Mistrall 12757, 5:30 PM

The fog parted to either side as Constantine Darkheart stood at the prow of the rowboat as it made it's way along the canal bank.  An elderly Weasel rowed and had made light conversation the entire trip, although Darkheart would have preferred to keep to his own thoughts.  So much had happened; he had lost his faith, his job, his mistress, his family, his country, his eye and maybe even his sanity.  The old windbag broke his reverie for the upteenth time. 

"So, Mr. Zargo, I was wondering what brought you to Mistrall?" 

Darkheart turned, the wind blowing his spiky hair in a way that almost hid the eye patch he wore over his right eye. 

"I like moody fog shrouded islands, particularly ones with no allegiance to any country.  They remind me of myself." 

The old coot laughed at that. 

"Aye, right ya are Sir!  We'll have none of that Freelands-Barovia cold war crap!  Buncha stupid idiots arguing over some land and historical boundaries and other such rubbish.   They should just keep to themselves much as we have done." 

"Just row the boat old Weasel.  That's what I'm paying you for.", commented Darkheart. 

"Aye that I am, the conversation I give at no extra charge!" 

After what seemed like an eternity they came upon the only large city on Mistrall:  Devrol Cyphe.  Darkheart could have arrived by more conventional ships or by seaplane but he did not want to be conspicuous. When they reached the dock, Darkheart climbed up a set of metal rungs driven into the side of the stone pier.  When he reached the top he threw down a small bag of coins to the old Weasel. 

"Thank ya kindly Sir!", called the Weasel after him but Darkheart was already walking away. 

Darkheart made his way through the misty, winding streets, looking for a particular shop.  He had no idea where it would be, only what it would be.  He was loath to ask for directions, to do so would be to admit weakness, which was perhaps his most stubbornly persistent Barovian trait. Eventually he came to to the store he wanted:  'Hoarfrost's Clock Manufacture and Repair'.   He smiled inwardly, knowing that name well: his grandfather and great aunts and uncles on his mother's side had all had come from Ermine stock.   So, he had finally arrived at his destination, after seven long years of searching.  Still he hesitated, being afraid of what he might find.  He inwardly mulled over the past seven years of emotion and found that only now did they threaten to overwhelm him.  He stood out on the street, leaning against the door, and after he had recovered sufficiently, he took a deep breath and opened the door and went in. 

A small bell tied to the door jingled as he stepped inside. Although there were lights on inside, they barely reflected off the darkly stained oaken counter and floor.  Mounted on any available wall were clocks of all sorts:  Grandfather clocks, Cuckoo clocks, octagonal clocks, mariner's clocks, hourglasses, even some modern plastic clocks including a very silly looking cat with moving eyes and tail.  There was a glass case mounted into the counter with smaller clocks and watches.  The whole place smelled of old dust and furniture polish.  Good smells.  Darkheart reached into his overcoat pocket and pulled out a cigar from a metal case.  He placed it in his mouth and patted his pockets to find his cigarette lighter.  Damn!  He had thrown it away into Bay of Freedom's Run and had forgotten to buy a new lighter.  Maybe they sold lighters here..... 

"I'm sorry Sir, but we do not allow smoking in here!" 

Darkheart looked up at a young salesclerk who had somehow materialized behind the counter.  She looked about 14 years old and young and pretty in a quiet and somewhat strange and compelling way.  Her basic features were definitely mustalid, but instead of a grey of a Sable or white of an Ermine she had wild looking Zebra stripes running up the sides of her face and neck.  Also her ears were longer and more pointed than his. Her eyes were a deep violet and her hair was a dark and spiky grey, much like his.  She was wearing a apron over some jeans and a pullover.  She smiled in a way that indicated that it would be unwise for him to smoke. 

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear, I was just wondering if I could purchase a cigarette lighter of some kind." 

She nodded and indicated a glass case further along the counter. Darkheart walked further into the store and looked at the various lighters, many of which looked antique. 

"I'll take the brass lighter my dear." 

"Good choice Sir, but please call me Epiphany.   That's what Great Grand uncle Melvin always called me." 

Darkheart looked interested. 

"Is he at home?" 

She sighed and shook her head in an almost imperceptible way. 

"No, he is in the care of Blessed Bethesis, this past two years now." 

Darkheart tried not to look sad at this. 

"I'm sorry my dea- I mean Miss Epiphany.  Are you running this store alone then?" 

"Yes, but the people in Mistrall are very kind to Barovians." 

"I thought I detected it in your accent." 

She nodded, somewhat self consciously, although she spoke Freelander very well she could not eradicate her Barovian accent completely. 

"Oh!  I'm so sorry Sir!  I should get you your lighter!  I'm so sorry that I prattle so." 

Darkheart grinned toothily. 

"Not at all Miss Epiphany I find your banter quite pleasant;  and can you include that pocket watch over there as well?  I have a weakness for old things." 

Epiphany took the lighter and then went over to the first display case and removed the watch and put both the watch and the lighter next to the cash register.  She quickly calculated the total.  Darkheart wasn't sure of the exchange rate but sensed the price was fair.  He pulled out his wallet and handed over the proper amount of coins.  Epiphany made change but as she was handing it to him, she froze. 

"Something wrong Miss Epiphany?" 

She shook her head as if to clear the cobwebs. 

"I'm sorry you smell of tobacco, like a brand I know.  Castle Crown." 

Now it was Darkheart's turn to freeze.  His mind quickly scanned through a dozen lies, but all of them were implausible.  She had seen him almost smoking one! 

"Well I'm afraid that cigars are a vice of mine.  But I'm sure it's a common enough brand." 

"In Barovia-yes!" 

Epiphany leaned forward close enough to unnerve him.  She seemed to be scanning his face, looking for something familiar, and when she saw it, her face lit up. 

"Papa!" 

Epiphany practically dove over the counter, knocking him off his feet.  He couldn't react, so he just sat on the floor and comforted the girl sobbing in his arms. 

"Please don't cry Epiphany.  I'm sorry.  I'm sorry." 

She looked up into his face, looking both happy and unhappy, unable to stop her flood of emotions. 

"They said you were dead!  But I never believed it!  Mother said you'd always come for me!  Like Karthax riding out battle with his Jade Cudgel!   You are too strong to die!" 

Darkheart felt a pang at his heart and pulled her close to him, so her face was resting against his throat. 

"Yes, I may be hard to kill, but my spirit dies much more easily. They took everything away.  Had I lost you too, I do not think I would have made it.  You were always a weakness I could never afford Epiphany." 

Epiphany said nothing to this, she merely felt the luxurious fur of his neck and nodded slightly.  She felt warm and safe, even the familiar nagging smell of tobacco was comforting.  Both of which she always remembered about her father, even if she forgot his face.  Darkheart softly stroked the hair on her head.   He still kept his fierce love for his daughter bottled up tightly but he still allowed himself a tear, hoping she would not look up and see him so being weak. 

"There there, my dearest.  Just be still.  I am here.  I may be seven years too late but I am here now.  And I will never let you go.   I owe you and your mother that much. 

Sometime later they were sitting in the back room of the shop, drinking tea together.  Ah, how much this was like the old times, Darkheart thought, except that Cecilia was not here.  Still she had been wise to send Epiphany to this far off place, where she would be safe.  He remembered with shame that he had been mad at her for sending their daughter away. How he wished he could apologize to her. 

"What are you thinking about Papa?" 

Darkheart smiled and took her paw  and squeezed it. 

"I was thinking of how your mother would be proud to see you.  You are such a lady and you honor me." 

Epiphany blushed slightly and smiled. 

"Anything you say Papa." 

"But now you must pack your bags.  I am going to bring you somewhere safer.  A beautiful island in the middle of the Tropics.  You will be very happy there." 

"Will you be there too Papa?", said Epiphany looking excited to go somewhere new but also worried that he wouldn't go with her. 

"Of course.  I will still have duties to perform from time to time that will take me away from the island." 

Epiphany was Barovian enough not to ask about what sort of duties he meant, even though he was no longer a government official and also a fugitive. 

"When I am not there I will have a friend look after you.  He's a very nice boy.  His name is Jeremy...."