Grand Duchy of Moscow.
Moscow.
Zaplatin Estate.
Timofey Zaplatin sat in his office, looking at old photographs and drinking cognac. He usually didn't allow himself strong drinks in the morning, but today was a special occasion. Vladimir Sokolov had come of age. It was a good enough reason to celebrate. The boy was his hope, the last chance to serve the family whose interests had been guarded by generations of Zaplatins.
His spirits were lifted by the thought that the enemies of his former employer didn't have the faintest idea. Vladimir knew far more than they imagined. At the very least, Zaplatin had done everything he could to make that happen. Nothing particularly grand, but the important thing was that the boy would receive his father's letter. He only hoped that the silly Varvara wouldn't get in the way. Though that seemed unlikely. Blood was strong, and the blood that flowed in Vladimir's veins was stronger still.
Timofey swirled the cognac in his glass, smiled, and drank it in one gulp. Perhaps one day the Bolotovs, the Morozovs, or the Saltykovs would discover who had told young Sokolov about their betrayal. And perhaps, when that day came, he would be in serious trouble.
But that day had not yet come, and it wasn't certain it ever would.
Until then, he would remain careful and cunning. After all, they still believed he was on their side.
It was he, Timofey, who had arranged for Vladimir's memories of his magical abilities to be erased. What could be a better guarantee of loyalty than that? Another matter entirely was that Zaplatin had also ensured those memories were not erased completely. But who would know that?
He poured himself another drink and frowned. The years were slipping away faster than he would have liked. He could only hope his game would not end before its time.
* * * By the time I had finished my shower, Varvara had already prepared the money for my trip and packed me a couple of suitcases. Given that I knew the contents of Sokolov's wardrobe, that was entirely unnecessary. I would certainly manage without two suitcases full of junk.
After carefully inspecting the baggage and sorting everything out, I found that a small travel bag was more than enough.
I had only left out the suit I would wear. Although it was old, I didn't have another one. And I couldn't do without a suit. A nobleman had to own at least one. It also seemed like a good excuse to go shopping in the city once I get there.
In general, I had come to the conclusion that people on Earth cared far too much about clothing. At home, things were simpler, even among the nobility. Wealth was shown through unique jewelry rather than expensive garments. Here, society remained stubbornly conservative in such matters.
While Varvara busied herself with my belongings, Liza was setting the table for a simple breakfast. From time to time, she cast me a lustful glance and smiled. You wouldn't have guessed from her satisfied expression that this devil had kept me awake for most of the night, leaving me no chance to truly rest. When Varvara noticed her niece lingering too long near the table, she slapped her on the backside and sent her off.
"Liza, come on, run along! Let the master have his breakfast in peace before the journey."
Pulling a face, the girl left, finally allowing me to focus on the pancakes with honey.
Having eaten without hurrying, I checked my travel bag once more, got dressed, and took a long look at myself in the mirror. I didn't like what I saw. It reminded me of how I'd looked long ago, at the coming-of-age ceremony on distant Epsilum — something about the outfit, something about the hair. Ridiculous then, and ridiculous now. No, I absolutely had to go to Balakovo and do something about my hair. I couldn't go around looking like this.
When I stepped outside into the yard, I saw that the entire village had gathered to see me off on this summer morning. I wondered if they had been loitering there since early dawn, just to make sure they didn't miss my departure. And why weren't they working? Had they all decided to take the day off for the occasion? Well, fair enough. After all, a sight like this didn't come around every day.
Opposite the house stood a car that belonged to my family and, according to Varvara, was supposed to take me to Balakovo. To be honest, the sight of the vehicle made me uneasy. Of course, given our strained financial situation, I hadn't expected a luxurious intergalactic express, but judging by the rusty, four-wheeled jalopy in front of me, I seriously doubted whether it could even make it out of the village. Still, there weren't many options. I certainly couldn't go on foot.
Viewed from the outside, the ceremony of my departure must have looked more like a funeral. I walked toward the car, followed by a weeping Varvara, and everyone else stared at me as if I were headed for the next world rather than to Saratov. It was understandable, of course. From their perspective, a young and inexperienced gentleman was setting off to fulfill his father's last will, and enter the Academy of Planewalkers, maybe never to return. The reality was quite different, but the feeling it all left me with wasn't pleasant. I wanted to be gone as soon as possible. So when the ancient car managed to roll safely out of the village, I couldn't help but feel some relief. At last, the whole performance was over.
The driver, whose name was Nikolai, tried to start a conversation about the weather, but I asked him to keep quiet. This seemed to surprise him; apparently, Vladimir had usually been more talkative. I settled into the back seat and placed my bag beside me. For a while, I looked out at the passing scenery, but I quickly lost interest. It was too dull and repetitive.
Before long, I didn't even notice when I fell asleep.
Nikolai woke me up once we had already arrived at the river station in Balakovo. He offered to carry my things, but I thanked him and sent him back to Vetrovo. The bag weighed no more than a few pounds; I could easily handle it myself.
As a parting gesture, I wrote down his phone number, just in case.
Surprisingly, it was the first number saved in my smartphone. Apparently, Vladimir hadn't been much of a phone person. Thinking about it, that made sense. Who would he have talked to in Vetrovo besides Varvara? He didn't have any friends there, that much I already knew.
It turned out that the ship I needed to reach Saratov was departing in only a few hours. I bought a ticket for a first-class cabin, which instantly lightened my wallet by twenty rubles. The price stung, but so be it. It wasn't ideal, but there was no other choice. I might not have been wealthy, but I was still a nobleman, and more importantly, a Sokolov. That meant I would travel first class.
I spent the remaining time before departure getting my hair cut and buying jeans, along with a couple of modern T-shirts. Those things cost me another ten rubles, but it was worth it. At least I now looked like a normal guy, not some mad scientist who never left his lab.
I couldn't find a replacement for my old suit, however, since the stores in Balakovo had nothing suitable in that regard. I would have to wait until Saratov. I also stopped by the local administration to collect my documents. Now that I had officially come of age, I had to have them.
By the time the ship arrived, I regretted not having lunch earlier. My hunger grew stronger with each passing hour. All I could do was hope that the ship had a decent restaurant.
The first-class cabins were designed for two passengers, and when I entered mine, someone was already there. Considering that the ship was arriving from the Kazan Principality, it wasn't surprising. The man looked to be around thirty, with long, jet-black hair, and his clothes were strikingly elegant compared to mine.
He was reading something on his tablet, and I noticed a family ring on his finger bearing a coat of arms — a black beaver on a green field. I had no understanding of local heraldry, so while it was clear I was sharing a cabin with a nobleman, the coat of arms itself meant nothing to me. He gave me a brief glance and nodded casually.
"Alexey Bobrov." There was no respect in his greeting, which wasn't unexpected. My appearance alone was enough for him to form certain opinions about me and my financial status. Nobles had a knack for such things, and it was perfectly normal in society. Why he had decided to introduce himself first remained unclear.
"Vladimir Sokolov," I replied, placing my bag on the floor.
When he heard my name and saw the ring on my finger, he looked at me with some interest, then winced and returned to his tablet, making it clear he had no desire to continue the conversation. Apparently, my last name and coat of arms told him everything he needed to know.
Given my biography, that was to be expected. I imagined every other person I meet would react the same way. That was fine. I would not have bothered him anyway.
I grinned and left the cabin. The moment might have been awkward, but I didn't care. I cheerfully set off to find the restaurant. It was a pity I hadn't managed to change. The suit was not very comfortable, and jeans would have been far better for dinner.
Once on deck, I took a short walk to clear my thoughts. I had to admit that Sokolov and I were not so different. He was an outcast here, and I was persona non grata in my own world. At least here, no one considered me a criminal or was trying to throw me in jail. Honestly, the farther I went, the more it seemed the Astarte had not chosen this body for me by accident.
She did have a great sense of humor.
After breathing in the fresh river air to my heart's content, I slowly made my way to the restaurant.
Oh, Lord of Empires. I had seen many kinds of celebrations in my life, but this looked more like a space pirate's party after a successful heist.
Shouts and songs filled the air, and the smoke was so thick it took me a few seconds to adjust before I could see anything. Dining in such a place was a peculiar experience, but I was hungry enough to put up with it.
Despite the chaos, the waiter noticed me quickly. As he approached, his eyes immediately locked on the ring on my hand. It made sense. That ring served as a signal, letting him know whether I was a nobleman and how he should treat me.
Then he glanced at my suit. Judging by the sour look on his face, my clothes had not impressed him much. I couldn't blame him. Still, the ring did its work. His face settled into an obsequious smile. Poor or not, I was still a nobleman.
"Would you like to dine, sir?"
"Yes. Seat me somewhere quieter, please."
The waiter looked around the room in surprise, clearly unsure such a place existed. After a moment of scanning the chaos, his experienced gaze finally landed on a suitable table, and he gestured for me to follow.
To my surprise, he actually found a spot relatively distant from several noisy groups. It was encouraging. Perhaps I really could eat in peace. He made sure I didn't need anything else, handed me a menu, and left.
For a restaurant on a boat, the menu was quite extensive, and as expected, not cheap. I still didn't have a solid grasp on local pricing, but from what I could tell, this was well into the expensive range. At this rate, I'd have to walk to the Academy. If these prices kept up, I wouldn't even be able to afford a taxi.
No wine, then. I didn't want any anyway. As for the other drinks, I didn't even recognize the names. Better not to take risks. Water would do. I made a mental note to give myself a crash course on local alcoholic drinks.
It was simply indecent for a nobleman not to know such things.
Food was easier. I liked meat, and they had a good offer here.
I called the waiter and placed my order. When he heard I intended to wash it all down with water, his eyes widened in disbelief. Understandable.
Judging by the shouting around me, water was clearly not the drink of choice here.
He wrote down the order with an expression that suggested he had just done me a great personal favor. That annoyed me. Vladimir Sokolov may have looked like a harmless, worn-down soul from whom no one expected trouble, but not anymore. Not with me here.
I grabbed him by his tie and pulled his startled face toward mine.
"Something the matter?"
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He hadn't expected this from a young man who, judging by appearance alone, looked like he couldn't hurt a fly.
"Wh-what?" he stammered. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm asking if there was a problem," I said again and pulled him even closer, just enough to make him start choking. "Or should I remind you how to speak to a nobleman?"
"No need, sir..."
At that moment, I let him go. He started coughing and grabbed his throat. I, as if nothing had happened, looked at him with a smile. I couldn't stand it when people forgot themselves and did things not allowed by their rank. Like now, for example.
"Did you understand everything?" I asked the waiter. When he nodded, I switched my anger for mercy. "Well, then, hurry up. If you run fast, maybe you'll even get a tip."
Left alone, I began watching the crowd in the restaurant with interest. It was mostly drunk young people. They didn't stay long and went to their cabins right after they finished their meals, avoiding trouble. There was not much pleasure in sitting in this smoky place. More likely, by staying, you'd put yourself at risk of getting hit on the head with a plate by a tipsy nobleman.
Fifteen minutes later, my hope for a quiet dinner was fading fast.
The couple at the next table was to blame. They looked like brother and sister. I saw no family rings, so I assumed the young man was a merchant, not a nobleman. He looked about twenty; the girl was younger, perhaps eighteen. Both were dressed with care and taste — expensively, but not ostentatiously.
The girl was striking. A slender blonde with a sharp nose and a certain anxious grace about her. As it turned out, I wasn't the only one who noticed.
A young man, barely able to stand, staggered toward their table. His boots scraped against the marble floor, and the heavy scent of cognac preceded him. Behind him lumbered a massive bodyguard who caught his elbow each time he swayed.
"Viscount Ivan Gedeonov. Please, dance with me," he slurred, then burped loudly. The man was a real pig — red-faced, glassy-eyed, and reeking of alcohol.
The girl froze, saying nothing, but the young man beside her rose to his feet.
"Unfortunately, that's impossible at the moment. You are visibly intoxicated," he said evenly, though his jaw tightened and his tone betrayed the tension underneath.
From his voice alone, I could tell he knew the matter wouldn't end there. And it didn't.
The Viscount chuckled, the laugh bubbling up like a growl, then suddenly grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it with all his strength. Plates and glasses crashed to the floor in a deafening clatter.
"Who are you to dare speak to me?" he shouted, his voice booming through the hall. "A useless trader? I'll throw you out of here right now!"
Gedeonov grabbed him by the collar, but the young man struck his hands away with a quick, precise motion.
"What? How dare you touch me? Me, a nobleman?" The Viscount's face flushed crimson. He roared and swung, striking the young man hard across the face. The blow sent him crashing to the floor.
The girl screamed and bolted from the restaurant, her chair toppling behind her.
"You blond bitch!" Gedeonov growled, stumbling after her, his steps heavy and unsteady, barely managing to stay on his feet.
I sighed, pushed my chair back, and got up from the table. So much for a quiet evening. It seemed my dinner would have to wait. If I'd known it would end like this, I'd have eaten in Balakovo!