The fog thickened as it rolled into the harbor. Even as it hit land its density grew so that in the streets people had to walk slower so as not to run into one another.
Boris dragged another angelino plant close to the fire they had burning in an iron drum. Typically an unapproachable character, Boris was nonetheless a soft touch when it came to angelinos. He loved the taste of their reddish-orange flesh, which dripped juice with every bite. While he could vaguely remember the time he spent in Chenia as a boy, the one memory ever present for him was the sweet scent of their blossoms. Even those growing in the pots on the rooftop managed to expel a whiff upon blossoming, albeit much less stronger than the groves that flourished in Chenia.
Boris warmed himself by the fire, all the while keeping a steady eye on the plant next to him. The other Chenians on the roof also crowded around fire drums, sipping hot tea seasoned with brandy, a Chenian favorite. While none of them were drunk, all were too consumed with staying warm to notice the firm knock on the stairwell door. All except Boris.
The guard at the door hesitated to open it as Boris approached. Boris raised his hand to assure the guard that his hesitation was justified. As he leaned towards the door, Boris’ hands slipped behind him, to rest on the Zenista knife sheathed on his belt.
“Identify yourself,” Boris barked.
Silence followed Boris’ command.
“Speak or find trouble."
“I’m a friend of Petrov’s.”
“There are quite of few Chenians names Petrov.”
“You know who I speak of.”
Boris gripped the small hilt of his knife. He drew it an inch from its sheath. But he hesitated to pull it out completely. There was a certain sense of familiarity from the voice on the other side of the door as his instincts urged him to nod to the guard, who fumbled with his keys before finding the one that unlocked the door. The guard flung it open to find Nicolai on the stairs, dressed in a heavy wool coat and thick cotton cap.
"Green Eyes."
“Boris.”
"It's been so long I didn't recognize your voice."
"Then the fault is mine for being absent so long. My apologies."
“He’s not here.”
“I know. He left Knight’s Harbor early this morning.”
"His Uncle Tobin."
"You read his letter?"
"Invasive, yes, I know. But checking the letters that pass through the hands on this rooftop is my security in uncertain times."
Nicolai stepped up off the top stairs and onto the rooftop.
“You were once a delegate of the Old Council. In Sagemark. Were you not?”
“That detail of my life is never to be spoken of. The Old Days bring bad memories of strife and failure.”
“What more can I say? Petrov mumbles after three good brandies.”
The guard eyed Nicolai as he cradled an item in the palm of his hand, one wrapped in a handkerchief.
“If what he told me about you is true, then you’ll want to see this.”
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Nicolai plucked an angelino from the potted tree. He removed the peel as Boris studied the splinter of wood etched with the Czarian Guard emblem. Each of them sat on a wooden crate, across from each other, not near any drum of fire, but away from any source of heat or curious ears. While all the men on the rooftop were Chenians, the fact was that they had drunk much during the past few bitterly cold hours, so much so that any one of them could go off and divulge what they had heard to any stranger on the street. Due to the potentially grave situation at hand, Nicolai and Boris felt it best for them to have some privacy.
Nicolai peeled the last of the skin from the angelino as Boris continued to study the emblem. As he bit into the fruit, Boris set the wood down on the soil of the potted angelino tree.
“If you were any other man, I would just assume this is a prank on an old Chenian. But Petrov doesn’t keep fools as friends.”
“It’s quite a risk, isn’t it? To have such a symbol in a place where any Chenian porter or servant can stumble across it?”
“No, it’s no risk. Not typically. You have to understand, the Czarian Guards take great pride in their rank and status in society. Chances are that the chest which broke apart on the dock also contained items considered sacred to the Guard. Perhaps a medal for distinguished service. A ceremonial dagger. A lock of hair from their first kill. Do not underestimate the importance of symbols to those people. It is rumored that a Guard will never embark on a mission, even a clandestine one, without a possession to remind him of his devotion to the motherland. Ever proud they are. Even the Isdaq, Stalgrave’s own personal henchmen, will often take mementos on long campaigns, unless directly instructed otherwise. That is especially true if their mission, and the enemies they suspect they will confront, are not seen as difficult threats, which us Chenian refugees in Maricania are never considered. Nonetheless, such items are never brandished but often concealed, as you discovered. You were simply lucky to find this. Or cursed.”
Boris paused to see if anyone was watching them. The wind had since chilled even further, leaving only half the rooftop occupants that were there when Nicolai first arrived. Those who remained sat huddled next to the metal drums where the remnants of fuel continued to burn. No one paid attention to them. Nonetheless, Boris leaned in toward Nicolai as he lowered his voice to a scant whisper.
“Did anyone else see this?”
“Only another porter on the loading dock. He stayed behind to clean up the mess after I left.”
“So the Czarians would have seen him there at the scene?”
Nicolai nodded. During his rush to return to the ghetto, he had failed to consider that.
"Then I will pray for the family he has left behind."
"Why?” Nicolai said as he raised his eyebrows. “He's just a porter. He did nothing. He was only there when it happened."
“By now he is as good as dead.”
Nicolai’s heart sank as his eyes widened with the realization that his newfound friend Vasily may be no more. “But he had nothing to do with it,” Nicolai reasoned. “He was only there to clean, to explain that what had happened was an accident. Surely a porter poses no threat to the Guard.”
“They are not the type of men to see things that way. As far as they’re concerned, any Chenian, either at home or abroad, could have a relative or a friend who is an enemy of their state. Any divulgence of their secretive activities, no matter where, is to be regarded as an act of espionage against the motherland, punishable by death without trial.”
Boris reached into his coat pocket to draw a tin of cigarettes. He offered them to Nicolai, who respectfully declined. He lit one for himself and puffed on it a moment as Nicolai considered the full weight of Boris’ words.
“You know of the attack on the Green River,” Nicolai said, “And now the Guard arrives here, at the largest city of Chenians outside the motherland. What does all this mean?”
“I can only speculate on their intentions.”
“Then speculate.”
“You know of Orvahn?”
Nicolai nodded. It was proper etiquette for Chenians not to mention the hated Czarian capital by name, yet scarcely a day went by when Nicolai did not hear it muttered along with a slew of obscenities by some drunkard on the street.
“Back when the Council’s reach extended beyond the Sacred Plains and into the heartland of Czaria, we used to have spies stationed there. Not many, mind you, for everyone we sent eventually went missing or into hiding due to the Guard’s purging efforts. But there were enough loyal partisans back in the day who wanted to make sure that Chenia was cast out of Czaria’s shadow for good.
“They managed to infiltrate the key government offices there. A few even managed to make their way into the Great Hall and Crimson Citadel. As servants, mind you, but still able to listen and observe. So much was passed from them to us. We were able to spare so many from ridicule and hardship during the days of Cristoff. As cruel as he was in his own right, he had no tolerance for brutality like his successor, Stalgrave.
“Our men were there in the beginning, when Cristoff passed away and Stalgrave took power. That is where the Purge, as we have come to know it, began in earnest. The Guard rounded up groups of Chenians still living in Orvahn, in nighttime raids, block by block, until whole neighborhoods practically disappeared overnight.
“Some of our spies were caught in these raids, but most managed to stay away from their grasp during the initial wave. Eventually, Stalgrave signed an order banishing all Chenians from government structures. But before our men lost their positions, one of them discovered plans, albeit something of a crude outline, to extend Czarian power beyond its ancient borders.”
Boris paused to stamp out his little stub of a cigarette and light a new one. Nicolai watched Boris’ every move, as if his actions unfolded in slow motion, a sense only magnified by Nicolai’s desire for him to continue. His anxiety built up until Boris finally exhaled the first puff of smoke from his new cigarette.
“Poor fellow. I cannot for the life of me remember the name of the man who gave us this information. Perhaps he didn’t even have one at the time. I believe he remained anonymous. He was a true Chenian, even if he had the blond hair and blue eyes of a western Czarian. But that’s what made him such an asset to our cause, the fact that he could blend in with native Czarians, up until the point where they asked to see his papers. Unfortunately, the last I heard of him was that he died from a sudden fall from his rooftop one night.
“But in the weeks before his death, he was assigned one last job, for a banquet at the State Hall. Every Czarian delegate and high-ranking official was there to inaugurate Stalgrave as the leader, the Great Leader as they would later call him. It was a grand affair, one that ended with a speech from Stalgrave himself.
“That man, for all his evil, could move mountains with his words. Or at least that was the impression he made on our friend that night. Within the scope of an hour, Stalgrave laid out his vision for a Czarian Empire. He predicted that his country's population would triple in little more than a hundred years. Such a massive upsurge would require land for crops and factories, to feed, clothe, house and provide all the resources necessary for a mighty nation. Stalgrave said that in order to thrive, Czaria's borders must be secured and any neighboring enemy submitted to their will. Finally, he ended by saying that the influence of Czaria would extend beyond its borders to every corner of the globe. Every industry in every nation would bow to Czarian interest, whether through negotiations, trade embargoes, intimidation or worse. Being a Premier, he stopped short of openly declaring military action for his expansionist policies. But he set the tone in the room that night. Of that I am certain."
Boris leaned back, taking one deep puff from his cigarette as he sat up. He looked like he was drunk, intoxicated by the very words that had spewed from his mouth.
"So that's your speculation?" Nicolai asked. "That Stalgrave is simultaneously trying to conquer those lands bordering Czaria while pressuring all other nations to bow to his will."
"Is it so hard to imagine? That such a man would want to extend his power as far as possible?"
Nicolai picked up the splintered wood. He studied it.
"So what now? What does this all mean for you and me?"
Boris leaned in to snatch the wood from Nicolai.
"I'll notify the others that the Guard has sent emissaries. Extra eyes will need to be posted on every street corner to watch for increased monitoring by the authorities. No doubt that the Shavice will be conducting more night raids on our meeting spots." Boris looked around the rooftop, his eyes pausing at each potted angelino tree. "It'll be awhile before we're able to meet here again. And as for you, you should go back to your place. Stay there for a couple days. That one day as a porter may have sealed your fate too. I just pray to Ada that you are spared. Too many of our sons have already been lost."59Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxXfpRlBgol
