Chapter Text
The tarp on the truck that Filips had been shoved into bumped unceremoniously. He was, of course, tired and drained. The grapes he had been given by the sisters at the church had almost run low, and his overalls were still stained with the blood of the butcher he assisted the morning he’d been forced to leave.
“We left quick,” Modest mentioned beside him, his own clothes stained with mud and sweat from fieldwork. “We won't starve, of course. They cooked us good bread, and they gave us good water.”
“That's running out,” Filips added before huffing and turning over. “We don't speak the language of where we are going. We come from Spain, we speak Spanish. They come from the North, they speak Russian.”
“We will learn, in time,” Modest said, laughing as Filips tossed a bit of metal at him. “Well, I am not wrong, am I?”
Filips sighed. “No, you are not.”
( I. )
Valeriy Zima kept to himself as he navigated the streets of the Northern District. His cousin, Anton Pavlov, walked beside him with a basket full of honeyed nut bread.
The streets were teeming with fellow schoolmates, and the distant ring of the bell kept Valeriy moving as quickly as possible. He was going to move as far away as he could from the stench of St. Pavel Academy, and he would succeed in doing so.
“Valeriy,” Anton said, a small slice of bread held lightly in his hand. “Hey, do you want any?”
Valeriy took the bread warily before biting into it. “Why must we go to school?” he asked, wondering what kind of rampage Anton would go on at the question.
A come-to-Christ speech is in order , Valeriy thought dryly.
“Because we receive an education which will, in time, get us a job worth something,” Anton explained before sending Valeriy a suspicious look. “You're not thinking about dropping out, are you?”
“I’m not,” Valeriy said before he had to dodge a gaggle of schoolgirls heading in the direction opposite of him. “Just annoyed with having to go for six days a week, ten hours a day.”
“You have to go through the bad to get to the good,” Anton said. “I thought you had more drive than that, Valeriy. Come, we have to make a stop at the docks today.”
Valeriy didn't question his cousin's motivations for heading to the docks. Instead, he followed and continued to wear down his small slice of honeyed nut bread.
+++
The Balt River was lively at that time of year, pushing water over the shore with power and grace, but the docks were livelier. Shipping boats were being unloaded by the dozen, and the scent of sea on them made Valeriy wonder to what lengths the boats have gone in order to arrive in the Republic of Petrova.
“Follow me,” Anton said before approaching a small, tinny looking truck with a tarp thrown over its bed. “Don't become surprised by anything, either. Some nuns in Spain wanted us to take them.”
“Who’s them and why Spain?”
Anton sighed and motioned to the truck. The driver gave him a thumbs up and began to depart.
“Their names are Filips Ozolinsh and Modest Matveev,” Anton said before following a path similar to the one the truck took. “They're around our age, except that one is around two years older than the other.”
Valeriy rubbed at his face and let his hands drop. “So you mean to tell me that there are some fifteen and seventeen years olds running around?” he asked without blinking. “Because I am not taking care of two working age people from Spain. Do they even speak the language?”
“No, they don't speak Russian,” Anton said, earning a tired sigh from Valeriy. “But they do have names like ours, so they should fit in just fine.”
Valeriy paused and squinted. “Why do they have names like ours if they were raised in Spain?”
“Their parents come from here, but sent them to Spain. Don't look at me like that, because that's all they told me.”
Valeriy opened and closed his mouth in stunned silence, almost managing to say “that's insane and stupid and you're making it up,” before Anton stopped and nodded over to the truck. Valeriy shut his mouth quickly and looked over. It had stopped in a shady part of the docks, and no one seemed to pay it any mind.
“Alright, let's have a good first impression, yeah?”
Valeriy gave a dejected “sure” before he began to wander towards the tarped truck. The driver got out, checked around, and ushered both of the boys out from below the tarp.
The grime, dirt, and blood on both of them made Valeriy flinch back by reflex, and the sight of Anton’s surprised expression left him almost breathless. They all stood awkwardly in a shady part of the docks with their eyes cast anywhere other than each other.
“No hablo ruso,” the bloody one said before he flushed and attempted to wipe some of the muck from his clothes. “Discúlpe.”
Valeriy looked over to Anton, who seemed nervous. They were probably spouting something accusatory, or asking for a bath. Valeriy shifted uncomfortably.
“¿Cómo está usted?” Anton asked, his voice sounding wary and cracked.
The second boy, the one who didn't speak at the beginning, smiled brightly and attempted to wipe the mud from his arms and legs. “Bien, gracias, ¿y tú?”
The bloody boy elbowed the muddy one and hissed something. The muddy one meekly smiled before facing Valeriy and Anton once more.
“Discúlpe,” he said, the word sounding familiar to Valeriy. “Bien, gracias, ¿y usted?”
Anton motioned with his hands in a so-so gesture before motioning for the two to come closer. They did so, and their facial features became clearer in the light of the afternoon.
The muddy boy looked like Anton with his curly hair and bright brown eyes. He had the same tanned skin, the same smiling mouth, and the same curved nose. They looked like brothers in a way.
Wonder how he would react to that, Valeriy thought before being pulled back to the appearances of the two dirtied Spaniards.
The bloody boy looked like no one Valeriy had seen before in his life. His pale skin seemed sallow, and his black eyes barely reflected any of the sunlight drifting his way. Valeriy couldn't be bothered with figuring out his ashen hair, so he focused on other things. He had a hard press to his eyebrows, long fingers, bony wrists, an eternal frown. Valeriy could go on forever.
“Encantado,” Anton said before turning and starting towards a thin crevice of the docks.
Valeriy watched as the two boys exchanged confused expressions before following. Anton paused at a crevice and stood aside with an air of patience. Of course, they all couldn't go in at once, so Anton led Valeriy through first. He managed to help the bloodied and muddy boy through before Anton followed.
Each of them were looking at the Inner District of Petrova. Pearly white government buildings and churches littered the roads, and the distant St. Papel University loomed quietly.
Great, another school to be close to, Valeriy thought, more annoyed at his failures to flee the educational system's final product (school) than his inability to forget the sound of the school bell.
“Here,” Anton held out his basket of honeyed nut bread to the Spaniards. “¡Bienvenido!”
Both Spaniards took their own slice. “Le agradezco toda su ayuda,” they said in slight unison before looking around.
“¿Dónde estamos?” the muddy boy asked, watching people pass with their satchels and kits.
Anton paused and pointed around. “Inner District,” he said in the Russian language Valeriy was familiar with. “Distrito Interior.”
They both nodded and looked around a bit more before Anton began to move. Valeriy made sure that the two young men followed, and attempted to chat with them using general motions and faces. At one point, they could communicate well enough, but that was only when they were referencing the people on the streets.
“¿Ya llegamos?” the bloody boy asked, his expression somewhat lighter.
“No,” Anton replied, sighing as they waited for the traffic to pass.
“You sound tired, Anton,” Valeriy said, laughing. “Where did you even learn Spanish, anyways?”
Anton hummed briefly before shrugging. “We have a class on it. I don't know if it's the same Spanish as the Spaniards have, but I think it's been working fine.”
Both of the aforementioned Spaniards look up in question before dipping their head back down. They knew that word well enough, it seemed. Valeriy didn't say it again, confirmation or not.
“Which one is Ozolinsh and which one is Matveev?” Valeriy asked, watching as their heads perked up again. “You didn't exactly tell me what they looked like.”
“I have their documents in my pack–or whatever stuff the nuns could scrounge up before they were brought over nine borders on the back of a tarped vehicle.”
Anton reaches into his leather satchel and pulls two messily put together folders. Photos, papers, and notebooks poke out from each. A Bible almost falls out of one, but Valeriy is quick to keep it from sliding out.
“Oh,” the muddy one breathes from in front of him, having watched the exchange happen right over his head. “¡Mirar eso!”
The bloody one's gaze snaps up afterwards, and it is immediately drawn to the Bible. He pauses, looks from Valeriy to the Bible, and slips it from the folder. Valeriy doesn't speak as Anton continues to lead, but both of the Spaniards are pour over the Bible in starts and bursts. Occasionally, passionate laughter rings out.
The loom of smoke from the Industrial District drew closer, and Valeriy felt his stomach tighten. He hadn't thought that they would go anywhere near the Industrial District, but then again, Anton knew more than he did about the situation. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Anton singlehandedly gained the support the Industrial District with only a few words.
“Hey,” Anton said, shaking Valeriy from his thoughts. “Are you finished with that?”
“Yes,” Valeriy said, feeling too troubled to even open it up. “Why are we going to the Industrial District in the clothes of the rich?”
“We're only wearing button ups and slacks,” Anton reminded. “Whether our shirts are washed to the point of pearly white or not, I know someone that would gladly take our friends in. They just so happen to live in the Industrial District, which is fine. Don't back out on this.”
“Even though I never planned to be in this to start with?”
Anton nodded without adding another word, and it was only then that Valeriy felt what it was like to be left in the dark. As the smoke grew closer, the skies grew grayer and the air grew thicker. The sun began to grow dimmer as they ventured further into the heart of Petrova's industry, and Valeriy almost ventured to ask if they could turn around and forget it.
This, Valeriy thought, is not where I've wanted to be in a million years.