"I am Ali al-Amat," he said, and smiled a very wide smile. What handsome white teeth he had. "Lirssa's father," he added, as if mindreading were also one of his many talents. "I have seen you at a distance, but I don't believe we've met." He turned, withdrawing both hands from his pockets and extending the right first.
"Yes, sir. I recall now." He took the hand and shook it. Any hope the man would not realize the cold sweat of his hands due to the chill was completely crushed when he felt the warmth of the man's skin. "I am glad you are recovered from your illness, sir." He had to drag the information from Lirssa about her father's extended illness, but the man certainly looked very healthy to him. Healthy and armed to the teeth.
A long black brow arched, and there was something of the cat Nicholas had seen earlier in the supercilious look on the tall man's face: as if to say, do I look as if I have ever been ill" But what Ali said aloud was perfectly friendly. "Yes, thank you. It was a difficult time for us all, and I appreciate the well-wishes." He studied the boy's face for a moment, and at last released that clammy little hand.
Nicholas stuffed his hands in his coat pocket, feeling the crunch of the letter stopped his breath just a moment. But he recovered. "Are you," how does one make conversation with a man who can smile like that, "having a good day' It is nice weather we are having for the season. Lirssa must be happy. She said she intended to perform in the square today if it was sunny." And that made him think of something. "I am sorry I did not have the chance to meet you the other evening, but thank you for letting Lirssa come to dinner and the Weihnachtsmarkt with my family. They really like her."
"Of course," he drawled, "she was tremendously excited to go." The boy was babbling. It was all he could do not to laugh aloud at it. And yes, I'm having a delightful day. I was looking for a volume of Rumi for my wife in French. Sadly, they haven't anything. Have you time for tea?" He tipped his head toward the pastry shop across the street. A group of Watchmen on horseback trotting past stirred the breeze sufficiently to ruffle his hair; he dashed it out of his eyes with a brief impatience, watched the men on their horses clop past before returning his attention to the boy. "I should be delighted to spend a few minutes with you."
Even with the last messages to deliver, Nicholas knew there was no way he could gracefully get out of it. At least not without hearing about it for the first solid five minutes the next time he saw Lirssa. He knew how protective and proud of her family she was. Any slight and she would be out of sorts with him for weeks. So, tea it was. "Yes, thank you sir."
"Capital," exclaimed the tall man drily, and dropped a hand on his shoulder to guide him that way.
The hand on his shoulder was congenial, friendly, and would have been perceived so by likely any other person. Nicholas gave a smile to the man and started in the the direction he was guided. It had to happen, he reasoned. Eventually he had to meet Lirssa's father and mother. At least it was one at a time. The father was intimidating enough. They did not know, though, and as long as he did not think about it, there would be no reason for them to suspect. Relax, he told himself; just meeting the parents of a girl you, unfortunately, really like.
One long step across the sidewalk, crowding the boy just a bit. A second step caught the edge of the sidewalk in just the wrong way; Ali stumbled and just barely caught himself. Why, thank you, Nicholas! There was a brief tug on the boy's coat as Ali "caught" himself, attempting to snatch that oddly pocketed envelope with the near-fall as a cover.
For a further distraction, he swore practically in the boy's ear, a particularly ripe and rich Arabic oath.
"Are you all right, sir" The streets here tend to shift the cobbles more than they should." He smiled, oblivious of the deft removal of the folded letter. Something about the strange language, the break in the formality, eased the tension. Nicholas finally relaxed.
"Perhaps," he said, folding that hand up into his sleeve before jamming it into his pocket, "I am not quite as recovered as I thought." He straightened, very manfully shook it off. "Have you a particular sort of biscuit you're fond of?"
"I will admit I tend to lean toward the cinnamon scones. Lirssa does try to get me to try new things, but I have to say I cannot eat as much raspberry as she does." A rueful grin up at the man. Maybe it was laying it on too thick to prove how well he knew Lirssa and paid attention.
"Maybe. She does have a taste for them." The boy earned a thoughtful glance, as if he were gradually winning the man over. "I much prefer cinnamon in my coffee, to be honest, and cardamom. Fionna and I go through a box of croissants a day." And they really did. It wasn't his fault his nature doomed him to eternal hunger. "But it's a fine afternoon, and tea will suit. Your accent. Austrian?"
"Bavarian, sir. My family, the people we traveled with, we came from Bavaria, but it is not far from Austria. There is much similar to our people." He suddenly got a little worried. "Does Lirssa never talk about me?" He realized how anxious that sounded, but there was no taking it back.
"I am not often home for her to talk to, sadly. Business commitments have kept me away, of late." Pause, let us listen for the badly disguised sigh of relief.
Nicholas nodded with a sigh — was it a sigh of relief or understanding" Knowing how Lirssa covered up how much she missed her father, he tried to not be too grateful. Still, for his own part, it was to his advantage for Ali to be out of town a great deal. Meeting him personally, that feeling was only confirmed. The man was intimidating even when being nice. It was the eyes. Nicholas was sure he could read down into his thoughts. Which only made him try to clear those thoughts with a smile. "Are you still kept out of town for long periods of time?" Nicholas felt he sounded only interested in the family welfare.
"Simply ages," said the man in his cultured baritone so at odds with the creepy eyes, and echoed Nicholas' sigh, as if he had not asked for a meeting with Alain, and had not settled back into his home for the foreseeable future barring a sudden movement on Shade's part. "Sometimes I fear they might forget what I looks like," he said, and smiled that impossibly wide smile again.
Nicholas tried to think of something sad, like his father being gone for ages, before he spoke so he sounded more sympathetic and less relieved. "I am sorry. But your business means security for the family. Lirssa understands that. We all have to do what is best for our families." That Nicholas could speak with all depth of honesty. It was for his family, he reminded himself. They would understand that.
His cheeks were beginning to hurt. "Very true, and quite astute an appraisal of the world from such a young gentleman," he said, and ducked his head as they stepped inside. The bell overhead rang, and look at all those baked goods on display behind the curved glass. He filled his hand with silver, passed it over to the boy. The mention of family had managed to dispel his painfully false smile. "Two croissants and strawberry jam for me, and a cup of Earl Grey. I'm afraid I need to step out for just a moment." He tipped his head toward the back of the store, where the water closet doors hid behind a coy screen of pierced brick.
Taken aback by the money, Nicholas almost missed the order, but he gave a nod and went up to the counter. The amount of money in his hand at one time .....But this was not the time nor place. He made the order adding his own request for cinnamon scone and a cup of coffee, black. He hoped Mr. al Amat would not begrudge the replacement of coffee for tea in his own beverage.
With a shoulder against the door Ali opened the envelope, read the note inside. The boy had picked the letter out of the pile and returned it to his satchel, then had looked about himself before transferring it to his pocket. "Grant" was the boy's last name. It could have referred to the father, or an elder brother. But that careful look around himself that Nicholas had taken before pocketing it. Puzzling. T.S. Who was T.S." The vagueness smacked of secrecy also. Ali tended to sign personal notes with his first initial, but official correspondence received his full name and always had.
It was all a damn sight more troublesome than the boy's avoidance of strays. He refolded the fine paper...then paused, and lifted it to his nose. Eyes closing, he breathed in deep, seeking any lingering hint of scent.
As Nicholas waited there, he suddenly found himself more worried out of the man's sight than in it. What if he was watching him' Nicholas stood up straight, brushed down his coat sleeves, frowning at the patches, but then folded his hands and tried to wait with patience.
Nicholas paid the amount, plus a small tip for the tray of food. There was change remaining, and that he left on the tray for Mr. al Amat to collect when he returned. Carefully he took the tray to a table and served out the dishes and setting the change by the Earl Grey tea before he returned the tray to the counter.
The second breath Ali took with his mouth open, drawing the scent over a Jacobssen's organ no human should have. A touch of a woman's perfume. The must and age of books. Leather over the lingering sweat-smell of a human. Frowning at the letter, he replaced it in the envelope, tucked it into his sleeve and went out.
Over by the counter where the boy ordered and paid on his way to the chosen table, he paused, then dropped to one knee and produced the letter as if swiping it up off the floor. "Nicholas, my dear boy, I believe I just saw this fall out of your pocket."
Nicholas turned to see what it could have been and his mouth dropped open. Well, there was no use hiding his concern and dismay now, so he thought of a convincing lie while he reached for the letter. "Oh, thank you, sir. My father needs this information. It was mixed up with the other letters I was to deliver, and if I had lost it, there would have been trouble." It was not so far off the truth, so it came out rather smoothly. He managed to not even stumble across saying "my father". The letter was moved to an inside pocket, and he gave a grin. Now there was true relief on his face.
Hm. Ali nodded, indicated the table with a hand. "I'm glad I noticed it, then. And thank you for this. I confess I am starving." Pulling a chair out, he sat without ceremony, shucking his coat and oh, look, there were a pair of throwing knives strapped to each of his upper arms over the fitted black shirt, as well.
The son, the father or both, he decided, were mixed up in something dicey. Well, he had a bit more free time for the nonce. He would investigate.
Clearing his throat as he sat as well, he took a sip of coffee first to get his courage up. Then he asked, "Sir, are you part of the Watch' I thought Lirssa said you were a dealer of antiques."
"I was in my previous home, and I find that when seeking antiquities in faraway places it often serves me well to look menacing. How do your parents occupy themselves, young sir?" He sliced open one of the croissants, smeared it liberally with spoonfuls of jam and bit in, eyes half-closed with pleasure.
It almost popped right out of his mouth, complimenting Mr. al Amat on his success in looking very menacing. Nicholas was saved from such a gaffe by the question. "My mother looks after my younger brother and sisters and does some mending and washing. My father is a carpenter, sir."
"You have more than one sister?" Up went the brows. "I was an only child, and the vast majority of my cousins were male." Which, although Nicholas did not know it, was one of the reasons why Ali was so drawn to women in his adulthood. One of the reasons. "How lucky you are."
Nicholas had never really considered if he was lucky or not. "I suppose so, sir. I mean, yes, I am lucky to have my family. I have three younger sisters. They can be okay to have around, I guess." He hated how that sounded. He knew he would do anything for them. He was doing anything for them. "I am lucky." He repeated and started on the scone that was practically devoured.
He was kind enough to allow the boy a moment to eat; it was mere coincidence that it allowed him to do the same.
((With thanks to Ali al Amat's player for being "big bad daddy-o"))
