The VIP Lounge

The VIP Lounge

December 21^st, 2011

Amsterdam

'Back to the land of the ordinary people,' Goran smirked as he took a seat next to the Duke, who kept huffing his displeasure at the unexpected delay even as he opened his laptop to catch up with the lost time. 'At least we were able to get tickets in a normal flight. Everything is completely full.'

The secluded area on one side of the elegant VIP lounge allowed both men some peace after a nightmarish week of non-stop work before the holiday season; the soft beige and brown tones of the decoration soothing their frayed nerves. The small crystal coffee table in front of them was perfect to spread their papers on, and Goran asked the Duke if he wanted a coffee to which the other replied that a mineral water would suffice.

Goran stood up and went to look for the drinks, and as he did so, he saw a tall man, informally dressed and accompanied by a very small, blond and thin youth, approach their area; the only one that was not occupied by businessmen. For some reason, the man—about Goran’s age—looked very upset. Still looking at them warily, he watched the man take the seats opposite the Duke and how he proceeded to unceremoniously drop his shoulder bag over one of the sofas before crumbling on top of it.

“Now, please, you and your thing stay here. Don't move, and certainly don't run away, Marcial!” the stranger whispered furiously. 'Fucking, crazy Crusader,' Carsten thought.

“I've told you a hundred times that Pelayo is not a Crusader. He's older than that,” the youth said in accented English.

“If he misses this flight too, it's his problem, not mine.”

“He will not miss it. He will be here soon. He just went to see those Dutch wafers. I think he wants to bring home some. The ones at your mother's were very nice, and he liked them a lot. Maybe you could buy them for him?”

“I won't! Period, Marcial. I had enough with the ham story! When we are back in London, I hope the flat does not reek of that rancid fat!” the man exploded, and Goran settled down to enjoy the show.

“Carsten, don't be so upset with him. He didn't do it on purpose. He does his best to fit in,” the blond said in a conciliatory voice.

“All this would have never happened if I had a plane of my own,” Carsten mumbled. “Maybe I should buy another one.”

“You already calculated that the costs of maintaining one are out of scale compared with how much we can spend in a first class ticket. We don't travel much. I think that if we fly Ryanair we could save much more money,” Marcial said very seriously, and Carsten almost fainted at hearing the name of the low-cost airline company. Konrad had also great troubles to keep a straight face as he feigned that he wasn't listening to the odd conversation.

“Stay here. I'm going to get those wafers,” Carsten mumbled defeated.

The youth simply nodded and smiled happily, not offended at all by the order or the dry voice used by his companion.

Goran raised an eyebrow at his superior when he searched with his eyes for him, and he sadly smiled at the Serb in return, thinking that the blond boy strangely reminded him of Guntram. 'Will he even celebrate Christmas? Is he able to do it?'

Marcial took his iPod from his jacket just to remember that perhaps the platypus wanted to be let out. Perhaps that would make Pelayo return from wherever he had run away. The boy took the black leather sack, resting in the next chair, and opened the zip so the plush animal could poke his head out.

Goran couldn't help to elbow his Duke when he saw the strange head looking at them with its glassy eyes. Konrad looked at it transfixed and saw the small iron cross pending from the animal's neck. Its shape was very peculiar and unlike any ornament he had seen before. It was similar to a Maltese cross, but more round-shaped.

“It's Visigoth,” the blond explained with a smile, and Konrad felt very embarrassed that he had been caught staring.

“Thank you,” he answered curtly and returned to his computer.

“It's different to the one you wear, but it's not a Maltese one,” the boy added nonchalantly. “It's Visigoth, but the Basques use it too. According to Pelayo, they copied it from the Asturs, but I don't know. He's always so sensible about such things.”

“I beg you pardon?” Konrad asked dumbfounded. “The cross I wear?” he repeated, perfectly aware that he was wearing nothing. 'Do people know about us? No, it's impossible!'

“What is the name of it? I don't remember. I should ask Pelayo, he knows better. But it's more modern than the ones when he was around. Maybe he doesn't know it.”

“What?” Goran could only say after he digested the torrent of words.

“Like the defences in a castle. What is the English word for almenas? He took a mobile out from his breast pocket and searched the translator for the unknown word. He carefully read, “Crenellation, battlement.”

“I wear nothing.” Konrad retorted dryly.

“Not you, your friend,” Marcial answered pointing at Goran's seal. “That's what identifies you,” he added with a radiant smile.

Both men looked at each other and felt the hair on the back of their necks raise. Oblivious to everything, Marcial returned to his iPod once he was sure that the platypus was comfortable enough.

The German and the Serb exchanged meaningful looks, and only the return of the tall man who was with the boy prevented Goran from ‘taking care’ of the strange youth.

“All right, Marcial. We have a flight to London scheduled in three hours. Do you think Pelayo will return in time and save me the hassle of losing another flight? I want to leave this country at some point.”

“I don't know, Carsten. Maybe he does. He's not here.”

“Excellent,” the Dutch mumbled. “Tell me if he shows up, and if not, he can investigate more about dams.”

“Why?” Marcial asked feeling a bit lost. Had Pelayo and Carsten argued again?

“Never mind,” the Dutchman mumbled and pulled his own computer out of his briefcase. “I have to finish this. Talk with your new friends.”

“What friends?” Marcial asked puzzled, and Carsten closed his eyes tiredly.

“These two people you were speaking with, Marcial. I saw you.”

“Did I?” the youth asked in shock.

“Did you take your pills this morning?” Carsten sighed.

“I should check,” he answered as he rummaged inside his pocket and got out a small blue pillbox. “Which day is today?”

“You took them,” Carsten answered after a quick glance and plunged into his e-mails as the youth didn't mind any longer about Goran and Konrad.

Goran's stance visibly relaxed at the brief exchange. Obviously, the young man was a real mental case, and his words held no meaning at all. But Konrad was still looking very interested at the strange cross pending from the stuffed animal's neck. It certainly looked as an antiquity.

The Duke slightly shuddered as a cold draft passed through the lounge, but quickly dismissed it, thinking that he was about to catch the flu. The youth turned to look in one direction, and without saying a word, he opened the plastic “Free Shop” bag the tall man had left on top of the table and took a pack of waffles out, opening and leaving the box near the plush platypus.

“I think he found nothing else,” he said very quietly and returned his attention to his iPod, shuffling through the songs.

Puzzled, Konrad contemplated the blond, and once more he cursed the fact that his own plane had suffered a malfunction, forcing him to travel home with the populace. 'Things are worse than I thought. Platypuses in First Class.

'And the bumpkins too,' he thought when he heard the Dutchman swear in his language after reading one of his e-mails.

“Marcial, stay here. I'm phoning my sister. Her husband wants to use my Maybach! The nerve of him! Stay here.”

“Send my greetings to your mother,” the boy said, and the Dutch swore more colourfully than before, leaving the room like a whirlwind.

'Someone has a worse temper than our beloved Duke,' Goran inwardly smirked and returned to his papers, slightly amused at the exchange.

But the youth had turned to stare at Konrad, making him feel very uncomfortable under the close scrutiny he was being subjected to. “May I help you?” the Duke asked, unable to stand the tension any longer.

“He will be home next Christmas. Don't be so sad. He wants to come back,” Marcial said, and both men stared at him petrified, holding their breath.

Unaware of what he had done, Marcial smiled at Pelayo, sitting next to him and devouring two of the waffles. “They're good,” he commented and picked one.

“No, thank you,” Goran said automatically, believing the youth had offered them waffles.

“Oh, do you want one?” Marcial asked and presented the package to him.

“No, thank you,” the Serb repeated. “I wonder about what you said before.”

“Did I say something? I'm sorry if I offended you. I forget things almost immediately. I suffer from amnesia. My name is Marcial Fernández. I'm from Asturias.”

“Marcial, you did it again,” Pelayo said tiredly. “You told them about the future. Be nice and finish the sentence.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Sometimes I mix the present and the future,” Marcial added, and both men looked at him incredulously.

“Excuse me?” Konrad blurted out.

“Most people believe that time is like a straight line, when it's not. Time is like a spiral, and sometimes you're looking right in front of you and that's the present, but when you look to your side, you can see what's in store for you. It's like standing in spiral staircase, looking up and down. What's far away in the future is beside you as time folds over itself. I shouldn't do it. It's bad for me. Don't pay attention to me.”

“Your words make perfect sense to me,” Konrad pressed.

“Marcial, don't be difficult. Tell him and he will be at peace,” Pelayo said. “Both are warriors like myself. You can trust them.”

“All right. Let me see. It's not that easy. Toads and frogs do it all the time, but I need to think a bit,” Marcial said frowning a little.

“Toads and frogs?” Goran repeated in awe. “My Duke, this young man is obviously insane. You can't believe in his words,” he said in German.

“Hush!” Konrad silenced him and questioningly looked at Marcial, hoping he would further elaborate.

“Toads and frogs can jump a lot. Maybe that's why they can see the future, answer your questions or grant your wishes. Toads like you, Konrad. A lot.”

Goran almost chuckled at the sentence, but the fact that the youth knew his Griffin's name alarmed him and he went into alert mode.

“Toads like me?” Konrad asked in shock.

“Yes, they do. You used to play with them as a child and were nice to them. Bringing them bread was useless, but they are grateful for your gesture. The flies would go to the bread and they could catch them. They still remember you. If I were you, I would put a toad in my coat of arms.”

“Toads can't be used in heraldry. They're satanic creatures,” Konrad said not understanding anything any longer. He experienced a growing need to feel that he was still part of the land of the sane, but at the same time he needed to know what the young man could tell him about his love's whereabouts. Perhaps his Guntram was still alive and the boy knew where Repin kept him kidnapped.

“Says who?” Marcial asked with real curiosity.

“It's common knowledge. Witches use toads.”

“Because they're powerful creatures. Sometimes, they even can show you the future. They're very kind to you. How about a basilisk if you don't want a toad? They are born from a rooster's egg nurtured by a toad for nine years. They're a bit destructive, but they really don't mean it. It's just a matter of keeping a rooster nearby to keep them from spitting so much fire. A young rooster near you used to work very well for you in the past.”

“Marcial, you digress. Tell him what he wants to know,” Pelayo interfered, noticing how the two men were gaping at Marcial. “And ask the brunet where he got his sword, too. I've been thinking to change mine. It is not working as well as before.”

“Now, you digress,” Marcial retorted to the air, and Goran huffed. 'Great, one cheap fortune teller.' His gaze travelled over the table and he noticed the waffles package was empty save by one. 'He can certainly eat fast.'

“I'm not going to charge you. I never do. My grandma forbade me to use my gift to make money.” Marcial’s limpid eyes gazed into the Serb’s without showing any kind of fear. “She was a meiga vedoira but she was not evil.”

Konrad gaped at the young man, feeling lost, tired and sad, but something inside him was screaming to him to listen to the boy. “Who's going to return next Christmas?” he asked anxiously, ignoring the loud huff he heard coming from Goran's side.

“No, not next Christmas. They will be already here by next Christmas.”

“They?”

“Yes, you are only waiting for one, but two will come home. It will not be easy for them, but they will make it. You should not judge him harshly because all what he does is for you and your children.”

“This is intolerable!” Goran shouted in German.

“Quiet!” Konrad barked him. “Who? The name of the person.”

“I don't know his name. He has changed it. He does not even want to remember it. The child is named after you. He was forced to leave you. He never wanted to do it.”

Goran stood up, more than ready to strangle the youth for mocking their pain, but Marcial smiled and said, “Pelayo wants to know where you got your sword. It's very sharp and…” he listened to his friend enthusiastically babble about the attributes of Goran’s sword. “He thinks it's very good for beheading. His is a bit rusty,” he added with a mischievous smile.

“It's not rusty!” Pelayo howled.

Goran contemplated the young man in awe and could only murmur, “Toledo. It's a reproduction of the Tizona.”

“Yes, that's right. Pelayo got his there too. The quality is unmistakable. Could you give me the address of your blacksmith?”

“What?” Goran whispered.

“The person who made your sword. Pelayo says it's very good, and for some reason, he wants to have a new one. I doubt Carsten will allow it, but he can try to convince him. He says that yours, Duke, is not so well balanced. Must be the crucifix on the handle. Demands to use a lot of brute force to achieve any results.”

Both men looked at the young man and felt something akin to a deep terror of the unknown grow inside them. “Pelayo is also a duke,” Marcial added.

“Tell them I support their cause,” Pelayo said. “We have to defend our land from the heretics. I'm glad that there are still some of us left. Not everything is lost as I used to believe.”

“He says it's good what you do,” Marcial translated.

“What we do?” Konrad asked slowly.

“Defending our land from the heretics. Pelayo would like to help too. You're suffering because of them, but you will overcome your enemies in the end. God is with you.”

Konrad stood up and gathered his computer with shaky hands. He needed to leave the room that for some unexplainable reason was growing smaller with each passing minute. “It's been most... interesting to have met you, mister...”

“Goodbye, Konrad. We will never see each other again, but I wish you all the best in your wedding,” Marcial said with a brilliant smile. “Yours will be a long life.”

“And Guntram's?” Konrad couldn't help to ask.

“He will be very happy with you the time he has left,” Marcial answered curtly. “Lasting is not the same as living,” he added to soothe the man's evident pain flashing through his eyes.

“Thank you,” Konrad said and shuddered again when Pelayo stood next to him, ready to follow his two kinsmen.

Goran was on the limit of his endurance and simply pulled from his petrified Griffin's elbow, dragging him to a far away part of the lounge, one where the only danger was to meet somebody from another bank.

Marcial remained sitting in front of the coffee table and noticed the waffles pack was empty. He huffed. 'I wanted another one too,' he thought and picked one of the magazines from the nearby table.

“I'm going to kill my sister when I see her again. She's a witch!” Carsten said when he returned some minutes later. “The Germans are out?” he asked when he saw the vacated spaces.

“Who?”

“The two gloomy birds you were speaking with. Are they gone?”

“I suppose so,” Marcial answered. “Pelayo finished the waffles. Do you think he wants more? He's gone somewhere, but I don't remember where. I should have written it down in my notepad.”

Carsten sighed slowly, resigned to the idea that they would miss another flight because the trasgu had again gone for a walk. A thirteen centuries lifespan had still not taught him the uses of punctuality. 'Lord, give me patience.'

Konrad's eyes were fixed on the flickering lights of the plane's wing. His mind couldn't accept what the young man had told him, and yet he wanted to believe his words were true. 'What if my kitten is still alive? What if he wants to return to me? Antonov has found nothing so far, but that doesn't mean he's dead. Repin must be lurking somewhere. And who else is coming with him?'

“My Duke, you know this is a hoax,” Goran said compassionately. “A cheap parlour trick.”

“How could he know my name? How could he know about us?” Konrad asked.

“He is like the man on that TV show. The Mentalist. Acute senses and good observation skills. Nothing else,” Goran shrugged. “Perhaps he read your name in one of your luggage tags. Is it not what they do for a living?”

“Do you think this boy looked like someone who needs to make a living by conning bankers?”

“Artists,” Goran mumbled with contempt.

“He knew about the toads when I was a child,” Konrad insisted. “What if he's right and Guntram is lost somewhere out there? Maybe he's still alive.”

“We all played with toads as children!” Goran retorted angrily.

“Did you?”

“Well, I disliked them and kept my distance,” he admitted slowly. “Please, my Griffin! Don't tell me that you believe that toads have found a way to outwit Einstein!”

“No, of course not!” Konrad laughed nervously. “We might as well nominate frogs and toads for the Nobel Prize,” he joked.

“Or grant them a seat at the new Council,” Goran chortled. “No one would notice the difference between them and your cousin Georg.”

“Oh, yes, they would. Toads are very clever creatures,” Konrad smirked.

Seeing that his friend was not thinking any longer on the crazy youth, Goran returned to his documents. 'The world is a circus of freaks,' he thought before he deleted the bizarre encounter from his mind.

'Toads are really compassionate creatures. They listen to you,' Konrad thought. 'It's true what he said about the bread, and they were my best friends when I was a child, long before I met Ferdinand. I still like to talk to them.

'Was there not a toad in my room the night just before Guntram returned?

'Maybe the world is not as straightforward as I thought.

'Why should it be? Miracles do happen; otherwise I would have never met my Guntram. Perhaps God can also manifest Himself through a toad or a deranged lad.'

For the first time in a long while, Konrad felt hope nest in his chest.