* * *

On a rectangle with a floor map emblazoned with the scarlet inscription "Evacuation Plan", dozens of arrows scattered from numerous offices and halls, trying to leave the building through six exits, two on each side of the building facades and one on the ends. We were standing a few steps away from the main entrance and were supposed to exit from the side to the fenced-off bus-parking area. The only thing was that it was not as straightforward as in the three-color scheme.

"Maxim, it's this way," Mikhail called out, pointing to the end of the queue, going off for some reason to the first floor and then to the third, going down the stairs again in the far wing.

A human chain entangled the building, winding its way through flights of stairs and corridors, slowly moving forward in small increments once every five minutes.

I had already managed to run up to the first floor, looked at the "extra" corridors blocked by tables with armed people on chairs nearby, heard many new poems from Fyodor, who enjoyed moving quickly and comfortably on me, and many unpleasant words from people angry beyond reason - I would not have enjoyed standing for hours leaning against the cold yellow walls either. So I looked at the map, searching for a shortcut.

"Maxim?" Mikhail Alexandrovich, who waited patiently, asked.

"Let's go down this door to the shelter," I ran my fingernail over the sign beside the door two corners away. "There's a similar door in the other wing, so there must be a corridor in between," I drew an imaginary line from icon to icon. "That would lead us to the technical rooms. It's right next to the reception rooms but on the other side."

"Shall we wait in line?"

"Fyodor wants to eat," I said flatly.

From above, they hummed in agreement.

"So are we!" Tonya squeaked.

"Maybe, but at least you're not chewing my hair," I muttered, trying to give Fyodor a reproachful look. "Anyway, come with me."

The door to the shelter was in its place, in a small nook behind the common room, and it was securely locked - but there was no soldier nearby.

"Closed, no key. Shall we go back?" Mikhail asked hopefully.

"It's not really closed," I poured the Gift into my hands and pressed leisurely with my palm near the top hinge, gradually increasing the pressure to the sad groan of the wood and metal.

"Someone will hear!" Fyodor's father panicked, looking around.

"Tonya, Katya, cry a little," I asked the girls. I saw the lack of understanding in their eyes, exhaled doomfully, and turned to the only sensible person in the family: "Fyodor, bite them!"

The hallway was immediately filled with maiden cries, behind which the sound of hinges being broken out was completely lost. I pushed until something on the other side rattled, and the top edge moved a dozen centimeters away from the doorjamb. Another push - now with known force and speed - and the door tilted audibly, opening a passage into the cool and damp corridor below, mysterious and dark. Even the girls stopped crying and stared with interest, laced with apprehension, into the dark gap of the back door.

Mikhail Alexandrovich helped us gently push the sash back and put it back in place once we were inside.

"It's dark," said Fyodor in a slightly shaky voice.

"Hm..." I ran my palm over the wall, hoping to find a light switch in the darkness.

Nearby the little ones prepared to cry.

"Shall we go back?" Mikhail repeated a bit sadly.

Wasn't he curious about what was next? What secrets the damp dungeon kept, how long there had been no people here, what they had left behind, what passages ran out of the place, and where they led to... Scary, of course, to the point of creeping backwardness, but very interesting!

Something flashed distinctly in the darkness, very close by. And a warm tingling sensation - so familiar and forgotten, it seemed, forever...

"Have you seen this?" Uncle Misha twitched beside me. "There, in the dark!"

Fyodor's legs squeezed my neck - he noticed too.

"Not there," I said with a smile, bringing a clenched palm to my face. "Here."

With incredible hope, interest, longing, and desire for a new meeting, I opened the palm of my hand. And when I did, the darkness was illuminated by a tiny spark floating slowly over my hand.

"What is it?" Mikhail whispered softly as if trying not to frighten it away.

And even Fyodor bent to the point of touching my forehead with his chin and tried to sniff very quietly.

"Soul," I answered softly, pouring my Curiosity wide open, genuinely afraid that the little light was about to disappear from my life again.

The grey corridors were illuminated by the warm glow of a small hand-held sun.

"It's so bright!" Fyodor marveled.

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"It's dangerous to be without it," I remembered from the last two years. "Let's go," and I was the first to walk down the slope, lighting the way for all of us.

The spacious corridor turned at right angles several times, steadily descending until it led to a wide hall with a dozen branches. If I hadn't counted the turns, I would have been completely lost, and the large signs "Shelter" followed by a number would not have told me where to go next. Apart from empty rooms with massive benches by the walls, we did not come across anything at all; probably, if someone lived here or simply left something interesting behind, it was in other places. Sometimes there seemed to be something at the border of light and shadow, though - at least, the girls were always watching someone and squeaking at their father. But I trusted Fyodor more; he only quoted Byron once all the way, and that was because of a fire shield that gleamed with the metal of a bucket.

We walked up the same corridor, trying to be quiet in this part of the building - all the rooms were occupied by the new owners of the city. The noise of the crowd was faint, and any sounds from behind a closed door could be of interest to the guards. The door did not need to be broken down. It opened from the inside without a key. It did, however, have two crunches and a creak in the hinge, but fortunately, nothing happened during the five minutes we waited on this side of the shelter for trouble to happen.

"Let's go," I waved my hand and stepped quietly around the corner, leading the example.

"It's very dangerous what we're doing," Mikhail said to me before stepping forward.

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It was as if he couldn't believe that it was all happening to him and that all he had to do was follow the trail for the adventure to continue.

"The worst-case scenario is that we get kicked back," I shrugged, not at all anxious or worried. The excitement of the new encounter with a personal miracle overfilled my heart and encouraged me to smile and teach Fyodor some normal poetry, cheerful and sunny. I didn't want to be afraid or worried at all.

I did not run away from people or try to hide; on the contrary, I immediately approached a woman walking about on her own business and politely inquired:

"I've lost my papers. Do you have any idea..."

"Second office on the right-hand side," she swiped a glance and walked past without lingering.

I only had time to memorize the name and patronymic on the rectangular card affixed to her chest and repeated them to the officer at the next desk near the corner.

"Tatiana Petrovna sent us here," I answered the crystal-clear truth to the formidable question, "Stop, where you go?"

"Come in." The tension disappeared from the soldier's face, and his attention returned to the newspaper on the table.

On the right-hand side was a spacious office with three ladies at small desks the size of school desks, occupied by rectangular monitors. On the floor, however, papers were piled up in small towers produced by a growling printer of the same size as the one that lived by the window. It seemed that even one pile could be touched, and all the rest would collapse, showering the whole office with white and black petals. So I had to walk very carefully to the nearest desk - because no one turned around at my coughing. Mikhail sensibly stayed by the door, clearly not trusting the small corridors between the stacks and his own grace with the bulky bags. Fyodor had to be unloaded, too.

"Good day!"

A woman in her forties struck up a new cannonade on the keyboard.

"Tatiana Petrovna sent me," I said the magic phrase.

The weary depths of grey eyes looked at me intently.

"I lost my papers," he smiled dazzlingly.

"Any document with a name, photo, and stamp," a cold, indifferent voice voiced coldly. "Bank cards, birth certificate?"

"Nothing," I continued smiling optimistically.

"Parental petition, certificate of three full citizens?"

"Erm..." I involuntarily became nervous.

Really, who said it was going to be that easy? It's more like I made it up for myself, and now I'm standing there not knowing what to do. Somehow, it seemed like begging those gray eyes was no use at all.

"Maxim, why aren't you talking?" Mikhail suddenly appeared next to me, fidgeting with his wallet and documents. "Hello, beauties, this is my son. Here is my passport. Do I have to write a statement?" He froze expectantly, pulling out a solid metal pen from somewhere.

"Your son?" stretched out the woman.

"My brother!" Fyodor pressed his leg against him, snuggling up tight and looking at the aunt with a challenge.

"Brother!" the girls on the other side hugged him.

"I see," the lady smirked, double-clicked the screen, and glanced at Mikhail's passport. "So, Maksim Mikhailovich Samoilov?"

"Yes," I confirmed with a dry throat amid the wild pounding of my agitated heart.

"Date of birth, age, place of birth."

"The tenth of April," Mikhail helped me out.

For some reason, I couldn't say a word, confused as to whether to say the first of January, on which everyone in the boarding school celebrated a single birthday for everyone - and for the coming year too. Or whether to say June, the date of which is reflected in my file left in the headmistress' safe.

"Subjection?"

"Imperial."

"Would you like to register under our coat of arms? There will be benefits and employment. No?" She summed up without much enthusiasm as she sent the document off to be stamped.

The printer zigzagged with new paper - not plastic, but a sheet of stamped paper, with my name and my new surname. The seal rattled resoundingly, decorating the foot of the document with the coat of arms, and the stroke of a black fountain pen flickered, drawing the lady's signature.

"A temporary identity card. The Imperial Chancellery will change it to your main document and take your oath of loyalty."

"Thank you..." I exhaled, addressing everyone at once.

Even the lady was touched - the corners of her lips lifted slightly in a smile.

"Shall we take the bus next?"

"You can buy tickets in cubicle six," the woman immediately turned cold, going back to tapping the keys.

"Have a nice day!"

Outside the door, Fyodor took hold of my hand with his two arms and walked proudly beside me, glaring defiantly at everyone who passed by.

"One ticket is ten thousand," muttered the man behind the sturdy metal counter, concealed by the thick glass with a metal box in a recess below the frame.

The drawer immediately creaked, sliding towards us and offering to deposit the money.

"How much?!" Even the perpetually calm Mikhail became indignant.

"You can take a loan, sample documents are at the information desk, or you can pay with valuables," the man said for clearly the hundredth time that day, looking at us carefully - not just at Michael, but at the girls on his shoulders, at Fyodor and me.

"But this is a robbery!"

"You do not need to buy tickets. The quarantine will be over in a fortnight."

"How are we supposed to live for two weeks?! Nothing works in the city."

"You can order money from relatives: the phones are by the wall," he pointed with his chin to the other side of the long hall, with three payphones already occupied by a small queue - frowning and boiling with anger.

There were a dozen windows in all, and judging by the obvious indignation of others' greed in the room, the price was one for all. An unbelievable price.

"Are there discounts for children?" Mikhail clearly suspected the answer and clarified.

"No. That'll be fifty thousand rubles. Pay up or don't hold up the line." He defiantly turned back to a bench with armed soldiers who were closely observing the legal robbery.

"We want to walk!"

"Foot traffic through roadblocks is prohibited during the quarantine period."

Michael spluttered his arms, looking at me slightly helplessly.

"And nothing can be done?" I asked skeptically, suspiciously picking up on the excessive talkativeness of the clerk.

Indeed he doesn't hush us... And across the two cashiers' windows, a young couple, clearly not looking rich, are signing some papers with a smile on their faces. That's no way to part with money!

"For those who have changed their allegiance, the tickets are free. There is a twenty-year installment plan and guaranteed employment," the clerk gave a purring speech.

"Lifelong employment," Mikhail corrected him exasperatedly, pulling out his wallet. "We'll pay."

The banknotes crunched, moving in several columns. Then reassembled into a single stack and were counted again. And again.

"There's not enough," Mikhail muttered, not looking at anyone.

"I can wait in town," I voiced.

In fact, I'll go the opposite way, and then - through the woods and into Kornouhovo.

"No, son!" he answered emphatically. "Here, take the chain."

The money in the box was joined by a thick yellow chain that had been removed from his neck and freed from his cross, which Mikhail put in his breast pocket.

"Forty-two thousand." The clerk read it out, counted the papers, and indifferently dropped them somewhere near his feet. "The chain is five hundred."

"It's worth ten thousand! It's a piece of jewelry!"

"We set the prices here," the man said firmly.

"But we have nothing more!"

"Girls' earrings, an engagement ring, a cross," he listed, making me hate his indifference and businesslike attitude.

"Tonya, Katya..." said Mikhail in a broken voice, "daughters, I'll get you new ones."

With quiet tears, beautiful earrings with scarlet stones and a ring rattled into a drawer and were just as swept away somewhere under the table.

"Your tickets. Next!" shouted the clerk over our heads.

A soldier immediately stood up, gently pushing us away from the counter towards the exit to the bus station.

"Robbery..." Mikhail hissed in rage beside him, completely losing his usual polite and courteous look. "I would... if I..."

"Totally agree," I nodded glumly, not at all happy about the grey rectangles of tickets and the end of the journey.

For such money, you could buy a bus, not five seats for it.

The bus platform was buzzing with a sad but optimistic bustle - some had lost money, and some had realized they had lost their freedom, but the feeling that the worst was soon behind them cheered and drew timid smiles on frowning faces.

"Your seats are thirty-six to thirty-eight, bus sixteen." The soldier at the entrance to the regular intercity bus let Michael and the girls through and immediately put his palm in front of my chest. "Seats one to two, bus seventeen. Departure in an hour."

"Let me through. These are my children!" the father indignantly, from the top of the stairs.

"Not allowed," the soldier replied dryly.

"Don't you get it? They're small!" Mikhail panicked, intent on blocking the doors.

"The bus goes from station to station. Nothing will happen to them!" yelled the ticket taker, shoving his rifle butt away. "You wait at the station, don't keep the bus!"

"We'll make it," I smiled optimistically through the window.

"We'll get there, Dad!" Fyodor squeaked, holding my hand.

The door hissed shut, and the engine roared, picking up speed. Before our eyes, the bus turned and rolled briskly out the gate.

"It'll be all right... Dad," I added, struggling to pronounce the unusual word. "Come on, let's not stand in the driveway."

"What are we going to do?" Fyodor tugged at my arm.

I placed the bags on the grass by the curb and placed my brother on top.

"You will guard our bags," I replied cheerfully.

"And you?"

"I'm going away for a while, but I'll be back! Secret business," I winked and flicked him lightly on the nose.

"Which one?" he snorted, smiling.

"I'll let you in on a little secret. I am a bit of an emperor. And I have to explain to someone that you can't steal from the emperor's family."

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Chapter 23

For the glory of the Emperor...