Napoleon ducked behind the main office, and stepped into the zen garden. On the other side of a small stream, there was a bench and a large gate onto nothing in particular. Sitting on the bench was Illya.

Napoleon crossed the crooked footbridge and sat next to his partner. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. Is something wrong?"

"The guests want to meet you."

"All right. I can't see why not."

"Well, they, ah, they want spiritual guidance, so you might want to prepare something in the forty-two seconds it'll take you to get there."

"What?" He hissed.

"Well, you're a-- a guru, whatever that consists of. I don't know, make something up. A-- a life lesson or something."

"All of my life lessons are ill-suited to spiritual retreats. More like survival retreats..."

"Well, what about-- what about a parable or something?"

"I don't know any parables." Illya scowled, now pacing the gravel in front of the bench.

"You've got to know something. Aren't there any stories you could use?"

"Maybe... If I changed the name to something far eastern? No... I couldn't even think of a far-eastern name to use..."

Napoleon started leading him back to the group. "Just talk. As far as they know, you're a... guru-- a concept I'm still not sure I understand-- and whatever you say, they'll think it's profound."

---/-/---

The guests sat themselves around Illya in a semi-circle, Napoleon making sure to stick closer than anyone else.

"I-- I hadn't prepared anything, but... Well, I suppose I'm full of teachings." He laughed nervously. "I will speak on the inescapable destiny which lies before each of us."

The crowd, such as it was, mumured appreciatively. Illya cleared his throat. Napoleon tried to look devout, still unsure as to what he was devoted *to*.

"In times long gone by, great men lived, and you could not throw a stick without hitting some hero or other. One such hero was the great Svyatogor. Being a greater hero than most, and finding no one against whom to properly test himself, Svyatogor's great strength became as a burden unto him. 'If I could find a ring fixed to the earth,' he said, 'I should lift the whole world in my hand'."

Napoleon settled down comfortably to listen, so that his knee rested against Illya's. He was reminded of babysitting Waverly's great-niece and nephews, and he decided that Illya was a pretty good storyteller, and so long as he didn't have to change some businessman's diaper, the evening should go well.

"As Svyatogor looked, he saw a youth walking on foot ahead, and he made to follow, but though Svyatogor rode a great steed while the young man walked, he could not keep up. 'Hey, there!' He cried. 'You who go on foot! Wait for me, for I cannot catch you up!'"

Illya didn't seem as worried as he had when he started, and in fact, was beginning to get into character. Napoleon's fond smile widened, and he glanced over to the group to gauge their reactions. Nobody seemed suspicious of the guru yet.

"The traveller stopped, waiting for Svyatogor, and he placed the sack from over his shoulder down upon the dewy ground. 'What is in that sack of yours, friend?' asked the hero, Svyatogor. And the stranger said 'Pick it up and see for yourself.'"

The Japanese secretary came out of one of the cabins, quietly joining the group. He did look ill, but he tried not to attract any attention, and Illya continued seamlessly.

"Svyatogor dismounted and took the sack in one hand. He pulled, and his arm was nearly torn from its socket, for the young man's burden seemed to be bolted to the earth. So he seized the sack in both hands, and though the mighty hero soon dropped to his knees in his attempts to raise the sack, and though sweat rolled down his face, and blood, he could lift the weight only high enough for the merest sliver of light to pass beneath. 'What is in this sack of yours?' he gasped. 'All my great strength is not sufficient to raise it from the ground!'"

The secretary coughed, taking a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Napoleon spotted flecks of red on his hand, and decided to keep his eyes on the young man. As tempting as Illya may be-- and he was-- business was business, and it came before pleasure. This man was definitely sick, and possibly poisoned.

"And the stranger answered 'The weight of the world is in that sack. It is as though there were a ring fixed to the earth.'"

The Japanese secretary went into another coughing fit, and this time everyone turned to look. Blushing, the young man gave a shallow bow and left the circle. Napoleon kept watching him as closely as he could without drawing suspicion.

"Svyatogor asked the man's name, and he said 'My name is Mikulushka Selyaninovich.' 'Tell me, Mikalushka, how may I learn my fate as decreed by God?' Svyatogor questioned. 'Ride straight on until you come to a cross-road' said Mikula. 'Take the left fork and gallop at full speed until you come to the Northern mountains. There in the hills stands a smithy under a tall tree, and the blacksmith will tell you your fate as decreed by God.'"

The Japanese businessman left the circle next, to speak with his secretary. Napoleon leaned unobtrusively towards the far table where they spoke, but the only words he could overhear were in Japanese.

"So Svyatogor left, riding straight on until he came to the crossroads. He took the left fork, galloping on swiftly until he reached the Northern mountains. His mount sped across seas, rivers, and great stretches of land. Vast distances passed beneath its hooves, and after three days, Svyatogor arrived at his destination. There in a smithy beneath a tall tree, a man sat, forging two thin hairs."

After a few words, the younger man retreated to his cabin, and the businessman rejoined the group. There was no way Napoleon would be able to follow without incurring some suspicion, so he sat back for the rest of the story, but now he watched the Japanese businessman for any similar symptoms.

"'What are you forging, Blacksmith?' Svyatogor asked. And the blacksmith said 'I am forging the fates of those who shall wed.' 'And whom shall I wed?' Svyatogor asked. And the blacksmith said 'Svyatogor's bride dwells in the kingdom by the sea, in the City of the King, and for thirty years she has lain on a dunghill.'"

The married screenwriter let out a short but loud laugh, slapping his knee.

"'I shall take no bride from a dunghill!' cried Svyatogor angrily, and he rode swiftly to the kingdom by the sea, and as he arrived in the City of the King, he stopped at a poor and lowly hut. He looked inside, and there on the dunghill, her skin thick and black as bark of fir-trees, lay a young woman. Taking five hundred in gold from his purse, Svyatogor tossed them on a nearby table, and taking his sword, he thrust it into the maiden's breast."

The Japanese businessman didn't look ill, only worried, Napoleon decided. He had pulled the doctor over to the side, where they spoke in hushed tones.

"And when the mighty hero had gone, the maiden awoke, rising from the filth of the dunghill. The fir bark fell from her body, and she bacame as beauty such as never before or after was seen in the world. And she took the money, and began to trade, and when she had amassed treasures, the likes of which no man had dreamed, she built herself a fleet of dark-red ships, loaded them with most precious wares, and sailed forth across the glittering blue sea. When she came to the great city on the Holy Mountains, she sold her wares, and the fame of her beauty spread far and wide throughout the lands. And Svyatogor came to gaze upon the maiden's surpassing beauty, and he fell in love with her. He wooed her, and they wed."

The doctor followed the businessman into the cabin, but aside from Napoleon, no one noticed.

"And when Svyatogor lay beside his wife in their marriage bed, he saw a scar upon her white breast. 'What is that scar upon your white breast?' he asked. And his wife replied:'Into the kingdom by the sea, into the City of the King rode a stranger, and coming to the lowly hut where I slept a deep sleep and had lain on a filthy dungheap for the space of thirty years, he placed five hundred in gold upon my table. And when I awoke, there was a scar on my white breast and the fir bark had fallen from my body."

Napoleon stood, taking a step towards the cabin, hoping to see through the window just a little of what went on inside.

"And the mighty hero Svyatogor saw that none can escape his fate." Illya finished.

The group clapped politely, murmuring amongst themselves, and their 'guru' stood, hoping to make his escape. He noticed his partner a small distance away, and had just moved to join him when the businessman reemerged, in a panic.

He raved in Japanese, leaving the other guests helpless and bewildered, until the gardener turned the corner, and dropped his spade in surprise. He asked a few questions, then calmed the man.

"Well?" The American businessman asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking decidedly uneasy.

"His assistant is dead." The gardener translated.

The doctor rejoined the group. "I'm sorry... I couldn't do anything. He's gone.

"Domo..." The businessman nodded, sitting heavily. "Thank you anyway, doctor. I'm certain you did your best. I shall have to go into town to send the telegram... his mother must be informed. And then he shall have to be sent back for a funeral, and his internment... He was young. And he only became ill late last night..."

"It's a tragedy when parents outlive their children." Napoleon nodded. It didn't seem entirely adequate, but he couldn't think of anything that did in situations like this, so he said the first thing that came to mind. Well, the first *consoling* thing. Foremost in his mind was the suspicious nature of the whole thing...

Illya sidled up to him and whispered in his ear. "Do you know what I think?"

"The same thing I do." He said somberly. "And I wish it could have been as easy as what we were concerned with just a few minutes ago."

"The boy may not have been the target."

Napoleon nodded. "I agree. He probably took the fall for his boss. I don't think the old man knows, though..."

"We must find a way to ask."

"We will... in the meantime, everyone seems to be turning in early. We can go back to our cabin and report in to Waverly."

"Good thinking." Illya agreed. They walked back in the same silence that had descended over the other guests.

---/-/---

To be continued... (Additional note: The story translation which I read came from Charles Downing, and about half of the wording is his, half mine.)