[fic] Occult Couture; or An American in America | 7
Bart’s journey may not have been planned, but it was very well-timed. Sitting up in one of the many spare bedrooms at the Wayne mansion, Drake regarded the headline with a growing sense of encroaching migraine.
NATIONAL HERO LOST AT SEA. The Alicia Vanished Without a Trace. Crew of Whaling Vessel found Unharmed in Harpoon Boats by Passing Vessel. No Explanation for Disappearance of Boat or Captain, Famous Hunter and Explorer Slade Wilson. Officers and Two Crew Members Still Missing. Greatest Nautical Mystery since Finding of Marie Celeste. Could This be Proof of Existence of Legendary Sea-Monster?
On the one hand, it was rather refreshing to not see further example of the Ripper’s handiwork on display, or the increasingly hysterical theories perpetuated by the Press. On the other-
He couldn’t hit Conner.
“Subtlety. Subtlety! If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a dozen times-“
Alfred tsked from the foot of the bed where he was occupied laying out Drake’s suit for the day. “Our colonial cousins do make it a habit of being out-spoken. The navy or the emerald vest?”
“The navy will do. But honestly, just look at this - all of the missing will be coming under scrutiny. Look, they’ve listed them on page 2. Wilson, his daughter-did you know he had a daughter?”
“There were rumours to that effect a few years ago. Apparently there was a murder in Beirut. Not a foundation affair, but Master Bruce thought it worthy of some attention all the same given Wilson’s previous record. We thought it might be one of his former conquests come back to haunt him, but it was a human affair. It seems Miss Wilson had acquired an admirer.”
“She’s pretty? Perfect.” Drake shook the newspaper pages out irritably. “Famous Captain looses Legendary Temper on Hapless American Nitwit in Defence of Daughter’s Honour. Crew Lucky to Escape At All.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow. “I understand that the men who crew a whaling vessel would be made of rather strong stuff. I can’t imagine them being so shocked by a love affair that they would forget all about the circumstances that led them to abandon ship en masse.”
“No,” Drake agreed, thoughtfully. “Neither can I.”
He looked again to page 2 and the list of missing. Wilson and his daughter, delightful or otherwise, got top billing, followed by the officers in order of rank. ‘C. Kent (American citizen)’ registered ignominiously, second from the bottom, only just above ‘Unknown Cook.’
“If I may be permitted to make an observation, Master Tim?” Alfred briskly dusted off the day’s jacket before setting it out with the rest of the suit. “I would not brood over your absent friend. This affair has many unknowns, and if there is one thing that I am sure of, it is that we haven’t seen the last of your Mr. Kent. If he is anything like his cousin, he is quite capable of managing the most unlikely things.”
Drake looked up about to protest, then realised, abashed, that Alfred was right. “I suppose it’s natural to worry,” he agreed ironically - when exactly had that happened? And then, carefully, “I didn’t realise you’d met Mr. Kent’s cousin too.”
“Master Clark. A good deal more reserved and less impetuous than your friend, but cut from the same stock. Master Bruce and he would argue terrifically, but they always came around in the end.” Finished his task, Alfred prepared to leave. “If you are not in the mood to linger over breakfast, Master Bruce elected to have his in the study. He has all the papers with him.”
The Director had all the papers and some cables direct from the financiers of the Alicia’s voyage. “No explanation. Wilson allowed them to believe that he was interested in the experience of whale-hunting. Most of the crew were experienced hands, with the exception of the officers, most of whom were recruited personally by Wilson with the exception of the First Mate, an agent of the Shipping Company who was there to see to the running of the ship.”
“So all the missing are Wilson’s personal party, two seamen and a cook,” Drake said slowly from his stance at the window. “If you can consider Conner a seaman.”
“He was known to Wilson as someone of interest,” the Director reminded him. “It is possible that Wilson intended to add him to his collection. All the same -“
“Yes,” Drake said. “The first mate and the cook.”
“The only two crew members with knowledge that Wilson cannot do without.” The Director frowned absently at his half eaten slice of toast with marmalade.
Drake waited, but no further comment was forthcoming. “There’s more to this,” he accused. “What aren’t you telling me?”
The Director shook his head. “It may be coincidence. Cassandra’s assignment was to watch Wilson.”
This certainly changed things. “You’ve not heard from her?”
“It’s not unusual for her to be - out of contact. She has her own methods as you know.” The Director shook his head. “She may have decided to voyage ahead and catch up with Wilson in the whaling ports of the North Atlantic, or even be taking care of unfinished business in the city still.”
Drake nodded slowly. “At least if there’s one thing we know, it’s that she wasn’t on board the Alicia. Everyone’s named or accounted for but the cook, and we know for a fact that isn’t a possibility.”
The Director ignored the attempt at levity. “What have I told you about making a target of yourself? Move away from the window.”
About to argue that he wasn’t careless, Drake reconsidered. With Cassandra in the field and the Ripper still on the loose, he had grounds to worry. “I’ll wire Dick from the Foundation,” he said, turning away from the window. “He’s not talking to you, but if he knows its about Cassandra-“
And then everything exploded in glass and pain.
--oOo-
“Two ballrooms. Three five-star restaurants. A reading room, two smoking rooms, three salons, a library, regular orchestra performances and a croquet deck, but is there anything fun to do on this ship? Nothing!”
Three days aboard one of the most luxurious liners in the Atlantic and Bart was almost at his limit. Everything about the liner was luxurious, polished, refined and in keeping with the tastes of its passengers - respectable. Not only were the novels staid and improving, but it was hard to even open a conversation without a letter of introduction first. Bart, not used to society without the magic attached to the Foundation’s wealth and standing, chafed, exasperated beyond belief.
And to top it all off, they didn’t have any of his favourite novels. No Castle of Otranto, no Mysteries of Udolpho, no Camilla. Bart sighed. At least Kon was enjoying himself, happily gallivanting about chasing whales. He was probably learning all sorts of interesting things … and Tim would be having no end of fun hunting down clues and fighting rogue werewolves and ghouls in London. Meanwhile, he was suffocating in sophistication.
Bart tugged his tie off. “What’s the point in dressing for dinner only to make the same polite small talk with the same people I made the same small talk with the night before and will make again tomorrow night!” Throwing the tie across the room provided momentary relief, but it also reminded him that Tim had done something very similar while saying goodbye and that led to the reflection that if only Tim had been aboard, there would have been no complaints of boredom. Thoroughly depressed, Bart stood to divest himself of his jacket, his eye lighting on Kon’s type-writer, set out on the writing desk, and paused.
I’m leaving my type-writer to Bart. With his lurid imagination, I’m sure he’d be able to come up with a penny-dreadful or two. Drake, you’ll find a use for the suit. Not really much need for dinner jackets on the farm.
Bart hadn’t given it serious thought. Kon had remarked how often Bart found a reason to be in his room when ever he was working on his book, and Bart had made his excuses, not quite sure how to say there was something about the rhythm of Kon’s typing, rather like that of falling rain that was really quite soothing. Instead he’d taken to hiding his novels amongst Kon’s books so that he might have a reason to join him. He suspected that Kon suspected -
Was it one of the many subterfuges that allowed them to say they cared without admitting it?
Bart sat down at the desk. The typewriter case had included paper. Kon wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t thought Bart wouldn’t use it, surely. Bart ran a finger over the keys.
At any rate, it bet discussing the weather and holding open doors for innumerable middle-class matrons.
The full moon shone over the dark, craggy folds of the mountains, not penetrating but rather strengthening the deep shadows, until they seemed bottomless obsidian pits. In their depths the wild wolf roamed in search of prey, the owl hunted, and other, more ancient hunters stirred. Their rest was disturbed by a sound rarely heard in the distant corner of the wilderness - the sound of carriage wheels, bound for … Castle Cadmus!
Bart hesitated.
Tim would not approve. Tim would never approve. Nothing that could be traced back to them, and he had used his real name for that memorable excursion. Not to mention that Luthor had most likely survived with enough of his fortune intact to make things very difficult for him and the Director. No, better not to remind Luthor just how truly they’d foiled his plans.
But that meant he’d need a new villain.
Castle Brayne, the home to generations upon generation of the Brayne family, proud men of ruthless intellect and determination whose dark history had left almost as great a scar on the landscape as it had on their own dark souls! The current Lord was cut from the same rock as his ancestors, a proud, stern, forbidding man who suffered from gout and whose only companions in his ancient holding were an elderly manservant and a nephew, bound to his antisocial and demanding uncle by ties of deep, if completely misplaced, filial affection.
Giving the Director gout went some way to assuage Bart’s annoyance at his treatment in London, and he happily filled out the nephew’s circumstances. Intelligent, sardonic, handsome but marked by the same tragic destiny as his Uncle, Tarquin Brayne fitted perfectly to the Byronic model of hero and Bart found that he could easily wax lyrical about the nephew’s inner suffering (intense) and fears for his Uncle’s sanity (many) and doubts over the safety of his Uncle’s soul (well-founded) for a few pages of text. It was then that he remembered his carriage and its occupants.
The heroine was easy. Annabellina was the pert, plucky heiress to an immense fortune of her own, who was doomed to marry Lord Brayne by the terms of her deceased father’s will. She had tight auburn curls, impeccable dress sense and a pistol. With her was her childhood friend, the dear son of her father’s lawyer, now become a lawyer himself, determined to challenge the will - and perhaps make a proposal of his own? Kon would make a passable lawyer, Bart decided, lingering over the description of how his concern for his beloved Annabellina was evident in the frown that played over his handsome brow and how his broad shoulders shook as he reached for her hand and implored her to think again about the impetuous visit to the Lord Brayne.
But Annabellina was resolute. Although harbouring no little emotion for her dear friend in her bosom, she begged him to let go her hand, her sweet, bell-like voice falling upon his ears like the chimes of the very ceremony he hoped to save her from. “You must not think me heartless to your suffering, my dear Cuthbert, nay, or insensible myself. But I simply cannot ignore the wishes of my poor departed Papa! Until I know for myself what sort of a man Lord Brayne is, I cannot break the promise my dear Papa made to him.”
Gentleman that he was, Cuthbert released her hand, though it broke his heart to do so. “My dear Annabellina, I have never loved you so much as I do this night - no, I must not speak of it. Please think of me as your dear friend, and know that I will do anything I can to aid you, in any circumstances--
--oOo-
“We uncoil the rope - line. I meant line. Then we coil it up again. Uncoil. Coil. I thought there would be some hunting of whales on this voyage.”
“Standard sea-faring procedure. Once you have finished using the line you return it to its place, Kent. Surely the hazards of leaving uncoiled line over the deck is obvious even to your dim intellect?”
“I’ll give you that we don’t want the crew tripping over themselves - but do we truly need so much of this rope? And for that matter, why am I rubbing salt into the deck?” Kon paused, motioning to the sea surrounding them. “Surely we got enough of that already.”
“Swabbing cures the wooden surface of the deck, allowing it to withstand the conditions of the voyage.”
“So this is swabbing.” Kon considered this thoughtfully. “All this time and I never knew.”
Dubbilex regarded him blandly. Not a muscle in his stony face twitched. In the daylight, he looked even more like he’d been hewn out of a block of granite and Kon wondered how the surrounding sailors could be blind to it.
“Telepathic suggestion. I project. Only those of remarkable mental fortitude, those trained to discern the paranormal or possessing amulets of protection resist.”
Kon grimaced, getting back to work on the deck. “Broadcasting again.”
“Everyone does, more or less. I’m used to it. One of the hazards of leaving - well, of living amongst man.” Dubbilex paused to allow a pair of sailors to pass them. “You’ll want to hurry it up. With the wind tailing off, we will have to adjust our course soon.”
Living amongst man, was it? Kon might not need to hide his appearance to blend in, but beneath the surface was he any less different? “The fun never ends on a whaler, huh. I don’t even know how those up-market passenger liners stay in business. Sure they got dancing and billiards and first class chefs, but when you compare that to rubbing salt into the deck-“
“The on-board entertainment not up to your standards, Kent?”
“Captain Wilson!” Kon belatedly started to scramble to his feet, but Wilson raised his hand to stop him, looking instead to his first mate.
“He’s keeping you busy, Dubbilex.”
“It is I who is keeping Mr Kent busy, Captain. He is … slow to grasp the mechanics of sailing, but willing to work once he understands what he is meant to do. I do not think you can fault him as a crew member.”
“Mm,” Wilson sounded sceptical. “We’re on track for the coordinates?”
“We should reach them before nightfall.”
“I want us there faster.”
Dubbilex bowed. “I will see it is done.”
They were both quiet as Wilson continued his circuit of the decks, sailors straightening up and suddenly working much more briskly as he passed. Kon couldn’t blame them. Despite how quietly he’d approached them, Wilson was a powerfully built man, and while his beard might be white, there was very little to suggest he was anything but a man in his prime in his movements. On the open waters he’d replaced suit with the same rough shirt and trousers worn by the crew, and the eye-patch gave him a suggestion of roughish pirate Captain.
“I don’t see that he needs you around to keep things calm. Surely he could just intimidate the crew into doing what he needs,” Kon observed.
“Get below decks. If we’re to meet the Captain’s schedule, we’re going to have to start tacking now and we do not want you underfoot.”
“Your concern is touching as always.” As Kon gathered his cleaning equipment up, he couldn’t resist a worried enquiry. Think this is it?
It very well may be. Inform Cass. Dubbilex’s face might not have changed but Kon thought that he could sense something very like worry in the telepath’s demeanour.
“Hey, dangerous! Captain’s putting all hands to the line, really trying to get us to some coordinates in a hurry and Dubbilex thinks - nngh.”
Cass looked up from where she stood in front of the fire, meat crackling in the saucepan in front of her. Kon caught a quick glimpse of something that might have been concern before everything went black and nauseous--
--and then cold and wet.
Even after this much time together, it was hard not to jump every time he opened his eyes to see Cass inches away from him, but at this moment his stomach just wasn’t up for it. Not to mention that the bucket she held provided ample explanation as to both her presence and his current sodden state. “Thanks, Cass.” Kon coughed and sat up gingerly. Cass lent him a hand, and he stood, leaning an arm against the galley wall as he looked around.
The fire was out and the smell of smoke not as strong, but it was still there if he thought about it. Kon tried not to think about it. “Can we open a door or something - get some air in here? I - sorry.”
It was one of the few moments where he was grateful for the inscrutable expression of his companion. Cass’s expression was as blank as if he’d been telling her his latest opinion on sailing vessels or was trying to get her to join him and the crew in playing cards, and it didn’t shift even as she stood to get the door.
Kon let out a breath. At least he didn’t need to feel bad for putting a dent in Wilson’s floor. “Thanks. I - know it’s pretty pathetic, but it always gets to me like this. Well, not always like this, I mean I usually avoid it, but with how small it is in here, the smell got - pretty bad.”
All those voices, shrill with pain. Heat, blindingly bright. And then it was so still as to seem quiet if it weren’t for the sound of flames dying down, and the smoke, thick with the smell of-
“You cook.”
“Yeah. Ma taught me. She figured I’d have problems else. We worked out it’s okay if I can’t smell it. Soups and things. I’m okay cutting it up for casseroles, stews if I skip the braising part, but …” Kon glanced to see how Cass was taking this, but she didn’t seem to have permanently lowered her opinion of him. “I don’t exactly want to eat it. If it’s just for me, I leave it out.”
Cass nodded. “Dubbilex?” She said just as brusquely and Kon was grateful to get onto the subject of why he’d come back to the galley in the first place.
“He thinks this could be it.”
They reached the coordinates Wilson was so anxious about mid-afternoon and as anticipated, the Captain assembled everyone on deck. With the officers surveying the crew from above, Kon felt just as uncomfortable as he had the first time Wilson had made an announcement to the crew.
The way Miss Wilson kept fondling her gun was not helping matters any.
“She does remember she’s not alone right now, right?”
Cass jabbed him with her elbow. “Listen. Ready.”
“Right, right. I’ll be ready.”
“Watch Wilson.”
“I am - the other Wilson. Got it.”
Wilson’s weapon of choice was a harpoon gun. It had to be custom made for him. Even given all the times Kon had helped Bart and Drake ‘borrow’ experimental weaponry from the Foundation’s arsenal, he’d never seen anything quite like it. It was jagged, mean, designed to catch and tear, causing maximum damage in Wilson’s prey. Probably custom designed for the Aquaman. Among Wilson’s officers were numerous engineers and mechanics.
“-known to haunt these waters, preying on unsuspecting boats as they pass through. It is speculated that the reason for this is the fact that these waters are where several pods of whale return year after year to birth their young. It is not unlikely that the whale represents just as much wealth to the Aquaman as it does to whalers such as yourselves. I plan to use this to our advantage and draw him out, by letting you do what you do best.” Wilson smiled his cruelly calculating smile. “Whale.”
There were raucous cheers from the crew. Apparently Kon was not the only one to have been finding the on-board entertainment lacking.
“It is likely that Aquaman will use several of the ocean creatures he has enslaved to drive you away. You will engage, seeking to keep his attention on you as long as possible. While he battles you above, my officers and I will block off his escape below.”
Below? Kon looked to his companions to see if either had an idea of Wilson’s meaning. The diving suits? He really thinks that’ll be enough?
Tells truth. Cass’s arms were folded and she never once removed her gaze from Wilson. Something below.
I can sense other minds, just on the end of my range. An armed force. Dubbilex sounded concerned.
So the sailors are - bait? Kon glanced around him at the men. Not friends, but they’d talked, they’d played cards, they’d drunkenly taught him to sing songs about mermaids. We’re not letting that happen.
“It’ll be dangerous of course,” Wilson said with the easy confidence of the born commander. “But I consider the risk well worth the reward.” He waited until the crews enthusiastic cheering had died down. “Are there any who would oppose my plan? If so, speak now. This is your only option.”
It was so quiet, every metallic chink as the wind tugged against the limp sail was audible. Rose Wilson paused her inspection of her weapon to look down on the crew, scanning them with a gaze every bit as cool and superior as that of her father’s.
It was quite a look and Kon was again struck by the conundrum of reconciling curves like hers to a mind like Wilson’s-
“Me.”
There was a stir of surprise as Cass spoke, followed immediately by a roar of laughter. Even Wilson appeared amused. And to be fair, the situation did look rather incongruous. In her usual tunic and hood, Cass appeared smaller and entirely non-threatening, exactly like the cook she pretended to be. She did not react to the laughter, but Kon felt stung all the same.
“Also registering my discontent, sir!”
“As do I.”
“I wish I could say this was a surprise, Dubbilex, but I’ve had my suspicions for some time now. Mr Kent, on the other hand, I had you down as something of an adventurer. After all, you were very vocal on the subject of the Vampyre at Cadmus Castle. Surely you have no great love for inhuman creatures such as the Aquaman?”
Kon tried not to look as awkward as he felt at the reminder. “That was personal.”
“And this is business.” Wilson cleared his throat. “Before we tackle the Aquaman, men, I should like to see your mettle. Subdue our little trio of malcontents.”
--oOo--
I think Wilson figured that he could pit enough crew against me and that eventually I would go down. Although aware that Dubbilex is psychic, he didn’t think his mental powers would be much of a threat, once he was knocked unconscious. Of course, he didn’t know that ‘making suggestions’ wasn’t the limit of what Dubbilex was capable of. But it was the cook who really tipped the scales in our balance. Did you see what I did there?
Still, we didn’t stop him from putting his plan into action. Apparently Aquaman shows up for shipwrecks as well as whaling vessels and since we were both (apparently no one told Wilson that the Captain goes down with the ship, he doesn’t sink the ship when he thinks he’s losing) suddenly we got a certified maelstrom happening, complete with moray eels, sharks and manta rays, as well as the Aquaman himself. This was enough of a distraction for Dubbilex to convince the crew that they really should be sitting quietly in the boats while Wilson and Aquaman attempted to spear each other and I learnt how to lower harpoon boats. This was not helped by Miss Wilson deciding she liked the cut of my jib (that would be a sea-faring term) but that she took umbrage at my part in her father’s current situation and wanted to cut my jib herself.
What was the cook doing while we were battling for our lives? Good question, but as we are now sitting in the other harpoon boat with all the vials of the poison that Wilson was planning to use on the Atlanteans, I am guessing that there was a good amount of circumspect breaking and entering happening. I had barely enough time to grab my suitcase. At least we got some biscuit and salt pork before the boat went under, and the Aquaman retrieved a barrel of water for us as he was declaring that if we ever show face in these waters again we could expect no mercy. I think he was a little distracted - Wilson’s submersible had just retreated under the waves, Miss Wilson with it. Apparently Wilson has a son. Did you know he had a son? And a submersible.
On the other hand, we have a barrel of water, my suitcase, stale sea biscuits, salt pork and our lives. I’m not quite sure who was the winner here, but I will say that I am seriously reconsidering my decision to travel via whaler.
Or - was it leaving London at all that he regretted? Sitting in one of Drake’s favourite restaurants while Bart excitedly outlined the latest underworld rumour he had picked up the Club, all on the Foundation’s tab …
The two of them were probably living it up without him there cramping their style. No more having to avoid the seedier bars for fear of shocking Kon’s colonial morals, no more having to share the monsters they pursued …
You had better not be having too much fun right now living in up in London, while we’re stuck on a boat in the open sea, hoping that some other vessel comes in range of Dubbilex’s telepathy and rescues us, that’s all I’m saying.
“Writing to your London friends? I am surprised at your confidence in getting the letter to them, Mr Kent.”
Kon shrugged, not stirring from his location in the bottom of the boat. The harpoon boat was meant to hold a crew of ten or more. There was more than enough room for him to spread out, even with their rather haphazard collection of supplies. “To be honest, I wasn’t thinking about how I’d send this letter even when I started it.”
If he’d send it. Could he? He’d just up and left-
No, not down that path. Not with the ocean so big and wide and nothing but time to think. “Though now that you mention it, I’m surprised at your confidence at all. We’re cast adrift in the Atlantic, and you seem pretty relaxed.”
"I suppose I do not rattle easily."
"Cass, you on the verge of hysterics?"
Cass didn't open her eyes. She was seated in the sort of pose commonly adopted by the jade figurines of the Buddhist faith hawked near the docks by itinerant traders. Her front of calm was in no way diminished by the smudge of dirt on one cheek, a souvenir from their battle. "Quiet. Focus. Rest."
"With the two of you so close to the edge of breakdown, you can see why I'm so concerned over our predicament," Kon told Dubbilex, returning to his letter with a shrug.
And yet, the other's words had raised an awareness of something. Or was it a memory? Kon tried to concentrate on the elusive feeling. It was almost as if--
"There's an island," he said slowly. "Not far. I think--" Kon tried to grasp specifics but they escaped him, all except a slight tugging. "It's that way. But -- what I am saying? My trip to Europe, we didn't pass any islands until we reached our destination." It was a little disconcerting to be the first of the three to lose his mind. "Here I thought cabin fever was supposed to take weeks, not hours."
"Are you that sure you haven't been here before?" Dubbilex asked mildly.
Kon glared. He wasn't in the mood to be humoured. "I'm not that far gone I need to be pacified. Of course I haven't been out here before. A sea voyage isn't something I'd forget."
"And yet, you must have got to Kansas somehow."
Kon paused. It was true he didn't remember anything of his life before the Kent's small homestead but to be from another continent entirely--
Then again, Clark's search for answers had taken him to Europe. Why not elsewhere?
"You think that -- maybe I'm remembering something real?"
"I think that at this point, we have nothing to lose," Dubbilex said. "Concentrate on the direction of the island you sensed earlier and take the helm. I'll use my ability to direct the boat over the waves."
It worked well. It worked better than well. The boat flew over the waves sending spray in their wake, and the wind rushing past seemed to take with it all the tedium of the many hours trapped below the unrelenting sun.
Cass abandoned her attempt at meditating, climbing up to the bow of their harpoon boat, positioning herself imperiously on the very tip. She balanced expertly, anticipating the rise and fall of the boat, clearly enjoying the challenge and the rush of the wind. Seeing her obvious enjoyment, Kon couldn’t resist giving Dubbilex’s handling of the boat a boost with his own power. As the speed increased, Cass’s delighted laugh was caught by the wind. Kon grinned.
I know that she’s dangerous. To do what she’s able to do, well, something had to have happened. I don’t know what she’s seen, what she’s done. But it’s hard to remember that when she’s so completely in the moment like she is. There’s nothing on her mind but the beauty of the moment, and it’s in those moments I feel like I see right to the heart of her, know that whatever it is that she does, that is the real her -
I don’t know. I feel privileged, lucky. Is that crazy? I have a feeling that this is the moment that the two of you’d be breaking out the anti-curse charms and the big guns, but somehow, the fact that I’m on a harpoon boat with a gargoyle and a mystery in siren form heading towards an even bigger mystery with very little prospect of ever encountering civilisation again doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it should.
Hope you two are well,
Yours,
Kon.