The Key to Her Heart

1: A Rumor in St Petersburg

St. Petersburg, 1927

Dimitri whistled as he strolled down the street, his hands deep in the pockets of his fraying coat. St. Petersburg was white; covered in a dusty blanket of delicate snowflakes. The Neva lay frozen next to him as he walked down the quay*, the water dark below the ice. People jostled the young man as he squeezed through the crowds. His shoulder bumped roughly into a well-dressed man, nearly knocking him over. "Oh my, I am so so sorry sir," Dimitri apologized, shaking the man's hand as he stared into the man's eyes. "Really, I am. I hope you're all right?"

"Don't worry, dear boy, it was an accident. Thank you for your concern." The man smiled at Dimitri's innocent face and continued on his way. Dimitri smiled and kept walking, slipping a watch into his pocket. The run-in had certainly not been an accident on the thief's part. 

He kept walking along, enjoying the sights around him. St. Petersburg was all Dimitri had ever known. He knew every alley, every street and every rooftop like the back of his hand. He knew the teashop down the street had always had a leaky drain and the house around the corner had always been abandoned. He sighed, accidentally stepping on a stray sheet of damp newspaper. 

LENINGRAD DAILY

They can call it Leningrad, but it'll always be St. Petersburg, Dimitri thought bitterly. New name, same empty stomachs.

He finally came to a small, run-down shop with merely a few pieces of rusting jewellery in the dusty window, one of the many signs of Russia's poverty. The bell rang as he walked through the door, summoning the owner with an excited. It was quickly replaced with a glare as he saw who his customer was. "Sudayev, if you've come to sell me a piece of stolen jewellery again I swear-"

Dimitri gasped in mock offense. "Me? Steal? Sergei, how could you accuse me of such a thing?" He tutted. "The Bolsheviks don't like liars."

Sergei rolled his eyes at Dimitri's childish antics and sighed dejectedly. "What stolen thing do you have for me today?"

"A fine watch a gentleman gave me just a little while ago." Dimitri slipped the watch onto the counter with a smile.

"Gave you? Something tells me that he hasn't even noticed it was gone."

"Oh, it was easy. He really thought I bumped into him by accident."

Sergei shook his head. "Dimitri Fyodorovich Sudayev, you little snake. Where did you learn to do it?"

Dimitri didn't reply. "How much for the watch?"

Sergei noticed the deflection but said nothing. "Two rubles."

Dimitri's eyes went wide. "Only two!? That's worth at least five!"

"I can always drop it down to one."

"Five."

"Two."

"Four?"

"Two."

"Three. No more, no less."

Sergei thought about the deal. "Fine." He slammed the paper on the counter. "Three rubles, no more, no less." Dimitri gladly took them, tucking them neatly into his coat pocket with glee. He turned to leave, but Sergei hadn't finished. "Just know that some of us have families to feed. You only have yourself. Be careful, Sudayev. Greed can get you in dark places."

Dimitri's eyes darkened and he slammed the door behind him. The conversation had left a sour taste in his mouth. Who does he think I am? A greedy imperialist? Or maybe a thieving Bolshevik? Speaking of the devils themselves... He had spotted two Bolshevik soldiers in crisp uniforms standing nearby, eyeing his dishevelled figure. That was his cue to start walking briskly down the quay, keeping his head down to avoid attention. He didn't trust the Bolsheviks, or any Red Russian. Or anyone, for that matter.