Part One

The Fool

Chapter 1

The sun had just risen, tinting the clouds a rosy hue as they clung to the sharp, snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Granite countertops, ranging in shades of purple, grey, and blue, were wrapped in fluffy, white muffs. The piercingly cold air sparkled in the rays of sun. Kurt gazed at the magnificent view from above, the clouds swirling around him in a form of an armchair. As he was sipping on hot tea with honey and raspberry, his mug was constantly refilled with just a thought. Every second seemed to belong to him as he admired the beauty of the snowy mountains and the rising sun.

"Mr. Rhein?" a voice echoed around him.

Unwillingly, Kurt left his place of dreams, returned to his study and looked at the empty mug in his hand.

"Eliza, please, come in," Kurt said, putting the mug on the table and adjusting his plaid, long-sleeved shirt.

"Mr. Rhein, there're letters," said a young girl in an austere black dress and neat white apron as she carefully entered the study. Looking at the young master, she blushed slightly and straightened non-existent wrinkles on the apron.

Kurt smiled imperceptibly, "Thank you, Eliza."

"And," she added hastily, "there is a visitor."

"Now?" Kurt glanced at the clock on the wall. "I didn't make any appointment for this time."

"Yes, but he's asking for a meeting with you. He says, it is very urgent."

"Did he introduce himself?"

Eliza was confused for a moment and started to worry even more. "Um... He... he introduced himself... Oh," she covered her face with her hands.

"Eliza," said Kurt kindly. "Leave the letters on the table and ask the guest to wait a bit."

Eliza nodded. Putting down the envelopes, she hurried to the door, muttering on the way, "Archie... Artie..."

Kurt changed into a dark blue shirt, removed everything from his desk, and opened the window. The cool air of London, of course, was not to compare with the sparkling air of the mountains, but still. Smiling at his reflection in the mirror on the wall, Kurt took a second look at his framed diploma, hanging right next to it.

He graduated just five years ago and already was so advanced in his practice. At twenty-seven he was already an eminent psychologist. However, psychology captivated him not for the acquisition of awards. He was infinitely drawn by the mystery of the human soul.

Since school, he watched people closely and recorded his observations in inconspicuous notebooks now crammed in large boxes in his closet. He treated people with the same respect and awe he gave to rare books. And yet they were just books for him, ready for reading.

Despite the fact that his discernment and numerous works in the field of psychoanalysis and psychotherapy brought him awards and respect and fame, they didn't make his practice less interesting. Each new patient helped Kurt to see yet another side of the human soul. It was like an endless mystery waiting to be solved. But it's the process itself that Kurt found fascinating.

He didn't deny, of course, that there were lots of simple cases in his practice, but a certain number of rarities appeared too. And he was proud of them. In his heart, he always cherished a hope that the next patient would be worthy of being added to this collection of rarities.

When a young man walked into the study, Kurt was already sitting comfortably in a chair opposite the couch and looking quietly at the newcomer through his glasses. This was the most exciting part. The first meeting. It was like looking at a book's cover.

Don't judge a book by its cover? Drop that idea! This is exactly what is worth doing. The visitor was young, tall, and blond. He was well-built and smartly dressed. And there was confusion on his face - fright, excitement, shame - all was given away by his constantly bouncing eyebrows. Their angled shape made his glance plaintive and begging.

Disappointment stung Kurt for a second; the young man seemed too simple. Everything was written on his face, and there was no need to open the book.

"Good afternoon," Kurt said, standing up and walking closer to the guest. "My name is Kurt Rhein. And you are Mr...?"

"Tains, Archibald Tains. But you can call me Archie. Everybody calls me Archie," he shot back excitedly and briefly shook hands with Kurt. Archie's palm was hot and moist.

Kurt nodded toward the couch, saying, "Please, have a seat," and sat back in the chair. He put his glasses on the table beside him.

"I haven't slept all night!" Archie said, only sitting on the couch briefly and immediately standing up. He walked across the room, sat down again, and grabbed his head. "I'm sick! I've gone mad! You have to help me!"

"Please, calm down, Mr. Tains," Kurt said, leaning towards him and looking gently into his eyes. "Tell me what happened, and I'll tell you how I can help."

Archie sighed several times and started speaking in a slightly calmer voice. "We haven't been familiar for long. I don't even know how it happened. These receptions are usually closed; they are for very rich people, and I'm, you know, not very rich... Not everyone gets a parents' inheritance. And this suit and all of it I bought only to fit in there. But it didn't work anyway."

Kurt was listening to Archie's muttering, not paying much attention, but didn't interrupt him. After all, even the way the patient talks and what he talks about are important.

"First, we knew each other in absentia... Well, I knew... I don't know... I fell in love with him!" Archie said and covered his face with his hands.

Kurt turned his head, as if he hadn't heard what Archie had said, and put on his glasses. "Fell in love with whom?" he asked.

"With John... John Fenrir."

Kurt didn't know much about John Fenrir. They had never met in person, but the receptions in Fenrir's house were known to the whole of London. Kurt didn't enjoy this kind of leisure, preferring quiet time with a book or a stroll. Apparently, John was accustomed to spending his time differently. He was rich, young, and popular. That was all Kurt knew about him.

"I haven't met him," Kurt replied honestly.

"And you shouldn't," Archie sighed sadly. "He mesmerizes people, makes them obsessed with him. Help me, please."

For a moment Kurt carefully studied Archie's pleading face. "But you came here not to ask me to rid you of your love for John," Kurt again took off his glasses and put them on the table.

Hearing this, Archie bit his lip and looked away.

"No, you don't want to stop loving him," Kurt ruminated aloud. "You want John to fall in love with you. And that's why you need my help."

Archie was silent for some time. "I know it is impossible," he muttered. "But I've read about you and your awards and merits... And I just thought... I'm such a fool," he said, hiding his face again.

Kurt felt sorry for the young man. He looked quite wretched and miserable.

"Look, Mr. Tains, I don't force people to love or hate someone; people aren't puppets."

"They are for John. Hence, I know that this is impossible. I... I don't know why I came," Archie said and stood up.

"Wait, maybe I can help you with something. But for this, I need to see Mr. Fenrir to make my own opinion about him."

Archie smiled mirthlessly. "Believe me, you'd do better not meeting him. Thank you for your time."

Archie left a few coins on the table and went out of the room. Kurt looked pensively at the closed door.

"Fenrir... John Fenrir..." Kurt muttered to himself. He had heard about him but had never been interested. But now...

Kurt closed his eyes and found himself in the dark hallway formed by a row of cabinets stuffed with books.

"John, John, John..." repeated Kurt; a thin folder flew off the top shelf. He caught and opened it.

"John Fenrir is the son of the influential investor Sullivan Fenrir, who is now deceased. He is about thirty years old. All his fortune is a legacy of his father. Every weekend he arranges pompous receptions, which can be attended by invitation only. John is spoiled, arrogant, doesn't do anything but waste money... I see... And Mr. Tains talked about obsession. But I'm sure it won't take much to impress Mr. Tains. And still, it's interesting and worth looking into."

Kurt closed the folder, and it fluttered back to the top shelf.