"The really unexpected affair"~ chapter 8

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Links to: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7


By the time Napoleon and Maude made it back to the Kensington Estate, it was just past lunch time. They entered through the back pantry door.

After giving the filet mignon to Mrs. Dunphy, who promptly smiled about it as well as the news about the bishop being a guest on Saturday; she blathered on about using one of her special marinades on the meat to make it even more tender and wondered out loud as to what to serve the bishop.

“Sure that’s for later for me to think about. Now, I’ll have this so you can cut it with a butter knife by the time I’m done with it.” And off she went.

“Well before you start on that Mrs. Dunphy would you prepare lunch. I’m famished and I’m sure you are as well Napoleon?” Maude called after her.

“I could manage to eat something, yes. Mrs. Dunphy has Mr. Kuryakin returned yet?”

“No sir he hasn’t. I better prepare some of my liniment as I think he’s going to be a bit sore after such a long riding session, especially his bum.”

Solo chuckled at that, feigning his amusement when in fact he was a bit concerned; Illya should have been back by now. He knew the Russian liked to make his dramatic entrances but in this case that wasn’t called for at all. He was simply to fake an injury in order to give them an excuse to remain here a few days longer. Napoleon let it go for the moment, trying to convince himself his partner was fine, after all Illya did enjoy to ride. Maybe he was doing just that before he proceeded with the plan...hmmm, but for four hours?

They were treated to a delicious meal of something called a pasty, a meat and vegetable pie slathered in gravy. As Napoleon sampled it he tasted beef, carrots rutabaga, potatoes...onions; it was simply marvelous.  For dessert there was something called ‘spotted dick’ and custard. Maude saw his hesitation and laughed.

“Don’t worry Napoleon, it’s not what you think. It’s called a pudding here, made with suet and dried fruit.

He raised his eyebrows in amusement as he tried a spoonful. “Pretty good.” The agent looked at his wristwatch again. “Shame Illya’s missing it.”

“Oh I’m sure Mrs. Dunphy has more, if not she’ll whip up something equally as delicious for him.”

Lunch concluded and Napoleon excused himself, claiming he was feeling a bit sleepy and needed a nap.

Maude chuckled,”That sounds like an old man talking.”

“The only old man I hope to be like one day is your Uncle,” he smiled, giving her a little salute before he walked out the door.

“Enjoy your snooze,” Maude called back.”I’ll have Cavendish wake you for dinner.

“Maude, it’s just a nap,” he winked at her.

As soon as he arrived in his room, he pulled his communicator.

“Open Channel F- Illya?” There was nothing but static. He tried several times before giving up.

“Crap,” he muttered. Something had to have gone wrong. Illya was supposed to have only been gone no more than an hour at most and now too much time had passed without word from him.

Napoleon snuck out of the house, heading down to the stables where he met Tom and questioned him. The boy, knowing Cossack Sun, was concerned for Illya as well.

“Sir, ‘e said ‘e knew these Don ‘orses but everyone is different. Sunny can be right wild at times.”

“Well maybe we should discreetly saddle up and go looking for him?”




“My thoughts exactly sir, but I don’t think the Missus would want me to ride any of the Master’s ‘orses without ‘er instructions.”

“Tom, I’ll take responsibility, now let’s saddle up.”

The boy quickly had two horses ready, a fine black gelding and a dapple grey mare.  Napoleon mounted the gelding, settling into the English saddle...the type he’d learned with which to ride as a boy.

“Where did Mr. Kuryakin head Tom?”

“‘Went off the estate ‘e did sir, following the road as far as I could see ‘im.”

“Then let’s go,” Napoleon gave the horse, called Midnight Sun, a touch with his riding crop, spurring the horse forward, followed by Tom on Maisy the mare.

Illya moaned before his eyes at last fluttered open; his head was throbbing as was his ankle, making him almost forget about his side...almost.

“What the hell have you done now Kuryakin?” He pushed himself up with his elbows, scanning the area; squinting as he searched for his horse, but there was no sign of him.

It was then he spotted it, glistening in the sun; his communicator. Illya scooched along the ground, not sure it was a good idea for him to try to stand again. He finally reached it and setting it up; he called his partner.

“Channel F-Napoleon are you there?”

“Where the hell are you?”

He could hear a hint of strain in Napoleon’s voice. “I am north of the main gate, maybe twenty minutes or so as the horse flies. I umm, had a little riding mishap.”

Napoleon’s instinct was to try and lighten the mood,” Did you fall off your little horsie?”

“Your attempt at humor is ill timed, you know that. I was thrown.”

“Sorry, are you all right?”

“Not exactly. I may have a broken ankle, and perhaps a slight concussion along with a few other sundry cuts and bruises.”

“I’ll be right there tovarisch, hold on.”

“I have little else I can do.” Illya began to feel dizzy and grabbed onto a tuft of tall grass, trying to anchor himself until the spinning in his head subsided.

Napoleon and Tom arrived sooner than expected, and after a quick examination, Solo thought the ankle wasn’t broken, just badly sprained. He held onto Illya’s chin as he looked into the Russian’s eyes...they seemed okay, but to be on the safe side, Kuryakin needed medical attention just to be sure.

“You know this is going to throw a monkey wrench into our umm...visit?” He watched what he was saying with Tom being there.

“Monkey wrench? What the devil is that?” Illya grunted as he was helped to his feet, and up to the back of Solo’s horse; he’d be riding double with his partner.

They headed back to the mansion; Napoleon slowing the horse to more a more casual pace so not as to jar his partner. He was concerned about the possible concussion as well.

Tom remained behind to search for Cossack Sun.

“So I thought you were an expert horseman? I can’t believe you really hurt yourself. Didn’t I tell you to be…”

“Yes mother, I was careful, (he omitted the fact he’d been doing some trick riding) Illya held on; wrapping his arms around his partner’s waist as he fought off another bout of dizziness, but still managed to tell Napoleon about the child, and what had happened.

“The boy appeared out of nowhere and ran at an incredible rate of speed, one that seemed impossible for a child of those years. He spooked the horse and the rest you know.”

“Illya, something is going on with the children from the town, they’re not just missing. They’re being held somewhere to the North of here. I spoke to the butcher in town today and apparently he was the source of the anonymous tip that us sent here.”

“What did he tell you?”

“The children are hostages, why I don’t know but I suspect it’s something more than that. What their parents were told was, and I quote, “the rejects will be returned.”

“Rejects? THRUSH must be doing something to them, and I am sure it is nothing pleasant. The boy I saw, being to run that fast was not natural. That is definitely a clue. Perhaps they are experimenting on them, augmenting their natural abilities, but for what purpose?”

“You’re guess is as good as mine Spike.”

Illya fell silent for the rest of the ride back to the estate. As he leaned his head against Napoleon’s shoulder, his thoughts drifted to his time spent in the concentration camp as a child during the war. See the asolute fear in that child’s eyes back there stirred up memories he tried so hard to bury.

He shuddered, as he was reminded of the vicious experiments performed on him, along with many children. He was the one who became a favorite of ‘Herr Doktor,’ simply because he survived the tests, unlike the others.

He never discovered the name of that Nazi animal, as Herr Doktor was the only name by which Illya knew the man.

A boy of ten, Kuryakin was one of the few survivors of the camp only because he’d escaped with thirteen men but he never found out what happened to the infamous doctor of Sryets.

Over the years Illya would periodically use the UNCLE database to check to see if anyone matching Herr Doktor’s background, having been at the Sryets camp had been captured or resurfaced, but there was never been a sign of him. Eventually he presumed the man must have died during the last of the war, though there was little satisfaction to be had from that thought.

.

Upon arriving at the mansion, Cavendish assisted Napoleon with his partner, carrying Illya between the two of them to the drawing room, where he was laid down on the sofa.

Maude was horrified Illya had been hurt and immediately called Doctor Freidrich to see to him.

The physician arrived shortly thereafter, and upon careful examination he concluded it was a severe sprain, no broken bones. He cleaned and stitched up the cut in Illya’s side, made by the shard of plastic and after examining the lump on the back of the Russian’s head, and checking his pupillary reaction, deemed him to be in better condition than first indicated by a very distraught Mrs. Kensington.

After giving Illya a shot for the pain, much against the Russian’s protests; the doctor left a bottle of pills for further discomfort, and with the help of a cane, the patient would be able to get around within a few days. Until then he ordered bed rest and light food. Thankfully there seemed to be no signs of a concussion, but just as a precaution he advised Napoleon ‘to keep an eye on him.’

Mrs. Dunphy brought out a cart with a tray, “Light broth,” as the doctor ordered.

She offered to feed the wounded Kuryakin, and as Solo finally saw for himself, the woman was quite taken with his partner.

“No thank you Madam,” Illya waved his hand. “I am perfectly capable of doing so myself.”

“Yes sir, now if you’re in need of some massage, I have a special liniment that will work wonders. I could run a nice hot bath for you, and then I’ll see to your sore…”

“Again, no thank you Mrs. Dunphy.”

“But…”

“Will you  leave me alone you silly cow? Are you that feeble minded that you do not even understand your English language. Perhaps in German, French, Russian, Italian? Take your pick!”  This time he was nearly snarling at her.

Napoleon intervened before things got out of hand. “You’ll have to pardon him Mrs. Dunphy; Mr. Kuryakin is a man who doesn’t take to being babied, especially when he’s in a lot of pain. Now if you excuse us, I think a bit of privacy is needed.”

He ushered the woman through the door, not waiting for her to absorb what had just happened as she was quite dumbfounded at Illya’s outburst, which seemed to be a first; Mrs. Dunphy lost for words, that is.

In England calling someone a cow was quite insulting and had nothing to do with a person’s weight. It was something Illya had apparently picked up when he lived in Great Britain.

The last time he used such a demeaning term was when he called that Arab woman Sophie such a name. *

As Napoleon was sliding the double doors closed Maude returned from showing out Dr. Friedrich. Mrs. Dunphy whisked past her, in near tears now with her lower lip quivering.

“Napoleon what happened?”

“Illya just being himself. He’s going to owe Mrs. Dunphy an apology. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a little talk with my partner?”

Maude put her hands on her hips, giving an exasperated sigh. “Well let me know when the patient is ready to be moved upstairs, and I’ll call Cavendish.”

“Will do Ma’am,” Napoleon gave her wink as he closed the doors.

As soon as they had their privacy he started on his partner, “Illya, what the hell were you thinking with Mrs. Dunphy?”

“My patience was wearing thin with her fawning.”

“May I remind you that she’s responsible for you eating while we’re here. We may have to end up having your food tested for poison,“Napoleon joked….”Illya?”

The shot the doctor had given the Russian had kicked in, knocking him out like a light, that and the trauma of the morning sapped his energy as well. Injured agents were used to operating on pure adrenaline at times, but as soon as they stopped moving, so did the energy that kept them going.

Napoleon shook his head, pulling his communicator and calling Waverly. There was a lot to tell the Old Man, though he decided Illya being hurt was best kept out of the conversation for now.

* MFU- The Arabian Affair 1965

Chapter 9

Comments

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Glad to see more of this, and I'm glad Illya's been rescued - though I very much doubt he's going to waiting a few days before getting around. Can't wait to see where you're taking this next.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

(Chuckle) We all know our Kuryakin too well. Lots more to come with this story...hey, I haven't even really gotten to the bad guys yet. Oooooh boy, a little twist is coming.

Thanks for the comment.

I need to do some catching up with your story, hopefully by tomorrow. For once it's a busy weekend for me. (then back to nothing on Monday. lol!)

Yikes, just realized I need to write a Short Affair and a Picfic...eeek! No rest for the weary or wicked. "D

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Excellent chapter! I knew IK wouldn't fully own up to what had happened, LOL.

(I love spotted dick :-D )

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

True true, he always manages to keep his secrets, doesn't he? Spotted dick...hee heee heeeeh, couldn't resist the pay on words in Napoleon's case. I haven't had SD in a long time.

Thanks for the comment!

[irisheitie.livejournal.com]

Just keep 'em coming!! I may see a picture forming and I want to know if I'm on the right path!

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Ah ha, the guessing has begun. Lindafishes usually makes some guesses by now, but I think I've got her stumped so far. I think there's be lots more chapters to come in this mystery.

Thanks for keeping up and commenting!