Grigory's Gadget

by E. A. Hennessy

  “It's a family heirloom,” Zoya replied. “Please, it's very delicate.” The officer gave Zoya a sideways look and shoved the gadget into a large bag. Then she began filling out a form with Zoya's details: hair, eye, and skin color, height, weight, age, nationality.

  “We’re not pirates,” Zoya said, gesturing to Demyan, Lilia, and Anya. Where did they take Nikolai? “We were kidnapped, we were on a ship-“

  “Silence,” the officer said. “We will ask you questions when it’s time.”

  After each person was similarly processed then stripped of everything except their essential clothing, they were led deeper into the basement of the building to the jail cells. They were all locked in individual cells that were separated by solid brick walls.

  As the officers began to leave the room, Zoya shouted, “Don't we get to explain? Please!” The door of the room closed.

  Down the hall, Snezhana was having a fit of cursing and shaking the bars of her cell.

  “I will kill them all!” she shrieked.

  “Nikolai!” Lilia shouted. Her voice echoed through the hall. There was no answer.

  “What did they do with Nikolai?” Demyan asked. “Did anyone see?”

  “They took him into another room,” Anya replied. “With any luck they'll get him to a doctor.”

  “Good,” Lilia sighed.

  Zoya began pacing her cell, her pulse racing. What are they going to do with the gadget? What are they going to do with us?

  “I don't suppose anyone researched the Vernulaian justice system before we decided to move here?” Anya asked after a few moments.

  “I didn't know it would be such a priority,” Demyan replied. “I think we were more concerned with the university and the beach.”

  “Why would you want to move to Vernulaia, anyway?” Pyotr asked. “I've never heard anything good about it.”

  “It's supposed to be a paradise,” Lilia said. “All of the brochures, all of the stories we were told said so.”

  “All propaganda,” Snezhana muttered. “You've never left Morozhia before, have you?”

  “No,” the friends admitted.

  “So,” Zoya started. “What sort of things do they say about Vernulaia?”

  “The same sort of stuff they say about your dear old home of Morozhia,” Snezhana replied. “A totalitarian dictatorship, ruled with an iron fist with no regard for the happiness or well-being of its people.”

  “Why didn't anyone mention that before?” Lilia demanded.

  Snezhana laughed. “And ruin your unbridled optimism about the future?” she said. “Besides, if you had decided you didn't want to go to Mirgorod after all, where would that have left me?”

  “So much for your penance,” Zoya muttered.

  “I stand by what I said,” Snezhana said. “I need to see the gadget destroyed. You need to see the gadget destroyed, despite the risks. You may not see that now, but you will unless you’re an idiot like my brother.”

  “You’ve broken out of jail before,” Anya interjected. “Mind sharing any tips with us?”

  “She better hurry,” Alexi said. “It won't take long before they find out who Snezhana is and that she's wanted in Lodninsk. She'll be on the next airship out of here pretty soon.”

  The conversation was interrupted by a loud creak as the door opened. A moment later, Edmund, Gotfrid, Yeremiy, Vlad, and Svetlana all filed in. Zoya listened as each was locked into their own cells.

  “Well,” Snezhana laughed after the officers left the room. “Didn't take them long to find your criminal record, eh Eddie?” Edmund didn't respond. For a painful amount of time, the jail was silent.

  “Yeremiy,” Lilia said at last. She waited for his response.

  “Yes, Lilia?” Yeremiy replied.

  “The first chance I get,” she said, “I'm going to kill you.”

  “Lilia, you have to understand,” Yeremiy said. “I made a deal with Gotfrid to help get Snezhana arrested, I had no idea he was actually working for Edmund.”

  “I don’t have to understand anything,” Lilia replied. “I understand that you betrayed us after we promised that we'd help each other. That we'd work together. You broke that promise, so the next chance I get, I am going to kill you.”

  “On that note,” Snezhana said. “Gotfrid, the next time I get the chance, I'm going to kill you. But I'm sure mine and Lilia's tactics will be quite different. You see, Lilia strikes me as the sort to kill violently and quickly, in a fit of passion. That's not my style, as you know Gotfrid. And it's not yours either. So I'll be sure to kill you nice and slow.”

  “All empty threats,” Gotfrid sneered. “You'll be off to Lodninsk soon enough. They may even put you to death.”

  “We'll see,” Snezhana replied. “I really shouldn't be surprised Edmund planted a mole on my ship. Edmund and I have always been, as much as we hate to admit it, quite similar.”

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Edmund asked from his cell. “You didn't have a mole on my ship. All of my crew completely loyal to me!”

  “Are you sure about that?” Snezhana asked.

  “Who was it?” Lilia asked. “Who was the mole on Edmund's ship?”

  “Captain,” Edmund shouted. “You'll address me as Captain!”

  “A good man,” Snezhana said, her voice somber. “It was Pavel.”

  A violent cacophony rang out from Edmund's cell as he cursed and hit the bars.

  “He was working for you?” Zoya asked.

  “That doesn't make any sense,” Lilia said. “He was murdered by your crew while trying to rescue us from you.”

  “He was murdered by Adam,” Snezhana said. “Adam was a new addition to the crew, a hothead who never listened or learned his place. And Pavel had to try to rescue you, to keep his cover.”

  “But he was loyal to Edmund,” Lilia insisted. “He even told me a story about how he was captured and Edmund and his crew saved him.”

  Edmund grunted in his cell. A tense moment of silence followed.

  “Pavel was never captured while on my crew,” Edmund said at last, his voice so low the other prisoners could barely hear.

  “Did Pavel tell you Edmund was the one who saved him?” Snezhana asked. Lilia didn't respond. Edmund grumbled unintelligibly in his cell.

  “So when he told me to protect the gadget,” Zoya said after a moment, “he meant to protect it from Edmund?”

  “Yes,” Snezhana replied.

  “He should have been a little more specific,” Anya said. “It would have saved us a lot of trouble.”

  No one gave a response to Anya's comment, but continued to sit in silence in their cells.

  The next morning, two police officers entered the room of holding cells.

  “Zoya Orlova, Lilia Alkaeva, Anya Filipova, Demyan Volkov,” the first officer announced. “Stand still in the center of your cells as they are unlocked. Then follow us.”

  The friends did as they were told. The officers led them out of the room and up to the main floor of the building. Sunlight shined through the windows, splashing the wooden floors with a warm glow. Police officers sat at rows of desks that filled the large room. The friends were brought into the chief's office.

  “So we've checked your records,” the chief told the friends as they sat down. She was a thin woman with even thinner gray hair. Her voice was deep and gravelly. “It appears you don't have any citizenship.”

  “What?” Zoya gasped. “That can't be right.”

  “We're from Lodninsk, Morozhia,” Demyan told the officer.

  “Yes, I see that,” she replied. “But your citizenship has been revoked.” Zoya and Demyan stared at the chief in silence.

  “Why?” Lilia asked at last.

  “According to our records,” the chief began, “you fled the nation during a time of war.”

  “Fled?” Anya asked. “We weren't fleeing. We had applied for our visas to move to Mirgorod. We were on an immigrant ship when those pirates attacked it!”

&nbs
p; “That ship never made it to Mirgorod. It appears to have been a ship working for the Kingdom of Starzapad. Everyone on board is considered a traitor to the state of Morozhia, and therefore to its ally, the state of Vernulaia.”

  “I don't believe this,” Zoya sighed, sitting back in her chair. Lilia leaned forward.

  “What happened to Nikolai?” she asked the chief. “Our friend, with the wounded shoulder. Is he ok?”

  “We sent him off for medical treatment,” the chief replied.

  “Oh, good,” Lilia sighed. “When can we see him?” The officer raised an eyebrow.

  “You are still in custody, Miss Alkaeva,” the chief told her.

  “So,” Anya said, “what do we do? What happens now?”

  “We had no idea the ship wasn't going to Mirgorod,” Lilia said. “We wanted to come to Mirgorod. We were on our way to study at the university.”

  “Well,” the chief replied, “You'll be sent to our refugee camp outside the city. Once you're there, you'll be able to work until you've proven your loyalty and usefulness to Vernulaia. At that point, we will address the other offenses you have been charged with: illegal entry and piracy. Officer Rybkin!”

  “Wait!” Anya said. “You haven’t listened to us, we were kidnapped by the pirates.”

  “You’re other charges will be addressed after you’ve proven your loyalty and usefulness in the refugee camp,” the chief replied. “Rybkin, they’re ready for you!”

  Officer Rybkin, a lean, dark-skinned man, walked in. Without a word, he began to lead the friends out of the office.

  “Wait, Rybkin,” the chief said. “Leave Zoya Orlova. I have a few more questions for her.” Zoya watched as her friends were carted out of the room. Demyan grabbed her hand before Officer Rybkin pulled him away.

  “Please sit down,” the chief told Zoya, gesturing to her seat.

  “What is this about?” Zoya asked.

  The chief pulled out the gadget and set it on the desk.

  “What can you tell me about this?” she asked her. Zoya thought for a moment.

  “It’s a family heirloom,” she said. “A gift from my grandmother.”

  “I see,” the chief said, scribbling on a piece of paper. “And what did your grandmother tell you about this heirloom?”

  “Not much,” Zoya replied. “She passed away recently. I found it in her room while I was packing for the trip to Mirgorod…the trip I thought was going to take me to Mirgorod.” The chief continued writing on her piece of paper.

  “Your hair color,” she said, looking up. “Is it natural, or did you dye it that obscene color?” Zoya started fidgeting with the end of her braid, her heart racing.

  “It's natural,” she admitted.

  “Very interesting,” the chief said, writing some more.

  “Will I be joining my friends soon?” Zoya asked. “At the refugee camp?” The chief smiled.

  “We have different plans for you,” she said.

  Lilia, Demyan, and Anya were brought to another room, filled with shelves of clothing. They were each handed a pair of brown pants, a blue shirt, and brown boots. The officers instructed them to change quickly so they could be taken to the refugee camp.

  “Where do we change?” Lilia asked one of the officers. The officer gave her a sideways glance and didn't answer.

  “I guess right here,” Anya muttered. The friends quickly stripped out of their own clothes, which was stained from smoke and mud, and pulled on their new clothing.

  “Tuck in your shirts,” an officer instructed them. The three friends obeyed and were brought to another door.

  They were led through dark, winding halls until they found themselves in the alley behind the police station. There, a horse-drawn cart waited for them. The back of the cart, which was essentially a mobile jail cell, already housed Gotfrid, Igor, Pyotr, Edmund, and Alexi. When the officers opened the door to the cart, Anya ran in and hugged Alexi.

  “Hands to yourself!” an officer shouted. Anya stepped back and took her own seat. Lilia and Demyan took seats as well.

  “They're sending you to the refugee camps?” Demyan asked the pirates.

  “Surprised they aren't hanging us?” Gotfrid asked. His finely tailored clothes had been replaced by the same brown pants and blue shirt. Gotfrid slumped in the baggy clothes as he pulled idly at the oversized cuffs.

  “I'd take death over the camps they're sending us to,” Edmund grumbled.

  “What do you mean?” Lilia asked. The pirates chuckled.

  “They call them refugee camps,” Igor grumbled. “Makes 'em sound nice. What's the word?”

  “Euphemism,” Gotfrid said. Igor glared at Gotfrid.

  “They say it's to prove your worth to the state. They work their refugees hard until they can't work any more, and anyone who can't work is discarded.”

  Pyotr, his gaze transfixed on the floor of the cart, twitched and began rubbing his hands.

  “Those are just stories,” Alexi insisted. “Don't be so melodramatic.”

  “You'll see, boy,” Igor told him.

  Anya shifted in her seat, glancing around the alley.

  “So where's your aunt?” she asked Alexi.

  “On her way to the docks,” Alexi replied. “She's boarding the first ship to Morozhia.”

  “And Yeremiy?” Lilia asked. “What are they going to do to him?”

  “He and his airship pilots were set free,” Gotfrid explained. “It seems the police believed they had been kidnapped. They'll be heading back to their homes soon, I suspect.”

  “So that's it?” Lilia asked. “Yeremiy just gets to go home, like nothing happened?”

  “Don't be bitter,” Gotfrid told Lilia. “Loyalty is a dangerous thing in this world.”

  “What a horrible thing to say,” Anya said.

  “Horrible but true,” Gotfrid replied.

  “And you're so proud to be a shining example,” Igor said, spitting at Gotfrid's feet.

  Lilia glanced back at the police station.

  “Where is Zoya?” she asked.

  “I don't know,” Demyan replied, “and I don't like this one bit. I have a bad feeling.”

  “She'll be ok,” Anya insisted. “I'm sure she'll be out any minute.”

  As she said that, the cart jerked into motion, heading down the alley.

  “Wait!” Lilia called to the guards. “You forgot Zoya! You're missing someone!” The cart rolled on.

  Pyotr, suddenly overwhelmed, began sobbing.

  “Oh, come now,” Igor said, wrapping an arm around the boy. “None of that. We're strong, fierce pirates, remember?”

  Pyotr nodded but continued to sob.

  “We'll figure something out, kid,” Alexi told him. “We're not just strong and fierce, we're cunning, too.”

  Snezhana stood on the docks of Mirgorod, handcuffed and surrounded by militia.

  “Are these really necessary?” she asked, holding up her hands.

  “You're wanted for murder and escape,” a soldier told her. “Any more complaining out of you, and we'll gladly put you in a full body restraint.” Snezhana put her hands back down and sighed.

  A large sidewheel steamer pulled into the dock. Its metal hull gleamed in the sunlight, elaborately decorated with curls of color. A large Vernulaian flag waved from atop the main mast. Banners of peace flew from the other masts.

  “Heading through dangerous waters, are we?” Snezhana commented. None of the soldiers replied. She inched toward one of them, a young man with freckles and blond hair.

  “Would you mind terribly, getting me a glass of water?” she cooed. “I haven't had a thing to drink all day.” The soldier looked around at his comrades. As he did, Snezhana grabbed the pistol from his hip, then wrapped the chain of her handcuffs around his neck.

  “No one move,” she demanded of the other soldiers. “You know I'd have no qualms about killing your little comrade here. Or any of you, or any civilians that get in my way.” One of the other soldiers reached for
his own gun. Snezhana pushed the barrel of her stolen pistol against her hostage's head.

  “I said no one move,” she told the soldiers. Snezhana heard shuffling behind her. She pushed the young soldier into his comrades, turning and pistol-whipping the soldier that had moved to attack her. The man went down, unconscious. The other soldiers began to rush at her. Snezhana wove through them, then turned and shot three times. The three quickest soldiers fell down, all shot in the chest.

  Snezhana darted down the dock as the other soldiers rushed after her. She saw police gathering at the end of the dock and grinned. Leaping onto a dock piling, then across two small boats, and finally onto solid ground, she bolted down an alley, knocking over carts and garbage cans. Snezhana weaved through the city, down side streets, and into narrow alleys until she reached a small basement-level door. She climbed down the steps to it and knocked frantically. As she waited, she crouched on the steps, keeping out of sight from the main street.

  A slot opened in the door, revealing two dark, squinting eyes.

  “Fancy seeing your ugly mug here,” a man growled.

  “Fill an ugly mug with grog, and it looks pretty fine to me,” Snezhana replied. The man closed the slot, then opened the door.

  “Getting in trouble again, are we Snezhana?” the man asked. His beer belly shook as he laughed.

  “Always,” Snezhana smiled, entering. “It's good to see you, Boris.”

  The refugee camp was several miles outside of Mirgorod near the ocean. Barbed wire fences marked its border, and the cart had to proceed through two security gates to get inside. The camp itself appeared as an industrial complex; every other building was topped with a large smoke stack. The people Anya saw in the camp were hard at work, and appeared ragged and emaciated.

  Anya grabbed Alexi's hand. He held her hand tightly as they moved through the camp. The cart traveled through the dirt paths that served as roads, finally stopping in front of a decrepit warehouse.

  The police officers opened the back of the cart and instructed the prisoners to step out one at a time.

  “This is where you'll sleep,” one officer said, gesturing to the warehouse. “Find an empty bed inside. Your supervisor will be here shortly with your assignments.” The officers locked up the cart and rolled it away, leaving the prisoners standing alone.