Leonid Romanovich Kuznetsov walked with the languid pace of an alleycat on the prowl, his eyes shifting across the dust-coated barstools and countertops, which appeared to be long forgotten by humanity. He wore a frown on his thin lips. He also wore an excellent, expensive suit that had gone out of style a long time ago but retained the same splendor as when it was brand-new. The tail of his coat just barely dragged across the dirt-coated ballroom floor. White morning light streamed in through the magnificent windows, granting a ghostly appearance to the space. An eerie sort of silence had fallen over it. The prince paused for a moment, dragging a pale finger through the dust of the windowsill, his mind faithfully reminding him of the many great parties his parents had hosted in the manor— how the ballroom had felt small for all the people it held and how the air was filled with music and laughter instead of this dreadful quiet. Leonid Romanovich’s mind ventured to his dear friend, the serpent. While a hint of foreboding remained, it was paired with a calm sort of certainty. Dmitry Adoratsky would not perish at the hands of the men he was in debt to, for the clever prince had a plan and had also the favor of the divinity above. It would be a life for a life, as the young scoundrel had already saved Leonid from his own hands. A lone snake slid across the ballroom floor, its iridescent scales glittering in the light of the windows. He watched it find shelter beneath a stained white tablecloth. For the rest of the daylight hours, the prince busied himself with cleaning the ballroom. He swept the dirt from the floor and brushed down whatever cobwebs he could reach (though most found safe purchase in the beautifully-painted ceiling far above his head). It took hours to remove the thick layer of dust that had settled over everything, but he managed it, and by the time the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon line, the ballroom glittered with something similar to its forgotten splendor. Kuznetsov drew a warm scarf around his neck and strode swiftly through his house to the door, descending the stairs in quick succession as he made his way towards the town. It was there that he found two young boys, dressed poorly and delivering tattered newspapers. “You two,” he said, his voice startlingly harsh with underuse. The boys stumbled over their feet to near him, dipping their heads like guilty dogs. “Yes, sir? You must be Mr. Kuznetsov, sir!” “Is it true that you’re God?” The younger boy asked, with considerable curiosity. The prince ignored him, reaching instead for his pocket, from which he drew a considerable sum of money— greater than seventy thousand roubles— which he then gave to the taller boy. “Split this between you, just so long as you go to each door in the town and tell the occupants that tonight there will be a ball at the Kuznetsov manor. For every man that comes, I will give you a thousand roubles more. Be quick on your feet now, go on!” And off the boys scampered, in different directions, screaming already at the top of their high voices that there would be a ball tonight— a ball tonight, at the Kuznetsov manor! Kuznetsov left the door ajar and went to his bedroom upstairs, where he watched patiently as people began to arrive. Men in the best suits they could find, their collars turned up at the neck; women fretting over their old ballgowns, trying to make them look newer. Some of the older guests told stories in grandiose voices of the parties they had attended at the Kuznetsov manor before the passing of Leonid’s parents, back when the manor was alight with life and luxury. As darkness was beginning to obscure the prince’s view of the pathway to his doorstep, he caught sight of Dmitry Adoratsky. Though he maintained his usual smile, a touch of confusion shone in his knowing eyes. He wore a striking suit of a unique, velvety blue color, which, in Leonid’s time of knowing him, he had never seen before. His hair was slightly disheveled, as if he had gotten ready too swiftly to pay it much mind. At the sight of his arrival, Leonid drew himself up from his seat and made his way carefully down the steps to the living room to intercept his path to the ballroom. “Mr. Kuznetsov,” Dmitry Adoratsky bent slightly at the hip in a joking sort of bow. “To what do I owe the honor?” “Please, Dmitry, be serious.” “I’m being plenty serious. What is all this for? You told me yourself that you don’t do parties. I remember it quite vividly.” “I’ve had a change of heart,” the prince said, in a cryptic sort of way. “Do you know who all are attending tonight?” “Some by name, most by reputation,” Dmitry said, casting his eyes around the crowd as he walked alongside the prince into the vast ballroom. “Do you remember the day, some few months ago now, you attempted to bring me to the house of your creditor, for his sister was ailing?”
“Like it was yesterday,” the serpent gave his friend a cautious look. “You have the whole town under the impression that I am some sort of divinity still?” A faint smile crossed Dmitry’s lips, “The town, certainly— perhaps it is my ease of talking, but I daresay I have convinced myself, too. You are certainly far from a normal, mortal man, Leonid Romanovich. Though I have seen with my own eyes that your blood runs scarlet as any man’s does, I doubt it still.” “If I did not know better…” “Hm?” “Oh, nevermind that,” Leonid waved his hand dismissively. “Has your creditor-man chosen to attend?” Dmitry looked around at the swelling crowd, grayish eyes on the hunt for a familiarly loathed face, and caught sight of the man for a moment. “Ah, it appears so. He is accompanied by his sister, though by the looks of her, she should not be accompanying anyone for much longer… or else, that is what I’ve heard.” “You engage in such gossip,” scolded the prince. Dmitry cast him a smile and a shrug in response. “I shall go to speak with him, and he will forgive your debt.” Leonid was completely certain of himself; in fact, he sounded so convinced that the most pessimistic of men would pause in consideration. “Will you accompany me?” “I will accompany you anywhere you please,” was the response of Leonid’s dear friend and devotee. Though Kuznetsov had ordered no music, someone had picked up a song on the violin which drifted through the air melodically, and soon after it was joined by the lower pitch of a resonating cello and a gentle symphony stirred from the long-dormant piano that rested near one of the far windows at the hands of a talented guest. The delicate, beautiful woman who was Dmitry Matteovich’s creditor’s sister had dipped her head in a fresh fit of bleeding coughs, leaning on the shoulder of her elder brother for support, when the two young men approached them. Dmitry offered her a fresh handkerchief, scarcely suppressing a look of disgust as she closed her fingers around it and thanked him in a hoarse, once-lovely voice. “Mr. Kuznetsov, it’s an honor to meet you at last,” said the creditor, looking upon the prince with wide, admiring eyes. Leonid nodded in greeting. “I am well-acquainted with this Dmitry Adoratsky, who I presume is a friend of yours…” “Quite well,” Dmitry interjected with one of his glitteringly spiteful smiles. “Indeed. It is my understanding that Matteovich owes you a sum of money due to his name.” The creditor swallowed, becoming apprehensive at the cold tone that Leonid’s voice had assumed. “That is so.” “I ask you kindly to forgive that debt.” “... I… Well, sir, that is simply impossible! While I regard you with high respect— I am never one to dishonor the beloved name of Kuznetsov— this is a monetary matter leading back to Adoratsky’s father, Matteo Adoratsky, who—” “I am already familiar with the story. Please save your breath. Dmitry Adoratsky is in a dreadful debt to you, but more so, you are in a dreadful debt to me… or otherwise, you should consider yourself to be in dreadful debt to me, lest you rather be a beggar before me.” “In debt to you? A beggar? Forgive me, sir, but I don’t understand…” “Dmitry Adoratsky was truthful to you— I am indeed the divinity which you have wished to meet. I have the power to heal Maria.” Kuznetsov said, his voice calm and even. The creditor’s sister let out a cry of surprise and hope and began to sob profusely. Dmitry Adoratsky watched the scene play out, for once remaining in thoughtful silence. “You must only forgive this man of his debt, and I will repair the illness that plagues your dear sister.” “Well, sir— My! If only you had led with that! All is forgiven, young Mr. Adoratsky— in fact, I shall pay you back the money you have already paid to me in full!” The creditor seized Dmitry’s hand and shook it with an intensity bordering upon mania. Dmitry looked between the prince and the man wringing his hand, bewildered. “Very well, then. All is settled. Maria, should you have faith in the divinity above, you are healed.” Leonid said, bowing his head slightly to the woman, whose hoarse voice had given way to the shrill cry of a healthy woman. Upon hearing this, she stopped her sobbing at once and threw her arms around her brother. Dmitry scampered after Leonid as he turned his back and walked away, through the crowd of people who were mostly concerned with themselves— men with their money, women with the frills of their ballgowns. The young serpent had to raise his voice to be heard over the music. “You’re a good man, Leonid.” “And you are a wretched one. But I believe you are healing.” Dmitry smiled, “Ah, my dear friend… the question remains, how might one be both a scientist and a believer?”
