn't allowed time for more than transient connections or professional acquaintances. Fujiwara wasn't one to make friends easily, and those he had weren't the sort to correspond regularly.

"Here you go--" He paused as he looked up at Milicent, seeing her eyes fixed on the scene below them in the station. It took a few seconds for his eyes to land upon the source of her concern; the woman who'd accosted her, now recognising that she'd stumbled upon a fugitive. "Shit. We need to get out of here before they figure us out." His voice was a furtive mutter, and he pushed himself back from the bar.

Large steps brought him through the frosted glass doors into the mezzanine, and Dominik accosted the attendant there with a too-familiar arm around the man's shoulders. He leaned a little more heavily than necessary on the man, imposing his size to make it clear just who was in control of the situation.

Adopting an ebullient, conspiratorial tone that was entirely too loud to be a whisper, he leaned in. "Hey there, buddy. I've got a favour to ask you. You see--" He steered the man into the entryway of the lounge, gesturing at the slender woman at the bar, "--You see, my girl here, she doesn't like travelling, but we have to go to Venice. It's our anniversary, and I promised her that I'd get her something really special."

He fixed the man with a grin, winking as if sharing a secretly masculine tribulation. "This one's important, you know? I forgot the last one, and if she told my wife about us..." He shrugged helplessly. "What can you do? So I really need this to go perfectly. There isn't some way you can get us aboard now, is there? A few shots of tequila, and I'm sure she'll be just fine."

His friendly slap on the man's back left him stumbling, and Fujiwara stepped back, "How about it, buddy? Can we head to the platform now?"

The man struggled not to grimace, and he took the opportunity to smooth back his hair and straighten his tie before he responded, clearly clinging desperately to his composure. Customer service was paramount for such distinguished guests as commanded Mme. Moreau's private car on the Lemniscate, and he couldn't afford to leave them anything less than thrilled with their experience, no matter how unnecessary their requests. He cleared his throat, nodding hurriedly.

"Ah, o-of course, Monsieur." He managed to recover his not-quite sneer, inclining his head at Fujiwara. "If you and your lovely companion would be so kind as to head this way..." He gestured toward the back of the lounge, a private entrance onto the platform where the Lemniscate was awaiting its passengers. Dominik fixed him with a grin on the wrong side of manic, leaning into the role of a beleaguered paramour.

Fujiwara wrapped his arm around Milicent's waist, leaning in to murmur in her ear, "With any luck, they won't connect the dots until we're on our way to Venice. Or even further." His grin faded as he stepped out onto the platform with her, the scent of diesel and the growl of idling engines swallowing them.

His eyebrows rose as they were led to the Moreau car at the rear of the train. While the sumptuous photographs of the Lemniscate lining the walls had promised luxury to its passengers, the car they were led to was even more ostentatious. The Moreau name was painted in elegant gold lettering along the side, and a butler clad in an immaculate uniform awaited them already, standing next to the open door. He inclined his head, "Madame, Monsieur. If I could take your--" He paused in mid-sentence, blinking. They did not have any bags for him to carry, so he merely gestured into the luxuriant interior of the train. "Welcome to the Lemniscate."

Milicent

Milicent observed Dominik's impertinent grasp on the attendant's shoulder from the comfort of her roost. She had this mental conception of him as a clinical instrument -- calibrated, composed, whip-fast, and razor-sharp. Yes, there were glimmerings of depth beneath his outward guise, as well as evidence of stunning appetites lurking beneath his chiselled exterior, but on balance he seemed, in her view, to be more machine than man, more methodical and efficient than lawless and lax. Now, however, she was starting to see evidence of that sociability at which he had hinted the previous night with mentions of his British drinking buddy. The way he steered the attendant, the ease with which he issued his remarks -- this was a man with a silver tongue, a man with enough social cunning to engineer pathways to success that didn't necessitate the use of his more brutal arts. His chameleonic mask had shifted to show off another colour; Milicent was growing more enraptured with each novel hue.

The edge of her mouth twitched into a grudging smile as the two men approached. She managed a parting glass out the window -- just in time to see the security guard begin escorting the woman toward the kiosk -- before swaying against Dominik when his arm wrapped around her.

"Here's hoping," she whispered back at him. After the sustained minefield of uncertainties and perils they had navigated since their ill-fated meeting in the Grisaille, an uninterrupted interval in transit would be an unimaginable indulgence for them both.

Even the weather agreed: splinters of sunlight punctured through an opening in the clouds above, highlighting the black-and-gold exterior of the Lemniscate as it rested dormant on the tracks. The ground vibrated with the occasional roar of other trains gliding in and out of Gare de l'Est's adjacent platforms. Whistles pierced the air, accompanied by dull shouts and squeaky wheels as valets and stewards carted trolleys in and out of the carriages. All around them was a charged ambience of energy and motion -- but the atmosphere was decidedly more relaxed in the environs of the Moreau car. Milicent pulled away from Dominik, accepted the butler's outreached hand, and hopped over the platform gap to step inside the train.

It was immediately apparent that Isabelle -- or perhaps her kingpin father -- had spared no expense in the assemblage of the Moreau suite, which encompassed not one, but two private cars attached to the usual Lemniscate segments. Milicent had walked into what appeared to be a miniature drawing room. Richly brocaded chairs dotted the chamber, gleaming wooden wardrobes clung to the walls, and a plush carpet bifurcated the length of the space, leading from one vestibuled threshold to another. She sank her heels into the rug and followed its track to the door leading to the next chamber.

The second car housed their sleeping quarters. A wooden, accordioned screen carved with intricate designs acted as a partition separating the full-sized bed on the opposite end from the small chairs and desks that populated the other half of the room. An open door to Milicent's left exposed the white-marbled interior of a tiny en suite stocked with a gorgeously accented washbasin, shower, and toilet.

"We did not, unfortunately, have time to change the configuration of the bed." The butler addressed them both while he stooped beneath a desk, opened a refrigerator door, and extracted a chilled bottle of sparkling wine. "If you would prefer two twins instead of the double, I will have the stewards--"

"--Oh no, thank you. This will serve us just fine." After so much scrutiny under the public eye that day, Milicent was eager to bathe herself in the solitude of the train without excess interference from overeager attendants.

"As you wish." The cork popped off and clattered on a golden tray; the butler glug-glug-glugged two delicate flutes full of bubbly drink and placed the fizzing bottle beside them. "Should you need anything, please press any of the blue buttons and I'll be at your service. There's also a two-way intercom in the sleeping room if you have any questions, or if you'd like to order something to eat." The butler dipped his head toward them and retraced his steps to depart the car. "We hope you enjoy your journey."

Milicent waited for him to disappear and for the door of their car to close completely before removing her sunglasses and turning to Dominik with an exuberant grin.

"You did it." She closed the gap between them with a sudden robust stride. Her fingers wrapped around the strings of his hoodie, pulling them down while she lifted herself up on tiptoes to stare directly into his eyes; his hood shrank around his face. "We made it."

With all the volatility of a pixie caught in a rogue wind, she released his strings and dashed aside, pulling open the doors to the wardrobes and poring over the surplus garments Isabelle and her interchangeable companions had left behind. The cabinets were stuffed with a macédoine of eclectic accessories that formed a veritable menagerie of ensembles -- white-tie jackets, evening gowns, bathing suits, full-body pajamas, and more. It was a wonderland of delights. And, until the train's arrival in Venice tomorrow night, it was all theirs.

"I think we're in heaven."

Dominik

Following Milicent into the car, Dominik gave a low whistle. If the pictures of the Lemniscate had been opulent, the interior of the Moreau private car -- cars -- was obscene. He wouldn't have been surprised to learn that it had been purchased from royalty or inherited from aristocrats of old. Every fixture was wrought in gleaming brass and crystal, and the interior was awash with rich woods and comfortable velvet. It was the sort of overstated elegance he had come to expect from old money, a dignified wealth that was ostentatious and comfortable at the same time. This, for a full day? Fujiwara wasn't about to complain.

He let out a breath as the butler left, and he turned to Milicent just in time to see her grinning at him. Dominik had to smile at her infectious charm. "We did it," he agreed.

All they had to do now was make it out of Paris, and there was nothing for it but to relax until Venice. Shrugging off the hoodie, Dominik tossed it casually over the back of a chair, looking around the cabin once again. It echoed with callbacks to the Grisaille, with the same timeless expressions of wealth and finery. A style that would fit just as well in a Victorian photograph as it did now. He could get used to this.

He let out a heavy sigh as he settled on a plush couch, watching Milicent pore over the contents of the wardrobes with barely-restrained glee. He draped his arms over the backrest, leaning back and sinking into the cushions, "I thought sleeping in a real bed last night was good. This is even better."

Smiling with amusement at Milicent, he let his head fall back for a brief moment, until an idea sparked in his mind. He stood and plucked a flute of sparkling wine from the tray, draining it in a single swallow. "I'm going to have a shower. A proper shower." The frigid experience in the safehouse had cleaned the sweat and grime away, but it was a far cry from the refreshment of a hot shower.

He tugged his shirt over his head as he stepped through the doorway into the bathroom, pausing to turn to Milicent with a smirk. "It's a shame it's too small for two. We'll just have to see what we can find in Venice, I guess."

THE END

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