Chapter XII
THE MINES
Viktor feared that Ulfrik had finally learned his and Romulus' identity, that he'd finally come for them, but the great man only walked straight to Dimovna's desk and tossed down a stack of parchment papers. Major Canis, however, began barking ferociously, no doubt recognizing the blood brothers' scent.
"Can't you contain him?" Miss Dimovna snapped.
The students screeched back in their chairs as the dog snarled. Ulfrik tried to smack the beast into submission, but it wouldn't relent.
"Fill out those forms! I'll be waiting outside," growled Ulfrik. He wrenched Major Canis by the collar. "And Dimovna—don't make any blunders. Master Molotov neither sends nor accepts supplements."
After the captain left, Dimovna turned to the students with a smug smile. She pointed a finger at the parchment. "These are disciplinary reviews. Yes, the moment I warned you about is finally here. All I have to do is write down your name on this form, and it'll be the mines or the textile mill for you problematic boys and girls. But who to send?
"If there's one thing I hate more than serfs," Dimovna continued, "it's serfs who glorify Gypsies, those accursed travelers who suck everything good from the land and give nothing back. And if I learned those said serfs were also friends with the savage who had disrespected me from the moment he stepped into my classroom, well then, I guess those serfs would be the ones I detest most of all!
"So without further ado, Viktor, Evenova, Charlotta, and you"—her eyes bored into Romulus—"enjoy the lifelong toil that awaits."
Viktor's life flashed before his eyes as Miss Dimovna scribbled down their names on the forms. If the mines had broken brave Aleksandr, they would break him, too. He would end up splintered, riven, rent, cursed to work at a job he hated, driven by a master he despised, paid just enough to stay alive. And Romulus was too wayward, too defiant to follow orders; he would be beaten into submission ... or death. And they had condemned Evenova and Charlotta to the same fate.
Miss Dimovna's voice pulled Viktor back to the classroom. "What are you doing?"
"See, there's a problem with your plan." Romulus was out of his chair and strolling toward the front of the classroom. He passed Viktor and dropped a pack of matches on his table.
"Sit down! I didn't tell you to get up!"
"Because no one's going to force me into the mines—especially not some horrible hag of a woman."
Miss Dimovna's face went slack. "How—dare—you—disres—"
Romulus shoved her out of the way and snatched the parchments from her desk.
"Ulfrik, Ulfrik!" she screamed.
Boris and Fredek leapt out of their desks and ran at Romulus, but he was too fast. He crumpled the parchment into a ball and heaved it at Viktor, who had a lit match ready. By the time the Spektor brothers swung at Romulus, the disciplinary reviews were aflame.
A growl ripped the air: Major Canis shot through the doorway and tackled Romulus. Then there was a streak of gray—Captain Ulfrik, complete with uniform and grizzly beard, smacked students out of the way like leaves. Viktor tried to dart out of his reach, but a black leather glove snagged the back of his coat. With the one hand, Ulfrik lifted Viktor airborne and smashed him straight back down into the ground.
"STAND DOWN!"
Activity in the room halted. Captain Ulfrik kicked the smoldering parchment papers that were now all but ash.
"They burned them! They burned them!" Dimovna shrieked, rushing over. "Tell Molotov! Have them pun—"
SMACK!
Ulfrik backhanded her. "Master Molotov has no time for your games, witch!"
"But they have to be expelled!"
"Don't screw up next term and they will be!" Ulfrik said with a sneer.
Cradling her red cheek, Miss Dimovna pointed to Romulus. "Then please—please!—deal with that one. Leave me the other."
Without another word, Ulfrik grabbed Romulus by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of the classroom with Major Canis yapping at his heels.
Dimovna spoke to the Spektor brothers. "Get him up here."
Boris and Fredek lifted Viktor's crumpled form and dragged him to the teacher's desk. Dimovna already had the meter stick at her side.
"Hands!" she spat.
Meeting Charlotta's eyes, Viktor obeyed the order. If Romulus withstood the meter stick, so can I. Maybe ...
Five minutes later, Viktor had been proven very wrong. He stumbled out of the schoolhouse with several broken fingers and bloody knuckles. Not caring anymore about frostbite, he sunk to his knees and laid his hands in the snow. Miss Dimovna shouted something about him and Romulus not showing their faces until after Christmas, and then she slammed the door, retreating down the hallway back to her class.
When Viktor spotted Romulus lying in the snow, he staggered over and immediately quit feeling sorry for himself. His friend's face was swelling terribly, and his left leg rested in a position that suggested a sprain. From the sound of his breathing, his ribs had also taken serious damage.
Viktor couldn't help but ask the stupid question: "Are you alright?"
Romulus actually laughed, spitting out blood. "It's my own fault. I'm so clumsy these days."
Viktor choked on a laugh at the equally stupid joke. "I'll help you back to the Wolf Den, yeah?"
"Yeah."
The trip was slow and painful, but three facts comforted the blood brothers. First, they had protected Evenova and Charlotta. Second, they had avoided the mines—at least for a few more months. And third, Christmas break had begun early.
Viktor leaned back in his chair and pushed away his morning bowl of gruel with his wrist. He wore black gloves over his broken fingers.
"Aren't you hungry?" his mother asked from the stove.
"No," Viktor answered. It was true—he wasn't. He and Romulus had spent the past week feasting on a smorgasbord of stews and wild salads. Plus, with the rations he was turning down at home, the rest of his family could finally eat their full.
Grandpap waved the only hand he had. "The appetite comes with eating. Let the boy breathe, Starsha."
"Then at least take off those silly gloves."
"It's freezing in here," replied Viktor. That wasn't a lie.
His mother pursed her lips. "How has school been going?"
"I don't want to talk about school."
Starsha searched Grandpap's wrinkled face for help, but the old man chuckled. "A chatterbox is a treasure for a spy."
"Look, don't worry. I'll see you tonight," Viktor promised.
"But I am worried."
"Every vegetable has its time," grunted Grandpap.
"Excellent, you're here," said Romulus.
"That I am," Viktor replied, plopping down next to Blizzard on the bed. Since Dimovna had banned them from the schoolhouse, it had become his routine to spend the day with Romulus in the Den. His friend's face was still badly cut and bruised, but at least now he could hobble around on his leg a bit.
Romulus handed Viktor a plate of smoking meat, and the two ate breakfast in silence. Viktor felt guilty that his diet was so rich, but sharing wasn't an option. His family would be furious if they knew he was eating illegally poached goods, or for that matter, if they knew he was in the forest at all.
"So what do you want to do today?" Viktor asked upon finishing.
"I'm out of Orange Splits."
Viktor grinned. "Can we make them?"
"Yeah, but I was thinking we could make some defensive weapons, too," said Romulus. "Think about our chase with Ulfrik and our scuffle with the Gypsies—wouldn't it have been nice to have something that can stop people without, you know ..."
"Blowing them up?"
"Yeah."
"Alright," said Viktor. "How do we start?"
"Well, I've got some supplies, but not nearly enough for what I'm thinking of. I've got some money saved up. Do you think you could make a trip to Prospekt Street?"
Viktor nodded, trying not to imagine Romulus standing next
to his idea of enough weapons. Then Romulus set to work making a list of goods and telling Viktor the stores in which he could find them.
Romulus bit his lip. "Oh, and there's the matter of gunpowder ..."
"No problem. Where do I buy it at?"
"No store sells it ... but if it makes you feel better, leave some coins behind."
Viktor's eyebrows knitted. "Leave coins behind where? Where have you gotten so much of it over the years?"
Romulus smiled guiltily, splitting open the scab by his eye. Viktor's shoulders sagged: He finally knew why the miners' supplies vanished.
Two hours later, Viktor walked through a Christmas-festooned version of Prospekt Street with a cloth sack stuffed full of purchases. From Barkov's Corner, the serf clothing shop reeking of mildew, he easily bought long rags that could be woven to make Fire Wire. Aryk's writing shop—Dewtry & Overth, Ink—was less inviting. Professor Peniculis, apparently one of the store's elite customers, had a good time insulting Viktor's cheap selection of quills, parchment, and ink bottles. It was all he could do to leave as quickly as possible.
Next he visited Greensleeves Tobacco Emporium. The men there were kind, but their basement full of candles and tobacco smoke was a recipe for a headache, so Viktor didn't tarry while buying friction matches and wicks. The owner of Chupov's Roots seemed friendly enough also—until he saw that Viktor had only purchased items from the Far East. He refused to answer Viktor's question of how they imported goods from such a distance and shooed him out the door, cramming the ginseng roots and black shriveled peppers into his bag.
Now Viktor left the candlelit storefronts bedecked in holly and garlands and headed down Elli Way, the less reputable section of Prospekt Street. He'd saved the worst shop for last.
The gold letters of Rose and Thorn's Apothecary shimmered against the olive-green storefront. Viktor gritted his teeth and ducked through the doorway. Such was the darkness that he nearly fell down an immediate flight of stairs. One couldn't tell from the outside, but the shop was sunk into the ground a full story.
Probably to conserve heat, Viktor told himself, moving down the staircase into muggier air. He walked down a narrow hallway, whose end was flanked by two life-size statues of white marble men. One perfectly proportioned man was holding up a bubbling vial in delight; the other was a gaunt, skeletal man clutching at his throat, where a large snake was coiled, constricting. A broken vial lay at his feet. Viktor edged past the sculptures, keeping his eyes locked on the stone serpent.
Out of the hallway, aisles broke off into a confusing maze of bureaus. The infinite dressers had labeled drawers ranging from rare stones to dried flowers. Shelves held row upon row of glass bottles full of dangerous-looking liquids; yet more disturbing were the plants that had grown up from the dirt floor. Their creeping tendrils wrapped around the flasks as though they were guarding the concoctions.
Beads of sweat dripped down Viktor's back. The brick fireplaces lining the walls turned the basement into a steam bath. Vowing to be quick, he sought out vials of ammonia, limewater, and strong-water. Glass stoppers full of salts, lye, acids, and bases, as well as an assortment of exotic plants, got stuffed into his bag. A scoop of pearl ash and a variety of chemicals brought him to a place of dense shadow in the store.
A black glass cabinet nestled between vines caught his eye. Inside, odd-shaped bottles full of black, gold, or red liquid sat cuddled in velvet fabric next to powders and plant parts. Viktor peered through the glass. Seeing the labels, a jolt ran through him: They all had skulls—that universal sign of poison. He leaned in, whispering some of their names.
"Belladonna, spindle, dwarf elder, leopard's-bane ... Could these kill?" His nose was inches from the glass when he felt a strange tickling in his ear.
"You will not surely die," hissed a voice.
Viktor twisted his neck sideways, and ice flooded his veins. Staring back at him, face-to-face, was the white marble snake from the statue at the entrance of the store. Except it wasn't marble—it was alive! Wrapped around the vines by the cabinet with its head stretched out in the air, it flicked its tongue next to Viktor's face.
A cry escaped his lips. He stumbled backward. He could not think. Mad thoughts tore through his head.
Suddenly a woman stepped out from behind the black cabinet and smiled. Viktor batted his eyes, coming to his senses. Of course the snake had not whispered to him—she had! He ripped his eyes away from the snake in anger and felt another jolt. The woman was, without a shadow of a doubt, beautiful. Everything about her was perfect: Her soft skin and poised form, her silky red hair and full lips.
"I am Rose." Even her teeth sparkled. "Welcome to my apothecary. Is there something special you're looking for?"
"Flint and quartz stones," spat Viktor.
Rose smiled. "A handsome boy like you should be searching for a love potion. Of course, you'd need to buy poison next, just to keep the girls at bay."
A pleased laugh escaped Viktor's throat, but a sickening feeling washed over him just as quickly as he watched Rose pet the white snake, which had begun sliding up over her shoulder. Her fingers glided over it as it wrapped around her neck.
"Flint and quartz," Viktor repeated.
"Suit yourself."
Rose led the way to the front of the shop, not having to look as her hands crept along the shelves like spiders and snatched what stones Viktor had requested. Then as she counted his coins, Viktor reached over the counter and added to his purchase a bottle of liniment for his dry skin and injured knuckles. He paused. From his acute angle to the wall, a crack was visible in the vines behind Rose. Something was sizzling behind the hidden door, and as the smoke rose, Viktor saw pinned to the wall the skin of an animal that stole his breath—a leopard skin.
The door slammed shut. Viktor recoiled. Rose was staring at him with burning eyes, her perfect features no longer beautiful but full of rage. The white snake was a weapon ready to strike out from her hand.
"Unlike boys, cats have eight more lives after curiosity kills them. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Snoop in my shop again, I'll dose you with a leopard's-bane potion strong enough to kill you nine times over."
Viktor stared back at Rose with all the courage he could muster. "I'll take my change."
Back at the Den, Viktor dumped his supplies and told Romulus everything—from the leopard's skin behind the secret door to Rose's snake and poisons.
"It's no coincidence," Romulus said. "That woman's got to be aligned with the Leopard ... but where in the world could she get such a rare skin?"
"Isn't it obvious? Staryi Castle."
"The experiments! So Zindelo was right ... the Leopard really is creating something in that fortress!"
"And Master Molotov has no choice but to help him," Viktor added.
Romulus thought for a stretch. "The plants growing in Rose's and the shop's interior—it all looks quite ancient, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Then I see two more disturbing points. In the Legend of the Leopard, Zindelo told us that many landlords died by poisoning, right? Well, I think Rose has been working with the enemy for a long time."
Viktor winced. "Do I even want to know the second part?"
"The night Petya was murdered, he said the Leopard had spies. I think it's beyond that. I think he has strong allies—people who control our very town. We've seen it in schoolteachers and shop owners, but it probably extends to town officials and guards! I think he has all the authorities in Aryk wrapped around his finger ... or claw."
"All the more reason to arm ourselves," Viktor murmured.
As dusk descended, Viktor crouched behind snowy pine boughs and gazed downhill: Bordering the northern forest, this valley held Aryk's largest mining center, and Aryk's largest mining center held the last item on his list—gunpowder. Thankfully he had spent the afternoon memorizing Romulus' instructions, which made it easy to pick out the explosives building from the host of other storehouses and mining st
ructures.
Viktor watched the workday end. Miners' lanterns bobbed out of the black tunnels built into the hillsides. Raw materials were transferred out of carts and sleds, which were stored away. Then as the men vacated the premises, as Romulus predicted, the guards changed shifts.
Viktor saw his chance and took it. He slid down the hill from tree to frosty tree. At the bottom, he crept through the maze of a giant sifting contraption. After a guard trudged off for the night, Viktor weaved through a group of buildings to reach the brick explosives stronghold. A lantern light appeared from around a corner; Viktor slammed his back against the building just in time.
Once the guard was out of sight, Viktor fished squirrel and rabbit bones out of his pocket. Having practiced with the tools on a dozen of Romulus' locks, he set to work picking the one built into the iron door of the building. Into the keyhole, he pushed a bone with a curve at the end, putting pressure on the lock mechanism. At the same time, he took a straight bone and slid it past the pins in the lock, trying to align them so that the curved bone could pop the lock open. His aching fingers made the work hard.
After a minute with no results, Viktor began swapping out the straight bones, trying to find one that would work. He wiped his brow and shifted his footing, snapping twigs underfoot. Frantically he meddled with the lock, but to no avail.
Voices echoed around the corner! In blind desperation, Viktor's frail hands grabbed a twig off the ground and jammed it into the lock pins.
CLICK.
He slipped through the iron door, but heard Romulus' voice in his head: "Whatever you do, don't shut the door. It's impossible to pick the lock from the inside—the iron bars are too narrow to get a hand through."
Leaving the door open a crack, Viktor turned around and saw a mountain of stacked gunpowder barrels. He tossed what was left of the bag of coins on one of the large kegs and hoisted a smaller cask under his arm. He was about to leave when the footsteps came toward him.
"We've got a problem, Messor."
It was the last voice in the world Viktor wanted to hear: Captain Ulfrik's! No sooner had he dove behind a mountain of kegs than the iron door burst open.
"Was it unlocked?" Messor's voice was raspy.
"Yes, someone's stealing gunpowder again! We must alert the guards."
"What if they're still here—in the back of the building?" Messor growled.
Viktor's body went cold.
"The thief very well could be here," Ulfrik mused. "And if he is, he'll get the point of my blade! Hear that, thief?"
Viktor hugged his gunpowder cask like it was life itself.
"Show yourself, thief! Stand down or face torture!"
All the gunpowder in the world and it still works against my advantage, Viktor thought. One spark and this entire building will blow.
"I don't like this," snarled Ulfrik. "What if this man's armed and hiding? Alert the guards while I stand watch. We'll send them in first."
"But, Captain, look," said Messor.
Ulfrik's footsteps sounded. "What's this—a bag of coins?"
"What type of thief steals and leaves money behind?" Messor asked.
A scrape split the air as Ulfrik turned on his heel, military style. "No bloody thief! This is the ignorance of Sergeant Bogatir, my third in command. Vodka makes him careless with keys."
Viktor was dumbfounded. What if Rose hadn't given me my change back?
"Still," murmured Messor, "suppose this is just a thief's trick ..."
Ulfrik chuckled. "Escape from the inside is impossible, the guards are back on duty, and even if there were a bastard in here, he'll wish he blew himself up by morning, because if his body was identified, his entire family would be killed. You know the Leopard's policy."
Convinced, Messor switched the subject, speaking with a smug tongue: "Have you heard the rumor about the Christmas Day fight? People are expecting a legendary fighter."
Ulfrik chuckled. "And a legendary fighter they'll get."
"I must admit I was surprised to learn he would fight in the flesh."
"You've been spending too much time in the dark of the mines, comrade," Ulfrik said. "The Leopard is wary of the king of spades card and the angry reaction to Petya's death. For the first time in fourteen years, he feels the need to come out of the shadows and remind everyone there is no hope in the cards. Imagine the crowd's surprise when they await the champion Leo Pardus and it's the Leopard himself who walks into the ring!"
Fear gripped Viktor like never before. Yanko's words from the Parlor echoed in his head: "Leo—that's Master Pardus to you all—is fighting a boxer from a Siberian prison." Viktor could barely believe he and Romulus had been so oblivious. What else have we missed?
Messor breathed hoarsely. "Yes, but who would agree to fight such a deadly spirit?"
"No one. That's why he's forcing an old acquaintance to fight. The Leopard's cutting off all ties to the past ... Now what news of the mines?"
"All fine. I've increased Master Molotov's coal production, though it meant halting our gold intake."
Ulfrik slammed the iron door shut, locking it. "Good. Let's finish these rounds. I'll have the building searched straightaway as a precaution."
Viktor's thoughts swirled in chaos. The Christmas fight would show who or what the Leopard was; yet right now, he faced a bigger problem: He had to escape a locked, explosive jail cell, preferably before guards came and hacked him to pieces.