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Closer to the center, all traces of the war had disappeared, as if the victor had saved for himself the beautiful five-story buildings with their green pitched roofs and rows of green plants under the windows. Only traces of the lime that had not been washed off the asphalt, dragged in by hundreds of feet, reminded us that whole neighborhoods lay in ruins very close by.

I also saw the locals for the first time. I wanted to say hello, but a married couple laden with bags preferred to cross to the other side of the street, and Valentine wouldn't let me catch up with them. The closer we got to the station, though, the faster the number of possible interlocutors increased, only I didn't dare approach them. People tried to stay in large groups and looked threateningly at those who wanted to approach them.

"Why aren't they in cars?" I asked the uncle, noticing the bags in the hands of everyone walking slowly down the broad avenue. Even the children were dragging their heavy satchels on their backs silently, not complaining or crying.

"All their property now belongs to the victors," Valentine replied indifferently. "The losers were left with their freedom and what they could carry in their hands."

"But they weren't fighting, were they?"

"Someone has to pay for the war," he shrugged.

There are so many abandoned cars on the road... And the houses don't look abandoned at all, even the curtains are in place.

"I'd burn it to keep it out of the enemy's hands," I gritted through clenched teeth.

"Damage to property is punishable by the gallows. This is closely monitored."

"Who?" I wiggled my head, not seeing anyone.

"Satellites," Valentine pointed to the sky. "Also, drones, sometimes a personal presence. We were lucky to enter the city from a ruined part through an Internal Troops post. The ruins are no use to anyone."

The conversation faded away, replaced by the general mournful march of the steadily growing crowd, marching in a measured, unhurried fashion. All that was left to do was to turn my head to the side.

"Maxim!" said Valentine, trying to catch hold of his shoulder.

"I'll be right there," I dodged, promising him, eyeing the interesting scene outside the car park of a pretty three-story building with curiosity.

A boy of about six was puffing on the side of the bumper and part of the bonnet of the snow-white SUV, stubbornly showing that he was not going to let go of the five-ton vehicle, despite the entreaties and exhortations of a slightly overweight man, hopelessly urging Fedor to let go of the SUV.

The boy would have been ripped off and even carried away a long time ago, but both arms of the parent were already occupied by two frightened girls, hardly older than the boy. He could have put them on the ground or put them on one shoulder, and the man had tried to do it twice in front of me, but both times he stopped at the sound of the girls' tantrums; they wouldn't let go of their father. It was a stalemate, and someone knew it, judging by the sorrowful look on his face. And here I am!

"Do you need any help?" I coughed into my palm, indicating myself.

Two pairs of eyes looked at me suspiciously and another pair was full of hope.

"My son, Fyodor," the man said embarrassedly, pointing with his chin towards the car. "You know, the stress, the worries, the nervous tension and..."

"Do you need help ripping him off?" I asked.

"Yes," the man exhaled with relief. "Just be gentle, I beg of you."

"Relax, I'm a professional," I rubbed my hands together, assessing the work front. "I remember ripping a dog off a sausage once, and the electrician was barely hurt."

"W-what electrician?"

"He was eating sausage," I clarified.

Fyodor immediately spread his legs a little wider and grasped the solid metal of the rims till his palms turned white. Well, well, well

"Maxim!" a disgruntled Valentine caught up with me, so I had to shift abruptly to phase one - negotiation! With Laika, by the way, it didn't work.

"Hi, my name is Maxim," I introduced myself in a friendly manner, taking a seat next to Fyodor.

He panted more and defiantly turned his head away.

"Nice car," I praised, not in the least bit deceiving. "She's big. She's beautiful. Can I pet her?"

Fyodor glanced at me with a suspicious look in his eye.

"Well, not is not," I raised my hands conciliatory. "Why are you holding her?"

"My car!" Fyodor grumbled categorically, squeezing into its surface. "My mother gave it to me."

"I see. So you don't want her taken away from you, right?"

"Well," Fyodor sniffed, still looking at me incredulously.

"And as long as you hold her, no one can take her away," I smiled, understandingly voicing his wish. "Good for you! But what if Daddy and the sisters get stolen while you're holding the car?"

Fyodor fidgeted nervously, trying not to let go of the car and look back. His father prudently stepped back behind him. Soon the lad did remove one hand to look around.

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"There's a suspicious-looking man standing nearby. What if he takes them for himself? What's more important to you, eh?"

With a swift movement, Fyodor slid to his father's feet, clutching at them with his hands and glancing anxiously at Valentine.

"I told you," I stood up, shook my hands off carelessly, and looked at the man with a sense of superiority. He was, however, looking at his kid, so I made a face at the girls on his shoulders for full satisfaction. "All the best!"

I love doing good things!

"Erm, young man..." came a hysterical sound from behind me.

"What now?"

The father of the family shifted his gaze from his feet to mine and, with even more panic than before, whispered loudly:

"I can't move!"

Fyodor's grip was uncommonly good, so he secured his father securely - no one would steal him.

Hm...

"Help me!" The man swayed after another movement and almost fell over on his side.

"All right," I sighed, turning back to the wayward family. "Fyodor! You can't see anything like that."

Fyodor looked at me, waiting for further instructions. A clever lad!

"You need the altitude!"

The body crawled rapidly upwards.

"Fyodor, stop!" The structure voiced and staggered alarmingly, preparing to panic again as the girls roared at her sides, totally unwilling to share the useful shoulder space.

"Hmm, how did you navigate before?" I scratched my chin as I considered the bizarre construction of four bodies, one of which continued to climb.

"We had a mother," the father of the family gasped. "I mean, we have a mother, but she's gone ahead, so I'm here - just like this... alone. Do something!"

It was Fyodor who decided to get hold of something, like his father's ear.

"Fyodor! It's not convenient to look there. Come down. We have a higher altitude," I looked at the uncle with an appraising look.

"I didn't sign up for this," Valentine was horrified, hiding shamefully behind my back. And he calls himself a guard!

"All right, climb on top of me," I generously allowed, crouching down beside him.

Fyodor immediately climbed onto my shoulders, squirming and clinging to my hair.

"No hair pulling! And no wiggling your legs!" I was immediately disappointed in my good-naturedness.

Good deeds aren't really my thing, after all.

"Don't pull your feet up!" I took his sneakers off and held them up. "Here, hold out your weapon. If you see the enemy, hit him over the head with your boot.

Immediately there was the thud of a well-aimed shot.

"Hey!" exclaimed Valentine.

"Fyodor, this is Uncle Wolf."

A second shoe slammed into the uncle's forehead.

"But he's a good Uncle Wolf," I looked up into Fyodor's serious eyes. "He doesn't need to be beaten. He's with us. Valentine, give me back the sneakers."

"Nope."

"He will behave well."

"What if he threw his shoe at the patrolman?" Valentine suggested reasonably.

That's right. Fyodor, you will signal danger. If you see danger...

"Hit him on the head!" muttered the uncle.

"Stand down. If you see it, you read the poetry. Then no one will know you're signaling. Did you get it?"

Fyodor nodded gravely.

"M-maybe we should go now?" The man remarked, listening to our dialogue with a strange look in his eyes.

"Yeah. My name is Maxim, by the way. That's Valentin. I have Fyodor on my neck, and what's your name?"

"Mikhail Alexandrovich. And this is Katya and Tonya," he indicated to the girls, lifting one shoulder and the other.

"Then go!"

"We've got more bags," Michael hesitated, looking at the SUV. "No, no, I'll carry them myself! It's just that if you could help me get it..."

"Valentine?"

"Fine," the uncle pronounced without eagerness, unloading the boot of the car under the guidance of the father of the family.

Four substantial bags were placed in Uncle Wolf's hands.

"I need my hands free. How am I going to work..." he muttered, weighing his luggage and ignoring the words of an already overburdened Michael.

"Shall we switch?" I nodded at Fyodor.

"All right, I'll drop it on the ground if you need me," he immediately dismissed any objections and moved ahead of us.

"And this is your father?" Mikhail Aleksandrovich turned to me for some reason.

"A hired guard," I didn't lie.

Valentine would soon turn back and leave town the way we'd come in. I don't need him to know my new name.

"Where are your parents? Forgive me for being tactless." The man tried to get ahead of me and make eye contact."

"I am an orphan."

"I'm sorry..." the father hesitated and backed away.

"It's not your fault," I hummed, continuing to stare at the motley crowd.

Gradually the whole street flowed in a thin stream into the gigantic square in front of the five-story building - a veritable ocean of people, with swirls of people and reefs of tents, currents of people picking up new arrivals, and individual pockets without any movement.

"I am leaving the city as Theseus left the Labyrinth, leaving the Minotaur," Fyodor's thin voice proclaimed overhead.

"What's that?" I shuddered.

"It's Brodsky," Mikhail Aleksandrovich said from behind.

"It's the local patrol that's approaching us," Valentine deciphered the alarm, pointing with his chin at three men with automatic weapons, wearing grey uniforms with snow-white piping on the sleeves.

"It's not us. It's everyone," I voiced my observations as I noticed the squad stop each group, look carefully at the faces, check the printout in their hands, and move on.

"Maxim, what if..." Valentine tensed up for some reason. "Not all soldiers are loyal to their oaths; you know what I mean? They might have shared their delusions..."

Mikhail hushed so helpfully behind him, giving thought to an understandable hint - Teterin or his subordinates might have given information about the foundling to the local masters.

"Gentlemen, we have to leave you," I decided, taking Fyodor off my neck. "Good luck, everyone!"

Maybe we are worrying about nothing. But if not, there is no need to involve good people. There are too few of them, these good people.

Mikhail looked very sad for some reason as he looked at the approaching patrol. He must have got it all wrong, too. And the girls hugged Dad even tighter. And Fyodor clung to my legs, unwilling to let go.

"What is it again?" I looked down at the guy.

Fyodor sniffed the first tears and clutched himself even tighter to my feet. And the grip was like a snare: Laika had to learn and learn.

"Maxim?" Valentine hurried.

"Can you make some noise on the sidelines and then leave?" I clarified, not taking my eyes off Fyodor.

I could unhook him, but only by hurting him badly. And if you have to hurt someone to do something, it's better to hurt someone else than someone who trusts you.

"I can, but I won't go back," he replied calmly, clearly in no doubt that such a task was within his grasp.

"Then our contract is fulfilled. Stop!"

Valentine stopped halfway there, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"Show me the tattoo under your shirt. Please," I hesitated.

It's interesting, isn't it?

Uncle Wolf hummed, turned his back to the patrol, and for a moment revealed a strange pattern in which a river flowed, and on that river was a rock, and from the rock sprouted a huge tree, which in its crown held a ship with wind-filled sails.

"Good luck," he tucked in his T-shirt and deftly disappeared into the crowd.

"Wow!" Mikhail gasped.

"Yes, it's beautiful," I seconded.

"Three drawings over the river, and sails open..." the father continued, looking at me strangely for some reason. "How much money did it cost to hire him?"

"Three tonnes of ice cream."

"W-what...?" he clarified at a loss.

I would have repeated it, but then something thundered so loud that my ears popped to a low chime, and my knees buckled, but Fedor didn't let me fall.

"Let's go!" I picked Fyodor up in my arms, grabbed half my bags, made sure Michael followed us, and moved quickly along the edge of the street to the square.

He's a strong man, though - the others were hit pretty hard, and the windows in a couple of nearby houses were smashed clean. And then there was such a shout! Everybody seemed unharmed, but they were frightened. Nevertheless, the patrol had to shoot in the air to calm down the crowd, and we were already at the main building and even skipped the queue, wisely choosing an open window instead of the door with the crowd rushing in.

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Chapter 22

Surname.