Klaus

Klaus had not slept a wink. He didn’t need to, of course, but his rest was more importantly delayed by the hindrance of his loitering cell guard. That stubborn officer refused to leave him, and continued to amuse himself with one sided conversation. Klaus lay on the floor, tapping the seconds away while the guard told him once again how he lost a coin in the gutters on the night of his daughter's christening.

“A cold night it was, you see. That was also the night of the great capture of the loose horse, remember? I could’ve sworn I had told you that, I did. Oh no matter, I’ll tell it again. It was a foggy morning and my horse was feeling ill that day. I--”

“Alright. This is enough.” Klaus interrupted quietly, rising to his feet.

He had grown tired of the plain people of this godforsaken town, and he had gotten tired of sitting in the same dark cell for hours. He did not come here to continue his routines of confinement, he had come to complete his mission and that would be all. Klaus pulled his watch out of his pocket and read the time. The smaller hand continued to turn at the beat of his heart, it was much too quick for his liking. He furrowed his brow and closed the watch at once. He gathered a plan and watched the guard as he observed his surroundings.

“I mean, of course, that I would much rather know about you sir, not your horse. What interests you?" He started, settling the tension between him and the guard.

In response, the guard curiously shook his head, “I am a boring creature, boy. Besides, my job is to watch you, not entertain you.”

Klaus chuckled as he paced the walls, fondling the brick walls with one hand, “Oh come on, you must have something to tell. It’s not possible for a busy man like you to have only tales of lost coins and ill horses. Tell me about your interests.”

The guard made a face and thought silently, his hand resting on his bearded chin. Meanwhile, Klaus’s pinky felt a sharp point of an aging brick scrape his skin. He gave a small smile. The guard chuckled.

“Well, I have always been a man of collections, most specifically dirt. What a wondrous thing dirt can be, if you think about it.”

“Really?”

He figured the cell must be at least 48 years old at best due to the state of the decaying walls.

“There are stories in there, people that have walked upon it. And you never truly realize it until you look inside.”

“Interesting.”

He adjusted the buttons on his coat, tightening them and pulling any loose strings.

“And I always found the dirt from the wetlands to be the most exquisite.”

Klaus paused, his mint eyes fixated on the guard who continued to blabber on about different minerals in the soil near the courthouse. He blew a blond curl from his forehead. Any moment now.

The guard turned to see him in his curious suspension and carefully leaned forward.

“What the hell are you doing, boy?” He fretted, reaching towards his batting stick.

Klaus waited until he heard the third tick of his watch and trudged forward toward the bars, his large shoulders breaking through the steel. He let out a small grunt as the rest of him fell through, a loud rumble erupted within the dark halls of the jail. The guard stood there, hopelessly gaping at the clean hole that decorated the once standing jail cell. Klaus, who had toppled to the ground, let out a small groan and pulled a bit of rubble off his skin. He motioned to the guard with a soot covered glove.

“It will be in your best interest to not follow me.” Klaus warned.

The guard trembled, his knees weakened. Klaus rose to his feet, pulling off small pebbles from his trousers and coat. His skin was as perfect as before, like a ghostly sheet peppered with small speckles of dust. 

“Wh-how did you do that?” The guard inquired anxiously.

Klaus tossed the broken steel bars into the empty space of the cell with unholy strength before clapping his hands together in satisfaction.

“Pass my advice to your colleagues as well. I will not hesitate if threatened. .”

The guard fell to his knees, absorbing the almost biblical feat he just witnessed. He stared into those glowing, hollow eyes of the gentleman, his lashes decorated with the chalky residue of the rubble that surrounded them. His face perplexingly relaxed and nonchalant. Was this god? Had he been blabbering about pounds and horses and tea to the very creator of the universe? Was he this pathetic?

Klaus looked down at his coat and noticed the tear in one of the button holes. He shrugged it off and waved at the quivering man before him.

“At least now you have something interesting to tell, sir. I hope to never see you again. Good night.”

And like a snake in the wetlands, he was gone. Nothing but a ticking in the depth of the night. 

                                      . . . . .

It was the night that Franz hated the most. He was forced to be alone with himself, with his thoughts and regret. He stared at his pathetic self in the mirror, a dark nightgown that looked almost like a pillow case draped down his shoulders and grazed his thinning ankles. He lifted his gown to reveal the swollen skin on his knee. Carefully he reached towards it, patting his knee. It was tender, he had overused it.

Franz dropped the gown and made his way towards his bedroom window and pulled the velvet curtains apart. The city painted the night sky in dark shadows. He could see the thick clouds of fog begin to drop down from their high place above the mountains. A sea of stars peeked through the nude sky, twinkling and dancing. He pressed a hand on the glass, inching closer.

What a boring life he lived. Although he had many years ahead of him, he understood that they would be wasted on him. Years spent in hopeless labor, years spent frowning in unhappiness. He had thought of leaving to London before, years ago. But his wage in the bank would hardly pay for the trip across the sea, much less an actual living space in the great city. He dropped his head and let his forehead rest on the cold window. Whether he liked it or not, he would live in Auchtermuchty until he was buried beneath it.

A cautious knock on his door startled him. He turned and saw the small and round face of the maid peek into his room, a cup of hot tea on a platter in her hands.

“Clara.” Franz waved for her to come in.“thank you. Set it by the nightstand if you could.”

He pulled a coat over himself as the maid placed the platter at his night stand, her hands carefully grazing the metal of his fathers glasses. Glasses that had collected dust over the many years that they had been left there.

She smiled at the master in the nightgown, noticing the faint glint of remorse in his face, “Did you have a good day, sir?”

He folded his hands behind his back, “Yes, you can retire back to your dormitory. I am terribly exhausted.”

Clara nodded and made her way to the door, her skirt followed behind like a veil of deep black ink. She paused a moment and turned slightly, so that Franz could see her lips behind her apron ruffles.

“Good night sir.” She said.

She closed the door behind her, leaving Franz alone once more. He sighed and removed his coat, tossing it on top of his secretaire. He wished he could have said more to Clara, but it would have created an atmosphere that was too uncomfortable for both of them.

1834, the year when the Schwarz family arrived from Germany to the fabled ‘hidden kingdom’, a colony tucked away in the sea by a thick and far stretching fog. It was that year when Franz met Clara. They were neighbors, but most notably friends. After his parents disappeared and Franz was taken in by Mr. Williams, their paths drifted far apart. He rose to the middle class and she stayed in her lineage of house servants.

He often wondered if the circumstances were different, would they have stayed friends? Perhaps something more.