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Klaus didn't expect to fall asleep when he lay down, but he was dreaming almost immediately. Images came at him, jumbled and troubling, most of them concerning Dorian.
They were on a train. Dorian fled from him — jumped from the moving train into darkness, while Klaus stood helplessly calling after him.
They were in a hot desert place, dressed like bedouins. He held a gun to Dorian's ribs even as Dorian held a knife to Klaus's throat.
Then he was in some kind of business meeting, men in suits and uniforms all around him. Dorian was brought in, as if he were a prisoner before the tribunal. Klaus hit him with all his strength —
He sat up, wide awake, gasping and sweating.
Immediately Dorian was there, asking, "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"
"No, I — It was just a nightmare."
"Must've been a pretty wild one. I've never known you to be bothered by dreams before."
"I think ... real memories are getting twisted somehow. Have you ... ever been my enemy?"
"The truth?" Dorian sat cross-legged on his sleeping bag and looked candidly into Klaus's eyes. "When we first met, you were such a snob that I vowed I'd break your proud German nose. But I never did."
"Have you ever been ... afraid of me?"
"Yes." It was a flat statement of truth.
"Have I ... hit you?"
The sapphire eyes looked away.
"Dorian," Klaus prompted.
Reluctantly, Dorian's eyes met his again. "Yes. That's the sort of thing you're remembering?"
"Brief scenes, out of context. I don't know why any of these things happened. But you didn't really answer my question. I can understand wanting to retaliate against someone who has insulted you ... and I believe you eventually did succeed in embarrassing me?"
"I'm probably the biggest embarrassment you'll ever have to live down," Dorian conceded. "Klaus ... I want to tell you everything I know about you, but -- "
" -- but those would be your memories, not mine. I understand. Just tell me if I'm getting flashes of truth, or whether my mind is making things up, okay?"
"Okay."
"We've been in the mid-East together."
"Yes."
"Were we enemies then?"
"What?" with a frown. Then, "You've remembered the gun and the knife!"
"That's right."
"It was more funny than serious, Klaus. We were working separately, didn't expect one another, and when we saw each other at the border, each of us was afraid the other would blow his cover."
Klaus frowned. "You said I'm an intelligence agent. But what would a British lord be doing in Iran under cover?"
"You've just remembered that it was Iran," Dorian pointed out.
"You've just tried to avoid my question," Klaus reminded him.
"I ... don't want to tell you."
"Don't want to? Or can't?"
"You do know why I was there, Klaus. You'll remember it eventually."
Klaus studied the even features ... and noticed that in serious thought, Dorian's foppish look disappeared, despite the disheveled mop of curls. He was a role-player, Klaus realized, in a very old British tradition.
He stared at Dorian. "I need a shower," he said. "Will you help me wash my hair?"
"I'd be happy to. Are you feeling stronger?"
He thought a moment, and realized, "The headache's gone. That has to be a good sign."
Forward to Part Nine
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