The man was flanked by two others. They were heavy shapes in long coats, their hands buried in their pockets. The man in the center was different. He was tall and slim, dressed in a fine wool overcoat that seemed to repel the damp and the grime of the dock. His face was handsome, his smile polished. He moved with an easy grace that did not belong here.
Sineus knew him. Count Dmitri Orlov, a man who moved through the halls of the Imperial Chancellery like a disease.
Anja’s hand went to the knife at her belt. Sineus gave a slight shake of his head. Orlov was not a man who used simple violence. Not when a word would do. The skiff bumped gently against the rotting timbers of the dock. They had nowhere to run.
— Prince Sineus, — Orlov’s voice was smooth, cultured. It cut through the damp air like fine crystal. — And the notorious Anja Kovac. What an unexpected pleasure. The canals are so dangerous these days.
He made no move to approach. He simply stood there, a beacon of corrupt order in the chaos. His objective was clear. He wanted something.
— We were just leaving, — Anja said. Her voice was flat. A wall of stone.
— I’m sure you were, — Orlov replied, his smile unwavering. — But I come with an offer. A way out of this unfortunate business. The city is on lockdown. The Germans are crawling over the Palimpsest. You are running out of time, and you are running out of city.
He took a step forward. His polished shoes were silent on the wet wood.
— The Imperial Chancellery is prepared to offer you safe passage. Out of the district. Out of Petrograd entirely. New papers. A new life, even. All this unpleasantness can be… erased.
The word hung in the air. Erased. The solution of a butcher. The solution Sineus himself had once championed. The price was simple. He knew it before Orlov said it.
— In exchange, — Orlov continued, his eyes fixed on Sineus, — for your research. Everything you know about the Heart of the Artisan. A simple copy. For the state archives, of course. To protect the Empire.
It was a clean offer. A simple transaction. Give up a piece of knowledge. In return, his problem would disappear. Lilya would be safe. He could take her away from all this. It was the easy path. The logical path.
— He’ll sell us to the Germans before the ink is dry, — Anja muttered, her voice low and venomous. She did not look at Orlov. She looked at Sineus. A test.
Sineus looked at the Count. He let his other sense drift, just for a moment. He did not need to see a full memory. He just needed the residue. The stain. It was there. It clung to Orlov like cheap cologne. The memory of a dozen other deals. The ghost of promises made in quiet rooms and broken for a handful of rubles. The faint, cloying satisfaction of betrayal. Beneath it all, he heard a sound. A quiet, rhythmic clicking. Not the frantic rattle of reality tearing, but the smooth, oiled tick of a well-made machine. The sound of Orlov’s own gold pocket watch, a sound of perfect, mechanical dishonesty.
The choice was clear. The easy erasure Orlov offered, or the hard path of remembrance. The path that meant carrying the weight of his quest, of Anja’s trust, of Lilya’s fading life.
— No, — Sineus said. The word was quiet, but it landed with the weight of a closing vault door. He had given up one memory today. He would not give up his integrity. The price was too high.
Orlov’s smile did not falter, but it lost its warmth. It became a mask of polished ice.
— A pity, — he said. — A debt to the Chancellery must always be paid.
He gave a subtle nod to the men beside him. They started to move, their hands coming out of their pockets. They were not holding guns. They were holding something worse. Short, dark cylinders that hummed with a low, hungry energy. Memory-cutters.
But Anja was already moving. She kicked the side of the dock, pushing the skiff back into the water. Sineus was a step behind her, shoving a stack of rotting crates into the path of Orlov’s men. They stumbled. It was enough.
Anja yanked the starter cord. The engine roared to life. She slammed the tiller, and the skiff shot backwards, away from the dock, melting into the thick fog that was rolling back in from the Neva.
Orlov stood on the edge of the dock, watching them go. He did not seem angry. He seemed patient. A man who knew that all debts are eventually collected. They had made an enemy of the Imperial Chancellery. Another predator in the water.
The fog swallowed them completely. The sound of dripping water returned. The air smelled of cold iron and decay.
Sineus pulled the schematic from his coat. It was damp, but intact. He smoothed it out on the bench. Anja kept the engine at a low growl, navigating them through the maze of forgotten industrial waterways.
He pointed to a cluster of buildings on the map.
