The salt air seemed particularly fresh that afternoon as Nicolai wandered up the Upper Northeast Shore. He had heard of this part of Knight's Harbor but had never visited before. It was an area typically frequented by the elite of the community, that is, middle-to-upper class Maricanian citizens. Chenians knew to generally stay away from the Upper Northeast for every purpose other than to work in menial jobs in the many restaurants and stores that lined the streets. Those Chenians caught loitering or not working soon invited the suspicions of the wealthy Maricanian residents, and therefore, those of the Shavice as well.
Fortunately, Nicolai's venture into this elite neighborhood was not without purpose. Mrs. Fletching had just learned from her nephew that one of the luxury passenger ships was in need of porters. While the mental image of carting around luggage for the rich did not appeal to Nicolai, the prospect of actually being tipped for his efforts did.
Nicolai arrived at the Upper Northeast wharf thirty minutes before the Heritage was scheduled to arrive. He found a dozen other Chenian men there, dressed in white uniforms lined with navy blue trim, waiting patiently on the dock. Most were in their late twenties to mid-thirties, but all of them were bronzed from having spent their days working in the sun. A few turned to Nicolai as he approached. One split from the crowd to address him.
"What do you want?"
"I was told there was a job. Mrs. Fletching . . ."
"My aunt. Yes, she said one of the boys from her neighborhood might be able to fill in."
The porter looked over Nicolai. He wrinkled his nose, considering what to say next. Nicolai stared back at him, not knowing if he were to get the job or be sent away.
"My name's Vasily," he said. "That building over there is where they store the uniforms. Get one and get dressed. The ship will be in soon."
"Thank you."
"We'll give you a week. See how you fit in."
With that minor vote of confidence, Vasily retreated back to the line of other Chenians waiting on the dock.
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Nicolai returned a short time later wearing a uniform that was a few inches too short for him. The other Chenians laughed at the sight of a tall Chenian in shorter clothes. But Nicolai took it in stride, as he figured that a small joke at his expense would lighten the mood toward him. Within minutes, the others began talking to him as the ship inched closer. Nicolai discovered that most of them were actually second generation Chenians or had come here as young children. As the ship prepared to dock, Vasily opened up to Nicolai, telling him all about the job and his fellow workers.
Vasily said that they all aspired to be more than porters at some point. Some wanted to become ship captains or first mates. Others wanted to be shop managers or restaurant owners. Yet, as was the case with so many other Chenians in Maricania, options were limited for this lower crust of society. The Chenians working the wharf struggled to pay for even the bare necessities, as all of them had wives and young children at home to support. Tips from wealthy Maricanian passengers were much sought after and in many cases eclipsed the weekly pay the porters would make. Despite their struggles, the Chenian porters considered themselves fortunate, as the work they had was still a step above the dirty, back-breaking labor other Chenians were forced to take.
"You'll want to step aside, behind the others, as the passengers step off," Vasily told Nicolai. "If you reach for the first bag or greet the first passenger exiting the ship, the others will think you're there to steal their tips. They'll shun you for months. The last porter who did that was shoved to the back for weeks afterward. Three times he was pushed into the water. So be careful. Just watch for most of the day."
Nicolai took Vasily's advice in stride. His mind was less focused on work and more occupied by what his friends had done earlier that day. The thought of their departure haunted him. While he realized that Petrov and the others had every right to do what they wanted, including taking on all the risks of a suicide mission, he nonetheless felt betrayed. The need to track them down had lessened since he first read Petrov's letter. He knew not what he would do in the future, his only resolve was to work now, to lessen his anxiety through labor so he could allow his friends their chance to return home.
Maybe it would be good for them, Nicolai considered. Passage to Chenia, going against the current of immigrants, would be modest. Once there, Petrov could strike out on his own to find his Uncle Tobin. Fyodor and Leo would have the opportunity to search for relatives of their own. With his memories of Chenia cloudy at best, Nicolai knew he would have little chance of finding his relatives, if any even existed or remained in Chenia. He would be of little use to Petrov. Besides, Petrov's resolve could not be without merit. He spoke of Chenia, of Osley, of the Green River so often that he would easily find his way back home. He and the others could help to nurse Tobin back to health and tend to his affairs. Once in better spirits, Tobin may even be persuaded to leave Osley for the peaceful shores of Maricania. In the meantime, Nicolai could keep their flat occupied with sailors and travelers, so that they wouldn't have to return to homelessness once their mission was complete. He could also send word, and even a little money, back to Chenia through Boris to make sure that Petrov knew that he was still in Knight's Harbor, awaiting their eventual return. Nicolai, the one left behind to tend house. He smirked at the ridiculousness of it all.
So consumed by his thoughts was Nicolai that he did not even realize the ship had moored until Vasily nudged him in the back.
"Thanks for keeping your distance. Most new porters rush up to grab all the tips for themselves. You did good. But you can step up now."
Nicolai turned his attention to the dock, which now teemed with passengers. The other Chenian porters had done well to clear a walkway for them. Like clockwork they snatched up every piece of luggage that unloaded from the ship, whether from the cargo net or from the passengers themselves. A shipmate or visitor could scarcely put a suitcase on the dock before an eager porter scooped it up to carry.
Only after the third cargo net unloaded did the luggage and people begin to bottleneck. Nicolai saw his chance. He slipped through the crowd toward the stern of the ship, where a number of cases had quickly piled up on the dock landing.
Nicolai set out to work. With a feverish intensity, he grabbed one piece of luggage after another, loading them on the nearby dollies. The porters watched curiously as they had never seen a Chenian act so altruistically. Any of them would have taken one of the dollies and delivered it themselves so as to collect tips. But Nicolai chose to stand by once again.
Only one cargo net remained on the ship by the time Nicolai had cleared the loading dock. As it hovered from the ship deck to the dock, Vasily approached Nicolai.
"Where did you come from?"
"Chenia, same as you," Nicolai replied.
"You could have got some tips for yourself. Even at the end."
"Maybe next time. Today I just wanted to stand by and watch."
"You're unlike any Chenian I've ever met."
Nicolai heard Vasily speak, but his focus had turned to the cargo net that now dangled precariously close to them. It seemed a bit off to Nicolai. With every inch that it moved closer the luggage shifted downward to the base of the netting. Then, as if cut open, the netting gave way, sending the luggage down onto the dock with a thunderous crash.
Nicolai clinched his teeth as everyone else left on the dock snapped their heads toward the commotion. Vasily raced up the boarding ramp to jump on the ship deck.
"Hey, you! What are trying to do?! That could've killed somebody!"
Vasily entered into a tirade with the First Mate as Nicolai rummaged through the contents of the cargo net. All the luggage that had hit the deck first now lay in pieces, the combination of having broken upon impact and been crushed by the luggage that fell above them. As for the rest of the luggage, that which did not hit the deck directly but was cushioned by other cases and crates appeared intact. From the broken remains, Nicolai managed to recover a few fine dresses and a pair of shoes by the time Vasily returned.
"Stupid sailor. His crew is too damn lazy to check their knots. How we doing here?"
"Fine. I'll get the broken pieces."
"You sure?"
"Yes. I just need another dolly."
"I'll have one of the porters bring one."
Vasily turned to leave. But then he stopped.
"Nicolai."
"Yes?"
"It's good that you're here."
Vasily walked away. Nicolai smiled to himself. Maybe I can salvage this poor day after all, he pondered.
As Nicolai picked up the fragments of broken wood strewn on the ground a certain piece struck him as familiar. It was about six inches long and four inches in heights. The piece had more of a natural rose color, much like one would find on Chenian cherry wood. Nicolai brushed aside the other pieces to pick it up and study it.
Nicolai studied one side first before turning it over. That is when he saw it. His eyes widened. His muscles tensed. His mind raced with the possibilities of what his discovery meant.
There, on the wood resting on his hand, was the emblem for the Czarian Guard.
Etched in black ink was an eagle flanked by two sabers. Such a simple symbol of power. Anyone else would have regarded it with a passing glance. Maybe a sneer or look of contempt. But not Nicolai.
He considered the possibilities. Why would the Czarian Guard visit Knight's Harbor? What would be the point? Czaria already had healthy diplomatic relations with Maricania, despite the atrocities they had committed against the Chenian people. The Czarian Guards were no politicians or merchants. They were soldiers. Assassins. Their only purpose was to further the military might of Stalgrave's empire. If they did intend to take the fight to the shores of Maricania, then why now?
"Nicolai, are you all right?"
Nicolai's trance was broken by Vasily's sudden inquiry. Nicolai shoved the splintered wood into his back pocket.
"You're stealing already?"
"No."
"I mistook you for an honest man."
"It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
Nicolai searched Vasily's face. His skin, slightly leathery from the sea salt and sun, reflected genuine concern, as his eyes squinted, searching for grains of truth behind Nicolai's own mask.
Nicolai, only somewhat convinced that he could trust Vasily, took a chance.
"You're from the coast of Kilcheka, south of Sagemark, aren't you?"
The words flowed from Nicolai's mouth like a small torrent. They were not in standard Chenian, but rather Sageling, a dialect only certain coastal inhabitants of Chenia spoke.
"How'd you know?"
"Your accent. Your pronunciation is a little sharper than most."
"Most are too afraid to even speak Sageling. It sounds too much like Czarian."
"Well, Czarians and Chenians used to live in peace. A long time ago."
"You're either very brash or very stupid to speak such things in a shunned language."
Nicolai shrugged. Vasily stepped up to him.
"What's behind your back, Nicolai? You wouldn't take such a chance on a worthless trinket."
Nicolai brought his hand around to show Vasily. His fingers opened, revealing the emblem embossed on the broken piece of wood.
Vasily stared down at it. His face reflected no emotion that Nicolai could see. No surprise. No shock. Not even a hint of concern.
"I saw this once. When I was a child. Before my family and I left Chenia."
Vasily looked up at Nicolai.
"I assume you know whom to tell about this."
"I know of a few Chenians I can warn. But they're not decent. They're just smugglers and thugs."
"Tell them what you saw here today. They're not the Council, but eventually, by word of mouth, the news will reach the right people."
Vasily glanced at the passengers that crowded the dock.
"I wonder who it could be. How many of them there are? Why they're here . . ."
Vasily's voice trailed off. He turned back to Nicolai.
"Go. I'll clean up the luggage."
Nicolai nodded. He slipped the piece of wood into his back pocket before marching off down the dock.
Vasily watched him leave. He could not help but wonder that something was different about Nicolai. When he had first arrived that morning, he had seemed quiet, but not timid. He came across as a spectator does when he watches a horse race as opposed to a shy introvert some may have mistaken him to be. But now, as he walked away, he portrayed a confidence, a sense of purpose, he had not seen in other Chenians. He seemed concerned but unafraid, as if his purpose overtook any sense of fear and anxiety to propel him forward. Vasily could not put his finger on it, on the source of such potentially reckless but proud abandon. But that spirit, in Nicolai, was surely there. 67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh6A5RMB0ER
