. . . For time has imprisoned us
in the order of our years,
in the discipline of our ways,
and in the passing of momentary stillness
we can see our chaos in motion
Our chaos in motion
We can see our chaos in motion,
view our chaos in motion. . . ("In The Kingdom of the Blind the One-eyed are Kings", by Dead Can Dance)

London
April, 1675

Sitting behind the majestic mahogany desk that served as a subtle reminder of the wealth he controlled and the power he wielded, he leaned further back into the shadows that helped protect his secret. Their secret. In the dining room, Camilla and the others feasted on carefully prepared delicacies that only vaguely provided the pleasure of food. He would join them shortly, taking his place at the table and settling into the comfortable silence that this little family of his allowed him.

But first he had to tend to the matter at hand.

The quiet weight of his stare began to stifle breath. Neither cool nor welcoming. Not damning, nor pardoning. Just...seeing...he watched as the man across the desk, sitting in the full-soft light of oil lamps and candles that bathed the room in a deceptively warm glow, swallowed hard and then shifted in his seat.

Once. Twice. A throat was cleared. "I am sorry, sir. But you see, the property is not for sale. I did press your case, sir. However, the...family is unwilling to... you have to understand, there are some things beyond price..." The voice trailed off. Nervous, thin hands fussed with cuffs.

Silence. The slightest hint of a smile. Then a movement, so quick that it might never have happened. After a few blissfully painful moments the nervous hands stilled and a single drop of blood, deep red against white linen, fell onto a ruffled collar.

Eyes, on the verge of dimming, looked up into the weighty stare that said more than the next words to be spoken.

"What I understand, is that this is the second property you've secured for your own holdings rather than negotiate the deal I sent you to make... It's too bad, really, but you have to understand that I simply cannot tolerate being cheated. Beaten, yes. But, cheated? Never. Not to worry, though, I'm sure your family will be happy to sell the properties to me--at whatever price I name--once they realize that you've left them...nothing."

With a slow, final blink a question gurgled in the back of the dying man's throat.

His smile broadened as he saw the realization dawn. "Yes...nothing. For the last few weeks, while you've cheated me out of the property I sent you to acquire, I have acquired control of every business you once held interest in. If you had lived, you would have found this out in time. But, it's better this way? Don't you think? This way, you don't have to see your family fall into ruin."

Life slipped away, the physical remains limp in a chair before a majestic mahogany desk. Viktor straightened his jacket and went to join the dinner party at the other end of the house.