NOVEL WEB Chapter 6: Fireflies in the Dark
Yeletsky carefully tucked the two blood tax exemption certificates into the inner lining of his coat. But the bishop had given him too many rubles—some had to be risked in the outer pockets.
The pain of losing his child still gnawed at him, but the fear of the night quickened his steps.
Yet, as he turned into Blackwater Alley, he ran into trouble.
"Well, well, if it isn't our dear foreman Yeletsky! What a coincidence!"
The voice belonged to Metr Leonovich Gorarov, a bully of a foreman from the factory.
A man who extorted new workers, forced them to cover his shifts, and thrived on intimidation—until Yeletsky put him in his place.
Now, facing this bastard, Yeletsky backed away, ready to flee—but men blocked his retreat.
"Konir? Since when do you run with Gorarov?"
Yeletsky was stunned. These were decent workers from the shop floor—men he'd treated fairly.
"Yeletsky, I've got no love for that bastard Gorarov. But he found out where you live. So here we are."
"What grudge do you have against me?"
Yeletsky clutched his coat pockets, now surrounded.
"Grudge? Hah!"
Konir spat. "How could filth like us dare hold a grudge against the boss's favorite?"
"Oh, wait—you're not the favorite anymore. Just a dog in debt."
Laughter erupted.
Yeletsky stood frozen, forcing a weak smile—
WHAM!
A fist slammed into his gut.
"You dare laugh with us?!"
Yeletsky collapsed, blows raining down.
"Laugh at this!"
A punch to the temple sent him reeling.
"Work overtime, huh?!"
A kick to the ribs—pain exploded.
"Show off for Dragomirov, huh?!"
A stomp on the shin—nearly shattering bone.
Yeletsky gritted his teeth, shouting:
"I just worked hard! How does that hurt you?!"
Konir spat in his face.
"Yeah, you worked hard—too damn hard!"
Another savage kick.
"Now Dragomirov holds us to your fucking standards!"
The others cursed—Yeletsky's diligence had raised the bar, making their lives hell.
Blood poured from his nose, dripping onto the cobblestones. With a final burst of strength, he shoved them back, screaming:
"I just wanted a better life! I just worked! What's wrong with that?!"
"Oh, so we're the problem?!"
Konir slapped him—the crack echoed down the street.
"Now we break our backs and still can't meet quotas—thanks to you!"
"I didn't set those quotas! Go take it up with Dragomirov!"
Yeletsky raged—he'd done nothing wrong. But these men were just cowards, too afraid to face the real enemy.
"You think we dare touch that vampire?!"
"Can't beat the master? Beat his dog!"
Whether out of revenge or pent-up resentment, they showed no mercy.
Yeletsky's groans faded to silence.
Then—one man noticed something.
"Hold up! He's still clutching his pocket!"
They ripped at his coat, prying his arms apart.
"HOLY SHIT—MONEY! LOTS OF IT!"
"No! That's for my wife's treatment! Please—"
Yeletsky begged, but they emptied his pockets.
"Konir! Big rubles, not shitty kopecks!"
"Search him! There's more!"
Not satisfied, they tore at his clothes like wild dogs.
Even half-dead, Yeletsky curled around his chest, protecting the exemption certificates.
The more he resisted, the more certain they were—he was hiding something.
"Stop pulling! Beat him senseless first!"
Konir's order sent fists hammering down.
But Yeletsky would not let go.
SHRIEEEEK!
A piercing whistle split the night.
"Shit! City guards! Run!"
Konir—the first to strike—was the first to flee. Some panicked so badly they threw the stolen money into the air and bolted.
Only fluttering banknotes and a broken Yeletsky remained.
A figure approached in the dim light.
Too weak to lift his head, Yeletsky prepared for the worst.
"I'm not dead… I can pay a fine… just… help me…"
But the voice that answered wasn't a guard's.
"Mr. Yeletsky? What are you saying?"
Small hands rolled him over.
Viktor.
The shoeshine boy from earlier.
Yeletsky coughed blood, urgency in his voice.
"Kid—get out of here!"
"The guards are coming! I can pay the fine—but they'll take you!"
Viktor just smiled, pulling a tiny bone whistle from his ragged shirt.
"Mr. Yeletsky… street kids have our own tricks."