Sons of Chenia

Chapter 7

The fog thickened as it rolled into the harbor. Even as it hit land its density grew so that in the streets people had to walk slower so as not to run into one another.

Boris dragged another angelino plant close to the fire they had burning in an iron drum. Typically an unapproachable character, Boris was nonetheless a soft touch when it came to angelinos. He loved the taste of their reddish-orange flesh, which dripped juice with every bite. While he could vaguely remember the time he spent in Chenia as a boy, the one memory ever present for him was the sweet scent of their blossoms. Even those growing in the pots on the rooftop managed to expel a whiff upon blossoming, albeit much less stronger than the groves that flourished in Chenia.

Boris warmed himself by the fire, all the while keeping a steady eye on the plant next to him. The other Chenians on the roof also crowded around fire drums, sipping hot tea seasoned with brandy, a Chenian favorite. While none of them were drunk, all were too consumed with staying warm to notice the firm knock on the stairwell door. All except Boris.

The guard at the door hesitated to open it as Boris approached. Boris raised his hand to assure the guard that his hesitation was justified. As he leaned towards the door, Boris' hands slipped behind him, to rest on the Zenista knife sheathed on his belt.

"Identify yourself," Boris barked.

Silence followed Boris' command.

"Speak or find trouble."

"I'm a friend of Petrov's."

"There are quite of few Chenians names Petrov."

"You know who I speak of."

Boris gripped the small hilt of his knife. He drew it an inch from its sheath. But he hesitated to pull it out completely. There was a certain sense of familiarity from the voice on the other side of the door as his instincts urged him to nod to the guard, who fumbled with his keys before finding the one that unlocked the door. The guard flung it open to find Nicolai on the stairs, dressed in a heavy wool coat and thick cotton cap.

"Green Eyes."

"Boris."

"It's been so long I didn't recognize your voice."

"Then the fault is mine for being absent so long. My apologies."

"He's not here."

"I know. He left Knight's Harbor early this morning."

"His Uncle Tobin."

"You read his letter?"

"Invasive, yes, I know. But checking the letters that pass through the hands on this rooftop is my security in uncertain times."

Nicolai stepped up off the top stairs and onto the rooftop.

"You were once a delegate of the Old Council. In Sagemark. Were you not?"

"That detail of my life is never to be spoken of. The Old Days bring bad memories of strife and failure."

"What more can I say? Petrov mumbles after three good brandies."

The guard eyed Nicolai as he cradled an item in the palm of his hand, one wrapped in a handkerchief.

"If what he told me about you is true, then you'll want to see this."