December 1st, 1990

It was strange how easy it was to get used to sudden twists and turns in life. Of course, for Anika, the past year had been nothing but strange and unexpected life changes. One moment she'd been a zookeeper, and then a freedom fighter, rescuing her father from prison, falling for a dashing foreign soldier, rescuing the rallying-point leader for the hopeful future of her country, and fleeing that country only to find herself suddenly married, and a mother, with a house and new job in a foreign country. A lot had happened, and yet it felt like almost no time had passed at the same time.

The two weeks since Ted had left to return to the front in Drachma without her had been strange, but not necessarily in a bad way. Anika had expected to feel left behind. It was her family and her country fighting this war, and she should be doing her part.

Yet even as the new mother of a nearly-two-month-old baby boy, she was doing her part. To her shock and relief, she had not been sidelined. In fact, as much as they could get a hold of her, the Amestrian government had been keeping her very busy. Her mornings constituted getting herself and little Nikolai up and ready for the day, and making a short visit over to the zoo to check on Myrda and the rest of her animals. Any one of her friends was happy to hold the baby for a few minutes while she insisted on doing her work herself. By then, he was usually awake and hungry again, and so after feeding both tiger and baby, she would be off again, to Military Headquarters, where they would have her checking their translations of coded messages, helping code communications they wanted to reach Mihalov or her father, and offering her opinions on terrain and tactics as if she had ever been a member of the Drachman military. It didn't seem to matter that her father was the one who had served as a General. They seemed to understand that growing up his daughter and listening to her father talk military strategy for years, as well as working as a resistance member herself, afforded her her own credibility.

Or at least, some of them felt that way. She couldn't speak for the entire military, but President Heimler and the rest of Ted's family seemed ready to trust her word. It was a startling realization, and she tried very hard not to abuse the position that gave her. The last thing she wanted to do was make a mistake.

It was amusing though, to watch them listen to her intently, with Nikolai strapped to her front or back using the wrap blanket she liked to use with him to keep her hands free. He was happy to sleep right on through military meetings at this age as long as he was fed and changed at regular intervals.

For intelligence, apparently the Amestrian military would accept just about anything.

"We've learned not to be too egotistical about it," was the comment General Closson made when she voiced her curiosity after one of the meetings in President Heimler's offices. "Especially when dealing with a force that has proven superior to ours in the past."

Amestris would never not take Drachma seriously, and Anika could her personal emotion behind those words. "You fought in the war." He didn't look all that old, even if he was clearly older than her.

Closson nodded. "I was seventeen and already a State Alchemist when the war started. I was assigned to the same unit as Fischer actually. It was an educational couple of years."

He was putting it kindly, though that made him a good bit older than he looked. Anika had no illusions anymore about what any armed conflict could do to people, and once here, she had quietly made a point of checking out the library, and looking at what Amestris' own records and papers said about the war. From talking with Ted, she already knew that both sides represented the war very differently, but for Amestris it had been a war of survival against an overwhelming invading force. Thousands of civilians had died.

She had never felt more of a kinship with these people than she did now. "I hope, when this is over, my people are appropriately grateful for all that yours have given to secure their freedom, especially the ones old enough to remember when our countries were openly enemies."

Closson smiled kindly. "It would be nice," he admitted. "I've been on more than one mission of peace between them. It would be ideal if this one stuck."

"Well, while I cannot speak for all of Drachma, I feel like I can at least speak for my family. I know that my father has deeply regretted his involvement in the War for many years, and has always been an outward and outspoken proponent of the peace and economic treaties between Drachma and Amestris. That's probably a major reason why Valhov had him locked up in prison instead of trying to use him to win the military to his side."

"It's also one of the reasons we trust him now," Closson admitted. "If we judged everyone for following orders and what they did in war, we would all be so guilty from the blood on our hands that there would be no one left alive in the military who could be trusted, on either side, ever, and at this point a large number of civilians doing what they can to get by." Then, for some reason, his eyes took on an amused glint. "I don't suppose you have some free time? I just remembered that we have a guest on the grounds today that I think you should meet." He eyed the sleeping child across her chest. "That is, if you have the time."

"I have a little." If Nikolai was true to form, he would sleep for at least another hour before waking up howling like a starving Aerugean shrieker monkey. Anika was incredibly curious to know who they were meeting, but Closson gave her no further clues as they wandered down several hallways and three flights of stairs. Then they were outside and crossing the grounds towards another building entirely, and an area that Anika had never been to before, but that she rather quickly recognized as…. "This is the firing range."

Closson chuckled. "That it is. Even though she's retired, this is usually where you'll find our guest, still telling young pups how terrible their aim is."

They rounded a corner to find someone doing just that. Anika was startled for a moment by just how ancient the woman standing before her looked; older even, perhaps, than the elder Elrics. Yet she stood straight and tall, eyes keen, her gold-white hair up in a no-nonsense bun on the back of her head. She was lecturing the group in front of her, who were listening intently. Then, when she finished, they turned and headed for the barracks. Apparently, they had come in right at the end of whatever she was saying.

Closson waited until she looked up and spotted them before motioning for Anika to approach. Then he stopped and saluted despite the woman's no-nonsense but civilian attire.

She smiled at him with amusement. "Stand down. Never have I been your superior officer, and I don't want the job now, Tore."

Closson relaxed and clasped her hand instead. "I'd never have survived training if you had. There's someone I wanted to introduce you to," he said without further preamble, and Anika stepped up to join him, still puzzled, but going along. She must be someone important, and that was all she needed to know until introductions were made. "This is Anika Marskaya… Elric," he added with his own amusement at the end, "our newest informational expert on Drachma."

The woman's eyes lit up, and Anika got a feeling that if nothing else, her last name had sparked recognition. She held out a hand, which Anika accepted in a firm shake. "I've heard about you," she commented simply. "Welcome, Anika. Central's no Petrayevka, but I hope you're finding it a decent place to live."

She'd been to Petrayevka? Anika supposed she should not be surprised. "I'm getting used to it," she answered honestly. "Though with everything going on, I haven't had much chance to explore a lot of the city."

The older woman laughed. "A fair answer. I'm sorry, I should introduce myself. I'm Riza Mustang."

The moment the name came out, Anika knew exactly who she was standing face-to-face with; Ted had mentioned her and so had an awful lot of other people who had seen Anika shoot. Riza 'Hawkeye' Mustang, legendary sniper, soldier, and wife of the infamous President of Amestris and State Alchemist, Roy Mustang. The one Amestris credited with the wall of flames that had decimated the Drachman line and ended the war. "It's an honor… Ma'am."

"Just Riza." But the older woman was still smiling, relaxed and easy. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to pay my respects before now, but you've been quite busy, and I didn't want to be a bother."

"It's no problem," Anika assured her. "I've been very curious to meet you. Ted said he wanted to try and introduce us, but there just hasn't been time, as you said."

"Did he now? I suppose that has to do with the rumor I've heard that you're an incredibly accurate sharpshooter."

"He did voice that as a reason," Anika admitted, finding herself warming to the woman. She supposed that to soldiers under her, or those to whom she was a legend, Riza Mustang must be intimidating, but Anika saw no reason to be nervous. The woman had a smile that reminded her a little of her mother's, with a sense of private amusement hidden behind politeness, and in this case, open curiosity about Anika. "He seemed to think we had a lot in common."

"We both married hot-headed alchemists for one thing."

Anika couldn't help chuckling, and wondered if Ted would be honored or insulted at being lumped in with the Flame Alchemist that way. "That is true."

"You can go, Closson," Riza waved at the General as if he were an errand boy. "This will be a while, and we won't need you meddling."

Anika was only a little surprised when the General took no offense. He nodded respectfully to Riza, grinned at Anika, and headed back to whatever duties he had, which Anika suspected were far more important than escorting her around. "What would he be meddling in?" she asked when he was gone.

"Oh, just girl talk." Riza hefted the rifle she had been holding earlier back down off the rack. "I'd love to see what you really can do. We can both use mine."

"That's your personal weapon?"

"It is. Though I keep it here," she admitted. "There are a couple of ranges outside the city where you can bring private weapons if you have the license, but somehow an old lady like me outshooting everyone makes them uncomfortable." Riza grinned broadly.

Anika eyed the rifle with a surprising longing. It had been months since she'd been able to shoot at something as harmless as a target, and enjoy the pleasure of a well-placed shot. "And they aren't uncomfortable here?"

Riza shrugged. "Here I think they'd be disappointed if they realized there are plenty of snipers who can match me now, even if they haven't bested any of my records yet."

"I'd love to shoot… but I think it might scare Nikolai," Anika admitted regretfully, as she took a moment to really think about her son with her.

Apparently Riza had an answer for that too. "That's what silencers are for."

December 2nd, 1990

Ian had to admit, that he wasn't the biggest fan of going north in the winter. It wasn't that he didn't like mountains, or snow, or snow rela ted sports, after all he and Bonnie had chosen to get married at a Western mountain resort in the winter. In fact, they had just celebrated their second wedding anniversary a few days before.

Still, North City hadn't originally been where he planned to have it, but he was directing a few episodes of the popular police detective drama Murders and Mayhem, and the story-arc he was working on involved shooting several scenes in North City, so here he was, and he was grateful that Bonnie was also a costume designer on the show, since it meant there had been no question or problem with her coming along. Not that they hadn't been apart before, but Bonnie hadn't been pregnant before, and it made him feel better being there for everything, even if it was to make sure she hadn't passed out face-first in sewing project.

Thankfully, at six months in, Bonnie had moved past the worst of early-on exhaustion and nausea and was into the part Ian's brothers all told him was the pleasant phase in between. Not that they had been incredibly helpful in explaining what that meant, but Ian had paid enough attention to his sisters-in-law over the years to know that the time between always nauseous and starving and waddling was the point at which they had almost enjoyed the experience.

Ian just thought she looked cute. His wife had always been hot, even in a t-shirt and jeans with her ponytail falling out. Very little about her style had changed, except for getting versions of her clothes that stretched and were cut differently to accommodate daily growth. This evening's outfit was particularly fetching, since the deep blue-green of the sweater she wore made her eyes and hair both pop.
"Here it is," Bonnie interrupted his reverie as they came to the restaurant where they were having dinner. It was a little bistro that Gloria and Alexei had recommended.

Which was good, since they were already sitting at a table waiting for them when Ian and Bonnie walked in.

"I'm surprised we beat you," Gloria said by way of greeting. "Our meeting this afternoon ran long."

"So did our last scene," Ian admitted apologetically as he pulled out a chair for Bonnie, who for once took it without complaint. She had stopped complaining about being coddled the first time she needed his help reaching something that had fallen on the floor. "The actors were fine, but we had a light go out, and then the clouds rolled in and changed the light of the whole scene and we had to adjust using another couple of lights we'd brought with us." Outside scenes were always a pain if the weather was uncooperative. That was one reason he preferred shooting outdoor scenes in the summer, or at night when it didn't matter as much because everything was artificial lighting.

Alexei nodded sympathetically. "Sudden changes can ruin the whole shot," he agreed. As a photographer, he certainly understood. "I hope you were able to get what you wanted."

Ian nodded. "We were lucky, the last take was just right, then mist rolled in right after I called cut."

"That's fortuitous timing," Gloria smiled. "How much longer are you filming up here?"

"Another week, if we can stay on schedule. I'm a little nervous about the forecast of snow in two days." Though he supposed the scene could be rewritten for snow if necessary, or moved indoors if snow wouldn't work in continuity.

"If you need an indoor location, my office might be available," Alexei offered. "I mean, I'll have to ask them, but given how much time most of us spend on the road researching for stories, there are plenty of open spaces and a couple of the floors are quiet for days at a time."

That led into a conversation about shooting needs and locations while they all looked at the menu, and ordered drinks and food. By the time appetizers and drinks had been eaten and the main courses arrived the conversation had already circled around from filming to the latest news in politics, to honeymoon stories, to baby updates. Not that Gloria and Alexei seemed in any hurry to start a family. Like Ian and Bonnie had been a few years ago, they had careers to establish, and theirs involved even more traveling. "So, what's your next big story?" Ian asked as he dug into his steak salad.

Gloria's eyes lit up, but he saw them exchange a glance before she looked back at him and opened her mouth. "Drachma," she replied, a little more softly then they had been talking. Ian didn't point out that wasn't new news. There had to be more to it or she wouldn't have looked so excited. So he waited for her to elaborate. "That's what the meeting was about this morning actually. We—both of us—have been contracted to report on the Western Drachman independence movement, and Amestris' involvement in the effort… as war correspondents on the front lines."

Ian's fork paused in mid-air. "You're going back?"

Gloria nodded enthusiastically. "It's brilliant isn't it? We'll be the Amestrian reporters on the scene, right there with the most current news, with proper equipment this time. The government's approved it, and Gavril Mihalov himself has agreed on behalf of the Western Drachman provisional government that we're acceptable."

"Well that makes sense," Bonnie replied, "since he already knows he can trust you."

Alexei looked pleased, if a little more reserved in his excitement. "He knows we can be trusted to report the truth, based in facts, and that we won't reveal sensitive information for the sake of a story. We were the only Amestrian journalists approved, for now. Though I am told that a Cretan team may also be approved to enter the war zone. They're also having to be cleared through government channels."

Ian nodded. Anything involving crossing international lines these days seemed to involve mountains of paperwork on top of the current need for military approval. "Well, congratulations. That's a huge opportunity."

"And don't worry, even I'm not stupid enough to be on the front lines." Gloria grinned across the table at him. "No matter how good the story. Just being able to report current events that spread ahead of rumors, and counter the propaganda the Zinovek war department is spouting all over the Drachman broadcasts will be an incredible boost in information, and integrity—"

"And your career," Ian nodded knowingly at his cousin. She was just as ruthless in the pursuit of her career goals as he had been, and he had little doubt she was going to make an international name for herself in journalism at this rate. "What does the rest of your side of the family think?"

"Mom thinks it's a great opportunity, even if she's worried. She hasn't tried to talk us out of it thought. She knows it won't work." Gloria shrugged. "I told her this afternoon on the phone. Dad doesn't know, and I don't intend to try and send word to him until we show up in Drachma. It's going to take longer to get there by car than it took them."

Flying would definitely have made that a faster trip. "It's what, a week or so by roads?"

Gloria nodded. "Just over. We'll be on the road within the week. They're sending us with a caravan of supplies, so we won't be unguarded."

That was reassuring. "I'm impressed," Ian admitted. "I'm not sure I'd have the grit to go back there after getting out."

"It wasn't so bad," Gloria insisted. "Outside of the death-defying race out of Petrayevka, and the siege…it wasn't a terrible vacation."

Alexei snorted, but he looked more amused with his wife than disbelieving. "Only you could find the silver lining there, my love."

"Oh, I don't know," Bonnie grinned. "It sounded like a pretty romantic trip outside of the violent coup. A romantic trip, a proposal, being besieged in a gorgeous old estate… have you considered selling the rights to Central Vision Studios? I know a romantic who might be looking for a directing project."

That hadn't occurred to Ian, but she was right. It would make a fantastic story.
Gloria looked as if she'd been struck by lightning. "Well, I'd been working on recording it all down in a memoir just so I don't forget it, and there's what we've published in articles so far, but you're right, we haven't given anyone the rights or the details of the whole story. We should jump on that before someone writes a fictionalized version. Shouldn't we?" she looked up at Alexei with an expression that said she wasn't going to let someone else write it first.

Apparently, Alexei had already learned that there were times one simply did not argue with Gloria, because he smiled and shrugged. "I'm not opposed to negotiating a deal. As long as it's a good deal."

"Don't let CVS buy a similar story from anyone else and I'll have a treatment and outline for you by the time we get back. Sooner, depending on how long this conflict lasts."

Ian nodded. "Don't worry, if I tell Tanner I'm working on an in on the rights to the story and you're interested in negotiating he'll be willing to wait." It was the perfect story really, depending on how the war ended. Though the could always wrap it up with a daring rescue. By the time they got to needed to explain the use of a plane, they probably wouldn't even have to fictionalize it.

By then, it would be good to have a project he and Bonnie could work on together long-term, given where-ever they were, they would have to bring the whole family.

Kid, you are going to have one fascinating life.

December 5th, 1990

Cal could not decide if he preferred the interminable waiting and watching for the enemy to do something, or if he would prefer to just get on with the fighting. It made him antsy to consider what on which the Zinovek forces were waiting. There were reports of fighting to the north with Ted's team, but they were playing destructive mind-games with the enemy that was supposed to have them in a panic. That certainly sounded like Proteus. Fantastical alchemy-beasts that roared up out of mythology and ran rampant through the Zinovek camps, spreading fear along with the damage.

Meanwhile his team waited. Not that they were just sitting around. Their training—out the back side of the town around which the army was camped, where the enemy couldn't see them—was going well, and he was pleased with the few days they'd had so far. They were coming together quickly as a unit, and that was important. Not that he had really expected otherwise with a hand-chosen team. Still, they were an interesting mix of personalities, and he was grateful they could put that aside and work professionally with minimal friction. It not only helped them work well together in transmutations, but it presented a united front, which was important in front of their new allies.

Ones with whom he and Sara had already spent several hours in consultation about possible strategies and the best way in which to use the alchemists which included the very important discussion of just what, precisely, the alchemists could and could not do; as well as what they would and would not do. It appeared that Mihalov had briefed them well, since none of them had tried to suggest anything that even Cal, with his sometimes-looser sense of expediency in place of minor points of ethics, would find inappropriate. So far what they expected was defensive protection and offensive-protection as needed; cover the soldiers, protect them from anything particularly destructive if possible, and if they could find ways to minimize loss of life or secure the pass without destroying it, take the opportunity.

They had been in one of those meetings most of this afternoon, and Cal felt they might finally have a grasp of how to work basic strategy with alchemists available to protect them. He wondered if Western Drachma might be the first part of the country to put aside old prejudices fully and consider implementing alchemists the way other nations used them.

It was just after dinner in the mess when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Cal turned, and was surprised to find Gavril Mihalov standing there. He waited, knowing the man would speak without prompting.

"Would you like to join me in my room for a drink?" Gavril commented casually in Amestrian. "I've gotten a hold of an excellent vintage, and I'd hate for it to go to waste by opening it without someone with whom to share it. I hear you have excellent taste."

Well, if he meant Cal knew a lot about a rather long list of very strong drinks, he supposed that was true. Though he definitely had a more discerning palate now than he had when he was younger. There was something about the offer that made Cal think this might be an excuse to talk about something more important in private, but he could play along. "I would definitely hate to make you drink alone. Lead the way."

As he had said, Gavril led Cal through the small city of tents outside the town walls and through the open gates in the city walls that were kept open for coming and going between the military and the town itself, but were well guarded by civilian police.

Gavril did not have a tent. As the provisional leader of this whole new country, the mayors of the various towns that made up his council—or their chosen representatives—had insisted he have an actual place to stay in town. Not that it was a large place like the Gurina family estate, or even the house Cal was sure the man probably owned in Petrayevka. Both of which probably dwarfed the townhouse he and Alyse had lived in their entire married life together. Not that their house was small, but it was not what the Drachman nobility would have considered worth a man of notable standing.

Not that Cal cared. He liked his house. He also liked that it had minimal yard to maintain, and they could live very well by not spending everything they made on the house. They could have bought something more lavish years ago but he had never seen the need.

Here, Mihalov's temporary lodgings consisted of a modest, but well-appointed top-story apartment in a four-story building the military had appropriated for officer-and-government housing and offices. So it, too, was well guarded. Not that anyone gave Cal any funny looks as he followed Gavril inside. They had been shown the building the day they arrived, and their faces had become quickly familiar to anyone of rank.

It was a small apartment. Cal understood that Gavril had refused anything larger, since it was just him. Still, it was well-appointed.

The bottle in question was waiting on the table in the sitting room in a carafe of ice Two glasses sat beside it, and Cal was even more certain this was not an impromptu invitation. Still, he let Gavril open and pour the drink. "Can I ask what we're drinking?"

Gavril smiled. "This, is a very rare ice wine from the northernmost provinces. The grape season up there is short, and rare is it that they're ever to make more than a few dozen bottles in any given year. Some years conditions aren't right for any, but they have better luck up there than anywhere else in Drachma."

Cal had heard of the ice wines of Drachma, but he'd actually never had one. "I'm honored. This will be a first."

"I've only had it a handful of times myself," Gavril admitted as he saluted Cal, and took a sip.

With the clear signal to drink, Cal tipped the glass to his lips, appreciating the bright sweetness, and the hint of tart that countered it in a vibrant but pleasant balance. "That is exceptional. Do I want to know how you came by this?"

Gavril chuckled. "A fortunate find, and someone trying to curry favor, though it came with no strings attached, I assure you."

"So, what's the occasion?" he finally asked.

"Consider it a thank you…and a bit of an apology."

Cal frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I've approved the presence of international members of the press joining us here to report on the war. Currently both Creta and Amestris will be sending journalists."

Cal shrugged. There were already Western Drachman reporters from their couple of larger papers present, and it wasn't as if he hadn't dealt with them in previous wars; mostly by ignoring their presence. "It doesn't bother me to have them here. We're not going to be doing anything I would be ashamed to have reported. As long as they're kept out of anything classified there shouldn't be a problem. Why would I mind?" Maybe Gavril just didn't know him that well.

The other man did not look convinced as he met Cal's gaze evenly. "Because the approved Amestrian reporters are Alexei Deviatovski, and Gloria Fischer Deviatovski."
Only reflex kept Cal from spraying good alcohol all over the room. Instead he swallowed it too quickly, and almost choked. "You approved what?" he gasped with his first clear breath of air.

"They were invaluable to our cause in Karmatsk, and it was my personal experience with them that allowed me to convince the others on the provisional council that they could be trusted." While his tone was sympathetic there was no apology in Gavril's expression. This was a specific, calculated move based on what he thought was best and acceptable for his cause.

"When are they leaving?" If they hadn't left North City yet, he might have a chance to stop them. Not that he had any right to do so, he realized, shutting down that train of thought before it ran off at high speed.

"They are traveling with the supply caravan that left yesterday."

Damn, it was already far too late. "So, they'll be here in a few days." Cal took another drink of wine.

Gavril nodded. "The Cretan journalists should be only a couple of days behind them, in arrival time. We cannot allow the world to hear only what comes out through the limited resources of radio, not with Savahin controlling most of the airwaves in Drachma. Our allies and our own people need to know what we're doing here, and our version of events, if we are to succeed. Your daughter and Alexei built up a lot of trust amongst the listeners, even in Drachma, in a very short time. I, for one, am grateful they were willing."

Of course, they had been willing. Cal had a feeling his daughter had probably jumped at the opportunity. It was a sure career-maker, and he knew she felt personally tied to the events unfolding here because of her time in Karmatsk. Gloria wasn't one to be afraid or hide. In fact the only time he could remember her ever being afraid in her life was when she hadn't been able to stop the Hashman Syndicate from kidnapping Charlie when they were both still in school. "That sounds like her," he admitted aloud. "Given how much she's published about what she witnessed up here in the early months of the war, and what she's talked about, I'm not really surprised she accepted. She's always liked to follow any project through to the end. I don't think I've ever seen her leave anything incomplete."

"From the time I've spent around her, she's an exceptional person," Gavril added as he sipped from his own glass, visibly more relaxed now that he knew Cal wasn't going to take a swing at him or start shouting. "Not just as a journalist, though she proved to be quite adept at her profession. I do promise, they will have a security detail with them for their protection at all times. Though with Alexei along, somehow I think they may be superfluous when it comes to protecting Gloria."

"On that, we agree." Alexei had already risked his own safety repeatedly on behalf of Gloria. That, above anything else, had put aside any lingering doubts Cal might have had about the man who was now married to his daughter. Cal finally sat down, leaning back into the comfy leather chair. Complicated news or not, he might as well enjoy the drink. He was likely never going to have the opportunity again. He didn't intend to be in Drachma that long. "I appreciate the drink, whether it was to make me less likely to kill you or just to cushion the blow, but I have to admit, it seems a waste for something this precious on news you could have simply given us in a briefing."

"I considered it, but it seemed crass," Gavril shrugged, sitting himself. "Besides which, there are very few people here I can sit and have a drink with, at all. Most of them insist they're not of sufficient rank, or they're politicians."

Cal laughed. "Who you can't trust to keep their mouths shut or to have honest intentions no matter what side they're on. So you pick me instead."

"You haven't treated me as anything other than just another man in a leadership role. Amestrians don't seem to be nearly as hung up about protocol behind closed doors. I didn't figure you for the exception, and your daughter definitely talked about you. Positive things," he added, smile widening, "though honest. And, while we're being honest, the not-a-bribe I got consisted of more than one bottle."

There it was, the truth of it. Yes, it was a very expensive gesture, but not only was it not an expense Gavril had actually paid for, it was not the whole of what he had been given. Cal didn't ask how many more there were. He just saluted Gavril with his glass. "Then by all means, I will feel no guilt about enjoying this one."