Kostya pointed to a bare cot in the far corner. —Fine. I’ll wait. I can sleep here tonight, yes?
Temerity’s pulse seemed to thud in her ears: run now, run now, run now. Run where? She moved to the sink. —I’ll get you a blanket once we’re done with your toe. I’ll need some water.
Metal squeaked. One sink, one pump, one small woman to work it: Kostya almost laughed. Instead, his voice rapped out a command. —Step aside.
She stared at him.
He slipped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, exposing wiry muscles. —So I may pump the water, Comrade Ferngate.
— I am quite capable, thank you.
— Yes, I’d guessed that much. I can also guess the pump is difficult. So I will do it.
Unsure why, she took a few steps back and acquiesced. —Thank you.
Kostya leaned into the pumping. —I’m lucky I found you. This clinic, I mean. It’s in a strange spot.
Temerity heard her father’s voice, how he would calm her when she was frightened: Steady the Buffs. —I believe it was a storehouse. No one uses tinned blood anymore. Some of those gauze bandages are from before the Great War, I expect, and Cortez himself surely sent back those pots and pans.
Wincing, Kostya pumped harder. She must have arms like iron bands. —Nothing so grand as the British imperial cull.
— I beg your pardon?
Kostya hid his smirk. —The Elgin Marbles? The Koh-i-Noor?
She stood very straight, shoulders back. —Those treasures represent pinnacles of human achievement and civilization, and they belong where such pinnacles can be recognized and celebrated.
— In Britain, the greatest pinnacle of them all?
She just stopped herself from snapping Of course as she lit the stove. Then she asked herself why Tikhon was teasing her. —In a museum. Where everyone may see them. Well, not the Koh-i-Noor, that’s locked away. But we’ve got the marbles on display, as you must in Russia with the treasures liberated from the tsar.
He looked up from the pump in surprise. —What?
— The Amber Room? The Orlov diamond? No? Give me about a cup of the water so I can boil the lance, and you take the rest in that bowl outside. The light’s better. Wait, pour in these Epsom salts, but don’t soak your foot just yet. I’ll join you in a moment.
Outside, sitting in the dust and propped against a clinic wall, Kostya relished the heat of the sun on his face. He sighed, avoided looking at his foot, then gave himself permission to doze.
— Tikhon?
Sunlight glinted off the metal bowl, blinding Kostya a moment, and he cursed himself for letting this woman sneak up on him.
Pinching a lance between finger and thumb, Temerity knelt before him. —Now, let me see that abscess.
He studied her trousers, how they flowed off her waist yet clung to her thighs. A small object bulged in her right pocket: a folding knife, perhaps. To his surprise, he felt at once proud and protective of her. She could look after herself, it seemed, yet she was so small.
Reminding himself this woman was his enemy, he looked to the lance. —Will it hurt?
— Only if you laugh.
Hand near her shoulder, she held the lance as though hoisting a tiny harpoon, and hesitated.
Smirking, Kostya spoke in English. —An indecisive Britisher? Don’t look so surprised. I speak seven languages.
— English is not your strongest, then.
He resumed speaking Spanish. —Apparently not.
— I could cut that accent with a knife and fork.
— English is an ugly language, hardly worth the effort.
— Nonsense. A poet can make English sing. Listen:
Well, you get the point.
— No, please, finish it.
Temerity almost smiled. Perhaps Tikhon hadn’t lied. Perhaps he really was a journalist and not an enemy. —Very well.
The silence between them felt suffocating.
Then Temerity sounded brisk again. —Shakespeare, sonnet forty. Now lie back. I’ll get beside you and lean over your legs, so you don’t kick me.
Unsure what else to do, Kostya lay on the ground. The press of belly and breasts on his legs startled him. —Is this really the best way?
— Little pinch.
— Fucked in the mouth!
She knelt up and wiped away wad after wad of bloodied pus. —You Russians have the best profanity.
— You speak Russian?
Had to show off, didn’t I? She continued in Spanish. —I hardly need to speak the language to understand that you just said something foul, but yes, I’ve picked up a few words. Hold still.
She manipulated the abscess, squeezing out the last of the visible pus; Kostya hissed and winced.
— All right, Tikhon, I’ve got about as much of the corruption as I can manage. Epsom salts will draw out the rest. Then we can see about rooting out that nail. For now, I want you to sit up, lean against the wall there — yes, well done — and soak your foot.
Confused, pained, charmed, he could say nothing.
Temerity looked up, frowned.
Jaw clenched, Kostya followed her gaze.
Temerity shook her head. —I thought I heard planes. It’s just sky.
Reaching into his jacket, Kostya nudged a book and retrieved cigarettes and matches.
Temerity noticed. —I’ll have one.
Face stern, Kostya switched to Russian. —Stunts the growth, little one.
She heard the challenge, polyglot to polyglot, and, as Kostya lit two cigarettes at once, she answered in Russian. —Very funny. Thank you. Next time, don’t stick my cigarette in your mouth first. Germs, you know. Oh, wait here.
— Where else might I go?
On her feet again, she smiled down at him.
Delighted by the sudden imperfection of her crooked teeth, he smiled back.
The sun shone so bright.
She returned, offering some blur of colour, swirls of green, white, red, and blue playing against a light bronze: a cloisonné cigarette case.
Kostya stroked the case with the pads of his fingers, then turned it over and read the Cyrillic engraving on the back: Viktoria Ivanovna Solovyova. —It’s lovely.
— Empty, I’m afraid. My mother’s, before she got married.
— So your mother taught you Russian.
Temerity tugged at her trousers. —I don’t remember the sound of her voice. She died in 1918. Flu.
— Did you have it, too?
— Yes. Terrible fevers.
— Savage.
They sat in silence, smoking. Kostya offered Temerity a second cigarette.
She nodded. —Thank you. I’m sorry I teased you about your accent when you spoke English. I can only imagine what mine sounds like in Russian.
— I could listen to you speak my language all day. All night, too.
The flirtation’s frisson sharp, Temerity almost complimented Tikhon on his technique. Then she chided herself for giving away so much, her mother’s name for God’s sake, while gleaning so little.