Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 32. Chapter 32

We did well on our finals. Grades were posted and we both passed. Now, we were preparing for our trip to Makarovia. I looked forward to seeing it again. We had friends there now and I wanted to see them again. Makarovia, too, was feeling like home to me. We were again taking the plane that belonged to Makarovia. Until they found the Consortium, a commercial flight would endanger other innocents. With Boris and Yuri going, the house wasn't being closed down, but there was a reduction of needed staff. There would be the security provided by the United States to be sure no one got in the house. A small staff inside to keep the place clean and cook for the security. Don Wilson would also be there to work in his office.

We also learned that the combined forces of the United States, Great Britain and Interpol were making locating the Consortium a priority. The search was getting more intense. Were we that important? No. It wasn't just for us. We were just the immediate focus. This group threatened many people. Not just the rich, but people in power or decision makers, bending them to the will of the Consortium.

Packing on Peter's and my part was easy this time. We had clothes in Makarovia. Grandmother didn't. She was staying the whole Summer and going back with us when began our Junior year. Boris and Yuri had been away for years. They had nothing in Makarovia. There were stores in Stryia, but they needed a month's worth of clothes and grooming things besides combs and brushes for hair and teeth. It was the middle of Spring and warming up, but it could get cool in Makarovia at night. It's a good thing it was Makarvian's plane. With grandmother's, Yuri's and Boris' luggage there would be a problem with the weight limits.

Boris came in our room with our favorite coffees on a silver tray.

After taking ours, Peter turned to Boris. “Thank you, Boris! I'll miss this.” He grinned and cocked his head at Boris. “This sort of thing will be done for you in Stryia.”

Boris looked uncomfortable. “I can still do it in Stryia.” He defended. “I know they serve coffee there.”

“They do,” I nodded. “Do you have a problem being served your coffee preference? They will be serving meals to you, too.”

Boris looked alarmed. “What will I do with my time?” He almost wailed. “Yuri and I will be gone a month!”

Peter shrugged and smiled. “I don't know. Relax and take it easy?” He suggested.

“For a month,” Boris nodded but his voice said he would find that impossible. The tray at his side he walked toward us a little. “It may be hard to believe, but I love what I do.” He gave a shrugging nod. “I love to cook. Creating a great meal. I like the challenge. No one likes to clean, but I get the feeling of eminence satisfaction when I please with what I do.” He shook his head. “You're so...appreciative. That makes it a joy to do things for you. Some people stop seeing me after a while. Not you two. I've never felt I was taken for granted.”

“And you won't ever be taken for granted, Boris.” I smiled at our friend.

Boris nodded turning to leave. “I can at least cook for you while there.” He stopped, looking back. “Can't I?”

Peter chuckled. “Sure, you can cook for us. Mom, Olek and Helga, too. You don't have to.”

I chuckled. “You won't know where anything is in the palace kitchen.”

Boris shrugged. “I'll learn and ask when necessary.” He tapped his head. “The recipes are in here. I know what ingredients are required and lay them out before I start.” He smiled. “No problem.” He walked out.

In the morning we left. Our luggage had been taken and loaded in a van. Boris looked different. Like he did that time in Los Angeles. The black pants and vest had been replaced by a nice polo shirt of green and khakis. Grandmother was standing with us as we waited to leave.

I saw Yuri talking with Don and a man who was in charge security while we were gone.

“Why do I get the feeling like he's a parent telling children to be good while he's away?” I asked Peter quietly.

Peter chuckled. “Because he is.”

I shook my head. “Boris and Yuri will be tough to get to relax.”

At the airport, we went to a private hangar. Our luggage was loaded and then so were we.

“How long has it been since you saw Makarovia?” Grandmother asked Yuri and Boris as we taxied out to the get to the runway.

Yuri thought a moment. “When did we get here?” He asked Boris.

“Just before Peter was going to Northeastern.” Boris said thinking. “Two years. We'll be in year three in two months.”

Peter smiled. “There have been many changes. You'll be surprised.”

“We saw that show Drew did on television,” Boris said. “I look forward to seeing the Stryian Underground.”

“You had a house there?” I asked.

“We do,” Yuri nodded. “We rented it out these past years.”

“You'll be at the palace now.” Peter smiled.

We took off. The flight was lengthy. It was a straight trip to Stryia. It took almost ten hours. We lost pretty much a day. The time change was later in the evening than in Boston. We got off the plane greeted by three known figures. It was still cool at night, but not cold as it was Christmas. It had been in the mid seventy during the day, but in the upper fifties now.

“Welcome home,” Mom said coming to us.

Hugs and kisses all around with Mom, Olek and Helga.

There was the quick ride to the palace. There was an addition to the side of it, but inside the walled courtyard. A tall addition that went from the ground to the upper floors.

Olek grinned as we looked. “That's the new elevator,” He pointed to it. “They're trying to get it finished before the wedding.”

Peter nodded. “The other one worked.”

“Yes,” Olek smiled. “From ground to the palace. We worked to get all those rooms we had to house villagers when we were attacked done.” He explained. “This one will stop on individual floors. We don't want guests to come, go all the way to the top and have to walk down to their rooms.”

“You're making the lower floors into a hotel.” I smiled.

“That's sensible.” Grandmother said.

Olek nodded. “The other one will carry freight.”

“And their luggage.” I nodded. “Isn't dark in those rooms? There aren't any windows.”

Olek shrugged. “We have the electricity. They will have light and ventilation.”

“And bathrooms?” Peter asked. He looked at me. “There used to be just one on every floor.”

“Half of those rooms on each floor were converted into bathrooms.” Olek smiled.

“You did all this in five months?” I asked.

“Sure,” Olek chuckled. “We started in January just after you left. During the winter when we couldn't really go outside long, we did it. The new tunnels underground helped people get here.”

“I can hardly wait to see that.” Boris said looking at Yuri.

Yuri patted Boris' leg. “We'll have time.”

Helga began. “I think you'll be surprised.” She said to us. “There are more improvements.”

We took the first elevator up to the palace. I once again was pleased to feel like I'd come home. The flight was about ten hours, but with the time difference, it was after three in the morning here. I was tired, but not sleepy. We were served a hot meal as our luggage was brought up the elevator. They were all labeled.

Peter leaned closer knowing what I was thinking and said quietly to me. “Remember, that's their job. It's what they are paid for.”

He knew how I felt about somethings. I nodded. “I know.” I sighed. “I can't help it.” I was raised to do things on my own.

In our room, we did make love and went to sleep. We made ourselves wake up at nine in the morning to begin adjusting our biological clocks. Coffee was most definitely needed.

I did notice some additions to he palace. There were new paintings on the walls that were very good. New sculptures were there on pedestals and standing alone.

“These new artistic renditions to gallery where everyone gathered before going where ever in the palace. Where did they come from?” I asked Olek.

“From you,” Olek grinned. “These are works of art that the people of Makarovia had in their homes. Some are done from present day Makarovians. Some are works done in the past.”

One caught my eye. It reminded me of the paining “scream.” It was obviously a concentration camp survivor. The shaved head and black and white uniform told what it was. This picture wasn't obscure like the other. This was a man's head and upper torso, clutching the sides of his head as he screamed. It was good, but unnerving. It was art the gave me an emotional response of horror and saddened by this artists suffering. They weren't all like this. There were others. I recognized the picture of Rsys Lake. Peter and Olek had been taken just before their father's death. The picture was in weather that was getting colder. There patches of snow in the forest tree line. The lake surface was placid an tranquil. It was very peaceful, which I felt.

Peter and I went down to the next few floors to see the rooms Olek was redoing. There was rolled up rug at the end of the hall. I just figured it would be rolled out down the hall for our guests. One wall was stone. The other wooden. I noticed the floor had been raised a bit.

“Why is the floor raised?” I asked one of the workers in his middle thirties.

The man smiled and bowed. “To hide the wires and pipes, My Lord.” He shrugged. “And it will be more comfortable than stone.” He waved at a room. “We did the same in the rooms.”

Peter looked surprised, “You did this in five months?”

The man chuckled. “This was the first Winter for many we could come to work.” He pointed with his thumb. “With all that snow, we were usually stuck inside staring at each other. With those new tunnels was can go to work. My wife got a job down there. It's great!”

“You live in Stryia?” I asked knowing there were primitive tunnels there and had been for decades.

“On the Eastern outskirts,” the man laughed. “The old passages didn't reach that far. Now, it does!”

In the rooms, it was bigger than a regular hotel room just a little. They held whole families when attacked. Half with king sized bed and the others two queen sized. There were four rows of these on each floor.

“What about the hotel underground?” I asked.

“That's a little more involved.” The man informed. “We have take the rock out before we can build the hotel.” He patted the wooden wall. “This structure was here. We just made additions.” He said simply.

Peter nodded, “Well, we won't get in your way.”

“You're not, Your Highness.”

Peter chuckled as we left the men do their work. “In two weeks, that will be you.”

“Why?” I asked. “Neither the women William or Harry married got the title of princess when they married.”

“Because their queen wouldn't give them that. They are duchesses.” Peter explained. “But Olek is crowning you a prince.”

I shrugged, “Okay.”

We walked though the palace to take the elevator down and saw Boris and Yuri were going down as well and asked if they wanted to do it together.

The entry was still like it was before, but we saw a new entry was carved out for the new elevator. The floor of the tunnel accessing the elevator was a slight incline. We could see the metal doors in the distance.

It was the same...almost. The corridors looked wider. There were shops along the way. Recessed shops in the tunnels walls. I pointed to one shop we knew. The Makarovian Gourmet Coffee Shoppe! It was Christmas when we were here last. Only now it was not placed in a hole made in the wall of the cave or tunnel. We pulled Boris and Yuri with us. They had been stating at the surroundings.

“This is incredible!” Yuri managed. “I had to take the passage from home to the palace. The light down here was dim.” He waved at the corridor. “Not this!” It was well lit now and a lot wider.

The coffee shop looked like a real coffee shop with counters now. The woman who was here at Christmas was there and another young man in his late teens. Both of them bowed. Both wore deep purple aprons the name of the business on them.

“It's nice to see you again, Your Highness,” she turned to me, “My Lord.”

“Peter nodded and motioned toward Boris and Yuri. “These are extended family Boris Petrov and Yuri Orlov.”

She bowed slightly to them, “What can I get you?”

We ordered our coffees. I did, too. My large cold vanilla latte. The smell of coffee from the shop filled with anticipation for my drink. I did drink coffee, but now it was medicinal. Those tendrils of sleep threatening to overtake me had to be kept at bay.

There were m0re people down here now than last time. I felt a light breeze that told me they ventilated these corridors. There was even Muzak down here. Light and cheerfully relaxing music played.

“See?” Peter grinned as he pointed a grocery store. “This is where they get their milk and bread.”

Many countries had huge grocery stores with isles of can goods, condiments and other goods. This was smaller, but seemed to be well stocked.

I stopped Peter. “How does this store get the supplies to sell in the Winter?”

He gave a shrugging nod. “It can be challenging. We stock things in advance. We make our own bread. We also rely on ultra-pasteurized milk that can be stored for weeks. There are some cows in Makarovia...”

I pulled him in a kiss. “I know, you all prepare.” Grinning at him. “I get it.”

Peter nodded. “That's right.”

Boris and Yuri continued to be impressed with underground in Stryia. Coming around a corner, Yuri stopped and held his hand out for us to stop. His eyes narrowed as two men came. Yuri stepped in front of them surprising the two.

“Who are you? You've been following us almost from the beginning.” Yuri asked firmly.

The taller dark haired man swallowed. They were both dressed casually. “We were sent by King Olek.”

“His Majesty did feel comfortable with His Highness Petro and his Lordship being without protection. Even in Makarovia.” The other, a blonde man said in almost a stutter.

Yuri nodded. “I wouldn't let anything happen to them.”

“I don't think His Majesty knew you were with them.” The first man said. “With all the strange faces around now, he didn't want any of the Consortium trying anything.”

Yuri took his phone out and took two pictures. One of each. “I need to verify what you said.” It didn't take too long before his phone rang.

“Yes, Yuri,” Olek's voice said by the speaker. “I sent them. They were supposed to be discrete.”

“They were,” Yuri chuckled. “But not with me.”

“I didn't know you were with them!” Olek defended.

“We'll have to let you know next time.” I said loud enough to be heard.

Olek's sigh was loud enough to be heard. “I want you be free to come and go as you please. This your home, but with that threat...”

Peter was nodding even though Olek couldn't see him. “We should have thought of that. We're sorry, Olek.”

“No,” Olek said. “I'm sorry for having to do this.” He laughed. “Helga doesn't like security around her when she's working.”

“She understands why, right?” Yuri asked.

“She understands, but doesn't like it.” Olek said. “I don't blame her.”

“We'll head back.” Peter said.

“No! Don't.” Olek said suddenly. “You have security guards and Yuri. Explore. You're safe.”

We did wander around a few more hours. There were shops open all around. I had the feeling we were in a mall. It was a mall! Corridors with businesses, everything from clothing to groceries. A bank and post office . It was like entire businesses of Stryia had sunk down here.

“They did a lot down here.” Peter smiled at some people. They all knew who he was, but had enough manners not to rush him.

“They had a year to do it.” I said.

I grinned as a little boy about five or six years old waved at us smiling. Or course, we waved back. His mother did a quick bow as she walked on. Everyone was friendly. They even had a restaurant here! The smell of things cooking and the spices used made me want to have some. I pulled Peter in. The sign read Нові починання. Pronounced Novi Pochynannya. That's New Beginnings in English.

I smiled at the sign. “That's right.”

Peter ordered the Makavovian Goulash. It contained elements of the Ukraine, Romanian and Hungary. I will say it was hotter than any of theirs. The theory was eating in the Winter, you wouldn't feel like it was so cold. I had Kapusta. It was a thick soup, a stew really with kielbasa. That's a kind of sausage from Poland. We all shared scuffles. It's like a crescent roll, but it's sweet with sugar and cinnamon.

We went back to the palace. I had seen her at breakfast, but yes, I worried. She seemed fine at breakfast. Going to her rooms, I knocked. No answer. Opening the door quietly, I called. “Grandma?”

“If looking for Ms. Sams,” a girl I knew kept things tidy here. “She went down to the ballroom.”

“Thank you.” I wondered why she'd go there. The wedding wasn't until the end of next week.

As I got closer, I could hear music. Classical music. I knew the song. It was written by Tchaikovsky. It was from Swan Lake. Grandmother had danced to that often with the Bolshoi and New York City Ballet. I watched her. This was seventy-four!? I often said she kept in shape with no fat. She was in a pink body suit over leotards and she wore those ballet shoes. She didn't look seventy anything or sixty anything! Her muscles had definition on her thin frame. Her hair was all white now, but thick on top of her head. She leaped in a Grande Jete, jumping from one foot to the other and did a Pirouette, a spin on Pointe, the toes again. I knew the moves, but had no desire to do them. She was graceful and fluid in her moves. She was beautiful. At the song's conclusion she did the graceful bow over her right leg.

I began clapping heartily. “Brava!” She was a lady. I learned the difference with bravo and brava when very young.

Grandmother turned to me and gave her bow to me. “Thank you.”

“You're the best.” I said walking over to her.

She chuckled and walked over get the towel she had brought. Dabbing her chest to get the sweat. “My best was decades ago,” she said with a laugh.

“I disagree.”

“When I was dancing and even when I ran my school, I did it almost daily.” Grandmother said. “Now, I have to set aside time to do it.”

“You look great.”

She smiled again. “I do it to stay in shape and keep these old joints flexible.” She let out a “whew.”

“I think you could still be on stage.”

She smiled patiently. “No, son,” she waved at the ballroom. “What you just saw...I can't do it like I could. I used to be sharper, more rapid with my moves. I am still a ballerina.”

“I didn't see that,” I said.

She hugged me. She knew what I was thinking. “I intend to live as long as I can. Grandparents on both sides live until they were in their eighties. My maternal grandmother was a hundred and two. I don't plan to go any time soon.” She assured.

After what I witnessed I felt better about Grandmother. I was putting what happen with Grandpa, my father and mother, so I was more concerned than I should be with my grandmother.

All of Makarovia were invited wedding and coronation. The ballroom was big, but not that big. I laughed when I was told they were drawing lots to come. The wedding and coronation was going to be broadcast for the many who couldn't come. You needed a TV to do that. Those that had a TV were hosting parties so others could see.

“You will come down the aisle to join Peter on the platform,” Olek said telling me what was going to happen.

“Like a bride?” I asked.

Olek chuckled. “Not like a bride, but you are being given to Peter. The coronation will happen after vows are given. Then you will be married and announced as a prince at the end.”

“Given? By who? Can my grandmother do it?” I asked.

Olek shrugged. “If she's willing to.”

“She won't just be giving you to Peter, but to all Makarovia.” Mom smiled. “The year long courtship will be over. You will given to Peter, to us as family and all of Makarovia.”

“You'll be His Highness Prince Eric Ivanov of Makarovia.” Olek said brightly.

“Yea.” I said in just a little enthusiasm.