This is a fan translation of Cold Shores (Холодные берега) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy author Sergei Lukyanenko. The novel is the first in the Seekers of the Sky (Искатели неба) duology.

Chapter 3

In Which I Finally Make a Choice but Doubt that It's the Right One

Old Cellar turned out to be so much better than Indian Trail that I was forced to feel grateful towards the flyer. There were no young fools here, the selection of wines was excellent, and the food was more than decent. For the first half-hour, Helen didn't even talk business. We ate, drank an entire bottle of excellent dry wine, and I relaxed. No, the flyer had no intention of giving me up. At least for the moment.

"Are you ready for a serious conversation now?" Helen asked when the waiter served dessert and cognac.

"I am."

Our table was fairly isolated to allows us to have a serious discussion. Besides, the small restaurant orchestra was doing a good job drowning out the conversations, even though it wasn't playing too loudly.

"Can we speak frankly?"

"We can," I agreed again.

Helen was twirling a glass in her hand. Either the frank conversation she'd herself offered wasn't easy for her, or she was trying to create that impression.

"First of all, I like you, Ilmar."

A bold move…

"You really have earned the title of a count granted by Marcus. So… I'm going to consider you an aristocrat. My peer. Worthy of serious conversation and serious business."

"Thanks."

"No need for sarcasm, Ilmar. At first, I was certain that you were a dumb, cowardly brute. But you held yourself well. More than well. Would you be surprised to learn that you handled yourself the best of everyone who's been in the sky for the first time without training?"

"Of course."

"Marquis Otto, who had to quickly come to Versailles from Vienna, crapped his pants in the first minute of the flight. Not a very appetizing fact, but, unfortunately, one that is very common. You were afraid, but you managed to suppress that fear. But that's not my main point. And with me you behaved in a respectable manner. Thank you, Ilmar."

We clinked our glasses wordlessly.

"When all this is over, Ilmar, I'd like to see you in good health and with a confirmed title."

"You think it's possible?"

"I do. Count, I'd like to bring you up to speed. I'm afraid…" Helen smiled, "your absence from the court has affected your understanding of the matter. First of all, who junior prince of the House Marcus is…"

"The son of the Possessor and Polish Princess Elizabeth. A prince without the right of inheritance. A nobody, to be honest."

"Correct. Nice going, Ilmar. Well then… I haven't been to the court in a long time. But I do have friends there… good friends." The flyer smiled, and I felt a sudden and stupid pang of jealousy. "So I have a fairly good understanding of the situation. Prince Marcus is a very clever boy."

"I've noticed."

"In addition, the boy has shown himself to be a big debater, a fan of discussions… Basically, the court clergy treated him seriously. Seriously enough to give Marcus the chance to dig through ancient archives. The most restricted archives… his title allowed that, and no one saw any danger in it. Tell me, is there any harm in letting the boy read some ancient manuscripts from the time of the Redeemer and his disciples?"

"Is that right?"

"It is. But here's the shadiest part of this story; even my sources haven't been able to learn any details. The boy has opened a book… one that dates back to fifty years after the Redeemer's deification. Or even older. Probably older. He was permitted to take that relic and sit with it at the temple's library. From what I understand, those pompous court priests had no real idea what they had. But, just in case, they informed the Successor and the highest office of the discovered incunabula. The answer came a day later. God's Stepson gave the rank of a holy paladin to his most trusted secretary and sent him to the Louvre on a glider."

"A popular time… for holy paladins…" I grunted.

Helen narrowed her eyes and looked at me but didn't ask anything.

"But when the paladin arrived to the Louvre with the command to escort the book and Marcus himself, just to see if the boy has understood anything in the text, the junior prince was gone. It seems he'd been able to read and understand enough to draw the right conclusions."

"Which are?"

"That his life is worth nothing now! There's something so valuable in that book that, after speaking with the paladin, the Possessor personally gave the order to capture Marcus. His own son, even if illegitimate! It's the sort of secret that results in the death of anyone who has touched it!"

"What about the book?"

"Marcus took it with him. On his Word."

I was silent. It seemed that my face was showing everything clearly, and Helen went pale in the face, "You knew? He had a book on the Word?"

"He did…"

"Did you see it?"

"No. Definitely not. But the boy nearly went hysterical when I suggested that we burn it… it was dark where we were hiding…"

"Ten and one!" Helen swore. "Why didn't you?.."

"But I' alive. And I haven't touched the deadly secret."

"Who's going to believe it now?! If they catch you, they'll torture you to death just to make sure!"

"Do they happen to suspect you? You delivered the boy to the mainland and in return got the book…"

Helen gave me a grim smile, "Why else am I sitting here with you, Count? Of course they do."

"But it's ridiculous!"

"Ilmar, you have no idea how high the stakes are. I'm not from some insignificant family, trust me. And the Possessor has personally noted my accomplishments to the House three times! And yet… my life is hanging by a thread. The holy paladin, who is still at the court, is demanding my arrest and interrogation. As he told the Possessor, 'It is best for a thousand righteous men to die in pain without fault than for a single sinner to look into the holy book.'"

"What can possibly be in it?" I exclaimed. "What?"

"I don't know. The Redeemer's personal diary. His disciples' notes, and not the ones that ended up in the holy books, but the originals, without censorship and omissions. No, that makes no sense… Ilmar, if it was just about a religious relic, then the Possessor wouldn't have panicked. The entire court is buzzing like a wasp nest. The decree about my arrest and questioning is on the Possessor's desk and can be signed any day. Here I am drinking with you, and maybe at this very moment my friends are bringing an order from the Louvre to capture and deliver Countess Helen, the flyer known as the Night Witch."

"Damn."

Helen nodded. She drank some cognac, indicated the bottle with her eyes, and I refilled her glass.

"My arm hurst," she sighed. "It's a rare year without broken bones for us… The timing is terrible, though… So things are bad, Ilmar. We had the misfortune of meeting Prince Marcus."

"You're telling me. I'd much rather be swinging a pickaxe in the mines…" I swore. In fact, I wouldn't have had to work a pickaxe; I wasn't on the bottom rung of the night society… hadn't been. But now I really would have preferred to honestly work the iron mines instead of worrying about my skin.

"That's why I found you, Ilmar. We need to stick together now. Maybe we'll think of something."

"How did you find me?"

"It was the clergy that got you out of Amsterdam, right?"

I sighed, "Yeah."

"The entire guard post that let you through was court-martialed, Ilmar. Tell me, there was a strange event in a forest between Brussels and Lyon… The Guard wasn't allowed there, the holy brothers are investigating on their own…"

"Yes, Helen. I was being taken to Rome by the Sister's holy paladin Brother Ruud and two ordinary priests. We were stopped by another paladin, from the Church of the Redeemer, with his own henchmen. It turned into a bloodbath."

"That's how I followed you, Ilmar. From Amsterdam to Brussels. From Brussels to a remote forest path. And then I took a chance and bet on Lyon, you like big cities. Once here, I started checking out the local eateries. Recognized you by sheer chance… Tell me, did you… anyone…"

"Yeah. One of the ordinary priests of the Redeemer."

Helen put her hands into the shape of the sacred pole and shook her head, "You won't be able to pray away a sin like that, Ilmar."

"I know. That's why I didn't go to the Successor as Brother Ruud asked. If they're ready to kill each other over me, then it's way too easy for them to get rid of me too. And I have nothing good waiting for me in the afterlife."

"The Church isn't united in how it sees Marcus and you, Ilmar."

"Really?"

"Well, there's no difference for you personally. But I was able to find out that the brothers of the Sister and the brothers of the Redeemer are demanding different things from the Successor. The brothers of the Redeemer believe that you, Marcus… and me too, by the way… need to be eliminated on the spot. Even if the book they're hunting for disappears into the Cold forever. But the brothers of the Sister believe that first they have to squeeze the truth out of Marcus and everyone he's run into any way they can. The Successor is managing to maneuver for now; he's a master of intrigue, no worse than any courtier. But it could happen that a choice will have to be made…"

"A schism?" I whispered.

"Yes. And a massacred across the entire State. It'll be the end of everything, Ilmar. Both denominations have about equal influence. Brother will fight brother, son will fight father. A few months of bloodshed, and then we'll be swallowed up by the Russian Khanate."

"What about the Possessor?" I asked quietly. "Who does he support?"

"Himself, Ilmar. The Possessor always supports only himself. If things go south, he'll try to replace the spiritual leadership with his own people. But will he manage that?"

"What does he want in relation to us?"

"The book. If the book ends up in his hands, then we have a chance. From what I understand, the Possessor is aware of its contents. Either God's Stepson was forced to share, or he has his own sources of information. The Guard is searching everywhere…"

"Guard Captain Arnold is currently in the city…" I briefly told her what happened at the David and Goliath restaurant and then about my trip on the roof of a stagecoach.

Helen shook her head, "You got lucky. But, as you can see, I'm not the only clever one. The Guard is going to start a manhunt in all the cities and nearby settlements. The holy brothers will join too, there's no doubt of that."

"Helen, you have a glider…"

"And?"

"We need to hide abroad. In Russia, in China. Anywhere."

"It won't help. Not for long. I've thought about that… that's what I've come to…" Helen gave me a sad smile. "As soon as they learn that we've left the State, they'll really panic. They're going to think that we have the book. Missionaries and secret agents will start looking, there will be a bounty on our heads… And do you think the other countries are ruled by idiots? All the embassies are already looking around. Everyone will be searching: our people and theirs."

I was silent. The world was turning into a nightmare, a trap I couldn't escape. How do you catch a lion in a desert? You build a wall across the entire desert. Then cut each wall in half with another wall. And so on, and so forth, until the lion was in a cage.

And walls of people were stronger. And could be built much faster.

"Speak, Helen. You've obviously thought of something, otherwise you wouldn't have looked for me."

We clinked our glasses again.

"Ilmar, you've spent over a day with Marcus. Maybe the boy has mentioned where he was planning on hiding, even if it was just a word. If we get him ourselves, then there will be a chance for us to come out of this alive."

I took a deep breath. Forgive me, Sister! It wasn't good to give up your friends, but if we were suffering because of Mark through no fault of our own, and the entire country was ready to fall into the depth of war, then I didn't have a choice. It would be best for me to accept the sin into my soul, it was dark anyway…

"Helen, he didn't say anything. I was the fool who promised to take care of him, to get him an apprenticeship… But on the way to Lyon, I spent the night in the home of an old man. He turned out to be a former court doctor, Baron Jean of Baghdad…"

"Tall, thin, graying but still black hair, talking like he's always out of sorts?"

"Yeah. Except he's entirely gray."

"I know him. Seen him at the House once… three years ago. Everyone always laughed behind his back… his job was to treat the mistresses of the highborn, perform abortions, deliver babies, fix facial defects… There was even a popular joke about not allowing Jean to treat hemorrhoids; he might forget himself and turn the butt into a second face…"

I said nothing, digesting the information. Poor doctor.

"He was tossed out of the House with a small allowance and a nonexistent title," I said. "As you can imagine, the old man isn't particularly full of gratitude."

Helen nodded.

"He recognized me. Don't know about butts, but he really can read faces. He managed to recognize me by those terrible newspaper pictures. And gave me advice on where to look for Marcus."

"Well? Did you kill the doctor?"

There was no pause between the two questions. I shook my head, deciding to start with the latter, "No. I don't think the old man will give me up."

"You can't take any chances in such matters," Helen said fiercely. "Fine, let's say it's true. Where's Marcus?"

"Are we going together, Night Witch?" I asked after a pause.

"Yes! Of course!"

"Swear. On the Sister, the Redeemer, our Lord, the House, the honor of a noblewoman! The sky that holds up your wings!"

"Everything together?"

"You can do each in turn," I ignored the sarcasm. "Helen, I'm taking a risk here. Try to understand."

She sighed and seemed to slump a little.

"All right, Ilmar the Thief, Count of the Isles of Sorrow. I will swear an oath, from my heart, without concealing any deception. I swear on our Lord, his adopted son who has redeemed the sins of man, his Sister who became God's daughter, the honor that is in my blood and title…"

I listened to the entire oath to the end, ready to correct Helen if she spoke a little too vaguely.

But she'd said everything right.

"Very well, Helen. I believe you."

Reaching out, I touched her face, "I also swear, Helen, even though you didn't ask me to. I swear on our Lord…"

We must've looked strange to people. A beautiful noblewoman with a broken arm and a bohemian-looking man whispering something to one another with stony, tense faces. The good thing was, the first thought anyone might have upon seeing us would be a secret rendezvous of lovers of unequal standing."

"I believe you," Helen said.

"Miraculus."

"What?"

"Wonderland on Capri. The old doctor believes that to the boy it's the happiest and brightest memory in his life. He's going to try to go there. In fact, he's probably already there. Or at least he's been to Miraculus."

Helen's face brightened a little.

"Possibly. It's not a certainty, Ilmar, but it's possible… You did well."

"That wasn't me, it was the old baron."

"Still, you did well. You behaved yourself in such a way that the doctor gave you advice. They say you should never trust a doctor about anything, but I'm prepared to risk it in this case. Except Miraculus is too open to serve as a hideout. Has the House really not thought of it yet?"

"I don't know. We need to check."

"Agreed, Ilmar."

"And let's not linger. You know… don't be offended, but I'd prefer the chair behind you to a narrow bed."

"Naughty." Helen shot me a look. "Very exotic."

"Helen, I'm not kidding. We need to hurry."

"Gliders don't fly at night, Ilmar."

"Why do they call you the Night Witch then?"

"Ilmar, I've flown at night only two times. God forbid. Even the altimeter doesn't always help, especially on an unfamiliar route. And trying to catch an updraft at night… No, dear count, you're just going to have to invite me in."

"You know, I'm not particularly upset about that," I admitted.

Helen didn't appear to have any prejudices. Maybe all the highborn were such libertines, maybe the blood in her family was hot, or maybe the risk in which flyers lived had that effect on them…

We spent half the night making love with the passion of youngsters who'd tasted the forbidden fruit for the first time. I was ready to beg for a break a few times, but Helen managed to wind me up again each time. Only by morning, when dawn was already starting to break, the flyer settled down and fell asleep. I lay on the edge of the bed, looked out the window, held a glass of flat champagne, alternating between placing it on the floor and picking it back up. There was a strange, dreary feeling of falsehood in my heart.

As if I'd bought a working girl for the night. No, with her it would've been simpler and more honest. I'd also bought Helen, although not with money; then again, I'd never be able to afford her. I turned out to be useful, so Helen paid me back… in her own feminine way…

My thoughts were angry and unjust. No, in reality it wasn't like that at all. It was even worse. To the flyer, I was just a random traveling companion, with whom she could sleep, do business, and have a glass of wine with. A curious companion, half-thief and half-count. But no more than that.

Of course, how had I earned a different treatment? By not behaving too much like a villain during our first encounter? That was like an executioner being proud of his axe being sharp… I'd used her to get to the mainland, so now she was using me. It was fair.

And now we were doomed to be each other's partner, maybe even something like comrades, but nothing more. There was never a second chance to create a first impression.

So make use of what was being given to you, thief. Value the disposition of a highborn and brave flyer.

But don't expect more.

If only… no, it was stupid, of course, and hoping for it was ridiculous… but if the Possessor confirmed the title given by his willful son…

I'd get so much iron out of the Isles of Sorrow that any peasant would have a knife and a fork! Of course, the ore had been depleted, and the mines were old, but there had used to be a lot of iron in the ground, and people hadn't known how to get it well.

If he were to work the old dumps, they'd produce three times as much as the mines. The work was easier, and they wouldn't need lifts. True, it was harder to watch the convicts on the surface, it wasn't the same as locking them in a mine and giving out provisions in exchange for ore, but they also wouldn't drop like flies. And also stop sending everyone to the mines, instead recruit workers among the commoners…

I shook my head and laughed quietly. I, a thief, was thinking about the well-being and prosperity of a work camp.

I was out of my mind!

Maybe Nico had been right, and I had to look ahead… but not that far ahead!

After finishing the warm flat champagne in one gulp, I pulled up the cover and moved closer to Helen. The flyer was breathing evenly and smiling a little in her sleep. Oh, girl, witch… if I were a real count, you'd never get away from me.

And I didn't even know if she was free or had a husband…

Probably not. She wasn't wearing a ring and behaved freely. Besides, what man would want a crazy countess soaring up into the sky every day as a wife?

Only a fool like me.

Half-asleep, or maybe I did sleep but didn't even notice it, I waited until morning. Helen shifted, leapt off the bed easily, as if she hadn't been sleeping, and went to the bathroom. I watched her go. There was the sound of water, then the flyer exclaimed disapprovingly, "This is a lousy flophouse, Ilmar! The water's ice-cold, smells of copper…"

"Have you ever had to sleep in a field under a bush?"

Helen stuck her head back into the room for a moment and nodded, "Oh yeah. And in the desert when my glider fell, and in the mountains when hajduks were chasing us for two weeks… But that was war."

"My entire life is a war, Helen. This flophouse is luxury for me."

The flyer fell silent, and then there was embarrassment in her eyes.

"All right, Ilmar, don't be upset. I've been a little spoiled of late. There's probably no hot water at all in prison."

"The only water you're going to see in prison is in a mug, Helen. Although I don't know how it is for the highborn."

Helen disappeared in the bathroom, then said in a conciliatory voice a minute later, "It's warm now. I guess the boilers have cooled overnight…"

I got dressed at a leisurely pace, waited for Helen to clean herself up, which took a while, then went to wash up. When I came back, the flyer was putting on makeup, looking into a small mirror. But at least she was doing that quickly, even one-handed.

"How are you flying with a broken arm?"

"With difficulty. It's not even clear if the bone is broken or just cracked. Just in case, the doctor called it a fracture… Don't worry, I won't drop us."

"I'm not worried.

"Maybe you should be a flyer," Helen suggested either as a joke or in all seriousness. "We don't really look at origins… there are even guys who don't know the Word… All right, I'm ready."

"Going straight to Capri?"

"Not sure. I'll try, Ilmar, but it's not the sort of distance a glider can make in one go. If we can reach Rome, that'll be great."

"Rome? What if the House has already ordered your capture? If the holy Church finds out, and then we go there ourselves?"

"Then it'll be over. But there won't be other glider fields on the way; well, there will be, but very small ones. And we're going to have to change boosters and will need fresh flight charts. But, if all goes well, we'll next spend the night on Capri."

I waited for the flyer to put away the bright vials and boxes with cosmetics into her bag, then looked around the room to make sure I hadn't left anything.

No, not that I had anything to leave…

I told the receptionist in the lobby that I had to leave immediately. He reached into the desk drawer reluctantly, as I'd paid up for two days and was entitled to get some of that money back. I waved it off. It was fine. The receptionist blossomed into a smile; it seemed such earnings didn't happen often.

The young bellhop chatting with his buddies in the corner gave Helen a curious look and threw me a conspiratorial wink. The bastard seemed to have decided that I'd picked up a girl following his advice…

And so we left Hospitality of the Sister, leaving a firm impression that a sailor had come on shore leave, cast off the uniform, and had himself some fun.

It was even windier outside in the morning, and a tiny nasty rain was drizzling. Helen wrapped herself into her cloak, and we walked along the street, past the luxurious skyscraper of Hannibal Hotel. The streets looked deserted, as if the bad weather had sent everyone home.

Then I recalled where else I'd seen such empty streets, and my heart began to pound.

"Helen, there are very few people…"

"It's raining."

"Helen, we need to find the nearest herald. Quickly."

She gave me a surprised look, but we went towards the hotel nevertheless. At the entrance, we really did see a guy in a bright orange uniform. Heralds were always young and lost their voice in five or six years. At our approach, the kid straightened and spoke, as if not even to us, "People and visitors of Lyon… By order of the Guard, you are to stay indoors and not come out unless absolutely necessary. The city is being searched for the escaped convict Ilmar; anyone who spots someone matching the description must inform the authorities! The features…"

Shrugging, I led Helen away, and the herald immediately fell silent, figuring that the passersby didn't care, and the road and the hotel walls had already memorized his monologue.

"How did you know?" Helen asked.

"I can feel it, my girl. I have a nose for manhunts."

"It's fine." She picked herself up. "We'll head for the glider pad, the Guard has no access there…"

"Is it far?"

"Of course. Outside the city, on the hills."

"Is it a good idea to fly in this weather?"

Helen said nothing for a few moments, then said reluctantly, "No. But I'm going to fly."

Just our luck, we didn't see a single hired coaches. Either they'd obeyed the command of the Guard, or they'd figured that they weren't going to be many passengers today. A deserted city was a vile sight. Especially in the rain. No bright umbrellas, no hurrying passersby, no people hiding under overhangs and awaiting route stagecoaches. As if it was a rock hail falling from the sky instead of raindrops…

"Did you get enough sleep?" Helen asked suddenly.

"Yeah, almost. I don't want to. I'd rather sleep in the glider. I'll be scared less and won't get in your way."

Helen smiled weakly.

"Thanks. I didn't expect you to trust me that much."

"We're partners."

"That's not what I mean. Flying in this weather… well, it's hard. You know, I was already starting to consider delaying the flight… but if there's a manhunt in the city…"

"Get me out of here, flyer," I asked. "If they grab me, then Arnold is going to kill me on the spot."

"Why? He has to have orders to deliver you—"

"Helen, he also has his own reasons. He will kill me, as if by accident… it's not in his interest for me to talk."

"My God… How do you get yourself into all this trouble?"

"I'd like to know that myself. Probably a force of habit."

"There's a guard up ahead," Helen said sharply.

She was right. A guard was standing at an intersection, hiding under the overhang of a rich home. Tall, fair-haired. Probably not an officer, even though I couldn't make out rank insignia from this distance, but probably a low rank. He was already glancing in our direction.

I felt anger begin to boil. No rest from these bastards! Was I supposed to keep running from the Guard for the rest of my life?

It would've been dumb to turn away, it would've simply caused unnecessary suspicion. We kept on walking.

"Excuse me…" The guard beckoned us, not even deigning to step out from under the overhang. He looked Saxon but spoke Gallic as like a native. Very young, maybe twenty. Not the best idea to give authority to someone like that…

"Yes?"

"There is a special situation in the city," his eyes peered into my face. No, it didn't look like he'd recognized me. That was probably greed in his eyes. "It's not recommended for you to be outdoors."

"Not recommended or forbidden?" I asked in the tone of an insulted law-abiding citizen.

"Not recommended. Your name?"

"Anatole, sculptor Anatole." I jerked my chin up proudly. "Thank you for the warning, I will escort the lady and return home."

"And where do you live?"

"Here." I pointed in the direction of a building whose appearance clearly gave away cheap furnished rooms. "In the mansard, next to the workshop of painter Egmont… Let's go, you can check…"

For a moment, I thought it was going to work. The guard clearly didn't want to climb stinky narrow stairs up to the mansard. But…

"Who can vouch for your identity?"

"I can," Helen spoke in an icy voice.

The guy's eyes ran across the flyer. He clearly understood that he wasn't dealing with a working girl, but that only served to egg him on.

"What about yours? Whose wife are you, where do you live?"

"I'm Countess Helen, peasant!" the flyer barked. "And I can vouch for my own identity."

Something wrong was happening in the world. I thought that the guard believed her but didn't back down.

"My apologies, Countess. We have orders to detain all men of a certain appearance. Regardless of title or rank. Your companion fits the description."

No wonder! Half of the men in Lyon fit that description!

"You're going to have to come with me," the guard went on. "The precinct is close by."

"We're in a hurry," I said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you have violated the order of the Guard. You're going to have to be punished."

No, he didn't think that I was Ilmar. Not for a moment. He was just hoping that a highborn lady coming home early morning with her lover would prefer to settle the matter with a bribe to avoid publicity. And if we did refuse… then at least he'd be able to go to the precinct, sit there in warmth, get some hot tea, or maybe even something stronger…

It was all clearly visible on his simple as a brick face. The greed, the desire to leave this drafty intersection, the joy of a commoner mocking people significantly higher and smarter than him…

My heart ceased pounding quickly, entering a calm, even rhythm.

"Kid, you're making a mistake," I said.

"Arguing with the Guard?" the snot-nosed kid livened. He placed his hand on his club. He would probably be very happy to slam it down on me and would even bring Helen down with no regrets.

"All right. Then let's settle the matter here," I winked.

The guard hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching the street. Bribes were supposed to be punished heavily… only I'd rarely heard of a guard being caught at this commonplace task.

"In any case, there has to be punishment, right?" he asked. "So you'll probably get a fine at the precinct… maybe five marks, if not more."

"I understand," I said and reached into my cloak, feeling the dagger gifted by Mark. I threw another glance at Helen, and she shrugged.

"You're an idiot," I told the guard a moment before the blade pierced his heart.

The guy swayed, going for his club, as if it was a firm place in a world that had suddenly lost stability.

"Shh," I told the guard, dragging him to the wall. He was even moving his own feet, staring at me dully. "What, don't like it?"

"You could've just given him a few coins," Helen noted. "You should've. An unnecessary trail…"

I wiped the knife on the guard's clothes and shoved the corpse into a gutter. The running water darkened.

"Snake," I said. "I don't like snakes."

"Who does?.. Ilmar, you've probably passed your dozen long ago, right?"

Helen was calm, the way only an old, tempered soldier could be.

"No. He's number eight."

"Let's go."

We moved on. The guard was left in the gutter, either dead or still dying. But I had no illusions; he was number eight, and the Redeemer's wrath was getting ever closer.

"You do it so easily, Ilmar."

I said nothing. Even I felt ill at ease from the ferocious speed with which I'd dealt with the guard. Indeed, there really hadn't been a particular need to do that; I could've just given him a few marks, and no problem…

"You know, Helen…" I inhaled the cold air. My hand suddenly shook… "Long ago, when I was still a boy, wolves appeared near our town."

Helen gave me a piercing look. No, Night Witch, don't even think about it. I wasn't going to tell you the name of the town… my parents and sisters were still living there…

"They gathered a posse. It turned out that there was just one wolf… an old, seasoned wolf. It didn't even touch the cattle, knowing the likely outcome, but they still rounded it up. Did it the proper way, with dogs, crossbows, encirclement. Even placed us boys with rattles… where they didn't expect the wolf…"

The flyer was listening silently. We were moving farther and farther away from the dead body.

"So, naturally, the wolf came out to us. I guess the beast was in some ways smarter than the people. We didn't even really have any weapons, so we scattered. Only one kid stayed, shaking the rattle and screaming. He thought the wolf was going to run back, straight into the hands of the beaters."

"And?"

"The wolf tacked him and tore out his throat. In an instant. Even though it could've simply walked around him, it completely ignored out shouts and noises… Then it kept on running. That was when I learned that you never chase someone into a corner… be they man or beast."

"What happened to the wolf?"

"Ran away."

"And the boy?"

I gave Helen a surprised look. Had she never seen a wolf?

"He died, of course. You know, I was really sad for the kid, we'd played together and all that… but I also understood the wolf. The wolf didn't kill him because it felt its own strength and his weakness. It would've leapt onto an armed grown man the same way if he stood in his way. The wolf was letting us know that we shouldn't corner it."

"So it ran away?"

"Like I said. They found it in spring… it died during the winter, of old age, of weakness. It couldn't hunt wild animals anymore and didn't get close to paddocks. But at that time it ran away."

"You know, Ilmar, if someday I end up cornering you…" Helen gave me a quick look, "warn me. Just warn me first. I'll understand. All right?"

"All right."

We walked for ten more minutes but didn't see any more guards. But we did run into a coach drearily moving towards us. The overjoyed coachman demanded a ridiculous price for taking us to Lyon's airfield, but I decided not to haggle.

As long as no one cornered me, I was a nice man…