“Lydia, come on, sweetheart, your turn next.”
The small face appeared over the edge warily, and then she slid her feet onto the first rung and scampered down the ladder like a monkey. When she saw the black tunnel stretching ahead, she didn’t whimper but edged herself close against him, staring unblinkingly into the darkness.
“It’s quite safe,” he said, patted the top of her felt hat to reassure her, and reached up to help Valentina. Without being asked, she drew the hatch back over the opening as she descended, and the darkness swallowed them whole. The solid silence was punctuated by the sound of water dripping and a distant murmur that he knew was a nearby pumping engine.
“How far?” Valentina asked.
“As far as we can.”
He raised the lamp to look at her face because he couldn’t help himself. And he could see changes there that were new, but he kissed her lips and set off with Lydia on his back. At first Valentina sang to them as they walked, a clear sweet sound in the oppressive darkness, but as the going grew harder and they had to crawl on their hands and knees, dragging their bags through icy, foul-smelling water, it became impossible to do more than force themselves forward.
Jens was annoyed that he found it hard to focus in the shapeless tunnels because it was so long since his eyes had enjoyed the luxury of darkness. He stumbled time and again but refused to let Lydia climb down from his back despite Valentina’s urgings. His daughter clung to his neck and to his hair with an eagerness that satisfied something dried and parched within him.
They didn’t talk of what they were doing, of what they were giving up and what they were leaving behind. Now was not the time. Only once did he ask, “Your parents? Where are they?” She’d looked at her daughter who was listening to every word and shook her head. He didn’t ask again. When they passed under another metal hatch Jens climbed the ladder and peered through the small holes in the cover. He saw feet running, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. After eight months of only his own company day after day, the concept of such numbers seemed almost incomprehensible to him. When the tunnels forked and he took the left-hand one without hesitation, Valentina laughed with astonishment, startling him.
“How can you possibly know your way around this maze of openings and inlets? It’s impossible.”
“They’re my tunnels, Valentina. I built them. Of course I know how to find my way around them.”
Lydia had been silent for too long. He turned to her, trudging behind him through the water ankle deep, and saw that her eyes were huge.
“Papa,” she asked in a whisper, “where does the dragon sleep?”
“There’s no dragon down here, malishka,” Valentina said quickly.
“There is. I can smell its breath.”
Jens took his child’s hand in his. It was cold and clammy. “I think,” he said, “it’s time to go up into the light.”
THEY WERE NOT FAR FROM THE NEXT HATCH. THE TUNNEL ceiling was higher here, and he raised the lamp to cast its faint glow as far ahead as possible. The water reflected slick and oily.
“It’s not in front of us, Papa,” Lydia whispered. “The dragon is behind us.”
“No, Lydia, my sweet, there’s no-”
“Listen,” she hissed.
He listened. Valentina put a warning hand on his arm. From somewhere behind them came the unmistakable sound of feet slushing through water, moving fast. Immediately Jens blew out the lamp. He pulled Valentina and Lydia behind him and they stood in silence, waiting. After a minute he heard voices.
“The light has gone.” It was a young boy’s voice.
“They’ve vanished. Listen.”
An elderly man speaking. And for a moment the feet were quiet. They had no light but must have been following Jens’s. When the feet started again they were slower and grew louder until they were almost upon them, and Jens felt Valentina press something cold and heavy into his hand. It was a gun. His pulse kicked. He aimed the gun at the blackness.
“Whoever you are, stop right there,” he called out.
The noises ceased.
“Who are you?” Jens demanded.
“No one,” the boy answered. “Who are you?”
“Travelers.”
“Maybe we’re on the same journey,” the older man suggested.
“Maybe we are. Do you have a light?”
“We have a lamp but no matches.”
“Stay behind me, Valentina, and light our lamp.”
She did so while he kept the pistol pointing in the direction of the voices, and the light swayed onto the two figures of a boy around twelve, beside a man with a waxed mustache and bemused regretful eyes. His hands were soft and he had the look of a banker or lawyer. Jens lowered the gun and threw his box of matches to the boy, who pocketed it smoothly. Jens heard Valentina curse behind him.
“I paid fifty roubles for those matches on the black market,” she objected.
“Thank you, friend,” the man said. “Do you have food to spare too?”
“Nyet,” Valentina said quickly.
“My grandson and I were forced to flee with nothing.” He pointed to Valentina’s pack. She started to back away. At that moment the boy whisked a huge heavy pistol from under his coat and aimed it straight at Valentina’s head.
“Give me your pack,” he shouted.
“You’ll have to shoot me first, you worthless little thief,” she answered.
Jens stepped in front of her, his gun aimed at the old man. “Tell him to put it away,” he ordered. “I helped you. What kind of mind does your grandson possess?”
“A greedy one.” He turned wearily to the boy. “Save your bullets for those who deserve them.”
The boy swore and lowered his gun.
“We’re leaving now,” Jens said. “Don’t stay down here too long. I warn you that Lenin and his Reds will sweep through these tunnels eventually when they realize what an escape route they are.”
“Thank you for the advice.”
Jens nodded farewell and lifted Lydia into his arms. She was trembling, teeth chattering like mice. But Valentina hesitated, and with a reluctant shake of her head, she opened up her pack and removed two cans of meat. She swore under her breath as she threw them to the boy and set off up the tunnel.
“Friend,” the old man called after her, “there is a train.”
She stopped and slowly swung back. “What train?”
“A train that skirts the land of my country estate east of the city on the edge of the forest. It is a small freight train that runs once a week, only shifting wheat and cattle.”
Jens put down Lydia, reached into the bag on his shoulder, and pulled out the map and compass Valentina had packed in it. “Show me.” He held the lamp high, and the man stamped a finger on the spot. He was wearing a signet ring containing a large diamond.
“See that bend in the river. That’s where the train slows. That’s where you can get on if you are quick. All the village peasants ride it.”
“But I thought all the trains were on strike,” Valentina said.
“Not this one. It runs just a small local service.”
“How far does it go?” Jens asked.
“Not far but far enough. It meets up with the Trans-Siberian Railway to offload its freight.”
“Is that where you’re heading?”
“Nyet. Not yet.” The old man pointed his finger up above his head. “First I have to find my wife. She is still in Petrograd.” He looked at Jens and they both knew it was probably already too late, but neither voiced the thought.
“I wish you luck,” Jens said. “Thank you for the information.”
“Thank you for the food. God protect us all.”
“It’ll take more than God,” Jens murmured as he scooped up his daughter and led his wife up out of the tunnels.
THEY FOUND THE SPOT, THE BEND IN THE RIVER. IT wasn’t hard. On the outskirts of the city they had been stopped by a patrol of fresh-faced young soldiers, young enough to be easily impressed by an official stamp. So Jens had risked waving Arkin’s travel permits under their noses, and the small family had been permitted to pass.