Lucille signed the daily log and let out a restrained sigh.— Another novice for the Red Block… — she murmured, massaging her temples. — The Master has a knack for collecting exceptions.
On the desk lay the newly arrived letters of intent. Among them, one stood out:
ST Trading — 15% of the lot — $64.75
Lucille picked it up, tilting a smile.— Too generous… and far too timely.
With automatic precision she slipped the envelope into her leather briefcase — the one reserved for "private" matters. Then she looked for the VostokNeft proposal, which hours earlier had ranked as the top bidder (15% of the lot at $64.92). It wasn't in any tray. She lowered the desk lamp's shade; the table looked immaculate, as if nothing had happened.
At that moment, Eva appeared at the threshold with her notepad.— Excuse me, Mrs. Lucille. I thought everyone had left.
— Not yet — the secretary replied, smoothing her voice back to cordiality. — What do you need?
— I found this percentages table — the young woman said, showing a sheet where VostokNeft appeared in first place. — I thought the official list might need updating, so I left the corresponding letter on your desk this morning.
Lucille raised an eyebrow; her tone stayed pleasant, though a vein pulsed at her temple.— Ah, that. Vostok withdrew before closing. Your version is obsolete, dear. The list I manage is the final one.
— Understood — Eva murmured, still with a trace of doubt in her eyes. She turned and left.
When the door closed, Lucille clicked her tongue, as if extracting a splinter.— A nosy little girl — she whispered.
She tightened the briefcase lock, turned off the lamp, and left the office at a brisk pace: there was a gap to plug before the Master compared figures.
Privileges Manual
The Red Block corridor slept under amber half-light when Veronika ventured out of her room. In one hand she carried a small, gray-board booklet: Rules and Benefits for Distinct Personnel — Red Block. A fellow ribboned maid had slipped it to her on the sly, whispering, "read it away from the halls; some points aren't in the official version." Curious and suspicious, Veronika headed to the only place that guaranteed silence: the east wing, where metal filing cabinets smelled of old rust and spent ink.
The list of "assignable products" was quaint: French soaps, low-dose sedatives, imported preserves, even a vitamin brew supposedly reserved for officers. "A stimulant to keep up spirits… and obedience," she thought with a mocking smirk. Each item had a code and a special permit to be used when requesting it for delivery at reception.
— So our 'privileges' have inventory numbers — she muttered, leafing through it. — How philanthropic of them.
Collision at the Cabinets
It was near midnight when she turned a poorly lit corner and literally collided with another figure, sending cabinets and folders toppling onto Veronika.
— For the love of…! — Veronika stepped back, clutching the manual to her chest.
The girl scrambled to gather the fallen cabinets and papers.
— Sorry… — blurted the stranger, a blonde with blue eyes holding a few documents. — I was distracted and… didn't see you coming.
Veronika measured her with wary eyes for a second: simple attire, nothing like the ostentatious Red Block uniform, a braid swaying lightly. The girl didn't have the submissive look of the common maids, though she didn't project authority either. She seemed more… nervous.
— Who are you? — Veronika demanded, straightening her dress.
— Eva — the blonde answered with a timid smile. — I'm the secretary's assistant. I review reports, cross-check data… nothing very important, really.
Veronika narrowed her eyes, sizing up the stranger.— I'm Veronika. Self-appointed maid of honor of this madhouse. — She waggled the booklet. — I was studying our "benefits." Did you know we can request Belgian chocolate if we last a quarter without complaining?
Eva arched her brows, amused.— Really? I only ever get, at most, a black tea that tastes very bitter.
— Well, you can fetch mine with this red ribbon — Veronika joked.
Eva's gaze turned curious.— A red ribbon? Oh, come on, you're one of the Red Block girls. And what's that place like? — she asked, trying to sound neutral.
Veronika snorted theatrically.— Depends how much you enjoy the show. But at least they seem to hand out decent stuff. I'm new, so I couldn't give you details yet.
The two of them let out a small laugh that bounced in the metallic echo of the cabinets.
Nocturnal Confessions
As they traded quips, Veronika turned another page and frowned.— Look at this: supplement "NE-47" for "nervous fatigue." Never heard of it… do you know the name?
Eva leaned in over the manual.— Sounds like a light sedative. Pharmacy keeps its own ledgers of in- and out-flows, so I don't know details. — She lowered her voice. — But I'm seeing some errors in their inventory, though I'm not allowed to review more than that.
Veronika raised an intrigued eyebrow.— Think it's shrinkage or someone stealing them?
Eva shrugged, guarded.— Let's just say some columns don't add up the way they should. I thought I'd glance at those files tonight… and play the violin when I'm done — she added, nodding toward a case resting against the wall.
— A Stradivarius, did you snag one here? — Veronika smiled, genuinely interested. — You have to play something, now.
— It's midnight — Eva objected, amused. — I'd rather not make too much noise.
— Please. If the Master scolds me, I'll say it was anti-stress therapy prescribed to privileged staff. — She waved the manual like a safe-conduct. — Come on, play.
Eva hesitated a second, but Veronika's enthusiasm was contagious. She took out the violin, tuned with a couple of quiet strokes, and with a sigh let a brief melody slip out: something soft, a Slavic lullaby with something more hidden between the notes.
Surprised, Veronika leaned her back against a cabinet and closed her eyes. When the echo faded, she clicked her tongue in approval.— D.957, Ständchen. I'll admit it sounded good. Maybe this place isn't all bad… at least most of the time.
Eva's cheeks flushed.— It helps me remember there's a world beyond these walls.
— There is — Veronika assured her, tucking the manual away. — And when I get out of here, I might find a room more worthy than this for you to play.
Eva offered a timid smile.— I… would be very grateful.
They shared a conspiratorial smile. The clock struck one in the morning.
— We should head back — Eva whispered, sliding the violin into its case. — Best not to be discovered