My Tales of the Slayers ficathon entry.
Sep. 20th, 2004 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avreliaThis is the story I've been writing for the Tales of the Slayers ficathon. Today is the posting day, but I am still writing the end, so behold: my very own work in progress!
The first part is ready, so here it is.
The story is written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smartlikejustin, who asked:
Slayer Era/Area: imperial Russia under Catherine the Great
Slayer Origin Country or State (optional): Russia
Slayer Age (optional): anything over 16
Three other details you'd like: set in a city, art/intellectual culture, a Watcher
Three things you don't want: dialogue written with accents/phonetically, incompetent Watchers, werewolves
Title: The Curiosities of Northern Palmyra
Summary: an apocalypse in one, separately taken, city. (and, yes, I know this sounds stupid.)
Year: 1777, August -September
Place: Saint-Petersburg, Russia
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Disclaimer: the idea of the Vampire Slayer and the rules under which this Universe operates belong to Joss Whedon and the Mutant Enemy. I also used several urban legends of Saint Petersburg, everything else is mine.
Feedback: yes, please.
I want to thank:janedavitt, my beta; unknown people who put all kind s of information in the Internet, making my research possible and alluring; the city of Saint Petersburg for existing, and the special thanks to XIX century Russian poet Nikolay Nekrasov for providing several inside jokes that probably are only funny to me, but I cannot keep myself from including them.
The story is dedicated to Saint Petersburg and its dwellers who have kept this city standing for the last three centuries through floods, and wars, and all perturbations.
Final warning: it actually happened – some of it, anyway.
The curiosities of Northern Palmyra
Part I
I’ve learned this language. Enough to read and write, enough to talk to my Watcher, because he prefers to speak English if he can help it. I started to write these notes to learn the language better, as a part of my training, but then I realized that they are the only thing that will be left from me when I am gone. I shall keep writing then – between the training, and the hunting, and the chores.
Dear Reader, forgive my poor skill, for I am just a girl.
I didn’t put any significance in my strength until an Englishman, Mr. Edward Chalmers, appeared at my father’s door. Women in our family were strong enough, and I might have seemed just a little bit stronger in their shadow. My grandmother met an angry bear in the forest once. She fought and killed it with a knife and a cane. My mother can stop a bolting horse. She did it, a couple of times.
But I, according to Mr. Chalmers, am something else altogether. A chosen one. One girl in all the world to fight vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. Why only one? Quite ridiculous arrangement, if you ask me. Of course, no one asked.
If you are wondering how my parents let me kill vampires all by myself, they didn’t. They think that I am hired as a cook by a custodian of the Kunstkamera museum – the collection of curiosities from all places in the world. My parents were surprised: why would an Englishman, who knew nobody in Petersburg, come to their house for a cook – especially considering that cooking isn’t my particular talent, but somehow he managed to convince them of the propriety of his intentions.
So we settled on this arrangement. I chop the wood, bring the water, clean the quarters, and communicate with everyone who doesn’t speak English. I also train, research, and kill vampires. I don’t cook though – only for myself, because I cannot eat the awful stuff that George cooks for his master and himself. Maybe I should cook for them. If I didn’t have to fight vampires.
August, day 29th year 1777
“Agrafena, yet again you left a plate with milk behind the oven!”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“This is incongruous to me, how the Slayer keeps indulging a demon in my own house! Yes, I remember: it is your ”domovoy”, the house spirit, but…”
“The house master,” I interrupted.
He gave a grimace of intense suffering. “It is a demon, and demons are to be killed.”
“Demons that threaten humans are. Domovoy isn’t one of them; a house cannot be without a house master,” I tried to argue, as I swept the floor in the room. We both knew that we would not convince each other. What my Watcher didn’t know, was how long it took me to convince a young reckless domovoy to come and live in the foreigner’s house. Some things are better left unsaid.
I finished the floor and looked outside, at the sinking sun.
“I intend to make tea for us, and then go to the Volkovo cemetery to patrol.”
“Volkovo? It’s rather far from here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s not like we have another Slayer to patrol there.”
“No, of course not. I just wanted you to check the Summer Garden. I’ve heard some strange rumours about moving statues there – probably that’s what it is – rumours – this country hasn’t got used to the noble art of sculpture, but one cannot be too cautious here.”
“It is fine. I can visit both places during the night.”
“That’s agreed, then; let’s have tea!”
I filled the samovar with water, lit the fire, and prepared everything for tea. George came in and the three of us settled around the large table, drinking tea, and looking at the sunset.
Having drunk my sixth cup of tea, I felt benevolent and happy. I looked at the two men sitting at my side, two men that probably were going to be my only company until the end of my days, and I loved them, with all their English weirdness (Englishmen are much better than Turks, that’s for sure.)
“No matter how different we are,” I announced, in my benevolent state of mind, “we have two important things in common: we hate vampires and we love tea.”
They laughed and agreed with me wholeheartedly.
The sun set, and I was off to Volkovo. It is a huge cemetery, with Orthodox and German parts, and there is a wide array of nasty monsters to kill, but the major attraction for me is that to get there from our quarters I have to go through the quarters of the Lieb-Guard Semenovskiy Regiment. I cannot express the sweet feeling that I have looking at those fine young men. A decent girl probably should not even mention that she has any funny feelings. But these choice young warriors – everyone is tall, clean-shaven, and brown-haired in their light-green uniform… They are my forbidden dream. I lust after them, and something melts inside me when I see them parading the streets, or doing their own patrolling, or just being there. I am careful not to go near their quarters after the hunt, because I don’t think I would be able to resist the wicked attraction.
The cemetery was quiet today. Unusually quiet, I should say for this time of the year. June is unpopular with vampires, but August, when the nights grow dark, and it is still warm enough so people don’t hide their necks under thick covers, August is a busy month. Not now. Is it the quiet before the storm? I hastened my steps across the cemetery. After circling the territory a couple of times, making sure that nobody was going to wake up there, I left, heading for the Summer Garden.
On my way there – granted, a rather long way - I killed a dozen of vampires wandering the streets, and a couple of kikimoras hiding in the dark corners. Still, not much for a lovely August night in Sankt-Peterburg. Were they waiting for something?
When I got to the Summer Garden, it was already shortly before dawn. The statues didn’t seem to be moving around, but since I had made it this far, I decided to stay, wait, and look around.
In the dark the white statues looked ghostly – all those half-naked men and women brought here from some faraway place. Who knows? Maybe they are supposed to move where they come from. I sat on the grass near a fountain and listened to the quiet. After some time I started to feel my eyelids were getting heavy, and I pinched myself to chase away the sleep.
At the same moment I noticed some movement in the farthest path from me, and ran there to find out what was happening.
I expected a demon, or a vampire, or a young happy couple, or a statue moving. I didn’t expect a clean-looking old woman cooking something there.
“Good morning,” I greeted her carefully.
“Good morning,” she answered agreeably “Do you want to help me?”
“Help you to do what?”
“To finish making this potion for Aurora.”
“Aurora?”
She pointed to a marble woman nearby. “Here is she.”
“What do you mean? Why does Aurora need a potion? Who are you?”
“You can call me baba Mavra.”
“Agrafena – or Grusha,” I introduced myself.
“I’ve heard of you,” she said with some degree of respect.
I got nervous – I was supposed to be a secret. “Where from?”
“From a little bird. Don’t worry, girl, we are on the same side.” Answering my bewildered look, she continued. “You protect this world, and I protect this city.”
“Oh.”
“The potion will give the statue ability to move, and the corresponding spell I will use with it will bind it to this place and this purpose.”
“Purpose?”
“To protect Petersburg. I am only a human, old and weak. I don’t have that many students to follow my steps. I need some less fragile helpers.”
“So the statues really were moving?”
“Not much, only to test their capability. I don’t want them rambling all over the city, either. Now, will you help me? I need to finish them quickly, we don’t have much time left.” The strange woman straightened up and came closer. “I should tell you the whole story. Let’s finish it – it is really important, and then go to my place to talk.”
“I cannot do it.” I was surprised that I actually considered the invitation. “I have to go home now, report, and get some sleep.”
“Fine, come to dinner then. My house is at Okhta: ask anyone, they’ll show you the way.”
I refused to perform any spells on Aurora, but did nothing to stop baba Mavra from doing it. I am not sure how to explain my actions here, and I am not sure I wanted to explain them to anybody. I went home.
August, day 30.
I slept till noon, which wasn’t my usual way, but I was really tired. The sleep was uneasy though. My dream had a vague sense of inevitability of something coming. I wasn’t sure whether it was a real prophetic Slayer dream, or just a sign of my supreme exhaustion, but I woke up much more worried than before.
I didn’t tell Chalmers everything about my meeting, but I did say that I had a chance to acquire the information this evening. The afternoon was uneventful, and I was hardly able to wait until the dinner time. I wanted to know what was going on. And why I wasn’t a part of it.
The Okhta neighbourhood where the strange woman lived was on the outskirts of the city, and the most convenient way there was upstream the Neva river, but I was used to relying on my feet more, so I walked there by streets and bridges, deciding to check the Okhtinskoy Admiralty and the cemetery on my way back. The house was easy to find – the first boy I met on the street offered to lead me to her house. From his chatter I understood that she was well-known in this part of Petersburg. The house was nice, the supper was substantial and delicious, and what I found out about my city was genuinely disturbing.
Going back home later in the evening I tried to make sense of what I’d been told. Petersburg was cursed. It was cursed from the beginning of its existence, by the first wife of the founder, tsar Peter the Great. Oh, tsarina Evdokia had too many reasons to hate her husband and this city, his favorite child. He turned the country the way she feared, hated, and didn’t understand, he locked her in a convent, because she wasn’t good enough for him, and he accused of treason and executed her son, the heir to the throne, Prince Alexei. So, with all the passion of suffering woman tsarina Evdokia pronounced: “Let Petersburg be empty!” and now she was the only one who could lift it – only she couldn’t, she was long dead.
I asked baba Mavra after that: “If the city is cursed, why keep fighting for it, why risk all these people living here?”
“Because many people have died for this city to stand, and many more will die for it. Their sacrifice isn’t in vain. Saint Petersburg is worth fighting for.”
She was right, of course. I felt slightly ashamed for suggesting the retreat. Honestly? I have a lot on my shoulders without the tsarina’s curse. Thinking that Evdokia added an extra burden to my troubles didn’t leave me feeling very compassionate towards her.
So the city exists on the brink of complete and utter destruction. All the time. Why does it still exist? Apparently there is always a group of people who know about the curse and the danger and who are fighting it. The curse cannot be lifted, but it can be put to sleep for a time being, allowing the city a respite. When the curse wakes up though, it comes back with a vengeance. According to baba Mavra that was what was happening now – the curse had awoken and we were heading for a disaster, a small-time Armageddon.
It explained the quiet. It made a perfect sense. And it threw me out of the balance I had managed to keep for three years. My world was night and never-ending war, but there was another war alongside mine, quiet, stubborn, fought by people – just people, actually. I had the strength, the skill, and the considerable sense of self-importance…
They had only their determination to keep this city alive.
I got home and briefly told Chalmers about the curse. He scoffed saying something about superstitious people. And went to consult the books on the topic of curses. I finished my housework, and went to the attic, where I jumped into the hay pile of my bed and lay there thinking about the curse and the city I thought I protected alone.
August, day 31
The next day was Sunday, and I went to church with my family. It was the only thing my parents were adamant about my “employment” – every Sunday I had to go to church with them. They trusted me to protect my maiden honor, but they were sure the Englishman would convert me to whatever he believed in, and whatever it was it was only slightly better than Catholicism. Well, they were right, to some degree. I didn’t renounce Christianity, but I looked at the world in a different way.
But I always used the service to replenish my supplies of the holy water. After the service I decided to talk with my family about the impending catastrophe. I tried to convince my parents and my unmarried sisters to go see our relatives in Pskov, at a safe distance from Petersburg. Of course, they laughed at my worries and told me to lighten up, and why would they leave the city when no one else did? At least I’d implored them to keep all the bare necessities handy in case they would have to run.
Chalmers asked me to take him to baba Mavra’s place. I was slightly surprised – he isn’t much for the socializing with the common people out there. Apparently he didn’t consider her common. So in the evening we went to the small house at Okhta again. Of course, we came as baba Mavra was having a dinner with other guests, a pleasant young couple, Andrey and Ksenia, so obviously adoring each other that it was painful to look at them. We were promptly seated and fed without baba Mavra listening to our objections. I had never objected to being fed, I have to say, but my Watcher decided that good manners required him to refuse a good dinner. I had to translate for him – so I voiced his objections to baba Mavra, and her stern rejection of his objections back. I would never believe he seriously preferred his English food.
After the dinner, Chalmers asked our host about the curse (again, through me – really, why wouldn’t some people just learn the normal language, instead of talking in English?)
“I understand that the curse is impossible to lift?”
“Yes, you understand it right.”
“Maybe, the matter could be solved by finding a knowledgeable sorcerer? I must admit I have some connections that might be useful here.”
“Well, dear sir, I am not that bad a sorceress myself, but even people better than me tried and failed in lifting the curse. I don’t think you can find anyone who could do it.”
“Was tsarina Evdokia so powerful a witch? I have never heard of her before.”
“No, she wasn’t. She knew a little – as the most girls do – a couple of spells for good health, and a good husband; she knew basic principles of how magic works. She was neither knowledgeable, nor powerful, but maybe it would be easier if she had been. She was very passionate and deeply hurt, so she cursed with all the passion in her soul, and she did something, that a better witch would deem impossible, because Evdokia didn’t know what was possible and what wasn’t.”
Chalmers frowned, apparently convinced by baba Mavra’s argument.
“What can we expect now, then? What kind of disaster?”
She answered coolly: “Flood, most likely.”
“Flood? Why? Oh, I see – the city’s built on islands and swamps, more like Northern Venice than Northern Palmyra as it is usually called, indeed.” He hesitated and asked: “How are you going to prevent it? How will bewitching the statues help the cause? What else can be done?”
Baba Mavra sighed. “The statues are going to attract and hold the destructive force of the water. I cannot do anything to prevent the flood, it is in the making already. I am planning to suppress it as swiftly as possible, and don’t let it destroy the city and people. I had high hopes of the new monument of Tsar Peter – it isn’t opened yet, but it is done, but here is the thing: the rock serving as a pedestal for the statue is too powerful by itself and deflects all my attempts. If I could prevail, and managed to get the Thunder Rock to cooperate with me and my spell instead, I would get this city the most powerful defender” she glanced at me, “that will guard Saint Petersburg for ages to come.”
“The Thunder Rock?” repeated Chalmers. “What is it?”
“This is the pedestal for the monument. A huge rock brought to this glorious capital for this very purpose from the North, where it stood for many thousands of years. It was connected to the old gods, and it still retains a lot of power, deep power of the land.”
“Well, do you think it is impossible to do?”
“No, it is not impossible, but I exhausted my resources, and cannot figure out what else I can do and where to look for the answer. So, if your connections may help, I would be happy to hear it.”
Chalmers looked slightly uncomfortable. “I’ll try to consult them, though I am not sure they would be thrilled to put a spell on something; they are more knowledgeable in the area of the spell removal.”
“But isn’t it the same kind of work?” – the young woman, Ksenia, who listened to all the discussion with interest, suddenly asked.
“Technically, it is. But they don’t believe that bewitching anything can be good.”
Ksenia giggled. “Foreigners are strange.”
“Yes, I suppose, they are. I personally don’t feel very comfortable with this bewitching the monuments and relying on them for the defense of Saint Petersburg myself.”
Baba Mavra shrugged. “I don’t like it that much either. But this method works well, and in the present circumstances I have nothing else to oppose the curse.”
“How can you be sure that it works?”
“Well, Venice is still standing, isn’t it?”
“Venice? But how do you know about it? And what is going on there? I’ve never heard of any curse.”
“We do know some stuff in our wilderness; why wouldn’t we? Venice doesn’t have such a curse at its foundation. It mostly has to stand against natural conditions – but it has a lot of guards, believe me. They are working in a balance – the water, the mirrors, the winged lion, the horses from Constantinople, that condottiere – everything there is connected into an intricate web, created long ago and supported for centuries.” baba Mavra sounded different, looked different, and I wondered if my Watcher was watchful enough to notice it. The conversation continued, moving from the flood to some polite trifles, but it seemed that everyone present was enjoying themselves, and was reluctant to finish the visit.
Finally Chalmers looked at his pocket watch. “I am sorry to have bothered you without an invitation, but the acquaintance was most delightful, and I hope, it will be fruitful, as well.”
Baba Mavra smiled generously “No bother at all. You and Agrafena are welcome here any time. Allow Andrey to help you to get home – he has a boat, so you’ll be there much faster.”
“Thank you,” Chalmers said, bowing. “That would be most welcome.”
We settled ourselves in the boat as comfortably as possible. Andrey and I each took an oar, Ksenia was at the head, looking at the water, and Chalmers sat at the stern. The boat was heading down-stream, so the rowing was easy – after I figured out the force needed to balance Andrey’s. He started singing something slow and dolorous to pass the time and set the rhythm for our arms. I heard Chalmers mumbling under his nose about the terrible moan. I laughed: “In our land, this moan is called a song.”
“Thank you for the explanation, it doesn’t make it any less terrible.”
“I beg to differ! It is a lovely song, even if a sad one, and Andrey has the most agreeable voice and a good ear.”
Chalmers shrugged and started to look around at the city standing on the both sides of the river Neva. I interpreted our conversation to Ksenia and Andrey. Andrey continued his singing, and Ksenia mentioned proudly: “Oh, he can sing the Italian songs, and the French, and the psalms, of course. But they are just not fitting for life, they are for special occasions, you know?” I nodded, and we proceeded in silence – save the song and occasional splashes around the boat. Soon we reached the Vasilievskiy Island, where the Kunstkamera and our quarters were, so we got off the boat to have a walk. I thanked my new acquaintances properly and promised to meet them tomorrow.
We walked along the perfectly straight lines streets of Vasilievskiy, and checked out several popular vampires haunts; the churchyards, and the dark corners of the taverns and inns. Everything was quiet – too quiet, in fact.
“It is not normal, two vampires in a night for this part of the city.”
“Adds weight to the upcoming catastrophe theory. Rats from the sinking ship…”
“You didn’t believe it before, did you?”
“I had my doubts.”
“Why would vampires hide or run, anyway? They cannot drown.”
“No, but they don’t like it much under water either. I surmise we shall have an overabundance after the flood though…”
“Yes, vampires, and demons, and newly drowned undead… I hope we’ll survive the flood to deal with them.”
Our patrolling turned into a relaxed stroll, and if any passer byes wondered why the respectable custodian of the Kunstkamera was parading the streets with his cook, nobody mentioned anything. One gentleman, though, greeted Chalmers with some kind of odd hand waving. To my surprise, my Watcher answered him with the exact same hand waving, after which they bowed to each other and went each their own way.
“What was that?” I demanded.
Chalmers looked slightly embarrassed. “It is…hmm… It was a Masonic greeting.”
I was astounded. “Are you a mason? Since when?”
“I am not. Or, more accurately, officially, I am. A senior member of a Masonic Lodge “The Society of Watchers of One True Mystery.”
“Otherwise known as The Watchers Council?”
“Quite right.”
“So, you are hiding your secret society by pretending to be another secret society? Very shrewd. And very pointless. Isn’t it a point of being a secret society – that nobody knows about your existence?”
“Well, Masons are not really that secret. They are playing at having something substantial to feel themselves important, and call themselves secret societies, even though everyone knows about them. But still, when the Lodge proclaim that they have secret meetings and all this nonsense, no one is really curious what it is all about. Perfect cover. And here I get a lot of important connections because of being considered an important link to British Lodges.”
“Still, it seems to me a silly idea. But I don’t mind – it is your game.”
“Your deference is very refreshing, Agrafena.”
By this time we reached our quarters, and were rather happy to retire for the night.
TBC… very soon
Constructive feedback is very welcome. I wanted to make footnotes and the pronunciation guide for the proper names, please tell if you want them.
The first part is ready, so here it is.
The story is written for
smartlikejustin, who asked: Slayer Era/Area: imperial Russia under Catherine the Great
Slayer Origin Country or State (optional): Russia
Slayer Age (optional): anything over 16
Three other details you'd like: set in a city, art/intellectual culture, a Watcher
Three things you don't want: dialogue written with accents/phonetically, incompetent Watchers, werewolves
Title: The Curiosities of Northern Palmyra
Summary: an apocalypse in one, separately taken, city. (and, yes, I know this sounds stupid.)
Year: 1777, August -September
Place: Saint-Petersburg, Russia
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Disclaimer: the idea of the Vampire Slayer and the rules under which this Universe operates belong to Joss Whedon and the Mutant Enemy. I also used several urban legends of Saint Petersburg, everything else is mine.
Feedback: yes, please.
I want to thank:
janedavitt, my beta; unknown people who put all kind s of information in the Internet, making my research possible and alluring; the city of Saint Petersburg for existing, and the special thanks to XIX century Russian poet Nikolay Nekrasov for providing several inside jokes that probably are only funny to me, but I cannot keep myself from including them.The story is dedicated to Saint Petersburg and its dwellers who have kept this city standing for the last three centuries through floods, and wars, and all perturbations.
Final warning: it actually happened – some of it, anyway.
The curiosities of Northern Palmyra
Part I
I’ve learned this language. Enough to read and write, enough to talk to my Watcher, because he prefers to speak English if he can help it. I started to write these notes to learn the language better, as a part of my training, but then I realized that they are the only thing that will be left from me when I am gone. I shall keep writing then – between the training, and the hunting, and the chores.
Dear Reader, forgive my poor skill, for I am just a girl.
I didn’t put any significance in my strength until an Englishman, Mr. Edward Chalmers, appeared at my father’s door. Women in our family were strong enough, and I might have seemed just a little bit stronger in their shadow. My grandmother met an angry bear in the forest once. She fought and killed it with a knife and a cane. My mother can stop a bolting horse. She did it, a couple of times.
But I, according to Mr. Chalmers, am something else altogether. A chosen one. One girl in all the world to fight vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. Why only one? Quite ridiculous arrangement, if you ask me. Of course, no one asked.
If you are wondering how my parents let me kill vampires all by myself, they didn’t. They think that I am hired as a cook by a custodian of the Kunstkamera museum – the collection of curiosities from all places in the world. My parents were surprised: why would an Englishman, who knew nobody in Petersburg, come to their house for a cook – especially considering that cooking isn’t my particular talent, but somehow he managed to convince them of the propriety of his intentions.
So we settled on this arrangement. I chop the wood, bring the water, clean the quarters, and communicate with everyone who doesn’t speak English. I also train, research, and kill vampires. I don’t cook though – only for myself, because I cannot eat the awful stuff that George cooks for his master and himself. Maybe I should cook for them. If I didn’t have to fight vampires.
August, day 29th year 1777
“Agrafena, yet again you left a plate with milk behind the oven!”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“This is incongruous to me, how the Slayer keeps indulging a demon in my own house! Yes, I remember: it is your ”domovoy”, the house spirit, but…”
“The house master,” I interrupted.
He gave a grimace of intense suffering. “It is a demon, and demons are to be killed.”
“Demons that threaten humans are. Domovoy isn’t one of them; a house cannot be without a house master,” I tried to argue, as I swept the floor in the room. We both knew that we would not convince each other. What my Watcher didn’t know, was how long it took me to convince a young reckless domovoy to come and live in the foreigner’s house. Some things are better left unsaid.
I finished the floor and looked outside, at the sinking sun.
“I intend to make tea for us, and then go to the Volkovo cemetery to patrol.”
“Volkovo? It’s rather far from here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s not like we have another Slayer to patrol there.”
“No, of course not. I just wanted you to check the Summer Garden. I’ve heard some strange rumours about moving statues there – probably that’s what it is – rumours – this country hasn’t got used to the noble art of sculpture, but one cannot be too cautious here.”
“It is fine. I can visit both places during the night.”
“That’s agreed, then; let’s have tea!”
I filled the samovar with water, lit the fire, and prepared everything for tea. George came in and the three of us settled around the large table, drinking tea, and looking at the sunset.
Having drunk my sixth cup of tea, I felt benevolent and happy. I looked at the two men sitting at my side, two men that probably were going to be my only company until the end of my days, and I loved them, with all their English weirdness (Englishmen are much better than Turks, that’s for sure.)
“No matter how different we are,” I announced, in my benevolent state of mind, “we have two important things in common: we hate vampires and we love tea.”
They laughed and agreed with me wholeheartedly.
The sun set, and I was off to Volkovo. It is a huge cemetery, with Orthodox and German parts, and there is a wide array of nasty monsters to kill, but the major attraction for me is that to get there from our quarters I have to go through the quarters of the Lieb-Guard Semenovskiy Regiment. I cannot express the sweet feeling that I have looking at those fine young men. A decent girl probably should not even mention that she has any funny feelings. But these choice young warriors – everyone is tall, clean-shaven, and brown-haired in their light-green uniform… They are my forbidden dream. I lust after them, and something melts inside me when I see them parading the streets, or doing their own patrolling, or just being there. I am careful not to go near their quarters after the hunt, because I don’t think I would be able to resist the wicked attraction.
The cemetery was quiet today. Unusually quiet, I should say for this time of the year. June is unpopular with vampires, but August, when the nights grow dark, and it is still warm enough so people don’t hide their necks under thick covers, August is a busy month. Not now. Is it the quiet before the storm? I hastened my steps across the cemetery. After circling the territory a couple of times, making sure that nobody was going to wake up there, I left, heading for the Summer Garden.
On my way there – granted, a rather long way - I killed a dozen of vampires wandering the streets, and a couple of kikimoras hiding in the dark corners. Still, not much for a lovely August night in Sankt-Peterburg. Were they waiting for something?
When I got to the Summer Garden, it was already shortly before dawn. The statues didn’t seem to be moving around, but since I had made it this far, I decided to stay, wait, and look around.
In the dark the white statues looked ghostly – all those half-naked men and women brought here from some faraway place. Who knows? Maybe they are supposed to move where they come from. I sat on the grass near a fountain and listened to the quiet. After some time I started to feel my eyelids were getting heavy, and I pinched myself to chase away the sleep.
At the same moment I noticed some movement in the farthest path from me, and ran there to find out what was happening.
I expected a demon, or a vampire, or a young happy couple, or a statue moving. I didn’t expect a clean-looking old woman cooking something there.
“Good morning,” I greeted her carefully.
“Good morning,” she answered agreeably “Do you want to help me?”
“Help you to do what?”
“To finish making this potion for Aurora.”
“Aurora?”
She pointed to a marble woman nearby. “Here is she.”
“What do you mean? Why does Aurora need a potion? Who are you?”
“You can call me baba Mavra.”
“Agrafena – or Grusha,” I introduced myself.
“I’ve heard of you,” she said with some degree of respect.
I got nervous – I was supposed to be a secret. “Where from?”
“From a little bird. Don’t worry, girl, we are on the same side.” Answering my bewildered look, she continued. “You protect this world, and I protect this city.”
“Oh.”
“The potion will give the statue ability to move, and the corresponding spell I will use with it will bind it to this place and this purpose.”
“Purpose?”
“To protect Petersburg. I am only a human, old and weak. I don’t have that many students to follow my steps. I need some less fragile helpers.”
“So the statues really were moving?”
“Not much, only to test their capability. I don’t want them rambling all over the city, either. Now, will you help me? I need to finish them quickly, we don’t have much time left.” The strange woman straightened up and came closer. “I should tell you the whole story. Let’s finish it – it is really important, and then go to my place to talk.”
“I cannot do it.” I was surprised that I actually considered the invitation. “I have to go home now, report, and get some sleep.”
“Fine, come to dinner then. My house is at Okhta: ask anyone, they’ll show you the way.”
I refused to perform any spells on Aurora, but did nothing to stop baba Mavra from doing it. I am not sure how to explain my actions here, and I am not sure I wanted to explain them to anybody. I went home.
August, day 30.
I slept till noon, which wasn’t my usual way, but I was really tired. The sleep was uneasy though. My dream had a vague sense of inevitability of something coming. I wasn’t sure whether it was a real prophetic Slayer dream, or just a sign of my supreme exhaustion, but I woke up much more worried than before.
I didn’t tell Chalmers everything about my meeting, but I did say that I had a chance to acquire the information this evening. The afternoon was uneventful, and I was hardly able to wait until the dinner time. I wanted to know what was going on. And why I wasn’t a part of it.
The Okhta neighbourhood where the strange woman lived was on the outskirts of the city, and the most convenient way there was upstream the Neva river, but I was used to relying on my feet more, so I walked there by streets and bridges, deciding to check the Okhtinskoy Admiralty and the cemetery on my way back. The house was easy to find – the first boy I met on the street offered to lead me to her house. From his chatter I understood that she was well-known in this part of Petersburg. The house was nice, the supper was substantial and delicious, and what I found out about my city was genuinely disturbing.
Going back home later in the evening I tried to make sense of what I’d been told. Petersburg was cursed. It was cursed from the beginning of its existence, by the first wife of the founder, tsar Peter the Great. Oh, tsarina Evdokia had too many reasons to hate her husband and this city, his favorite child. He turned the country the way she feared, hated, and didn’t understand, he locked her in a convent, because she wasn’t good enough for him, and he accused of treason and executed her son, the heir to the throne, Prince Alexei. So, with all the passion of suffering woman tsarina Evdokia pronounced: “Let Petersburg be empty!” and now she was the only one who could lift it – only she couldn’t, she was long dead.
I asked baba Mavra after that: “If the city is cursed, why keep fighting for it, why risk all these people living here?”
“Because many people have died for this city to stand, and many more will die for it. Their sacrifice isn’t in vain. Saint Petersburg is worth fighting for.”
She was right, of course. I felt slightly ashamed for suggesting the retreat. Honestly? I have a lot on my shoulders without the tsarina’s curse. Thinking that Evdokia added an extra burden to my troubles didn’t leave me feeling very compassionate towards her.
So the city exists on the brink of complete and utter destruction. All the time. Why does it still exist? Apparently there is always a group of people who know about the curse and the danger and who are fighting it. The curse cannot be lifted, but it can be put to sleep for a time being, allowing the city a respite. When the curse wakes up though, it comes back with a vengeance. According to baba Mavra that was what was happening now – the curse had awoken and we were heading for a disaster, a small-time Armageddon.
It explained the quiet. It made a perfect sense. And it threw me out of the balance I had managed to keep for three years. My world was night and never-ending war, but there was another war alongside mine, quiet, stubborn, fought by people – just people, actually. I had the strength, the skill, and the considerable sense of self-importance…
They had only their determination to keep this city alive.
I got home and briefly told Chalmers about the curse. He scoffed saying something about superstitious people. And went to consult the books on the topic of curses. I finished my housework, and went to the attic, where I jumped into the hay pile of my bed and lay there thinking about the curse and the city I thought I protected alone.
August, day 31
The next day was Sunday, and I went to church with my family. It was the only thing my parents were adamant about my “employment” – every Sunday I had to go to church with them. They trusted me to protect my maiden honor, but they were sure the Englishman would convert me to whatever he believed in, and whatever it was it was only slightly better than Catholicism. Well, they were right, to some degree. I didn’t renounce Christianity, but I looked at the world in a different way.
But I always used the service to replenish my supplies of the holy water. After the service I decided to talk with my family about the impending catastrophe. I tried to convince my parents and my unmarried sisters to go see our relatives in Pskov, at a safe distance from Petersburg. Of course, they laughed at my worries and told me to lighten up, and why would they leave the city when no one else did? At least I’d implored them to keep all the bare necessities handy in case they would have to run.
Chalmers asked me to take him to baba Mavra’s place. I was slightly surprised – he isn’t much for the socializing with the common people out there. Apparently he didn’t consider her common. So in the evening we went to the small house at Okhta again. Of course, we came as baba Mavra was having a dinner with other guests, a pleasant young couple, Andrey and Ksenia, so obviously adoring each other that it was painful to look at them. We were promptly seated and fed without baba Mavra listening to our objections. I had never objected to being fed, I have to say, but my Watcher decided that good manners required him to refuse a good dinner. I had to translate for him – so I voiced his objections to baba Mavra, and her stern rejection of his objections back. I would never believe he seriously preferred his English food.
After the dinner, Chalmers asked our host about the curse (again, through me – really, why wouldn’t some people just learn the normal language, instead of talking in English?)
“I understand that the curse is impossible to lift?”
“Yes, you understand it right.”
“Maybe, the matter could be solved by finding a knowledgeable sorcerer? I must admit I have some connections that might be useful here.”
“Well, dear sir, I am not that bad a sorceress myself, but even people better than me tried and failed in lifting the curse. I don’t think you can find anyone who could do it.”
“Was tsarina Evdokia so powerful a witch? I have never heard of her before.”
“No, she wasn’t. She knew a little – as the most girls do – a couple of spells for good health, and a good husband; she knew basic principles of how magic works. She was neither knowledgeable, nor powerful, but maybe it would be easier if she had been. She was very passionate and deeply hurt, so she cursed with all the passion in her soul, and she did something, that a better witch would deem impossible, because Evdokia didn’t know what was possible and what wasn’t.”
Chalmers frowned, apparently convinced by baba Mavra’s argument.
“What can we expect now, then? What kind of disaster?”
She answered coolly: “Flood, most likely.”
“Flood? Why? Oh, I see – the city’s built on islands and swamps, more like Northern Venice than Northern Palmyra as it is usually called, indeed.” He hesitated and asked: “How are you going to prevent it? How will bewitching the statues help the cause? What else can be done?”
Baba Mavra sighed. “The statues are going to attract and hold the destructive force of the water. I cannot do anything to prevent the flood, it is in the making already. I am planning to suppress it as swiftly as possible, and don’t let it destroy the city and people. I had high hopes of the new monument of Tsar Peter – it isn’t opened yet, but it is done, but here is the thing: the rock serving as a pedestal for the statue is too powerful by itself and deflects all my attempts. If I could prevail, and managed to get the Thunder Rock to cooperate with me and my spell instead, I would get this city the most powerful defender” she glanced at me, “that will guard Saint Petersburg for ages to come.”
“The Thunder Rock?” repeated Chalmers. “What is it?”
“This is the pedestal for the monument. A huge rock brought to this glorious capital for this very purpose from the North, where it stood for many thousands of years. It was connected to the old gods, and it still retains a lot of power, deep power of the land.”
“Well, do you think it is impossible to do?”
“No, it is not impossible, but I exhausted my resources, and cannot figure out what else I can do and where to look for the answer. So, if your connections may help, I would be happy to hear it.”
Chalmers looked slightly uncomfortable. “I’ll try to consult them, though I am not sure they would be thrilled to put a spell on something; they are more knowledgeable in the area of the spell removal.”
“But isn’t it the same kind of work?” – the young woman, Ksenia, who listened to all the discussion with interest, suddenly asked.
“Technically, it is. But they don’t believe that bewitching anything can be good.”
Ksenia giggled. “Foreigners are strange.”
“Yes, I suppose, they are. I personally don’t feel very comfortable with this bewitching the monuments and relying on them for the defense of Saint Petersburg myself.”
Baba Mavra shrugged. “I don’t like it that much either. But this method works well, and in the present circumstances I have nothing else to oppose the curse.”
“How can you be sure that it works?”
“Well, Venice is still standing, isn’t it?”
“Venice? But how do you know about it? And what is going on there? I’ve never heard of any curse.”
“We do know some stuff in our wilderness; why wouldn’t we? Venice doesn’t have such a curse at its foundation. It mostly has to stand against natural conditions – but it has a lot of guards, believe me. They are working in a balance – the water, the mirrors, the winged lion, the horses from Constantinople, that condottiere – everything there is connected into an intricate web, created long ago and supported for centuries.” baba Mavra sounded different, looked different, and I wondered if my Watcher was watchful enough to notice it. The conversation continued, moving from the flood to some polite trifles, but it seemed that everyone present was enjoying themselves, and was reluctant to finish the visit.
Finally Chalmers looked at his pocket watch. “I am sorry to have bothered you without an invitation, but the acquaintance was most delightful, and I hope, it will be fruitful, as well.”
Baba Mavra smiled generously “No bother at all. You and Agrafena are welcome here any time. Allow Andrey to help you to get home – he has a boat, so you’ll be there much faster.”
“Thank you,” Chalmers said, bowing. “That would be most welcome.”
We settled ourselves in the boat as comfortably as possible. Andrey and I each took an oar, Ksenia was at the head, looking at the water, and Chalmers sat at the stern. The boat was heading down-stream, so the rowing was easy – after I figured out the force needed to balance Andrey’s. He started singing something slow and dolorous to pass the time and set the rhythm for our arms. I heard Chalmers mumbling under his nose about the terrible moan. I laughed: “In our land, this moan is called a song.”
“Thank you for the explanation, it doesn’t make it any less terrible.”
“I beg to differ! It is a lovely song, even if a sad one, and Andrey has the most agreeable voice and a good ear.”
Chalmers shrugged and started to look around at the city standing on the both sides of the river Neva. I interpreted our conversation to Ksenia and Andrey. Andrey continued his singing, and Ksenia mentioned proudly: “Oh, he can sing the Italian songs, and the French, and the psalms, of course. But they are just not fitting for life, they are for special occasions, you know?” I nodded, and we proceeded in silence – save the song and occasional splashes around the boat. Soon we reached the Vasilievskiy Island, where the Kunstkamera and our quarters were, so we got off the boat to have a walk. I thanked my new acquaintances properly and promised to meet them tomorrow.
We walked along the perfectly straight lines streets of Vasilievskiy, and checked out several popular vampires haunts; the churchyards, and the dark corners of the taverns and inns. Everything was quiet – too quiet, in fact.
“It is not normal, two vampires in a night for this part of the city.”
“Adds weight to the upcoming catastrophe theory. Rats from the sinking ship…”
“You didn’t believe it before, did you?”
“I had my doubts.”
“Why would vampires hide or run, anyway? They cannot drown.”
“No, but they don’t like it much under water either. I surmise we shall have an overabundance after the flood though…”
“Yes, vampires, and demons, and newly drowned undead… I hope we’ll survive the flood to deal with them.”
Our patrolling turned into a relaxed stroll, and if any passer byes wondered why the respectable custodian of the Kunstkamera was parading the streets with his cook, nobody mentioned anything. One gentleman, though, greeted Chalmers with some kind of odd hand waving. To my surprise, my Watcher answered him with the exact same hand waving, after which they bowed to each other and went each their own way.
“What was that?” I demanded.
Chalmers looked slightly embarrassed. “It is…hmm… It was a Masonic greeting.”
I was astounded. “Are you a mason? Since when?”
“I am not. Or, more accurately, officially, I am. A senior member of a Masonic Lodge “The Society of Watchers of One True Mystery.”
“Otherwise known as The Watchers Council?”
“Quite right.”
“So, you are hiding your secret society by pretending to be another secret society? Very shrewd. And very pointless. Isn’t it a point of being a secret society – that nobody knows about your existence?”
“Well, Masons are not really that secret. They are playing at having something substantial to feel themselves important, and call themselves secret societies, even though everyone knows about them. But still, when the Lodge proclaim that they have secret meetings and all this nonsense, no one is really curious what it is all about. Perfect cover. And here I get a lot of important connections because of being considered an important link to British Lodges.”
“Still, it seems to me a silly idea. But I don’t mind – it is your game.”
“Your deference is very refreshing, Agrafena.”
By this time we reached our quarters, and were rather happy to retire for the night.
TBC… very soon
Constructive feedback is very welcome. I wanted to make footnotes and the pronunciation guide for the proper names, please tell if you want them.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 07:07 pm (UTC)Hee! That's probably the only Nekrasov reference I'm going to get. [goes back to reading]
no subject
Date: 2004-09-21 06:40 am (UTC)...Этот стон у нас песней зовется... ;)
no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 07:31 pm (UTC)They had only their determination to keep this city alive.
I love this story's premise. And I like how it's turned out so far. Plus, I'm a sucker for historical and folklore references.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-21 06:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-20 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-21 06:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-21 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-21 06:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-24 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 02:48 pm (UTC)Glad you liked the Masons' idea. I thought it would be a perfect cover for The Watchers' Council in the XVIII century - slightly misteriuos, but common nough not to attract attention.
no subject
Date: 2004-10-03 02:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-10-06 12:39 pm (UTC)So far the characters refuse to collaborate with me, and I keep rewriting the second part.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-24 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 12:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-12 02:59 am (UTC)