Inadvertently Entangled: Day 14

Word Count: 84,055

Summary of Events:

While waiting for Mr. Nyilas to return from taking the young woman home, Pierson was startled by a knock from someone he didn't recognise. Mr. Nyilas returned before the person could leave and spoke with the person outside before the person departed and Pierson let Mr. Nyilas in. The person had given Mr. Nyilas a coded message that, when decoded, revealed that the group in Kraków had been compromised, which worried both Pierson and Mr. Nyilas deeply. When the young woman came by the following day she noticed Pierson's distress, prompting Pierson to tell her about the bad news…

Excerpt of the Day:

“The group I was with, who were going to help me escape back to Sweden,” Pierson replied. “The Nazis have got into them.”

She gasped. “Horrible.”

“So, I mean, the good part is that I won’t be leaving so soon as I might’ve expected, but the bad news is that my friends there might be hurt, even dead,” Pierson replied. “Even down to the… down to the little kids.”

“Oh,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.

“We have no idea,” Pierson said, tears rising to his own eyes. “And Constantine’s worried that the might be able to track us down since we’ve made contact with them, and that might… cause…”

He couldn’t utter his worst fears, but he could tell that she was well aware of exactly what he was thinking by the look in her eyes.

“I was already compromised there,” he said. “That’s why I was going to Sweden, I was to get somewhere safe so that the rest of the group wouldn’t get hurt, but then I was chased and I ended up getting on a train to Budapest, and the man who chased me got onto the train too. I haven’t seen him since we arrived, but I’m sure he’s still here and looking for me.”

“But he not found you?” she asked.

“Not so far,” Pierson replied. “But, considering I don’t know how I got compromised where I was, it could be a matter of moments before I end up compromised here. Maybe I already am, I’ve just stayed so cooped up they can’t find me. I don’t know. But it puts you in danger, and I don’t want that.”

“You think, then, I not come again?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” Pierson admitted. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There plan you go elsewhere?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Pierson replied. “Constantine has to contact our superiors to let them know what happened and ask them for instructions, so I’m staying here until we hear from them, and I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

She nodded. “You keep with Hungarian?”

“I don’t know,” Pierson replied. “I could be endangering you.”

“I come alone,” she replied. “I leave with Konstantin. Nobody see you. Nobody know I come see you.”

Pierson nodded. “But even still, I don’t want anybody to get hurt because of me.”

“I understand,” she replied. “But you pretend be German. Maybe we continue pretend you German.”

“I know the man who’s here in Budapest has seen my face,” Pierson replied. “I shouldn’t have ever been out and about in Budapest like I’ve been with you and Constantine.”

“You change,” she said.

“How?” Pierson asked.

“You grow moustache,” she replied. “Moustache make man look very different.”

“I’ve never grown a moustache,” Pierson said.

“Always first time,” she replied. “Try, we see if it look good different.”

“I don’t know,” Pierson said.

“It make you look older,” she said. “I sure.”

“I don’t want to look old,” Pierson protested.

“It fool him,” she replied.

“I guess,” Pierson agreed. “But will that be enough?”

“We try,” she replied. “We not know what else to do. We try, see.”

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 13

Word Count: 78,036

Summary of Events:

Following Mr. Nyilas' having escorted the young woman home at the end of the day, Pierson explained to Mr. Nyilas why he was pursuing Hungarian lessons even when he could well be leaving Hungary soon, and appreciated what help Mr. Nyilas could offer owing to his being fluent in Hungarian and English. Pierson was also glad when Mr. Nyilas told him he ought to be able to get around Budapest with his German, and took advantage of the first opportunity to do so with the young woman by his side, pretending he was a wealthy businessman and she was his lovely secretary…

Excerpt of the Day:

Pierson looked up at the clouds, which looked a nearly white shade of grey, as well as looking to be quite high up in the atmosphere. He could see snowflakes falling, looking somewhat dark against the lightness of the clouds, before becoming white against the backdrop of the buildings.

They were small flakes, falling like a light rain shower. Usually snow in Coquitlam came down as big, fluffy flakes, that almost looked to be clusters of many smaller flakes, and could fall quite rapidly, as well as melting or being compacted into slush quickly, as the humid climate of Coquitlam meant most snows received there were wet snows that were lucky if they lasted twenty four hours because Coquitlam wasn’t a particularly cold place, thus either ambient temperature, or even the snow changing to rain would often melt it all away.

Part of Pierson was tempted to make an attempt to catch a snowflake on his tongue, but he felt that would probably be an undignified act for a wealthy businessman, or even the son of a wealthy businessman, not to mention, the snowflakes were so small he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to tell if he got one on his tongue.

With the clusters of flakes in Coquitlam, it was more noticeable, and even possibly easy for a person to inhale the snow into their mouth, not to mention, people his age weren’t necessarily expected to behave quite so maturely in the modern day as they’d been in the 1940s, no matter how wealthy they were.

Even though he couldn’t go catching snowflakes on his tongue, Pierson had to admit, he was glad to be walking out in the snow with Mouse* on his arm. It seemed something of a romantic thing to him, and considering that Mouse was about the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on in any time period of history, Pierson was pleased to be walking with her down a snowy street.

Since he was playing the part of a wealthy businessman — or possibly the son of one, considering he was young, and felt certain that he looked youthful — and had assigned to Mouse the role of his secretary with whom he had no romantic connections, however, he forced himself to not look at her affectionately, even though he wanted to; indeed, he actually wanted to ask her if he could kiss her.

As they walked, the snow started falling thicker and faster, but the flakes didn’t increase in size, nor did the wind pick up. All of the snow just continued falling straight down, coating the sidewalks and the roadways, as well as parked cars, store signs, awnings, rooftops, and even the top of his hat, his shoulders, and his forearm.

Passing vehicles and pedestrians left tracks, as did some birds, all of which Pierson observed to be strange to him, not that he expected the birds of Europe to be the same as those of North America, unless some were birds which had been introduced to North America, but he wasn’t recognising any.

*Mouse is the nickname he's assigned to her in lieu of knowing her real name.

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 12

Word Count: 72,047

Summary of Events:

The following day, and several days after, Pierson ended up doing as he'd done before the young woman had come to the door: laying around Mr. Nyilas' apartment feeling terribly bored and wishing he could do something when he was surprised by a knock on the door. It was, again, the young woman, but she wasn't in any way distressed, and had no emergency she needed help with, prompting Pierson to enquire what exactly had brought her to the apartment again…

Excerpt of the Day:

She looked at him with an expression that suggested she was ready to get upset at him, but wasn’t going to do so quite yet.

“You do not make joke about Hungarian lessons do you?” she asked.

“No,” Pierson replied. “No, I wasn’t joking, but, um, I’m not sure if it’s really worthwhile to pursue them.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I’m going to be leaving shortly,” Pierson replied. “I wasn’t even supposed to have come to Hungary in the first place.”

“Oh,” she said, refastening the button on her coat she’d just opened, and looking rather more crestfallen than Pierson had expected, and it made him feel badly, as he did want to spend time with her, which was ensured to be aboveboard to others by it being over language lessons.

“I’d still like to get started,” Pierson said, hesitating before putting his hand around her wool-clad arm. “And then, hopefully, after the war we can find each other again and maybe even continue the lessons.”

She looked up at him with something of a sceptical look. “That not maybe happen.”

“What do you mean?” Pierson asked.

“We are in war,” she replied. “We have no knowing how it end. We may not even be alive. You and me.”

Pierson felt a churn of sickness in his stomach to think that she might not make it, as he knew he would, because he was playing the role of Uncle Ashford, and Uncle Ashford had died at the age of 101.

“I guess that is true,” he admitted. “But can’t we maybe do a little bit still? Maybe enough that I could book my own train ticket to Kr– ah, where I’m going, and maybe even enough to make some small talk so that I seem like a Hungarian, or, at least, not the person anyone who might be following me thinks I am.”

She nodded. “We do it.”

Pierson felt pleased as she unfastened the buttons of her coat before Pierson helped her out of it, hanging it, her scarf, and her hat onto the coat tree before leading her to the dining room where she revealed what was in her bag, which looked like old fashioned school books.

“I’d offer you tea, but I’m not very handy in the kitchen,” Pierson said. “Nor am I entirely sure if I should go making myself quite that at home in a flat that isn’t mine.”

“I need no drink now,” she said. “We begin.”

Pierson nodded, seating himself beside her.

“These books from school,” she said. “Youngest, my brothers and sisters use them.”

“When they first started school?” Pierson asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “We begin, letters.”

“Alphabet,” Pierson said.

“Alphabet?” she asked.

“Yes, all the letters that belong to a language are called the alphabet,” Pierson replied. “There’s the English alphabet, and the French alphabet, and the Hungarian alphabet, and the Russian alphabet, which are the letters those languages use in their words.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Maybe we’ll both teach each other a little about our languages,” Pierson said.

“Maybe,” she replied with a smile.

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 11

Word Count: 66,028

Summary of Events:

Pierson went with the young woman to an apartment building, where they saw three thugs break down a door before Pierson felt compelled to confront them, pretending to be a wealthy German man and accusing them of harassing his maid, whom he attested wasn't Jewish. He and the young woman then took the family hiding in the apartment to a safe house before returning to Mr. Nyilas' apartment, where Mr. Nyilas was quite glad to see them…

Excerpt of the Day:

He felt another shot of jealousy as he saw Mr. Nyilas helping the young woman out of her coat and revealing that she was in a rather appealing dress that in no way detracted from her mature looks, despite her visible youthfulness.

With the thick wool layer removed, Pierson could see that her figure was indeed a lovely and slender one with a modest bust, making her, like Petra, look appropriately feminine and even delicate, but yet with a strength and resiliency that the femininity and delicacy couldn’t altogether hide, and probably served as a warning to the observant that they weren’t women to be trifled with.

Unable to understand the conversation Mr. Nyilas and the young woman were having, Pierson followed them silently to the living room, feeling somewhat sulky that he couldn’t understand what they were saying.

After a few moments, however, they both left the living room, with Mr. Nyilas departing to the kitchen, shortly after which the young woman departed to the washroom, leaving Pierson to stand alone and somewhat bemused in the living room.

Unsurprisingly, the young woman returned first and sat down. Pierson wanted to sit down beside her, but he felt like that might be a bit forward of him, so he instead sat down on a different piece of furniture in the living room, and looked at the young woman, but she didn’t look at him, so he looked down at his hands and sighed.

The kettle’s whistle told Pierson that Mr. Nyilas had been making tea, and in moments he returned with the china teapot on a tray with teacups and cookies, much like when Pierson had been first brought over.

He served tea to Pierson and the young woman before preparing his own as the young woman, between very refined and dignified sips of tea and bites of cookie, seemed to be recounting the whole tale of the afternoon.

Pierson sipped his tea and ate at a couple cookies while she talked, wishing he could understand what she was saying, instead of just hearing it, and the emotion conveyed her tone and pace, which was enhanced by the expressiveness of her face and her restrained gesticulations.

Mr. Nyilas looked quite intrigued, and listened without asking many questions to the whole tale, most of the time keeping his gaze fixed on the young woman, although he occasionally looked at Pierson, including once with his eyebrows raised with intrigue.

Finally the young woman sounded like she was wrapping up her account, and Mr. Nyilas then spoke for about a minute to her before turning to Pierson.

“That was a box clever thing you did with that ruse of being a German,” Mr. Nyilas said, sounding somewhat admiring. “Were you pretending to be anyone in particular? Was it a character you’ve played before?”

“No,” Pierson replied. “I just pretended to be a German, and I hope I came across as a wealthy one who’s maybe exempt from military service because he’s in a business that’s vital to the German war effort.”

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 10

Word Count: 57,201

Summary of Events:

Pierson expressed his boredom to Mr. Nyilas, who had no suggestions for helping him, before Pierson suggested — for reasons he couldn't explain — that he could study Hungarian, which Mr. Nyilas said he'd look into. While waiting, Pierson strove diligently to remember what had happened to him in the present, but the last day he could remember was the day he'd gotten Uncle Ashford's coat, which he was sure was part of the reason he'd ended up in the past, along with the fact that he bore a resemblance to Uncle Ashford, or so he was told. He was convinced more time had passed since then, but he could remember nothing of what had happened during that time. His bored musings were interrupted by an urgent knocking that sounded like it was being done against the door of Mr. Nyilas' apartment, so Pierson went to check…

Excerpt of the Day:

The knock sounded again, sounding even more urgent, as Pierson neared the door, and convinced him that the knocker was knocking on the door he was approaching.

He put his eye to the peephole and looked out. A thrill shot through him. It was the beautiful dark-haired young woman from the meeting whose name he wanted but hadn’t yet gotten who was on the other side, looking nearly frantic.

Unlocking the door, he opened it and she surged in briskly. He closed the door and locked it before reaching for the button at the collar of his shirt, which he felt keen to reopen, along with all the other ones beneath it.

The young woman immediately started speaking in a flurry of urgent Hungarian that, in a way, sounded beautiful, which Pierson supposed had to do with its being uttered in a feminine voice, but the rapidity with which it was being uttered made him feel like he was being borne down on by a steamroller with the high-powered engine of a race car.

Having started speaking with her back toward him, the young woman turned to face him and stopped speaking abruptly, her mouth slightly agape, looking mortified. A flush rose to her cheeks. She must’ve thought he was Mr. Nyilas, and now, seeing his face, had realised her error.

“Hol van Konstantin?” she asked.

Pierson wasn’t sure he wanted to presume she was asking where Mr. Nyilas was, but he felt like that would be a reasonable question for her to ask, although she suddenly looked even more mortified than before.

“Sorry,” she said. “Where Konstantin?”

“I don’t know,” Pierson replied. “He didn’t tell me where he went this morning, and he’s not been back yet.”

She bit her lip. Pierson just about chided her for it, her lips were too pretty to be bitten, even by her.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Pierson asked.

Her green eyes shifted to his face critically. “You drive?”

“Yes,” Pierson replied.

“Good,” she said, looking pleased. “We must go.”

“Right,” Pierson said.

He turned to the coat tree beside the door, taking up and putting on his scarf, coat, and hat before he unlocked the door again and opened it.

She exited briskly and Pierson followed her only after reaching into his pocket and finding the key that Mr. Nyilas had given him in case, for any emergency reason, he needed to leave the apartment, which he’d put in his coat pocket so that it’d be with him if needed and he wouldn’t have to hunt around for it.

He locked the door and followed her brisk and fairly urgent stride, seeming like a barely-restrained run, if he was honest, down the corridor to the stairs and out onto the street, where he had to take advantage of the length of his legs to ensure he was able to keep up with her rapid pace.

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 9

Word Count: 48,026

Summary of Events:

After a long, boring, lonely day, Pierson was grateful for Mr. Nyilas' return, and his news that he'd contacted MI6, except for the fact that they would have to wait for a reply. Mr. Nyilas also told Pierson that the group he and Árpád were a part of were going to rent the apartment next door to Mr. Nyilas' as a cover for Pierson's being Mr. Nyilas' newly-arrived Swedish neighbour with whom he'd become friends, which they went over to prepare the following day…

Excerpt of the Day:

A couple other people were there working about the apartment, getting things ready for the resident, and all of them looked familiar from the meeting; in fact, one man who noticed them in the doorway actually glared at Pierson on his way by.

“Why don’t they like me?” Pierson asked.

“They don’t trust that you’re who you say you are,” Mr. Nyilas replied with a sigh. “I don’t know what to do to persuade them of your identity either.”

Pierson nodded.

“I’ve genuinely tried everything I can think of,” Mr. Nyilas said. “And I have gained a few people who believe me, but the majority still refuse to believe it.”

“Have they given any reasons why they don’t believe the proofs I’ve given you?” Pierson asked.

“The main reason is because the proofs can all be forged,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “Which is true.”

“Even the one you had me show in front of Árpád?” Pierson asked.

Mr. Nyilas said nothing, even looking a little momentarily stunned. “Of course.”

“Had you forgotten?” Pierson asked.

“I hate to confess that I did,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “But I didn’t forget so much that I’d done it as that Árpád had been there. But of course he was, because I wouldn’t have let you stay if I’d not seen it.”

A man approached them and spoke to Mr. Nyilas in Hungarian. Pierson thought he heard Árpád in the flurry of strange words, and wondered if the man was asking why they were talking about Árpád, or what they were saying about him.

Mr Nyilas gave the man a rather lengthy reply, which Pierson suspected was an explanation of the fact that Árpád had witnessed the proof which had convinced Mr. Nyilas that Pierson was who he said he was, especially when the man looked somewhat sceptically intrigued by what Mr. Nyilas was saying, suggesting that he wasn’t fully inclined to believe what Mr. Nyilas was saying, but that he was rather keen on finding and speaking with Árpád alone to confirm Mr. Nyilas’ story.

This was reinforced by the fact that a couple other men Pierson could see were looking their way with the same sorts of expressions on their faces. Pierson wondered if they were all going to gang up on Árpád, maybe getting him to give them taxi rides later, during which they would question him about what Mr. Nyilas was saying, so that they could prove that the truth was really being told, and that Árpád was in no way complicit with any cover-up situation.

Once Mr. Nyilas had finished speaking, the man nearest to him moved off and one of the other men walked over to him, speaking in a hushed voice with some suspicious glances toward Pierson and Mr. Nyilas.

“They still don’t believe you?” Pierson asked.

“They want to confirm it with Árpád,” Mr. Nyilas replied.

Pierson nodded.

“Not that everyone entirely trusts Árpád,” Mr. Nyilas said.

“Why not?” Pierson asked.

“He has an appropriate zeal for the cause, but he can sometimes be a bit impulsive, as I’ve gathered that he was with you before he brought you to me,” Mr. Nyilas replied. “He rather wants everyone he can find to help with the cause, but his passion for it runs the risk of jeopardising the whole operation.”

Inadvertently Entangled: Day 8

Word Count: 45,006

Summary of Events:

The following day Mr. Nyilas had a long day of business to attend to which he'd determined it would be safest if Pierson didn't accompany him on, which left Pierson confined to Mr. Nyilas' apartment for the day since he knew no Hungarian and so couldn't wander around Budapest alone…

Excerpt of the Day: 

He figured it shouldn’t be too bad if he could find a few interesting titles on Mr. Nyilas’ bookshelves, as Mr. Nyilas had a pretty significant number of books, not that Pierson really knew how long Mr. Nyilas had been living in Budapest, as maybe it was reasonable for him to have such a collection owing to how long he’d been in Budapest.

Wandering over to the bookshelf nearest him, Pierson discovered, to his dismay that the first books he laid eyes on had Hungarian titles, and so did the ensuing ones all down the shelf.

Every ensuing unit of shelving also proved to contain only Hungarian-language volumes, whose titles Pierson couldn’t even make sense of. Hungarian had no relation to English whatsoever, outside of the fact that they used a common alphabet, which likely meant that the letters each represented the same or similar sounds in Hungarian as in English, but they were given meaning by wildly different combinations than in English, and with such accents as acutes, umlauts, and what looked rather like doubled acutes.

Since Pierson didn’t know any foreign languages outside of food-identification French, he wasn’t necessarily sure what the different accents meant. He knew French used a lot of them, such as acutes, graves, circumflexes, and umlauts, but they didn’t use doubled acutes, and there was no guarantees that the way the French used their accented letters was the same way that the Hungarians did.

After all, French, along with Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian, was a member of the Romance Language family. Hungarian, Pierson had always presumed, was a part of the Slavic language family that included Polish, Russian, Czech, Slovak, and the Balkan languages, but Pierson wasn’t entirely sure, and even if there was a book in Mr. Nyilas’ collection that told him what family of languages Hungarian was a part of, Pierson wouldn’t be able to read it because it was Hungarian.

Pierson did make sure to examine the spine of every single book on Mr. Nyilas’ shelves on the off chance that there was one in English, but he wasn’t altogether surprised when he found that every single one had its title printed on in Hungarian.

He did open one up, just to see what a long passage of written Hungarian looked like, and he had to admit that it looked like rather a challenge to read, but obviously Mr. Nyilas’ father had taught his son — and probably the rest of his children — to read Hungarian enough that they could acquire books and read them for information or pleasure, as well as speaking it fluently like natives.

As for him, unless he had someone teach him Hungarian, there was no way he was going to understand a thing, but he wasn’t likely to learn anytime soon owing to the fact that he had no one who was really available to teach him.

Mr. Nyilas had important business to do for Broadway, which Pierson had come to the conclusion was a codename for MI6, and was probably used for confusion reasons by suggesting that Mr. Nyilas was a theatre actor.