A careful scattering of footfalls came from behind the grey boulder that was blocking most of the view; military boots, Yakov guessed. He gripped Galina's elbow; Koschey's hands knotted into fists, and Timur-Bey reached for his saber. The confrontation forgotten, the Napoleonic soldiers turned to face the unknown danger, their shoulders brushing against Timur-Bey's sleeves and Koschey's outstretched hands, their backs turned on Yakov as if he was no longer a threat but an ally.
"Don't anyone move, a female voice said, and the muzzle of a shotgun peeked from behind the gray boulder. What on earth is that thing, anyway?"
Galina shook off Yakov's hand, and rushed forward, pushing between the soldiers. Elena! she called out. Is that you?"
The Decembrist's wife stepped into view, her black velvet dress stained with river mud, and the fingernails of her small white hands marked with half-moons of dirt. She dropped the shotgun she was holding to her chest on the floor and extended her arms to Galina. The two women hugged and laughed, oblivious to the blood on the floor.
Elena had not come alone-from behind the gray boulder of Sirin's spell, several rusalki shod in heavy military boots filed out, followed by two soldiers circa 1917 or so-Yakov pegged them for Budyonny's cavalrymen, Cossacks or outlaws (not that there was much of a difference) all. Revolutionary and war heroes, led by the class enemy and several drowned girls. Yakov decided not to contemplate further.
"Why did you shoot him? he asked Elena.
She shot him an irritated look-clearly, she wanted nothing better than to gab with Galina. They're traitors, she said.
"That is not true! one of the surviving soldiers protested.
"Of course it is, Poruchik, Elena said. Burned during the retreat, imagine that! You're forgetting that my husband was leading your regiment. I know why you stayed behind; I know why you burned-the city couldn't stand your presence, the deserters. It would rather lose a building than let you remain inside it. You've abandoned your commander."
The poruchik straightened, his white eyes almost glowing with anger. You should talk, you bitch. You were the one who betrayed him, you didn't do as a good wife was supposed to-you were meant to go to Siberia with him, so you too deserve to be here in the blasted underground, you too"
He didn't finish-Elena picked up the shotgun in a fluid motion and leveled it on his chest. Yakov took it for bravado, just like everyone else-the soldiers on Elena's side smirked, the ones opposing her murmured discontent. A shotgun blast came unanticipated.
"What are you doing? Yakov yelled as the poruchik fell into the arms of his comrades, thrown back by the force of the blast. Have you lost your mind? He wasn't doing anything!"
Elena shrugged and rested the shotgun on her naked shoulder. It wasn't a self-defense killing, Yakov, she said. It was a revenge killing. They killed Berendey and they cost my husband his health and his soul-he was a broken man after that war; Siberia couldn't do worse than they."
"They also fed Likho and Zlyden, Zemun interjected.
"You can't just go killing people! Yakov said.
"Sure she can, Timur-Bey said. He was so quiet until then, Yakov forgot that he was even there. We have no cops here. And we do not like traitors."
"I hate to interrupt the spirited debate on the nature of justice, Koschey said. But I think that perhaps we should take care of Alkonost and her sisters, and worry about these fried fleshbags later."
The three remaining soldiers obediently went into the cell vacated by Zemun and the rook; the lock was busted, and two stoic-looking cavalrymen stayed behind to guard them.
"Wait, Galina said. What about my sister? What about the rest of the people turned into birds?"
Koschey twirled the white feather in his fingers. I can help them, but we need to get them to the surface first. I don't want all these tourists stuck here."
"Isn't this place supposed to be connected to Kolomenskoe? Yakov said.
"Yes, Sergey squawked. Slava always met them there, and there has to be some connection. And I think the tower in the east, that's where the exit is. The birds are in the western one."
"We'll check everything, Elena said, and motioned for her small but intimidating army to follow. Your other friend is on the surface, and if Father Frost hasn't imagined things in a drunken stupor, he and his girlfriend were planning to visit Kolomenskoe. Come on, let's get Gamayun and the rest, find the exit and round up the birds."
"And find One-Eyed Likho, Galina added. Funny you didn't run into it-him."
Elena nodded, smiling. That's a lot of things to do, she said. Let's get a move on."
18: Birds
Fyodor did not expect the bear made entirely of rats to be helpful for much longer-it seemed to work more as a distraction, a quaint way of buying time. If only he could do something with the time they bought-running seemed superfluous now, and the only thing that occurred to him was to shove Oksana into the nearest snowdrift, to protect her from harm that now seemed inevitable.
Unfortunately, the bear made of rats misinterpreted his intentions and turned toward him, raising its arms silently and protectively.
"What the fuck is that thing? one of the maroon jackets said.
"It's a bear of some sort, another answered. A transformer bear."
"Oh yeah, the first one said, brightening up. My kid has one of those-imported. Good toy."
They watched as Fyodor retreated up the path, the jackdaw Vladimir hovering over his head. Slava remained silent, but his hand reached inside of his jacket and Fyodor cringed at the thought of what it would extract. He never liked guns, was fearful of them-even when his stepfather went hunting he preferred to stay behind and never looked at the glassy-eyed birds and rabbits he brought back. Now, he imagined his own eyes turning into expressionless glass marbles, clouded with death.
Oksana, now between him and the thugs, got to her feet. She spat out snow and whistled to the bear, redirecting its slow shambling attack. Fyodor thought that it was getting embarrassing; it was the only reason why he ignored the glint in Slava hand and instead charged him.
He was too far and the path was too slippery. Slava saw him move and raised the gun. His gray eyes squinted, aiming a heavy long-nosed Luger at Fyodor. The bear moved closer and Slava hesitated and changed aim, as his bodyguards stepped off the porch and walked toward Fyodor.
A shot rang out and the bear tottered and fell apart. The rats scattered, leaving one writhing and spraying blood onto the blue-streaked snow. Oksana cried out and fell to her knees to pick up the injured rat. She cradled it in her hands, oblivious to the danger.
Fyodor took an awkward swing at the thug who'd reached him first, but the man just waved Fyodor's hand off, as one would a fly, and his round rubbery fist slammed into Fyodor's jaw, dislodging something important and filling his mouth with salty blood. He staggered backward a bit but remained standing, watching the blood drip from his lips, searing small black-cherry red craters into the packed snow of the path.
The other thug stepped forth-there was no hurry in his movements, as if he were going to take his sweet time beating the trespasser. Fyodor found himself sympathizing with the thug-how often did this man have an opportunity to pummel someone in peace, in the middle of the snow-covered forest at sundown, where there was no risk of interruption or discovery? At the very least, their attention was diverted from Oksana. Even Slava put his Luger away and watched the beating.
Another punch, and out of the corner of his swelling eye Fyodor saw a streak of motion-a dark blur in the blue twilight, and realized that Oksana lunged for Slava. She knocked him off balance, and the two of them tumbled into the cabin. The last thing Fyodor saw was Slava pushing Oksana away from him with one hand, and reaching into his jacket with the other.