“No more feasting, I promise.” He glanced out the door at the people passing by. None of whom, thankfully, seemed poised to join them. “The Cossack left with the man, rolled the cask to the right, and the castle vanished. Well, the old man was quite impressed. ‘I could do with a cask like that,’ he said. ‘Would you be willing to make a trade?’”
Claire paused at the end of the aisle and leaned on her broom. “What could he possibly have to trade that would be worth it to the Cossack?”
“Exactly what the Cossack asked, at which point the old man pulled out a beautiful, shining sword. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is an enchanted sword, capable of smiting anything you command it to smite, of its own power. With this sword at your side, you can never lose a battle.’ To prove it, he commanded the sword to fell the grove of trees near at hand, and off it flew, chopping down each and every one.”
Claire frowned again and moved to open the door so she could sweep her little pile of dust and dirt outside. “If he had this, why was he a beggar?”
Evgeni sighed. “You ask too many questions, Claire.”
“It is a reasonable one! With a sword like that, he could have taken over a kingdom of his own!”
“I suppose the old fellow wasn’t that smart. But the Cossack was. He knew exactly what to do. He made the deal with the old man and gave him the cask—”
“The princess’s father would probably have something to say about that.” She swept the debris into the street and closed the door again.
He ignored her. “And he took the sword. Well, the moment it was in his hands, he told the sword to cut down the old man, and of course it did. So he took the sword and the cask and went back to claim the princess as his wife.”
Claire came to a halt, her hand still on the door. “You must be joking! The hero is now not only incapable of making his own choices, but he is a cold-blooded murderer of old men?”
Evgeni straightened. “He saw the way forward to all he ever wanted, and he took it.”
“What a terrible story.” Looking genuinely put out, she stomped around the counter and leaned the broom into its corner. “I thought the old beggar character in a folktale was supposed to be a test to the main character. That he would prove himself a true hero by treating him nicely, or be stripped of everything if he scorned him. If this is instead the sort of tale your people tell, it is a wonder you do not all go around murdering each other and stealing from each other.”
Evgeni sighed. He didn’t have time to get into an argument with her about whether a story was a good one. Better to laugh it off. “Well, we were ruled by the Huns for several hundred years. Blame it on their influence, marauders as they were.”
Her movements jerky, angry, Claire pulled out a few supplies she’d tucked away and then stormed back into the store proper. “Give me just a moment to gather you a bit more.”
“Claire.” He trailed her to the shelves of canned meats. “Why are you so upset? It is just an old story.”
“An old story that you chose to tell, of all the old stories you had to pick from.” She snatched a few jars and pressed them to his stomach, then grabbed a few others. “I’m not certain what that says about you, Zhenya Marin. But perhaps I should be glad you’re leaving.”
It shouldn’t have stung. She was just a grocer’s daughter. Barely more than an acquaintance. “Be fair. I don’t remember many of the tales, not well enough to recite them. I’ve only been telling you the ones I recall clearly.”
“And that is one you remember?”
“Perhaps because of those oddities that have you hissing like a cat.”
She pierced him with a sharp gaze and strode around him, back to the counter. “I don’t think so. I think you favor that one because you like the thought of just taking whatever you want from life.” She smacked her jars onto the countertop. “Perhaps Papa was right about you.”
“Now, wait just a moment.” He followed behind her, though he kept his distance. He wasn’t sure what had her so hot under the collar, but wisdom said to stay out of swinging range. “You have no idea what the Cossack did after that. For all you know, he used his newfound wealth and power to bring health and happiness to everyone in the region. Sharing equally with all.”
“Until they had something he wanted, you mean?” She gathered all the food together and then her hands stilled. “No. I find it very hard to believe that men who would steal and kill innocents to get their way would ever then be so selfless.” She met his gaze and told him the total for the food.
More than she usually would have charged him—though not more than she should have. He drew the bills and coins from his pocket. “Sometimes people have to make a hard choice, you know. For the greater good.”
“And more often people trample the helpless for their own good and just say it is for the sake of others.” She moved to put the cash into the register, leaving him to load up his basket.
“You have a dim view of humanity.” He strove to keep his voice light, though it was difficult with that scowl still in the place of her usual flirtatious grin.
She paused, hand on the register, and looked at him. “I just find it sad that so many people think they can find true happiness by taking. They can’t. We can only ever find it by giving.”
Now she sounded like Matushka. And perhaps Zivon. Evgeni picked up his basket. “Perhaps your father should rethink leaving you in charge of the till.”
Her chin lifted. “Perhaps you should have tried to go to Mass again after that last time.”
She really was like Matushka and Zivon. He fastened a grin into place. “Au revoir, Claire. Try not to break the heart of every young man left in the neighborhood.”
She slid the register drawer shut. Softly. “Au revoir, Zhenya. Try not to cut down any innocents in your path.”
“Oh, I think they are all safe. I have no magical sword, after all.” He would cling to levity, even if she had forgotten their script. He topped it with a wink and hurried out the door.
Suddenly, he was rather glad to be leaving Paris.
Lily stepped out of Charing Cross Hospital and made her way to Whitehall with a light step that went even lighter when she spotted Zivon’s familiar figure striding away from the OB. She’d planned to catch him later, after her afternoon shift back in her basement darkroom, when he’d be leaving for the day too. She came armed today with an official invitation to dinner on Sunday, which meant she had a Daddy-sanctioned reason for seeking him out.
She’d hoped to see him yesterday, the first day it would have been possible since Daddy had reluctantly agreed to loosen his restrictions. But she’d missed Zivon at every turn.
The same would not happen today. She dashed down the street faster than Mama would have liked. She wasn’t going to shout, but that meant she had to be quick if she wanted to catch up.
He was aimed for St. James’s Park, it seemed, which probably meant she should stop and turn around. Daddy had still put his foot down on promenades in the parks. But this wasn’t a promenade; it was simply an invitation-issuance. Completely different.
And she hadn’t set eyes on him in weeks. Eagerness fueled her, sent her onward. They hadn’t walked here as often as in Hyde Park, since the other was closer to Ivy’s school, but often enough that it felt familiar. He didn’t turn toward their usual path, though, which nearly threw her. She’d aimed that way without thought before she spotted him on another course. And he was walking at a quicker clip now too.