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Shadows of the Night	By : KitsuneNoMari Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1207 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 3:
Memories

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The moment Ran stepped out of the hat maker’s establishment
he knew he had made a serious mistake in venturing outside his dark lodgings on
an April day. It had been overcast and gray when he left his lodgings, but
while he was trying on bonnets and hats, the sun had come out. Ran felt weak
and dizzy, even though his midnight blue parasol shielded him from the direct
light.

How very long Bond
Street was. And where were the hackneys when one
was in need of their services? He swayed, brushing against someone, and
muttered an apology, then stopped. He was almost at the corner of Conduit Street.
About seven or eight doors farther down was a stationer he patronized
frequently. If he could make it to the shop, surely, the clerk would summon a
coach for him.

The pavement beneath his feet was shifting, undulating,
making every step a hazard. Schuldig had warned him more than once that he
would less be able to face daylight the longer he postponed feeding, but since
he hardly ever went out, except at night, he ignored him for years. Now he knew
that Schuldig was correct. Or was he? What if the more frequent taste of blood
would make him merely more like Schuldig? Was that what Schuldig wanted?

Why, oh why had he ventured out?

It had been vanity that drove him, pure and simple vanity,
he admitted. Tomorrow was Friday, and he had awakened at noon wanting a new hat
if Crawford was taking him the Piazza at Leicester Square for dinner. He had not cared
about fashion in such a long time that the sudden, irresistible desire had
startled him. It was such an amazingly pleasant
feeling. And the results of his venture had been more than satisfactory,
although, at the moment, the wide box tied with string seemed to weigh as much
as an iron ball.

Ran became aware of a carriage and a pair drawing to halt
beside him. He knew with certainty and an immediate and very inexplicable
lifting of spirits, even before he looked around, before he heard the greeting,
that it was he.

“Monsieur Fujimiya! Good day to you, may I offer you a seat
at my curricle?”

“You may indeed. And thank you for your kindness, Lord
Crawford.”

“You’ll pardon me for not getting down, but the pair is
fresh. My cousin will assist you. Monsieur Fujimiya, allow me to present Farfello
Crawford.”

Only now did Ran notice the second gentleman who stepped
down. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Monsieur Fujimiya, you never
stop in the Blue Room, and I’ve been waiting for weeks to tell you that I’m
your most fervent admirer.” Farfello doffed his hat with a flourish, and bowed
low before him.

“Really?” Ran murmured, his gaze held in fascination by
Farfello’s waistcoat embroidered with brilliantly hued parakeets. “Please
accept my gratitude for giving up your seat to me.”

“My pleasure, Monsieur Fujimiya.” With courtly grace,
Farfello handed Ran, along with the parasol and hatbox, into the curricle. “And
if you’ll permit Brad a glance at your ring, I’ll be more than repaid.”

“The ring,” Ran looked at Crawford. “We’re back to that, are
we?”

Crawford drove off without another word to Farfello. “I
won’t deny it, Monsieur Fujimiya. I still need to know how you came by the
amethyst, but there is something else as well.”

Crawford was looking at Ran intently and for such a length
of time, Ran became alarmed. “What are you about, my lord? And please pay
attention to where we’re going!”

“I am. And I was correct. Your hair is the color of red
wine. Bordeaux.”

“Pay attention to the street! Look where you’re driving! And
slow down, you’re about to run over the crossing sweep!”

“My grays know their way about town.” Crawford said as he flipped a large silver
coin to the urchin with the broom twice as long as he, Crawford did turn his
eyes upon the road. “Shall I take you to your lodgings, or do you have other
errands?”

“To my lodgings, please.” Ran adjusted the hatbox at his
feet. “I did not expect to see you today. Was your business completed
satisfactorily, my lord?”

“Quite. And sooner than I deemed possible, which is why I
called at your lodgings. Your assistant told me I would find you in Bond Street.”

“How fortuitous...”

“Will you join me for dinner tonight, monsieur?”

“Never mind about what I said about what I said the last
time we met with regards to addressing me. You may use my full name if you
wish.” Ran gripped the parasol he was holding tightly that the ornamentations
of the handle cut into his palm. “I suppose you’ll want to discuss the ring
tonight?”

“I said I would not press you, and I won’t”

“But you are determined to interrogate me at some point. So,
I suppose, it might as well be tonight.”

“Or, perhaps, now,” With a light touch of the reins,
Crawford guided his pair into Haymarket. “Then we need not spoil or dinner with
a topic that is so obviously distasteful to you.”

“Or we need not even take dinner together at all.” Ran cut
in.

“That would not be my preference, but, I promise you, it
will be your decision alone.”

Ran switched hands on the parasol. “And what do you wish to
know, Lord Crawford?”

“To start with, Monsieur Fujimiya,” Crawford said, his voice
remaining light and pleasant, “why do you not demand to know what business of
mine your ring could possibly be?”

Ran was glad that he was seated now, or his knees surely would
have buckled. Of course he must wonder! “My lord, I have always known that the
ring in my possession is the Crawford Amethyst.”

Again, Crawford turned his gaze on Ran. “You puzzle me,
monsieur. I did not think to get the truth from you in such a blunt and
straightforward manner.”

“Why not, pray tell?” Ran sat up straighter. “What did you expect that I would lie about the ring?”

“In a manner of speaking...yes.”

“I may be an actor, my lord, but I am not a liar. At least,”
Ran added, “not an accomplished one.”

This drew a very wry chuckle. “Truth, indeed, Monsieur
Fujimiya. I noted your lack of accomplishment in that quarter when we spoke of
my visit to Kyoto.”

“You spoke of it.
I merely listened. And I did not lie! When you asked if I was familiar with the
town and castle, I told you yes.”

“So you did. And then you asked me to leave.”

Ran had no reply to that and for a while the rode in
silence. They were already in the Strand,
would turn off for Tavistock
Street presently. Ran was about to speak when he
remembered Schuldig and willed himself to bolt the mental barrier against his
intrusion.

“Lord Crawford—”

“Monsieur Fujimiya—”

They had spoken simultaneously, and simultaneously they fell
silent. Ran saw they were passing Southampton
Street.

“Should we not turn here?” He asked. “This is the most
direct way to my lodgings. I was about to ask you if you would like to take a
dish of tea with me. I am determined, you see, not to avoid your questions
again. In fact, I wish to pose a few of my own.”

“Sauce for the goose, Monsieur Fujimiya?”

Ran saw Somerset House looming to their right. “Where are we
going?”

“I could not fail to notice that sunlight gives you
discomfort, so I was planning to take you to a shady spot by the Strand Stairs.
Nut that was before you invited me. Now I shall leave the decision to you.”
Crawford replied.

“How kind of you, and before my invitation, you meant simply
to abduct me?”

“Abduct? Yes, I daresay that is what it would have amounted
to if you would not agree, but I doubt it would have been a simple undertaking.”

Ran slanted to look at Crawford, saw that he was smiling,
and felt quite unaccountably lighthearted. In the sunlight—Crawford still wore
no hat—he did not look quite so much like that other Crawford. Or did he?
Perhaps it was merely the smile that made him different. And the glasses he
wore, his eyebrows were not forked the way the Fifth Count’s were and he also
had a scar. About an inch of it was visible on his left temple, but in the
bright light, Ran could see it continue under the thick dark brown hair above
his ear.

“Let us proceed to your shady spot, then. I doubt you have
found a competent lad in Tavistock
Street to mind your horses. We’ve turned into
quite a thieves’ den there, I fear, and you might have lost both the curricle
and pair before you’d enjoyed your first sip of tea.” Ran said.

“I shall keep that in mind when I call upon you next.”

Ran had no response to this and watched in silence as
Crawford guided his pair in a narrow lane leading south, to the Thames. He stopped beneath an ancient chestnut tree,
already in leaf and looked splendid to look at with its white blossoms dashed
with red.

Ran wrinkled his nose. “I’d forgotten how bad the river
smells.”

“You do not venture out much, do you, Monsieur Fujimiya?”

“Rarely. And I won’t complain. It’s not quite bad here as
the odor around the theater. And now I smell lilacs. How delightful.” Ran looked
around. “I wonder where they grow.”

“Will this do, then?”

“Very nicely, thank you.” Shutting the parasol, Ran placed
it beside the hatbox at his feet.

“The shade is dense enough?”

Ran was very aware of him, so close that their shoulders
almost touched. Ran moved a little, turning sideways to look at Crawford, and
found that he was facing him squarely, since he had turned as well.

“I shall not swoon, my lord, if that is what you fear.

“I did. And if you had seen yourself when I encountered you
in Bond Street,
you would not wonder at my concern. You looked as pale as a ghost. At least, as
pale as the one you revive so dramatically in your play.”

“Pale, indeed, then, since the costume consists of hose and
bodice knitted of fine, bleached wool and a white shroud. And what little skin
is showing is covered in white paint. But I am quite well now. So, let’s get to
the point.”

“Certainly, though I fear the topic of the Crawford Amethyst
is as discomforting to you as the topic of your sensitivity to light.”

Ran’s breath caught. “I’m afraid I do not quite follow you,
my lord.”

“No?” Crawford’s gaze was probing. “Then, I must beg your
pardon.”

Momentarily distracted by one of the horses taking exception
to a bee buzzing close to its ear, Crawford turned away from Ran.

Ran studied his profile. The strong, capable hands that the
reins so lightly yet controlled the shying horse without difficulty. How
different the excursion would be if their topic of discussion could be other
than the ring. If they could be...friends. If...

What madness possessed Ran to entertain such notions! No, if
he was in need of a friend, Schuldig would have to do.

When the bee had returned to higher altitudes and the horse
quieted, Crawford said, “Monsieur Fujimiya, if you knew the ring belongs to my
family, why have you not returned it? We are not very difficult to find, you
know.”

The ring.

“The Fifth Count Crawford,” Ran said stiffly, “and,
therefore, his descendants forfeited any rights to the ring.”

Crawford’s brow furrowed. “How? And are you saying it has
been in your family ever since my great-grandfather lost it, close on 120-years
ago?”

“He did not lose it, my lord. It was taken from him.”

“Stolen? But then you should
have—”

“It was taken,”
Ran repeated, his whole body suddenly bathed in perspiration.

“Why?”

“In payment for the life he took.” Ran struggled not to succumb
to memories, not to allow emotion color his voice. “If he had valued his own
life, then he would have been condemned to death. But he was so uncaring
whether he lived or died—whether anybody
lived or died—that it was decided to take the only thing he did value: the
ring.”

That had been the gypsies’ vote, and theirs had prevailed.
Schuldig wanted Crawford’s death. And Ran—he had wanted his blood to change him
one of them. To him, there was no greater punishment.

Crawford stared at Ran. “Whose life did he take?”

“She was a young gypsy woman.” Ran’s voice was toneless. The
ribbons on his bonnet seemed to tight all of a sudden. With unsteady fingers,
he retied them. “Her name was Aya, although I preferred to call her Aya-chan.”

Crawford frowned but did not speak. And Ran was glad he did
not interrupt. The sorry tale must be told quickly, lest pain and anger
overpower him once more, as they had done the past night he met Crawford at the
theater.

“Fifth Count Crawford raped her,” Ran said quickly, baldly. “Aya-chan
was pledged to a young man of a related tribe. The rape not only dishonored
her, but him and both tribes as well. Aya-chan killed herself.”

Again, Crawford frowned. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I am certain,” Ran snapped. “Aya-chan’s slippers,
shawl and the gold bracelet given to her by her betrothed were found atop a
cliff and, when the tide receded, shreds of her skirt among the rocks below.”

For a brief yet oddly reassuring instant, Crawford placed a
hand atop Ran’s clenched fists. “I am sorry.”

After a brief silence, Crawford spoke, “It happened a long
time ago, yet you are affected as if it was only yesterday, almost as if...you
knew the young woman personally.”

The image of Aya-chan, singing, dancing, laughing, flashed
through Ran’s mind. Aya-chan, of the dark auburn hair tied up and parted into
two neat braids and sparkling golden brown eyes...so like Ran’s adopted little
daughter Aya an eternity ago. For a while, Ran had bee able to pretend that his
adopted daughter had lived, that she had grown into a beautiful young woman
with life, love, and happiness awaiting her.

Ran fleetingly touched the locket inside his royal blue gown,
companion piece to the locket Aya-chan had worn. Ran looked at Crawford and
once more saw the man who’d held the struggling girl pinned to the ground; the
man who, sated and triumphant, had laughed in Ran’s face when he came running
to Aya-chan’s aid.

Pain and rage engulfed Ran. He saw his face, so close. The
hint of vein above his neck cloth, with a cry, Ran would have lunged at the man
sitting beside him, but Crawford caught Ran’s arms and held him fast.

“No, Ran,” he said quietly. “I am not the one you seek to
punish.” Crawford’s calmness doused the frenzy consuming Ran.

“I beg your pardon,” Ran said shakily, feeling ill and not a
little frightened.

Crawford released him, picking up the reins he must have
dropped. “And I beg yours. Please believe that I do not deliberately set out to
distress you.”

Ran saw only sincerity in his gaze, and concern. But he was
alright now; he could look at him and feel nothing but gratitude for his calm
acceptance of her sudden rage.

“And I apologize for using your given name. I meant no
disrespect, Monsieur Fujimiya. It merely seemed right at the moment.”

Again, his sincerity was clear, and Ran nodded. He forced
himself to ask, “Do you have any more questions, my lord?”

Crawford gave a wry chuckle. “My dear monsieur, if only you
knew how many questions and how long they have plagued me!”

He steeled himself. “Then, ask away.”

“Only if you are certain you are stout enough for further
interrogation.”

“Quite stout.” Ran lied.

“Monsieur Fujimiya, how did you learn the story of the ring?
Were you told—” Crawford broke off, scowling. “Damn it! I beg your pardon,
monsieur, but I see the one I’m beginning to think as my nemesis. And he’s
approaching in a hurry. What do you wish me to do?”

Filled with apprehension, Ran turned. From the direction of Somerset Place,
Schuldig came striding toward them. He had blocked him from invading his mind,
but there was no way to prevent Schuldig from finding him if he was determined
to do so. And he would be upon them in another minute or two.

“Shall I send him on his way?” Crawford asked.

If Schuldig were a mere mortal... But even then, Ran would
not have Crawford try. It was best if he was in Crawford’s company for a while.

“No. Allow him to accompany me to my lodgings.”

“But you would have to walk!” Crawford protested.

“Please don’t argue, my lord.”

“Then, permit me to collect you at the theater tonight. We
shall have that dinner I promised, and no questions about the ring.”

“No? But I was under the impression your questions were
urgent.”

“They can wait.” Crawford caught Ran’s gaze and held it.
“Now I am quite content to string them out from meeting to meeting if that
gives me the opportunity to see you frequently.”

Ran felt as flustered as he did when he as 16 when Yohji
asked him for the first time to accompany him to the spring festival in their
town. He quickly called himself sharply to order. “My lord—”

“Ran!” Schuldig was still several paces away, but Ran knew
him well to recognize the dangerous note in his usually expressionless voice.
“I’ve been looking for you.”

Ran gave Crawford his hand. “Good day, my lord. I thank you
for coming to my rescue in Bond
Street.”

“My pleasure.”

All of a sudden, the horses grew restless. Crawford gave a
curt nod to Schuldig, who had reached the curricle and stood with his hand
imperatively extended to Ran. “One moment, Schuldig, let me steady my pair.
Don’t know what got into them, they’re not usually skittish unless something
spooks them.”

When Crawford had the grays under control, he once more
turned to Ran as he gathered his parasol and hatbox, and murmured, for Ran’s
ear alone, “One question I would like answered tonight.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“Monsieur Fujimiya, what exactly is Schuldig to you?”

Notes:

Go Crawford! You’re the MAN! Anyone want to tie Schuldig to
anywhere right now? I got enchanted rope!

As you’ve noticed, Ran is treated like a lady because of his
status and how he dresses. And as I’ve sad before, I’m mixing eras in this
story.

I used the image of Treize Kushrenada (of GW) as the Fifth
Count Crawford since him and Brad since they have an eerie likeness. *drools*

I mentioned 120 years here, so let’s just take that
Crawford’s grandparents and such lived up to the ripe old age of 90 and so on
and so forth. To give you an idea: My great-grandmother was born in the 1880’s,
my grandmother was born around the 1920’s, and my mother was born around
the late 1940’s and I was born mid 1980’s (I stopped counting
when I reached 20... Xþ). So that’s round about 100 so years... And mind you,
during the earlier years, couples, more or less, had at least more than five
children. Some of the children died early on since the earlier era’s lacked the
medical technology and advances we have today. My mother is the youngest of the
brood of eight where it was supposed to be originally a brood of thirteen
children. Five died in either miscarriage or sickness.

At least that answers some of the questions about the ring.
I promise that there will be more mysteries waiting to be unfolded in the
following chapters. I have it all mapped out. And I will post a couple of
pictures of some gowns that Ran is supposed to wear so you guys would get the
feel of what he is wearing. The picture will be posted in my LJ blog, the link
to my blog is in my profile.

Feedback/Reviews are very much appreciated. Until then, my
darlings! And to those who reviewed, thank you so much!

Glossary:

Curricle – a light, open carriage drawn by two horses
harnessed side by side.
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Shadows of the Night