man?”
“Catholic.” Though lapsed, since he hadn’t attended church in years. “And rather curious about Russian Orthodoxy.”
Alexsandr grunted, a neutral noise, and glanced at his hands. “Understandable.”
“I’m enchanted by ecclesiastical architecture. The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral looks beautifully Byzantine.” Konstantin inhaled. “I plan to tour the island this evening. How would you recommend traveling there?”
Looking sideways at him, the Russian ran his thumb over his lip. “This evening?”
“Isn’t the evening light quite wistful? Might bring my camera, take a few photographs. Mean to collect an album of Russia.”
His eyes unreadable, Alexsandr smiled. “Ferries do not run to Kotlin Island in the winter. Take a ride on an icebreaker.”
“Excellent.” Konstantin faked a frivolous laugh. “An icebreaker sounds thrilling.”
St. Petersburg impressed him with yet lower temperatures.
Konstantin huddled below deck on the icebreaker, his teeth chattering, smiling and nodding whenever the Russian sailors glanced at him. They seemed perfectly content to guzzle vodka while wind howled outside.
Damn, he should have packed warmer clothes. Wolverine, or whatever they wore here. He tugged his scarf closer around his neck.
“Archmage.” An officer stared down at him. “Ready?”
Konstantin smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”
As the icebreaker docked, he trudged above deck. Christ, it was even colder on Kotlin Island. He hoped his camera would function. A few degrees lower, and the shutter might freeze. He cradled the poor machine in his gloves.
The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral towered above the city, a guardian angel. Walking closer, he ignored the stares of Russians in the street. He stopped in the snow and photographed the cathedral, holding his breath so he wouldn’t fog the lens. Sunset gilded arch upon arch of milk-white stone and domes in celestial blue.
Nobody questioned him, the absentminded tourist.
The St. Petersburg Naval Engineering Institute wasn’t far from here. Only a few blocks to the west; when he closed his eyes, he could see the photographs Himmel had taken. Konstantin meandered through the streets, stopping only to raise his camera. He pretended to take pictures; he had a limited number of plates.
When he arrived at the Naval Engineering Institute, he hit the riskiest part of his plan. Since he didn’t speak a word of Russian, he had to improvise with his tourist disguise. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried the door.
Unlocked. Perhaps luck was on his side.
He let himself into the building. In the chilly marble lobby, a uniformed official at a desk frowned and fired off some important-sounding Russian.
“You speak German?” Konstantin attempted an aloof smile.
The man shook his head, abandoned his desk, and left him alone in the lobby. In a minute, he returned with a boyish cadet.
“Good evening,” Konstantin said. “I’m here on behalf of the Archmages of Vienna.”
He was an archmage, wasn’t he? It was a believable lie.
“Can I help you?” The cadet spoke with a thick accent.
Going for imperious, Konstantin looked down his nose at him. “You have laboratories here, yes? I was promised a tour.”
The cadet glanced at his superior. “By who?”
“Whom.” Konstantin arched his eyebrow. “Alexsandr Dmitriev, to be specific. They say St. Petersburg produces the finest technomancy in Russia. Am I in the wrong place? Or will you be so hospitable as to enlighten me?”
The cadet squinted; perhaps he didn’t understand the polysyllabic words. His superior huddled with him, and they conversed in rapid Russian, their eyes darting back to Konstantin. Fear gripped his gut in its fist.
“Well?” Konstantin fetched his pocketwatch. “I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Sweating, Konstantin followed the cadet deeper into the Institute. The camera strapped to his neck felt heavier and heavier. He stopped himself
“Catholic.” Though lapsed, since he hadn’t attended church in years. “And rather curious about Russian Orthodoxy.”
Alexsandr grunted, a neutral noise, and glanced at his hands. “Understandable.”
“I’m enchanted by ecclesiastical architecture. The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral looks beautifully Byzantine.” Konstantin inhaled. “I plan to tour the island this evening. How would you recommend traveling there?”
Looking sideways at him, the Russian ran his thumb over his lip. “This evening?”
“Isn’t the evening light quite wistful? Might bring my camera, take a few photographs. Mean to collect an album of Russia.”
His eyes unreadable, Alexsandr smiled. “Ferries do not run to Kotlin Island in the winter. Take a ride on an icebreaker.”
“Excellent.” Konstantin faked a frivolous laugh. “An icebreaker sounds thrilling.”
St. Petersburg impressed him with yet lower temperatures.
Konstantin huddled below deck on the icebreaker, his teeth chattering, smiling and nodding whenever the Russian sailors glanced at him. They seemed perfectly content to guzzle vodka while wind howled outside.
Damn, he should have packed warmer clothes. Wolverine, or whatever they wore here. He tugged his scarf closer around his neck.
“Archmage.” An officer stared down at him. “Ready?”
Konstantin smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”
As the icebreaker docked, he trudged above deck. Christ, it was even colder on Kotlin Island. He hoped his camera would function. A few degrees lower, and the shutter might freeze. He cradled the poor machine in his gloves.
The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral towered above the city, a guardian angel. Walking closer, he ignored the stares of Russians in the street. He stopped in the snow and photographed the cathedral, holding his breath so he wouldn’t fog the lens. Sunset gilded arch upon arch of milk-white stone and domes in celestial blue.
Nobody questioned him, the absentminded tourist.
The St. Petersburg Naval Engineering Institute wasn’t far from here. Only a few blocks to the west; when he closed his eyes, he could see the photographs Himmel had taken. Konstantin meandered through the streets, stopping only to raise his camera. He pretended to take pictures; he had a limited number of plates.
When he arrived at the Naval Engineering Institute, he hit the riskiest part of his plan. Since he didn’t speak a word of Russian, he had to improvise with his tourist disguise. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried the door.
Unlocked. Perhaps luck was on his side.
He let himself into the building. In the chilly marble lobby, a uniformed official at a desk frowned and fired off some important-sounding Russian.
“You speak German?” Konstantin attempted an aloof smile.
The man shook his head, abandoned his desk, and left him alone in the lobby. In a minute, he returned with a boyish cadet.
“Good evening,” Konstantin said. “I’m here on behalf of the Archmages of Vienna.”
He was an archmage, wasn’t he? It was a believable lie.
“Can I help you?” The cadet spoke with a thick accent.
Going for imperious, Konstantin looked down his nose at him. “You have laboratories here, yes? I was promised a tour.”
The cadet glanced at his superior. “By who?”
“Whom.” Konstantin arched his eyebrow. “Alexsandr Dmitriev, to be specific. They say St. Petersburg produces the finest technomancy in Russia. Am I in the wrong place? Or will you be so hospitable as to enlighten me?”
The cadet squinted; perhaps he didn’t understand the polysyllabic words. His superior huddled with him, and they conversed in rapid Russian, their eyes darting back to Konstantin. Fear gripped his gut in its fist.
“Well?” Konstantin fetched his pocketwatch. “I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
Sweating, Konstantin followed the cadet deeper into the Institute. The camera strapped to his neck felt heavier and heavier. He stopped himself
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