Chapter I

Fog has gobbled the Lavra belfry entirely and only then began to creep slowly through the city.

It gazed into the dark windows, clubbing between chimeras on Bankova Street, wrapped up the bronze Hetman on Sophia Square, and hugged the hunched prince with a cross on Saint Volodymyr Hill.

Kyiv, a sullen and moody city, froze in a daze, looking indifferently with its unseeing eyes into the murky Dnipro waters. All the sounds faded away and disappeared, having dissolved in the viscid dove-colored mass of dense fog. Leaves plucked by the nervous wind gathered in dead flocks and flew down the hills into the dark waters, wherein small evil waves, fussing and pushing each other, rushed to god-knows-where.

The dull autumn rain already began to whisper something malicious at night; it only intensified when the gloomy sky brightened a bit in the morning. Rain was scrambling into the windows, creeping across the rooftops, rumbling and squealing inside the rusty Podil gutters.

The Underground

The poor humpbacked old woman-beggar tried to drag unsuccessfully a creaking wheelbarrow loaded with all sorts of junk onto the high curb of the sidewalk. The old woman's efforts attracted the attention of a long-haired student with light-green eyes. He stood on the opposite side, at a bus stop strewn with wet crumpled leaves. His umbrella hysterically wobbled from side to side due to the wild gusts of wind, resembling a kite. The young man was watching the moves of the beggar indifferently, but when the old woman elevated her eyes full of tears and despair, he felt guilty.

He rushed across the street, deftly lifted the wheelbarrow over the curb, and put it on the sidewalk. The old woman spilled out something and, without turning around, slowly rolled the whining trolley away. The student was already going to cross the road back, but at that moment, a quiet sound came to his ears – a jingle – apparently something fell out of the baggage of the beggar. He came closer: at the bottom of the puddle, covered with fallen red leaves, there lay an old door key with a beautiful wrought-iron head. The young man pulled the key out of the puddle and wanted to call the old woman back, but she seemed to disappear totally.

ВThe autumn sun emerged from frowning clouds, smiling helpfully, lit up Lavra Street all along, but the old woman beggar wasn't seen anywhere …