The note arrived, slightly damp and smelling of seaweed and salt, around dawn on the fourteenth of January. It seemed that the signet rings worked, even in other languages, for the words on the page weren’t in any Roman alphabet--they were in Cyrillic, the sharp letters scrawled in black ink that was oddly… textured, like it had been dried and reconstituted with salt water. Вавилон Рыцарь Меркурия, it began, and what followed was several lines of lettering in what was definitely Cyrillic, scrawled by a hand that was unfamiliar with the tool it held. At the bottom was a seal stamped in drying blood, the edges fuzzed by the damp paper but the carving clear: the sigil of Saturn, hidden in a glyph that closely resembled a wave and a sphere over it.
Finn Derouen was a man of increasingly many talents, but reading Russian was not one of them. The signet was like nothing he’d ever seen, resembling neither Megiddo nor Niflhel, and his mind spun with all the improbable possibilities of the letter’s provenance. He was certain it was full of important information of a potentially urgent matter - but that made him no more able to read it. (He showed it to Arkady. She shrugged and said, “That sure is Russian. Do we have any more birdseed?”)
(Which was frustrating, because he was sure that Tate, and even Vanya, had been able to read and speak Russian.)
Which left him with a limited number of options, once Google Translate proved utterly useless and incomprehensible. Actually, his only real option was Iouri Spektor, local scholar of natural history and dog enthusiast, definitely Russian as Fuq (with his Petrograd accent still intact, even). It proved fairly quick to get an appointment with him - although Finn was sort of wary of how he would explain the letter’s contents. Given how it had arrived, it was almost certainly some masquerade-breaking information best left classified.
What if Iouri was a Negaverser? he wondered absently, as he waited outside the museum director’s office. Would that mean Finn would have to kill him?
He hoped not. That would be really, really hard to explain. Or get over. Like, s**t. He’d be scarred for life.
Iouri opened the door and waved Finn in. “What did you bring me?” he asked. “You were very mysterious on the phone.”
Finn produced the note from his bag and laid it out on the desk. “Can you translate this?” he asked. Iouri squinted at the parchment as he sat down.
“This is very odd,” he said. “Is that - is that blood?”
“It might be. I just - I need to know what it says. Someone might be in danger.”
“This is addressed to Babylon Knight of Mercury,” said Iouri. Finn sighed and debated how to answer, but before he could, the other man continued, “I am not involved in all this and I do not wish to be. But I will read it for you.” He cleared his throat, and read, clearly, “"Babylon Knight of Mercury, it is he who is once Captain Melanite, now Squire of Camlann. We did not part on excellent terms, but recent events have forced my hand and I find myself in need of your help. I find myself rather lost, you see. I no longer know who I was, though I know my name--Irinei Valentinevich Lazarev--and my address, which is included below. Camlann is the only name I have, and it is obviously not helpful in all situations. There are things I should like to retrieve. I was hoping you could assist me. Regards, Camlann."
He put the paper down slowly. “I know this young man, Irinei Lazarev,” he said. “If he’s writing you in Russian, I expect he’s forgotten how to write in English. Would you like my assistance to write back?”
“Yes,” said Finn, which was as close to confirming his identity as Babylon as he was going to get, hopefully. Iouri pulled a piece of paper and a pen from within his desk, and began to transcribe as Finn dictated.
Camlann,
I expect that you are at your wonder presently, but for our purposes it would be more helpful if you were back on Earth. Can you return to Destiny City and assume your civilian identity, and then send me another note with your location? I am with a friend who can translate, and we are both eager to help you, but it will be easiest if you are physically with us.
Babylon.
He stamped the letter with his ring and sat back down as it vanished, daring Iouri to say something.
Iouri said, “I continue to know nothing about this, and have no desire to become involved.”
sosostris
Camlann received the note, and put down the dull old knife he’d dug up from one of the velvet-lined chests. It probably hadn’t been meant to carve bone, but, as with all things, it adapted to the circumstances of its use. Of course, now his hands were covered in small nicks and gouges from little slips, but he’d had worse, he was sure he’d had worse just because it didn’t hurt for very long, and he didn’t mind it.
He slotted the little ring of bone around his black-stone ring with its pale lavender jewel, and did as the letter instructed. Once he was in a place with an easily legible street sign--a little used bookstore with a Cyrillic sign--he settled down on one of the little armchairs between the stacks and pulled out one of his business cards. He carefully wrote Babylon’s name and then the name of the bookstore. I have transcribed the street name as best I could, he added. His writing in the other language wasn’t as clumsy as he’d feared. Using blood to send the letter again seemed a little strange to do in a public place, but it was the only free-running ink he had. Camlann hunched over his lap to hide what he was doing, and stamped the back of the card. It vanished, which: still interesting. It was nice to be able to write back.
He slotted the little ring of bone around his black-stone ring with its pale lavender jewel, and did as the letter instructed. Once he was in a place with an easily legible street sign--a little used bookstore with a Cyrillic sign--he settled down on one of the little armchairs between the stacks and pulled out one of his business cards. He carefully wrote Babylon’s name and then the name of the bookstore. I have transcribed the street name as best I could, he added. His writing in the other language wasn’t as clumsy as he’d feared. Using blood to send the letter again seemed a little strange to do in a public place, but it was the only free-running ink he had. Camlann hunched over his lap to hide what he was doing, and stamped the back of the card. It vanished, which: still interesting. It was nice to be able to write back.
“I know where that is,” said Iouri, reading the name of the bookstore off the card Finn handed him. “It’s about a ten-minute walk from here. If he’s really got no memories, we shouldn’t leave him out in the city by himself for an extended length of time.”
“I’ll follow you,” said Finn.
It was more like a fifteen minute walk, but only because it was snowing. The bookstore was cozy and welcoming compared to the weather outside - the sort of place Finn would have actually been likely to hang out in if it sold any titles in English. Iouri greeted the proprietor by name and asked something in Russian that sounded descriptive, and the man pointed them to the back.
It was not hard to find him - there was only one slim redhead at the back of the shop. “Camlann?” asked Finn as they approached, he glanced to Iouri, uncertain of how to proceed. “Uh, It’s Babylon and - could you translate?”
To his relief, Iouri took over in flawless Russian. “He’s the Babylon Knight you’ve been conversing with,” he explained, “And my name is Iouri. I knew you when you were Irinei, but not as Melanite. I’ve been translating your letters. Would you like to come with us?”
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Camlann had moved on to reading a book, thumbing through the familiar pages carefully so as not to stain them. He wouldn’t be buying it, he imagined, although he had a billfold on him and there was money in it. Unfamiliar money, unfortunately. He would’ve preferred rubles, but he’d figured out already that this was certainly not Russia--he supposed it was America, which meant the language was English. The proprietor had confirmed as much. The old man had seemed unfazed by Camlann’s seeming cluelessness, and hadn’t recognized him.
“He’s not glowing anymore,” said Camlann to Iouri, dark eyes narrowing as he considered the man claiming to be Babylon. He could see it, a little, around the nose? And the scar. He got up and returned the book to the top of the pile where he had found it. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t write them in English. I remember knowing it, but it’s all--” He waved a hand in the air. Admitting incompetence was already something he didn’t like. “Thank you for your help,” he said, and again to the proprietor as they left.
The snow was welcome, and familiar. He shoved his hands into his pockets with his gloves and followed Iouri and Babylon, pausing only occasionally to brush his hair out of his eyes. It was only two blocks before they reached their destination--an apartment, homey and lived-in, with a dog that immediately kicked up a ruckus. Ruckus was too loud for what the little one did, to be honest: she got up from the couch where she’d been sitting, sniffed around their feet, and barked just once or twice. “Kudryenka,” he said, dropping into a crouch and offering the dog a hand for her to sniff. As he scratched her behind the ears, he looked up to Iouri and asked, “She is a small one. What’s her name?”
“He’s not glowing anymore,” said Camlann to Iouri, dark eyes narrowing as he considered the man claiming to be Babylon. He could see it, a little, around the nose? And the scar. He got up and returned the book to the top of the pile where he had found it. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t write them in English. I remember knowing it, but it’s all--” He waved a hand in the air. Admitting incompetence was already something he didn’t like. “Thank you for your help,” he said, and again to the proprietor as they left.
The snow was welcome, and familiar. He shoved his hands into his pockets with his gloves and followed Iouri and Babylon, pausing only occasionally to brush his hair out of his eyes. It was only two blocks before they reached their destination--an apartment, homey and lived-in, with a dog that immediately kicked up a ruckus. Ruckus was too loud for what the little one did, to be honest: she got up from the couch where she’d been sitting, sniffed around their feet, and barked just once or twice. “Kudryenka,” he said, dropping into a crouch and offering the dog a hand for her to sniff. As he scratched her behind the ears, he looked up to Iouri and asked, “She is a small one. What’s her name?”
“Laika,” answered Iouri, watching the young man get settled on the couch. Finn took the chair, feeling a bit awkward - first, because he had no idea what anyone was talking about (probably the dog???), and second, because he’d never been in Iouri’s apartment before and this was just sort of weird. He had an entire bookshelf full of Soviet memorabilia. It was weird.
“I’ll call Anabel and see when she’s available to do, uh, ID papers and stuff,” he said.
Iouri repeated, in Russian, “He says he is going to call a friend and see when she can help you get new identity papers. Do you have any thoughts yet on a new name?”
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Iouri had a strange sense of humor, thought Camlann, and he carefully gathered up the dog and cuddled her close to his chest. Like hell was this dog going anywhere near space. She was small, warm, and wriggly, which was the best combination for dogs, as far as he was concerned. He let her go when she wanted down, and watched her go. “No,” he said. “I don’t.” The ring on his finger and its bone setting was too heavy, uncomfortable now, in this normal place. It didn’t feel so natural anymore. He had stepped back into the shade. “I… remember someone calling me Irina,” he said, tentatively. “That’s a woman’s name.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought--he didn’t remember, that was all, probably there wasn’t anything to worry about. “Why would she have called me that,” he said, but it was to himself, not to Iouri.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought--he didn’t remember, that was all, probably there wasn’t anything to worry about. “Why would she have called me that,” he said, but it was to himself, not to Iouri.
“Perhaps your memory is fogged?” Iouri suggested, not thinking too much into it. “Your name was Irinei. They sound similar.”
This went completely over Finn’s head, as he was having a very important conversation with Anabel Au over text message. It mostly consisted of No I cannot forge a passport for a foreign national during business hours.
“We could start thinking of a new name for you,” Iouri suggested. “You could be Aleksandr? Or Pietr? Or Fyodor… I suppose all of those end in R. I know there are some names that don’t. Do you have a preference?”
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It was very clearly Irina--it’d been followed with Valentinovna. But maybe it was just the purification that was messing with his head, and Iouri was right. Camlann smiled at him, a little comforted by that thought. The suggestions elicited only a shrug. “They’re… names,” he said. “I don’t care.”
He looked over to Babylon. “Who is he texting,” asked Camlann, obligingly lifting his feet for Laika to sniff under them. Why was the dog so cute? He wanted to steal her. “Is it his friend? The one who does papers?”
Why did he need a different name? Camlann suited him just fine. He just needed to figure things out, that was all. “How did we know each other, before?”
He looked over to Babylon. “Who is he texting,” asked Camlann, obligingly lifting his feet for Laika to sniff under them. Why was the dog so cute? He wanted to steal her. “Is it his friend? The one who does papers?”
Why did he need a different name? Camlann suited him just fine. He just needed to figure things out, that was all. “How did we know each other, before?”
“Are you texting Anabel?” Iouri asked Finn, and Finn nodded, not looking up from his phone. He had no place in this conversation, and trying to follow it was only serving to give him a headache. “Yes, he’s texting the girl who does the papers,” Iouri relayed, and returned to the matter of names again. If Camlann truly didn’t care…
“Fyodor,” said Iouri, and then shook his head. “No, that’s another R sound. Pavel? No, I don’t like that either. Aleksy! Yes. How do you like that? Aleksy, and you can use my last name, if you like.”
Iouri, Finn thought, was phenomenally chill about all this for someone who was adamantly not involved.
“We were friends of a sort,” Iouri added thoughtfully. “I work at the Destiny City Earth and Space Museum, and you’d been coming by to do paintings. Gem studies, still lifes of dinosaur skeletons or the greenhouse. That sort of thing. You would make fun of me for my accent and help me to improve it.”
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“Your accent is s**t,” Aleksy agreed, spreading his palms out at his sides like you know it’s true. It had all the same vowel shapes as his, but the consonants were off. “I like Aleksy.” Aleksy… whatever Iouri’s last name was. Hm. “I painted? That seems… right.” He looked at his hands. The fingernails were delicate and unbroken, despite his adventures in the sand and stone of his Wonder. Shiny, too. Probably painted with some sort of clear lacquer. But his fingertips were callused, the sides of his fingers, too. There were little scars--one ringing his wrist on the right side, and the little cuts from the knife at Camlann. “Maybe seeing them would help.”
He pulled the ring of keys out of his pocket and frowned. None of them were labeled--a bronze-yellow key, a silver key, two large keys with square heads and English letters incised into them--which was eminently unhelpful. Four keys was not too many to try in one lock, though. And he wanted to keep them anyway. They were his. Or had been his, once. “Castor said the memories wouldn’t come back,” he said. “That whoever I was before, that person was dead now. Babylon said that Avalon remembered nothing, but I remember--things.” He paused, and looked up to Iouri. “Are you part of this,” he asked. “This whole… gang war?”
He pulled the ring of keys out of his pocket and frowned. None of them were labeled--a bronze-yellow key, a silver key, two large keys with square heads and English letters incised into them--which was eminently unhelpful. Four keys was not too many to try in one lock, though. And he wanted to keep them anyway. They were his. Or had been his, once. “Castor said the memories wouldn’t come back,” he said. “That whoever I was before, that person was dead now. Babylon said that Avalon remembered nothing, but I remember--things.” He paused, and looked up to Iouri. “Are you part of this,” he asked. “This whole… gang war?”
Iouri shook his head fiercely. “I am completely uninvolved in the gang war,” he said in Russian, “And I have no desire to become involved. I am an innocent bystander simply helping a friend in need.” He eyed the keys - perhaps he knew where some of them belonged.
“You were the artist in residence at the Rackham Estate here in town,” he added. “They have some of your work on display, if you would like to go one day.”
Finn looked up from his phone. “Anabel says she can do it on Thursday night if I make dinner for her,” he announced, and Iouri translated in short order.
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"That's kind of you," said Aleksy, and he turned to Finn when the latter spoke but paid more attention to Iouri's matter-of-fact translation. "I understood some of that." Not much. But he got the part about making dinner well enough. "What do I do until then?"
“He wants to know what he does until then,” said Iouri, and Finn shrugged. He had some experience when it came to dealing with amnesiacs, but usually there was more of a support system in place. Now, with Kaatje gone to Japan, and Tallulah and Nick still in New Hampshire, he and Anabel were the only functional parts of the system left.
“He can come with me,” said Finn, “Or stay here with you? Someone might come looking for him, but it also may take a few days for anyone on the Negaverse to realize he’s gone missing. Ask him if he remembers who helped him switch sides.”
Iouri turned back to Aleksy (yes, he thought, that name suited him rather well). “He says you can go with him or stay with me, and that no one will even begin to look for who you were for a few days. He also wants to know if you remember the name of who helped you switch sides - though I’m not sure why.”
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The idea of accepting charity made him a little uncomfortable. Aleksy picked up Laika again, and considered his options: was he really going to insist he could handle himself when he didn’t speak English, had no idea where the apartment that was professedly once-his was, and less idea what would happen if someone from the Negaverse found him. In this case, letting someone lend him a hand really was the smartest move, even if he didn’t like it… “I would rather stay with you,” he said. “We speak the same language, which is something. I don’t feel like playing charades to communicate.” Also he really liked the dog. She was small and adorable and he wanted to maybe spend an hour patting her ears. “The man who purified me was named Castor,” he told Iouri. “Why does that matter?”
Iouri translated, and Finn gave Aleksy his best shrug. He figured he’d go and ask Castor for some information on how everything had gone down, but that wasn’t… it wasn’t really important? Melanite had always been the paranoid sort, though, and he wanted to get off to a good start with Camlann. “I just like to keep on top of these things,” he said awkwardly. “In case I run into Castor later, so I can thank him.”
Iouri relayed this information, and then added, “You’re more than welcome to stay here - there is a fold-out couch in my office, though you may find the space cramped.” If Aleksy thought he had a lot of Soviet memorabilia on display in the living room, he hadn’t even seen half of it. “I know where your old apartment is, if you’d like to go by and gather some things.”
He considered the dog, happily nestled in Aleksy’s arms. “She likes you,” he said.
Laika yawned.
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“I like her,” said Aleksy. “I’m stealing her. Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry. He smiled crookedly at Iouri, and dealt manfully with the lick on the cheek the dog gave him. “I think Castor and his brother have probably already been through. He said he would put it in storage for me to look through, but…” He had a feeling there were things that might have been missed. “...I would like to go see it, anyway.” Perhaps not that day, though. His hands hurt, and the dog in his lap was very warm.
He nodded, a little sleepily. “I would appreciate that,” he told Iouri. “Thank you.”
He nodded, a little sleepily. “I would appreciate that,” he told Iouri. “Thank you.”
Iouri nodded to Finn. “I think that our friend has had a very long day,” he said, “And that we should let him rest.”
Which Finn took as a cue to leave, so that was that.
“I’ll make up the bed for you,” said Iouri, once he was gone. “And find you some things to change into. We are probably about the same size, yes? I think so, yes.”
