Travels Through An Imaginary Landscape

As we left the Finlyandsky Station my emotions comprised about three parts warm glow of satisfaction at having saved the last Rasputin from his unhappy fate to one part anxiety over Secretary Pokrovsky’s likely response to our action. By the time the car turned down the Moyka Embankment towards the Yusupov Palace this ratio had pretty much entirely reversed itself. It was all very well embracing the noble gesture in the heat of the moment, with two big pairs of pleading brown eyes in front of you and any possible repercussions far away in a dimly grasped future. But it was quite another thing to remain confident and cheerful once the big brown eyes had been spirited far away and only the sharply disapproving eyes of Secretary Pokrovsky loomed up ahead. Continue reading →

Our driver took Olga Fyedorovna’s exhortation to ‘step on it’ rather more to heart than might have seemed entirely wise given the conditions. My recollections of the journey from Marya Andreevna’s apartment to the Finlyandsky Station consist mostly of being flung from one side of the car to the other as we careened around yet another icy corner, together with an alarming glimpse of vast chunks of ice floating down the Neva River when we slithered precariously close to the edge of a bridge that we crossed over. Continue reading →

Having relayed our instructions to Secretary Pokrovsky’s driver we soon found ourselves winging our way across the frozen city to a set of apartment buildings very like those we had spent the afternoon searching through. Here Olga Fyedorovna shared a fourth floor flat with a nursery school-mistress in an atmosphere of contented domesticity that only served to make Secretary Pokrovsky’s determination to find her a husband seem all the more misguided. Continue reading →

On leaving the restaurant we discovered that the temperature, which had scarcely risen above freezing all day, had dropped considerably and soft flakes of snow swirled around in the crisp night air. We scrambled gratefully into Secretary Pokrovsky’s waiting car, an enormous black boxy machine, and the driver set off at once. The journey was brief; it seemed no time at all before we were pulling up outside an enormous neo-classical building where the lights ablaze in the upper-storey windows dappled the icy canal opposite with reflected light. Continue reading →

It’s amazing the effect a single piece of officially signed and stamped paper can have when it comes to poking your nose in where it might not be wanted. The residents of the apartment buildings that crowded around the Tsarskoe Selo Railway Station received us in as many different ways as their respective moods dictated. We were alternately smiled at and growled at, puzzled over, grunted at and moaned about. But not one of them, once presented with Secretary Pokrovsky’s letter of authority, was willing to take the risk of refusing us entry to their property. Continue reading →

“I’m James Mason.”

“No, I’m James Mason.”

“I tell you, I’m James Mason.” Continue reading →

Once a somewhat bemused authorisation to investigate the corridors beneath The Hub had been secured from Governor Old, it wasn’t long before our search for the hidden door finally bore fruit. Michael and I found it hiding in plain sight in the middle of a long bare corridor and, with the aid of a hammer we liberated from a janitor’s closet, we soon had another set of coordinates removed from the inter-dimensional travel device. Our mission finally completed we headed upstairs to find that dawn was just breaking. Feeling a little worn out from all our exertions of the previous night it seemed like a good idea to grab a bite of breakfast in The Hub before heading off in search of the next marker on the device. Continue reading →