A quick trip to England. They’d steal his passport back from Zivon, verify that he’d fallen out of favor with the Admiralty and so was safe, and then return to the Continent. It would take only a week or so, if all went well. They’d find the German officers. Kill them. And then be back in Russia before June had turned to July.
Nadya checked their bags for the eighth time since she’d packed them that morning. To Evgeni’s way of thinking, all that really mattered was that the album was in there, along with the altered photographs Paul’s friend had given them, and bits and pieces of the originals he’d cut up to create them. Evgeni hadn’t spent too much time dwelling on the mutilated remains of Zivon’s past. If he did, it soured his stomach. Because at least half of Zivon’s memories were his too. And he hated to see them used so.
But it was for Zivon’s good, ultimately. And Russia’s good. Sentiment couldn’t long hold up against that.
He slid the new passport into his pocket. He didn’t intend to let this one out of his sight for even a moment. They’d been held up far too long, waiting for Paul to get him a new one.
His eyes went to their pantry shelves. All but empty. “Food?”
Though she sent him a narrow-eyed glance, her lips nearly lost the battle to a smile. “Go and beg some from your pretty little grocer’s daughter, I suppose.”
Evgeni grinned. He rather liked a jealous Nadya. She made him hope that she’d actually stick around for a while. “Not going to come keep an eye on me?”
The smile won possession of her mouth. “I daresay she has no chocolate, so I can trust you.”
He laughed and moved over to plant a sound kiss on those lips. “I won’t be long.” By evening, they’d be on their way.
He grabbed his cap and stepped out into the sunshine, reveling in the pleasant air. His gait wasn’t exactly buoyant as he considered the coming trip. It was dangerous, getting so close to Zivon. Letting Nadya slip into his flat and search for Evgeni’s passport. She would do a fine job, that he knew, but, well, Zivon had always been unpredictable. Stable to the point of boring in some ways, but then he’d simply out-think the rest of them and take everyone by surprise.
And Zivon had been in England months already. He’d know the territory. He’d know the normal look and feel, which meant that if Evgeni and Nadya disrupted a pattern, he would sense it and be on to them within hours. He could foil their plans yet again.
He pressed his lips together. Why couldn’t his brother just have settled in France and found a position translating? Why, why had he sold his services to the British?
When the grocer’s came into view, Evgeni slowed, trying to get a gauge on how many other customers might be inside. He could only see one through the glass, and dawdling before crossing the street gave the faded housewife enough time to exit. He watched Claire take out her broom, pass before the window. A sure sign she was now alone.
Perfect. He hurried over and pulled open the door.
She looked up with a smile that went considerably brighter as recognition dawned. “Zhenya! You’re early today.”
“Well.” He grinned. “I’m planning for a trip. I decided I’d better have time enough to try to wheedle a bit extra from you.”
“A trip?” Claire kept on sweeping. “Where could you be going? It isn’t safe to travel, is it?”
He lifted his brows. “And it is safe here? Need I remind you of my experience the last time I tried to attend Mass in your fair city?”
She laughed. “All right, all right. Though I ought to be put out that you’re abandoning me.”
“Mm. I suspect you will survive without my stories.”
“I suppose that depends on if you leave me in the middle of one. You never did finish ‘The Snake Princess,’ you know.”
“I couldn’t! Your father—”
“Isn’t here right now.” Grinning, she reached under a shelf with her broom, though she pulled out no dust that he could see. “So begin. Then I will see what extra supplies I might be able to find for you.”
“All right.” He leaned against the counter, arms folded over his chest. “Where did we leave off? The Cossack had just been set free from the castle and the princess was released from the enchantment, oui?”
Claire nodded, though she still tossed him a scowl. “Over my objections. She also explained about the sorcerer.”
“Yes. And she said that her father, a king, would surely grant the Cossack anything he asked for. This is where we were, correct?”
“Oui.” She swept her way down an aisle.
“Well, she went further in her explanation. She told the Cossack that her father was certain to offer him all sorts of tantalizing rewards—gold, jewels, land.”
“Chocolate,” Claire added on a sigh. “I would ask for a storeroom full of chocolate.”
A chuckle slipped from Evgeni’s throat. “You and I have much in common, Claire. But the princess told the Cossack that he must refuse and instead ask for the cask stored in the king’s cellar.”
“A cask?” She looked over her shoulder. “It had better be a magical one. One that never runs dry of the finest wine, perhaps?”
“Mais non. Well, magical, yes. But not because of what it was filled with. If one were to roll the cask to the left, a magical castle would appear. And then it would vanish again when one rolled it to the right.”
“That would do too. If there was chocolate to be found in this castle, anyway.”
He laughed again. “We can hope. Anyway, the princess and the Cossack traveled together to her father’s kingdom, where, as expected, the king and queen were so grateful to have their daughter back that they offered the young man anything his heart desired. As instructed, he turned down the jewels and gold paraded before him and instead requested the cask from the cellar. The king was none too pleased, but he had promised. So he delivered the cask to the Cossack, who bade them farewell and went on his way.”
“Went on his way? Without the princess?” Claire rounded the end of the shelves and disappeared into the next aisle. “What kind of story is this?”
“Be patient. He had to see what it did, didn’t he? And he couldn’t very well open up a castle inside a castle. Plus, the princess would want to visit with her family, I’d think.”
Claire’s hmph sounded unconvinced, but she said no more. For the moment.
“So off went the Cossack. He hadn’t gone far, however, when he came across an old beggar sitting in the road.”
“Ah!” She peeked over the shelf to grin at him. “It is always an old beggar. Is he a magician? The sorcerer? Another king in disguise, to see if our hero is worthy?”
“Whatever he was, he was hungry. He asked the young man if he perchance had anything to eat. So the Cossack put down the cask and rolled it to the left, and voilà! A magnificent castle appeared. So he invited the old man inside. They found the dining hall, where a grand feast was laid out, awaiting them. The old man ate an entire roast ox and drank a full barrel of wine and said he could eat more but didn’t want to be rude, so he thanked his kind host and said he had better take his leave.”
Claire chuckled as she came into view again. “This is a tormenting story, mon ami. All this food . . .”