Бесплатный фрагмент - Shadows of Kitezh

Note from the author

Dear reader, thank you for choosing my work. I hope reading it will bring you a lot of positive emotions and arouse your interest.

The novel is set in the present day, but uses real historical events and figures to unfold the plot. It makes no claim to historical or factual accuracy, and any changes are incidental and intended to enhance the reader’s immersion in the story.

Enjoy reading!

Prologue

1237. Little Kitezh

A bright, fiery glow from a bloody sunset engulfed the surrounding area, gradually plunging it into darkness. The birds had already stopped singing, frozen in mute horror at the terrible events they had witnessed that day. A cold, merciless wind fluttered the tattered and tattered flags on the banners.

A strong gust of wind tore the proud banner, depicting a torn lion resting on a cross — the coat of arms of the Vladimir-Suzdal Principality — from its hinges and flew off in an unknown direction, crashing somewhere beyond the fortress walls into the black, liquid mud.

The turrets that once soared proudly toward the sky now stood as broken, mangled ruins. Empty barrels rolled back and forth through the ruined fortress walls. Behind them, emitting black, acrid smoke into the sky, the remains of the towers set ablaze by the Mongols blazed with bright scarlet flames, mercilessly sizzling and cracking inward, like creaking logs in a stove.

On the other side, hundreds of tents of varying sizes were pitched across a long, endless field, between which contented warriors lit their fires to warm themselves a little in the cold night. It was from there that a commander watched the burning city from the shadows, whistling softly.

All this, without a doubt, became a symbol of the era. The Mongol invasion came to Russian soil at the most inopportune moment, during a period of fraternal strife and bloody civil war, when each prince was prepared to defend only his own domain, and defeating them one by one was no problem.

Suddenly, loud footsteps and even the sound of stamping feet were heard from the side, and turning around, the commander realized that an exhausted and battered Russian soldier was being dragged along the ground in chains right toward him. His hands were covered in blood, and his face was swollen from numerous blows. His bare feet, blue from the cold, dragged along the ground. As soon as the prisoner was brought closer, they stopped, awaiting orders.

“Who is this?” the temnik asked in his own language.

“A Russian warrior from the city. He doesn’t want to talk,” one of the Mongol-Tatars replied, giving the captive another hard kick in the stomach, causing him to wince in pain.

“Okay, that’s enough, take him to the khan,” the military leader reprimanded them, not wanting to see such a picture.

He turned and immediately headed in the opposite direction. More invaders passed by, grooms escorting exhausted horses, their luxurious black manes swaying as they tried to fend off the insects. A contented hubbub and laughter could be heard all around. The two men were clearly discussing the successful siege.

Temnik glanced at the sun as it disappeared over the horizon, replaced by a tiny, pale moon, and quickened his pace slightly. He was heading toward the largest, most luxurious tent in their camp, which towered far above the others. From a distance, it was clear that the owner of this structure was the most important person here, enjoying a special status. Of course, it was none other than Batu.

Reaching the entrance, the commander met two of the khan’s guards there, after which, with a silent nod, he ordered them to lower their weapons and stand aside. Temnik clearly commanded great respect on this campaign, which opened practically any door.

Pulling back the edge of the cloth covering the entrance, he carefully peered inside. The entire room was luxurious: expensive woven Persian rugs, animal skins, and furs lay scattered across the floor. Along the edges stood padlocked oak chests, intended for storing valuables. In the center stood a large table, piled high with scrolls and maps, so the khan could plan his future campaign.

“Great Batu Khan, may I come in?” asked the temnik, standing shyly at the entrance.

A second later, a short man in full uniform, topped with a warm fur cape, emerged from the far corner. His commanding and determined gaze reflected complete self-confidence and the steadfastness of his resolve.

“What do you want?” he asked discontentedly, stopping in the middle of the tent.

“We captured a Russian prisoner, perhaps he knows where Bolshoy Kitezh is,” the temnik answered him, bowing as a sign of respect before his master.

After thinking for a couple of seconds, the khan sighed heavily, then turned around and sat down on his throne directly opposite, after which he waved his hand, gesturing for them to continue.

“Bring him in, I’ll interrogate him myself,” Batu declared, looking at his interlocutor with displeasure, regretting that he was wasting such precious time.

Without thinking twice, the commander nodded, then shouted to his comrades, asking them to bring the prisoner. They immediately led the Russian inside by the arms, throwing him down with a swing onto his knees right before the throne towering above him. One could not help but sense both fear and awe at fate.

“Where is the second Kitezh?” Batu asked in a commanding tone in Mongolian, after which the prisoner heard a familiar, clumsy speech in translation.

— The Lord will protect it,” the townsman answered him, with his whole appearance portraying his pride and steadfastness.

However, the khan was far from timid. He barely nodded before the Mongol-Tatar struck the captive in the face again, causing him to cough up blood from a split lip.

“Where is Kitezh?” Batu repeated the question, emphasizing each word.

There was no option to say anything. No option to play the silent game either.

“You will never find it,” the Russian rejected their offer, spitting on Batu’s boot.

He, a proud man, couldn’t ignore this, so he nodded again, prompting his assistant to immediately deliver another blow to the gut. Now the prisoner wasn’t quite as cheerful and playful, no longer feigning a smile. One of the guards immediately plunged a dagger into his leg, causing him to scream in pain.

Suddenly, another commander ran into the tent, smiling joyfully. His satisfied expression clearly reflected a certain success.

“Great Khan,” he declared, “we’ve captured a Russian who knows where the city is. He’ll show us.”

“Very good,” Batu declared smugly, then turned back to the drinker. “And you said we wouldn’t find it.”

After this, the poor captive was immediately lifted by the arms and dragged towards the exit, where a certain and painful death for the insult he had inflicted on the khan certainly awaited him.

Chapter 1

Present Day. Moscow. Chernyshev Estate

The bright spotlights shone directly into my face, forcing me to squint slightly and instinctively avert my gaze. There was an unbearable din all around, as if people hadn’t spoken to each other in ages. The banquet hall was filled to capacity. Today, for the first time in a long time, a charity auction was to be held there, where guests were willing to pay millions for the right to the mythical and nominal possession of antiques. People of all walks of life and professions, with vastly different levels of wealth and affluence, had gathered here, but all with one single goal: to spend their money on a good cause.

Valery Vinogradov, barely able to find his way through the crowd, was making his way. Today, he was dressed in a perfectly pressed black tuxedo and bow tie. His hair had been uncomfortably combed back with hairspray by the costume designers, as he was scheduled to host this event. One might wonder, why him? But the answer turned out to be quite simple: ever since the reconquest of Libereya, the young man had become the most famous treasure hunter in the country. Of course, few believed that he had also managed to find the long-lost Amber Room, traces of which he had miraculously destroyed, but the fragment of the panel donated to the museum spoke for itself. All experts agreed that this relic was genuine.

Today’s lots were to feature items from the distant past, so who better than him to tell guests about their historical significance? All of this blended incredibly well with the surroundings, as the auction was held in the City Hall building, which had absorbed all the most striking features of classical 18th-century architecture: the grand staircase, patterned parquet floors, fireplaces, decorative elements, stucco, high ceilings with grisaille paintings in the halls, and historic wooden beams — all dating back to the time of the renowned architect Matthew Fedorovich Kazakov.

Taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and taking a sip, Vinogradov continued toward the stage, greeting everyone around him. Some were familiar to him from the hundreds of lectures and seminars he’d had to give as a star in the historical community; others were unknown to him, but he had to maintain a polite interaction with them, something he’d never particularly enjoyed.

“Good evening, you look wonderful!” he replied to the greeting of a lady in a chic black ball gown with huge pearl beads around her neck.

“Valery! What a meeting!” a man called out from the far end of the room.

“Yes! Hello!” the treasure hunter answered him through clenched teeth, displeased.

Screams continued to echo from all directions. Somewhere overhead, solemn classical music blared loudly from speakers. The cacophony was starting to give me a headache. The spotlights in the gigantic, stately Soviet hall continued to blaze, blinding my eyes, reflecting off the enormous, opulent crystal chandeliers on the ceiling. My tuxedo was incredibly restrictive, forcing me to move around the room like a robot.

Valery prayed for the auction and banquet to begin as soon as possible. He wanted to escape this atmosphere. But right now, he desperately needed the money, so he had to take on this kind of work, among other things.

“Valera! It’s been a while! How’s your wife?” a bald man in a gray checkered jacket suddenly interrupted him, appearing out of nowhere.

“Everything’s fine, thank you!” Vinogradov waved him off, hurrying further towards the stage.

However, his interlocutor, who was Svetlana’s acquaintance, clearly did not want to let him go too far, and immediately grabbed him sharply by the shoulder, holding him in place.

“By the way, I haven’t spoken to her in a while. Did she get a job somewhere after security?” he continued asking him questions.

“Yes. He teaches at a law school. No more night shifts or business trips. A simple, measured life,” Valery replied, trying to break free, but his random companion grabbed his shoulder with a steely grip.

“That’s wonderful. I’ve been telling her for a long time to quit that job and find a good husband. Congratulations!” the man declared, finally letting the young man go.

“Thank you!” Valery muttered through his teeth, then quickly rushed away before his interlocutor could remember anything else.

“You don’t happen to remember Peter Sevastyanov,” he called out unexpectedly. “I think the news said he and you were the discoverers of Liberea.”

Hearing this, the antiquities seeker stopped abruptly and turned his head toward him. He hadn’t heard anything about his old comrade or the fate of his family for over two years since the tragic death of his former companion.

“I’ve heard,” the young man answered intriguedly, turning his head slightly.

“His wife and daughter live in the same building as me. I haven’t seen them in a while. Some say they couldn’t pay off their precious son’s debts and fled to the countryside to escape the debt collectors. What a sad fate!”

“I agree, sorry, I need to go,” Valery answered, shaking even more from the stress he was experiencing.

Vinogradov continued walking, trying to stretch his aching arm. He took another sip of champagne to ease the feeling and calm his nerves, which had begun to fray before the performance. Valery couldn’t understand what was happening to him at all, but his heart was pounding, and his thoughts were racing ahead, preoccupied with something else entirely. It was as if something intuitively told him of danger, but he couldn’t figure out where the blow would come from.

Gathering his strength, Vinogradov lightly slammed his fists on the tabletop, channeling all his emotions into the blow. He then spun around, colliding with a passing waiter who promptly dropped his tray, shattering all the glasses on the marble tile. The shards immediately flew in all directions, and a shower of champagne doused the floor.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” the young man apologized, leaning toward the man’s gray head and placing his hand on his shoulder.

But imagine his surprise when the man turned abruptly, revealing a monstrously familiar face. The relic hunter froze in place, speechless.

“Hello, Valera,” the waiter said in a constrained whisper, turning around completely.

It was none other than his father, whom he had not seen for many years.

Chapter 2

Valery froze in place, unable to utter a word. He looked into the face of a man he hadn’t seen in years, a man who had become as distant and alien to him as possible, a father he never wanted to see again.

“So what? You’re not going to tell me anything?” Stepan asked, combing his graying hair to the side with his hand. “You could have at least said, ‘Hi, Dad,’ for the sake of decency.”

However, Vinogradov was not at all pleased with this turn of events. He spun around, heading in the other direction, but his father quickly grabbed his arm and turned him around.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” the young man hissed, trying to free himself from the grip, “I haven’t even seen you once since you left my mother and me.”

“There were reasons for that,” Stepan objected, shaking his head sternly.

“Really? And what were they?” the treasure hunter exclaimed loudly, causing everyone to turn around. “First, he saddled our family with debt, forced us to move to another city, and then he abandoned us to these problems altogether, starting to pursue his shady schemes!”

— I’m sorry! I wanted a better life for you, but things just didn’t work out right away!

“But now, as I see, it worked,” Valery answered angrily, nodding at the waiter’s clothes, after which he nevertheless pulled his hand away, rushing in the opposite direction.

“Son, you’ve got it all wrong! I’m here to talk to you!” his interlocutor called after him, hoping the voice of reason would prevail.

Taking a deep breath, the young man stopped abruptly, gathering his thoughts. He had absolutely no desire to discuss anything with him, but all this public drama was clearly unnecessary, especially considering he had a serious event to host in ten minutes. A disgruntled murmur had just begun to rise around them, as the people who had come here were displeased with the disturbance to their peace by such talk, and they began whispering and gesturing in their direction.

“Okay,” Vinogradov said immediately, turning sharply and catching up with his father, “let’s go to another room away from everyone.”

Stepan, delighted, immediately placed the empty tray on the nearest table and followed his son. Together, they made their way through the crowd, heading for the exit. Having crossed the entire formal hall, they opened the ornate gilded doors, finding themselves in an empty utility room with a multitude of shelves and boxes — clearly a room where all the props for such events were usually stored. The walls were bulging with lighting fixtures and extra chairs, and piles of tablecloths and trays protruded from the boxes.

“You have five minutes, I’m listening carefully,” the antiquity hunter said in a commanding tone, starting an additional timer on his skeleton wristwatch.

“Valera, I am truly guilty before you and I am very sorry about what happened,” the father began his mournful and drawn-out speech, depicting sadness and melancholy on his face.

“I’ll never believe you came here specifically for this and found me completely by accident. Don’t waste your time. Four minutes,” the young man interrupted him mid-sentence, immediately sensing the falseness.

“No, I really wanted to apologize,” Stepan objected, but, feeling his son’s disapproving gaze, he stopped. “Okay, we actually met by chance. Well, almost. I came here for one dish.”

“Twelfth-century bowls?” Valery asked, quickly recalling all the exhibits on display here.

Hearing this, the man licked his lips with satisfaction. He understood perfectly well that Vinogradov was well-versed in history and had a good grasp of what might interest him. This would make it all the easier to propose another scam.

“Exactly. I need it. Not for long! I just need to study it!” the father declared joyfully, believing they were moving in the right direction.

Now everything fell into place. Valery immediately covered his face with his hands, laughing hysterically and smiling. So many years had passed, and the elder Vinogradov hadn’t changed a bit. One crazy idea followed another. And now, for some reason, he needed a cup of historical significance.

“If you’re thinking of switching it out and trying to sell it to some black collector, I’m sorry to disappoint you: we have very good security here. It would be easier for me to turn you over to the police myself.”

“No, what are you saying! I never even thought of it!” Stepan immediately objected, offended by this suggestion. “How could you think such a thing about me?”

“Your reputation speaks for itself!” Valery quipped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I changed a long time ago. I’m even a little upset that you thought that,” Father theatrically spread his arms out to the sides and looked away, as if he were performing a performance on stage right now.

— Okay. Then what?

“Just a couple of minutes alone with the cup. I’ll study it and return this precious piece to you for auction.”

— Yeah! You know, after all these years, I don’t believe you! Why?

Stepan opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly stopped. He stood there hesitantly, wondering if he could say more.

“Kitezh. This is the key that leads to it,” he whispered, turning around to make sure no one was listening.

“Kitezh? Seriously?” Valery burst out laughing, unable to stop himself. “You’re such a dreamer! You might as well say you’re seriously looking for Atlantis! Although that’s kind of what it is!”

“You’re the one who should be saying this?” his father snapped. “The man who accomplished the impossible and found the Amber Room and Liberea? And yet people laughed at you too, saying those were just fairy tales!”

Vinogradov wanted to object, but his words turned out to be close to the truth. Indeed, for years they’d mocked him, saying he was crazy, living on illusions and legends. But every story turned out to be true. Perhaps Kitezh really does exist?

“No, there’s some kind of catch to this,” he says with displeasure. “I can’t believe you just went and started looking for this myth.”

“You know, anything can happen in life,” his father objected, shaking his head. “But I don’t blame you for not trusting me.”

“That’s precisely why I won’t give you the cup. You can carry out your schemes elsewhere, but don’t involve me,” Vinogradov whispered, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his watch, the hand approaching the cherished start time of the auction.

— Valera! — Stepan tried to reason with him, begging him to come to his senses.

— No, I’ve heard enough. Your time is up! I need to get to work.

Having said this, the young man immediately opened the door, returning to the ceremonial hall in an even more depressed mood, leaving his father in this empty room alone with his thoughts and the goal of obtaining the unknown on the ancient artifact, which would be sold in a few minutes.

Chapter 3

Valery was absolutely furious. He could barely restrain himself from breaking something along the way. His father’s proposal seemed completely absurd and unreasonable, and it managed to pierce him deeply.

“Just a few minutes alone with a 12th-century bowl. Yeah, right, I’m going to run away. What else do you want? The keys to the apartment where the money is?” Vinogradov thought indignantly, rushing toward the utility room where the auction items were kept.

Of course, the words about Kitezh echoed in his soul, but they seemed more like a mockery than a reality worth pondering. The young man understood perfectly well that after so many years, Stepan couldn’t be trusted. This was all part of some strange game of his. The only question remained: what kind exactly? What did this man really want?

After walking down a long, narrow corridor of technical rooms, Valery found himself in a small room where, right by the exit, several antiques lay in half-opened boxes under glass. Two massive men, their jackets barely fitting, stood to either side of them — obviously guards in case anyone tried to steal them. They looked around sullenly, glancing discontentedly at their watches, languishing in anticipation of the upcoming auction. One of them even sighed with displeasure, as if he wanted to be done with everything, return the artifacts to the vault, and go home. Seeing the young man approach, the two immediately tensed, standing at attention, their chests thrust forward.

“Is everything ready?” Valery asked, simultaneously pulling his badge out from under his tuxedo and showing it to the security guard.

“Yes, you can begin,” one of the employees answered hoarsely, having calmed down a little after reading the last name and position.

“Excellent, then prepare the first exhibits,” Vinogradov rejoiced, immediately turning around and rushing back to the main hall.

He was still a little nervous, but tried not to show it, focusing on the event. Right now, he needed to remain as calm and composed as possible, even despite all the upheaval.

After walking down a narrow, dark, secret corridor with a faintly flickering halogen lamp overhead, a striking contrast to the solemn and opulent ambiance and decor of the rest of the building, the relic hunter returned to the large, formal hall and took the stage. Glancing at his watch, the hand on it having crossed the coveted mark, the young man cleared his throat, then grabbed the microphone from the stand and smiled.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he greeted everyone, causing the chatting guests to fall silent and turn sharply towards him. “My name is Valery Vinogradov, and we are beginning today’s charity auction, the proceeds of which will go towards the restoration of architectural and historical monuments!”

A thunderous roar of applause and cheers immediately rang out throughout the hall: the patrons were clearly pleased that the performance had finally begun. Then, without keeping anyone waiting, one of the security guards emerged from the far door, carrying a gloved glass case containing an ancient book on a small pedestal. He carefully placed it next to the young man, then walked a short distance away, hidden in the shadows of the spotlights, keeping an eye on the proceedings out of the corner of his eye.

“And here’s the first lot of our event! ‘The New Testament with the Psalter.’ One of the first printed books from the Ostrog printing house, published in Russia in 1580 in octavo format, adorned with the prince’s coat of arms. The starting price is one million rubles,” Valery proudly announced. He then, putting on gloves lying on the table, carefully removed the exhibit from the box, and flipped through a couple of pages in front of the audience. “An amazing work for its time! Especially considering that for many centuries, making copies was a labor-intensive, manual process!”

At that moment, a hand with a numbered sign rose from the far end of the room, causing Vinogradov to smile contentedly. A start had been made.

“One million one hundred for the man in the checkered jacket!” he declared, pointing in his direction, then immediately turned to the woman in the corner who had raised her sign. “One million two hundred for the beautiful lady in the black dress.”

“Three million!” came a sudden cry from the front row.

He was a heavyset, bald man wearing thick glasses who seemed to be beginning to fall asleep during this performance.

“Okay, three million times. Anyone else?” Valery continued, looking questioningly into the room.

However, only silence was the answer. Meanwhile, he was looking for Stepan, who had mysteriously vanished at the very beginning of the auction and was now nowhere to be found. This couldn’t help but unnerve him even more, as his sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance seemed suspicious.

“Three million two. Three million three. Sold!” Vinogradov declared loudly, gesturing toward the buyer. “Your name will be on a plaque at the museum as the benefactor. And you can also inspect the ‘acquisition’ later in the presence of an art historian.”

“No, of course not. I don’t need that. These things like silence,” the man countered, unbuttoning his jacket, satisfied that he’d accomplished the bare minimum for the day.

“That’s doubly worthy of respect!” Valery exclaimed, clapping him, after which the hall also erupted in applause.

The buyer was clearly very pleased by this attention, as he immediately blushed as red as a tomato and assumed a satisfied expression. The treasure hunter, however, shifted nervously from foot to foot, clearly nervous. He couldn’t figure out what exactly was making him think this, but his intuition told him something was wrong.

At that moment, the guard closed the glass case containing the exhibit and rushed with it towards the storage facility, while his colleague was already moving towards him with a new artifact.

“Lot number two,” Vinogradov continued, his voice slightly shaky, watching as it was placed on the pedestal. “An antique oak bowl from the 12th century, from the Vladimir-Suzdal Principality. A rare example for its time, with carved inlays. Presumably belonged to one of the princes.”

Having said the last sentence, the young man saw his father emerge from the side door. He looked very disheveled and clearly had been doing something in a hurry.

“The starting price,” Valery continued, hesitating a little, while looking at Stepan with a dissatisfied and somewhat surprised look.

Then, somewhere in the distance, a loud click was heard, and the chandeliers overhead, as well as the spotlights and floodlights in the hall, suddenly went out. The lights went out throughout the entire room, plunging it into impenetrable darkness. Someone screamed in fright. Others began to grumble discontentedly. Some fumbled for their phones in their pockets, trying to turn on the flashlight as quickly as possible.

At that moment, movement was heard to the side, followed by the distinctive sound of breaking glass. Another second, and thanks to a couple of lights flickering on, Valery saw a shattered box on the floor where an ancient bowl had just lain. Shifting his gaze slightly, he immediately noticed his father slipping quickly into the room off to the side, holding something in his hands.

Chapter 4

Valery stood there, confused. He stared at the shattered glass case, its shards scattering across the stage. The security guard also froze in amazement, unsure what to do, as the exhibit had just been snatched right from under his nose.

“I’ll definitely get fired,” he whispered, clutching his face with his hands.

The crowd in the hall kept turning on more and more flashlights, illuminating the darkened room and chatting animatedly among themselves. They were equally confused about what had just happened and unsure what to do next.

Realizing that standing there was pointless and that he had to do something, Vinogradov quickly racked his brain. He was perfectly aware that his father’s disappearance, followed by the sudden blackout, couldn’t have been a mere coincidence. They were clearly connected, because when he left the room in complete darkness, he was holding something in his hands that looked eerily like the cup he was looking for.

Deciding that he was simply wasting time, the young man immediately took off, rushing after Stepan, hoping that he was not too late.

“Where are you going?” the surprised guard shouted after him, but Valery didn’t react to this question in any way.

With a doe’s leap, Vinogradov squeezed between the astonished guests and, unbuttoning his bow tie and the top buttons of his shirt as he went, threw it aside, yanking the side door open with all his might. Almost immediately, he found himself in complete darkness. It seemed the lights had gone out throughout the entire building, and the guests who had kindly turned on their flashlights were nowhere to be found.

Valery fumbled for his phone in his pocket and quickly pressed the right button, illuminating the darkness with a bright, cold glow. Directly before him lay a long, narrow hallway lined with antique paintings. There was no sign of his father ahead, making it completely unclear where he could have gone. Vinogradov quickened his pace, constantly glancing back, trying to spot any sign or trace, but to no avail. He finally reached the grand, pompous grand staircase, adorned with copper balusters and branching off in two directions. Even in the darkness, the opulent marble walls and beautiful bas-reliefs, casting massive shadows, were visible.

Leaning over the railing, the young man quickly glanced down, but again saw no one, closing his eyes in despair. He simply couldn’t believe he’d missed his father, missing him by just a minute. Suddenly, a crash was heard from the room to the side, and then, throwing the door open, Stepan tumbled out, out of breath, holding the missing cup. Valery immediately glared at him, while the elder Vinogradov, without a word, ran off in the opposite direction.

“Stop!” the antiquity seeker shouted after him, and then rushed after him.

Father ran further down the corridor, barely able to see where he was going. He seemed to be searching for something, glancing around endlessly and scanning the half-opened offices. Gradually, Valery caught up with him.

Suddenly, as if overjoyed, Stepan abruptly turned sideways, running into a small adjoining room filled with desks piled high with papers and equally overcrowded filing cabinets. He immediately pushed aside the folders lying on the floor and flew to the window, pausing in place, breathing heavily and looking hopefully out onto the street. As if seeing what he needed, the man quickly flung the shutters open, letting in the fresh evening air and the din of cars driving through downtown.

“Stop, there’s nowhere to run!” Vinogradov called from behind, clutching his side as he caught up with him.

“Valera, you don’t understand,” his father answered him in a trembling voice, turning to face his son.

“What? You stole the exhibit when I told you not to go near it?” the young man said angrily, coming closer.

“It’s a bit more complicated,” Stepan objected, also taking a step back.

“Give me the cup!” Valery hissed, holding out his hand and looking at him with pleading eyes. “Don’t make things worse for yourself. You know the police will find you.”

“Let them try,” the father shook his head, after which he jumped onto the windowsill, stretching out to his full height, standing on the edge.

Vinogradov immediately froze in place, trying not to move, unsure what to do next. Right before his eyes, his interlocutor was moving ever closer to the edge of the abyss, landing on the heel of his shoe.

“Stop! You’re going to fall!” the young man cried, holding out his hand in an attempt to calm him down.

Stepan continued to glance sideways at the street, as if expecting something. Suddenly, a loud rumble was heard from there, like an old, rattling truck driving past. Vinogradov Sr. immediately perked up, then turned to his son with a broad smile.

“Nothing. Don’t blame me. I will make history and find Kitezh,” he declared, then took a step back.

Before Valery could say a word, his father disappeared from view, flying somewhere below. Without thinking twice, the young man immediately rushed to the window, throwing himself over the side. Suddenly, he saw a KamAZ truck speeding away from the city hall building, its open back revealing a happy Stepan.

“Adieu, Valera!” his father shouted at him, making a gesture as if he were removing an imaginary hat from his head.

And the truck drove further and further, disappearing into the city streets, leaving Vinogradov, standing by the open window of the de-energized mansion, with nothing.

Chapter 5

Valery was in utter despair. People rushed past him, some shouting, others waving their arms excitedly. Vinogradov’s world had been turned upside down. He stared blankly at a single point, as if time had stood still around him. The ancient bowl had vanished with his father, heading off to an unknown destination, right under his nose.

“Let us out! What is this!” the heavyset man who had bought the first lot at the auction was indignant.

He pushed the guard away with all his might, trying to break through to the exit, but the officer did not let him go with all his might, trying to calm him down.

“Please wait! We have a force majeure situation! We need to wait for the police to arrive!” the security guard assured him, gesturing with his hands, asking him to calm down.

“What police! What’s going on?” Svetlana’s acquaintance protested, also attacking his interlocutor from the side, but the officer selflessly held his ground.

“Valery, tell them to let us go!” another woman in an evening gown immediately intervened, looking indignantly at the young man.

But the relic hunter did not want to answer her pleas, continuing to stare blankly at the wall, immersed in his thoughts.

Suddenly, a loud clatter of footsteps was heard from the main staircase, followed by the door swinging open, and two uniformed officers entered, accompanied by a brisk young man. His gaze scanned the entire room, as if lost in his own thoughts, before opening his bag and taking out an ID card, holding it out for everyone present.

“Captain Varfolomeev, Investigative Committee. Who called you?” he declared proudly, flashing his ID card at everyone in the semicircle.

This was the same Matthew, familiar to Valery from the search for the Amber Room, who had once been a young and promising investigator working under the wing of Sylvester Mikhailov, Svetlana’s former boss. Now he had matured and risen through the ranks, clearly not without the help of his “patron.”

Having recovered from his shock, Vinogradov rose from his seat and walked close to the “guest”, looking at him with an attentive and at the same time embarrassed gaze.

“Good evening, comrade captain, it’s me,” the treasure hunter said.

“Oh, what people!” the young man exclaimed in surprise, clearly recognizing his interlocutor. “I see you still haven’t calmed down. What happened this time?”

“I suggest we retreat to the utility room, away from prying eyes; our citizens are very active,” Valery answered him in a lowered voice, nodding his head towards the exit door.

“Okay,” Mikhailov said after thinking for a bit, “let’s go.”

He gestured for his colleagues to stay and calm the other auction attendees, then followed Vinogradov aside, hoping to clarify the situation. Together, they made their way to the very same back room where the fateful conversation with his father had taken place earlier.

Taking a chair from the corner and dragging it, its legs creaking on the floor, to the middle of the room, the investigator sat down on it, looking attentively at Valery.

“So, what happened to you?” he asked, opening his notebook and getting ready to write everything down.

“Today we had a charity auction, the proceeds from which were to be used to restore architectural monuments,” the treasure hunter replied.

“So,” Matthew began to write, deftly wielding his pen.

“And they stole our second exhibit,” Vinogradov continued stiffly, crossing his arms over his chest. “One cup.”

— Valuable?

— What do you think? 12th century. Estimated value: several tens of millions of rubles.

“Yeah, very much so,” the investigator agreed. “Did you see anything? Maybe the thief himself?”

This question stumped Valery. He knew perfectly well who had stolen the vase, but he couldn’t admit it. To betray even such a worthless and criminal person seemed like a betrayal.

“Yes. This is Stepan Vinogradov, my father,” the young man answered nervously, shifting from foot to foot.

“Oh, wow! What an interesting twist!” his interlocutor responded enthusiastically, raising his eyes, ablaze with interest. “And from this point on, let’s go into more detail.”

“We hadn’t spoken for a long time, and then he suddenly showed up at the auction,” Vinogradov said, his voice trembling as he recalled the events, fingering the bowl. “He asked for a little time alone with the cup to study it. For some reason, he’s convinced it’s the key to Kitezh.”

“Kitezh?” Varfolomeev asked, surprised. “Are you looking for a family treasure?”

Valery sighed heavily at that moment. He understood the absurdity of the situation perfectly well, but most importantly, he blamed himself for not being able to prevent it.

“It seems so,” Vinogradov continued hoarsely. “As soon as the cup was put up for auction, the lights in the hall went out, and then I saw my father running away with it. I tried to catch up with him, but he jumped out the window and into the back of a passing truck.”

— Did you remember the number? — Matthew immediately interrupted him.

“No, but there may be cameras if they worked without light,” the antiquity hunter suggested.

“Then let’s not waste time and check,” the investigator immediately answered, after which he abruptly jumped up from his seat and rushed into the main hall.

Valery could only follow him, trying to predict what would happen next, remembering that not a single year passed peacefully for him without these damned treasures.

Chapter 6

Moscow Region. Svetlana and Valery’s House

It was getting dark. The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon, plunging the surrounding area into darkness. Somewhere in the distance, birds were wailing mournfully. Crickets chirped in the tall bushes along the road, their legs moving as if playing a violin. Dogs barked loudly in their kennels in the distance, animatedly conversing.

Valery walked home from the auction along a narrow, dark path in a private sector. He was extremely depressed, because today he had not only met his father, whom he had absolutely no desire to see, but also had had his father steal an antique vase practically out of his hands.

Lost in these depressing thoughts, the young man reached the gate and, tugging the handle, stepped into the grounds. Vinogradov immediately saw his and Svetlana’s two-story country house right before him. Its sloping roof shimmered in the light of the lanterns just beginning to come on. The large logs of this European-style cottage, resting on a beautiful, monumental stone foundation, seemed to exude the scent of the forest. Through the large panoramic windows, a light was visible in the kitchen — Verbova was clearly cooking something. Somewhere in the distance, the din of croaking and bawling frogs in the pond could be heard. At that moment, the mechanisms for spraying the grass in the heat suddenly turned on, spinning their propellers and spraying cool drops, and in the distance, a pump began pumping water from the well. As if sensing the pleasant coolness, the neatly trimmed coniferous bushes that lined the garden paths on both sides seemed to immediately open their branches, spreading them out in all directions.

Walking along the pebble path past the perfectly manicured lawns, Valery reached the front door and, reaching for the handle, froze in place. He wondered if he should tell her what had happened? How should he present this information? Should he tell her about the unplanned encounter with his long-forgotten father, the one who had led to these terrible consequences? There were clearly more questions than answers.

With a heavy heart and a sad sigh, the young man finally collected his thoughts and walked into the hallway, taking off his shoes. The pleasant aroma of cooked food, wafting from somewhere off to the side, near the kitchen, immediately hit his nose. Inhaling it and listening to his stomach rumble with pleasure, Valery finally smiled with relief, throwing the jacket of his slim tuxedo on the coat rack in the hallway.

Then, from the steep wooden staircase leading to the second floor, right in front of him, a melodic creaking sounded, as if someone was trying to play a catchy tune. Svetlana appeared from above, wearing a bright floral apron. Her blonde hair was braided back in a ponytail, and she was moving in a lively dance, humming a song of her own, echoing the lyrics in her headphones. Seeing the treasure hunter standing frozen at the entrance, she smiled contentedly and, double-tapping the device, paused the playback.

“You’ve been here a long time today. How did it go?” she asked, noticing out of the corner of her eye that something was wrong.

“It’s all a bit chaotic,” Valery decided not to dump everything on her right away, moving further into the room.

He immediately hugged her around the waist, pressing her tightly to himself and tenderly kissing her on the cheek, making her smile even more.

“Okay, everything’s long since cooled down. Come on, undress and hurry to the kitchen. I’ll warm it up again,” the girl playfully declared, freeing herself from his grasp and heading toward the kitchen.

Vinogradov merely watched her go with a sad expression, which didn’t go unnoticed by Verbova. She’d previously worked in security, so she was well-versed in detecting lies, and now her intuition told her something was wrong.

“What happened to you?” she whispered under her breath as she shoved the plates into the microwave.

At this point, the young man, clutching the handrail, leaped up to the second floor, reaching the dressing room, where he began to shed the tiresome suit that had been weighing him down all evening. And this, coupled with the difficult circumstances, only did the same thing figuratively.

Valery was still wondering how to break the news to his wife. It was definitely worth telling her, but the question was how she would take it. A year ago, when they found the Amber Room, Vinogradov had promised her he was done with treasure hunting. But then his father showed up with his lost Kitezh, and everything went to hell again, turned upside down. More secrets, keys, clues, ancient relics. Somewhere deep down, the young man craved it. But on the other hand, a quiet life and a promise were far more valuable than ephemeral desires and the thirst for adrenaline-fueled adventure.

Having finished changing into a soft, sand-colored dressing gown and having tied his belt tightly, Vinogradov was about to rush to the kitchen, but at that moment the doorbell suddenly rang, causing him to startle in surprise.

“Who’s here so late?” Svetlana shouted at him in surprise from the first floor.

“I don’t know! I’m not expecting anyone!” Valery answered, tensing up. “I’ll see right now!”

He immediately walked quickly down the stairs, wondering who it could be. Considering his recent conversation with the Investigative Committee investigator and the fact that they had been unable to find any surveillance footage because it had gone out along with the power in the building, the answer was obvious.

Confident in his assumption that it was none other than Varfolomeev, the young man approached the intercom with the camera and froze in place, unable to utter a word, because he saw his smiling father on the screen.

Chapter 7

Valery froze, indecisive. He had no idea what to do, but the main thing was — was he imagining it? Was his father real or was this a figment of his overactive imagination? Stepan looked at him thoughtfully, then pressed the doorbell again, ringing loudly throughout the house.

“Who’s there?” Svetlana shouted from the kitchen, not understanding the pressure or why Vinogradov was in no hurry to open the door.

“Valera, I know you’re home, please open up!” his father’s voice came from the intercom speakers.

After standing there hesitantly for a few more seconds, closing his eyes in anger, the young man finally opened the door. Stepan, visibly cheered up and smiling, quickly pulled the handle, stepping into the property. He briskly crossed the entire path and found himself face to face with his son in the entryway.

“Why are you acting like you’re not my biological father? Why don’t you hug your real father?” he declared, reaching out to the relic hunter, but Valery quickly pulled away, glaring at him menacingly.

Then Verbova finally appeared from around the corner, determined to see what was causing this strange behavior. She tensed up at the sight of the stranger, but eventually pulled herself together.

“Hello,” the girl greeted. “And who are you?”

“Stepan, Valery’s father,” Vinogradov Sr. answered her immediately. “Svetochka, you probably didn’t recognize me. I remember you as children.”

Hearing the answer to her question, Svetlana’s tension grew even more intense. She hadn’t seen him in over ten years, just like her husband. And the reviews about him were, to put it mildly, questionable.

“Oh, right,” she agreed with him. “You weren’t at our wedding.”

“Please forgive me, I have a lot to do,” Stepan immediately apologized, making a kind of curtsy in her direction.

“Yeah, right,” Valery immediately objected, displeased and continuing to stare at him.

— Okay, then what brought you here so late today?

“I have a little business for my son. I wanted to show him something,” the father replied ingratiatingly, holding up the package he’d been holding in his hands the whole time.

Vinogradov wanted to explode with indignation at the same time, but Verbova, realizing that this was not the way to conduct the conversation, quickly steered the dialogue in a different direction, pointing towards the kitchen.

— Let’s discuss this over dinner, why are we hanging around in the hallway? Come in!

Before Valery could even object to her, the girl quickly went off to set the table again, leaving the men alone.

“Thief!” the treasure hunter hissed indignantly as soon as she left. “You stole the cup, framed me, and ran away!”

“Son!” his father tried to calm him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You don’t understand. I need this. We need this!”

“I understand everything perfectly!” he growled, immediately distancing himself from him and then grabbing the bundle. “I’ll hand you over to the investigator handling this case. Give me the exhibit.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Stepan objected, pulling the bag away with force.

Vinogradov was about to start fighting for him, but then Svetlana’s voice came from the kitchen, asking where they’d disappeared to, saying everything was ready. The two men had no choice but to put their differences aside and move on, uncertain where this conversation would lead them.

Entering the room, the men found themselves in a spacious room with large windows overlooking the garden, offering a beautiful view of the dark forest swaying in the wind. Right in the center was a round table set for three, with three pieces of meat already laid on plates, and a platter of cold meats and cheeses next to a bowl of salad.

Valery carefully moved the carved wooden chair and sat down next to Svetlana, while Stepan took the seat opposite, constantly glancing at him sideways, as if wondering whether he would tell his wife about their problem right away or not.

“Well, tell me!” Verbova suddenly broke the silence, starting to cut her piece of meat with a knife.

“About what?” Vinogradov Sr. asked her in confusion, slightly taken aback by the beginning of the dialogue.

“Of course! What brings you here?” the girl continued, her mouth full but still listening attentively to her interlocutor.

“Let’s put it this way,” the man answered her stiffly, “my job is to search for valuables. Quite ancient ones.”

“More precisely, theft,” Valery interrupted him, immediately catching a displeased look on himself.

“I’m borrowing clues to find something great. It’s not stealing. At least, not exactly,” Stepan countered, thinking for a moment and choosing his words carefully.

“So, you’re a treasure hunter?” Svetlana intervened, frowning.

This topic had been repugnant to her ever since the search for Liberea and the Amber Room, and she vowed to herself that she would never again return to this dangerous and thankless task. Valery had made a similar promise, and she fervently hoped he would keep it.

“You could say that, but it’s not entirely true. I’m doing it right now, but my usual activities are somewhat different,” Stepan corrected her, shaking his head.

“I agree, you usually engage in fraud and shady schemes that always backfire,” Valery sneered, making his father blush.

“And what do you want from us?” Verbova continued to press, also starting to lose her temper.

“My son’s help. He can tell me something about the key to Kitezh,” Vinogradov Sr. replied enthusiastically, laying his package on the table and patting it with his hand.

“Valera’s done with this. He’s not looking for treasure anymore,” Svetlana hissed discontentedly, blushing with anger.

The young man only needed one glance at her to understand her current mood. He knew perfectly well that this topic was taboo in the house after their ordeal, and that raising it again would only bring him harm.

“So you better leave,” he encouraged his wife, nodding toward the door. “And return the exhibit, or I’ll turn you over to the police myself.”

“An exhibit?” the girl asked him in confusion, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the package with the cup.

“Yes, I didn’t have time to tell you. He stole it from an auction today and then had the nerve to bring it here and ask me for help,” the antiquities hunter answered, finally laying his cards on the table.

At that moment, it became almost clear that Svetlana was about to glare at the unexpected guest. She gripped the knife so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath caught in her throat. She began panting uncontrollably, unable to utter a word.

She had just gathered her courage to throw Stepan out of the house when suddenly the phone, which was lying on the table at that moment, rang unexpectedly, and, taking just one glance at the screen, Verbova rolled her eyes in displeasure.

“I’ll be there soon, it’s work,” she whispered, after which she threw the knife with all her might, causing its blade to clank on the plate, and grabbed the gadget, rushing with it into the next room.

Father and son were alone again. They looked at each other, unsure what to say in this situation. Valery was determined to call Varfolomeev right then, but he felt too sorry for Stepan. Stepan, meanwhile, was about to finally unwrap the cloth containing the artifact, showing it to the treasure hunter, but he was waiting for the right moment.

“I think you’d better leave,” Vinogradov Jr. whispered with bitterness in his voice.

“I’ll leave, I promise,” his father answered him sadly, “but before that, I’ll tell you something important that you absolutely must know.”

Chapter 8

Valery squinted, trying to figure out what this great secret was that Stepan was so eager to tell him. He pricked up his ears, pressing himself back into his chair, bracing himself for either something important or some utter nonsense that would distract him from the current situation.

“I’m listening to you carefully,” Vinogradov declared, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re right, I’m a fraud. A bad person,” my father whispered, fingering the bundle.

“If you want to pour out your soul to me, this is not the place,” the son rejected his admonitions, taking a sip of juice from his glass, slightly refreshed by the pleasant coolness.

“No, listen carefully, please, and don’t interrupt,” Vinogradov Sr. said angrily, starting to sniffle slightly with anger. Then, seeing a gesture of approval, he continued, “At some point, I found a mention of this cup. An old scripture said it held the key to the treasures of Kitezh! Naturally, I’m an enterprising man, and I immediately seized on this opportunity, so I found myself a sponsor. Respectable people and historical societies didn’t want to do business with me, so I had to resort to, shall we say, the black market.”

“No, just don’t tell me that you got involved with bandits,” Valery pleaded, realizing where this was all heading.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Stepan agreed, causing his interlocutor to hang his head in disappointment. “For a long time, nothing worked for me. All their money went down the drain. I was even beaten up a few times. At some point, they suggested asking you for help.”

Upon hearing this, the young man immediately turned red with anger. He couldn’t believe his father had dragged him into such dirty dealings without even asking permission.

“But I always dismissed that possibility,” Vinogradov Sr. hastened to reassure him, noticing his reaction. “One day, I learned that this very cup would be up for auction at a charity. And what a coincidence — you’re the host! I wanted to ask you nicely. Theft was a last resort.”

“And you still did it, setting me up!” Valery growled, slamming his fist on the table with all his might in anger.

“I’m sorry, I simply had no other choice,” his father replied, his voice shaking. “Those people were starting to lose their patience. But now that we have a clue, we can solve it together!”

The proposal felt like a slap in the face for the young man. He’d thought his father would calm down after all their conversations, but that proved untrue. It was as if his father was playing a losing game, trying to make just the right move at the right moment, the one that would turn the game around.

“You probably didn’t hear me. Go to hell!” his son answered, emphasizing each word, abruptly jumping up from his chair and pointing toward the door. “And now that the story is over, go away. I don’t want to get caught up in another game with the bandits and end up on the run like a criminal. Goodbye!”

Stepan was about to reply, but seeing his interlocutor’s face flush with anger, he let out a disappointed sigh and decided to remain silent. He immediately picked up his package from the table and, head bowed, rushed toward the hallway, slamming the door loudly behind him.

At that moment, hearing the crash and finishing talking on the phone, Svetlana appeared from the next room, looking attentively at the exit and turning her gaze to her husband, who was clenching his fists, and back.

“He left?” she asked carefully, seeing that the young man was now “standing on the edge of the abyss,” ready to fall at any moment.

“Yes,” he answered dryly, barely holding himself back, breathing heavily. “Good riddance.”

Svetlana initially moved closer to put her hand on his shoulder and comfort him, but realizing it was best to catch her breath and be alone, she silently turned and went upstairs, leaving Valery alone with his angry, racing thoughts, bordering on hatred. He hadn’t experienced such emotions in a long time, and even the betrayal of his comrades didn’t feel as painful as the base, selfish desires of his father, accustomed to solving problems at others’ expense.

Chapter 9

Sparrow Hills. Moscow State University building

Birds chirped joyfully, heralding the start of a new day, flying off across the surrounding area and landing on the swaying branches of the vast park. Hundreds of trees swayed in the wind, their green manes fluttering. Somewhere far away, the din of honking cars late for work could be heard, but it quickly blended into the general cacophony of nature.

Against this backdrop, the towering, famous Soviet building, its spire piercing the cloudless sky and perched on a high plateau on the Moskva River, invariably stood out. The most iconic and tallest of Stalin’s skyscrapers, this 32-story tower with its large wings extending to its sides was the compositional focal point of the entire university campus. Up close, it didn’t look as beautiful as it did from afar: its natural stone cladding had long since faded and was battered by time, traces of spot repairs were visible everywhere, and in some places, entire coils of wire protruded from the walls — a direct confirmation of the disparity between expectations and reality.

It was here, in the Moscow State University building, that Valery, who was now taking on any job that could bring in some money, had to give his lecture today. Especially since he clearly needed to unwind after yesterday’s conversation with his father, which had been, to put it mildly, difficult.

The young man was now in one of the classrooms, finishing his account of the last years of statehood before the Time of Troubles, not forgetting, of course, to mention the events he had experienced during his treasure hunt. The large room was filled to capacity, a rare occurrence at the university. Some stood on the steps, others peered out through the half-open door from the hallway. For many, this lecture was a breath of fresh air amid the generally uninspired and mediocre routine of academic life.

“That’s how the era of stability, wars, and, in a way, repression of that time ended. Civil strife and the Time of Troubles began,” Vinogradov concluded his lecture, picking up a bottle of water from the table and taking a sip. “Does anyone have any questions?”

At that moment, half the room cheerfully raised their hands, ready to be the first. Surprisingly, there was no shortage of volunteers. Then, inopportunely, the bell rang, signaling the end of class.

“Let’s have three questions. We don’t have much time left. Do you mind staying longer?” asked the lecturer-moderator present at the lecture.

“Yes, of course,” Valery answered, pointing towards the hall. “The young man in the front row.”

“Tell me, please,” he immediately stood up from his seat, feeling that he had been noticed, “during the search for Liberea, when you were climbing into all those dungeons, weren’t you scared?”

“Of course,” the treasure hunter agreed. “You know, when my comrades and I went into the former cellars beneath the royal palace in Alexandrov, or into the caves beneath Staritsa, there was always a chance we wouldn’t get out.”

“And what, like in the movies, the traps went off and the floor opened up?” the young man continued to interrogate him.

Hearing this, Valery smiled, remembering with trepidation and warmth in his soul the past, his old adventures, which he surprisingly missed so much now.

“In both places, we were nearly impaled by stakes from the walls, so you could say that. It’s just like in the movies.”

The entire audience immediately let out a sigh of relief, becoming even more animated. This story clearly excited them far more than what had been told before.

“Please, the girl in the third row,” the treasure hunter continued, pointing at her.

“There’s a rumor going around,” said a pretty student, who had clearly been preparing for this meeting, having spruced herself up and donned her finest clothes, “that you secretly entered the Kremlin and stole something, after which you were pursued by law enforcement. Is that true?”

Having said this, she began to twirl playfully, gently swaying her curls. The young man, given his media presence, was clearly attractive to her, and that was precisely why she had come to today’s lecture.

“It’s all just journalistic speculation, nothing more,” Valery replied, preferring not to dwell on these details of his life. Moreover, he’d given Sylvester his word that he wouldn’t gossip about it on every street corner.

“It’s a pity, girls like dangerous men,” the student continued to flirt with him without stopping, deliberately speaking with a sigh.

A chuckle immediately ran through the audience, but she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. Realizing what was going on, Vinogradov raised his right hand, revealing the ring, intending to teach the girl a lesson. He then said, “Luckily for me, I’m married, so I don’t know. Maybe some people like it, but I’m not like that.”

Upon hearing this, the interlocutor pouted her plump lips, after which she returned to her seat, angrily snatching her phone from her desk, scraping her long nails across the tabletop, and, apparently, began actively typing a disgruntled message to her friends.

“Please, one last question, young man in Kamchatka,” the antiquities seeker continued, no longer paying attention to her.

“Perhaps this is off topic,” the curly-haired, freckled young man with thick glasses began shyly, nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt, “but did you really find the Amber Room? After all, no evidence has been presented to support this.”

“I agree,” Valery retorted immediately, “there’s no proof. And everything that remained after the fire is located on foreign territory. We have no way to examine it. However, there is one ‘but.’ I managed to grab a small piece of the panel with me, which, upon my arrival, I gave to the historians who were reconstructing the room at Tsarskoye Selo. As far as I know, they’re still conducting tests to confirm its authenticity.”

Then the bell rang again in the classroom, signaling that it was time for the students to head to the next class.

“I’m very sorry, but our lecture is over. Other teachers are waiting for you,” the moderator announced, glancing quickly at his watch. “Let’s say a big thank you to our guest today for this insightful talk.”

A deafening roar of applause immediately erupted throughout the office. Valery watched it all with an undisguised smile. This was undoubtedly the most enjoyable part of his job — an appreciative audience. The only dissatisfied girl was the frowning, rejected one, but she didn’t bother him much.

The audience immediately filed into the hallway, where the next students were already preparing to enter. Vinogradov quickly gathered up all the papers from his desk, which had served as a support for his lecture but weren’t needed for the rest of the lecture. Then, slamming his bag shut, he too headed for the exit.

“Valery!” the teacher called out to him, making him turn around quickly. “Please stop by the accounting department on your way back! They have a question for you.”

“Thank you!” the treasure hunter replied, and then left the auditorium for good.

He quickly moved toward the right room, passing whole crowds of students in the hallway. They were all hurrying to class, clearly late, and no longer paying him any attention. This was even better, since the young man was already a little tired and wanted a break.

Turning the corner, he could already see the place he was looking for in the distance, when suddenly a familiar silhouette flashed right in front of him. At first, Valery thought he was imagining things, his thoughts still a little hazy after yesterday. However, upon closer inspection, he realized it wasn’t a mirage, but a real person. Stepan was walking away from him, constantly glancing back, holding the now-familiar bundle in his hands.

Chapter 10

Valery was absolutely certain he wasn’t imagining things. Stepan was quickly walking away from him down the hallway, continuing to glance back, and upon spotting his son, he seemed to speed up. He squeezed through the crowds of students, rushing somewhere deeper into the building, trying to disappear as quickly as possible.

Realizing this was unbelievably brazen, Vinogradov rushed after him, trying to catch up. The young man pushed aside passersby who were in his way, apologized, and moved on. The treasure hunter tried his best to keep sight of his father, whose capture had become his top priority.

“Excuse me! Please let me pass!” he shouted, dispersing the astonished students into the corners.

He managed to reach the stairs, then, throwing himself over the handrail, he saw Stepan running off down the steps, still looking back, smiling. Realizing he had no other option, Vinogradov closed his eyes in irritation and then quickly rushed after him, his feet moving quickly. One flight of stairs followed another, and the fugitive continued running somewhere deeper into the building. It felt like they were descending underground. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, the young man began dialing “911” to call the police. The phone rang, followed by a quick answer.

“Rescue service, hello, what’s wrong?” a girl’s stern voice was heard from the other end.

“Good afternoon,” Valery answered her, continuing to descend deeper and deeper, “I’m right now in the main building of Moscow State University chasing a thief who stole an exhibit from an auction, he…”

“Please repeat that, I can’t hear you very well!” his interlocutor replied.

— I’m telling you, please call the police!

— What! — she continued asking questions.

Then a loud beep finally rang out from the phone’s speaker, and, looking at the screen, the young man realized the call had been cut off due to a lack of network coverage. He’d already gone down to the basement, and the signal was clearly out of reach.

“Damn,” Vinogradov hissed discontentedly, putting his smartphone in his pocket and continuing to pursue his father.

The man seemed to slow, but he continued walking and looking back. After walking another 150 feet, the man suddenly fished out his pass and, leaning it against the door, which immediately beeped as the lock opened, slipped inside, leaving it slightly open and slowly closing behind him. Realizing he had little time to think, Valery immediately rushed after him, breaking into a run. He tried to catch his father before the door locked, otherwise his chance of catching him instantly would vanish. Closing the entire distance between them with a dash, the treasure hunter yanked the door open at the last moment and slipped inside.

Vinogradov found himself in a large room. It was filled with dozens of tables, each lit by bright lamps. Long glass cabinets lined the walls, and piles of vials and flasks with unknown contents lay on the shelves. 30 feet ahead, another identical door was visible — clearly a second exit from this room. However, there was no trace of Stepan inside, as if he had vanished. He continued to look around, puzzled and slightly frightened, but still to no avail.

“I knew you would follow me,” a familiar voice suddenly rang out from behind him, after which his father appeared from behind one of the shelves and the darkness, looking at him with a soulful gaze.

“It’s all over, I called the police, they’ll detain you,” Vinogradov immediately answered, turning around.

“Oh, I don’t think so. There’s no connection here, you wouldn’t have had time to call anywhere. It was worth bringing you here,” the man countered, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” the young man shrugged, realizing he’d been found out, “but didn’t you promise to leave me alone? To go away? What do you want?”

“How can you not understand everything? Your help!” Stepan exclaimed, circling him. “I knew you’d be giving a lecture here today and would definitely follow me as soon as you saw me. And so it happened. All that was left was to steal the pass.”

He placed his bundle on one of the nearby tables, then turned on a bright lamp and unrolled the cloth, revealing an antique wooden bowl.

“I will find Kitezh. And this,” he continued, gesturing toward the exhibit, “is the key to the treasure. I can’t decipher the symbols on it, and here we have the necessary resources for restoration, but most importantly, the best expert in finding antiquities and clues.”

“And you still think I’m going to help you?” Valery objected, crossing his arms over his chest in displeasure.

“I see it,” his father answered, “the fire in his eyes. The thirst for adventure. A forgotten feeling. And here I stand, holding out my hand to opportunity.”

“Sveta told you clearly,” Vinogradov whispered, sighing heavily, “I’m no longer involved in treasure hunting.”

“Oh, come on. Just this once. Help your father, and I’ll leave you alone,” Stepan pleaded, nodding his head toward the bowl.

Valery was confused. On the one hand, he absolutely wanted nothing to do with this man. Moreover, he had made a promise to his wife. It was one of the conditions of their marriage. But on the other hand, a thirst for adventure drew him every day. The treasures continued to fascinate him, haunting him. And the ghost of a chance to find Kitezh and make history again stirred his imagination.

“Okay, let’s see, but this is the first and last time,” the young man muttered through his teeth, already reproaching himself for this decision.

“I didn’t doubt you at all,” Vinogradov Sr. rejoiced, completely unfolding the cloth and finally revealing the stolen exhibit.

The dark, old, polished wood with its graceful curves shimmered in the light of the table lamp. Over the centuries, it had become significantly worn and lost its former glory, but it still remained a valuable artifact of the past. Every tiny scratch and crack seemed to invite you to touch it and discover the hidden secrets of its long history.

Valery took his gloves from his desk and donned a medical gown hanging on a hanger. He carefully lifted the cup, playing with the rays of light, trying to get a better look. Turning it base-up, he almost immediately saw that some illegible symbols had been carved into it, long since erased by the merciless passage of time.

“And you’re sure that these shapeless potholes are the key to Kitezh?” Vinogradov asked, puzzled, turning to his interlocutor.

“Yes. The previous clue clearly stated: ‘Let the prince drink from the cup in the great city,’” Stepan replied, continuing to gaze mesmerized at the exhibit.

“And based on this alone, you decided that this was precisely the unknown cup, roughly dating back to that period?” the young man immediately doubted this idea, giving him a disapproving look.

“Believe me, I’ve found dozens of things that could be connected to this in one way or another. All to no avail. This is the last one.”

After examining the incomprehensible signs again under the light, trying to do it from different angles, Valery again placed the artifact on the table, looking doubtfully at his father.

“Have you considered that these could be symbols of the artisan who once made it? A signature of sorts?” the antiquities seeker suggested, beginning to think logically.

“Anything is possible,” Vinogradov Sr. agreed, scratching his brow thoughtfully, “but we won’t know until we clean it up. In any case, this is my last lead. There’s nothing else.”

The young man immediately took a deep breath. He had absolutely no desire to use any chemicals on the material, but curiosity was getting the better of him. The thirst for adventure was overwhelming him.

“I need sodium polycarbonate and solvent,” he said discontentedly.

“I never doubted you. It’s so good we’re in the experimental room,” Stepan rejoiced, clapping him on the shoulder before rummaging through the cabinets filled with test tubes.

Having finally fished out the necessary elements, he handed them to his son, who, taking a couple of napkins and wiping the base, began to carefully drip onto the damaged symbols.

“What am I doing!” he muttered under his breath, but continued to conduct this strange experiment, applying the solution to the bowl.

The wood began to hiss a little, after which dirt and the top layer of treatment appeared in the mixture.

“Give me the solvent,” the young man immediately declared, commanding his father, who began pouring his mixture on top. “Careful! This artifact is centuries old!”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Stepan hissed discontentedly, starting to use smaller doses.

Once everything had dissolved, Vinogradov carefully rinsed it off with a special solution, then blotted it with a dry cloth. He held it up to the light again, examining the result. Surprisingly, such a barbaric method proved highly effective, and right now he could see symbols hidden from everyone for years.

“We did it!” the father declared joyfully, hugging his son and looking at the carved symbols that had appeared on the wood.

Suddenly, the door next to them beeped, then abruptly opened, and three men entered the room. Two were massive men who quickly surrounded the table on either side, pistols drawn from their belts. The one in the middle, more imposing, adjusted his tailored suit, removed his sunglasses, and tucked them into his breast pocket.

“How many years, how many winters, Vinogradov, how long we’ve been looking for you!” he declared, smiling happily, popping a piece of gum into his mouth.

Chapter 11

Valery froze in place, cup in hand, confused. He was definitely seeing these people for the first time, but for some reason they knew him.

“Who are you? I’ve never seen you before!” Vinogradov declared, gripping the valuable exhibit tighter.

“Oh, I beg your pardon, I meant your father, but it’s very nice to meet you,” the stranger replied, making a peculiar curtsy while continuing to chew gum. “Styopa, would you mind introducing us?”

Upon hearing this, Vinogradov Sr. was ready to sink into the ground. He turned noticeably pale, unable to utter a word. These people had clearly taken him by surprise.

“Okay, let me do it,” the man in the suit continued, slightly rolling up the lapels of his jacket. “My name is Alex Vyazemsky, and I buy and sell at exclusive auctions all sorts of antiquities that don’t normally appear in circulation.”

“So, you’re selling stolen goods,” the young man hissed, fully realizing that he had met a far from honest person.

“It sounds harsh, but so be it,” he retorted, then gestured at his subordinates, who remained standing, pistols aimed at the father and son. “And these are my charges — Syoma and ‘Cudgel.’ They’re rare idiots, but when it comes to killing my offenders and opponents, they have no equal.”

As if taking this information as a compliment, they immediately smiled happily, secretly feeling proud of their boss’s opinion of their competence. Valery and Stepan, however, were having a hard time under gunpoint. Beads of sweat trickled down their foreheads from the strain, and their hearts began beating three times faster.

“Let’s say, what do you want?” Vinogradov said discontentedly, still not realizing the reason for their sudden visit.

“Oh, my dear friend, you apparently didn’t tell him?” Alex answered in surprise, smiling smugly and winking at the older man.

“About what?” the young man asked him again, puzzled, his eyes wide and almost dropping the cup he was still holding onto the table.

“Well, you or me?” Vyazemsky continued asking questions, crossing his arms over his chest, glaring at Stepan, but he still stood rooted to the spot, unable to utter a word. “Okay, then it’s me. Your father contacted us a little over a year ago. He promised us that he would find Kitezh, because he had a clue. All we need is funding. Of course, such an interesting opportunity couldn’t be ignored, especially when the father of the famous finder approaches you with such a request.” Liberians!

Valery immediately flushed, turning angrily to Stepan. He knew perfectly well that Stepan was acting dishonestly and inviting him in when it suited him, but using his good name for such purposes was utterly vile. At that moment, Vinogradov Sr. suddenly snapped out of his stupor, shifting slightly to the side and picking up two flasks from the nightstand, hiding them under the table.

“So what? I poured a ton of money into him, and this is all I got in return?” Alex continued, spreading his arms wide.

“I promised you I’d find Kitezh and return the money with treasure!” Father countered, fiddling with his hands under the table.

“I agree, but everything would be fine if it were you!” the bandit said indignantly, starting to lose his temper.

“Enough! I know what you want to say,” Stepan replied, not letting him finish his sentence.

The man had already poured the solution from one flask to another, so the reaction was expected within a couple of seconds. The flask hissed, and steam immediately began pouring out.

“What’s going on?” Valery asked, puzzled, turning to his father, noticing how the fog was spreading more and more from the flask in his hands, spraying foam in all directions.

“Just follow me,” the man whispered to him, then threw the vessel onto the floor with all his might, causing it to shatter into pieces.

Steam immediately billowed out in all directions, plunging the room into a thick haze. Before Vinogradov could utter a word, he felt someone grab him by the shoulder and drag him along. Shots rang out behind him, whistling bullets bouncing off the walls and shattering the jingling glass around him.

“Don’t shoot! You’ll kill us all!” a disgruntled Vyazemsky shouted at his subordinates. “Just find them!”

At that moment, the fog began to clear, and the treasure hunter saw right in front of him the outline of an additional door, toward which Stepan was already reaching for his pass. A deafening squeal rang out, causing the bandits to immediately turn in that direction. The fugitives practically tumbled out into the corridor, coughing violently and gasping for fresh air. Vinogradov wanted to sit down and catch his breath, feeling a strong burning sensation in his mouth from the potent mixture, but his father quickly grabbed him by the shoulder, dragging him toward the stairs.

“Come on, they’re on our tail!” he shouted, pointing to the slightly open door.

“Damn. Same old story,” Valery whispered discontentedly, remembering that this was how it usually started. He then rose from his seat and dashed forward, running toward the steps.

Their pursuers were in no way inferior, so, having emerged from the smoke-filled room, they immediately set off at a run after them, gradually increasing their speed. After dashing down a couple of flights of stairs, the fugitives burst into the corridor and, pushing aside any lingering students they came across, ran toward the university exit.

“Put your guns away!” Alex shouted to his men, noticing the bystanders at the last moment, not wanting to end up on the internet news.

They gradually caught up with the Vinogradovs, but the distance between them still remained considerable. By this time, the fugitives had already burst out into the street, inhaling the park’s miraculous aroma, and began to turn their heads in all directions, wondering where to go next.

The expanse of the Lenin Hills opened up directly before them. A long fountain, lined with wide avenues, sprayed jets of cool moisture into the air. The end of the funicular could be seen somewhere in the distance. Looking at each other silently and realizing they had no time to enjoy the views, they rushed forward, uncertain where fate would lead them.

Chapter 12

The Vinogradovs raced through the park as fast as they could. They could barely make out the road. Dozens of trees whizzed past, and slightly behind them lay the famous fountain, which offers the most favorable view of Moscow State University for photographs. Behind them, a monument to Mikhail Vasilyevich Lomonosov, after whom this famous university was named, was visible.

Having rounded it, father and son, breathing heavily, found themselves right at a large intersection. They hunched over, panting and catching their breath, but they had no time. Looking back, Stepan immediately noticed Alex and company quickly catching up with them, their expressions clearly dissatisfied with the situation.

“We need to keep moving. They’re nearby,” Vinogradov Sr. whispered, pointing at his pursuers.

“Are you tired of living? See how many cars there are?” the younger one objected, watching the dense stream of cars passing by.

The traffic light was red. It was over a minute before it turned green. Weighing the pros and cons, the father grabbed his son by the shoulder and pulled him along.

“I’m afraid we have no choice,” he said, stepping out onto the roadway.

Before he could say a word, they were already on the road. Valery’s eyes widened in astonishment as a driver abruptly drove past them, one wheel dangling onto the curb. A second later, another driver was honking, slamming on the brakes. The two darted back and forth like cornered animals, but somehow managed to reach the end of the intersection, followed by the astonished gaze of their pursuers.

The Vinogradovs looked at each other, exhaling a sigh of relief, and, turning around, noticed that the group had almost caught up with them, stopping at the opposite end of the intersection. Alex’s subordinates froze in indecision, glancing at the second hand out of the corner of their eye, but the traffic light was still too far away.

“What are you standing there frozen to the spot for? Forward!” the bandit commanded, forcing them to jump out onto the road as well.

The comrades’ happiness proved short-lived. Their opponents quickly began crossing to the opposite side in exactly the same manner, dodging the cars that were passing them. Realizing they had to run again, father and son once again rushed forward. It was as if they had a second wind, and their legs carried them even faster. Their hearts were pounding, ready to leap out of their chests. The men continued to fly forward along the neat boulevard. Dozens of elegant gilded lanterns and benches on which astonished vacationers stood frozen, watching this chase, flew past. Whole flocks of pigeons, startled by the strange creatures, flew in all directions. Flowers, wild grass, neatly trimmed square bushes, towering fir trees and orchard trees — all flashed past in an endless kaleidoscope. In any other situation, Valery wouldn’t have minded a stroll through the park, but now he had no choice but to flee. Vinogradov kept glancing back, hoping the bandits had given up, but they’d nimbly navigated the intersection and were now hot on their tail. Directly behind them, in a light haze like a postcard, pierced the sky with the very same Stalinist skyscraper they’d so hastily fled.

Right before their eyes, the road appeared again, this time even wider, but now luck was on their side, for the light had just turned green, and a whole crowd of pedestrians had begun to move forward, dispersing in all directions. Quickening their pace, the fugitives quickly skirted the pedestrians, deftly crossing to the other side and looking back, hoping the traffic light would change to red, but it only flickered treacherously just as the bandits had already leaped out onto the road.

There was no time to think; they had to move on. Turning right, the Vinogradovs rushed forward, their heads whipping around in search of shelter. However, before them lay a straight embankment practically in the forest, where hiding was no easy task. Suddenly, their eyes fell on a slightly creaking cable-drawn funicular, a technological marvel amidst the city and dense green park. This feat of engineering had appeared here relatively recently, in 2018 for the FIFA World Cup, replacing an outdated and unused Soviet-era cable car. It consisted of a glass capsule, transparent on all sides, with several comfortable seats for the best possible enjoyment of the magnificent aerial view of the Moskva River and Luzhniki Stadium.

Realizing this was a perfect opportunity to escape, father and son immediately, without speaking, turned in that direction. Bursting through the barrier under the astonished gaze of the cashiers and security guards, they quickly closed the distance to the booth and, pushing aside the passengers trying to get in, jumped inside.

The pursuers then wanted to do the same, but this time the officers were much quicker, stopping them halfway in time with their hands outstretched.

“Stop! Where to? Your tickets!” the guard hissed, annoyed that his post was turning into a thoroughfare.

The bandits were about to take out their pistols and rush forward, but at that moment the glass door of the capsule closed in its groove, sealing it, after which, waving at them with smiles from ear to ear, the Vinogradovs went down.

Chapter 13

The pursuers stood their ground, watching with bated breath as the cable car pulled away from them in the opposite direction. They huffed and puffed, unable to bear such an insult, as for the first time in their history, they had lost the fugitives.

An icy wind blew in my face from the embankment, and the sky above the distant skyscrapers of Moscow City, their high roofs piercing the clouds, became thick with clouds. Birds began flying much lower, collecting midges pinned to the ground with their beaks. It seemed a thunderstorm was about to break.

A loud thud of footsteps sounded behind them, and turning around, the bandits immediately realized that Alex, flushed and disgruntled, had caught up with them. His face had turned crimson, reflecting what was going on inside. The boss was clearly displeased and angry, and in such a mood, informing him of their failure would have been sheer suicide.

“Where are they?” Vyazemsky hissed sullenly, bending over and catching his ragged breath.

Hearing the question that troubled them, his subordinates exchanged silent glances. They stood hesitantly, unsure of how to respond, as if shifting this heavy burden of responsibility onto each other, their eyes boring into their comrade.

“Why are we silent? Are you speechless?” Alex croaked, realizing something was wrong.

“They’re gone,” muttered “Cudgel” dryly and cautiously, deciding to take on this burden, “we let them go.”

“What? Where to?” Vyazemsky became furious, completely forgetting about his fatigue.

“They took the cable car, jumped in, and left before we could stop them. I think if we land right now, we’ll catch up with them on the other side,” Sema continued, watching the next capsule pull up.

After catching his breath and spinning around a couple of times, the leader clutched his face. He thought silently, making his subordinates even more nervous. Time was now the most precious resource, and missing this flight meant a criminally long wait for the next one. And that meant a complete loss of any chance of catching the fugitives. The bandits eyed the leader with fearful, questioning glances.

“Boss, I don’t want to rush you, but if we lose this booth, we’ll definitely lose them,” “Cudgel” urged him, afraid of paying for this action right away.

After giving him a murderous look and remaining silent for a couple more seconds, Alex suddenly waved his hand.

“To hell with them,” he suddenly declared, watching the closing door of the cable car capsule, which almost immediately moved off and headed down the slope along the cable.

“Excuse me?” Simon didn’t understand his phrase, thinking that the boss would destroy them for this failure.

“We lost Styopa. It was a failure. But now his son is with him. And I’m sure that, given his experience and skill, he’ll quickly find the treasure for us,” Vyazemsky replied with a satisfied smile.

“And you think he’ll agree to this?” Cudgel asked hesitantly, doubting it deep down.

“Of course!” the boss countered. “After all, Vinogradov Jr. now understands perfectly well what he’s gotten himself into. And he’ll do anything to save his family — his wife and his wayward father — from trouble. So the treasure hunter will lead us to Kitezh himself; we need to give him some extra motivation.”

Having said this, the man joyfully crossed his arms over his chest, turned around, and walked away from the funicular, leaving his inquiring charges standing there, as the scheme was too complex and full of conventions for them to understand.

Chapter 14

Valery and Stepan froze in their seats, breathing heavily. They gazed around silently, sitting on benches opposite each other, watching the Moscow State University complex on Sparrow Hills recede further and further with each passing second.

Vyazemsky and company had long since vanished from sight, leaving father and son virtually alone with their thoughts. The noise and din of the chase had died down, and now they could finally catch their breath. As soon as they emerged into the open, the capsule began to rock gently in the rising wind, and somewhere overhead, a developing vortex began to rustle, as if mentally preparing them for the onset of the storm.

A little further away, on the opposite bank of the Moskva River, shimmering with greenish and murky waters, the famous Luzhniki Stadium towered above, surrounded by clouds. It was a large sports arena built in 1956 and renovated for the 2018 FIFA World Cup. The entire complex embodied Khrushchev-era architecture, which aimed to “eliminate architectural excess.” The amphitheater, adorned only by hundreds of columns along its elliptical shape, was capped by a massive semicircular dome, protecting the stands from the rain. This was especially relevant now, as a severe storm could strike at any moment, and a cable car cabin on a thin cable several hundred feet above the ground was not the best place to encounter it.

Valery glared furiously at his father and led him to the launch pad and back, fearing in his heart that he might be followed, before covering his face with his hands in confusion.

“What? How could I get myself into this again!” he whispered, laughing hysterically.

“I’m sorry, son, I didn’t mean to drag you into this, really,” his father tried to calm him down, putting his hand on his shoulder.

However, Vinogradov Jr. took this gesture as an insult, jerked back sharply and turned away.

“He didn’t mean to,” the relic hunter hissed, finally turning to his interlocutor. “And the fact that I was almost shot by a man I’m seeing for the first time because of your friction with them? You didn’t mean to do that either?”

“Yes,” his father immediately agreed, fully aware of his guilt. “This is all my fault. But there are two definite pluses. First, we escaped them. And second, we found a clue about where to look for Kitezh!”

Upon hearing this, Valery immediately looked at the vase in his hands, the existence of which he had forgotten, having snatched it up in his haste during the chase. The young man glanced once more at the symbols revealed by the reagents, then rose from his seat and forcefully thrust it into his father’s hands.

“Congratulations. Now you just sort this all out on your own,” he muttered through clenched teeth, then took his seat again and, crossing his arms over his chest, pointedly looked away.

In the distance, to their right, there was a two-story bridge of interesting design, on the lower level of which, right in the middle of the river, there was a metro station surrounded by glass walls.

“I’m afraid,” Stepan said disappointedly, “that won’t work. Unfortunately, Vyazemsky saw you. Now he assumes we’re looking for the treasure together, so you’re in on it too.”

Hearing this, Vinogradov Jr. again turned his angry eyes on him, this time turning even redder.

“What did you just say?” he asked again, hoping he had heard him wrong.

“When I found the vase, they gave me a week to find Kitezh. I’m afraid that now that they know about you, they might, after that time, start pressuring me in a different way than before, for example, on Sveta.”

Valery immediately slammed his fist on the bench with all his might, causing the wooden frame to rattle. He clutched his arm in pain. His face had already taken on an abnormal hue, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“I hate you, I need to tell her to stay out of the house immediately,” he whispered, collecting his thoughts and realizing that now his wife was also unwittingly involved in all of this.

“No, as long as they need us, they won’t touch her. As for me, I’m of the same opinion, but we don’t have time for that. If you want to make sure nothing bad happens to her, we need to find Kitezh within a week. More precisely, within six days,” the elder replied, closing his eyelids, letting them relax a little.

Valery was once again lost in his thoughts. Once again, he had to search for treasure. Again, riddles and secrets, keys, clues, dangers, pursuers.

“There are two symbols on the bowl: a lake and a city,” the son began, thoughtfully scratching his chin. “Given our initial information, as well as the legends about Kitezh, we need the lake on whose shores, according to legend, it was located. And that means Svetloyar. It was there, where, at the end of the 12th century, the great Russian prince Yuri Vsevolodovich Vladimirsky, returning from a journey to Novgorod, ordered the city to be built.”

“Agreed,” my father nodded vigorously, “but where are you going to look for it? I’ve scoured the entire coastline. We paid divers, but they found nothing. Other explorers have dived to the bottom many times, but it’s nothing but driftwood and mud.”

“I don’t know yet,” replied a thoughtful Valery, who had read the literature the previous night after the theft of the cup, but still hadn’t come to a definitive answer to the question of where legend and fiction ended and real history began. “I need to see for myself.”

“Ah, I see your eyes light up. You’ve clearly been missing that,” his father teased, sensing his son’s thirst for adventure.

“Go to hell,” Vinogradov Jr. answered him angrily, after which he silently turned around and began to look out the window.

The sky there was now even more heavily overcast, as if nature sensed what was going on in his soul and instantly raised the stakes. Time was running out, and Svetlana, thanks to her father’s fault, found herself in danger, a danger that could only be neutralized by finding the treasure.

Chapter 15

Nizhny Novgorod Region. Lake Svetloyar

The icy clear waters of the small but deep Lake Svetloyar lapped against the golden sandy shore, overgrown in places with bushes. Surrounding it was a dense, dark forest, the trees swaying in the breeze, playing a soft, pleasing melody. Somewhere in the distance, birds chirped joyfully, owls hooted, and crickets chirped. All this thicket was softly reflected in the rays of the bright afternoon sun, shimmering on the waves, dissolving in the gentle ripples, as if in a mirror.

Only a small wooden church — the Kazan Chapel — rose amidst the greenery, gracefully displaying its ancient, weathered logs. It seemed as if it had stood there for as long as the lake itself, but in fact, it was built only in the early 2000s with public donations to replace the old chapel, dismantled during the Soviet era. A whole crowd of pilgrims and tourists flocked to it, coming for the legend of Kitezh but quite willing to visit the church as well. They chatted animatedly, took photographs, and performed special rituals.

Meanwhile, Valery stood on the shore, deep in thought, arms crossed over his chest, peering intently into the depths. He tried his best to concentrate, but was unable to do so, thanks to the constant distractions that were constantly getting on his nerves.

“The lake’s perfectly round shape still fuels debate about its origin,” the tour guide said loudly to a new group who had also approached. “And the basin itself resembles an ancient amphitheater with its tiers. Some believe it’s caused by melting glaciers, while others say it was caused by a giant meteorite.”

Valery, realizing that he wouldn’t be able to remain in silence, immediately turned angrily towards them, but the tourists didn’t care about his personal opinion, so they continued to go about their business.

“Any ideas?” Stepan immediately announced, coming up from behind, also getting on my nerves.

“No,” the son hissed discontentedly, starting to massage his temples, hoping to calm down a little.

“I can’t believe Sveta just let you go with me,” my father continued to mock, as if deliberately pressing on a sore spot.

“She wouldn’t let me go. I lied and said I was sent to a conference,” the treasure hunter replied, shaking his head in displeasure.

“And the wife bought this lie? It sounds incredibly unconvincing, especially for someone in her profession,” Vinogradov Sr. marveled.

“Shut up, this is all your fault,” Valery croaked, turning sharply and pushing him with his shoulder.

It seemed that Stepan was not at all embarrassed by this, and he, spreading his arms out to the sides, simply caught up with his son, asking: “Okay, what’s the plan then?”

This question completely threw him off balance. They had been on the shore for half a day, exploring it from top to bottom, racking their brains, re-checking the symbols on the bowl, traversing the surrounding forest — all to no avail. The situation was reaching a dead end, and it was becoming decidedly unclear how to get out of it.

“I don’t know. The only thing left to do is dive underwater, but that’s pointless. Divers have been through it dozens of times,” he drawled, beginning to feel despair.

Realizing that the situation was at a standstill and deciding to cheer up his son, the father took a bottle of water from his backpack and began pouring it into that very ancient bowl.

“I collected some from the Kibelek spring. They say it emerged from the ground after the battle with the Tatars, when St. George the Victorious descended from the heavens, but his horse stumbled. Try it,” Stepan said, handing the specimen to Valery.

Noticing such disrespect for a relic of the past, the younger brother immediately became even more enraged, after which he forcefully pushed his father away, causing him to stumble and spill water.

“Go to hell,” Vinogradov replied, and then wanted to turn around, when he suddenly froze in place.

The young man thought he was imagining things, but upon closer inspection, he realized it wasn’t just his overactive imagination. Right in the center of the bowl, shimmering in the sunlight, sometimes hidden, sometimes revealed by the swaying of the water, another previously invisible symbol became visible.