"Ravka," he corrects, but gently. If a man wants to talk, the best and most sensible thing is to keep him talking. And the Darkling twists, leaning back against the steel bars of their cell as he crosses his hands in front of him.

Russia? Don Bluth sounds like a lowlife from Kerch, but no one has replaced Pekka Rollins in Ketterdam yet as far as he knows. "I am of course talking about the tsar Latsov of Ravka, and any other associated with his rule."

"I'm afraid I have no idea what russia is, or know of any small dogs," he smiles warmly, a joke between cellmates can't hurt. "There's always someone looking to overthrow him and his wife, the tsaritsa. Even the First and the Second army are not always enough to keep all threats at bay."

"What is this Russia? And who is Don Bluth?" a slight stumble at the strange names, at least Peter was a familiar one.