Nicolai slipped out of work early that day, a move he would dare not make under any other circumstances. Jobs were so hard to come by, but Nicolai suspected that his days were numbered in Knight's Harbor, at least for the time being. Besides, Nicolai considered, Knight's Harbor was becoming too dangerous, even for those Chenians who had settled there before the influx of immigrants. Nicolai decided it would be better if he and his friends settled elsewhere once everything blew over. Perhaps in a nice, quiet village further up the Green River, away from the bustling port of Knight's Harbor. People further east were supposedly even less welcoming of foreigners, but Nicolai assumed that if they all kept a low profile, such suspicions would not come to pass.
Nicolai waited until he collected his wages for the week, at lunchtime, before sneaking away. He slipped through the docks and boatyards with ease, without so much as garnering a glance from a single worker. As he flowed briskly through the throng, he contemplated what would unfold once he confronted Petrov.
Petrov was a man of strong convictions. Nicolai knew from past arguments that it was futile to try to argue with him, no matter if he was right or wrong. The best Nicolai or anyone else could do was to try to offer alternatives to Petrov's decisions, ones that would satisfy all parties as best as possible.
Nicolai's first objective would be to try to convince Petrov that sending for his Uncle Tobin was a better choice than traveling back to retrieve him. Chenians frequently arranged for their family members to travel to Maricania. A few had the money or connections to do so through the proper legal channels, so that when they arrived, the Shavice simply checked their papers and welcomed them as they would their own. The rest of the Chenians who were able to make it to Maricania did so illegally, usually by arranging passages from smuggling cartels. The journey across the sea from the Chenian coast to Maricania was often an overwhelming one, all the more so for those who entrusted everything to smugglers. The less fortunate who lived were even carted off to factories as cheap labor or brothels as sex slaves, where the only freedom that awaited them was the promise of death. Such cases were uncommon only a decade earlier but had grown in frequency ever since tensions between Chenia and Czaria had escalated.
Despite the danger of illegal crossing, for the right price, Nicolai was certain that a secured passage was Tobin's best chance for survival. It was also the surest way to guarantee that Petrov would not do anything foolish. If Nicolai was successful in convincing Petrov, the next step would be to raise the money for Tobin's passage. Even with the influx of ships from every corner of the globe, smuggling a Chenian into Knight's Harbor was not cheap. Increased inspections by the Shavice had driven up the price, not because more illegals were caught and sent back, but because more Shavice had to be paid off to keep quiet. Plus, there was the issue of Tobin's health, which would require some medical attention and no doubt more money.
Nicolai estimated that the cost would be the combined total of four months' wages from himself, Petrov, Fyodor and Leo. Nicolai had managed to save about that much, but he was far less certain about the other three. More than likely, they would have to borrow the money from other Chenians, a prospect that made Nicolai's skin itch at the very idea of such a thing. The ghetto was a poor neighborhood, so any money they borrowed came with the understanding that if they failed to pay it back, their lives and those of their family would be endangered. Only a week earlier, the Shavice had found the body of a twelve-year-old boy hanging from a lamp post in the ghetto. The boy's father, a deck hand on one of the ships, had had a nasty habit of gambling away his earnings and then some. When the Chenian thugs he owed money to discovered that he could not pay, they sought to make an example using his son. The same day that the boy's body was discovered, the Shavice found his father, who had slit his throat after learning that his son had been killed.
The risks aside, Nicolai knew that smuggling Tobin into Maricania was the only alternative to having Petrov travel to Chenia to retrieve him. Nicolai considered the full range of Petrov's possible reactions as he raced through the streets toward the grain silos where Petrov worked. After the fiery reaction that Nicolai knew would come, even a man such as Petrov would eventually succumb to reason. At least that was the assumption Nicolai made.
Nicolai waited at the silo until the workers changed shifts. He stood by the gate as the tired masse filed out. Almost three dozen men left, after which Nicolai saw that no other workers followed. Nicolai peered through the opening of the gate and into the silo grounds. Petrov was nowhere to be seen.
Nicolai scanned the throng of workers again. He spotted one worker just as he was about to slip into the street crowd. Nicolai sprinted over to him.
"You! Hey, you from the silo!"
"What?"
"You know a man named Petrov?"
"Knew him."
"What do you mean, you knew him?"
"They fired him after he didn't show up for work today."
Nicolai stopped. The worker continued on into the crowd, not caring if Nicolai trailed after him or not. Nicolai remained standing in the crowd. A flood of possibilities swept through his mind. He considered the fact that he may have fallen sick, or picked up another job without telling his boss at the silo. There was any number of reasons for why Petrov did not show up to work. But deep down, Nicolai knew the truth, the one reason among all the others for Petrov's absence: Petrov had left for Chenia.
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Nicolai's suspicion only grew throughout the day as he went off to find Fyodor and Leo. Just as with Petrov, neither one of them had shown up to work that day. After questioning their co-workers, Nicolai went back to their apartment, hoping that one of them had left some sign of their departure. Nicolai tore through the place, overturning every piece of furniture they had, only to find that a few necessities, such as clothes and dry food items, were missing.
Nicolai's concern and worry morphed into anger and frustration once he realized that his friends had not even bothered to say good-bye. True, Nicolai would have tried to stop them from leaving. But his protest alone was not enough to excuse them. After all, the four of them had endured so much together, from the long voyage across the sea to Maricania years ago, to their first months in Knight's Harbor, to the very difficulties that they had faced up until now. Such experiences made the bond between them as strong as those between brothers. Yet the three of them had chosen to leave Nicolai as if none of that had mattered. Not even a short note or letter had been left behind. Nicolai had no way of knowing for certain where they had gone, how long they would be away, or if they were ever to return.
Nicolai's sense of betrayal only festered the longer he spent in the apartment. By the time he stormed out he was nearly consumed with a fiery rage. He threw open the door to his apartment and bolted out into the hallway. He rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time, only to hear the faint cry of an old woman from above.
"You, boy! The one running down!"
Nicolai stopped. He looked back up the spiral staircase. Four floors above him stood Mrs. Fletching, an elderly woman who had remained in the building after her husband, the previous landlord, had died. Although no longer in charge of the residence, she still retained an intimate knowledge of the neighborhood, one that had benefited Nicolai and his friends when they had first arrived at Knight's Harbor. In fact, it was Mrs. Fletching who had arranged for Nicolai to work at the docks. She continued to inquire as to how he and his friends were getting along, even if in her old age she would occasionally forget their names from time to time.
"Your friend left something for you."
Nicolai peered up to find that Mrs. Fletching was holding a small envelope in her right hand. Within moments, Nicolai had ascended the stairs to snatch it right from Mrs. Fletching's hand. The old lady recoiled at Nicolai's brash gesture. Embarrassed, Nicolai blurted out an apology.
"I'm sorry."
"At least your roommate had manners."
Mrs. Fletching pulled her shawl over her shoulders as she made her way back to her apartment. As she left, Nicolai turned his attention to the letter in his hand.
Nicolai,
We're sorry to have to do this to you. We left for Chenia. Don't bother to search for us. We won't be leaving from Knight's Harbor so you won't be able to find us and even if you did, there's nothing you could say to stop us. We'll return once we've found Uncle Tobin. Again, we're sorry we had to leave like this but it was for your own good.
Petrov
Nicolai stared at the letter a long time after he had finished reading it. He felt a small sense of relief that they had not forgotten about him altogether. But seeing the words spelled out by Petrov's own hand, which declared that they had purposely left Nicolai behind, still left a wound. If Petrov could manage to bring a drunk like Leo and a scholar like Fyodor, what additional harm would have come from considering himself? He felt the overwhelming need to track them down, to stand before Petrov to ask him, but the betrayal left him without the motivation to go after them. In any other situation, their sudden departure would have sent Nicolai into the streets to search, yet there he was, with a letter in hand that spelled out the fact that his friends did not want him with them.
These thoughts nagged at Nicolai until Mrs. Fletching peeked her head out from her apartment.
"You still there?"
Nicolai nodded.
"Don't you have someplace to be?"
"No."
"Why not? Can't you work?"
"Yes. But I just lost my job."
Mrs. Fletching stared at Nicolai. Within moments, her glare melted into sympathy.
"I may know of work. Do you have experience on the docks?"
Nicolai somehow managed to not scoff at the question.
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