The tilt-rotor that touched down on the frozen, wind-scoured landing pad was specially adapted to deal with the cold - likewise the men that approached to escort it's passenger were cocooned in layers of insulating clothing.

Lemuel stepped out into the blasting Siberian cold wearing only his white suit. The men were not surprised - they'd seen this before. One of them saluted, and then they formed up around their guest as they proceeded at a run towards one of the low, dark buildings that were the only aboveground structures.

There was an absurd amount of security to pass through - as Lemuel went downwards, the doors grew thicker and the checks grew more thorough. This was a prison, of sorts, where the hardest, most desperate products of a hard and desperate prison system ended up. They were all condemned to death, and might try anything to escape, so the guards stayed alert and followed their procedures to the letter.

The penultimate door, though, was guarded only by a single guard and an unshaven, ragged man in dirty overalls - he was cuffed, and the guard was taking no chances - he held a gun against the man's head. Lemuel entered through a steel door, but the one ahead of him in the small chamber was an ordinary wooden door, set into an ancient-looking stone archway. Several decades-worth of ominous warning signs in cyrillic script were stuck around it. There was a duffel bag on the floor.

"You can uncuff him now," Lemuel said.

"Sir, this is very dangerous man. Eight murders," the guard, an officer, remarked.

Lemuel reached out and took the man's forearm, lifting it up to show the cuffs to the guard. "Unlock these, please. He won't cause any trouble now," Lemuel said.

Indeed the man did not, even when the guard uncuffed him. He intended to - he meant to strike out at the guard, seize his gun and take this newcomer as a hostage - but he just...didn't.

"You can go. Thank you," Lemuel told the officer. The man nodded, and walked out through the previous door.

"Open it," Lemuel told the prisoner, nodding at the wooden door. "There are some stairs, then a large chamber. Carry that bag down for me."

The prisoner nodded, and complied.

The stairs led into a large chamber, which had been hung with soviet-era floodlights. Lemuel turned them on with a timer switch that looked Frankenstein-era - it was a huge, ticking thing. It ran, he knew, for precisely three minutes seventeen seconds. He'd timed it once, while he'd waited for a particularly indecisive sacrifice to weigh up his options.

The floodlights illuminated a hemispherical space. The walls were old, crudely dressed stone: in some places braced with pit props and I-beams, or patched with concrete. There was no other door.

The only other way out of this room was a stone archway in it's centre, of much better workmanship than the walls. It was decorated with strange, arcane symbols and was big enough for a tall man to walk through comfortably. Looking through it, you could only see the rough wall behind it.

Or so it seemed.

Lemuel pulled out his phone and held it to his ear. He didn't bother dialling.

"It's me. I'm here," he said.

The prisoner gasped as a bearded man appeared on the other side of the archway. His clothes were strange, archaic-looking things: he wore a cloak, and was holding what looked like a crystal ball up to his head with his right hand, as if it was a telephone. It was not his raiment or odd behaviour that had made the prisoner gasp, though - this new man was not standing behind the archway.

He was not there - except he was.

"Hello boss!" Sergei said. Lemuel could hear him through the phone - the prisoner heard nothing.

"Can you see me?" Lemuel asked.

"Da," Sergei said. "I wave, look." He waved. "You have cigarettes?"

"I'm glad you're focusing on the important issues. They're in the bag."

"Don't send them through with him, boss, okay?"

"Of course not. I'll be through directly." Lemuel hung up.

"What is your name?" He asked the prisoner, in accentless Russian.

"Mikhail," the man answered. He was a hard man, but very afraid. He did not know why he had not run already.

"Put the bag down, Mikhail," Lemuel said. The prisoner nodded and dropped the duffel bag.

"What were you told when you volunteered to come here, Mikhail?" Lemuel asked him.

"Very dangerous research program. Few men live, most die. If I live, I go free, new identity, no records," Mikhail answered.

"That is broadly correct," Lemuel said. "You have a decision to make, now, Mikhail. What you are looking at is a portal. On the other side of that portal is another world. There is no Russia in this other world - you will have a clean slate. You will be given food, clothes, local weapons and a thousand gold pieces - a lot of money, enough for a very comfortable life - and allowed to go free to do as you will. There are people there, people like you. There are towns and cities. You will never be able to return, but no police from here will ever come looking for you. Do you believe what I am telling you?" Lemuel asked.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Da," Mikhail said, staring at the portal.

"Then you should also believe this. The portal works in a very particular way. Two men go through. They must walk through of their own free will: that is critical. The second man always makes it. The first man almost never does. If you walk through that portal, you will almost certainly die."

Mikhail swallowed and nodded.

"So your decision is this: walk through the portal before me, or return upstairs where your sentence will, eventually, be carried out." Lemuel didn't need to state that escape was not an option.

Lemuel was impressed that the man didn't hesitate, once he'd decided. He strode through. The portal went opaque behind him - an unhealthy, dirty-pink colour - and a few moments later, Lemuel's phone rang.

"Sergei," Lemuel anwered it. "Has Mikhail arrived?"

"Ha! Sort of. A hand, this time, also I am not doctor but I think maybe is some intestines? More leftovers than usual, they must not be hungry today. Anyway, is fine, come through," Sergei reported.

Lemuel picked up the bag and walked through the archway. As he passed through, he could almost hear the snarling. The portal returned to it's translucent state as he stepped across the divide between worlds - he could look behind him and see the chamber on the other side, just as the lights flicked off.

"Sdrasvitye, boss," Sergei greeted him. They were standing in a mirror-image of the other chamber, with the exception that the illumination here was provided by a pair of magical orbs.

"Sergei," Lemuel nodded, and stepped over Mikhail's hand and the aforementioned pile of intestines, which were steaming slightly.

"I'll let the dogs in, they will clean up," Sergei said.

His hands were twitching, Lemuel noted. He gave him the duffel bag. Sergei almost literally tore it open and fished around until he found a carton of cigarettes. He placed one between his lips and snapped his fingers - it lit, seemingly by itself, and a moment later Sergei exhaled smoke.

"Christ, it's been ages," Sergei remarked.

"They do have tobacco here, you know," Lemuel told him.

"Is not same," Sergei shook his head, as he closed up the duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Anyway, airship is waiting up top," he said, as they started towards the way out.

"Good," Lemuel said. "You can fill me in on what's happening here on our way to Vyrinios."

- o O o -

Cally's cell had actually turned out to be a storeroom - it was lined with shelves. In a quest to find something warm to wrap herself in, Cally had used the last of the daylight coming in through the small barred window to search them all. The shelves were stacked with wine, stronger spirits and, to her surprise, many boxes of tiny daggers: if she'd been of a mind, she could have armed herself quite well, at least against an onslaught of dolls.

None of the shelves had anything remotely warm to wear on them, though, and Cally was cold. Her disguise wasn't really designed to keep anything particularly well covered or insulated, and she was still barefoot. Even as the light faded it wasn't cold enough to be life-threatening - it seemed to be early spring or thereabouts, not winter - but it was uncomfortable.

Cally wasn't particularly worried for her own life - she doubted there was anyone within these walls capable of getting through the sort of protective shield she was capable of creating. Arctanian teaching forbade the use of offensive force, but she was free to employ as much defensive force as she could muster. Unfortunately, breaking the door open would come under the former heading, so she was, for the moment, stuck. Honour dictated that she should keep up the pretense that she was a prostitute for as long as possible - the longer that lasted, the safer Hennara and the other girls at the Unsheathed Dagger would be.

She was also curious - what game was Leni playing?

She didn't have to wait long to find out - just after full dark, there was a knock on the door.

"Um, come in?" Cally ventured, wondering why her captors would bother to knock. She readied a shield.

It was Leni who entered, carrying a bucket and a tray - she also had a cloak and a pair of boots.

"Cally," she said, closing the door. "I brought food and water, and this is for, well, y'know." She put the bucket and tray down on the floor. "I also thought you might be cold." She placed the cloak and boots down too.

Cally wasn't too proud to accept these - she slipped her feet into the boots - they were a reasonable fit, and placed the cloak around her shoulders.

"What are you doing, Leni?" Cally asked.

Leni sighed. "When the curse broke - or I thought it broke, anyway - I got scared. You won't know this but McKenzie - remember him?"

"I remember McKenzie," Cally said.

"He's been with us for four months now, and he's been threatening to kill me pretty much every day of those four months, and saying how he was gonna hunt me down even unto the ends of the earth and all that. I believed him. When the thrill of being out from under the curse faded, well, like I say, I got scared. I was just gonna stop for someone to eat before I blew town, but all the time I was thinking what I'd do if he came after me. The Archmage would've owed him a favour, Danna would've been more than happy to help him scour the lands for me, hell's hunger, even your sister would've helped! He'd find me and kill me with those magic crossbows of his. Then the chance came up to meet with Iyanus, a powerful troll - I made a deal with him. He'd protect me from McKenzie if I told him who killed his boss Aghkar – which was us, by the way, although it was McKenzie that actually did it - and didn't betray him to Sharinta or Danandra," Leni explained, looking very uncomfortable. "We made an oath, the strongest oath trolls can make: we swore on all our possessions and prey in the afterlife."

"How very noble of you," Cally said, sounding almost as dry as Danandra. "I take it from your sudden attack of forgetfulness earlier that you're reconsidering this arrangement?"

Leni nodded. "The curse isn't broken, or at least bits of it are still working. McKenzie was here earlier, and he couldn't kill me. He said that if Le-, if he comes back, well, I don't know what he might do to me if he finds me helping out a gang lord. Kill me, most like."

"If you promised not to betray this Iyanus, then why are you telling me this?" Cally asked.

"You're not your sister, are you? You're not covered by the terms of the oath. Cally, you gotta help me. I gotta get out of this deal. I'll run, go forever, you'll never see me again, I promise," Leni pleaded.

Cally thought for a moment.

"The curse must truly be broken, Leni, because I find myself at liberty to say this: I may not be able to end your miserable, selfish existence, and maybe McKenzie cannot either, but I'm certainly no longer required to help you prolong it. Go to the hells, Leni, and I hope you go there hungry," Cally said, not without a certain amount of satisfaction.

Leni blinked. "Cally, please."

Cally said nothing.

"Well, maybe you need time to think about it," Leni said. "I was told to tell you, by the way, to make sure you finish all of that." Leni indicated the meal. "Iyanus wants you fattened up before he eats you."

"Unlike you, Leni, I don't have to fear Iyanus," Cally said.

"You should," Leni said. "He commands powerful mages, mages that could deal with your powers. If you wanna avoid that, well, help me out. Agree to talk to McKenzie, get him to relent."

Leni backed towards the door. Cally wondered if she could force her way past her - but that would be playing games with her vows of non-violence as a priestess of Arctan, and she had already decided to keep her deception up for as long as possible.

"I only knew him for a short time, Leni, but I got the distinct impression that he's not the relenting type," Cally said.

"Well, you've got until breakfast - which is probably you, by the way - to think up a way to persuade him. Sweet dreams." Leni closed and locked the door. Cally shivered, and drew her cloak tighter about herself.