"I don't know. I don't want to do anything that costs a lot - I'm happy just being here, really, and not eating terrible miner's food like I was stuck with for a while. If I never see black bread again, it'll be too soon." His face grew serious, and he looked at Dolemeck with a sort of respect and wonder mixture that he didn't have a name for. "When you overheard Topher and I discuss the occult section, the reason I was nervous is because that word was used in Russian to describe anyone who wasn't Christian, and that was synonymous with 'not white' in Siberia. How... how religious are people here?" He's scared of the answer and yet he has to know. He needs to know how to blend in. Ilya won't make mistakes here, he won't become the burden he was back home.

And he's so easily influenced he would probably pretend to go along with any answer Dolemeck gave him. He's comfortable opening up like this, alone with Dolemeck, the smell of a baking cake in the air. It's new in all the best ways.