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Natasha

Natasha

Natasha
Church
The poem
Yuri
Castlemaine

 

The poem

I am sorry. Today I am suffering a most vicious hangover. It was that stupid party last night for some visiting Russian writers. I really don't care about such matters, so I drowned my boredom in a bottle of Stolichnaya.

I still do not know who has been following me. Yesterday I met with the priest from the church. I did not mention the prelate or the information I had received from Moscow. He, on the other hand, was full of interesting news.

We met in a local library. We sat opposite each other in the quiet study area. I didn't speak. He told me the tale in a whispered Russian. It seems that a certain note came into his possession. He didn't know if it meant anything important - to all appearances, it is only a handwritten piece of a poem - but I knew better. This one note would help me complete my mission.

He wouldn't tell me how it came into his possession. I worried about this. What would a priest have to hide? He explained this by saying that it would violate his oath about confessions. I didn't know if I believed him but I would still have to trust. It was he who passed on the most important piece of code. A code which would lead to a most important cross. The cross of Odin. I was about to thank him when he made a most disgusting suggestion. Then I wondered if he could really be a priest. Such an explicit remark. I walk out on him after chastising him in our mother tongue. The librarian told us to leave. I said that I would be glad to.

As I left the library, I knew what to do next. Any code needs to be decifered. For this task there is only one person I trust. To find him I must travel to a small town called Daylesford. You see, my friend lives there and has a small shop. Like me his talents for poetry and intelligence don't seem to fit in New Russia. Like me, his extracurricular activities are strictly off the record. Only one problem. How do I get there without the Ambassador finding out?

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