diff --git "a/General- CrossGenre/Emma Woodcock - Kikimora.txt" "b/General- CrossGenre/Emma Woodcock - Kikimora.txt"
new file mode 100644--- /dev/null
+++ "b/General- CrossGenre/Emma Woodcock - Kikimora.txt"
@@ -0,0 +1,3187 @@
+[ Author: Emma Woodcock; Title: Kikimora; Tags: Russia; Genre: fantasy, romance ]
+[ How it Begins ]
+Anatoly took a card from the pile, sighed, and laid it back down on the table. "They have trampled a road all the way across the lower slopes and up to their infernal workings," he said. "Once the river ran cold and clear. Now it is bitter with sulphur. The Rusalkas have been driven from their home. It is bad, my friends, bad indeed."
+"But what's to be done?" asked Leshy, picking fretfully at the dried leaves caught in his beard.
+The North Wind puffed out his ruddy cheeks, and roared, "They need teaching a lesson! They're getting too big for their boots."
+"Another dozen trees felled today. That makes-" Leshy paused, bringing short, hairy toes up to the table to assist his counting. Finding himself still far short of the necessary digits, he threw his hands up in the air. "Too many. Too many of my trees hacked down and burned. And not a single token or sacrifice left in exchange. My time is done. I may as well lie down and die right now."
+Leshy's gloom made the North Wind chuckle, his wheezy gusts scattering playing cards onto the floor. Leshy complained that he'd just built a good hand, but it was now lost - as all his endeavours seemed doomed to failure and insignificance.
+Anatoly drummed his long fingers on the table top. It was dark with grease, and splashed with tallow drips from countless candles. The squalor of it irked him all of a sudden. He found himself imagining Yevgenia's pretty nose wrinkling in distaste, and he determined that tomorrow he would take the time to clean the kitchen – perhaps the entire cottage. And then he fell to thinking about all the other parts of Yevgenia, just as pretty as her nose. For a time he forgot all about the problem of the mine, and the men and the road and the town.
+"Life is too easy," said the North Wind. "That's the problem. They have no real hardships, and so they're free to poke and meddle and delve and steal. In the olden times-" Anatoly rolled his eyes, and Leshy gave a discreet little sigh. "In the olden times, they had no time for such nonsense. They were too busy fending off lions, finding bison to hunt, discovering which berries were good to eat and which would turn their guts to slop - all the time fearing the sky might fall on their heads. I had only to whip up a little thunderstorm, and they ran whimpering to their caves. Now many of them are idle. That's the nub of it. They're bored, and so they breed mischief."
+"You're saying they need a distraction? If some calamity were to befall them, they might be too busy to come plundering the forest?" Anatoly drained his glass thoughtfully, only grimacing a little at the harsh taste of the vodka. He distilled it himself from turnip peelings and bog myrtle, and the flavour was highly distinctive.
+"But I have set traps. I have raised fires. I have confounded and befuddled them. Still they come back - more and more of them, like ants from a woodpile." He glanced at the North Wind, a little fearfully, a little hopefully. "Perhaps if you were to-?"
+The North Wind's sigh rattled the pans hanging in the pantry. "I would love to help, of course. But my time is barely my own. You know how hard it is for me to even find the leisure for our card game each month. There is not a town in the world I don't visit. Not an hour of the day I can rest. My duties are endless."
+"Then it is over," said Leshy. "Before long we'll be driven from our homes, just like the poor Rusalkas."
+"You are not without talents, though?" The North Wind's voice was soft now, but still it sent a cold breeze down the back of Anatoly's neck.
+"I have studied the moon, the sun and the stars," said Anatoly. "I have studied the movements of beasts, and the flights of birds. I have learned the language of flowing water and what the trees whisper to one another through the hard, frozen winters."
+"Tell me, when the men come to fell your trees, what do they use?"
+"An axe," said Leshy unhappily.
+"And when you want to turn a field, ready for planting, what do you use?"
+"An iron plough," said Anatoly.
+"And when you distil your vodka, what do you use then?"
+Anatoly gestured to the large brass kettle hanging from the rafters.
+"You use a tool appropriate to the task. So, finding yourselves unequal to the task of driving the men from your mountain, what tool do you suppose might assist you?"
+Anatoly thought for a moment. A brightness flared in his eyes, and he met the North Wind's gaze. "A monster. We need a monster to do what we cannot."
+The North Wind nodded thoughtfully. "I expect someone of your learning could create a monster the like of which had never before been seen or imagined." His voice dropped lower, but it whistled around the eaves of the house, quick and cold as a knife. "Cold, unforgiving, incorruptible. Such a monster could drive these men far from your mountain, and from Leshy's forest. The Rusalkas could return to their pools, and you could resume your studies, undisturbed by their endless hammering, blasting and grinding."
+Anatoly glanced at Leshy, who nodded encouragingly.
+When his guests had departed, he shut himself in his study with a samovar of tea, and didn't come out until morning. He studied the treatise of a Persian necromancer. He read an incomplete fragment of ancient Arabic concerning the nature of evil. He cross referenced works by monks and astronomers, alchemists and scholars. He scribbled notes, drew diagrams, and performed complex calculations. He consulted nine different almanacs, and identified an auspicious day to set his plans in motion.
+In the dead of night he climbed through a blizzard to the lair of an ice wyvern. Silently, so as not to wake the slumbering creature, he captured its breath in a bell jar. Hoar frost formed on his fingers, cracking and falling to the cave floor in tinkling, diamond drops. The wyvern stirred and groaned; it might have woken, but Anatoly conjured a lullaby of howling winds and scouring hail, and it sighed and rolled over, returning to its decades-long sleep.
+As the sun rose he flew from town to town until he heard a certain distinctive sound. To an untrained ear the inconsolable cries might seem those of any other grieving parent. But Anatoly heard the edge of drama, of extravagance, and knew the cries to be insincere. It was no trouble at all for him to collect the child-killer's discarded handkerchief and harvest her crocodile tears.
+As evening fell, he tracked an ill-omened comet across the sky. Debris from its wake fell screaming to earth, crashing into a vast, uninhabited desert. From its steaming surface he gathered fragments of rocks and metals unknown to man.
+With these ingredients Anatoly returned to his forest home. There he collected the final piece he needed, and he worked through the night, spinning his baleful creation. When at last it was done, and the creature lay on his table, kicking its thin legs and gazing at him from large, solemn eyes, he invited Leshy and the North Wind to witness it.
+"I thought it would be... bigger," said the North Wind after a moment.
+Anatoly explained that it would grow. He'd created an infant, so that he could teach it everything it needed to know to perform its duty.
+"How long will that take?"
+Anatoly wasn't sure. "It will grow faster than a human, but it may take a year or two."
+The North Wind nodded. A year was nothing to him, who had been roaring around the earth since the first mountains rose from the sea.
+Anatoly glanced at Leshy. He was less patient than the North Wind, and likely to object to such a long term plan. But Leshy gazed at the creature with an odd, foolish look on his face. "It's a girl," he said, and gently tickled the creature's tummy. The infant kicked its legs more fiercely, and gave a little gurgle.
+"Look at her fingers," Leshy said. "Thin as a piece of straw, but each one perfect." As he spoke, the creature closed its fist over his huge, hairy thumb, holding on with surprising force.
+"How will you raise it?"
+Anatoly said he would teach it terror and cruelty; he would teach it to show no mercy, to be single-minded, incorruptible...
+The infant whooped as Leshy swung it up in the air and onto his chest. It burrowed into his warm fur, falling instantly asleep, a thumb stuck in its tiny mouth. "What will you call her?" he asked, gently rocking from side to side.
+Anatoly hadn't yet considered a name for the creature. He searched his memory for something suitably baleful. "Medusa? Lilith? Agrippina?"
+"What about Kikimora?" The infant mumbled in her sleep, and gave a little sigh. "There, she likes that. You're going to frighten the men, and drive them far away," Leshy whispered to her. "Then the forest will grow again, and the streams will run clear. The Rusalkas will come home, and everything will be as it was before. You're going to save us all, Kikimora."
+After Leshy had returned to the forest, and the still sleeping monster was tucked into a makeshift cot in a kitchen drawer, the North Wind took Anatoly to one side. "Are you sure you have the stomach for this?"
+"Of course. The difficulty with any kind of monster is always controlling it. This method, though a little more long term, ensures it will truly be our monster - biddable, obedient..."
+"As well as cruel, heartless, incorruptible, etc?"
+Full of excitement for his creation, Anatoly didn't hear the irony in the North Wind's tone. "It will be whatever we raise it to be. That is the beauty of it."
+"Indeed it will. You have experience with infants, I suppose?" He supposed nothing of the sort.
+"Every creature on earth manages to raise young," said Anatoly lightly. "I would like to think I too am equal to the challenge. How hard can it be?"
+The North Wind only smiled. His travels took him to many homes in many lands. He had some idea of how hard it could be. "And when do you propose to begin its instruction in cruelty?"
+"It is only hours old! I think we must first master the basics of walking, speaking, reading and writing-"
+"Your monster will write?"
+Anatoly was astonished by the question. "What kind of education would neglect writing?"
+"Your monster requires an education?"
+"Of course! It will be no crude, simple beast. She will be subtle, intelligent, able to wield her cruelty as a sharpened blade."
+"I see. So this cruelty will begin to manifest some time after she perfects a fair copyist's hand and once she has completed rudimentary deportment? Or will she need courtly dancing first?"
+Anatoly frowned, realising his achievement was not garnering the praise it deserved, and wondering why not.
+Seeing his friend's hurt and confusion, the North Wind spoke more gently, "Just how do you suppose cruelty is taught?"
+"Well," said Anatoly, picking a book from the shelf. "There are conflicting treatises-"
+"I have circled the world almost as many times as the moon," interrupted the North Wind. "I have watched men live and fight and bleed and die. I have seen civilisations grow, break apart and fall back into dust. Do you allow that I might have a certain amount of experience in this matter?"
+Anatoly nodded cautiously.
+"Cruelty is taught by example." The North Wind allowed a moment for that to sink in. "I ask again, do you have the stomach for this? Does Leshy? You saw how taken he already is with your creature."
+"It is in his nature to comfort and cherish-"
+"Quite so."
+Anatoly's frown deepened. "But it could be an advantage? We build up the creature's love and obedience to us-"
+"While instilling its hatred of everything else?"
+"Not everything-"
+"Well, I see you have it all worked out. I shall watch with interest as these events unfold over the coming year or two." With a last smile, the North Wind took to the air, roaring his way through the night sky.
+The draught from the open door caused the infant to stir and utter a thin cry. Anatoly crossed to the kitchen drawer, gazing down at her. His pride stung; he had anticipated awe and praise for his creation. Instead, the North Wind's doubts troubled him, stirring up his own.
+"Hush now," he told her. But the creature began to thrash, beating her tiny fists. Her mouth drew open in an ominous dark square.
+"Hush, I say."
+Kikimora began to howl.
+***
+Years passed; one, and then two, and then several more. Kikimora learned to walk and speak, to read and write. She learned that Anatoly was far too busy and important to think about things like feeding the chickens and washing the small clothes, or baking bread. So she learned to hunt, and fish, and grow a few things in the little garden beside the cottage. She also learned that when times were hard and she had walked all day through the forest without finding a single blackbird or squirrel to shoot with her bow, Leshy would not let her go home empty handed.
+She learned how to feed herself and Anatoly with the leavings from a roast pigeon, a stale heel of bread and a few green shoots. She learned where to find the best herbs to season meat or dress a wound, or to flavour Anatoly's vodka so he no longer grimaced when he tasted it. She learned to love her forest home and its inhabitants, just as Anatoly promised she would.
+On a night of bright stars and little cloud, an unearthly moan was heard deep within Korsakov Forest. It rose in pitch, building to a terrible, drawn-out scream. Treetops shook with the power of it. Normally fearless night creatures ducked into their burrows, sheltering there until it should cease. But it continued to build, growing higher, and still higher. No human lungs could sustain a sound so long. For a time, it passed out of the range of human hearing, and only the foxes and owls - the large-eared creatures - could hear it.
+Finally it began to drop – back to a scream, a shriek, a moan, and eventually silence. A vixen re-emerged from her den, shaking her head as though to dislodge the dreadful sound. An owl gave a cautious tu-wit, re-establishing his mastery of the night.
+Anatoly said, "Better. You don't strictly need the highest pitch. Humans won't be able to hear it. But if they have dogs nearby, it will certainly aggravate them."
+Kikimora gave a quick smile - which vanished when Anatoly asked if she'd completed her reading. He sighed, saying he knew she was kept busy with her many other duties around the house, but it was important to cover all areas of her education.
+Kikimora nodded, shamed. She had tried many times to read the texts Anatoly gave her, but they were dry as dust, dry as the bones of the men who wrote them centuries before. And always she came across words she didn't know. Anatoly was usually too busy to answer her questions, so she went to Barinya, who would tell her, "Schadenfreude: taking pleasure in the discomfort of others. Similar to the Greek, phthonos," or "Blood-eagle: a method of execution practised by the Norse-men, in which the ribs are severed from the spine, and splayed out like wings, followed by the lungs."
+Whenever Kikimora asked Barinya a question she inevitably ended up staying to discuss something else; then Barinya would ask if she wanted to hear a story, and somehow her reading would get forgotten.
+Kikimora thought it likely that Barinya knew every story there was in the world. If she said, "Tell me a story about the witch, Baba Yaga," Barinya had twenty to choose from; if she said, "Tell me a story about a princess and a monster," there were fifty. If she said, "Tell me about a knight and his quest," there were stories to fill every night of the year.
+Anatoly looked up at the bright moon, riding fat and full across the treetops, and said they'd done enough for tonight, and should return indoors.
+From out of the forest bounded a large, shaggy creature, somewhat like a bear or an ape, and a little like a man. "Was that you, little monster?" he asked. "That was the finest banshee wail I ever heard! It must have been heard from one edge of the forest to the other. I expect even the men in Korsakov town felt the hairs on the backs of their necks prickle and stand up."
+Kikimora blushed, telling Leshy the still night carried the sound well. They went inside to a homely, firelit kitchen. Before the door had quite closed, there was a great whirl and flurry of snow blowing down from the roof; the door flew from Anatoly's hand, banging open again, and the North Wind appeared.
+While he bellowed greetings to Anatoly and Leshy, Kikimora ducked into the pantry to fetch a jar of her meadow-grass vodka. She placed it on the table, along with a plate of honey cakes, baked fresh that morning, then bobbed a small courtesy.
+"Thank you, Kikimora," Anatoly said. "You may go."
+She gathered up her embroidery to finish in the pantry. It was cold in there, but that had never troubled her. She was a creature of the cold, and though she enjoyed the comfort of a crackling fire, her resilience to Korsakov's bitter winters was remarkable. She had never owned a pair of shoes, nor felt their lack.
+She was almost at the door, when the North Wind said, "Wait. How old are you now, girl?"
+"Almost seven."
+Anatoly's long fingers fumbled as he filled the glasses, which all clinked and rattled against one another.
+"Has it been so long?" asked the North Wind in some surprise. "Surely it is time?"
+Anatoly swallowed his vodka at a gulp. "There is still much I would teach her. Her reading is sorely neglected. She has not yet begun The Art of War-"
+The North Wind snorted his disdain. "She might have completed all the reading even you could wish for years ago if you didn't have her working as your skivvy all the day long! I heard your banshee wail," he told Kikimora. "It wasn't too bad. What else can you do? Can you sour the milk with an evil thought?"
+Kikimora nodded.
+"Can you hide from human eyes? Creep past men silent and unnoticed?" Two more nods.
+"Can you send bad dreams to trouble the sleep of man, woman or child?"
+She hesitated.
+"Well?"
+"I have no one on which to practice such a skill."
+The North Wind frowned and harrumphed. "What of that cat I've seen around the place? Surely you could disturb its sleep?"
+Kikimora's eyes grew wide at this suggestion, and Anatoly muttered that it was more than any of their lives were worth to interfere with the cat.
+"You weren't always so fussy how you used cats," the North Wind commented.
+Leshy took a bite of cake, and exclaimed at its sweetness. Washing it down with a mouthful of vodka, he added that he'd never tasted finer spirit. Kikimora knew he was trying to cheer her up, and she summoned a smile to show she appreciated it.
+"Congratulations," the North Wind said sourly. "Your monster is a fine cook and housekeeper. How those men will tremble in their boots."
+"That will be all," Anatoly said quietly, and Kikimora slipped into the pantry, closing the door behind her.
+Even so, she heard the North Wind as clearly as though he stood beside her, "Didn't I warn you this would happen? I have seen more frightening bunny rabbits."
+Leshy mumbled something about Kikimora's banshee wail, but the North Wind said it wasn't enough. "When will she be ready?"
+"Soon," Anatoly promised.
+"It's been seven years. Meanwhile the men continue to plunder the forest, blasting the living rock apart and stealing the riches they find there. Have you forgotten what this was all about? Have you forgotten your vow to protect the forest?"
+"Of course not. I just think she needs a little more time to-"
+"Seven years," the North Wind said again. "Whatever she has not mastered yet, she is never going to."
+The voices dropped, becoming less strident. Relieved that she could no longer hear them, Kikimora gave a sigh, sinking onto the three legged stool she used for spinning. The cat appeared from behind a barrel of beer, winding herself around Kikimora's thin ankles, her glossy fur warm and comforting.
+"They don't think I can do it," Kikimora said, taking out her needle and a swatch of coloured threads. She was working on a new shirt for Anatoly, embroidering the phases of the moon and the major constellations around its hem in bright, fiery colours – for, although the stars looked pale to her, Anatoly had told her they were really made of fire, like the sun.
+"They are three old fools," the cat replied. "Take no notice of them. I know you will make us all proud."
+"Do you truly think so, Barinya?"
+There was a gentle mewing from the turnip sack in the far corner, and the cat trotted across the room, giving her kitten a lick around the face. He squalled a little more, then settled back down to sleep. "Always the boys," she sighed. "My Malinka is as good as gold. But Nikita – tch!"
+Kikimora smiled, knowing Barinya loved both her kittens equally well. They were now six years old, but still as small and playful as though they were just six months. Barinya was fierce in her protection of them. Once Anatoly had asked, "Just what is wrong with those kittens?" and had tried to examine them. Barinya said nothing to him, for she never spoke to Anatoly, or to anyone except Kikimora. But she leapt onto his back and sank her teeth into his neck. When he flung her to the ground she hissed and spat until he backed away, promising, "Alright, there is nothing wrong with your kits! They are the very models of normal kittiness. I am confident they will grow up – eventually – into fine and upstanding members of the cat community."
+Barinya continued to swipe her tail furiously every time she saw Anatoly for some days afterwards, and Anatoly learned to curb his curiosity in regard to the kittens – which was difficult for him, since curiosity was his life.
+In his study he had books from every corner of the world, in a dozen different languages. He had the most ancient and most modern scientific instruments, for all manner of obscure purposes. He had maps and charts and medical specimens. He had the bones of beasts that no longer lived on the earth. He had rocks that had fallen from the heavens. In a sealed glass bell jar he kept the silver feather of an angel. In a locked iron chest he kept the slippery, hell-blackened scale of a demon - so sharp and so fierce it would slice through the bones of anyone who touched it.
+Barinya settled herself comfortably on Kikimora's feet, and asked what story she would like to hear.
+"Tell me about when my father fell in love with the Queen of the Rusalkas." Kikimora loved to hear of Anatoly and the glamorous Rusalka Queen, their doomed love and mysterious parting of ways. But Barinya twitched her nose and yawned, saying she was bored of that story.
+"Then tell me about my creation?"
+Barinya flicked her tail in irritation. She didn't like this story either. Kikimora assumed it was because she had to say how clever Anatoly had been. "Please, Barinya." It always made her feel stronger to hear what she was made of. Sometimes she could even believe she might be able to fulfil her destiny, and drive the men from Korsakov mountain for good. Sometimes.
+"Very well," said Barinya, and she told Kikimora about the ice wyvern and the child-killer, the comet and that final piece.
+"What was the other piece Anatoly needed?" Kikimora asked, not for the first time.
+Barinya looked as disapproving as only a cat can, and said some secrets should remain so, lest they fall in the wrong ears.
+The card game was still going when Kikimora extinguished her candle, leaving a darkness so complete even the cat could see nothing. Curling up beside Barinya on a piece of rough sacking, she turned over and around a few times, unable to settle. Finally she said, "In your stories the monster is always the villain, and the hero must fight it."
+If she had expected a reply she was disappointed.
+"Usually the monster is slain, and then the hero lives happily ever after."
+Still Barinya said nothing, but her silence was expectant, as though waiting for Kikimora to frame her question.
+"They call me their monster, but we are not villains, are we?"
+"You have asked this before," Barinya said gently. "Both of me and of Anatoly. What did we each reply?"
+"Anatoly said that in the service of a greater good it is sometimes necessary to do things which might otherwise be considered bad. He said morality is not an absolute thing, and each man must decide for himself where his personal compass points."
+"And what did I tell you?"
+"You said just because they call me a monster doesn't necessarily make it so."
+"Two good answers."
+Kikimora sighed, not sure that she agreed.
+***
+The night was far advanced before the card games were concluded. The bright stars had circled the heavens, fading into the growing dawn as Leshy crawled back to his earthen burrow. The North Wind roared across the forest, howling as though his hangover had already kicked in. Fresh snow began to fall.
+Barinya took the kits squealing and pouncing into the forest to play. She asked Kikimora to come too, but the girl said she had too much work to do, and besides, she had promised Anatoly she would catch up on her reading.
+"Stuff and nonsense. It will do you good to have some fun."
+But Kikimora shook her head. Despite Barinya's story, she hadn't slept well. Doubts continued to worry at the edges of her mind. So she did as she usually did when she felt unequal to her destiny. She swept the floors. She scoured the cooking pots. She fed the chickens, and cleared the snow from before the cottage door.
+She cooked a hearty pottage of barley and bacon, eating a little herself, and saving the rest for when Anatoly should wake. She knew he would be ravenous after his night's drinking.
+While she was scraping some dripped tallow from the kitchen table, there came a knock at the door. Visitors were rare at Anatoly's cottage. Occasionally, lost travellers came seeking refuge. Sometimes pedlars came to hawk their wares. But most of the people who came to Anatoly's door deliberately sought him out in hope of securing his unusual services.
+Kikimora smoothed down her apron and tucked a stray hair into her cap before cautiously opening the door. Outside stood a tall, thin man with a drooping nose. His clothes had once been exceptionally fine, but now were travel stained and ragged. He sneezed thunderously into a silk handkerchief, then asked Kikimora if her master was home.
+She bobbed a courtesy, stepping aside for the man to enter. "I'm afraid my master is a little indisposed this morning, but let me offer you some refreshment after your long journey."
+He took a seat at the small wooden table, watching Kikimora uneasily as she moved around the kitchen. She was an odd-looking young lady; taller than most, and thin as a sapling. Her eyes were large and brown, showing flecks of green when she faced the light. She raised an arm to lift a bowl from the shelf, and he almost thought he could see through her to the brightly patterned tiles behind. But he was weary and hungry, and must be imagining things.
+"This is the home of Master Anatoly Truth-Seeker?"
+"Certainly," Kikimora replied, handing him a steaming bowl of pottage and a wooden spoon.
+The man regarded it doubtfully before spooning a little into his thin-lipped mouth. "This is good," he said with some surprise, and swiftly cleaned out the bowl.
+Kikimora asked if he would like more pottage, or perhaps a glass of something warming. His eyes lit up at this suggestion. He was on his second glass of vodka and Kikimora was shyly explaining the importance of using the freshest, greenest meadow grass to flavour it, when Anatoly shuffled into the kitchen.
+The man at once got to his feet and bowed extravagantly. "Master Truth-Seeker, I have travelled far and endured many hardships to come to you. I-"
+"Is there food?" Anatoly asked, wearily rubbing his head.
+"Of course." Kikimora fetched him a bowl.
+"Master Truth-Seeker, I have been sent-"
+Anatoly signalled the visitor to be quiet. He sat at the table and slowly ate his pottage, pausing occasionally to rub his forehead or his prickly chin. Kikimora filled the samovar's fuel chamber with smouldering pine cones, placing it on the table along with a pair of exotic china cups.
+The man tried to speak, but again Anatoly waved him still. Not until they both had a cup of steaming tea before them, did he sigh and ask, "So, friend, what brings you to my home?"
+The man leapt up to bow once more, introducing himself as Vassily Vasilievich, emissary to the proud and ancient Kingdom of Nadezhda. Rummaging in various pockets concealed in the linings of his clothes, he laid out on the table rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and a number of small, hinged boxes. "Forgive the poor presentation," he asked. "I have travelled far, and it has been necessary to conceal these treasures from the many ruffians abroad on the roads."
+Anatoly glanced at the jewels without interest. He opened an embroidered silk box, lifting out miniature golden weighing scales.
+"With these scales you could weigh an angel's breath," Vassily told him.
+Anatoly snapped the box shut. "I already know the weight of an angel's breath, of a human soul, and of a mother's tear."
+Vassily looked disappointed, but presented another small box. It was lined with blood red silk, and nestling inside was an iron ring bearing a dull red stone. "This ring bestows upon its wearer-"
+"Visibility of anything he desires to see, near or far," Anatoly said. "Yes, I have one around somewhere."
+Vassily began to look concerned. He patted his sides, seeking for some other treasure.
+"Why don't you tell me what service you require from me?"
+Vassily took a drink of his scalding tea, and said, "His Majesty, King Maksim wishes you to find his daughter."
+Anatoly looked pointedly at the iron ring. Vassily said, "He has tried the ring, and it will not locate her."
+"You bring me a gift of a defective magic ring?"
+"No! The ring is not at fault. It has been tried and proves true for any other purpose. But it will not find the King's daughter. His highness believes that either she has been taken quite out of this world and into another, or else-" Vassily looked pained. He chewed his lip, and continued in an undertone, "The King's daughter may not wish to be found. She has some small skill in the magical arts herself."
+"Has she?" Anatoly asked coolly. "I doubt an ability to cure warts or cast the evil eye would be equal to overcoming a ring of such power."
+Vassily looked uncomfortable. "The King believes his daughter may have considerable powers..."
+Anatoly narrowed his eyes. "And why does he suppose she may not wish to be found?"
+Vassily admitted that King Maksim and his daughter had parted on poor terms. "A private matter," he added. "Of no consequence."
+"I am sorry," Anatoly said. "But I cannot help you. There are many other adequate magicians throughout the lands. Perhaps you could ask one of those to track down your errant witch?"
+"Oh no. His majesty was most insistent. Only you have the skill-"
+"But, alas, not the inclination."
+Vassily glanced at Kikimora, but she only shrugged.
+Finishing his tea, Vassily said, "His Majesty will be heartbroken. He is no longer a young man. Recently his second wife died, leaving him alone but for his young sons. He fears he may not last another winter if Gennie will not forgive him and come home."
+"I am sorry for his Majesty's troubles," Anatoly said briskly. "But I am extremely busy."
+Vassily packed up his treasures once more into their secret pockets, and pulled on his fur-lined cloak. Kikimora felt bad for him, having travelled so far in such terrible conditions, only to be turned away. But she had seen many grand men pass through their kitchen, petitioning Anatoly for help. Only very few gained his assistance.
+At the door, he tried one last time, saying, "Did I mention she's beautiful?" Drawing a golden locket from another of his pockets, he opened it to show Anatoly the miniature painting within. "Did you ever see a fairer maiden?"
+Anatoly frowned and pulled the locket closer, peering at its fine brush strokes. "How long ago was this painted?"
+"Almost ten years," Vassily admitted. "But I am sure Princess Gennie is still quite beautiful – wherever she is."
+"Give me the locket."
+"Forgive me, I cannot if I am to secure the help of another magician-"
+"Give me the locket," Anatoly repeated. "Keep your trinkets. The locket is all the payment I require."
+"Then you will-?" Vassily laughed, and clapped his hands in relief. "I will be staying in Korsakov," he said. "If you need any further information, or-"
+"Thank you," Anatoly said, pushing him out of the door. Then he went into his study, and didn't come out for two days.
+The excitement of a new commission pushed Kikimora's bleak mood aside. When Barinya returned from the forest, Kikimora rushed to tell her about the visitor and his quest, and how he was so nearly turned away.
+Barinya didn't share her enthusiasm though. "Suppose the princess doesn't want to be found? Suppose she has a new life somewhere? Ten years is a long time. Anything could have happened. She could be dead."
+"You don't really think so, do you?"
+Barinya paused in her cleaning, and sighed. "Even I sometimes forget how soft-hearted you are." Seeing Kikimora's downcast expression, she added, "And your heart is the very finest thing about you. I know you don't think so, and I know others will tell you different. But believe me, for I know you better than anyone."
+When Anatoly finally came out of his study, he asked Kikimora to sit with him in the kitchen. He said nothing until the tea was made, and poured out into the china cups. Even then his long fingers continued to fidget and fuss. "I have to go away."
+Kikimora nodded. She had expected his latest assignment might take him away from their little cottage.
+"I think it is best... You are fully grown, and have many skills." His gaze wandered all around the kitchen before returning to the girl sitting before him. "It is time."
+From the window sill, Barinya gave a plaintive mew, her thin tail swishing back and forth.
+"I have taught you as well as I can. It is time for you to go into town and fulfil your destiny."
+Barinya leapt down from the window and trotted across the stone flagged floor, glaring at him. "Wong," she complained, and Anatoly gave her a long-suffering look, muttering that he wished he'd never taken her in.
+"You know what you have to do?" he asked Kikimora, who nodded once. "Tell me."
+"I am to disrupt the work of the miners. I am to find the men in charge and creep into their homes and cause such trouble that they cannot sleep, and their food tastes bad, and they are afraid of shadows. I am to give them no rest, but cause such endless grief they can think of nothing else. I am to drive them insane. I am to stifle any joy in their lives and replace it-" She faltered momentarily. "Replace it with horror and despair."
+"Good," Anatoly murmured, although his eyes were still heavy, fingers still moving restlessly around his cup. "Good, Kikimora. It would be best if you left at once."
+Kikimora pressed her lips tightly together for a moment, before saying, "I will fetch my things."
+It took only a moment before she reappeared with a small bundle. She had few possessions: a cap, an apron, her needle and yarn, and the matched spindle and distaff Anatoly had once brought her back from distant Astrakhan. Finely carved and painted in jewel-bright colours, they were the only gifts he had ever given to her.
+She added a little food into her pack, and finally she hung a shirt over the chair back, saying, "I didn't have time to finish all of the constellations. The weighing scales are missing one pan."
+Anatoly smoothed the cloth in his fingers, admiring the stitching. "It is very fine work," he said. "Thank you, Kikimora."
+She paused at the door. She wanted to tell him it would be alright, that she would soon return, victorious; he and Leshy would be so proud, and the North Wind would look at her in astonishment, wondering how he could have been so wrong. But all she said was, "Goodbye, Father."
+Barinya complained loudly once more, then followed her out into the snow covered yard. Alone in the little cottage, Anatoly brought the shirt up to his face, inhaling the fresh laundered scent of it. If it was a little damp when he draped it back over the chair - well, there was no one there to notice.
+Kikimora gave the chickens a last feed. She tidied away the tools and corn, then gave the kittens a fuss while Barinya told her to eat well, to get plenty of sleep, to be wary of strange men...
+"I shall not be able to complete my task if I avoid strange men," Kikimora said with a smile.
+Barinya didn't share her humour. "Remember all that I have taught you. Trust your heart, and you will not go far wrong."
+Kikimora nodded, and turned away, following the path away from the cottage and into the dark, overhanging pines.
+***
+The sun shone bright and low, slanting through the trees. Another night of snow had left the air clear and fierce; it tugged at the breath with icy fingers. Kikimora walked through the forest without boots or cloak, her long feet breaking through the snow crust with a soft scronch scronch.
+Though the enormity of her task was daunting, and though the North Wind's doubts gnawed at her mind, there was a wonder and excitement about this day too. Finally, after seven years of preparation, she was going out into the world to seek her fortune - just like the heroines of Barinya's stories.
+After a time, she stopped by a fast flowing stream and ate the oatcakes she had brought with her. She cupped her hands and drank clear water from the stream, then stood, brushing crumbs from her dress. A blackbird darted into the clearing, startling her with its sweet call. It fluttered to the forest floor, and transformed into Leshy's large, furry form.
+"Some small creature will be glad of those crumbs," he told her. "Spring is late coming this year. The days have begun to lengthen, but there is no hint of warmth to the air; no green shoots pushing up through the hard packed snow. Those that slept through the winter are beginning to wake from hunger. Last summer's fat is all spent, but there is not enough food available for them to replenish it. Still," he sighed. "A starved squirrel is an easy feast for a fox or a bear. That is the way it has always been, and ever must be. It is not my place to intervene in natural matters."
+Kikimora knew this was true, and yet it pained her to think of the small creatures starving. Reaching into her pack, she drew out her two remaining oatcakes, breaking them into small pieces and scattering them on the snow. "I think the fox can last just a little longer without his supper," she said. "And the squirrel cannot."
+Leshy said he knew her gift would be well received. He walked with her through the forest, steadily descending from the remote peaks. The sun reached its highest point, still not clearing the canopy, and began to sink once more behind the mountains.
+Shadows were gathering beneath the trees when another small stream crossed their path. Kikimora stooped to drink, but Leshy hooted in alarm, drawing her back. "Do not drink this water," he told her. "It is unwholesome, full of the men's poisons. Can you not smell it?"
+Kikimora realised she could smell something odd, like rotten eggs. There was an unhealthy yellowish cast to the water, and no lichens grew on its banks. "What is it?"
+Leshy wrinkled his nose. He didn't know what devilry it was; all he knew was it poisoned his waters, his trees and mosses, and the animals who lived there. "Look," he said, knocking his fist against a tree with a hollow thud. No birds cried at the sudden noise; no insects scurried from the impact. "Dead," he muttered. "All of it. Poisoned and corrupted by these men and their cursed mine."
+They followed the slow moving stream down a little way until it emptied into a dull, brown pool. Around the shore, a line of skeletal trees stood silent sentinel. "Once, the Rusalkas swam here. They called it Golden Pool. They sang their songs and laughed and danced. Now look at it, lifeless and empty."
+"Where did the Rusalkas go?"
+"Away. Far and wide. The forest couldn't sustain them all any more. Zinobia still lives over on the far side of the mountain. It is a high and desolate spot. I don't think she has many visitors."
+The evening was well advanced before the trees began to thin, and the steep mountain slopes to level out. They came to a bluff overlooking Korsakov town, nestled in a broad, open valley. Kikimora was astonished by the multitude of lights shining out into the cold, winter's night.
+"I swear it grows larger by the day," growled Leshy.
+Kikimora asked if he'd ever been into the town, and he shook his head. He didn't like to leave the cover of the trees, but his forest was shrinking even faster than the town was expanding. "So many of them, all crammed into one little space. It makes my fur prickle just thinking about it."
+Kikimora knew how he felt. She'd met few humans, and they'd mostly been civil. But Leshy, Anatoly and the North Wind had often told her of human greed, violence and unreason. For so many of them to be crowded into one place seemed reckless and fraught with danger.
+Of course, Anatoly was human himself. But he was a magician, and Kikimora understood that made him quite different.
+Leshy said he would come no further, "But if you have need of me only come to the edge of the trees and call. I will help in any way that I can."
+Kikimora thanked him. He transformed into an owl, and took off on silent wings, gliding above the trees. She continued down the slope, and joined a wide, rutted road. The town lay behind a stone wall, ten feet high. She looked for handholds in the stonework, but the surface was smooth and implacable. In frustration, she beat on the stout gate. A moment later there was a sound of muttered swearing, of a door opening on the far side of the wall, and then a voice called, "Who is it?"
+Kikimora quickly drew all the light and colour inside herself, as she had practised many times, and disappeared from sight. A small hatch opened in the gate, and a man's face filled it, squinting into the darkness. "Who's there? Make yourself known."
+There was no one to be seen on the road, and he turned, conferring with another man. Kikimora examined the gate. It had weathered more than the wall, and her thin fingers were able to find purchase among the close fitting boards. Reaching up, she lifted herself until she stood upright in the hatchway. From there she was able to hook her fingertips over the top of the gate, and to swing up onto the gatepost. She had spent much of her life running with Leshy through the forest and climbing in trees, and thought nothing of this.
+From the top of the wall, she saw a collection of uneven, steep-roofed buildings tumbling away before her. Dropping lightly down in the churned up snow, she slipped past the confused watchmen, and into the town.
+Light spilled from ill-fitting doors and unshuttered windows. Fragments of sound reached her: the cries of babies, the laughter of children, and the admonishments of mothers, both fond and severe. At last she came to a broad market square. Shops and houses lined either side, and a stone cross stood in its centre. At the far end stood a huge, imposing church, topped with onion domes, its presence dominating the square. Facing it in a belligerent manner was a large, ramshackle building with a creaking sign above the door. From here spilled more light and noise than from all the rest of the town. Kikimora crept to the window, peering through the uneven glass.
+The room was long and high ceilinged, filled with warm orange light, and with laughing, shouting men. She had never seen a tavern before, or more than three men gathered in one place. The noise they made was astonishing to her. She might have expected to be frightened by such a scene, but it seemed to her they were all in fine spirits, that goodwill filled the firelit room - and she wondered briefly how it might feel to share in their revelry.
+A ruddy-cheeked man got up on a table and bellowed some words that were muffled by the glass. The room erupted in cheers, and another man climbed onto the table. He was younger than the first, with tightly curled hair and a thin, serious face. His eyes were dark, and they flashed in the lantern light.
+The room settled to an expectant hush as he brought an elegant stringed instrument up to his chest. He drew his bow raspingly down the violin's gut strings, and a shiver ran down Kikimora's spine.
+She had heard little music in her life. Anatoly was not musical. Though Barinya spoke wistfully of songs and dances she had known in the past, and though she was a most accomplished cat, music was beyond her talents. The only songs Kikimora knew were ones taught to her by the occasional visitors to the house.
+She had never heard a sound quite like the violin's sweet, wild, searing voice. It made her think of the little hawks she sometimes saw circling high over distant, lilac crags. It made her think of cool, green water rushing down a mossy waterfall, of tales of the beautiful Rusalkas who had once lived in the streams, singing and taunting men to come and join them in the water's eternal embrace.
+Her fingers clenched on the snow covered window sill, her nose pressed close to the glass. She knew nothing except the music, and the rapt concentration on the face of the man creating it. His arm moved like a whirlwind, fingers flying across the strings. His brow furrowed in concentration, so that he looked quite furious.
+After a thundering crescendo, the music drew to an abrupt and agonised end. The room erupted in cheers, and Kikimora slumped forward, breath misting the glass. She quickly lifted a hand to wipe it, and as she did, the musician lowered his instrument, wiped sweat from his brow, and raised his eyes.
+He frowned at the pale, ghostly shape beyond the window, and would have asked if anyone else also saw it – but he was carried noisily from the table and paraded around the room. A frothing mug of ale was pushed into his hand, and when he managed to free himself of the cheering crowds and look again, the window was empty.
+Kikimora realised it was unusual for her breath to form mist. She was normally too cold, even on the inside. She backed away from the bright window, alarmed by the strange powers these men possessed. She would need all of her cunning and resourcefulness if she was to defeat them.
+The snow had formed a deep drift against the wall of the building, and she threw herself into it, letting the cold leach the colour from her cheeks and the warmth from her belly. By the time she felt she was once more her usual temperature and almost transparent, men were beginning to drift away from the tavern in happy, drunken groups.
+One man left alone, a woollen coat pulled tight around his shoulders, and a leather case tucked under his arm. He took long strides through the snow, clouds of breath blowing out before him, ice crystals hanging like tiny jewels from his tightly curled hair.
+Kikimora shadowed him through the empty streets until he came to a small house on the edge of town. The door creaked as he let himself in, and he shuddered, feeling an icy draught slip past. He threw off his snow dusted coat, kicked off his boots, and climbed the stairs. Falling into bed, he was sound asleep in moments.
+Kikimora glanced at the few pots and pans hanging above the stove, at the storage jars and kitchen utensils. She supposed she could make a fine racket banging the soup ladle against the large copper kettle. But the day had been long, and she was very tired.
+It was strange to be so far from the only home she had ever known, in this kitchen which was similar and yet so different to Anatoly's. It gave her a tight feeling in her chest, and made her eyes all the heavier.
+Whenever she was lonely or afraid at home she liked to crawl behind the stove. It was warm there, for the stove was kept always burning. There were usually some friendly spiders, and she felt safe and hidden in the dark.
+This stove was cold and full of ash, the gap behind it damp and dirty. Nevertheless, Kikimora slipped into the narrow space. She worked a cracked tile loose, and was able to fit her little bag of belongings beneath it. Deciding that her task was not to upset musicians, she curled up to sleep.
+But she could not sleep. Although the town was mostly quiet this late at night, it was not the quiet of the deep woods and the high mountains. The low thrum of the man upstairs breathing was not the same as Anatoly's sleep breathing. And there was no cat prowling the kitchen's shadowy corners, waiting for mice to come out hunting for scraps.
+Even so, sleep must eventually have found her, for she was woken next morning by a knock at the door. She climbed out from behind the stove, remembering to make herself quite invisible just as the front door opened.
+A heavy-set woman let herself in. "You'll be late," she called, stamping snow from her boots.
+The upstairs floorboards creaked and thumped, and the musician came running down the stairs, buttoning his shirt. "Heavens," he muttered. "I mustn't be late again."
+Hands on hips, the woman sniffed the air, frowning. "You've got something in here."
+"Breakfast?"
+"Something unwelcome," she clarified.
+The musician sighed. "I should get a cat. Do you know of any kittens that need a home, Mrs Zubrev?"
+Mrs Zubrev sniffed once more, and said ominously, "I'm not sure a cat would do the job, Master Dmitri."
+"Even so, I think I would like to have a little companion around the house. Will you make enquiries for me?"
+Mrs Zubrev gave him a long suffering look, and said she would. Dmitri pulled on his boots and coat, and hefted a pack onto his back.
+"Here." Mrs Zubrev handed him a warm, steaming parcel, and Dmitri grinned, pecking a kiss on her sallow cheek. "Get off with you," she grumbled, pushing him away.
+Laughing, Dmitri strode outside into the clear, bright morning. Kikimora squeezed past Mrs Zubrev, and hurried after him. Unsure of her bearings, and with no landmarks visible above the rooftops, she followed him to the end of the street, and along another. The crowds grew ever denser until they reached the market square.
+Here was more noise and bustle and press of bodies than Kikimora had ever before encountered. Children ran through the churned up slush, spattering anyone nearby, and heedless of the shouts that followed them. Kikimora stepped quickly out of their way, only narrowly avoiding a steaming pile of ox dung. Its creator complained loudly as it hauled a barrel-filled cart across the square.
+Released from the narrow streets, Kikimora could now see the dark forested slopes of Korsakov mountain looming over the town, and the broad straight road leading there.
+Dmitri emerged from the tavern stables, leading a piebald mare. As he clattered away across the square, she idly wondered what urgent appointments the musician had to keep so early in the morning. Slipping invisibly into the crowds once more, she stole a warm honey roll from the baker's cart, and began the long walk to the mine.
+She heard the pounding of the dressing floors and smelled the smoke of the furnaces long before she saw them. Rounding a broad sweep of the track, she saw a jumble of buildings, some with tall, smoking chimneys, others with great, wide doors. Smudge-faced boys wheeled barrows between the sheds. An immense, spindly construction of wooden beams dropped water onto a creaking wheel. The water flowed into pits where stoop-backed women crouched, washing and sorting the ore.
+Amongst the dull rumbling and clamour of voices, one sound sang out above all else – the clear ringing of a blacksmith's hammer. It seemed to Kikimora the only wholesome sound in the infernal place, and she found herself moving towards it. The blacksmith was situated in one corner of the yard, his doors thrown open. As Kikimora approached, his hammer fell silent, and voices were raised in argument.
+"How am I supposed to haul my load, then?" asked a narrow-faced man. He idly slapped the flanks of a grey pony, smoothing her dusty coat.
+"Ask the master," grumbled the smith, bending once more over his anvil, and beating a glowing horse shoe. Beside him a piebald mare stood placidly chewing a mouthful of grass.
+"That horse casts more shoes than I've smoked pipes! He'll not need her again til sundown. Can it not wait? It's my livelihood wasting here."
+The smith laid aside his tools, saying. "You can stand there and interrupt me, or you can leave me to get on with it, and I'll be re-shoeing Grusha for you before you know it."
+The man sighed and threw himself down on a nearby pile of hay. He took a pouch from his pocket and began to fill a small pipe, all the while continuing to grumble.
+Kikimora carried on across the yard, dodging boys and carts, and skirting shallow pits. A wagon pulled up beside one of the sheds, the driver unloading small wooden barrels. Here too an argument broke out, the man explaining that his prices had increased, and if the master didn't like it, he could buy his saltpetre elsewhere, and good luck to him.
+The master remonstrated, saying there was no justification for such outrageous prices, and the mine would soon become unprofitable if unscrupulous merchants continued to take advantage of him, "And then what will happen to the town? How will the men earn their bread?"
+The driver said the livelihood of the town was no concern of his. His people were from Baransk. Their mines had proper management and were quite profitable. And as for justification - there was war just over the border! The mine was lucky it could get saltpetre at any price. "There's soldiers without powder for their muskets so you can have your saltpetre."
+Sighing, the master ran a long fingered hand through his hair. "I will have to speak to my investors. I'm not sure this is feasible-"
+"Aye," interrupted the merchant. "Run and ask your father. He understands business." He jerked his horse away from the shed, returning to the road. Dmitri scowled after him, hands thrust deep into his pockets.
+"Trouble?" asked an older man with silvery blond hair.
+"We'll all be beggared before the spring, Boris - if it ever arrives, that is."
+Boris spat thoughtfully onto the patchy yellow grass at the side of the shed. "Perhaps." Reaching out a swift hand, he cuffed a passing boy, and barked, "Get these barrels stored away. Now."
+Kikimora leaned back against the warped wooden boards of the shed, watching the tousle-haired musician. This was the man responsible for the despoliation of Korsakov mountain? For the poisoned waters, and the exodus of the Rusalkas?
+He was not at all as she'd imagined such a creature would be. He seemed very young to wield such power. He certainly didn't look dangerous. If she didn't know better, she would have said he looked kind. But she reminded herself she was inexperienced in the ways of the world, and perhaps easily fooled. Anatoly was far wiser than she. Her duty was clear.
+She smiled. Suddenly her task didn't seem quite so insurmountable.
+"I will make you proud," she whispered to the rustling pines and bone-numbing breeze. "I will take this man's joy, and crush it. I will poison his dreams. I will destroy him."
+***
+Dmitri watched with a heavy heart as the saltpetre merchant drove away. The man's words stung so keenly because they were true. He would have to discuss the matter with his father and ask for more money. He could imagine how well that would go down.
+Dmitri knew as well as the merchant that saltpetre couldn't be cultivated fast enough to meet demand, that the unending wars in neighbouring countries were forever driving up the price. There was nothing to be done about it – but try telling that to his father.
+The elder Mr Rachmanov would surely consider it a failing on Dmitri's part that he could not personally usher in peace across all nations. No doubt he did just that himself in his younger days, at the court of King This or Emperor That...
+"Come on." Boris nudged him from his reverie. "Let's get some tea."
+"Gods! But it's cold," Dmitri said, following him into the draughty office they shared.
+"You're getting old," Boris observed. "It never used to bother you."
+Dmitri was too distracted to acknowledge the teasing. Thrust suddenly into the role of mine manager at the age of 17, he had grown used to being taunted for his youth and inexperience. Over the past two years he had come to rely on Boris as a fount of knowledge and good sense.
+"You have heard how much ore they're bringing up in Baransk? How are we to compete?"
+"By tightening our belts and getting on with it," said Boris. "Worrying does no good. I'll come over with you, if you like, to see your father? Explain the situation."
+"Thank you," Dmitri said. "But no." He didn't relish the meeting, but it would be better conducted privately. Otherwise his father would accuse him of hiding behind his foreman's coat-tails.
+Boris lit a stubby pipe, sucking on it thoughtfully. "How is the old man?"
+"As bad as ever. At least, I expect so. In truth it is some time since I last visited the house."
+Boris managed to convey his disapproval purely through the medium of smoke rings.
+"I know, I know," Dmitri said. "I will go tonight."
+"Pass on my regards," Boris said. "And to your sister. He's not an easy man, your father."
+Dmitri thought that was putting it mildly.
+"Especially since the accident. But this town would be nothing without him. Reopening the mine the way he did was a life-saver for many of us. We'd been getting by with a bit of farming, a bit of poaching, any odd jobs that came our way. He gave us back our livelihood, and for that he'll always have my gratitude and respect."
+Dmitri nodded, somehow shamed by his foreman's earnestness. He knew that what Boris said was true, but found it hard to reconcile with the harsh, quick-tempered man he knew.
+Dmitri occasionally found himself wondering how differently things might have turned out for the Rachmanovs if his mother had survived the journey to Korsakov all those years ago. But she had contracted smallpox on the road, and never saw their new home. Only her name, Yanochka, lived on, given to the mine that had indirectly killed her.
+"I sometimes think it was his sheer bloody-mindedness kept him alive," Boris said. "I've seen men die from lesser injuries. And if their bodies survive, sometimes their spirits don't. But your father-" He gave a wry laugh. "You might say he has twice as much spirit now as he did before."
+Dmitri acknowledged the joke with a smile, but he did not feel like laughing. Suddenly restless, he leapt from his chair and pulled on his greatcoat. "I can prepare more gunpowder now that we finally have fresh saltpetre. Supplies have been running low."
+Boris nodded. "Then I shall stay here in the warmth and drink more tea."
+Yanochka was the only mine in the region using gunpowder to blast through the rock. It was this innovation which ten years ago had prompted Mr Rachmanov to invest his modest fortune into a previously unprofitable mine. Like many of the miners, Boris regarded the black powder with a solemn and wary respect, and was inclined to give it and its manufacture as wide a berth as possible.
+Kikimora hastily stepped back as the door was thrown open and Dmitri strode outside. She shadowed him as he stalked across the mine enclosure, approaching a small hut some way from the other buildings. Peering through the row of windows, she saw him standing at a table, measuring out quantities of various powders. He tipped each ingredient into a deep mortar, and began pounding them together. He paused in his work occasionally to push hair from his eyes, or rub some warmth back into his frozen hands. But otherwise, there was no variation in his work, and it made for dull viewing.
+While her attention wandered, Kikimora saw that the pony, Grusha, was re-shod, and pulling a heavily laden cart down a track, which curled away further up the mountain, and out of sight. She skirted the muddy yard, and began to climb. As she drew close to the cart, the pony's weary head lifted, ears flicking back. The driver used his whip, muttering some coarse encouragement. Hesitantly, Kikimora lifted a hand to Grusha's dusty nose. The creature shied, half rearing in her harness. The cart tipped backwards, one wheel slipping from the road, and ore thumped down into the undergrowth.
+The driver gave vent to furious swearing. While a gaggle of boys were called up from the enclosure to help load the ore back onto the cart, Kikimora slipped from the scene, continuing up the track. After half a mile the road opened out into a muddy expanse, churned up by the passage of countless wheels and hooves. Beyond this the mountain yawned open, its mouth slick with runnels of frozen water.
+It had once simply been a large, natural cave. But Kikimora could see that a narrow tunnel had been extended back, deeper into the mountain. From the darkness issued ominous clanks and rumbles. She couldn't imagine what dire machinery would make those sounds.
+Running trembling fingers over the stone, she told herself that she must go into the mine, and see what was done there. Her throat felt dry, her stomach tight and fluttering, but she took a hesitant step forward. As she passed from sunlight into the shadow of the cave, she could taste the dankness in the air. The cold lay on her skin like a clammy embrace. Reminding herself that Anatoly and Leshy were counting on her, she took another step, and another.
+Before she had quite reached the tunnel a rasping, clanking noise drew rapidly closer, and a man emerged from the darkness wheeling a laden barrow. Kikimora hastily retreated out of his way. He rattled across the uneven floor, and towards the road. Finding the cart not yet returned from delivering the last load, he turned his face to the sky, and took out a small pipe. Kikimora decided that the mine could wait.
+As she approached the man his foul smoke tickled her nose. Rather than try to hold it back, she directed a thundering sneeze down the back of his neck.
+The man leapt up in alarm. "Feliks?" he growled. "Is that you?" He frowned at the empty clearing and silent trees, before sitting down again, and taking another puff on his pipe.
+Kikimora waited until he turned his suspicious glance away from her, and then gave a loud, harrumphing cough. Again the man wheeled around, glaring and grumbling. In one deft motion, she snatched the pipe from his hand and hurled it into the trees.
+"What the devil!" He searched the muddy ground around him, poking into icy puddles and amongst straggling vegetation, but found no sign of his pipe. His mouth continued to work soundlessly long after he had run out of words for his confusion.
+Kikimora retreated from his scrutiny, letting him hear her laughter. He was still scratching his head and muttering when the cart returned.
+"Damnedest thing, Mikhail," he told the driver. "Someone stole my pipe. Snatched it right from my hand – and I never saw a thing!"
+The other man joined in his grumbling, describing how Grusha had shied at nothing and thrown her load. "Don't know what's got into her today," he said. "She's normally so steady. Aren't you, girl?"
+He gave the pony an affectionate pat. But she whickered and stamped, eyes rolling nervously. "What is it, eh? Poor old girl." He squinted up at the low and scudding clouds. "Maybe she senses a change in the wind? Perhaps spring is coming at last?"
+"Maybe she's ready for the knacker's yard."
+"Nonsense, Feodor. Plenty of work left in you, isn't there, eh?" He rubbed the pony's nose, and she responded affectionately. But her flanks continued to shiver, and her legs to stamp.
+Kikimora knew she could spend all day scaring the pony so that she threw every cartload down the mountain - but found herself reluctant to upset the beast any further. Her argument was with the men running the mine, not the creatures they bent to their will.
+Instead she returned to the enclosure. For a time she sat in an out of the way spot and observed the comings and goings of the mine. She saw cartloads of dull, grey slag taken from the furnace sheds and dumped into shallow pools. Here they steamed and cracked, and small children sorted through the debris, picking out occasional pieces to be taken back in for re-smelting. The remainder was gathered up and discarded in piles beside the road. Twice she checked on Dmitri, but he was still closeted in the hut, grinding and grinding his powder ever finer.
+Whenever the opportunity presented itself she tripped people, frightened them, knocked loads from their arms and caused various small troubles.
+But the working of the mine was so vast, so complicated and organised that she began to see why Leshy and Anatoly had found it so hard to discourage the men. No matter what she pushed over, many hands came to pick it up. If one man was hurt, another took his place. The mine was like a wheel rolling loose down a hillside, stopping for nothing, and squashing all in its path.
+While she caused her small mischiefs, the day grew duller and more cold. Twilight began in the early afternoon, and gave way only gradually to full darkness. A bell was struck, signalling the end of the day. The men came down from the mine, iron tools slung across their shoulders. They joined with women and children into family groups, and headed down the icy road back to town.
+Dmitri emerged blinking from his hut. A fine, dark dust coated his face, clinging to the stubble on his jaw. He fastened the door with an iron padlock, then tucked his hands inside his coat, and trudged across the enclosure.
+Boris came out from the office, and that door too was locked. Dmitri bade goodnight to him, and exchanged a few words with a man swaddled in a thick coat and fur hat. While everyone else was hurrying home this man sat just inside one of the sheds, warming his hands at a brazier, and sucking on a thin pipe.
+"May you have a quiet night, Pieter," Dmitri said to him. He saddled his horse and clattered down the track, quickly leaving the other workers behind.
+As soon as he was out of sight, the night-watchman pulled a bottle and a thick slice of pie from his pack. He divided his attention equally between the two, but seemed to have little interest in anything occurring beyond his little shed.
+Kikimora set off after the workers, but had not gone far when she noticed a plump red squirrel chittering at her from a wasted elm tree. She paused, listening, and amongst its squirrelly noises, she distinctly heard her own name.
+"Leshy?" she asked. "Is that you?"
+The squirrel hopped down onto her shoulder, so that it could speak more comfortably into her ear. "You have seen it then?" he asked in a high, fluting voice.
+Kikimora nodded. "I never imagined it could be so noisy, so huge and busy."
+"It is like the Christians' Hell."
+Kikimora knew little of Christians, but she had heard of Hell, and shuddered at the thought of it.
+Leshy wanted to know what progress she had made, and what trouble she had caused. She quickly recalled all she had done that day, and he praised her cleverness.
+"And," she said proudly. "I have taken up residence with the man in charge of the mine."
+Leshy was impressed. "I knew you wouldn't let us down. Do you return there now, to torment him? Let him not have a moment's sleep. Pull his hair and tickle his toes and blow down his neck. Rattle his furniture and bang his pots and pans. Do your banshee wail. That will scare him! He'll not sleep a wink after that."
+He bounded back into the trees, quickly disappearing, and Kikimora carried on down the road. When she reached the town she found Dmitri's little house dark and empty. She let herself inside. The stove was still cold, and there was no sign of a meal being prepared. Though tired and hungry, she went back out into the falling snow, slipping silently through the streets until she reached the tavern. It was again noisy and bustling, but there was no music that night, and she could not see Dmitri through the steamed up windows.
+Wearier than ever, she returned to his house. "How can I torment him if he isn't here?"
+She noticed some fresh supplies Mrs Zubrev must have brought in that morning, and began to poke through them with interest. There was walnut bread, spiced sausage and a tangy white cheese. Investigating the rest of the cupboard, she found a jar of preserved peppers, dried fruits and herbs, some withered onions, and a tin of fragrant tea. A covered jar of milk was kept in a cool recess of the wall. In the cupboard beneath the stairs she found several jars of wine and beer, washing soda, and a small supply of kindling.
+"The least I can do is squander his resources," Kikimora decided, and began to rake out the ashes from the stove. This was a job she did daily back home in Anatoly's cottage, and she had become adept at cleaning the entire stove without spilling a dash of soot.
+Having done so, she recalled that it was not her business to keep the mine manager's home clean, but rather to consternate him. She hesitated a moment before upending the bucket, strewing the ashes across the tiled floor. Barinya had raised her to keep a tidy home, and such carelessness seemed shameful to her. But it was a part of her task, and therefore necessary, she supposed.
+But she quickly tired of walking across the ashes, which proved effective at working themselves into the tender places between her toes. Returning to the cupboard beneath the stairs, she found a brush and swept the mess into the corner, muttering crossly to herself as she did so.
+At last the fire was lit, and the little room began to warm. Kikimora wanted very much to sit and eat some of the fresh bread and cheese, but her hands were filthy, and so she climbed the stairs to see if she could find a washbasin in the room above.
+There were no windows, but she could see well even in the dimmest lights; Barinya had often joked that she must be part cat. The room held a wooden framed bed, a chest and a dresser. On top of the dresser stood a wash basin and a jug of water. As she crossed the room towards it, Kikimora was startled by a pale shape looming suddenly from the shadows. She gave a little cry, before realising it was only a small mirror hanging on the wall. Feeling foolish, she crossed the room and peered into the dull, tarnished glass.
+Anatoly owned an ancient, black-spotted looking glass, and used it when he shaved his whiskers, but Kikimora had seldom had cause to look at herself. Peering into Dmitri's mirror, she couldn't help recalling that in Barinya's stories the heroine was always beautiful – whether she was a princess, a milkmaid, or a poor woodcutter's daughter.
+She thought the face in the mirror looked very little like a heroine. It was pale and narrow, the eyes very large, the mouth narrow and thin. Peering out of the darkness, it reminded Kikimora of some startled nocturnal creature.
+She supposed she could do little about that, but she could at least tidy herself up. Her plaits had come loose, and bedraggled hair fell across her face. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and sooty smudges on her cheeks.
+The water in the washbasin was ice cold, and not fresh, but it was better than nothing. She washed her face and her hands, then untied what remained of her plaits, borrowing Dmitri's silver comb to pull the tangles out.
+Returning downstairs, she poured a cup of wine, and took a sip. It was strong and rich and slightly sweet. She cut two slices of bread, some cheese and sausage. She opened the jar of peppers and gave them a cautious sniff. She liked pickled cabbage, but this was not a food she had encountered before. Selecting one of the thin red peppers, she took a bite - and immediately coughed it onto the floor. She took a long drink of her wine, but it somehow fuelled the fire in her mouth, spreading all the way down her throat, and even out of her ears.
+Throwing the lid from the jar, she gulped down mouthfuls of cool milk, until the fire in her throat began to subside. Wiping tears from her eyes, she felt a new respect for men, and their strange tricks.
+She retrieved the half-chewed pepper from the ashes, and dropped it into the milk jar. At last she sat before the fire, and let her eyes fall closed. She no longer wanted her wine. She ate one slice of bread and a small chunk of cheese, then yawned hugely.
+Leaving the bottle, the cup and the platter on the tabletop, Kikimora curled up behind the stove and fell instantly asleep.
+***
+Dmitri urged Agnesse on through the trees. The snow whipped and whirled around them so that he could hardly see the path. He cursed the saltpetre merchant for causing him to go out in such weather.
+Agnesse whinnied and wheeled round, and he cursed her too, before realising she knew the route better than he did. He had ridden right past the crossroads without turning. If the horse hadn't known the way, they might have carried on further into the forest, where were many bogs and unwholesome places. That was certainly no place to be at night in foul weather.
+"Good girl." He patted Agnesse's neck, letting her lead the way.
+There were few lights on in Kirev House, and no one in the stables. Dmitri saw to Agnesse himself, before going through into the kitchen. "Hello?" he called. "Irinka? Bettina?"
+Something on the stove bubbled and smelled enticing. Dmitri's stomach growled, and he drew closer. He had the spoon half way to his mouth, when Bettina entered the room. She gave a cry, and almost dropped her stack of plates.
+Dmitri apologised for startling her, and asked if the family were at home. Bettina said they were just having their pudding. "Shall I announce you?"
+He glanced again at the stove top. "I suppose a bowl would be out of the question?"
+"Have you had no dinner, Master Dmitri? Is there no one to look after you in town? Why ever you felt the need to move away from Irinka's fine cooking, I cannot understand."
+Dmitri swiftly cleaned out the bowl she handed him, assuring her it was not Irinka's cooking he had moved away from.
+Irinka entered the kitchen, laden with more trays and glasses from upstairs. She gave Dmitri a sharp look. "So it was something else you needed to escape?"
+Dmitri opened his mouth and closed it again. Irinka gave a soft laugh. "It is good to see you again, Master Dmitri. You neglect us, now you're such a big man around town."
+"It is more convenient for me to live in town," Dmitri said uncomfortably. "It is closer to the mine, for one thing, and-"
+Both the serving women began to laugh. "Don't take on so, lad," Irinka advised. "Don't you have a kiss for me?"
+Dmitri blushed at how easily he was teased, but he rose and planted a kiss on the older woman's cheek. She held his arms and studied him, saying, "You're thin. And tired. You don't look after yourself." This time she was not teasing. "Are you sleeping?"
+"Yes, Irinka."
+"But probably drinking too much?"
+Dmitri glanced towards Bettina for help, but the younger servant only shrugged, an amused look on her face. She would not dare take such liberties with the young master herself, but Irinka was practically one of the family. She had helped to raise Dmitri and his sister even before their mother's death. When Mr Rachmanov hatched his scheme to reopen Korsakov's old mine, she had made the journey along with them. She had also brought her own son, Vitali, who worked in the stables, the gardens, and wherever he was needed.
+Irinka took Dmitri's silence for agreement, murmuring, "The apple does not fall far from the tree."
+To change the subject, Dmitri said it was a good thing he'd moved to town, and didn't have to find his way through these cursed trees every night. "I almost lost my way just this evening. Luckily Agnesse has more sense than I."
+Irinka said she wouldn't argue with that, but Bettina begged him to be careful. "Those who lose their way in the forest don't come back. The Leshy finds them and then – God help them!"
+"If I encounter the Leshy I will ask him politely for directions."
+"It will take more than politeness," Irinka told him. "Once, men left offerings for the forest beings. These days they are neglectful, and that angers them."
+"Then perhaps I will offer him a cake," Dmitri said carelessly, pecking another kiss on her cheek. "That ought to do the trick? Now, I expect my father will have finished his pudding."
+He let himself into the drawing room. Stanislav Rachmanov was seated in the wing chair beside the hearth, one leg raised on a plain stool. He harrumphed over a political pamphlet, and took a long drink of claret.
+"I shall need another bottle," he called, hearing the door.
+"Then you shall have it, Father." Dmitri tugged the bell-pull.
+His sister, Yana, looked up from her embroidery. "Dmitri! How good to see you."
+Dmitri said warmly that it was good to see her too. While they embraced he whispered, "And how is he?"
+Yana gave a rueful smile. "As well as can be expected."
+"To what do we owe this pleasure?" growled Stanislav, turning awkwardly in his chair.
+"Father," Dmitri said, giving a small bow. "Are you well?"
+Stanislav replied that his health was tolerable. "I won't get up," he added, tapping a cane against his raised leg. "Damned gout's playing the merry devil with me again."
+Dmitri said he was sorry to hear it, and asked if there was anything he could do, but his father waved away his concern, asserting that he was otherwise fit as a butcher's dog.
+Vitali arrived with another bottle of claret, and Dmitri exchanged greetings with him while he filled three glasses.
+Stanislav said, "I'm sure you didn't ride through the forest on such a night to ask after my health?"
+"No, Father," Dmitri admitted. "I have to speak to you regarding the mine."
+Stanislav replaced his glass heavily on the side table, and turned to fully face his son. The firelight glinted on his one good eye, throwing runnels of shadow down the scarred side of his face. "What trouble are you in now?"
+"As you know, Father, there is war just over the border-"
+"I read the pamphlets. Where is this going?"
+"The soldiers need gunpowder for their muskets and cannon-"
+"Spit it out, boy. I am no nervous maiden to be courted so carefully."
+Dmitri puffed out a sigh. "Markovic has increased his price."
+"The damned villain!" Stanislav growled, slapping his palm against the chair arm. "What is he charging? Sixteen? Seventeen?"
+"Nineteen per barrel."
+Yana winced at the vociferous swearing which followed. Stanislav finally broke off, coughing. He snatched up his wine, draining it at a gulp. As he replaced the glass, his maimed fingers fumbled, and it tipped over. He grumbled at Yana as she leapt to retrieve it, insisting he could manage perfectly well himself. Yana apologised, but set the glass upright, refilling it, and placing it close to his hand.
+"We should have got into saltpetre manufacture ourselves," Stanislav said, when his anger had died down. "I thought about it, long ago, when we first came here. But there was so much else to do. Think of it. We could be virtually self-sufficient. We have the forest for charcoal. We'd still need to buy in sulphur, but it has never posed the difficulties saltpetre has. You should look into it," he decided. "I'd like to see Markovic's face when you tell him you don't need his overpriced rubbish any more."
+"Make our own saltpetre? But its manufacture requires very specific conditions. That's why it is so scarce, and so valuable."
+"That's precisely why we should control it!"
+"But we would need capital to set up-"
+Stanislav narrowed his eyes. "No pioneering spirit, that's your problem, boy. No ambition. You've never been hungry, not like I was at your age."
+"Father, you're being unfair," said Yana. "Haven't you always been proud of how far you have risen? That you could spare us the hardships of your own childhood? You cannot now criticise Dmitri for the ease of the life you were able to provide for us."
+Yana kept her tone light and teasing, but Stanislav turned on her angrily. "We're discussing business now, girl. Leave us."
+Yana's mouth set in a straight line. She rose, gathering a once-elegant shawl around her shoulders. "It was lovely to see you, Dmitri. You must come for dinner on Sunday. We will not discuss any business," she added pointedly. "Only pleasant matters."
+Dmitri smiled apologetically, and promised he would come. Once Yana had left, he and his father got down to discussing precisely how much extra money was required to keep the mine open. Stanislav's estimate was none.
+"You must make the books balance. If costs go up, payments must come down. How many men do you employ as charcoal burners? Couldn't boys do that at a fraction of the wage?"
+Dmitri shook his head. "The men rely on their wages. I can't simply turf them out and replace them with boys."
+His father told him that leadership required hard decisions. "They are your employees, not your friends. Though the confusion is understandable when you spend your nights carousing with them in the local tavern."
+The discussion grumbled on for an hour or more. Dmitri eventually received grudging assurances that he would have the money he needed to cover the increased expense of the saltpetre. He had drained his third glass of claret, and was already rising from his chair, when Stanislav poured him another.
+"What's the rush, boy?" he asked, in a tone softer than he had yet used that evening. "Stay a while. Keep me company."
+"Of course, Father."
+Dmitri sat back down and lifted his glass. Stanislav was silent a while, staring into the dying fire. Eventually he said, "When I am gone, all of it will be yours. The house, the mine, the knowledge. The debts, the mortgage..."
+He twisted the wineglass in his left hand - the missing digits on his right made subtle gestures difficult. "When we came here ten years ago I looked for partners in this grand endeavour. I told them gunpowder would be the future. I told them how rich we would be. I went to the banker, Nevsky. To Rudov, the landowner. To any in town with capital to invest. They all thought I was mad. They said I'd kill myself and all foolish enough to set explosions underground."
+None of this was news to Dmitri, but he appreciated that his father had mellowed into a more reflective mood, and he was happy to listen.
+"And it seemed they were right. For a time it seemed God himself bore us ill will. I might have given up. When the pumps continually broke, flooding the lower levels. When the furnace house burned down... But I would not be beaten! I would not give in. I put all of my money into Yanochka, and made it back within two years. I doubled it the next year. Then they started asking if I needed investors! But I didn't. I did it all on my own.
+"Every time I see Nevsky now he offers to buy shares, to enter into partnerships. And I tell him, no. I'd rather borrow at his outrageous rates than cut him into my profits. He had his chance."
+Dmitri knew how strongly his father felt about this, though he had never felt the matter so keenly himself. In the early days it had not troubled him one way or another. But Yanochka's output had been declining steadily for the past few years, and the Rachmanov's fortune dwindling. Intrusions of ironstone made the mining slow and expensive. They spent more in speculation than they received back in profit. The house was mortgaged. Many of the rooms were empty, their contents sold.
+He thought it was high time to move past this old grudge and accept what financial help was offered. He had put it to his father several times in the past. But he kept his peace tonight, lacking the energy for another argument.
+"When I am gone," his father said again. "Don't parcel up your inheritance and divide it between those vultures."
+Dmitri frowned, unwilling to make the promise, but moved by his father's confiding manner. He said, "But you're not going anywhere, surely? Fit as a butcher's dog, I thought?"
+Stanislav gave a hollow laugh and drained his glass. "They don't like us because we weren't born to wealth." Dmitri understood he meant the local aristocracy. "Count Rudov was happy enough to sell me this house, to rent me the land. But he wanted nothing more than that to do with us – made that very clear.
+"I earned my fortune in the courts of Europe, creating the finest firework spectacles ever seen. I danced to the tune of Kings, Princes and Lords, and I did it so well I need never dance to anyone else's tune again. We owe it all to the gunpowder – the great leveller. What else could have brought wealth and power into the hands of an artisan like me?
+"No, they'll never accept me in high society. But you and your sister, you have a chance. You could be respectable. But only if you act the part. If you stop all your tomfoolery in taverns. It's time you settled down. There are several fine families in town. Who's that lady with all the handsome daughters? Olgakov? You could do worse than one of her brood."
+Dmitri coughed a little into his wine. "Father, I-"
+"It would help your sister too, if you were to make an advantageous match. She is no longer in the first flush of youth and, as you know-" Stanislav trailed off, frowning. The small pox which had killed Dmitri's mother had also left Yana heavily scarred. She was consequently considered very plain and pitiable by the people of Korsakov. Even with a fair dowry, Dmitri knew her prospects were not good.
+Stanislav gave a short, bitter laugh. "Perhaps the best that can be said is she is more handsome than me!"
+"Yana has many fine qualities," Dmitri said stiffly. He was uncomfortable discussing his sister in such a blunt manner. It did not seem gentlemanly. "She would be an admirable match for any man of discernment."
+"And yet," Stanislav said. "No suitors come calling."
+Dmitri passed through the kitchen again on his way to the stables, and surprised Bettina pouring out a small dish of milk. She became so flustered and embarrassed that Dmitri asked what she was doing. Bettina pleaded with him not to tell his father, for he would become fearfully angry.
+"Tell him what?"
+Irinka lifted the bowl up onto a high shelf and dropped a crust of bread into it. "Your father doesn't approve of the old ways," she said. "But we keep the household spirits happy and our milk doesn't sour. Our hens don't stop laying. The chimney has not blown down in ten years. We mind our business. They minds theirs."
+"It is only a small bowl of milk, after all," Bettina said. "You won't tell him, will you?"
+Dmitri frowned and shook his head. "You do this often?"
+"It used to be done everywhere," Irinka told him. "Throughout the land. We women remember." She pressed a package of seedcake into his hands, and promised to make his favourite spiced goulash when he visited on Sunday.
+Dmitri thanked her for the cake. The sky had cleared, and the wind dropped. It was bitterly cold, a hard crust already forming on the snow. Agnesse picked her way carefully through the deep drifts, shuddering a little - though whether from the cold or some disquiet it was hard to tell.
+Dmitri gave her her head, trusting her to lead him safely home. He was exhausted from sparring with his father, worried by his worsening health, and by Yana's situation. It was no life for her, cooped up alone in that big house, nursing their crotchety father.
+He experienced a familiar twinge of guilt. He had fled the oppressive old house the first chance he got, leaving Yana to cope alone with the oppressive old man. She insisted she was quite content with the situation, but Dmitri found that hard to believe.
+He was almost asleep in the saddle when he reached town. The gates were closed for the night, but the watchmen recognised him, and a few coins bought his entrance.
+He slipped once more into reverie, letting Agnesse find her way to the tavern, where he stabled her, before making his way through the silent, frozen streets towards home. He opened the door onto a scene of unexpectedly cosy domesticity. The little front room was warm and bright, the stove aglow, lanterns lit. Bread and meat were laid out on the table, and a jar of wine.
+"Bless you, Mrs Zubrev," Dmitri said, sinking into his plain wooden chair and stretching his frozen feet towards the stove. He didn't appear to notice the ashes on the floor, or the wine spilled across the table top.
+He sipped the wine, nibbled a piece of bread, and dozed off where he sat.
+***
+Kikimora was curled warm and snug behind the stove when Dmitri arrived home. She woke with a start as the door opened and cold air rushed into the room. She watched Dmitri collapse into a chair, enjoying the warmth and the wine - and realised that her attempt to unsettle him had failed utterly.
+His breathing soon settled to the gentle, regular rhythm of sleep. Kikimora crept out from her alcove and slipped round behind his chair. He had looked pale and exhausted when he arrived home. In sleep his face relaxed and, despite his stubbled jaw and shadowed eyes, she could see that he was really not very old at all.
+"Old enough to poison the mountain streams," she murmured. "Old enough to drive away every living creature from the vicinity of his cursed mine." She crouched, gently pulling back the collar of his shirt, and blew icy breath down his neck.
+Dmitri lurched upright almost before he knew he was awake. He rubbed his head, frowning at the seemingly empty kitchen. After a long and cavernous yawn he came to his senses, extinguishing the lights and trudging up the stairs to his bed.
+Kikimora followed a few paces behind. She reached the top storey just as he dragged his shirt over his head and began to unfasten his breeches. For a moment she paused, watching uncertainly. Then she fled down the stairs and back behind the still warm stove. Neither she nor Dmitri noticed how the steps creaked beneath her feet.
+The next day they each made their separate ways to the mine. Kikimora spent some time investigating the various storage sheds and workshops. She noted where the gunpowder was kept – under lock and key, and at a distance from the other buildings.
+Around mid morning Dmitri left his office and entered the furnace house. Kikimora followed him. There were three furnaces in the tall stone building, though only one currently in use. Sweat and soot streaked the faces of two men feeding charcoal into the glowing interior. A huge pair of bellows, as long as a man was tall was powered by the waterwheel outside, causing the flames to leap and roar.
+Kikimora hesitated in the doorway, afraid to come too close to the monstrous oven. The fierce heat seemed to thrum in the air. The smell was overpowering, and unlike anything she had ever encountered in her forest home: dust and smoke and boiling metal – a hellish brew.
+Dmitri asked how the roasting progressed, and the eldest man took off his hat, wiping black sweat from his brow before answering that all was going nicely, thank you – not that it couldn't be better, if finer charcoal could be bought, or a second bellows attached to the furnace...
+Dmitri smiled; these were familiar complaints. "And how is your youngest now, Andras? Better, I trust?"
+"Thank you, Sir, yes. Alexis is recovered from his croup, and back on the dressing floor today. His mother swears he began to revive as soon as he had that warm broth you sent round."
+Dmitri said he was glad to hear it. He lingered beside the furnace for a little while, watching the bellows pump and the fire roar. There was something thrilling to him in the unbridled energy of the fire, something untamed. It was a similar feeling to when he played the wild Gypsy music his father so disapproved of. It lifted his heart and made his blood pound. It made him see beyond the dreary round of management tasks, and lift his eyes to the bright sun and scudding clouds, to the wheeling, crying birds...
+"Is there anything else I can help you with, Sir?"
+"No," said Dmitri. "Please carry on." Almost at the door, he noticed something odd. The floor was stone flagged, and still cold despite the furnace. Just inside the door were a pair of wet footprints, long and bare, each toe quite distinct. Dmitri glanced back at the men working the furnace. They both wore stout boots. He knew that a few of the smallest and poorest children working in the sorting sheds went barefoot even in winter, but these were not the prints of a child. They belonged to feet almost as long as his own. Puzzled, he scuffed the wet mark with his leather boot, glanced once more at the furnace men, and went out into the yard.
+Midday came, and the workers sat on low benches to eat their bread and dried sausage. While the furnace was momentarily unattended, Kikimora unlatched its door, letting cold air blow in. She raked out charcoal and melted ore onto the floor then, hearing the men return from their break, drew back into the shadows. As furious accusations began to fly, she slipped out into the frozen yard. Before long Boris came down from the office to see what the commotion was about, and Kikimora took the opportunity to dodge through the closing door.
+Dmitri sat at his desk. Reams of paper were spread before him, filled with columns of tiny, crabbed writing. He was slumped forward, head on his palm, muttering to himself, crossing things out, writing them back in, and sighing quite a lot.
+"I don't know how I shall ever make any savings." he said to himself. "There simply isn't enough money coming in." Pushing back his chair, he prowled around the small room, rubbing wearily at his head and making his hair stick up more wildly than ever. Kikimora drew back into the corner behind a cupboard.
+There came a knock at the door and Dmitri called, "Enter."
+A large man came into the office. He was broad across the shoulders, with the pale, hardy look men had who spent their lives doing hard work underground. He snatched off his cap, giving a quick dip of his head.
+"Feliks," said Dmitri, in some surprise. "Is anything amiss?"
+"No," said Feliks uncertainly. "That is, something seems to be going on in the furnace shed, but Boris is there. I'm sure he has it under control."
+"Then..?"
+"It's about my nephew," Feliks said.
+"Which nephew would that be?"
+"Sergei. He's a good, steady lad. Bright, too."
+Dmitri waited for further information, but none came, so he said, "I'm pleased to hear it."
+"His father is gone, as you know."
+Dmitri recalled the man. He had been honest and hard-working, but an inflammation of the lungs had taken him the previous winter. Several of his children as well as his widow all worked at Yanochka. "A terrible loss," he said. "For his family, and for all of us. How is your sister, Erzsabet?"
+"Well enough," said Feliks. "But Sergei, he's been coughing up blood. Like his father used to – not so bad though. Not yet. He says he's fine. He's the oldest of the five. They rely on his wages. I was thinking..."
+Dmitri put down his pen. "What were you thinking, Feliks?"
+The older man frowned, struggling to find the words he wanted. "He's a bright boy," he said again. "He knows his letters. And numbers. He's a quick learner. And reliable. You could set him any task at all."
+Dmitri realised what Feliks was asking. He said nothing for a time while he considered what could be done.
+Perhaps Feliks mistook his silence for reluctance. "It's the damp down there," he explained. "And the poor air. Some of us-" He rapped a fist on his own chest. "Built like oxen! But Sergei - he doesn't have my constitution. The boy'll be dead before twenty if he carries on as he is."
+Dmitri nodded. "If your nephew is as capable as you say, then I'm sure a role could be found for him grass-side. I can't guarantee it would pay as well-" He broke off as Feliks lunged forward and grasped him by the arm, pumping mightily.
+"Thank you, Sir! You won't regret it. I'll send him over to see you, shall I?"
+Dmitri barely had chance to reply before Feliks was out of the door, the cap rammed back on his head, and grinning from ear to ear. He picked up his pen once more, scratching his head and frowning over his papers.
+Boris threw open the door, roaring as fiercely as the North Wind. He cursed the smelters' incompetence, raging about the waste of fuel and the time lost. "You want to make savings?" he asked Dmitri. "Fire Andras and his idiot friend!"
+Dmitri spoke to him calmly until he had mostly stopped shouting. He poured the foreman a glass of something clear and strong, then asked what the matter was.
+Boris emptied his glass and sank into a seat before the meagre fire. As he recounted what he knew of the incident, Dmitri poured another glass.
+"Each blames the other, of course. Now Andras has a bloody nose, and Orlo a black eye."
+"A stupid accident," Dmitri muttered, shaking his head. "I can't understand it. Andras has worked here fifteen years. He knows his business well."
+"Then he's careless," Boris snapped. "They might have burned the whole place to the ground. Such an oversight is unforgivable. You must dock their wages at least."
+The frown settled deeper on Dmitri's face, and he said unhappily that he would think on it. Boris was right, of course. But he was reluctant to cause further hardship in what were already hard times. Perhaps his father was right as well? He was too soft to manage men. That thought made him sigh some more.
+It was a few minutes before he thought to ask where the two smelters were now, and who was watching the ovens.
+"I sent them home," Boris said. "I've put Jeronim in charge for now. He's steady."
+Kikimora was pleased to hear she had caused so much upset and anger. Determined to build on her success, she slipped from her quiet corner. As she passed Dmitri's desk she gave his papers a furtive nudge and tipped over his ink pot.
+"Blast it!" he cried, leaping to his feet.
+In the ensuing chaos, she threw open the door and ran into the yard. For the remainder of the afternoon she tripped people, whispered taunts into their ears, then laughed in what she hoped was a sinister manner.
+By the end of the day, several of the mine workers were muttering about evil spirits and bad luck. Pleased with her progress, Kikimora returned to the office, throwing open the door and blustering in on the cold breeze.
+"What is wrong with that damned latch?" muttered Boris, pulling on his coat. "I've never known the wind to open it before."
+"Perhaps the mechanism has loosened?"
+Boris said he would look at it tomorrow. "So," he returned to their earlier conversation. "Will I tell them they needn't come back?"
+Dmitri paused in packing papers into his case. He met Boris' gaze. "Put them on the dressing floor. They can cause no trouble there. Cut their pay accordingly."
+Boris nodded. If he thought Dmitri too lenient his face didn't betray it.
+***
+As Kikimora arrived back at Dmitri's little house she could see the welcoming glow of firelight through the shutters, smoke curling away from his chimney into the blustery night. She paid no attention to a smart carriage clipping down the narrow street, until it pulled up outside his house.
+A liveried footman climbed down from the bench and opened the carriage door. There was some puffing and sighing, the carriage swayed alarmingly, and finally a richly dressed lady climbed down into the street. She was of middle years and exceedingly broad.
+She was followed by a lady's maid who cradled a basket in one hand, and with the other knocked timidly on the door. There was no answer from within, so the lady stepped forward and rapped with her own large fist.
+Dmitri opened the door in his shirt sleeves. "Mrs Olgakov. What a surprise." Kikimora thought his voice held as much dismay as surprise. Surreptitiously, he rolled down his shirt cuffs, and attempted to smooth his hair – though without success.
+The lady beamed. "Mr Rachmanov, I'm so glad to find you at home." She swept into the room, swiftly followed by her maid and by Kikimora. Her sharp gaze took in the bare furniture, the cracked tiles, and a half empty bottle of vodka standing on the table beside sheaves of ink-stained papers. She ignored Dmitri's offer of a seat, and stood before the small stove.
+"It is altogether far too long since you joined us at supper," she announced, her tone at once accusing and rather flirtatious.
+Dmitri began to stammer an apology. He found Mrs Olgakov a little overwhelming at the best of times, but recalling his father's advice that one of her daughters would make an admirable wife caused him to trip over his words with embarrassment.
+Mrs Olgakov's smooth voice swept over his like butter over bread. "We must remedy this situation at your earliest convenience, don't you think?"
+He had time only to make some polite but non-committal noises before Mrs Olgakov continued, "And you must play for us again. The girls would be thrilled. Do you know, my Seraphina has taken up the spinet, and I think you will find that she is already quite accomplished."
+"Oh?" said Dmitri politely.
+"The two of you must duet! Oh, say you will, Mr Rachmanov?"
+Dmitri smiled in a strained manner, eventually realising that his visitor had stopped speaking for long enough this time that she expected an answer. "It would be my honour and pleasure."
+"Then shall we say Sunday?"
+"Ah," sighed Dmitri. "If only I could. But I regret I have a prior engagement this Sunday."
+Mrs Olgakov looked put out for only a moment, before deciding on a date a few weeks later. "My dear boy, you need looking after." She leaned closer, and said with some significance, "You need a wife. This place is not fit for one of your filthy miners."
+Dmitri gave a weak smile, wondering if his father had already spoken to Mrs Olgakov.
+"Since clearly no one looks after you, I took it upon myself to bring you some supper." She gestured to her lady's maid, who lifted an earthenware casserole from the basket. "Here are some pork dumplings made in my own kitchen this morning, and I assure you they are quite delicious. We must feed you up. You are likely to waste away at this rate."
+After she had left, Dmitri sank groaning into his chair, and knocked back the remainder of his vodka. "Well," he murmured. "Father will be pleased, at least."
+He picked up his papers once more, but looked at them for only a few minutes before his gaze was diverted back to the casserole. The dumplings were cold, but smelled very good. Kikimora too found herself craning forward to sniff the pot.
+It would have been the work of a few minutes to warm them at the stove, but Dmitri picked one of the cold dumplings up in his ink-stained fingers, and popped it whole into his mouth. He rapidly ate several more while continuing to study his papers.
+Kikimora hovered behind him, covetously eyeing the dumplings, and hoping he might leave one or two. He was so engrossed in his papers she doubted he would notice her taking one now; but she didn't quite dare risk it.
+She knew from her studies that the best time to unnerve a man was in the still hours of the night, when every safe, familiar thing seems remote and obscure. A simple trick may take on ominous overtones at this time, where in the waking hours rational explanations can more readily be found. Therefore, she did not spend her energies in disturbing his evening, but was content to bide her time until the night.
+Dmitri closed the folder with heavy finality. He drained his latest glass of vodka, and went upstairs to bed. Kikimora waited only a few moments before pouncing on the casserole and helping herself to the remaining food. She hadn't eaten since the day before, and Mrs Olgakov, however overbearing her manner, was right about one thing; the dumplings were delicious.
+When she had eaten, Kikimora inspected Dmitri's small collection of cutlery, selecting a long copper ladle. Above the stove hung two iron pans, one large and one small. She swung the ladle against the smaller pan. The resultant clang was quite a timorous sound, but it seemed horribly loud to Kikimora, its chime carrying in the still kitchen, and only gradually dying away.
+She waited for any movement or shouts of alarm from upstairs. But there was nothing, and so after a moment she struck the pan again, clang. She beat the larger pot, which gave off a far more impressive and resonant, bong.
+The floorboards creaked in the room above. Dmitri appeared at the top of the stairs, his candle illuminating little more than his face and pale linen nightshirt. "Hello?"
+Kikimora threw the ladle down on the floor, retreating to a corner.
+"Is someone there?" As he descended the stairs, Dmitri's gaze fell on Mrs Olgakov's casserole, its lid awry, and the insides picked clean. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully, glancing once more around the room.
+Kikimora pressed herself back into the shadowy corner. It had been fun to tease Feodor outside the mine entrance when she had the whole forest to run and hide in. But it was different in Dmitri's small house. Although she was accomplished at going unnoticed, she felt suddenly trapped and wary.
+Dmitri stooped to retrieve the ladle, hanging it back upon its hook. He unlatched the front door, looking up and down the empty street. "Hmm," he said again, a frown settling on his brow. He held the candle high, peering into the empty corners of the room, then returned upstairs.
+Kikimora waited until he had climbed back into his bed and extinguished the candle. Soon his breathing took on the regular rhythm of sleep. She seized the ladle once more and began to beat a primitive tune upon the two pans, clang-clang bong clang bong-bong clang!
+At once Dmitri leapt from his bed and down the stairs. "Who's there?" he said, wielding the pewter candlestick threateningly. "Make yourself known." He peered into the darkness, making occasional feints with the candlestick, jumping at imagined sounds.
+While he lunged suddenly towards the stove, Kikimora smacked the back of his head with the ladle. He cried out, and spun round, sweeping the candlestick before him, jabbing at his unseen assailant.
+Kikimora retreated to the stairs, watching him dance and lunge across the kitchen. At last it seemed that no further assault was forthcoming, and he cautiously set down the candlestick, while fumbling with his tinder box. It took a moment for him to conjure a light. Once the candle was lit he held it aloft, peering again all around the kitchen – which appeared to be quite empty.
+He ran a hand through his hair, muttering profanities. At last he returned upstairs, but the candle remained lit, and his breath irregular. Kikimora took the empty vodka bottle from the table and dropped it on the floor. Again Dmitri appeared on the stairs. He descended cautiously, the lighted candle held before him.
+Observing the shattered bottle he murmured that some devilry was surely at work here. "Begone!" he said. "Whatever you are. Leave me be."
+He swept the debris into the corner of the room, only once yelping as he trod on a piece of broken glass. Cursing and growling he kindled a blaze in the stove, then returned upstairs momentarily to fetch a blanket and a book. Settling himself before the stove, he began to read. Every so often he glanced up from his book, checking that all was as it should be. It wasn't long before his eyes began to close. His head drooped onto his chest and the book fell shut on his lap.
+Kikimora crept out once more from behind the stove. The blanket was tucked up tight around his head, but his feet poked free. She waited until he had slipped into a steady sleep before darting forward and whipping off his socks. He only twitched and grumbled, but didn't wake. She threw his socks inside the stove, then softly drew a finger down his instep. At the first stroke, Dmitri's foot twitched; at the second he twitched again, and gave a little giggle in his sleep. The third time, he leapt on top of his chair with a cry.
+He demanded to know what the unseen presence wanted with him, cursed it colourfully, then retrieved the smoking embers of his socks. At last, grumbling, he settled down once more before the stove.
+It was a long night, both for Dmitri and Kikimora. She lost count of how many times she disturbed his sleep, but at last her own exhaustion was overwhelming, and she lay down behind the still warm stove.
+It seemed that no more than a moment passed before Mrs Zubrev threw the door open, letting in the sharp winter wind. Dmitri grumbled from deep within the blanket. His housekeeper regarded him without pity. "Did you forget the way to your bed?" she asked, banging open the shutters.
+He groaned, recoiling from the cold and light. As he came to full wakefulness, he leapt from his seat, throwing off the blanket. Mrs Zubrev exclaimed at the sight of his bare legs, and threw a hand before her eyes.
+"Mrs Zubrev, you were right!" he said. "There is something in here – some presence. It has tormented me throughout the night, so that I barely slept. It burned my favourite socks!"
+"And did it take your sense of decency? For the love of God, boy, cover yourself up."
+Dmitri muttered an apology, gathering the blanket around himself once more. "So what do you think, Mrs Zubrev? What must I do?"
+"First you must wash your face," the housekeeper told him. "Find a clean shirt, if you can. I believe I bought you two back from the laundry on Monday."
+"About the... thing?"
+Mrs Zubrev took up a brush, and began to clear the pile of ashes and broken glass from the corner of the room. "There are a few methods you might try," she said. "Firstly you could burn dried grasses and cow dung in every corner of the house, saying the Lord's prayer and chewing garlic. That might discourage them. Or, of course, it might just make them angry. If that doesn't work, you can make an effigy of river clay and fresh wheat – as fresh as you can find it, at any rate. Take it to the church and have the Father bless it, and then you must bury it beneath the threshold."
+"Do you know what it is then?" Dmitri asked. "What is causing all this upset?"
+"Household spirits," said Mrs Zubrev. "Or call them Satan's imps. They're one and the same."
+"But I understood household spirits could be befriended, and then would help around the house and protect it from evil?"
+Mrs Zubrev crossed herself. "Once, people thought so – before they correctly understood the teachings of our Lord."
+"Suppose someone did want to appease the spirits. They would leave out a dish of milk, perhaps?"
+Mrs Zubrev gave him a sharp look. "In the old days people left out bread and salt. Sometimes a small glass of good wine. They spoke kindly to the spirits and treated them with respect."
+Dmitri poured himself a glass of milk and asked why it was no longer done. Mrs Zubrev said it wasn't proper, Christian behaviour, and could only lead to troubles and ungodliness. Taking a gulp of the milk, Dmitri grimaced and spat it onto the floor.
+"It is never off?" Mrs Zubrev asked. "I brought it in fresh on Monday."
+Dmitri sniffed the pot uncertainly, and offered it to the housekeeper to judge. She waved it away, saying she'd trust his senses. "So, it has soured your milk. You still want to tame this spirit? Or drive it back to Hell?"
+Dmitri left soon afterwards, and Kikimora followed. A brisk wind brought down flurries of ice crystals, flinging them at her face, and snatching her skirt out behind her. But the cold revived her a little. Arriving at the mine, she managed to pass entire minutes without yawning.
+Getting straight to work, she tripped a boy carrying candles, threw snow on the blacksmith's brazier, and loosened the cord on a man's breeches, so that they fell around his ankles. While his companions laughed and whistled, Kikimora noticed a boy standing outside Dmitri's office. He took a moment to smooth his hair, then he dusted his shirt cuffs, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the door.
+"Enter," Dmitri called.
+Kikimora slipped inside behind the boy, who said, "If you please, Sir, my uncle Feliks-"
+"Sergei, isn't it? Have a seat."
+The boy nodded, and sat on a wooden stool. He didn't fidget as Feliks had, but sat still and straight-backed, looking steadily ahead. When Dmitri asked, the boy told him he was fourteen years old. He had been working at Yanochka for the past eight years; two below ground.
+"Your uncle said that you can read?"
+"A little. My Uncle Matthias is a clerk. He taught me some."
+Dmitri said he was lucky to have so many uncles interested in his welfare.
+"Yes, Sir," the boy agreed. He began to cough suddenly, and his thin body shook with the force of it. It took a moment for him to master his breathing, then he quickly wiped his eyes, murmuring an apology.
+Kikimora knew little of boys, but she thought it unusual for one to be so calm and self assured. The other boys she saw around the mine charged about like the whirling dervishes Barinya had once told her of. They shouted and fought, even as they carried out their work. Sergei had a stillness and thoughtfulness that made him seem older than 14, despite his smooth cheeks and unimpressive height.
+"You've been below ground this morning? Feliks says it's the damp that gets in your lungs. I've seen it before. It will improve if you stay above ground."
+"Yes, Sir."
+"Other than that you are fit?"
+"Strong enough to work beside Uncle Feliks twelve hours straight." There was pride in Sergei's voice, and an upward tilt to his chin.
+Dmitri considered a moment. He began to speak, then broke off in a huge yawn. "I must apologise," he said. "I had a most disturbed night. Would you be so good as to make some tea?"
+Sergei crossed to the table where the samovar and the tea caddy sat. He cleaned out the fuel chamber, and added new kindling. He measured out a spoonful of tea, being careful to spill none onto the table. He poured in the water and set the fuel smouldering with a coal from the fire. Then he carried the samovar and a small glass cup to Dmitri's desk. "Is there anything else, Sir?"
+"Another cup."
+Dmitri asked Sergei more about his family, and what kind of work he had done. When the tea was ready he told Sergei to pour them each a cup, which the boy did without spilling any on Dmitri's papers.
+Dmitri blew on his tea, and took a scorching sip. He sighed, letting his eyes close momentarily. "That's good," he said. After a few more sips he sat back, regarding the boy thoughtfully. "How would you like to be apprenticed to me?"
+"To you, Sir?"
+"To learn gunpowder manufacture."
+The boy opened his mouth, and closed it again, his composure finally rattled. "It would be an honour. I never thought-I mean-Thank you, Sir. I won't let you down. When can I start? Now?"
+"Tomorrow. It will be a trial period. We'll see how it works out."
+"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir. You won't regret it."
+The boy almost collided with Boris in the doorway. But he leapt smartly out of the way, saying, "Begging your pardon, Sir," and strode away across the enclosure looking six inches taller.
+"Well," said Boris, brows raised enquiringly. "You have one happy employee, at least."
+Dmitri's smile melted away. "What now?"
+"I think the whole town is drunk," Boris said. "Accidents, mishaps, mistakes by the dozen. Now I've heard some of the men muttering about evil spirits, and saying the mine is haunted!" He delivered this news as though expecting to raise a laugh, but Dmitri looked troubled, rubbing his forehead and taking a long drink of tea.
+"It's just a run of bad luck," Boris said. "The long winter is making everyone tired and cross. If spring would only come I am sure our fortunes would change."
+Dmitri nodded without much conviction, then glanced up, hearing something odd. It sounded very much like someone yawning and trying not to - but the sound came from the corner of the room where stood nothing but a cupboard. Boris too glanced that way, then shrugged, saying, "Creaking boards."
+He asked what the boy was so happy about, and Dmitri told him that he had a new apprentice.
+"Does your father know about that? Hasn't he always been protective of his secrets?"
+"It is not practical that only one man should understand the gunpowder. It is a dangerous craft, and accidents can happen to the best of us."
+Boris nodded sombrely. "True enough."
+"If anything were to happen to me, there should be someone else to keep manufacturing the powder. Besides," Dmitri added. "The lad needs to work grass-side, for his lungs." He bent over his papers once more so that he wouldn't have to see Boris' disapproving frown.
+"An apprentice is fair enough," Boris said. "But leave charity to the town's rich matrons."
+When he went back out to the yard, Kikimora followed. The office was too small and crowded to hide in for long – particularly if she couldn't stop yawning.
+Boris took out his pipe, and began to fill it from a leather pouch at his belt. When he came to light it, Kikimora darted forward and blew out the flame. He struck his flint again, and managed to light the tobacco, but she dropped a pinch of snow into the pipe, extinguishing it with a wet hiss.
+Boris began to grumble. While he knocked the wet tobacco out of the pipe, she slipped the flint from his pocket and ran, laughing, into the trees. As she looked around for a good place to hide it, a voice spoke up behind her, "My name's Zoria. What's yours?"
+***
+Kikimora spun around. A small girl gazed up at her, something grey and ragged dangling from one fist. "This is Magda," she said, holding up the ragged thing, which proved to be an ancient doll. It was hideous; one-eyed, with a lop-sided, stitched on smile. Its rag-innards spilled gruesomely through the torn stitching. The girl clearly loved it very much. "Who are you?"
+Kikimora glanced around; they were alone, and she was invisible, as always around the mine. Yet the girl looked directly at her.
+"It's alright," Zoria said. "Magda's shy too. Do you want to see where the fairies live?" She slipped her small hand into Kikimora's, leading her further into the trees. They climbed a gentle rise, and then Zoria released her hand, darting into the thick undergrowth. "Come on," she said. "It's not far."
+Kikimora silently followed, unsure why she did so, or what else she could have done. Zoria pushed heedlessly through banks of bare, scratching branches until she reached a small clearing. Here a single oak grew, gnarled and knotted. It was hung with dank green moss as well as delicate icicles. Many small, dark hollows yawned open amongst its tangled roots.
+"Look," said Zoria, pointing. "This is where the fairy baker lives, and this is where the milliner lives. This is where they keep their horses, and here-" She indicated a thin opening midway up the trunk. "That's where the princess lives."
+She turned expectantly to Kikimora, who felt sure she oughtn't speak to the girl, but at the same time wondered why not. Somehow the girl could see her. What difference could it make if she heard her speak?
+"Zoria! Zoria, where are you?"
+The voice was close. Zoria startled, cramming Magda's foot in her mouth and chewing nervously. Kikimora stepped back behind the thick oak.
+The boy, Sergei, pushed through the undergrowth. "Zorry, you know you're not supposed to wander off on your own."
+Zoria objected that she had not been alone; she was with a lady.
+"Don't tell untruths. There's no one here."
+"She was here, Sergei. A pale lady. I showed her where the fairies live."
+"Alright," sighed Sergei. He took Zoria's hand, leading her from the clearing. "Just don't go telling mother about fairies and pale ladies. You know she doesn't like make-believe."
+"But it's not-"
+Kikimora heard the girl's continuing protests and the boy's sighs as they returned to the dressing floor.
+She hid Boris' flint in the hollow where Zoria said the fairy princess lived, then returned to the enclosure to make further trouble. Already the sky was darkening, and it was not long before the bell tolled for the end of the day.
+It was a long walk back to town, but the children still had enough energy to run and play. Kikimora saw Sergei walking soberly with the older men, and Zoria hand in hand with her tired looking mother. The girl turned a few times, peering back at the mine works. Finally she spotted Kikimora, half hidden behind a spindly pine, and waved.
+Before she had time to think better of it, Kikimora raised a hand in reply.
+The evening was well advanced when she arrived back at Dmitri's house. Too weary to bother with subtlety, she threw open the door, banging it back against its frame. Crouched in the far corner of the room, Dmitri looked up in surprise. "Does that mean it's working?"
+Beside him, Mrs Zubrev stood up, one hand outstretched towards Kikimora. "Begone foul spirit!" she said. "I claim this house for Our Lord Jesus Christ, and for Dmitri Rachmanov, an honest and god-fearing man. There is no place for you. Get out!"
+She gestured to Dmitri, who touched his candle to a dried bundle, which instantly caught light. He dropped the flaming thing onto the tiled floor, and a pungent aroma began to fill the kitchen. Dmitri coughed, wrinkling his nose against the acrid smoke. "I think I will send out for supper," he said.
+Mrs Zubrev was too busy to disapprove of his levity. "Out," she said again, advancing towards the door.
+Kikimora glanced quickly around the kitchen. She was swift and nimble, and good at going unnoticed – but the house was very small, with few places to hide. Panicked, she retreated into the street, and Mrs Zubrev flung the door closed.
+It all happened so quickly and took her by such surprise, it was a moment before she realised she had allowed herself to be exorcised - just like the unwelcome spirit they believed her to be. Anatoly would not be impressed by that.
+Kikimora hammered on the door. She scratched at the shutters. Brushing snow from the uneven stones, she climbed to the low roof, and began stamping around in a threatening manner.
+Mrs Zubrev tried a number of incantations, a lot of praying, and several thunderous commands. The smoke issuing from the chimney took on an acrid note as she burned some unpleasant substance.
+Kikimora scooped up handfuls of snow and pushed them down the chimney. For a time the smoke stopped, blocked by the snow plug. But it soon began to melt, and she piled in more snow, and still more.
+Mrs Zubrev's voice rose in panicked indignation. The front door pushed open, and Dmitri and his housekeeper piled out into the street, accompanied by a great deal of bitter smoke.
+"Perhaps this was not such a good idea," Dmitri said, when he had mostly stopped coughing.
+Mrs Zubrev told him sharply they couldn't give in now. "It thinks it has the upper hand, but we must show it we are not so easily beaten. Give up now, and things will only get worse."
+Dmitri puffed out a sigh. He couldn't help noticing that things had already got worse since he allowed Mrs Zubrev to try removing the spirit. His house was full of stinking smoke. His fire was extinguished, and the stove full of melted snow - which was rapidly making its way to the floor. "The night is advancing," he said. "How late do you suppose this must go on?"
+"Until it is done, Mr Rachmanov," said the housekeeper grimly. "Until it is done."
+Kikimora recommenced crashing around the roof. Several shingles worked loose and fell to the ground. When she tired of that, she climbed down and scoured the streets for pieces of discarded rubbish. Collecting some small stones, a few brown cabbage leaves and some mostly frozen horse muck, she returned to the roof, and fed them one by one down the chimney.
+The stones rattled and banged. The rotting cabbage added to the already malodorous mess in the kitchen. The manure landed in the stove with a thud. It was a few moments before it thawed sufficiently to elicit groans of disgust from the kitchens occupants.
+Again the front door opened, and Mrs Zubrev gasped for fresh air.
+"Perhaps we should try again in the morning?" Dmitri suggested.
+But Mrs Zubrev told him to be steadfast, "Like Our Lord in the wilderness. He was tested, but he did not give-" She shrieked as a sudden snowball caught her in the face.
+Dmitri had to turn away and scrutinise the dark street until he had managed to straighten his lips. Mrs Zubrev wiped the snow from her face with as much dignity as she could muster.
+"Perhaps if we were to get a little rest, and try again tomorrow?"
+"Very well," the housekeeper acquiesced. "If you are tiring." She invited him to come and sleep by her hearth, assuring him that her husband and children were home, so there could be no impropriety.
+Dmitri thanked her, but said he would rather brave his own bed, come what may. Kikimora allowed him a few moments to settle himself comfortably, and then let loose an unearthly howl, rising in pitch until every creature for several streets had woken from its sleep. Lights were kindled in bed chambers. Some braver souls stuck their heads from the shutters, demanding to know what the trouble was. Most stayed inside, cowering under their covers and praying to their gods to save them.
+At last she returned to the ground, and began to gather armfuls of snow, building it into a great mound before the front step. She worked long into the night. When she was done, she nestled into a snow drift and fell asleep.
+Although the disturbances died down, Dmitri did not sleep long or soundly. Rising early, he flung open the front door and was confronted by a huge, pale figure looming before him. A yelp escaped him even as he realised it was only a snowman. Taller than him, it filled the doorway, so that he was unable to squeeze past. Two blank round pebbles served as eyes. A piece of old sacking formed a hat. From its mouth protruded several icicle fangs. While Dmitri stared in consternation, wondering how he would get out of the house, it collapsed forwards over the threshold, spraying him with hard-packed snow.
+Spitting ice from his mouth, he cursed soundly. He took up his pack and climbed over the heap of snow, pulling the door closed behind him with a bang.
+Kikimora heard him grumbling about Mrs Zubrev's bright ideas as she let herself inside the house. Snow littered the floor. A mess of ash and slush and manure spilled from the stove. The air was foul, combining smoke, noxious herbs and burned excrement.
+She poked through the ashes until she found Mrs Zubrev's half burned twigs. They had turned into a crude sort of charcoal, and she scraped them across the wall, leaving thick black marks on the plaster. Draughtsmanship was not chief amongst her skills, but she scrawled a pair of dark, staring eyes onto the wall, and felt quite pleased with the result. There was a certain intimidating power about them.
+She had hoped to get a little rest before Mrs Zubrev returned to clean up, but there was no dry patch of floor for her to lie down on. In any case, the housekeeper appeared earlier than she'd expected. She exclaimed and crossed herself when she saw the charcoal eyes on the wall. Then she rolled up her sleeves and began to tackle the mess.
+Kikimora returned to the mine, where she caused sufficient trouble that Boris was grinding his teeth and had thrown his pipe on the ground in frustration before lunch time. She saw little of Dmitri, who kept to his office, drinking tea and staring distractedly into the fire.
+At the end of the day he climbed, yawning, onto Agnesse, letting her lead him to the tavern. After tipping the stable boy to look after her, he went straight into the firelit bar without returning home. Whatever fresh horror awaited him there could keep until he had some warm food and strong drink inside him. He joined some friends at a table close to the fire, and they called loudly to the serving woman to bring more wine.
+It was a little later that Kikimora made her way there. For a time she huddled at the window, watching the bustle, and envying the warmth and camaraderie. As the door swung open the smell of roasting meat proved too tempting to ignore, and she resolved to go inside. It was a daunting prospect. The room was large, but busy. Some of the men, after several cups of ale, became loud and erratic in their movements.
+Slipping through the doorway, the warmth and babble at once enveloped Kikimora. Invisible, she was able to move freely between the tables and occasional standing groups. Passing an unattended bowl, she snatched up a couple of chicken bones, quickly tearing off the last shreds of meat. She settled into a corner behind a coat stand, a little way from Dmitri's table.
+Though largely ignorant of both class and fashion, Kikimora could tell at once that these young men were different to the mineworkers whose company Dmitri usually kept. They wore velvet overcoats and had metal buckles to their shoes. There was something to their manner too. It was not just that their table made more noise than the rest of the tavern combined, or that they drank wine while most of the customers had ale; there was a sense of entitlement about their bearing which she did not understand, but instinctively distrusted.
+The handsome serving woman returned with a plate of hot food for Dmitri and a jug of wine for the table. Several of the young men vied to catch her eye with compliments and jokes, but she answered them all with insults – which seemed to delight them.
+As the evening progressed Dmitri's friends became louder and more raucous, but he only sat and drank his wine, staring into the distance in a distracted manner. Every now and then one of his companions punched him in the shoulder, recalling him to their conversation, and he dutifully laughed at whatever comment they made. But it was clear his mind was elsewhere.
+He was asked more than once what troubled him, but he only shrugged and murmured about his work. Even the serving woman said he looked like his favourite dog had died. Cocking out one hip she asked if there was anything she could do to cheer him, and Dmitri's friends laughed and whistled. One or two made helpful suggestions.
+She pretended not to hear, and said, "Why not give us a song? That'll cheer you up."
+But Dmitri shook his head, saying he wasn't in the mood.
+"Not in the mood? I never thought to see this day. It must be the end of the world!"
+When she had returned to the bar, a young man by the name of Marek told the group he'd heard a juicy piece of news, "Count Rudov is back from the city."
+His friend Nuriyev dismissed the announcement. "That is not news. We have all heard that."
+"But," said Marek. "Have you heard why?"
+This piqued the interest of the group, and they huddled closer. Marek teased them a little before sharing his gossip, "I have heard he left the city somewhat under a cloud."
+"No change there. I'd be disappointed in him if I heard otherwise."
+Laughter greeted this comment. Marek let it die down before continuing, "It is said that he befriended a wealthy young man and helped him to squander his inheritance." He glanced significantly around the table before adding in an undertone, "And his good reputation – if you take my meaning. When the boy's relatives discovered it, they hounded Rudov from the area. There was even talk of bringing charges."
+While Nuriyev and the others exchanged shocked looks, Dmitri asked what Marek knew of Rudov's dealings. Smiling, Marek said he couldn't betray his sources. Another young man assured them it had the ring of truth, for he'd heard a similar story before.
+"So repeating a slander makes it true?"
+Silence greeted Dmitri's question. At last, Marek said coldly that he was no slanderer.
+Nuriyev asked what had got into Dmitri today, saying he was not himself.
+"No," Dmitri agreed. He added that he had no love for Rudov, but would only judge him on what he knew to be true. With that, he stood, saying he supposed he had better get home. The idea brought a heavy sigh from him. Pulling on his cloak, he bade his friends farewell, saying he hoped they would find him in better cheer the next time they met.
+"You work too hard," Nuriyev advised, who had no work and a wealthy father. "You need to relax more."
+Dmitri trudged through the snow, collar pulled up around his ears. Flinging open the door to his cottage, he said, "I am returned. Do your worst."
+He kindled a flame and lit a stub of candle – almost dropping it in alarm, as his shadow flickered across the black, staring eyes scrawled onto the wall. They were smudged now by Mrs Zubrev's efforts to remove them, but still quite dark and sinister.
+He edged past them, and up the stairs, where he collapsed immediately into his bed. He had lain down for only a moment before the cacophony of struck pans began again. He pulled the pillow over his head and did his best to ignore it. After a time the banging stopped, and there was a loud crack, followed by the sound of something rolling over the floor. Sighing, Dmitri sat up.
+Kikimora watched a broken chair leg spin across the floor, and waited for some reaction from upstairs. But there was nothing. She was gathering her breath for a banshee wail when there began a soft, delicate music. It seemed to tug at her heart, whispering of peace and rest at the end of a long day. She looked down at the broken chair, and the mess of it irked her. Retrieving the loose leg, she jammed it back into place. She returned the chair to its position before the stove, then crept up the stairs.
+Dmitri sat cross legged on his bed, the violin at his shoulder. Instead of using the bow, he gently plucked the strings, playing a sweet lullaby. After a time he began to sing - so softly that Kikimora found herself leaning closer in order to hear.
+"Go to sleep, little dear,
+Lest the winter wolf find thee.
+He'll take thee back to his lair,
+Beneath the old willow tree."
+When he ran out of words, Dmitri hummed softly, playing the simple tune over and again.
+Kikimora had never had a mother, had never heard a lullaby, and had never felt its lack until now. The soft music seemed to wrap itself around her like the warmest blanket. She found she was exhausted, but felt somehow soothed and reassured that everything would be alright. She laid her head upon the top step, thinking just to rest a little while as she listened to Dmitri sing.
+She slept long and deep. She didn't wake when Mrs Zubrev opened the front door in the morning. She didn't wake when Dmitri leapt from his bed, charging across the floor to the staircase.
+Kikimora woke as Dmitri tripped over her, and fell headlong down the stairs.
+***
+"Great heavens! Is it flinging you around the house now?" Mrs Zubrev crossed herself before entering the kitchen.
+Sprawled across the lower steps, Dmitri groaned, and rubbed his head. Mrs Zubrev hauled him to his feet, eliciting further moans, and handed him into his seat before the stove.
+"I only tripped," he murmured. "I woke with a start, and didn't look where I was going."
+Kikimora came cautiously down the steps, alarmed by the manner of her waking, but relieved she had retained her invisibility. Dmitri flexed his ankles and prodded his ribs, reassuring himself that no bones were broken. As he shifted his weight the chair leg came loose once more, and he collapsed onto the floor. Throwing out his arms for balance, his wrist took the brunt of the fall, and he let out a stream of vehement profanity. Mrs Zubrev said it was no wonder evil spirits took up residence with him if that was the level of his piety. Dmitri shot her a dark look.
+Examining the injured wrist, she diagnosed a mild sprain, and said it would heal nicely so long as he was careful not to strain it any further. "I have a salve at home that will soothe it," she added, and was astonished when Dmitri asked her to build up the fire a little before fetching it. "You're staying here?"
+"Yes, Mrs Zubrev. I am not going anywhere until I've had a cup of tea."
+Mrs Zubrev muttered that the blow to his head must have shaken loose half his brains. At the door, she paused, nodding at the dark eyes scrawled onto the far wall. "If it's a fight it wants, by god, we'll give it a fight."
+Kikimora retreated unhappily behind the stove. She told herself this was a great success, and Anatoly and Leshy would be proud of her achievements. But there was an uncomfortable, heavy feeling in her chest which she couldn't explain.
+Dmitri found half a jug of water, and filled up the samovar, setting it to boil with an ember from the stove. He lifted down a finely decorated tin from the shelf, and further swearing ensured as he tried to prise the lid free with one good hand. Finally he slammed the tin down, and returned to his chair.
+While he muttered crossly, Kikimora darted forward and loosened the lid. It came free with a faint pop, and Dmitri glanced up suspiciously. He opened the lid and peered inside. It looked like tea and smelled like tea, so he spooned it into the samovar.
+A few minutes later he poured out a cupful, inhaling the fragrant steam with evident pleasure. He was on his second cup when Mrs Zubrev returned. She rubbed calendula salve onto his wrist, and warned him again not to strain it. "No writing. You have lackeys, don't you? What about Mariya's boy – Boris? You need anything writing down you get him to do it for you."
+"Yes, Mrs Zubrev."
+The issue of the wrist settled to her satisfaction, she turned her attention to the evil eyes and the evidently still present spirit, saying she would visit the priest and see what he suggested.
+"I'm not sure we should bother him," said Dmitri. "Perhaps it will all blow over?"
+"Blow over?"
+"You said the attempt to remove it might make it angry, and it has. Perhaps it's time to try appeasing it?"
+Mrs Zubrev looked at him as if he had grown a second head. She said that was a very odd and dangerous course of action, and she couldn't recommend it.
+"Even so," he said firmly. "That is what I will try next, and I hope you will respect my wishes on the matter."
+The morning was far advanced when a boy came from the inn, leading Agnesse. With only a little difficulty, Dmitri swung himself up into the saddle, and set off for the mine. Kikimora followed more slowly on foot. By the time she arrived the workers were stopping for their midday meal.
+Sergei crossed the yard carrying a glass of tea, and with a loaf of bread wedged under one arm. Feliks called to him, asking how he was enjoying his initiation into the dark arts.
+"It is only the application of proven methodologies to the lore of natural philosophy, Uncle."
+Feliks gave a long whistle, commenting on all the fancy words Sergei was learning. The boy grinned.
+"It is a great privilege to be apprenticed to the master," Feliks said, fixing Sergei with a serious look. "But be careful. You might not remember the old master? His father."
+"I remember."
+"Aye. A thing like that makes some impression. He knew what he was doing, had been working with the stuff for years. But one small mistake is all it takes."
+Sergei nodded soberly, and hurried on his way. A pair of narrow footprints followed him through the snow to the small building set back some way from the rest of the enclosure. Sergei shouldered the door open, and dropped the food onto the only clear area of table top. "I bought your tea, Master Dmitri, Sir."
+Dmitri thanked him, and pulled the door shut. It was dim in the room, and freezing cold. The only light came from a row of small glass windows above the work bench. Dmitri wrapped his hands gratefully around the tea. "Are you sure you won't have some? Warmth is hard to come by in here."
+Sergei shook his head, saying he had never taken to the stuff. He hesitated a moment, then ventured to say that if some hot beer was on offer that would be another matter. He immediately seemed to regret the bold words, and watched Dmitri anxiously - until he laughed, and then the boy cracked a relieved grin.
+Kikimora wedged herself into a dusty corner, watching as the two shared their bread and meat. As he ate, Dmitri kept his right hand cradled close to his chest.
+"No matter how cold it gets," he said. "You must never bring a light into this room. That is the first and most fundamental rule of gunpowder. An open flame, a stray spark, an iron filing inadvertently struck – any of these could end you and me, and anything in the near vicinity. Do you understand me?"
+"Yes, Sir."
+"While we work here together my life is in your hands, as yours is in mine. If I make a mistake you will pay the price. That is what this apprenticeship means. I need to be able to rely on you absolutely. Can I do that, Sergei?"
+The boy nodded sombrely.
+"We will grind this powder for a full day, pounding it ever finer - finer than the finest flour to bake the King's bread. So fine it floats in the air, and adheres to our boots, our coats, our hair. Our beards," Dmitri added, with a satirical glance at Sergei's smooth face. "You must shake out your clothing when you leave here. Brush your hair. Do you smoke a pipe?"
+"Sometimes," Sergei said. "If I can get it."
+Dmitri advised him to give it up. "The amount of powder that can cling to a beard – once you have grown one – will not be large. But it will ignite, and that is not an enjoyable experience."
+Sergei swallowed, promising to give up his pipe immediately.
+Kikimora glanced at the many barrels, sacks and jars stacked around the room. She realised she could cause a great deal of harm if she were to interfere with the work done here – so much harm that she might not walk away from it herself. She tucked the troubling idea away at the back of her mind, to call upon if all else should fail.
+"The exact proportions are most important," Dmitri continued. "Fifteen parts saltpetre to two parts sulphur and three parts charcoal." The ingredients were carefully measured out into a deep mortar. Dmitri then explained that they could minimise the amount of powder drifting in the air by adding a small amount of liquor. "Strong spirits are best," he said. "As they will help to drive out the impurities. But if they cannot be found, then the urine of a man who has drunk them will suffice."
+He added a little spirit from a square, stone bottle, and then all that remained was for Sergei to begin grinding. "It is hard work," Dmitri said, watching the boy use both hands to lift the thick stone pestle. "But at least it helps to keep you warm. Ordinarily I would take turns with you," he added. "But my wrist is useless, and likely to be for a little time."
+Sergei asked if it was broken, and Dmitri assured him it was not. "Don't worry, I'll be back to doing my share in a week or so."
+"It's not that," said Sergei, reddening. "I just wondered if you were able to play your fiddle, Sir?"
+"No, I don't suppose I shall for a while."
+Sergei returned to his work, and Dmitri sat silent for a time, cradling his hand. Kikimora noticed how tired he looked, how pale beneath his dark stubble. She felt again the strange discomfort behind her ribs, as though she had eaten something bad. She had promised to crush his joy, and she already knew him well enough to see that playing the fiddle was his greatest joy – still, it seemed unfair that he should be prevented from creating music when it brought pleasure to so many around him.
+The two men worked until the light began to fade. Kikimora hung back while they cleared away their papers and instruments, readying themselves to leave. As she rose from behind the cupboard a splinter snagged her dress, and she paused to disentangle herself. By the time she had crossed the room the men were through the door, and a key was turning in the iron padlock.
+For a time there were sounds of movement outside. But soon the men and their families had all gone home, and there was no noise at all. Little light fell through the windows, but it was sufficient for Kikimora to inspect the room's contents. Aside from the barrels she had noticed earlier, there were a few papers, various tools and implements, and the deep granite mortar with its heavy pestle.
+Kikimora lifted it, admiring the smooth coldness of the stone. She climbed onto the table top, kicking aside papers and measuring pans. Thin and lithe, she might easily fit through just one of the windows - but she supposed she might as well break them all.
+She swung the pestle, smashing each of the windows in turn, then struck the wooden frames, knocking them to pieces. Shards of glass and wood showered the snow. She tossed the pestle after them, and jumped down into the yard.
+In darkness and silence it seemed a very different place. Impenetrable shadows crept outwards from the forest, devouring the buildings and machinery. The darkness thickened around one small square of flickering light.
+Kikimora approached the night-watchman's hut. A sudden squall blew across the yard, lifting her hair and dusting ice onto her nose. When it dropped the night seemed emptier and more silent than ever; no sound but the shuffle and scrunch of her bare feet in the crusting snow.
+Reaching the hut, she peered through the window. Pieter lay back in his chair, snoring and snorting, his big hands dangling at his sides. The debris of a meal was strewn across his belly. On the floor a bottle of spirits lay discarded on its side, beside a small brazier.
+Kikimora might still have set off through the forest, and spent the night warming herself by Dmitri's stove. He had told Mrs Zubrev he wanted to appease the spirit. She supposed that would mean bread and wine, and perhaps some respectful words. Whilst the food would be welcome, the idea of his hospitality troubled her.
+Scowling, she looked again at the snoring man. She wasn't certain of the duties of a night-watchman, but she suspected they included more than eating and sleeping. A sudden smile quirked her lips. She would not go back to Dmitri's cottage and face his efforts to appease her. Tonight, she decided, the watchman would earn his pay.
+***
+The clouds cleared momentarily, allowing a little moonlight to fall onto the enclosure, deepening the shadows at its edges. Kikimora found herself thinking of the stories Barinya had told her of unwary travellers lost in dark woods; of the creatures that found them there. She knew that humans were unsettled by darkness and wild places. Realising she could use this to her advantage, she allowed herself to become partly visible. In the poor light she would be little more than a pale, uncertain shape to a man's eyes – a shape his imagination could add details to.
+"What is more apt to inspire terror?" she murmured, quoting from one of the dusty manuscripts Anatoly had given her to read. "Not the thing seen, nor yet the thing unseen; but the thing half-seen." She wished Anatoly was there to hear her quote her lessons and put them to use. She thought it would please him very much.
+She thumped on the shed door, watching through the window as Pieter twitched and grumbled. He didn't appear to wake fully, but tried to roll over, and fell from the chair. Landing with a yelp, he sat up, cursing and scratching. His fur cap rolled away beneath his chair. He reached for the bottle, taking a quick swig, before Kikimora banged again on the door.
+Pieter stiffened, the bottle frozen at his lips. "Who's there? This is not a hostelry. Get away with you." He corked the bottle, laying it back down on the ground. "Master Dmitri, is it you? Master Boris?"
+Again Kikimora thumped the door, hard and loud.
+"Alright," said Pieter. "Alright, what the devil do you want?"
+He threw the door open, a short staff ready in his hand. Seeing the staff, Kikimora drew away into the shadows. The wind gathered once more, tugging at Pieter's coat and whipping hanks of greasy hair into his eyes. "Who's there? Answer me, damn you."
+He snatched up a lantern, tightening his grip on the staff, and stepped out into the snow. "There's nothing here for you to steal," he warned the whistling wind. "Everything's locked up, and they don't leave me the keys."
+Lifting the lantern higher, he peered to left and right. There was nothing to see save snow and mud - but what was that? Pieter took a hesitant step forward. "Hie there! Who's that?" Perhaps he had imagined it – that thin, pale shape flitting across the yard. Or perhaps it was only an owl?
+But no – there it was again! Gliding from the shadows. He saw it only from the corner of his eye, but it seemed to glance at him, and to beckon.
+Pieter shuddered and passed a hand over his eyes. He began to tell himself it was only his imagination - but broke off, hearing soft, mocking laughter drift across the yard. Knuckles tight around his staff, he crossed himself and strode forward.
+In this way, Kikimora led him across the enclosure, to the eaves of the forest. But he wouldn't follow her into the trees, no matter how she taunted him. Seeing that he tired of the pursuit, and was turning back for the warmth of his hut, she became invisible once more and raced across the yard, arriving there well ahead of him.
+The hut was small, used only by the watchman, and to store some ragged odds and ends which might prove useful some day, but had not for many years. Amongst these Kikimora found offcuts of cloth and broken tool handles. She bundled these onto the floor beneath the chair, and emptied the remains of the watchman's spirit onto them. Kicking over the brazier, she leapt back as flames engulfed the rags and spread quickly to the wood.
+She slipped from the hut just as Pieter arrived. "What's this?" he exclaimed, drawing back from the blast of heat. For a moment he only stood staring. Then he began to gather up armfuls of snow, throwing it onto the blaze. He soon realised this was having little effect, and cast about for a better course of action.
+The mineworkers had mostly been diligent in stowing away their tools, but he found an old bucket discarded beside the hut, and snatched it up, running to the dressing floor where the ore was washed and sorted. Hurriedly filling it, he raced back to the hut, puffing from the unaccustomed exertion.
+Water leaked steadily from a crack in its side. By the time he reached the fire and upended it, barely a cupful hissed down into the flames. Cursing soundly, Pieter threw the bucket down, and kicked it across the yard.
+A moment later he gathered it up again, returning several times to throw pitiful amounts of water at the fire. But it had taken hold, and spread remorselessly from the chair to the wooden walls and roof. After a time Pieter accepted that his hut was forsaken, and he slumped down in the snow.
+His hands were frozen from collecting water. His warming bottle of spirit was gone, and his fur hat. He stretched as close as was comfortable to the fire, muttering threats at the dancing shadows.
+As the initial glee at her success wore off, Kikimora noticed how wretched Pieter looked. She told herself he would not be in this predicament if he had some honourable occupation that didn't involve plundering Leshy's forest. She told herself not to rest, not to let him rest, but to pile hardships and misery upon him. But looking at the watchman, she wasn't sure he could be much more miserable.
+He didn't move until the fire began to burn itself out. Then he rose awkwardly, brushing at the ice frozen onto his coat. Keeping a close hold on his staff, he approached the furnace house. The door was unlocked, and he let himself inside.
+When Kikimora began to bang once again on the door, he dragged across a wooden bench, barricading himself inside. Not daring to interfere with the furnaces, he built a small fire of charcoal on the stone flagged floor. Wrapping his coat around himself as thoroughly as he could, he huddled before the fire, determined to ignore whatever happened outside.
+Exploring the eves of the forest, Kikimora found more discarded equipment, including a short length of chain. She dragged it, clanking and clinking through the snow, its thick iron links colder than ice. Reaching the furnace house, she swung it at the door with a rattling crash. Pieter gave a sharp cry as the door jumped in its frame, and hunkered down closer to his fire.
+The wind howled and brought fresh snow, piling it against the door. Kikimora sat amongst it, knees drawn up to her thin chest. She supposed Dmitri would have gone to his bed by now. He would be relieved to have a full night of undisturbed sleep. She wondered if he had left out bread for her, and her empty stomach grumbled a little.
+She wished Barinya was there to tell her a story. She would ask for the tale of a Prince lost in a forest, or of a poor Woodcutter's daughter who, after many adventures, finally won her heart's desire.
+But instead she found herself thinking of a story Barinya had told her the day before she left for Korsakov town. It was a peculiar, unsettling tale, and had preyed on Kikimora's mind in odd moments throughout the week. She thought it must have some meaning, but had been unable to decide quite what Barinya wanted her to learn from the story of Innessa and the Terrible Witch.
+***
+[ Innessa and the Terrible Witch ]
+From the moment she was born, everyone knew that Innessa would grow up to be heartbreakingly beautiful. Her mother and father were not rich or important, but the whole town turned out to Innessa's christening, and they sighed and blessed the tiny infant, and foretold only the happiest fates for her.
+But when the oldest and wisest woman in the town came to Innessa's cradle, and peered down at the angelic little face, she gave this prophecy, "Innessa will marry the richest, most handsome and bravest man in the world – if the terrible witch doesn't prevent her."
+Innessa's parents and the townspeople were all thrilled to hear this. They didn't worry too much about the witch, because everyone knows that stories like this always turn out right, and the handsome prince vanquishes any obstacle to his true love.
+Innessa grew more beautiful with each passing day. Her skin was like fresh milk, with apple blossom at her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled like warm and tranquil seas. Her long, gently waving hair was like sun-ripened wheat, just before the harvest.
+News spread far and wide about Innessa's beauty, and many lords and knights and princes came to visit the town, just to catch a glimpse of her. The town grew larger and more prosperous with all the visiting nobility, and the people knew it was all thanks to Innessa, and so they loved her even more.
+When there came news of a powerful witch living in the next Kingdom, the townspeople decided they could not risk any calamity befalling Innessa, and so they built a strong tower. Innessa went to live in the tower, where she would be safe from the witch, and she could look down at all her suitors.
+So many men wanted to marry Innessa that tasks were set for them, to find the bravest and strongest. They were sent to fight dragons, seek fortunes, vanquish evil wizards and find magical objects.
+Many of them never returned to Innessa's tower, but one who did was Prince George. He had found the water of life, and brought back a vial of it for Innessa, so that she might live forever.
+Innessa thanked him graciously, and drank the little vial of burning liquid. She invited Prince George up into her tower so that they could drink tea together and discuss what kind of wedding they might have.
+But as they drank their tea, George slurped his. He ate more biscuits than Innessa could count, and got crumbs all over his cloth-of-gold tunic. Innessa decided that after all, he was not the most handsome man in the world, and a better one would come along soon.
+Some time later, Count Yuri came to the tower, having killed a fierce wyvern in the nearby mountains. He carried its huge, horned head back to Innessa slung across his shoulders. He was immensely strong, and very handsome, so Innessa invited him to come and dine with her in the tower and to discuss what manner of life they might share.
+They ate boar steaks and peacock legs, provided by the townspeople, and Count Yuri said it was a long time since he'd eaten anything so good. He admitted that his estate was in a very poor way. His peasants were starving, and his house was in sore need of repair.
+Innessa looked around at her richly furnished tower, and thought it would be a shame to have to move into a draughty old hall with leaking ceilings and damp cellars. She decided Count Yuri was not the man the wise woman had in mind to marry her.
+The following year Prince Igor brought her a magical looking glass. He was fabulously rich and undoubtedly brave. But his legs were rather short, and his face a little coarse, and Innessa didn't much care for his haircut.
+Seasons passed, and none of the men who came to claim Innessa's hand in marriage were quite up to scratch. She grew from an angelically pretty girl to a ravishingly handsome woman. Her parents grew old and frail, and began to urge her to perhaps look past the odd crooked nose or ignoble birth. They feared they would never see any grandchildren if she didn't consent to marry one of her suitors soon.
+In time her mother and her father died, and they were buried with great sadness by the townspeople. Innessa watched the funerals from her window; she was too afraid of the terrible witch to leave her tower.
+Fewer and fewer suitors came to call on her. The little town went into decline without all its rich and powerful visitors. People still left the odd pot of stew or rhubarb pie at the foot of Innessa's tower, but they grumbled while they did so.
+Innessa's beauty faded. Her skin grew sallow and wrinkled. Her back stooped over. Her once golden hair grew knotted and grey. But she had drunk the water of life, and no matter how old she grew, she could not die.
+Innessa still lives in her falling down tower in her quiet, little town. The local children dare each other to knock upon her rotting door, telling each other tales of the most beautiful girl in the world who once lived there - until she was swallowed up by the terrible witch. The witch who lives there still.
+***
+Dawn came slowly, and brought no warmth. Kikimora rose from the snow drift, yawned and stretched. She pressed an ear to the furnace room door, and heard the watchman's low snoring.
+Before long Boris and the other workers arrived, and were confounded by what they saw: the windows of the grinding room all smashed, with bare, bloody footprints leading to the burned out ruins of the watchman's hut.
+"Where is he?" roared Boris. "Where is that good for nothing drunkard?"
+Some of the men crossed themselves, muttering darkly that the watchman had most likely been taken by evil spirits, and would not be seen again – but they earned sour looks from Boris. He threw open the doors of all the buildings until he found the watchman cowering behind the furnace. His dishevelled and terrorised appearance elicited no sympathy.
+"What in God's name has happened here?"
+Pieter shook his head, saying, "God didn't have nothing to do with it, that's for sure."
+He professed no knowledge of the grinding room windows, but told in gabbling bursts about a ghostly maiden luring him from his hut, only for a cackling fire demon to destroy it. Many men looked uneasy at this, but Boris told them to stop gawking, and get to their work. He set a couple of boys to clearing up the mess, and sent one back to town to bring the glazier.
+"So," he summed up for the benefit of Dmitri when he arrived. "You drank yourself into a stupor, spilled your bottle of moonshine onto the brazier, ran off into the forest rather than fight the blaze, and made unauthorised use of fuel?"
+"No!" protested the watchman. Hadn't Boris been listening? "It was the spirit kicked over my brazier. It lured me into the trees. It tricked me."
+"More likely, you went into the trees to relieve your bladder, carelessly leaving the brazier door open!"
+The watchman's protests were all in vain. Boris summarily relieved him of his position, without pay.
+"Let's not be too rash," cautioned Dmitri. He took Boris to one side, and spoke in an undertone, "There could be something to this talk of spirits..."
+Boris' expression passed from incredulity to concern as Dmitri told him of the strange occurrences in his own home. To the account of noises in the night, he said, "It is only rats, surely?" When Dmitri described the rocks and manure pushed down the chimney, he said that freak winds could bring many unlikely substances to the roof, and from there they naturally could fall into the chimney.
+"And the eyes drawn onto the walls? Was that the rats too?"
+Boris shrugged. "Anyone might enter your home when you are not there, and make mischief. It is the disadvantage of living alone and being much away. Perhaps you should move into a boarding house?"
+Dmitri shook his head. "You truly think I am imagining things?"
+Boris put a hand on his shoulder. "You take a lot upon yourself," he said gently. "You should get more rest."
+"Perhaps you are right," Dmitri admitted. He watched unhappily as Pieter pulled his coat tighter, crossing the enclosure, and heading back towards the road. Some of the men he passed stopped, commiserating over his ill fortune and wishing him well. But most only muttered and crossed themselves, spitting to ward off bad luck.
+Kikimora retreated into the trees, far enough that she could no longer hear the squeal of cartwheels and clanking of the rollers. She found a drift of fresh snow, and hollowed out a burrow. Crawling inside, she packed the snow around herself once more and, sheltered from the wind, fell into a heavy sleep.
+The clouds blew away and sun shone bright upon the snow. When she woke she was dazzled and disoriented. It took a moment for her to focus on the small figure standing before her.
+"Hello," said Zoria. She sat down beside Kikimora and began to tell her how Magda was now good friends with the fairy princess, and the two of them went out dancing at night together. At first Kikimora remained quiet, drawn back into her snow burrow. But, realising Zoria would not be discouraged, she climbed out and sat beside the girl.
+"Look," said Zoria. "Magda danced so long her feet almost wore through."
+Kikimora looked. The doll's feet were indeed ragged to the point of disintegration. "Will no one sew them back together for her?" she asked softly.
+"Mother said she would. But she never has time. She said she'd teach me to sew them, but when I asked her she was making supper. And when I asked again she was washing the small clothes. And when I asked again she was cross and wanted to drink her vodka. And Sergei can't sew at all. He's useless."
+"That's a shame," Kikimora said.
+The sun had passed its zenith some time past, and was sinking once again towards the horizon. Kikimora realised she had slept through most of the day. "Won't your mother be looking for you? Or your brother?" She wondered if Sergei was able to continue his apprenticeship with the grinding room in such disarray. Perhaps he was helping Dmitri to put it all back in order? Either way, he wouldn't have time to chase through the woods looking for his sister. "You should probably get back, in case they are worried."
+"Alright." Zoria leapt up and held out her hand. Kikimora slipped her own cold hand into the girl's, and allowed herself to be led back to the mine enclosure. She stopped at the edge of the trees, telling Zoria to run ahead to her mother, who was anxiously scanning the yard.
+Kikimora watched until Zoria reached her mother, receiving a hug and a smack and some fierce reprimands about running off alone. She glanced at the mess of ash and charcoal that marked where the watchman's hut had stood. She told herself she had done fine work that night, and Leshy would be proud. But her eyes still felt heavy, her chest tight and leaden.
+Boris came out from the office. "Hey!" he snapped at a passing boy. "Didn't I tell you to clear all that up?"
+The boy denied it, but Boris cuffed his ear, saying, "I'm telling you now."
+The boy gathered up an armful of burnt debris, bearing it off towards the slag heaps that littered the eaves of the forest. Kikimora frowned after him. These cursed men seemed to think they had the right to dump whatever they pleased amongst the trees. She ought to teach them a lesson; she ought to pick all the waste back up and throw it at them.
+But despite sleeping through the day, she still felt exhausted. She stifled a yawn as Dmitri came to join Boris, looking down at the burned out hut.
+"Well?" said Dmitri. "Any luck?"
+Boris shook his head angrily. "Not one of these milksops will stay the night here. Can you credit it?"
+Dmitri sighed. "Then it falls to me. I had best send a lad to fetch some refreshment."
+Boris said he could stand watch alone, but Dmitri wouldn't hear of it.
+"You don't want to leave me alone with the ice maiden!" Boris joked, and Dmitri promised that if any ghostly maiden turned up he would let Boris speak to her first.
+Kikimora saw that it would be an opportunity for her to wreak further havoc and discord. Give them no respite, Anatoly had said. Drive them insane. She had done it to the first watchman. She could do the same to them.
+"Let them exhaust themselves," she decided, heading back through the forest. "Sitting up all night and jumping at every shadow, every creak. I shall get some rest."
+***
+The wind howled, and the flames leapt and shuddered in the fireplace. "It is easier to believe once the men are gone," Boris admitted. "When nothing but forest crowds around us. Dark as hell out there."
+He briskly crossed himself, and took another drink. "You'd think a man would grow used to the darkness and isolation, sitting here night after night. But perhaps it is the other way around? Perhaps the loneliness preyed on his nerves until he could take no more, and his wits fled?"
+Dmitri said nothing. Though he had acquiesced to Boris' sensible explanations for the disturbances in his home, he remained unconvinced. Last night he had left out bread and salt, and though his offerings went untouched, he'd enjoyed his first night of uninterrupted sleep all week. Boris would no doubt say it proved he'd only imagined things in the first place. But Dmitri felt hopeful that his appeasement was working.
+The wind gusted again, and the door rattled in its frame. "Do you think we should go outside?" he asked. "Make sure all is well?"
+Boris shook his head. "If trouble wants us it can find us in here. Now pass me that pie. If I'm to spend the night in the midst of a godforsaken forest waiting for evil spirits to do their worst then I shall take what pleasure I can, be it meat, liquor – and where's that pale maiden I was promised?"
+Dmitri frowned, feeling it was unlucky to joke about such things.
+"Or was it an ice maiden?" Boris continued, emptying a glass of vodka. " I don't want one of those. I have one at home! Two, if you count my mother." He did not normally speak so freely to Dmitri. But the lateness of the hour, the darkness and seclusion all conspired to make him less guarded in his speech.
+"I am sure you have told me many times how you married the fairest girl in all of Korsakov?" Dmitri said, struggling to keep the disapproval from his voice. It didn't seem honourable for a man to speak of his wife in such a manner. But Boris was twice Dmitri's age, and wise in many matters. Dmitri's own experience of women was slight, and he felt uncomfortable chiding his foreman on a subject he knew so little about. Besides, he couldn't help feeling just a little flattered to be taken into the older man's confidence.
+"The fairest, aye," Boris said. "And the sharpest tongued. There's more to a woman than beauty, lad. I know you probably don't think so. I was young once, and thought of nothing but a pretty face, a comely shape. But when time comes to wed – as I suppose it must for us all eventually – look beyond the pretty smile, the soft curves. Look at her heart. Oh, it's nice if she can quicken your pulse, but remember she will be your companion for the rest of your life, however long the Lord grants you."
+"My father says it's time I married. He suggested one of the Olgakov girls."
+"And what do you think of that?"
+Dmitri took a bite of cold pie, washing it down with ale. "They are... That is... Well, I mean..."
+"I'm sure they're all fine young ladies," Boris said in a tone that implied the opposite. "How many of them are there? Ten? Fifteen?"
+"Four."
+"Is that all? Are you sure? They have a way of filling a space so..."
+Dmitri laughed, and said, "I'm not sure I'm ready to marry."
+"Well, there's no rush, lad. You take your time. Of course your father wants to see you settled, and for you to have an heir. But it's you will have to live with the consequences of your decision. Don't forget that."
+Dmitri asked if Boris had never wanted to have children, and the older man fell silent. After a moment he said only that his sons – the sons he might have had – apparently found Roksana's bosom as unwelcoming as he did himself.
+As the night progressed the two men drank more and spoke less. Dmitri struggled to stifle his yawns, and Boris told him to get some sleep. He would remain awake, and rouse Dmitri after a time, to take his turn on watch. Dmitri thanked him, but said he must first empty his bladder.
+The wind had dropped, and the clouds retreated. The mine workings looked almost serene in the stillness. "Here," Boris said, handing him a sabre.
+Dmitri glanced at it, then at the musket lying on his desk, a full powder horn and bag of shot beside it. "I have seldom used a sword." he said. "I am more familiar with a musket-"
+"I'm sure you won't need either," Boris said. "Nothing is going to interrupt you at your business – but if it did, I imagine it would find you at something of a disadvantage. Or do you think you'd have time to fill your powder pan, load your shot, tamp it down, and then take aim? For I'm not sending you off to piss in the woods with a primed musket stuffed in your armpit! You've only to slip on some ice and – well, you'd no longer be the handsome one in your family. Take the sword, lad. If you do happen to need it, it is easily drawn."
+Dmitri nodded. He supposed he ought to find Boris' words reassuring, but they had precisely the opposite effect. He looped the sword-belt around his waist, his weakened hand fumbling with the buckle. "I can't even fasten a belt," he muttered crossly. "I'm as like to spear myself with a sword as any adversary."
+"The adversary doesn't know that," Boris said. "Consider it a deterrent."
+The sound of his own breathing and the scronch of his feet through the snow were all Dmitri heard as he made his way to the tree line. He raised his hand from the sword hilt momentarily to blow on his frozen hands, and his vision was obscured in clouds of warm, white breath. He stopped when he reached the first of the trees, loosening his breeches as swiftly as he was able with numb fingers.
+He would chastise his workers for relieving themselves so close to the work yard - but that was in the daytime, and without the threat of baleful spirits. Unnerved by the silence, he began to whistle, but quickly stopped. The sound seemed only to accentuate the surrounding silence.
+There came the dull patter of warm liquid onto snow, and further wisps of steam. Dmitri sighed; he had held his bladder longer than was comfortable. He told himself this was simply due to the cold and inclement conditions.
+His disquiet began to lift as his bladder emptied – perhaps it had only been physical discomfort after all? As he tucked himself back in his breeches, the undergrowth erupted in sudden movement, and a massive form reared up before him. Dmitri leapt back in alarm, stumbled, and fell. Long claws ripped through the air before him. He scrabbled awkwardly back through the snow.
+The bushes were pushed aside, and a huge figure lurched forward. Its claws raked down the nearest tree, stripping long coils of bark. Its blunt, black nose snuffled hungrily.
+A bear. The biggest Dmitri had ever seen.
+He found that he was on his feet and pelting across the yard. He wanted to shout to Boris to prepare the musket, but every bit of his strength was taken up in running; there was no breath to spare on words.
+He knew that bears could move astonishingly fast for all their bulk. He imagined he heard the thundering of heavy feet behind him, but he didn't spare the time to look back and confirm it. Perhaps it was only the blood thumping in his ears? And if it was not – well, knowing he was doomed would be of no help or comfort.
+Before he reached the office, the door was thrown open. "Get down!" Boris yelled.
+Dmitri threw himself to one side, and a shot rang out across the enclosure. He glanced back quickly. The bear reared up, impossibly tall, and barely a stride behind him. It let out a roar of fury, huge paws thrashing at the air - but by then Dmitri was back on his feet.
+Boris stood aside as Dmitri hurled himself through the doorway. He let off another shot, then threw the door shut. The bear bellowed once more, seeming to shake the building.
+"Did you hit it?"
+Boris shook his head. He poured fresh powder into the musket, and tamped down the ball.
+The door jumped, struck with great force. Boris and Dmitri fell silent, glancing at one another. From close by came a sound of powerful snuffling, and a series of low grunts. There were a few perfunctory scratches at the door, and then the sounds began to move away around the side of the building.
+"Agnesse."
+Boris said his horse would be safe inside the barn; the door was latched. But Dmitri was not convinced. While Boris finished priming his musket, Dmitri snatched up the other, loading the shot as swiftly as he was able.
+An ominous silence had fallen by the time both guns were primed and ready to fire. "Perhaps he has already returned to the forest?" Dmitri whispered. "We don't want to draw him back."
+Boris said a couple more shots would help the bear on his way - and discourage him from returning. Dmitri edged the door open, peering out at the yard. Seeing no immediate danger, he opened it fully, and raised his musket. Boris spotted the bear first, some yards away. His gun flared, letting off a tremendous crack and cloud of smoke. The bear turned, bellowing. As the smoke cleared, Dmitri took careful aim. His shot thundered across the enclosure, and the bear roared more horribly than ever, rearing up on its hind legs.
+"Did you hit him?"
+"I think so. Clipped him, at least."
+The low, furious sound continued, until the bear dropped back onto all fours, and lumbered into the forest. Boris let out his breath, clapping Dmitri on the shoulder. "He'll think twice before coming back here."
+Dmitri nodded. He didn't realise how dry his mouth had become until Boris handed him a glass of vodka. Warmth and relief coursed through him as he gulped it down. Boris poured him another.
+"I've never seen such a beast," Dmitri said. "He must have stood as tall as two men."
+"Aye," said Boris. "And did you see the girth of him? He ought only just to be out of his winter sleep. By rights he should be skinny and starving. But that was just about the healthiest bear I ever saw! Fat and sleek – and not half so determined as a hungry beast would have been."
+"We were lucky then," Dmitri said, but Boris frowned, insisting there was something queer about the situation.
+"It was certainly no ghost maiden, anyway."
+Boris agreed with that. "More like a whiskery old grandmother with a big, wet nose!"
+Once the danger was past, Dmitri found his wrist was sore and aching. He'd had little care for it as he fired at the bear, too caught up in the moment. The pain of it lessened though with each fresh glass of spirit.
+"I haven't seen a bear this close to town before," he said. "Wolves occasionally, when times are hard – and this winter has long outstayed its welcome."
+Boris said it could have been a wolf that Pieter saw. "At this time of year its coat would still be white, like his ghostly maiden. In poor light he might mistake it for some spirit of the forest? I suppose it might even have knocked over his brazier, looking for food, and started the fire?"
+"Then Pieter would not truly be to blame?"
+"Wouldn't he? What use is a watchman who drinks, sleeps, and is fooled by darkness and his own addled wits? Whatever the story, we are better off without him."
+Dmitri supposed that was true, but still he felt bad that the watchman's words were so summarily dismissed.
+"In any case," Boris said. "We have just seen that what seemed a mysterious night terror was only a natural creature of the forest."
+"A creature monstrously huge and in suspiciously good health."
+"Yes, well. Perhaps he has simply eaten every other bear in the forest, and is consequently in devilish fine shape?"
+Dmitri said he supposed that would do it. "But there is more to this world than what we see every day. There are mysteries yet, for all our knowledge and learning."
+"And when the unknown knocks on my door then I shall consider it. Until then, I'll limit my explanations to things I understand. And there is nothing easier to understand than a weak man and an empty bottle. Those are the only spirits to blame for Pieter's downfall."
+He advised Dmitri to get some rest, saying he would wake him to take a turn on watch. But when Dmitri woke the sun was already high over the forest. The fire was banked up once more, spitting over fresh new wood, and Boris was standing over him with a saucepan, asking if he wanted eggs and sausages. Dmitri groaned and clutched his head.
+"Tea, then?"
+He managed to nod. Once he'd wrapped his hands around a glass of hot tea, and taken a few scorching sips, he said, "You were supposed to wake me."
+Boris snorted and said he'd tried. "Like trying to raise the dead! Except the dead don't usually curse, and take swings at you."
+Dmitri frowned. "I have no memory of this."
+Boris showed him the empty spirit bottle, and slapped him on the back, saying, "Buck up though, lad. You earned it."
+Dmitri coughed from the slap, and groaned again. Boris handed him a plate of eggs, sausages and dry bread. He stared at it, and put it aside. "Perhaps later."
+Boris whistled as he prepared his own breakfast, seeming none the worse for his night of much liquor and little sleep. Dmitri begged him to stop, asking how he could bear the shrill, grating sound of it.
+Boris told him cheerfully that years of practice had all but inured him to the effects of hard liquor, adding, "I've done the rounds of the yard. Nothing has been interfered with. Agnesse is quite content, and munching her oats. There's a dash of blood over by the hawthorn. Looks like you clipped the old feller, but nothing too serious. Let's hope he doesn't hold a grudge, eh?"
+Dmitri's wits lagged behind a little on the abrupt change of subject. But after a moment he nodded. He took a bite of sausage, and said they should probably get to work on the new watchman's hut.
+"We don't yet have a new watchman," Boris said. "And you are in no fit state to build anything. Besides, it's a day of rest. Get home, lad. Sleep it off."
+They left together, Agnesse walking at a pace Boris could match. Progress was slow, and by the time they reached the empty expanse of the town square, the church doors were pulled closed. "Aw, we're too late for Mass," Boris said with exaggerated regret. "Dreadful shame, that. Still, I should have a good couple of hours before the two harpies bicker their way back home." A broad grin appeared on his face. It seemed to grow broader each time Dmitri looked at him.
+"Is it truly that bad?" Dmitri asked, reaching the inn, and climbing down from Agnesse.
+Boris sighed, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Remember what I said. Choose wisely, and you will be a happy man. Or so I've heard. Now go and get some sleep."
+***
+Arriving back at Dmitri's empty cottage the previous evening, Kikimora had helped herself to bread and cheese and a glass of good wine. She had enjoyed the warmth of the stove and, when it came time to sleep, had nestled herself behind it as usual.
+But she couldn't help thinking about the warm, soft mattress lying empty upstairs. She had never slept in a real bed. A pile of straw and a single blanket was the most comfort she had ever had or needed. For the past week she had foregone even those, sleeping on the bare tiles with no covers at all.
+"I could borrow a blanket," she murmured, already at the foot of the stairs. "Just this once."
+She peeled back the topmost blanket. Below it were two more and some pale linen sheets. She could smell the soap Mrs Zubrev used for the laundry, as well as the smells she had learned to associate with Dmitri: charcoal and smoke, and the stables where he kept his horse, Agnesse. These seemed warm smells, somehow comforting.
+Kikimora pulled back the remaining covers, smoothing the sheet with her palm and enjoying the soft, clean feel of it. She pressed the feather-filled pillow, marvelling at its buoyancy. The bed frame creaked as she leaned further across, and she jumped guiltily. "But he will be away all night," she reminded herself and, before she could think better of it, she slipped between the sheets and snuggled into the mattress.
+It was a luxury unlike anything she had previously imagined. She felt cushioned on air; safe, warm, and cosseted. Never having had a mother to hold her, the feeling brought to mind a great, gentle, furry hug from Leshy. She scrunched the linen in her hands, inhaling the musky scents of horse and man, and she gave a sigh.
+She was deeply asleep within moments, and did not wake until the morning light began to peek through the gaps in the roof, sending bright lines slicing across the wall.
+She rose feeling exceptionally refreshed. She poured clean water into Dmitri's wash-bowl, and stripped off her shift to have a proper wash. At home with Anatoly and Barinya she had washed her face and hands every day, and her shift every week. She had brushed her long, dark hair, and kept it plaited out of the way.
+But she had found little opportunity for washing since she moved into Dmitri's cottage. She had not attended her hair for some days, her fingernails were dirty, and her dress was splashed with mud and grease.
+She found some squares of linen on the washstand and decided these were probably for washing. The water was cold, but that didn't trouble her. She untied her hair and dunked her head into the bowl, rinsing it thoroughly, then wrung it out and bound it back into her customary plaits.
+It was a shame she had no opportunity to wash her dress as well. But she had not brought a change of clothes with her, and so she climbed back into the same dress, which clung to her a little damply.
+Feeling much restored, she drank tea and ate a hearty breakfast before venturing into the town. She knew that today was Sunday, and that men did not work on Sunday. Instead they went to church and were told about Hell.
+The streets were no less crowded than usual, but there was a different tone to the bustle, Kikimora thought. The women all wore their best frocks with fur trim and lace. The men had their hair damped and flattened. Some had fur overcoats and wooden canes - though few seemed to require the canes to assist their walking. Instead these were used to point and gesticulate.
+Everyone moved at a leisurely pace, taking the time to stop and exchange pleasantries with one another. But sooner or later, all made their way towards the church. It was an imposing building – all in smart red brick, rising up in ever diminishing tiers, the whole topped with a fantastic array of bulbous domes. It rose high above the other buildings, most of them wooden, and in varying states of dilapidation. Its copper domes shone pale green in the morning sun.
+Kikimora allowed herself to become visible. She followed the stream of well dressed people through the cold, shadowed vestibule and into the nave – where she drew to a halt, struck with wonder at the sudden opulence and beauty on display.
+The windows were narrow and few. But whereas Kikimora was used to rooms lit by one or two rush-lights, or the occasional stinking tallow candle, the church was filled with sweet-smelling wax candles – scores of them, in richly ornate sconces, lining each wall.
+She inhaled deeply. There was exotic, heady incense in the air. The walls soared upwards to an arched and painted ceiling. Everywhere she looked there were magnificent frescos, coloured with gold and jewel-bright paints; fantastical scenes of winged bulls, and blue-skinned demons, of men dying in multifarious and agonising ways. She turned slowly, eyes flitting from one wonder to another – until she was roughly elbowed aside by a passing family.
+"Really!" grumbled the fur-hatted lady, without breaking her stride.
+As Kikimora glared after her, she was again nudged aside. "Watch out, Miss. Bad place to stand gawping."
+She had only an impression of a boy's quick grin before he disappeared into the throng. She drew away from the aisle into one of the empty pews and sat, nervously smoothing the front of her dress. She watched as a family of well-dressed young ladies bustled into the church, all bright laughter and ribbons, their faces scrubbed and gleaming. One of the girls glanced briefly in her direction, her pretty nose wrinkling in distaste.
+Kikimora had become visible so that the crowds didn't bump into her, but she felt awkward and self-conscious, and wished she had remained unseen. She was coming to the conclusion that the expedition was a disaster and she should disappear at once, when a well-dressed woman slipped into the seat beside her. She was neither young nor old, her face pitted with small, round scars. But her smile was warm and welcoming, and Kikimora found an answering smile on her own face. The lady nodded to her, and wished her good day.
+"Good day to you," Kikimora answered uncertainly.
+The lady glanced frequently towards the door, as though she was waiting for someone. But most of the pews were full now, and fewer people were entering the church. Kikimora tried to hold her hands still in her lap, staring straight ahead in what she hoped was an appropriately church-like manner. But her gaze would fall repeatedly to a spot of dirt on her cuff. She had missed it when she sponged the soot from her hem earlier. Furtively she began to scrape at it with a ragged nail.
+The scarred lady leaned closer. "Don't you have a cap, child?"
+"What?" Kikimora glanced quickly around the church. From transept to vestibule, every woman she saw, even the poorest and plainest, had her head covered. "Oh."
+Untroubled by cold, and having spent most of the week invisible, she had got out of the habit of wearing her cap. She dug in the large pocket of her dress, amongst her pin box and swatches of threads, until she found a plain, linen cap. It was greying and rather weather-beaten, but she shook it out and placed it on her head.
+"There," smiled the lady. "Isn't that better?"
+Kikimora nodded, feeling less self-conscious. Still her fingers strayed to the dirty cuff, but the lady again leaned close, saying, "Don't worry. I am certain God is more concerned with the cleanliness of your soul than your dress."
+Kikimora's eyes widened in alarm. She glanced at the altar, then up towards the vaulted ceiling, unsure where God was supposed to reside. "He can see my soul?"
+"The priests say he sees into all our souls." The lady raised a gloved hand to her chest. "Into our hearts."
+Kikimora wasn't sure she liked the sound of that. "Why? And how?"
+The lady gave a laugh, then a frown of concern. "Has no one instructed you in the scripture? Have you no family?"
+Kikimora liked this turn to the conversation even less. But before she had thought of a way to answer - or to avoid answering - the last of the congregation took their seats, the heavy oak doors were swung shut, and an expectant silence fell.
+"Damn," hissed the lady, then blushed, and quietly begged Kikimora's pardon.
+At the front of the church stood a choir of young boys, all dressed in white. At some signal Kikimora missed, they and the congregation rose to their feet. The boys began to sing, their clear voices soaring up into the hazy, gilded domes, like swallows in a summer sky. The lady also sang, and her voice was rich and pleasant. Kikimora sat listening raptly until she felt a tug upon her sleeve; the kind lady signalling that she too should rise.
+Though she tried to listen to the song, she couldn't make out the words. She thought it sounded like one of the strange, foreign languages Anatoly spoke sometimes when he consulted ancient texts. She was surprised by this association, for he had never seemed to have a very high opinion of the church.
+"What are they singing?" she asked the lady, who raised a finger to her lips, without breaking from her song.
+Kikimora could see that many of the congregation did not join in the singing. It seemed that only the better dressed, more affluent members did – and most of those sat near the front of the church. Perhaps the others were new to the congregation, and hadn't yet learned the words?
+"What language is that?" she asked, and again the lady shushed her – this time with a frown.
+Kikimora let her eyes close and drank in the music, which was unlike anything she'd heard before. It made her heart feel too big for her chest, as though it would burst with joy.
+All too soon the singing drew to a close, and there were sounds of many bodies shuffling, of coughs and sniffles, and paper rustling. Kikimora didn't open her eyes until another soft tug on her sleeve alerted her that she was again out of step with the congregation.
+"It is Latin," the lady whispered as she resumed her seat. "But you mustn't keep talking."
+Kikimora nodded and thanked her. She wondered what would come next, and if it could be as surprising and wonderful as the singing. A man with a bushy beard and many layers of fine clothing came and stood before the altar. He began to speak in a low, rolling voice, his words as impenetrable as the song, but far less beautiful. From time to time the congregation answered him in short, chorused phrases – all of them, not just the finely dressed.
+"What are you saying?" Kikimora asked, then clapped a hand to her mouth, remembering her instruction.
+The lady suppressed a smile. During the congregation's next response, she crossed herself and whispered, "He is saying we must thank our Lord, Jesus Christ, who died for our sins."
+Kikimora emulated the crossing action a little clumsily. "He was sacrificed? To sate God's hunger?"
+The lady was so shocked, she quite forgot to cross herself or give the response. "No!" she said loudly, causing several of the nearby congregation to turn and frown. "My poor child," she continued under cover of the next speech. "Your spiritual education is sorely lacking. I suppose you have never been to school," she added, glancing at Kikimora's plain dress and bare feet.
+Kikimora shook her head. "My father – Anatoly taught me."
+"I'm sure he did the best he could," the lady said without much conviction. "I have long said it would be a good and charitable thing to open a free school for the poor of the town-" She broke off as the call and response reached its end. The congregation rose once more. They nodded their heads, closed their eyes and, as one, recited a prayer.
+Kikimora thought there was something hypnotic about the sea of voices, all individual, but all in unison, chanting she knew not what. But when the prayer ended the bearded man began to talk again. He talked for a long time, and Kikimora grew restless.
+She glanced at the door. It was thick oak, bound and latched; there would be no quietly slipping through without drawing attention to herself. She stifled a yawn, and decided to investigate the shadowed alcoves of the church. When heads were next bowed in prayer, she made herself invisible and rose from her seat. She noticed the lady look up and around in confusion, then return to her prayer, a frown creasing her scarred face.
+Around the walls were many finely carved wooden screens and ornaments. There were a number of tall boxes, their central panels carved with intricate filigree patterns, and rich curtains hanging to either side. Kikimora pulled back one of the curtains a little way. Inside it was dim, with space for a man to kneel upon a low cushion.
+There was no man inside the cubicle, but a small girl, sitting with knees drawn up to her chin. She startled when the curtain was drawn aside, covering her face with a ragged doll. But peeking from behind it, she recognised Kikimora, and gave a hopeful half-smile. "Don't tell," she whispered.
+"What are you doing?"
+"Magda was bored," Zoria said. "And the incense gave her a headache. She wanted to sit somewhere dark and quiet."
+Kikimora glanced down at herself. She was still invisible - but of course that never seemed to work on Zoria. "I was bored too," she said.
+Zoria giggled, and shuffled to one side, making room beside her.
+Kikimora asked how long church lasted, and Zoria said, "Oh, ages and ages!"
+"Do they sing again? I like the singing."
+Zoria only shrugged. Kikimora turned her attention to the doll, lifting one threadbare foot, and asking if Magda had been out dancing again.
+"She goes every night."
+Kikimora said she would soon be unable to dance if her feet weren't repaired. "I have a needle and thread. If you like, I could give her new dancing slippers?"
+"Could you really? Would you?"
+"Yes, of course. It's the work of a few moments."
+She took her sewing things from her pocket, showing Zoria all her coloured threads, and asking which would suit best. Magda's own colours were so faded that any could have matched. Zoria chose yellow and red, explaining that Magda's new slippers would be of gold and ruby.
+While the prayers continued outside the booth, Kikimora threaded her needle and began to darn the doll's ragged feet. She covered them first in a fine, bright yellow, then stitched on tiny jewels of deep red. Zoria watched as though it was magic, eyes wide, and fingers crammed into her mouth.
+"Now she can dance to her heart's content," Kikimora said, as she tied off the last stitch. "And when the fairy princess gets tired and goes to bed, she can carry on dancing with the Rusalkas, until the sun comes up again."
+Zoria accepted her doll back with silent reverence. She danced Magda this way and that, admiring her smart new feet. Kikimora began to say that she would need a new dress to go with them, but fell silent when the curtain was pulled roughly aside.
+"There you are," said Zoria's mother, taking her arm and pulling her to her feet. "I've been beside myself with worry."
+Zoria protested that Magda was tired, and her mother said she didn't want to hear about the doll. "But the Pale Lady-"
+"Or your Pale Lady! Really, Zoria, enough of your make-believe. And in church, as well. You ought to know better."
+Mother and daughter marched towards the open doors. Regaining her visibility, Kikimora followed. There were many beautiful and wonderful things about the church, and she was glad to have seen its interior, but she felt stifled now and longed for the clean, fresh air outside.
+She caught sight again of the kind lady with the scarred face. She was talking to the lady who had brought Dmitri dumplings earlier in the week. Around her were a brood of plump, pretty girls, who must be her daughters. Kikimora hurried past with her head dipped. Even in the square the noise and press of bodies was too much. She longed for the forest; for home.
+Pushing through the crowds, she reached the main road at a run. She passed through the town gates, and left the path behind, running through the trees without breaking the surface of the snow. She was deep within the forest when her foot caught on a hidden root, and she tumbled into a drift.
+Snow walls rose above her, blue with shadow. Kikimora's narrow chest rose and fell rapidly, and she laughed for sheer exuberance. She was warm from her run, and the cold, fresh snow felt deliciously refreshing against her skin. There was no sound but a far off bird tapping for insects in a rotten tree, and the occasional stirring of a gentle breeze through the treetops. Some might have found that a mournful sound, but to Kikimora it was sweet and calm and peaceful.
+She might have remained lying in the drift, but a huge, dark head appeared over the snow wall. It gave a low grunt, muzzle snuffing the air. Then strong paws began to dig the snow away.
+***
+"Leshy!" Kikimora cried, leaping up and throwing her arms around the bear's massive neck. He gave a little grunt of pleasure, nuzzling at her cold cheek. Kikimora laughed, exclaiming at his coarse fur. She stroked his ear, and he flinched away, a low rumble starting in his chest.
+"What is it?"
+Leshy drew a paw awkwardly across his ear, and Kikimora saw that it was torn and bloody. "What has happened? Are you hurt?" He gave another groan, tossing his big head from side to side. "Stop making those silly noises. I know you can speak properly if you choose. I might almost think you were embarrassed!"
+Leshy gave another groan, and admitted men had shot at him with their guns.
+"Are you hurt?"
+He said it was nothing; they had only clipped his ear. He explained that he'd been patrolling the forest when he'd seen unusual activity at the mine buildings. He watched for a while, and when one of the men came outside into the trees, he took on the form of this huge bear to scare them. "I didn't know they would have guns though."
+"And the men? Did you-?"
+Leshy grumbled that he wished he'd given them some scars to remember him by. "They surprised me, though. Watchmen with guns – this is a new thing, and I do not like it."
+"He's unhurt, then?" Kikimora couldn't have said why, but it seemed important to know this. Leshy gave a grunt which sounded more or less affirmative, and she let out a sigh. For a while, she sat nestled against his warm bulk, stroking his uninjured ear. "What was it like?" she asked. She had heard of guns, but had never seen one, and had only a vague idea of their appearance and working.
+"Noisy," said Leshy. "Smoky and stinking – like all these infernal human devices. There is a flash of fire, a crack of thunder; something small and fierce bites you, and then is gone. It is devilry."
+He asked how her own endeavours were progressing, and Kikimora told him proudly that it was her success in terrorising the night-watchman which resulted in the manager and his foreman standing watch last night. "I burned down his hut, and he lost his job. The other men are superstitious, and refuse to stay in the mine overnight."
+Leshy praised her good work. In the moonless dark he hadn't recognised the manager, and now berated himself, "I should have torn his head off. I might at least have taken an eye."
+"You mean to kill him then?"
+Leshy shrugged, as though it was of no importance. "Once the mine is ruined and the men all driven away, you can come home, and everything will be as it was before."
+The heavy feeling settled in Kikimora's chest once more. She asked if he had any news of her home, but he had not. Anatoly was still travelling on his quest for the missing princess. No doubt Barinya was enjoying having the house to herself, and mercilessly slaying the mouse population.
+Kikimora mustered a thin smile. She felt restless of a sudden, and leapt to her feet. Together, she and Leshy walked through the forest, the bear's huge paws sinking deep into the snow, while her own bare feet padded lightly across its surface.
+She told him she had ventured inside the church, and Leshy turned to her in astonishment. "It is a terrible place, is it not? Full of hell-fire and damnation?"
+Kikimora said there was a dull man who talked a lot, but there was also beautiful singing and jewelled images of fantastic beings, and wood carved into the most exquisite designs...
+"More human devilry," growled Leshy. He warned her not to be seduced by pretty trinkets and baubles - she ought to know better than that. "Did they read from their book of lies? Did they thank their god for giving the earth to them?"
+Kikimora said quietly that she didn't know; the words had all been in Latin.
+"They claim their god gave them dominion over the fish of the sea and the fowl of the air – over every beast and creeping thing. But it was not his to give!" Leshy reared up, raking his claws down a pine trunk and peeling off long ribbons of bark. "Their god is a thief and a liar!"
+Kikimora swallowed, and said nothing. The shadows were lengthening beneath the trees, the air growing ever colder. She turned and began to head once more towards town, murmuring that she must get back before the gates were locked for the night.
+Leshy accompanied her to the edge of the trees. She embraced him, rubbing the thick fur of his face, and frowning as she noticed his bloody ear once more. Leshy again assured her it was nothing, but warned her to be careful of the manager; he was more dangerous than they'd realised.
+He asked what she had planned for Dmitri next, and Kikimora's mind seemed to empty itself like an upended bottle. She felt suddenly ashamed for taking the day off, for visiting the church, and sewing Magda's shoes.
+"I smelled strong liquor on the men last night. He will be out of sorts today. Perhaps his head will be hurting?"
+Kikimora grinned. "Then I believe I am feeling quite musical. He has some very loud pans hanging above the stove..."
+It was fully dark when she reached the gates, the streets already quiet and empty. Smoke rose from the chimneys; firelight glowed around the edges of shuttered windows – but not from Dmitri's house. The stove had gone out long ago, and it was cold and dark. From the room above came a loud, irregular snoring. Kikimora crept up the narrow stairs. There was little light, but she could make out Dmitri's sleeping form, face down amongst his rumpled sheets – no wonder he snorted and grunted so.
+She thought of him shooting at Leshy, and knew she should be furious, ready to exact bloody vengeance. But somehow that was not what she felt. Instead there was sadness and some disappointment – though why she'd expected better from the mine manager she couldn't have said. Nor could she understand why Dmitri's own safety had seemed so important to her while Leshy told his tale. "Leshy should have taken his head off," she told herself, but the words sounded wrong, and she didn't believe them.
+Silently, she crossed the room. The basin was still filled with icy water from her morning wash. She carefully lifted it, and approached the bed. A floorboard creaked, and Dmitri twitched and snorted. Kikimora hesitated just a moment, then emptied the basin over his head.
+Sweet Jesus and Mary! Hell's teeth! and God's wounds! were some of the less profane things he yelled as he leapt from his bed. Kikimora dropped the basin, backing a little way down the stairs.
+"I thought we had reached an understanding?" Dmitri groaned, fumbling to light his candle. He stripped off his soaked shirt, throwing it on the floorboards as he hunted for a clean replacement. He was still only half dressed when there came a knock at the front door. Extensive swearing followed, as he remembered he was supposed to be visiting his father.
+Kikimora retreated the rest of the way down the stairs. A moment later, Dmitri came pounding after her, his collar askew. He flung open the door just as the caller had raised his fist to knock again.
+"Vitali," he said, stepping aside so the man could enter. "I was going to ride over. Hell and damnation, I'm not late, am I? And why are you all done up like an organ-grinder's monkey?" he added, as Vitali slipped off his greatcoat, revealing an ill-fitting suit of bottle-green velvet.
+Vitali scowled, and pulled uncomfortably at his tight collar. "Your father felt that it would do your reputation no harm to be seen in a liveried carriage for once. Not that there is anyone abroad on such an evening to care one way or the other."
+Dmitri harrumphed, and poured him a glass of vodka, saying, "It is a cold night to be out in impractical clothes."
+Vitali said it was indeed, and emptied his glass. Dmitri invited him to pour another, saying he needed a moment to make himself presentable. Vitali smiled, picked up the bottle, and told him to take as long as he needed. Dmitri bounded back up the stairs. There was much thumping and crashing about, and he returned in only a few moments, buttoning his waistcoat.
+Outside was a carriage painted the same bottle green as Vitali's livery. It had clearly once been very grand, but was now chipped and flaking. Sections of the moulded pattern on the doors had broken away.
+A pair of horses stamped, and snorted plumes of icy breath. Kikimora gave them as wide a berth as she was able. Even so, they whinnied a little as she passed, but Vitali soothed them with a whispered word. He closed the carriage door after Dmitri, and climbed onto the seat at the front. With a flick of the reins they began to pull away .
+Kikimora hesitated for just a moment. The carriage was slow to gather speed, and a short sprint brought her to its rear. She climbed up onto the running board, holding on to the worm-eaten scrollwork as they rattled down the street, back towards the forest.
+***
+Low lying branches whipped past Kikimora's ears. She clung on to the carriage's moulded decoration with numb fingers. She had never before moved at such speed, and found it at once thrilling, terrifying, and a little nauseating.
+After a time the carriage slowed, and Vitali climbed down to open a pair of tall, creaking gates. They progressed more swiftly - but also more smoothly - up a long, straight drive towards the largest house Kikimora had ever seen. It squatted in the distance like a monstrous djinn from one of Barinya's Arabian tales.
+Kikimora thought that an entire town could live there, but few of the windows held any lights. And when the door was opened to them, she immediately sensed an unexpected stillness about the place. Silence lay heavily upon the leather panelled walls, the threadbare rugs and the huge, dusty chandeliers.
+She was further surprised when the kind lady with the scarred face ran across and warmly embraced Dmitri. "I missed you this morning, in church," she chided.
+Before Dmitri could reply, the far doors were thrown open, and a huge bear of a man walked slowly, heavily forwards. He limped a little, his weight thrown onto an elegant cane that looked barely equal to the task of supporting him. As he drew closer, Kikimora could see that half of his face was covered in old scar tissue - a dark crease marking the place where an eye should have been.
+"Father," said Dmitri, straightening, and squaring his shoulders. "I hope you are feeling better today?"
+"I'm much improved," growled the old man, and succumbed to a fit of violent coughing.
+At once Yana was by his side, taking his arm, and leading him gently to the nearest seat. "Please," she called to Dmitri over her shoulder. "Go through to the dining room. We will join you in just a moment."
+Dmitri started forward, as though intending to offer his help. But Yana threw him an eloquent look. "Go and get a drink," she suggested. Dmitri reluctantly did as she said. Yana unfolded a clean handkerchief, holding it to her father's mouth.
+Lingering in the hall, Kikimora saw what Dmitri did not – that when Yana removed the handkerchief it was spotted with thick dark blood. Yana handed it with silent gratitude to a waiting servant, and helped her father to his feet. Kikimora followed them into the dining room, slipping behind a pair of heavy, green curtains.
+"Damn me, but it's cold in here!" said Stanislav, taking a long drink.
+The servant, Bettina, began to stoke the fire, but he called her over to refill his glass, grumbling impatiently while she dusted her hands off on her apron. "What's this I hear about your night-watchman?" he said, turning to Dmitri.
+Yana began to object that she'd promised Dmitri a pleasant evening with no business talk, but her father told her to be quiet.
+"It was nothing, really."
+"Nothing? I don't call the loss of a building nothing. Damage to our property. A man dismissed. Wild rumours."
+Dmitri tried again. "You know how men talk. It was simply a drunken accident that has become inflated in the telling. Boris and I kept watch last night, and there was no trouble. Well, a bear came sniffing around-"
+"A bear?"
+"He gave me a fright, but I clipped him with a musket shot. I doubt we'll see him again."
+Yana exclaimed over this, and Dmitri reassured her he was quite unhurt. Once she was satisfied on this issue, she said, "I waited for you in church today. But I suppose you were sleeping after keeping watch all night?"
+"Aye," grumbled their father. "And I'll wager a bottle or two helped you keep watch, eh?"
+Dmitri was relieved when Bettina returned with the first course. There was silence for a time, while the family applied themselves to the beetroot soup, which was excellent, as always.
+While Kikimora helped herself from the silver tureen, one dipped finger at a time, Stanislav said, "I hear you have been making a spectacle of yourself in the tavern again. After all we spoke of on your last visit. You realise it is not just my heart you're breaking? Why do you think your sister is still unwed at her age? Who would have her? Tied by blood to a ragamuffin gypsy."
+Dmitri said sharply that was no way for a man to speak of his daughter. Yana stared at her soup, the tips of her ears turning pink.
+"And look at you," Stanislav continued. "Is this how you present yourself in your father's house? When did you last have a shave?"
+"I regret I did not find time this week," said Dmitri stiffly. "I have been kept busy going over the books, trying to find any place that savings could be made. Incidentally, I would have been quite content to ride over this evening. There was no need to go to the trouble of sending the carriage."
+Stanislav replied that it was no trouble, and he'd thought it wouldn't hurt to remind Dmitri of his standing in the town.
+"Perhaps Vitali could more usefully have spent his time tending the fires and bringing up the wine, so that Bettina would not be rushing around like a bluebottle?"
+Stanislav slammed down his wineglass. "You would tell me how to run my household now?"
+"Of course not, Father." Stifling a sigh, Dmitri returned to his soup, but fumbled and dropped the heavy silver spoon.
+"And what the devil is wrong with your hand? You've been splashing about like a crow with a broken wing."
+"I sprained my wrist. A silly accident."
+"Another accident?" Stanislav made it sound damning. "Whilst you were out carousing, no doubt?"
+Kikimora saw Dmitri's jaw clench a little before he replied that indeed, no, he had not been out, but had tripped on the stairs in his own home. "You should be glad, Father," he added bitterly. "I find I am unable to play my violin until the sprain has healed."
+Stanislav made a non-committal grunt, and shivered as Kikimora darted forwards. When next he took a drink, she gave his glass a little shove, causing him to splutter and spill dark wine down his shirt front. He pushed himself back from the table, shouting, "Damn and blast you all!"
+Yana at once got up to aid him, but he waved her aside. Summoned by all the shouting, Vitali produced a damp cloth, and began to dab at the stain. Stanislav roared at them both to leave him be. "I will not eat soaked in wine! We are not savages." Leaning on his cane, he began the slow hobble to the door.
+Bettina arrived with the main course, and he ordered her to take it back and keep it warm until he returned. As the door closed behind him, Dmitri asked, "How long has he been like this? He was in a fine temper on Monday – for him. What has happened?"
+"He has been impossible all day," Yana confided. "Ever since the messenger arrived this morning."
+"A messenger? From whom?"
+"I am almost sure it was Count Rudov's man."
+"Rudov? What does he want? The last time we met he barely acknowledged me."
+"You know Father tells me nothing related to business. But perhaps it is not that. His cough has been worsening throughout the week, and it always makes him crotchety. It is chilly in here," she added, pulling the shawl more closely around her shoulders. "Perhaps I'm succumbing to Father's cold."
+"You know it is not a cold, Yana."
+Yana's face seemed suddenly older and more plain than ever. "I know. But he is so proud! He will not admit to weakness. He can just about tolerate my ministrations, but he hates for you to witness any infirmity. I am sure it is his pride which makes him so difficult."
+"How do you cope all alone with him? It's no life for you. I should never have moved to town, and left you here alone."
+Yana smiled weakly, saying, "There is no reason for us both to suffer his moods. You have enough to contend with at the mine. Besides, he has never been as hard on me as he is on you."
+Dmitri frowned and looked down at his hands. "It is not your fault he had the accident."
+"Nor was it yours. We have been over this many times."
+"You know it was not like him to be so careless. If I hadn't made him so angry that day-"
+"You are not responsible for his temper."
+"It seems that I cause him nothing but grief and disappointment."
+Yana slipped her hand into his. "He is not good at expressing it, but he is proud of you. I know it."
+Dmitri smiled for Yana's sake, but he felt no better. "Still," he said. "Couldn't something be done? A nurse, perhaps? It is not right that all the hardship falls to you."
+Yana said briskly that their father would never stand for a nurse. "You know how he hates strangers." Dmitri said he didn't seem especially fond of his own family, and Yana suppressed a smile as Stanislav rejoined them.
+The roast guinea fowl and spiced goulash were brought once more from the kitchen. After a few mouthfuls, and the appropriate exclamations of enjoyment, Dmitri asked, "What did Rudov want?"
+Stanislav glared at Yana, who kept her expression bland. He didn't answer at once, seeming to chew over some decision. At last he said, "He has requested an audience."
+"He's coming here?" Yana forgot her feigned nonchalance. "Whatever can he want? We had given up extending invitations long ago. Not one was ever taken up."
+"I thought you had no interest in finding new investors?" said Dmitri.
+"Not for the mine, no. This is on another matter."
+"What matter?" Yana asked, but Stanislav would not be drawn. "We'll see how it goes," is all he would say, but a small, hard smile continued to play around his mouth.
+Dmitri frowned. He was puzzled by the news and by his father's evident agitation. But since he could learn nothing more he let it drop.
+After the pudding, he suggested that Yana play for them. She looked to her father for permission, and he nodded, muttering that it was a fine accomplishment for a lady to be able to play and sing a little - although not too well, for that could lead to pride and un-Christian ideas.
+Yana sat at the spinet and began to play a popular tune. The accompanying words were a nonsensical ditty comprising many hey nonnys and dilly dillys. She sang softly, and her voice was just as clear and pleasant as Kikimora remembered from church.
+Stanislav continued to grumble to himself about her fine womanly accomplishments going to waste while her feckless brother ruined their good name with his gypsy ways. But his voice grew softer, and his grumbles less frequent, and in time he lapsed into low snoring.
+Dmitri got up and joined Yana at the keyboard. He played a counterpoint to her tune with his left hand only, and sang softly, so as not to wake their father. When the song finished Yana leaned her head on his shoulder, still humming.
+"I am sorry, Yana," Dmitri said.
+"Whatever for?"
+"Father is right. My behaviour doesn't help your prospects. It isn't fair that you should suffer on my account."
+Yana kept her gaze averted from Dmitri's. "I know I am no great catch. I am no beauty. Father tells me nothing of the business, but I can tell our fortunes are not what they once were. And as for our lineage! The aristocracy have never taken to Father – you know that. Even when the house was newly furnished, the staff plentiful and neatly turned out, when I had fine silk dresses to wear – the good families here had no interest in us. In their eyes Father was little better than an upstart merchant or labourer. He worked for his fortune, rather than having it handed to him on a plate." Her voice took on an uncharacteristically bitter tone, "They will never forgive us for that."
+Dmitri said he'd had no idea his sister was so politically minded, and she blushed, murmuring an apology. "There is no need to apologise. You are the most accomplished lady of my acquaintance. One day you will meet a man who recognises that. I am sure of it."
+Yana excused herself, and Dmitri sat thoughtfully for a moment while Irinka cleared away the dishes. She asked if her goulash was as good as he remembered, and Dmitri assured her that it was. "Is everything alright, Master Dmitri?" she said. "You seem distracted tonight."
+Dmitri hesitated, then said, "You spoke the other day about household spirits. I wonder, do they only inhabit houses? Or do you find spirits in other places?"
+Irinka replaced the stack of dishes on the table. "There are the spirits of the forest, like Leshy. But they are something different entirely."
+"How?"
+Irinka thought about it. "Household spirits are interested in our doings; forest spirits are not. To them we are no more important than a rabbit, a wood pigeon or a fox – perhaps less so. Both can be appeased with offerings. Befriending a household spirit can turn it from a mischievous annoyance to a helpful ally. But the forest spirits will never be allies. The best that can be hoped for is they let us pass through their realm without menace."
+Dmitri thanked her for the explanation. He might have asked more, but Yana returned then. As he refilled their glasses, she told him, "Mrs Olgakov is in high excitement about your forthcoming dinner, and the girls all asked after you with touching concern. They have been practising some new pieces at the spinet, and look forward to playing for you."
+"Merciful Jesus," murmured Dmitri. Yana tutted, and he said, "You have heard them play!"
+Yana chastised him even as she laughed into her hand.
+"I am only grateful Father does not get in to town these days. If he ever met up with Mrs Olgakov I wouldn't stand a chance. Between the two of them I would be married off before I could sneeze."
+"Musicality aside, they are fine, handsome girls, surely?" asked Yana, only half teasing. "You could do worse. Let's see, there is Agnesse-"
+"I am not marrying a girl with the same name as my horse."
+"You could get a new horse?"
+Dmitri said he was very fond of that horse. Yana suggested he change its name, but he insisted it would never work. "She has such a long nose, and those big, rolling eyes. I should never forget that the horse came first."
+"Very well. We will rule out Agnesse. Next there is Beatrice. As I recall, she is unobjectionable?"
+"Certainly she has never stopped eating for long enough to say anything controversial."
+"Cecile, then?"
+Dmitri shuddered. "She has that laugh - it cuts through me like a knife, like a banshee's wail."
+"She has inspired you to a romantic turn of phrase at least. Well then, that leaves Seraphina, the loveliest of them all. What objection could you have to her?"
+"Seraphina is certainly handsome," Dmitri admitted.
+"There we have it, then," said Yana, before he could add any caveat. "I predict wedding bells before the snows thaw."
+"Gods help me."
+When she had stopped laughing, Yana chastised him, "You should be ashamed of yourself, Dmitri Rachmanov, making fun of kind, decent folk."
+She meant it teasingly, but Dmitri sighed and said, "I suppose I should."
+He stood to leave, and Yana said she would see him in church in the morning.
+"Church again?"
+"It's a holiday, of course we must go to church. Particularly those of us who missed it today."
+Dmitri pecked a kiss on her cheek. Snow was falling once more, already lying thick on the ground. The cold was intense, but Dmitri seemed not to notice. He had again drunk freely throughout the night and, in his clumsiness, failed to shut the carriage door properly behind him. It crashed against its frame, then swung open once more.
+To Kikimora, sheltering against the rough stone wall, it seemed an enticing invitation. Before she could think better of it, she slipped inside the carriage, pushing herself back into the corner furthest from Dmitri. She drew her feet up onto the seat, not daring to breathe until Vitali pushed the door shut. There was a jolt, and the carriage began to pull away from the house.
+Perhaps she gave a little gasp; she couldn't be sure. Dmitri glanced around the seemingly empty carriage. "So, my mysterious new friend. You are here, are you?"
+***
+"Can I call you a friend?" Dmitri asked. "Or is that presumptuous of me? In any case, I must thank you for waking me this evening. It is not the way I would choose to wake every day, but it was certainly effective." He listened for any response, then sighed and said, "You know, you might want to find someone better to haunt. Haven't you heard that I am good for nothing?"
+For a time he was silent, head resting against the side of the carriage, bumping and juddering as they rolled down the track. Kikimora thought he had fallen asleep, his breath coming shallow and even. She was startled when he murmured, "I do try, you know."
+His eyes remained closed. He might have been talking to himself. "I do my best to be the son he wants, but somehow it is not enough."
+It was late when they reached Dmitri's house. He went straight to his bed, groaned as he discovered his still sodden bedding - then collapsed onto it anyway, and was asleep in moments.
+Kikimora yawned, and paced across the kitchen. She noticed the hanging pans, and supposed she ought to start making a racket. But the next moment she had become distracted, thinking about the kind, scarred lady, and how sad she seemed, yet how patient. She wished Yana wasn't so sad.
+She found herself humming one of the songs Yana and Dmitri had played, and laughing to herself as she recalled Dmitri comparing Cecile Olgakov's singing with the death throes of an elderly and unwell cat. It had been an evening unlike any she had previously experienced: the warm, teasing conversation, the music and singing. She had eaten delicacies she had never encountered before: guinea fowl and strawberry pavlova, and (after he had fallen asleep) Stanislav's rich, dark wine.
+In the room above, Dmitri began to snore once more. He had called her friend. That seemed very odd to Kikimora after she had spent the week tormenting him. She told herself he was a fool, and she would soon set him straight on the matter. But all the same she found that she liked the sound of it, friend. No one had ever called her that before. She glanced again at the pans, but such a cacophony seemed unthinkable after the gentle, calming spinet music she had listened to all evening.
+There was another way to disturb his sleep, of course; one that she had not yet tried. Anatoly had described the theory of dream sendings to her several times. But as she'd told the North Wind, she'd never encountered a suitable subject on which to try it.
+Silently, she climbed the stairs. The darkness was profound, but even so she could see the shape of the bed, and of Dmitri's form beneath the covers – his head at the end where his feet normally lay, and his feet tucked up to avoid the wet patch. At her passing he flinched a little, muttering, and drawing his toes further in.
+She paused, motionless. But he was more asleep than not, and soon returned to his strident snoring. Kikimora settled herself against the wall. She allowed her breathing to quieten and slow. Loosening her grip on the physical world, she sought out the power within herself; the power of ice, of implacable winter, of the cold white moon and the frozen earth.
+Dmitri murmured again, his legs twitching. Kikimora's concentration faltered as he gave a sudden shudder, murmuring something into his pillow. It sounded like, "No."
+This was just the sort of reaction she would hope for – but she had not yet begun her sending. Whatever troubled Dmitri's sleep was his own doing.
+She frowned and tried once more to settle into the state of deep concentration Anatoly had taught her. Hoar frost crept outwards from her fingers, cracking and creaking its way across the wooden boards. Ice gathered along her lashes so that she could no longer see the bed and the sleeping man. She could feel him though. The heat of him radiated towards her, fierce and bright – and fearful.
+Again, he thrashed against his covers, shouting unintelligibly into his pillow. Kikimora fought to retain her concentration, even as she realised the futility of it. She was aiming to send him bad dreams, but he had saved her the trouble. She might as well return to the kitchen and go to sleep.
+But she did not. She shut out other thoughts, and reached towards him. This time she latched on to a tendril of his sleeping consciousness, feeling it wrap around her.
+Anatoly had warned her it would be a strange and disorienting experience, but she could not have anticipated quite how strange. She seemed to inhabit a dark and formless void. Shapes loomed suddenly before her, and were gone before she knew what they were. Her heart began to beat rapidly, the breath to catch in her throat. She couldn't tell where her own feelings ended and Dmitri's began.
+No! he said again - except that he didn't speak out loud. The word appeared in Kikimora's mind as though it was her own thought, clear and powerful.
+Something stirred in the darkness before her, a huge shape looming closer. At first Kikimora thought the feeling clawing at her stomach was fear, but that wasn't quite right. It took her a moment to recognise it as a queasy mixture of dread and regret.
+The shape resolved itself into Stanislav Rachmanov, his old scars replaced with fresh wounds. A bandage pressed against his face, dark and stained. Kikimora felt herself wither, shame washing through her. She wanted to escape the baleful glare of his one eye, but there was nowhere to go.
+Where were you? I needed you, and you were not here. You did this to me.
+She felt Dmitri shrink from the words, and she shrank with him, sharing his sense of worthlessness, of self reproach. But at the same time she recognised that it was unfair. Yana had said as much. She didn't know what had caused Stanislav's accident, but she trusted Yana's judgement; it was not Dmitri's fault.
+She pushed back, commanding Stanislav to leave. The confusion intensified around her. She sensed in the same strange way she felt Dmitri's feelings and heard his internal voice - this was a familiar dream, one that returned to him regularly. But she was driving it off course.
+Begone, she commanded, remembering Mrs Zubrev's attempted exorcism. You are not welcome here.
+Stanislav began to retreat. Shame still infused the dream, but the feeling of dread began to ebb away. Kikimora wished she could go to Dmitri, reach out a hand and touch him. But there was no physicality in the dream. Instead she tried to send calmness towards him, the way she might try to gentle a wounded creature she found in the forest.
+Gradually she became aware of the physical world once more. Dmitri's breathing was calm and even. He mumbled a little, but there was not the edge of panic she had heard before.
+Kikimora stretched her aching limbs, causing hoar frost to crack and glitter around her. She climbed slowly to her feet, smiling as she crept back to the kitchen. The stove was cold, and the tiles seemed harder than ever after her night on Dmitri's straw mattress, but she lay down, and was asleep within a moment.
+Dmitri rose early next morning, washing and dressing himself more carefully than he often did. As he ate a little bread he commented to his household spirit how welcome and refreshing it was to have two peaceful nights sleep; he hoped this meant they had reached some sort of understanding.
+Kikimora silently cursed herself. She had successfully entered Dmitri's dreams, just as Anatoly had taught her. His own nightmare was a gift; she should have embellished it, added new horrors to the story. But instead she had pitied him, and sent the nightmare away.
+She recalled the North Wind saying he had seen more frightening bunny rabbits. Even Barinya had said she was soft hearted. But Barinya also said her heart was the best thing about her. Kikimora trusted Barinya on most matters, but struggled to see how the cat could be right in this.
+When he reached the church, Dmitri did not at once go inside, but lingered in the square, exchanging pleasantries with other townspeople. After a few moments, the green coach pulled up, and Yana climbed stiffly down. Dmitri kissed her cheek, telling her how fine she looked.
+Yana grimaced, muttering that she could hardly breathe in her gown. "It is one of mother's old dresses, and she was more delicately built than I am."
+"Well it is very becoming."
+"That's what Father said, and he insisted I wear it." She shook her head at such foolishness, and added that Vitali was charged with summoning a seamstress from town, to spruce up her dresses, "And to make some new ones in the latest styles! I fear his wits are going."
+"Nonsense," laughed Dmitri. "What man wouldn't want to see his daughter looking her finest?" Yana gave him a scornful look, and he admitted that it was indeed a little out of character for their father.
+"And he would not allow me to ride! I even said I would go side-saddle. Nothing would do but that I must take the coach." Again she shook her head, perplexed by their father's whims. Dmitri only smiled, taking her arm, and together they walked into church.
+Kikimora did not feel inclined to sit through another mass. But she lingered close to the church for a time, exploring the gravestones in the little cemetery next door while the voices of the congregation soared up into the grey and windswept morning. She made a slow circuit of the building, and was almost back to the market square when she came upon a strange monument nestled in an alcove between two buttresses.
+It was the figure of a man, huge and powerfully built, with horns jutting from the sides of his head. At the back of his head was a second face, fierce in demeanour. Kikimora knew little of religion, but she didn't think this was the Christian God. She circled the statue, one hand trailing across the cold, pitted stone.
+As the singing drew to a close, she returned to the square, gazing in wonder at the entertainments on offer. There were jugglers and acrobats, musicians and fire-eaters. In one corner a cart was set up as a small stage, and mummers in gaudy costumes performed short plays full of intrigue, treachery and murder. Unaware of the stories' biblical origins, Kikimora thought them very thrilling and sensational.
+The morning passed quickly, and it seemed no time at all before the church doors were opened once more. The finely dressed congregation poured out into the square; their spiritual obligations complete, they were ready to indulge in some fun.
+Dmitri and Yana had not gone more than a few steps into the square before they were hailed by an imperious voice, "Rachmanov."
+Dmitri turned. A gentleman was making his way down the church steps. He was tall and well built, and must once have been fine looking. But his skin sagged, he was running to fat, and his nose was criss-crossed with broken veins. His clothing entailed many brightly coloured silks and velvets, not all of which complemented each other, or his ruddy complexion.
+As he drew close he swept off a feathered hat, and bowed low, revealing a fine head of improbably yellow hair. "Miss Rachmanov, what a pleasure."
+"Count Rudov," said Yana, curtseying. "I hadn't expected to see you until later this week."
+"Indeed," said Rudov. "I find myself exceedingly busy, but it is so important to maintain one's spiritual rigour."
+"Of course," said Yana doubtfully.
+Dmitri began to ask if the Count intended to stay long in the town, but Rudov interrupted without seeming to notice. "May I say how enchanting you look today, Miss Rachmanov? In this light one can scarcely see your imperfections."
+Yana flushed and looked down at her feet. She forced a brief smile, but her hand strayed self-consciously to her pitted cheek.
+Dmitri frowned, asking, "What brings you back to Korsakov after all this time?" He tried not to think of Marek's gossip regarding the Count, but found it hard to put out of his mind.
+Rudov waved a hand airily. "Can a man not return to his home without causing consternation? I fear I grow weary of the great cities, and long for the simpler life. Forgive me if I take my leave so soon," he added, taking Yana's hand and swooping down to plant a whiskery kiss in her palm. "I hope we can further our acquaintance when I visit your father later this week?"
+He nodded briefly to Dmitri before turning to leave. The Rachmanovs watched in silence until he was swallowed up by the crowds.
+"Well," said Dmitri drily. "We are honoured."
+"He is certainly more courteous than I recall," said Yana, her face still flushed. "If a little brusque."
+Dmitri said he was sure Rudov had intended to pay her a compliment, "In his own peculiar way."
+"I understood the one thing he could be relied upon for was a smooth, silver tongue. I am sure he said precisely what he meant to."
+Dmitri took his sister's hand. "Do we care for the opinion of a fellow whose lunch, supper and breakfast are all displayed across his waistcoat?"
+Yana smiled and gently chastised him for being rude. Dmitri protested, "If I was rude I would have congratulated him on how the egg yolk matched his fine new hairpiece."
+"Why do you think he has come back?" she asked as they strolled arm in arm around the square.
+"Perhaps he is finally going to take an interest in running what estates remain to him? His vineyards down by the river are doing very poorly by all accounts. I expect Father will find out more when he speaks to him."
+As they made their way back to the tavern where Vitali waited with the coach, Dmitri began to hum, and then to sing softly, "Oh, the Duke of Nim was a fine old fellow; His beard was black and his hair was yellow."
+Yana spluttered with laughter. "Dmitri! What if someone should hear you?"
+"They would never make the connection. The Duke of Nim was a fine old fellow."
+He handed Yana up into the carriage, and made his way back to the market, pausing to let a line of ragged penitents pass by. Beating themselves with knotted ropes, the men warned of the coming apocalypse, loudly advising all to follow their example and beg the Lord for mercy on their undeserving souls.
+No one in the crowds seemed inclined to listen. A child threw a handful of manure, catching the leader a glancing blow on the cheek. Unperturbed, the penitent did not bother to wipe his face, but stopped and addressed the crowd, filth still dripping from his cheek onto his sackcloth robe, "The four horsemen will ride, and fire will rain down from the heavens! The dead will rise from the grave; and demons bestride the earth! For the end times are upon us..."
+A crowd gathered to jeer. Dmitri gave them a wide berth, and bought himself a cup of The best spiced tea to be had outside of the Indies – though a lady two stalls away promised it would taste like dishwater, whereas her own brew was Fit to grace the tables of Emperors, Tsars and Caliphs.
+The sellers of hot pies were less poetic in their sales pitches. The meat pasty he bought was guaranteed, Fresh today, and no cat in it. Nor fox. While he handed over his coin, Kikimora stole a sugar bun. She hoped there was no cat in that either.
+She stuck close behind Dmitri as he made his way around the square, but was obliged to move aside a little when a thin-faced boy fell into step behind him. Wiping his dripping nose on the back of his sleeve, the boy glanced keenly all around. Then, quick as an eel, his fingers dipped into Dmitri's pocket, hooking the leather pouch he kept there.
+***
+The boy was already turning aside, grinning in triumph, when it seemed as though an icy grip closed around his wrist. While he was astonished by that, he tripped over he knew not what, and found himself lying winded in the mud. Townspeople and visitors alike tutted and shook their heads above him.
+Turning to discover the cause of the furore, Dmitri found his wallet pulled half out of his pocket, and quickly pushed it out of sight. He looked down at the boy, whose clothes were thin and ragged, his feet bare. The boy glowered back. One of the bystanders made a move to apprehend him, saying the constable must be summoned. But the boy was already on his feet, dodging through the crowds and out of sight.
+An elderly man with a cane made a show of pursuing the would be thief, but was forced to give up after only a few steps, his breath all gone. Dmitri assured him the boy had not got away with anything, adding uneasily, "He looked half starved." As the commotion died down the crowds moved on. Starving children were not unusual enough to hold their interest.
+The cloud had thickened throughout the morning, and now snow began to fall once more, covering over the mud and debris left by the market. Kikimora heard much muttering and cursing on the subject as she passed through the crowds. One of the mummers paused to wipe wet flakes from his eyebrows, asking in a rich, strong baritone, "In what manner have you people angered the gods that they punish you so?"
+"It's the gods should be worried!" one man shouted back. "They don't do their duty by us." Cheers and laughter greeted his comment.
+Dmitri made his way to the barber's shop, where a clean-shaven man asked if he had finally seen sense and was ready to have his girlish curls cut off. Another customer joked that it was precisely because the girls liked his curls that he kept them. Dmitri blushed a little, but took this in good humour, drawing the attention of both men to the biblical story of Samson, whose strength and power all resided in his long hair.
+"Careful," laughed the customer, his face obscured by shaving soap. "He'll pull the building down around your ears!"
+The men laughed, and Dmitri took a seat to await his turn in the chair. Kikimora found an out of the way corner in which to loiter and observe. She had seen Anatoly shave his whiskers many times: sitting at the kitchen table with his brass mirror and dented razor, swearing throughout the procedure, and ending with his jaw sore and bleeding.
+This was an altogether different affair. Dmitri lay back in the chair, his throat trustingly exposed. Soap was daubed over his chin like an old man's beard. The barber took his blade – already lethally sharp – and with a soft rasping, whetted it against a leather strap. Then with a coarse, crisp scrape, he took the stubble from Dmitri's jaw. It was all done remarkably swiftly, the barber's movements deft and sure.
+"And what of your hair? Should I cut it?"
+Dmitri said he better had, admitting ruefully that his father said he looked like a gypsy.
+"You certainly play your fiddle like one," the barber said, meaning it as a compliment, and not knowing Dmitri felt it as a sting. "I heard you in the tavern the other night. It's a rare talent you have in your hands, a rare talent indeed."
+As they left the barber's shop, it was snowing harder than ever. Through the thick, whirling flakes Kikimora saw that some commotion was taking place close to the church. A group of men, bold with drink and discontent, were heaving the double-faced statue over onto a wooden cart. People crowded around to watch. Some laughed and shouted encouragement; others shook their heads, muttering darkly.
+Dmitri asked what they were doing. An old man nearby recognised him, and dipped his head respectfully. "In olden times," he said. "If the gods neglected us we shamed them until they remembered their duty. We looked to Czernoboch to maintain the seasons, bring the rains and bless our crops. Nowadays the priest asks God to do these things, but he seems to have forgotten us. These young fellows have decided to try the old way."
+The old man and many others cheered as the statue toppled onto the cart. One of its boards split with the impact, and the carter began to shout.
+"We'll mend your cart for you when the damned snow stops!" promised the ring-leader, his round face red with drink and exertion. The carter frowned, but was sufficiently mollified to take the horse's bridle, and walk on.
+The statue of Czernoboch was paraded through the square while the men beat it with wooden switches. The townspeople booed; some spat at it. A hungry looking woman lifted her small child up onto the cart. Child and crowd were equally delighted when he peed on the statue's head.
+Completing its circuit, the cart turned down a side street, towards the river. The crowds followed, Dmitri and Kikimora swept along in the flow, whether they wished it or not. The cart drew to a halt in the centre of the bridge, and the red faced man climbed atop Czernoboch.
+Kikimora could hear little of his speech, but he spoke with great passion, gesticulating so wildly that he almost fell more than once. Finally he raised his voice, demanding, "Bring an end to this winter!"
+Men began to haul on ropes attached to the statue. Little by little, Czernoboch edged towards the side of the bridge. Others were sent down onto the river banks with longer ropes, hauling on them until the statue crashed down into the fast flowing Korsakov river.
+"And you'll stay there until you remember your duty to us!"
+The people of Korsakov cheered. Czernoboch settled into the river bed, one face staring up at the still falling snow, the other pressed down into the mud.
+A mood of celebration now suffused the crowd. A drum and a whistle began to play, more or less together. The red-faced man, a bottle in one hand, capered about on the cart. He wobbled, and almost followed Czernoboch down into the river, but his companions caught him and lifted him down onto the bridge.
+With much singing and drinking, the crowds returned to the square. Dmitri stood a little longer, looking down at the disgraced god lying in the river. He was startled by a sudden slap on the back.
+"You're thinking it's a curious custom?" asked Boris.
+"Not something I've heard of before."
+Boris inhaled deeply on his pipe. Delicate snow crystals settled on his pale hair and eyebrows, giving him an otherworldly, elfish look. "People still left offerings to Czernoboch when I was a lad. The priests didn't like it. They tried to have the statue removed, but the older folks wouldn't hear of it - and they went to church as well, so no harm done. I remember one year the rains wouldn't come and the wheat was scorching in the fields. They beat the statue and lit fires at his feet to see how well he liked it. The rains came soon enough, and then they crowned him with flowers and poured honey at his feet."
+Both men frowned down at the rushing water. A small branch washed down towards the bridge, caught for a moment against some rocks, then continued past the statue and away.
+Boris said he'd found a new watchman for Yanochka; there were always men for hire on a holiday. He thought it deserved celebrating, and asked if Dmitri could join him for a drink or two, after he had run a few more errands. Dmitri winced, saying he wasn't sure his head could take it.
+"Just the one, then? Now which of these rogues do you think will fleece me the least? I have to get a new tinderbox. Beggared if I can find mine. Had it in my hand the other day, up at Yanochka, then – poof – gone. Damn thing just disappeared. My father gave me that box."
+"Perhaps it will turn up when the snows thaw?"
+"You think I should go and threaten poor Czernoboch some more? No. It'll be long gone by then. Some other thieving weasel will have found it."
+On his way home Dmitri stopped at the baker's, buying several fresh bread rolls. He bought a slab of strong cheese, spiced sausage, and a pot of pickled onion. As he was leaving the square he almost tripped over a prostrate figure slumped on the ground. A hat was pulled low over his face, and one grimy hand held out.
+"Alms," he muttered, without much conviction. "Alms for the poor."
+"Pieter?"
+"Master Rachmanov." Pieter snatched off his cap and made a poor attempt to smooth his greasy hair.
+"Pieter, how have you been keeping? Have you somewhere to stay?"
+Pieter said he had a room to go to, but no fuel to burn or food to eat when he got there.
+"I'm sorry. I wish there was something more I could do." Pieter's gaze focused on the bag of bread rolls, and Dmitri handed him one. While Pieter tore into the bread, Dmitri asked again about the ghostly maiden.
+"I already told you," Pieter answered sullenly, his gaze settling once more on the baker's bag.
+"It was Boris you spoke to, not me. Tell me everything you remember, and you'll have another roll."
+"First she banged on the door, with a terrible racket. Then she led me through the yard. Pale, she was, and so thin - like a will o' the wisp. I could see through her to the trees and the waterwheel, as though she was made of smoke."
+Dmitri thanked him, and handed him another roll, along with half the sausage. He pressed a coin into his hand, saying, "You'll freeze to death out here. See how long you can sit in the tavern with that."
+Pieter's eyes lit up. "You've a kind heart, Mr Rachmanov. I always said so."
+Pieter's account of the ghostly maiden troubled Dmitri. He had hoped that by questioning the man more closely he might gain a clearer understanding of what had occurred; but he was as confused as ever.
+Was it only a wolf or some other night creature, as Boris said? There were undeniable similarities between what Pieter reported and what Dmitri himself had experienced at home. Boris thought that was explicable by natural phenomena as well, but Dmitri didn't believe it.
+Could the same spirit be responsible for both occurrences then? Irinka had told him household spirits did not stray beyond the home. But she had also told him the forest spirits had no interest in human affairs. Quite what then was this ghostly maiden? And could she be behind the many strange accidents that seemed so prevalent at the mine this past week? More importantly, what was he to do about it?
+***
+Arriving home, Dmitri set two places at the table, laying out the fresh food and some other dishes from his cupboard. He spoke softly, as though perhaps a little embarrassed, "I have no quarrel with you, Spirit – if you have none with me. You're welcome to share my home, and my bread and things, so long as you cause no mischief." He scratched his ear, wondering if that was sufficient, then sat and ate.
+Kikimora watched unhappily from the stairs. Nothing she had read or learned in her years of training had prepared her for this eventuality.
+After he had eaten, Dmitri went out to meet Boris, and Kikimora crept towards the table. She was hungry, and the fresh bread smelled enticing. But Dmitri had offered it to her in friendship. It seemed dishonest of her to take it while she worked against him.
+She reminded herself that her allegiance was to Anatoly and to all the beings of the forest, not to this careless human who poisoned the waterways and shot at bears. But Barinya had raised her to be fair and honest. It was hard to set aside her upbringing.
+She picked at a corner of the bread. It was good, and she had some more. She sprinkled a little salt onto the next bite, and it was even better. Dmitri had packed away the left over cheese, but Kikimora recalled he had invited her to share his meal, and hadn't limited it to bread and salt.
+She finished the cheese with pickle and more bread, then wiped the plates, replacing them on the shelf. She brushed crumbs from the table, shaking them into the stove, and rinsed out the tea glasses. Glancing critically around the little room, she noticed mud on the floor from Dmitri's boots. Although Mrs Zubrev had cleaned up after Kikimora's night of destruction, still there were some unsavoury streaks down the stove door, and debris littered the edges of the floor.
+"Mrs Zubrev might be respectable and pious," Kikimora said. "But she is a very poor housekeeper."
+Taking the soda and a pitcher from beneath the stairs, she piled her plaits up into her cap, and began to scrub things. She scrubbed the stove. She scrubbed the tiled floor. She scrubbed the cupboard doors, the front door and the steps. It felt good to be useful, almost like coming home.
+Venturing up to Dmitri's bed chamber she found his sheets left in a tangled heap across the bed, and his clothes strewn across the floor. Sooner or later Mrs Zubrev would gather them up and take them away to launder, but Kikimora thought it unlikely she would come by on a holiday.
+Attempting to straighten the bed things, she discovered they were still damp from the water she'd thrown on him yesterday. Muttering that he would catch his death sleeping in wet sheets, she draped them over the back of the broken chair, and set it before the stove.
+Returning to his bed chamber, she retrieved the clothing from the floor, folding it and putting it neatly to one side. As she picked up a discarded shirt she noticed a tear in one of the seams, and took it downstairs. Sitting before the little window where there was most light, it took only a few moments to mend. She might have replaced it with his other clothes, and it was doubtful Dmitri would ever notice. But as she sewed she remembered how Anatoly appreciated the designs she stitched into his shirts.
+She took out her collection of coloured threads. The yellow was all gone and the red was running low, but she still had plenty of blue, green and brown. Kikimora thought for a moment, and then began to embroider a small tree of fantastically curling branches in the lower corner of the shirt. She finished the design with a cluster of blue flowers amongst its roots.
+She was pleased with the result, and returned the shirt to his bed chamber, neatly folded with the embroidered section facing downwards. The sheets soon dried out, and she replaced them on his bed, perhaps not fresh, but at least dry and neat.
+It was dark before Dmitri arrived home. He seemed in fine spirits, but paused when he saw the empty table. "Mrs Zubrev?" he called doubtfully. He glanced around the kitchen, noticing that every part of it was significantly cleaner than he had left it. "Spirit? Have I to thank you for this?"
+The fire had died down, but a little warmth lingered in the room. Dmitri sat for a moment before the stove. From his pocket he took a long, thin whistle, and gave it an experimental blow. The sound was clear and piercing.
+"Boris said he found it in the market this afternoon. He thought I might be able to play it while my wrist is healing. It was kind of him, although I haven't played a whistle in many years."
+He experimented with the notes he could produce by blocking each of the four holes down the centre of the instrument, and then various combinations. After only a few moments he played a scale of regularly ascending and descending notes. He began to play a simple tune, slow and steady at first as his fingers became familiar with the patterns. Mastery of it seemed to come very easily to him, and before long he played a sweet, sorrowful tune all the way through. Kikimora thought this seemed little less than magic.
+"What do you think, Spirit?" he asked as he laid the whistle aside. "You're right. Needs more practice."
+He climbed the stairs, pausing at the top, and saying, "Good night to you. I hope that our friendship may continue and develop."
+Kikimora lay down behind the cooling stove, full of wonder at Dmitri's powers. It didn't occur to her to disturb his sleep until some time later when his soft breathing drifted down from the room above. But it would be very bad manners to disturb his sleep after he bade me goodnight, she thought. She closed her eyes and, despite her misgivings, soon fell into a deep and peaceful sleep.
+Mrs Zubrev was very much astonished by the cleanliness of the kitchen when she came by next morning, and asked sarcastically if Dmitri was expecting the Tsar to drop by.
+He couldn't help but look pleased with himself as he told her it was the work of his household spirit. "I left out bread and salt, just like you said. I went out for a time, and when I came back it was as you see."
+Mrs Zubrev scowled at the gleaming stove and bright, clean tiles. "If you recall, I also said it would bring nothing but trouble. And I see those devil eyes are still there. It didn't clean those away."
+Dmitri shrugged. He asked what trouble could possibly come from a clean home, and said perhaps the eyes could be seen more as guardian than antagonist.
+Mrs Zubrev continued to mutter darkly to herself as she began to scrub the wall. "Don't know how he can sit and drink his tea with these unholy eyes glaring down at him. Boy's either a fool or else he's made of sterner stuff that I credit him for."
+Kikimora slipped through the door after Dmitri, just as Mrs Zubrev decided, "The boy's a fool."
+When she arrived at the mine she tripped a girl so that she fell, breaking the candles she'd been carrying. She dropped a pine cone down the back of a boy's shirt. As he yelped and flailed to get it out, he accused his laughing companions of playing a prank on him, and a fight soon broke out. She threw a snowball at a merchant making a delivery, and knocked the hat from his head. The man turned angrily on Dmitri, prodding a fat finger in his chest and demanding that he control his damned ragamuffins.
+As she slipped from the scene, Kikimora found Zoria watching her, eyes huge in her grubby face. She smiled and asked how Magda liked her new shoes, but Zoria edged away.
+"It's all right," said Kikimora.
+The girl glanced around for her mother or some other friendly face. Finding none, she began to gulp, her mouth drawing open in an ominous dark square.
+"It's all right," Kikimora said again. "He was a bad man."
+Zoria's chest began to heave.
+"Listen," Kikimora said, thinking quickly. "I know a story about a girl called Zoria. Would you like to hear it?"
+Zoria swallowed the sob bubbling up in her chest. "A story?"
+"About a very brave, very clever girl called Zoria, who outwitted Baba Yaga. Do you know who Baba Yaga is?"
+The girl nodded solemnly. All children knew of the witch Baba Yaga, who lived in a hut that stood on chicken's legs, and flew through the air in a pestle and mortar. Their parents told them if they were naughty, Baba Yaga would take them away and eat them. "The girl escaped?"
+Kikimora smiled, holding out her hand. "Let us sit over here, and we'll find out."
+***
+[ How Zoria Outwitted Baba Yaga ]
+Zoria's mother had too many children and too little food. One day her husband went out into the forest to cut wood, and didn't came back. Zoria's mother knew she could not keep all of her children without her husband to help her.
+Of all the children, Zoria was the cleverest and the kindest. Her mother reasoned that if any of them could find a way to survive all alone it was Zoria.
+That night when the children were sleeping, she woke Zoria, and told her to dress warmly. She led the girl into the forest, and they walked for many miles before resting on the banks of a fast-flowing river.
+"You are to be apprenticed," Zoria's mother told her. "Stay here, and your new master will come along by daybreak."
+Zoria asked who her new master was, and what trade she would learn. "You'll find out," her mother said, because she didn't know. "Make sure to be always polite and respectful. Be kind, and do not judge, and I know you will do well." She embraced her daughter, and cried a little, and hurried back home before she could change her mind.
+It was cold in the forest, and the wind blew strong and sharp. Zoria hollowed out a little snow cave in the deep drifts that lined path. She tucked her hands into her armpits to warm, curled up and slept peacefully.
+Shortly before the dawn Baba Yaga flew past in her mortar. The old witch sniffed the air, saying, "I smell human girl." She guided her mortar down into the forest, following the smell to Zoria's snow cave.
+Zoria woke to find a foul old woman pinching her leg and complaining at the lack of meat on it. Remembering what her mother had told her about being respectful, she leapt up and bowed to Baba Yaga, saying, "Good morning, Madam. How may I serve you?"
+"What a well mannered child," said Baba Yaga. "I may let you serve me a while before the feast of Hecate."
+Zoria said it would be her honour, and Baba Yaga told her to climb inside the mortar. It was made of stone, and seemed very heavy, but Baba Yaga said, "By all the bones in my garden, by all the teeth in my door, fly me, mortar; fly me where I will." The stone mortar gave a shudder, and lifted into the air as though it weighed nothing at all.
+Zoria's long hair whipped out behind her as they flew through the dawn sky. "My mother has a pestle and mortar," she said. "But it doesn't do anything like this. It just sits on a shelf in the kitchen and sometimes grinds nuts and grains. This mortar must be very clever to be able to fly."
+The mortar gave a little wriggle, saying, "It's nothing, really. Just practice."
+"You can talk as well? What an extraordinary mortar you are."
+Baba Yaga glared at the mortar, and told it to hold its tongue. It said nothing further, but continued to fly in a very pleased manner.
+Baba Yaga lived in a small wooden hut which stood on a pair of chicken legs. Zoria could see no door or window, just a chimney that spewed black smoke. It was enclosed by a fence of bones, and each section of fence was topped by a human skull.
+"Goodness," she said when the mortar came to rest inside the garden of bones. "What an interesting fence. It must have taken a long time to collect so many bones?"
+The skull nearest to her answered, "Not as long as you'd think, child."
+Baba Yaga told it to be quiet. She led Zoria to the hut, saying, "As I am your mistress, kneel, hut, and show me your face."
+The chicken legs waddled round until the hut showed its front door and one small window. It crouched down, tipping forwards so the door stood just above the patchy yellow grass. In its centre was a mouth full of fearsome teeth that snapped and snarled as Zoria approached.
+Baba Yaga said, "Bite not, for I am your mistress, and have what you seek." She took a large golden key from around her neck, and the mouth obligingly opened to receive it. Baba Yaga turned the key, and the door sprang open. Immediately a large black dog came charging forwards, barking loudly.
+Baba Yaga raised her wooden pestle to strike the creature, but Zoria knelt before him and stroked his ears. "What a fine looking dog! How glossy your coat is, how strong and clean your teeth." The dog licked her face and wagged his tail.
+"Huh," said Baba Yaga. "Some guard-dog you are! Don't you go taming him, girl."
+But it was already too late. From the moment he met her, Baba Yaga's guard-dog was devoted to Zoria. He followed her around the tiny cottage while she did her chores, and in the evenings she took him out to run in the forest.
+For a time Zoria lived quite happily with Baba Yaga, who was a very slovenly witch. She cleaned the hut and tidied up after all Baba Yaga's messy spells. She swept the chicken legs, which skipped and giggled at the touch of her feather duster. She scrubbed out the mortar with hot soapy water, and polished the skulls on the fence posts. Sometimes in the evenings she collected herbs and roots that the witch needed for her potions.
+While she worked, Zoria chatted to the skulls and the dog. Sometimes she sang to them, which pleased them very much. She had a fine voice and knew many songs.
+Baba Yaga made sure she always ate well. When she went out at night in her mortar she often came back with rich cakes and pastries for the girl. From time to time she measured Zoria's leg, and was pleased when it began to fatten.
+One day when Baba Yaga was out, Zoria stood polishing the skulls and chatting with them about their lives before they were fence posts. "I was once a girl like you," the first skull said. "Baba Yaga found me in the forest and brought me here to be her servant. But at the feast of Hecate she ate me up and planted my bones here in the garden."
+"I was the son of the finest baker in the land," said the second skull. "He made cakes for Kings and Queens, and I tasted everything. I had round, rosy cheeks and fat little legs. I suppose that is why Baba Yaga came and took me from my bed and brought me here to put in her pot."
+The third said, "I came looking for work. Baba Yaga took me in, and I thought myself lucky. I scrubbed her floors and darned her stockings, and she said I was the best servant she'd ever had. But when the feast of Hecate came around, she stuck me with a knife and carved me up."
+Zoria asked when the feast of Hecate was, and the skulls answered together, "The third full moon of the year."
+Zoria remembered there had been a full moon the night her mother led her into the forest. Another had been and gone since then. The moon was very nearly full again. "Then she will eat me! What can I do? How can I escape?"
+But the skulls all said she could not escape. "It's a shame, but it can't be helped. It's not so bad here," the baker's son said. "Although I miss my father's cream cakes."
+Zoria wasn't ready to become a fence post, so she went to ask the hut, "How can I escape? Baba Yaga means to eat me."
+The hut gave a sigh and looked unhappy, but it had no advice to give. Zoria asked the teeth in the door, but they only champed and gnashed, as though they too wanted to eat her up. She asked the dog, who whined and licked her hand, but told her nothing. He began to scratch at the door as though he wanted to go out. Zoria told him she couldn't take him out until the evening, as she had not yet done all her chores. She went back to scrubbing the greasy floor boards.
+When Baba Yaga returned she brought Zoria's favourite kind of spiced apple pastry, telling her to be sure to eat it all up, as it would be no good tomorrow. Zoria said she wasn't hungry, and Baba Yaga became cross. She looked out at the waxing moon, and measured the girl's leg again, saying it still wasn't fat enough.
+When Zoria took the dog out for his evening walk she asked as usual if Baba Yaga wanted anything fetching from the forest. The witch said she would like some rosemary and thyme, as those were good savoury herbs to flavour tender meat.
+Zoria took her little basket and set off into the forest. She soon found some rosemary. While she was looking for thyme, the dog ran into the trees. He would not come back at her call, so she went to look for him. She fought her way through a tangled hedge, and found the dog in a clearing, frantically digging. Zoria called him to heel, but he wouldn't listen. She tried to pull him away, but he growled, and so she let him be. When he had dug down a foot or more, the dog lifted a carefully wrapped parcel in his mouth and brought it to Zoria.
+"What's this?" she said. "What have you found?"
+Inside was a beautiful golden flute. Zoria had never seen anything so beautiful or valuable. She put it to her lips, and it made a sweet, piercing sound. Zoria was very clever with music, and in no time at all had taught herself to play. She played the folk tunes she knew from home, and the dog leapt and danced around her, neither noticing how the time passed.
+The sky grew dark before Zoria thought of returning to Baba Yaga's hut. She replaced the golden flute's wrappings and returned it to the ground, but the dog brought it straight back to her. Zoria said sadly that they couldn't take it as it didn't belong to them. "And besides, it will do me no good after tomorrow."
+The dog began to bark then, as fiercely as he had the first time Zoria saw him. He clamped the flute in his mouth and refused to let it go. Zoria didn't have time to wrestle with him. She set off walking, and he followed, carrying the flute.
+Baba Yaga came running out from the hut, all in a fluster. "I was so afraid you had got lost or eaten by wolves!"
+Zoria apologised, saying she had been unable to find any thyme, and had not noticed how the evening drew on while she searched.
+"Never mind that," soothed the old witch. "I am just glad you are back here, safe and sound. I don't know what I should have done if you hadn't returned."
+Zoria didn't sleep well, too afraid of what the next day would bring. In the morning, Baba Yaga told her to take the day off. "Everything is clean and sparkling, and I shan't need any supper cooking tonight. You just rest your legs and eat up your cake. And don't go out into the forest," she added. "I couldn't bear for anything to happen to you today." She flew off in her mortar, saying she had to go and get her long knife sharpened.
+Zoria quickly became bored sitting in the hut with no work to do, so she went out to talk to the skulls. "Don't fight her," said the first. "She'll hurt you if you fight her."
+The baker's boy said, "Ask her for a glass of vodka. That way you won't know a thing about it."
+"Promise her you'll behave so long as she puts your bones here next to ours," said the third skull. "Imagine if she put you over on the other side of the garden! They are old and dreary over there, and we'd have to shout to each other."
+The dog came bounding up with the golden whistle in his jaws. He nudged Zoria's hand, and she gladly took it. As soon as the first notes sounded, the dog again began to cavort around her, the skulls all hopped and yattered on their posts. The hut jigged around, its scrawny chicken legs jumping and flapping.
+When at last Zoria put the whistle aside, the first skull asked, "What is that?"
+The second asked, "Where did you find it?"
+The third said, "That is Baba Yaga's enchanted whistle! She stole it from a piper (I think his bones are over there somewhere). Anyone who hears it cannot fail to dance and to follow the piper wherever he should go."
+Zoria asked why it was hidden, and the skull answered, "She took it because it is so powerful, but she doesn't know how to use it. She is tone deaf."
+Zoria knew this was true. Often when she sang to herself, Baba Yaga would shout at her to keep her racket down.
+"She had me bury it deep in the forest, when I was her servant, hidden behind briars, until such time as she should need it."
+The dog gave a warning bark, and Baba Yaga's mortar appeared, flying above the forest. "Zoria," she cooed. "Where are you, sweet thing?"
+Zoria thanked each of the skulls for their help. She hid until Baba Yaga had climbed out of the mortar and leaned the pestle up against its side.
+"Come here, little lamb," the old witch trilled, taking a sharpened knife from her cloak.
+Zoria leapt up from behind the fence and jumped into the mortar, speaking as quickly as she was able, "By all the bones in the garden, by all the teeth in the door, fly me, mortar. Fly me where I will." Before Baba Yaga had chance to react, she began to play the golden whistle, and the old witch at once began to twitch and waddle – which was the nearest she could come to dancing. The chicken legs began to hop, the skulls to rattle, and the dog to bounce.
+The dog bounced right into the mortar beside Zoria, snatching up the wooden pestle in his jaws. As Zoria continued to play, he steered the mortar up into the air and away.
+"What have you done, you horrid child?" demanded Baba Yaga, trampling through the fence in her efforts to follow the golden whistle. "You have betrayed my trust. You have stolen my precious things. You will get no reference," she promised, crashing through the trees. "Ow! Oh, my old bones. Ahh, my poor head," she moaned, tumbling down a steep bank filled with nettles.
+But no matter how she grumbled, she was powerless to resist the enchanted whistle, and she followed Zoria through the forest for many miles. In time she was too worn out to speak, and only trudged in silence. Zoria too was exhausted by her endless playing, but the dog licked her face to cool her, and she kept going because she knew it meant her life.
+When they had led Baba Yaga far from any human dwelling, into a desolate and evil bog, the dog began to steer their mortar higher and higher into the air. Zoria's music grew fainter, until eventually Baba Yaga could hear it no more, and she collapsed in a swoon.
+Zoria put aside her whistle, and fell into an exhausted sleep. She didn't wake until the mortar was flying low over the little town where she had grown up.
+"Look out!" cried the townspeople. "It's Baba Yaga, come to eat us."
+Before Zoria could speak, another voice rang out behind her, a deep strong voice that made her heart ache. "It's all right," called Zoria's father. "We have escaped from Baba Yaga. She will not trouble us again."
+He landed the strange craft in the square, and people crowded round to hear their story. Before long Zoria's mother and all her brothers and sisters came running to see if the news was true.
+Zoria's mother didn't know who to hug the hardest. "My poor girl," she wept. "I should never have left you in that forest. My dear husband, how I have missed you."
+Zoria's father explained that he had become lost in the forest and the witch found him and transformed him into her guard dog. The spell had broken as soon as they left the forest behind.
+A great feast was held in the square to celebrate their escape and Baba Yaga's defeat. Zoria played her golden whistle, and everyone danced until daybreak.
+And Baba Yaga? She sank deep into the bog, where she remained for many years, still living, though she could not move, and every day growing angrier at how she had been tricked...
+***
+"Will she get out again?" asked Zoria. "Will she come after Zoria – the other Zoria?"
+"Well," said Kikimora. "That is another story. Perhaps I could tell you tomorrow? But now you should get back to your mother."
+Zoria nodded and jumped up. Before she left, she asked, "Why can no one else see you? They all think I'm make-believing about the Pale Lady."
+Kikimora had wondered the same thing, but hadn't yet found an answer. Was it the girl's youth and innocence that allowed her to see things that were hidden to everyone else? Or was there perhaps some magic in her bloodline that gave her abilities others did not possess? She only said, "I don't want them to see me."
+"Is it because you play tricks on them?"
+"Yes," Kikimora admitted. "But I am only doing my duty. It is what I was created for."
+Zoria frowned, trying to understand.
+"Don't you see how the trees are dying? How the stream is yellow and unwholesome? Haven't you noticed how much healthier the trees are just a little further up the mountainside? It is the mine works. All the foul stuff that is washed out into the streams - it poisons the waters, and the water poisons the trees."
+"You want the mine to stop?" Zoria glanced down at the boys wheeling barrows across the yard, at her mother and the other women stooped over in the washing pit. "Then I wouldn't need to come here every day? I could go out and play in the forest?"
+"That's right," Kikimora said, pleased that Zoria seemed to understand.
+"But... if we didn't work here the master wouldn't pay us, and we'd never have any meat in our pottage."
+Kikimora said she was sure they could find work elsewhere. Zoria wanted to know where, but Kikimora had no answer for her. There were over a hundred people working here. What industry could absorb that number if they were suddenly all laid off? She told herself Zoria was only very young, and didn't properly understand things – but she was unable to say precisely what the girl was wrong about.
+That evening Dmitri again invited her to share his meal. Kikimora watched in silence, salivating at the rich smell of frying meat, but not willing to take any in his presence. When he had finished eating he went up to his bed chamber, leaving a small plate of food at the end of the table.
+Kikimora lost no time devouring the piece of meat, and washed it down with a small glass of ale. The floorboards creaked above her as Dmitri crossed the room, singing a bawdy song about an incorrigible rogue named Yuri. He abruptly broke off, and a moment later returned, carrying his embroidered shirt. "Spirit, is this your doing? It's beautiful." Seeing that her cup was empty, he refilled it, and wished her good cheer.
+He put the shirt aside, and laid open a thickly bound book, asking whether his spirit enjoyed poetry and romances. He began to read aloud; a thrilling story all in verse about a knight riding through a strange forest, encountering dragons and beautiful, but treacherous ladies.
+Kikimora listened, enthralled. She had heard many stories from Barinya, but never one about this knight of the red cross. Once she let out a gasp as Dmitri described the knight's struggle with a monstrous dragon; how he sliced open its belly and out tumbled a hundred of its vile progeny. Dmitri glanced up only briefly, grinned, and carried on reading.
+It was thirsty work, and he refilled his glass several times as the evening advanced. At last he gave a great yawn and closed the book. Before he went upstairs, he addressed the kitchen, "I hope I have proved that I mean you no ill? Perhaps in time you will become accustomed to me and less fearful?" He waited a moment, but was unsurprised to receive no answer. "Good night to you, Spirit."
+Over the following days Dmitri read often to his household spirit, who in gratitude kept his little house clean and well ordered. He made sure always to lay aside a portion of his meal and a glass of something, and feigned a lack of curiosity as his offerings disappeared, morsel by surreptitious morsel.
+He practised playing his whistle, quickly becoming accomplished, and he grew accustomed to talking about his day when he arrived home in the evenings. True, he never received any reply, nor any advice or commiseration, but it didn't seem to matter that much. However silent, however unseen, his household spirit was a presence to which he could express his frustrations, his hopes and his difficulties. And he found that was a pleasant thing.
+Pleased with his success in befriending his household spirit, he tried the same tactic at the mine. Slipping from his office when Boris was not there to observe him, he walked a little way through the forest until he came to a clearing. At one end of it stood a thick, moss-swagged oak decorated with many burrs and hollows. It had a certain majestic quality, and Dmitri executed a small bow in its direction.
+He glanced around uncertainly at the encircling trees, their trunks dark and purple with shadows, then uncorked a bottle, pouring its contents onto the roots of the fairy tree.
+"Ice Maiden, Will o' the Wisp, Spirit, or whatsoever you might be, I intend no harm nor offence. I do not presume to ask for your friendship, but I do ask that you cease your efforts against the mine and its people. Please accept these, my gifts, to prove my good intent."
+He took out the whistle and played a sweet, sad song. When the final note had died away, he gave a respectful nod, and returned to his office.
+When a little later Feodor reported that rats had got into the powder store, gnawing through the sacking and contaminating it with their droppings, Dmitri only sighed. It had been worth a try.
+He ventured to ask Kikimora, "I have heard of household spirits and forest spirits, but never spirits that haunt mines. What might such a being want? It certainly didn't appreciate music and liquor, as you do." But of course he received no answer.
+One day as he ate his evening meal he told her how pleased he was to have engaged Sergei as his apprentice. "He's as smart as Feliks promised, and his cough is much improved since he came grass-side. He earns a little more too, and I know his family appreciate that. It is time we had some good luck," he added. "There is too much mischief and mayhem at work in the mine these days.
+"I wish I could have been half as studious as Sergei when Father was teaching me," he continued, pouring them each a glass of tea. "I loved the fireworks when I was a boy, and gladly learned all I could. But Father was already growing tired of frivolity. I couldn't understand why he gave it all up to re-open an old mine. It seemed such a dull undertaking. I'm afraid I was more interested in larking about with my friends, tearing through the woods holding mock battles, swimming in the river. And playing music, of course.
+"Mother used to tell people I could play any instrument they cared to hand me. It became a challenge with the courtiers, back before we came to Korsakov. They would ask foreign emissaries to bring exotic instruments from their homelands, and present them to me. A challenge we never lost."
+Kikimora thought the smile accompanying his comment held more sadness then joy.
+"Mother didn't understand his decision to come to Korsakov any more than I did. She loved the courts; the parties and entertainments, the dancing and music. It was her life. I wonder sometimes how she would have settled in, if she had made it here. If she would have been happy."
+Kikimora enjoyed Dmitri's reminiscences, though they were often tinged with sadness. Like Barinya's stories, they gave her tantalizing glimpses of lives very different to her own. She slept soundly, dreaming of splendid palaces and courts filled with music, of the marvellous sounding fireworks which she had never seen, and could barely imagine.
+One bright, clear morning, she walked through the forest whistling a tune she had heard Dmitri play – or attempting to, at least. A particular note was a little too high for her. She tried the passage several times, trying to get it right.
+From a nearby tree, a lone blackbird sang the tune back to her, making a far better job of it. It followed her along the trail, fluttering from branch to branch, until at last it hopped across onto her shoulder and asked how her task was progressing.
+Kikimora's whistling faltered. "Oh," she said. "Well, I..." She thought back to the last time she had spoken to Leshy, before she followed Dmitri to his father's house. "I doused him in freezing water," she said. "You should have heard him yell."
+The blackbird made a high fluting sound that may have been its laughter. "And since then?"
+"This and that. Accidents around the mine. I play tricks on the workers, so that each blames another, and then they all fight."
+"Good," said the blackbird. "And what else?"
+"Did I tell you how I almost burned down the furnace room and got the men there fired?"
+"Yes, you told me that last time we spoke. Have you done something more of that sort?"
+Kikimora's cheeks grew warm as she recalled her subsequent deeds: she had saved Dmitri from a pickpocket, soothed his dreams, helped out around the house, mended Zoria's doll, and told her stories. She couldn't tell Leshy any of that.
+"What do you have planned for them today?" he asked, and Kikimora said she would see what opportunities presented themselves. "You know," said Leshy doubtfully. "If you should ever need any help you need only ask."
+Kikimora thanked him, but said it was her task and she would see it through.
+Leshy told her that earlier in the week he had visited a distant lake, high in the mountains, and met with Zinobia, one of the Rusalkas who used to live in the streams of Korsakov forest. "You won't remember her, of course. They were driven away before you were... before you came to be."
+"But I have heard of them," Kikimora assured him, glad of the change of subject. Barinya loved to tell her tales of the beautiful, spirited Rusalkas, and the tricks they played on foolish men and on cruel women.
+"Zinobia was always full of mischief," Leshy remembered. "If only they had stayed. She could have drowned many miners in her pool. Of course, they didn't drown so many men after Yevgenia became their Queen. But I'm sure they could have taken it up again. She was kind-hearted. No wonder Anatoly loved her."
+Though Barinya had told Kikimora of Anatoly's brief love affair with the Queen of the Rusalkas, she had never been able to tell her why they parted, saying only that they disagreed on something, and could not be reconciled. She asked Leshy, "Do you know why he fell out with Yevgenia?"
+The blackbird paused, his sleek shiny head cocked on one side. "I know that she fell out with him."
+Kikimora wasn't sure what difference that made. "But why?"
+Leshy darted down to the forest floor, snatching a worm into his orange beak and swallowing it quickly down. He said no one knew for sure, but personally he thought it was something to do with that cat.
+"Barinya?"
+"No," said Leshy. "Before that."
+She would have liked to ask more, but he rose up from the forest floor, his feathers lengthening and losing some of their sheen; his small, bright beak darkening, growing large and cruel. "Let me know if you need any help," he cawed, flapping away over the trees as a large, black crow.
+Kikimora continued on her way, wondering if Anatoly had kept a different cat before Barinya, and why he and Yevgenia should have fallen out over it.
+Another bend in the road brought her to the mine workings, and she paused for a moment, watching the men, women and children as they went about their business. "I will see it through," she repeated to herself. "I will."
+On the far side of the enclosure she saw Boris and Dmitri heading up the path to the mine entrance. She had still never set foot inside herself. Several times she had stood at the entrance, listening to the rattling, crunching and shouting from within. Always her nerve failed her, and she fled back to the familiarity of the enclosure.
+She hurried after them. Pausing only to light candles which they fitted into special notches in the brims of their hats, they marched through the gaping mouth of the cave.
+There was no time to linger or reconsider. With a last glance at the clear sky, the forest stretching away as far as the eye could see, Kikimora followed them.
+***
+The chill was instant as she followed the men into the cave. Their thick soled boots crunched and scraped on the slippery rock. But Kikimora's bare feet were silent and nimble.
+The uneven walls soon gave way to a narrow, square hewn tunnel. As it closed around them the air grew still, with a dampness Kikimora felt in her lungs. The tunnel curved around to the right, and the remaining natural light disappeared. Candlelight flickered across rough walls, here catching sparkles of quartz or mica, there showing slow drips of icy water.
+From time to time the tunnel widened or grew taller, showing where ore had been picked away. Other passages opened to left and right. Sometimes as they passed these side drifts Kikimora heard the shouts of men and the strike of metal on stone. Other times the tunnels were black and silent, and there was no sound but the breathing of the two men, their footsteps, and the occasional drip of tallow onto wet stones.
+Kikimora found it strange and unsettling to be so deep underground. What power kept this huge weight of rock poised so delicately above her? She found herself wondering if the mountain might suddenly heave a great sigh, closing up the miles of narrow tunnel; crushing herself and the miners in its stone embrace. The idea chilled her, yet she couldn't help thinking such a catastrophe would save her a lot of trouble.
+A light grew in the tunnel ahead. As they approached, Kikimora heard raised voices, the creaking of ropes and clanking of wheels. They emerged into a wide chamber. Two men stood at a windlass, hauling up buckets from a lower level. They emptied the stone into a cart harnessed to a small, patient mare, who showed her boredom only by the occasional flick of one ear.
+Boris nodded to the men, "Levi, Goran."
+Levi called down the shaft to halt. Stepping aside, he allowed Boris and Dmitri to climb down, and Kikimora crept reluctantly after.
+Another tunnel opened up at this lower level, almost identical to the first but, Kikimora thought, noticeably damper. There were many men here, hefting buckets and wheeling barrows. The sound of metal on stone was everywhere.
+Kikimora stuck close behind Boris as he and Dmitri came to another shaft and another windlass. Again the men paused in their work, and they descended the rickety ladder.
+Here the tunnel echoed with a profound roaring. Her heart in her mouth, Kikimora recalled the story of her own creation, and Anatoly's journey to the cave of the ice wyvern. But the men seemed unperturbed by the cacophony and, walking on, she soon discovered the cause of it. A great torrent of water poured from a fault in the rock into a pool whose dark, unknowable surface pushed her disquiet to greater depths. Kikimora could easily believe it might descend all the way to the centre of the earth.
+It was dammed at one side, the water exiting by means of a man-made drainage channel. She supposed this must be the source of the aqueduct which carried water to the smelting works.
+She saw that the blocked watercourse had been enlarged by picks into a broad passage. Boris continued down this way, until it was blocked by a great expanse of rock, noticeably darker than the surrounding limestone. The old stream bed descended steeply through a narrow and twisting path, and out of sight.
+Dmitri whistled, knocking a pick against the stone, with a dull sound.
+"Basalt," said Boris dourly. "It would take months to work through it, supposing it is only a small intrusion."
+"Which we cannot guarantee."
+"I've taken Feliks and explored a little way through the old stream bed. It opens out further down, but it is wet. We set up the suction pump and made some progress. There is ore here, but," He shrugged and raised his eyes to the dripping limestone. "Water comes from all directions. It fills up faster than we can pump it out."
+Dmitri asked if they could set up a bucket and chain pump, which would move far more water than the small suction pump. Boris sighed and scratched his head. "We have no money for speculation at the moment. I know it as well as you do."
+"How are we to ever gain wealth if we don't speculate?"
+Boris admitted there was truth in that. "There is wealth down there. I can smell it. But it will still be there in the summer - during the dry weather. That is the time to explore, and see if it is worth investing in."
+"Boris, old friend, we may not be here in the summer if we don't increase production."
+"Surely it is not as bad as all that?"
+Dmitri said nothing, turning his attention to the rock composition. Darting forward, Kikimora pinched Boris' candle flame between her fingers just as Dmitri leaned down to pick a sparkling rock from the ground. The candle tumbled from his hat, plopping into a puddle, and they were plunged into a darkness so profound even Kikimora could see nothing.
+Boris swore, demanding to know what had happened.
+Kikimora froze. She had played a thoughtless prank. Now they were stranded in absolute darkness, deep within a maze of twisting tunnels. A tight feeling grew around her chest, and her breath began to come fast and shallow.
+"Thank God I bought that new tinder box," muttered Boris. As he struck a spark he took a step forward, colliding with Kikimora. The box fell clinking to the ground, and darkness enveloped them once more. "What the hell? Dmitri, is that you?"
+"I'm here." Dmitri's voice came from behind Boris, who frowned and reached hesitantly forward.
+His fingers brushed Kikimora's arm, and she slipped further back across the wet rocks. "Who's that?" he demanded, blindly groping ahead. He gasped as a pair of hands gripped his shoulders.
+"It's me," Dmitri said gently. "Is this where you dropped the box? You search left and I'll search right."
+Kikimora searched too, but none of them could locate the tinder box. Boris wanted to know why Dmitri didn't have his own, but he had left it in the office.
+"We will have to call for help," Dmitri said. "Someone will come."
+But Boris insisted he could find the way back. He took a couple of faltering steps before stumbling on the uneven ground and striking his head.
+When his cursing had subsided, Dmitri said patiently, "We should call for assistance."
+Boris muttered that it was a farce, "The manager and the foreman, stuck three levels down with no bloody light. We'll never heard the end of this."
+Dmitri said it was no time for misplaced pride. While Kikimora continued to search amongst the muddy crevices, he called, "Hello! Can anyone hear? We have lost our light."
+The undulating walls seemed to dampen the sound. As the echoes died away, there was nothing but their own anxious breathing, and the slow drip of icy water. Then, a sudden movement of loose stones; a small sound, but distinct.
+"Quiet!" said Boris, his hand tightening on Dmitri's shoulder. "Do you hear that? That scrabbling? I tell you there is someone there."
+"Hello?" Dmitri called again, but broke off as a cold hand slipped briefly into his and away, leaving behind the smooth, copper tinder box.
+"Everything alright down there?" Levi asked when they returned to the main drift. "Thought we heard some shouting earlier?"
+Boris answered curtly that everything was fine. Dmitri said nothing. He was still considering the strangeness and the luck of his household spirit going to the trouble of accompanying him far into the mine. He had no doubt it was she, coming to his aid in the darkness.
+He had muttered his thanks and, once light was restored, glanced around for a glimpse of her. But she was as shy here as she was at home.
+Emerging from the mine into bright daylight, Boris lit his pipe, taking deep, calming breaths of the fragrant smoke. "I fear I am losing my mind, but there did seem to be some uncanny presence. The flint was knocked from my hand; I swear I didn't imagine it." He frowned, struggling to make sense of the experience.
+"Most peculiar," Dmitri agreed. But he seemed distracted, and didn't pursue the conversation.
+When they returned to the yard, Kikimora remained sitting on the stones below the mine entrance, tilting her face up to the sun and gratefully absorbing its meagre warmth. She breathed great lungfuls of pine-scented air, and hoped she never again had occasion to venture back inside the dank, endless mine.
+She didn't know how the men could bear it day after day; toiling in the dark, the weight of the mountain pressing constantly upon them. She told herself it would be a mercy to them when she closed the mine. But that only recalled to her the conversation with Zoria; how would the mining families feed themselves without their work here?
+"Anatoly created me to carry out my duty," she told herself. "Not to ask questions. He is wise and learned - so wise that men come from all over the world to consult with him. I am sure he knows what he is doing, and that it is all for the best."
+But she couldn't help recalling what Leshy had told her. The Queen of the Rusalkas was also widely acknowledged to be wise and just, but she had argued with Anatoly so fiercely that she had left him, never to be seen again.
+Both were wise, but one must be wrong.
+Dmitri seemed in a strange mood when he arrived home that evening. He neglected to pour Kikimora any glass of ale, though he refilled his own several times. He made little conversation, only thanking her brusquely for returning the flint to him. "I don't suppose I need tell you anything of my day. I suppose you have already seen it." He frowned, and looked as though he would say more, but instead he bent over his book, reading silently.
+Kikimora sat unhappily behind the stove, wishing Dmitri would smile or make some humorous observation, as he often did. She had a strong but formless feeling she had done something wrong, and his silence was her punishment.
+It was no relief when he retired to his bed. The stillness of the dark kitchen seemed an almost palpable thing: heavy and suffocating. A restlessness stirred her heart. She missed the freedom of her forest home with a sudden intensity. She missed throwing open the door to the darkly swaying trees, the hooting creatures, and rushing waters. She missed Barinya particularly, and the stories she told.
+What problems she had encountered in her life so far she had always taken to Barinya. The cat's advice was never less than cryptic, but it was a comfort to Kikimora simply to explain her feelings. Barinya listened without judgement, winding her soft, warm tail around Kikimora's feet or butting her nose against cold fingers.
+She wished she could speak to Barinya now, though she didn't know quite what she would say. She shied away from forming the words, even in her own mind.
+She leaned back against the lingering warmth of the stove, and softly called the spiders to her, letting them run up her arms, smiling at the tickle of their legs against her skin. The biggest of them sat on her thumb and seemed to regard her from its many eyes.
+Lifting it closer to her face, Kikimora said, "I expect you would like to hear how Yevgenia became Queen of the Rusalkas?"
+***
+[ How Yevgenia became Queen of the Rusalkas ]
+Yevgenia wandered alone for many days with little food. She followed a fast mountain stream and, resting on a rock by its edge, she sang of her unhappiness.
+Night fell quickly, as it does beneath the trees. Frogs called and owls hooted and wolves cried. Still Yevgenia sang her song, and presently a Rusalka came to listen. "That is a fine song," she said when Yevgenia had finished. "Will you teach it to me?"
+Yevgenia sighed, and said she had no heart to sing it again.
+"You are sad," observed the Rusalka, for it was her job to find unhappy people and drown them in her pool.
+Yevgenia told her that her father had thrown her out, and she had nowhere to go. The Rusalka nodded knowingly, asking if there had been a man; if a child had been abandoned in the forest, or given to a poor woodcutter to raise?
+"Nothing like that," Yevgenia insisted, but she gave no other reason for her banishment.
+"You may stay here with us, if you wish," the Rusalka told her. "My sisters and I often sing songs, and we dance all through the nights. Sometimes we climb trees; we call to passers by and make them afraid. And we swim ever such a lot. You'd enjoy it, I'm sure."
+"That does sound nice. But you and your sisters are all drowned, are you not?"
+The Rusalka told Yevgenia she shouldn't let that put her off. "It only smarts for a moment, then all other pains and hardships melt away, and there is nothing but dancing and revelries to enjoy."
+"Even so, I would rather not drown."
+The Rusalka, whose name was Zinobia, looked unhappy at that, pointing out that many of their dances were held underwater; that sometimes the King of the Eels paid them a visit, and they all were expected to attend him in the deepest of their underwater caves.
+"Well," said Yevgenia. "What if I could breathe underwater? Then you would not need to drown me, and I could take part in all your dances and receptions?"
+Zinobia had never before heard such a suggestion, but she told Yevgenia that if she could indeed breathe underwater then she was welcome to come and live with her and her sisters.
+So Yevgenia slipped below the cold green water, and Zinobia saw that she was quite comfortable there. The Rusalka led her deep into a series of flooded caves where other Rusalkas sat combing their long silver hair, singing and playing games. They were excited to see Zinobia had brought a new sister for them, and they crowded around Yevgenia, touching her dark hair and smooth skin, and asking her many questions.
+"How did she die?" an old and shrunken Rusalka asked Zinobia. "Did she fight? Or did she embrace it? Did she beg for her life?"
+At the same time one of the younger Rusalkas with bright, sharp eyes exclaimed at the unusual movement around Yevgenia's throat, how the water seemed to rush around her, and was filled with tiny bubbles. Zinobia's pale face grew a little pink then, and she admitted that Yevgenia was not dead, as they were.
+The older Rusalkas wailed that they never thought to see standards fall so far, and this could not have happened in their grandmothers' day. The younger ones questioned if Zinobia had lost her appetite for vengeance, and was ready to retire into that long sleep from which even Rusalkas do not wake.
+Zinobia protested hotly that she had just as much vengeful ire as any of them, but Yevgenia interrupted, saying, "Sweet sisters, Zinobia invited me here to share your home for a little while. I understood the Rusalkas were the last refuge of friendless women? The door from which none were turned away?"
+"Yes," said the sharp eyed Rusalka. "But you're supposed to be dead."
+"And if anything is certain it is that I shall be one day. Meanwhile I find I am in need, and have heard much of your hospitality. Would you make a liar of Zinobia, who promised me friendship and revelry?"
+The Rusalkas muttered amongst themselves, confused by this stranger; her twisty way with words and her seeming ability to breathe through gills in her throat. Even those ancient and withered Rusalkas who seldom ventured from the caves remembered enough of human life to know that gills were not usual.
+Yevgenia said she had heard they loved to sing and dance. She asked if they knew the latest dances from Vienna, or the songs being sung in Prague, and they admitted they did not. Yevgenia thought this a terrible shame, telling them she heard new songs every week.
+Amongst the covetous sighs, she began to sing. It was a sad song about a foolish young mother who neglected her son, just for a fond moment passing the time with a handsome stranger. But the noonday witch snatched the child. He was not seen again, and nor was the handsome stranger. The mother died heartbroken and alone.
+The Rusalkas liked this song very much. Zinobia said, "She should have come to us. We would have made her welcome."
+"As you welcome all women in distress," Yevgenia said decisively, and the Rusalkas agreed that, yes, all were welcome here.
+After that, pipes and drums were brought from the far caverns, and Yevgenia taught the Rusalkas new dances. Young and old alike danced through the night, out from the caves, along the streams and up the mountain slopes. They played so wildly that Leshy stopped in his night-time prowl of the forest, to listen and wonder at their beauty. They sang so loudly that Anatoly was roused from his sleep, and opened the door to the forest, uncertain whether or not he was dreaming. They danced so long that the moon grew tired watching them, and relinquished her post to the sun.
+After that there was no question but that Yevgenia should stay and live with the Rusalkas. She was so wise, and so fair that in time they made her their Queen, and their wild revels were famed throughout the forest.
+***
+"Who is Anatoly?"
+Kikimora gave a cry of alarm, leaping to her feet and scattering spiders onto the tiles.
+"I have heard of Rusalkas, and of Leshy – but I don't know Anatoly. Is he perhaps another spirit, like yourself?"
+Dmitri kindled a flame, and came hesitantly down the stairs, peering into the shadowy corners. He asked if the Rusalkas were real, and where they were now – was the mine's troublesome Pale Lady perhaps a Rusalka herself? Kikimora remained resolutely silent.
+"Why will you not answer me?" asked Dmitri in frustration. "After all this time, I find now that you can speak! Why do you not explain yourself?"
+Not liking his tone, Kikimora slammed her hand onto the table top, causing Dmitri's discarded cup to topple. It rolled to the floor with an angry clatter. When he spoke again, his voice was cold and accusing. "Since we are conversing now, perhaps you could explain something to me. How is it that you happened to be in the mine with Boris and I – just as his candle was mysteriously snuffed out?"
+He cocked his head, listening for a reply that didn't come.
+"Did you stay there throughout the afternoon?" Dmitri wondered. "While Feodor tripped over nothing and fell on his face? While Andras dropped a bundle of charcoal sticks, breaking them all? While Grigory's tools all mysteriously disappeared, and a dirty snowball found its way into Boris' tea? Where were you when all these things occurred? I am beginning to wonder if Mrs Zubrev wasn't right about you, after all. The more I think about it, the more striking it seems that this wave of troubles at the mine coincides with your presence here. What am I to make of that, Spirit?"
+Kikimora gave a wordless cry of frustration, shoving the table so that it squealed along the floor towards him. Dmitri hastily stepped aside. "So we are back to this, are we? Do your worst," he invited her, and stalked back up the stairs to his bed.
+Kikimora kicked the stove, and swore loudly when the only effect was to stub her toes. She wondered why she was in quite such a fury. Dmitri's frustration was quite understandable, his questions well within reason. Somehow this realisation served only to increase her anger. She toppled the pots from the shelves and kicked over the milk jar.
+The lid rolled away, and milk sloshed across the tiles. Watching it spread across the floor, already thinking how unpleasant it was going to smell by morning, Kikimora marched out into the street. She spent the night in a snow drift, sleeping only fitfully.
+The next day she threw a stone into the waterwheel, jamming it stuck. Boris and several other men struggled to remove it; one eventually having to wade into the freezing water to dislodge it. She slipped unnoticed amongst the mineworkers as they sat in the weak midday sunlight, eating coarse bread and cheese. She stole a knife from a man distracted by squabbling children, and slipped inside the furnace shed.
+The air was harsh with the smells of charcoal, grease and hot metal. Behind the furnace the great bellows once more pumped and wheezed, driven by the repaired waterwheel. Kikimora approached cautiously, unnerved by the smoky air shimmering before the furnace. It seemed a live thing, wild and dangerous, liable at any moment to leap forward and drag her into its hellish embrace.
+Skirting around it, she plunged the knife into the taut leather of the bellows. It was tougher than she'd expected, and the knife not especially sharp. The blade went only a little way in, before snagging on some tougher fibre beneath the visible surface. Kikimora tried to pull it free, but the bellows had now deflated, making it harder to disentangle.
+Whatever she muttered reached Jeronim's ears. He sat up a little straighter, peering towards the furnace. While Kikimora struggled to free the knife, he climbed slowly to his feet, stretching his aching back, and sighing as it cracked.
+The bellows inflated once more, and the knife sprang free with a hiss of escaping air. The movement carried it forward into the side of the furnace, heat and sparks blasting out around loosened bricks. Kikimora recoiled with a yell.
+Jeronim reached the furnace at a run. "Rasmus! Get the master. Now!"
+Boris came down from the office in a temper so fierce its heat rivalled the furnace. The ore roasting was ruined. Without the bellows it could not be brought to full temperature. While a couple of men with sturdy leather gloves began to rebuild the furnace, others carefully detached the bellows, bringing them out into the daylight.
+A fine silk thread was found, and a call had gone out amongst the women for one with the smallest, neatest stitch. Boris wasn't certain the repair would work, but they had to try. If not there would be a hefty bill and several day's wait while a new pair could be constructed in the town.
+A young woman with long, nimble fingers was elected to stitch the bellows. "As fine as fine can be," Boris told her. "I don't want a gnat's fart to escape that leather."
+It would have been easy enough for Kikimora to slip in close beside the girl and nudge or disturb her in some way. But she did not. She looked quite anxious enough, and Boris was ready to tear the head off the next person who made any mistake.
+Kikimora found that her mood of gleeful destruction had dissipated, leaving her weary and a little wretched. She had avoided Dmitri as far as possible throughout the day. But the commotion with the bellows had brought him out from the grinding room. He stood at the edge of the enclosure, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his greatcoat, face pale and hair windswept. He glowered across the yard without seeming to see the people before him, lost in some private contemplation.
+Kikimora recalled him telling her only a few nights ago of the mine's financial difficulties, of the strain the unending series of accidents was placing on the coffers. This was yet another setback they could ill afford.
+"But that is what I am for, after all," she murmured. "The sooner the mine is ruined, the sooner I can go back home."
+A heaviness remained in her chest as she returned to Dmitri's house. She imagined describing the day's events to Leshy, so that she could hear his praise. But Dmitri strayed unbidden into her thoughts, and was appalled by what she said.
+The sour smell of inexpertly mopped milk assailed her as soon as she entered the kitchen. She tried for a few moments to ignore it, then lit a fire, hoping the smell of wood smoke would drive it out. But the heat only intensified the stench, wafting it throughout the house. Sighing, she put some water to heat and dug out the box of soda from beneath the stairs.
+She saw that Mrs Zubrev had visited that day and, while she had made a very poor job of cleaning the floor, she had at least brought a little fresh meat, as well as some thin and straggly onions and a purple turnip.
+Although Dmitri often left food for Kikimora, his efforts did not extend far beyond bread and cheese and fried meat. While she scrubbed the floor, she found that her mind kept returning to the fresh food, and what a fine stew she might make with it.
+She blushed a little to recall how fierce, how unreasonable her anger had been the night before. She was at a loss to explain it to herself. It was inevitable Dmitri would eventually realise his helpful household spirit and the mine's malevolent Pale Lady were one and the same.
+But she had begun to enjoy her dual role, and hoped she might play it a little longer. Then he might read to her once more, as he used to; he might play his whistle, and converse with her and call her friend.
+She brushed aside the uncomfortable thought that this was certainly not what Anatoly had in mind for her, reasoning that she worked against Dmitri effectively at the mine; there was no need for them to also be at loggerheads in his home. Besides, she too needed to rest occasionally.
+Lifting down the largest pan, she set a little fat to melt while she chopped the vegetables. The wonderful smell of frying onions soon overpowered any lingering unpleasantness. Kikimora inhaled deeply, thinking it would be a fine thing to come home to after a long and wretched day.
+As she stirred the pan there came a hesitant knock at the door. "Dmitri?" a woman's voice called. Kikimora startled, letting the spoon drop back into the pan.
+"I can hear you!" said Yana, letting herself in. "Dmitri, where are you?"
+***
+The first thing Yana noticed was the blurred grey scrawl across the far wall, a pair of evil eyes still discernible amongst the mess. She swore and crossed herself, then frowned at the pan of frying onions, the mound of chopped vegetables, and the herbs all in disarray.
+"Hello?" Still there was no answer, and she shook her head in exasperation.
+Kikimora remained beside her pan, frustration mounting as the onions began to brown and stick. She gave them a quick stir while Yana looked upstairs, and moved the pan back off the light a little way. When she returned, Yana looked decidedly puzzled. Approaching the stove, she sniffed appreciatively and gave the pan a stir. "Your onions are beginning to burn," she told the apparently empty room.
+She gazed at the array of ingredients spread across the table. She had little experience of cooking; her meals arrived ready made from the scullery. "How hard can it be?" she asked herself. "Let's see. What goes in next?"
+Kikimora flicked a piece of turnip onto the floor. Yana retrieved it, dusting it off on her dress. She shrugged, and scooped the vegetables into the pan, stirring them around. She found Mrs Zubrev's packet of meat, and shook it out whole into the pan, where it landed with a weighty thud. Kikimora gave a little sigh of frustration. She had intended to chop it into small pieces and let them brown.
+Yana realised her mistake almost immediately, and set about trying to carve the meat where it sat, holding the chunk steady with a ladle while she jabbed ineffectually with a small bladed knife. Kikimora groaned and rubbed her forehead.
+At last the meat was hacked into four large pieces, and Yana decided that would suffice. She poured in a quantity of water, and seemed likely to empty in the entire pitcher, but stopped when Kikimora flicked a drop into her eyes. In this haphazard way, she guided the cooking process as best she was able, at appropriate times nudging the bundle of dried thyme or the salt cellar towards Yana's uncertain hand.
+Taking a scalding taste, Yana huffed and blew and waved her hand before her mouth. A smile lit her face, and she proudly told the room that her efforts were not at all bad.
+By the time Dmitri arrived home the little house was suffused with a delicious savoury aroma. He paused on the threshold, thrown by the sight of his sister standing proudly at the stove. "Yana, what can have brought you out on such a night? Is everything all right? Is it Father? Is he-?"
+"He is quite well," Yana assured him, pecking a kiss onto his frozen cheek. "At least, you know, as far as he ever is. You look tired," she added. "Sit down and have some supper. I hope you don't mind? I added a few things." She gestured vaguely towards the stove.
+"Wonderful," said Dmitri with a weary smile. "I can't tell you how welcome this is."
+Yana said she had only finished it off, adding, "When did you learn to cook?"
+Dmitri said the culinary arts were still a great and dark mystery to him. Yana laughed - a soft laugh that only seemed to accentuate how sad and worried she looked. "Well, it smelled quite appetising to me."
+Dmitri didn't understand that, but was too tired and hungry to pay the comment much attention. "Why are you here?" he asked again.
+Yana ladled stew into two shallow bowls, and asked if the explanation could wait until after their supper.
+"Of course," Dmitri said, but he frowned. It was unlike Yana to be so mysterious and reticent.
+"You look exhausted," she said. "Have you been getting enough rest?"
+Dmitri hesitated, then said only that he had been working long hours. When the meal was finished, he pushed the dishes aside and poured them each a small glass of vodka. "Now, Yana," he said. "What is the matter? I can see that something is troubling you."
+Yana held the glass between her fingers, rocking it one way and then another, but taking no drink. Finally she spoke, "You recall Father's meeting with Count Rudov? We couldn't imagine what business they might have with one another."
+"Of course."
+"Father has made an arrangement with Rudov. He-" Yana was so flustered she struggled to find the words.
+"What is it?"
+She gave a great sigh and lifted her eyes to meet Dmitri's. "I am to marry him."
+Dmitri swallowed his vodka so quickly it burned down the back of his throat. "Rudov has asked for your hand?"
+Yana gave a bitter laugh. "Nothing as romantic as that, I assure you. He has asked for my dowry."
+"Rudov," Dmitri said again, as though repetition could make the idea more palatable. "He is somewhat your senior."
+"Fifty, if he's a day."
+"And he has always looked down on us. What can have so changed his mind?"
+"If you would believe the gossips, he sold off the more profitable areas of his estate years ago to pay gambling debts. His vineyards are failing. My guess it that he needs money, and can't afford to be fussy about its origin."
+"But we have no money!" Dmitri frowned, raking a hand through his hair. "What has Father promised him?"
+Yana reminded him that Count Rudov was only recently returned to the area, and likely knew nothing of their financial setbacks. "Father was most careful what he should see when he visited. I had another new gown, and he hired additional staff to wait on us. I lost count of the courses served for dinner."
+Dmitri rose from the table, restlessly pacing the tiny room. "But why would Father make such a match? He hates Rudov."
+"No," said Yana. "That's not quite it. Father hates Rudov looking down on us. He hates being ignored and despised. He always told us we could move in higher circles. Now he has seen an opportunity to raise our social status - and he has taken it."
+Yana's calm words had the ring of truth to them. Dmitri regarded her, sitting so quiet and still, hands held in her lap. Her face was ashen, eyes downcast.
+Kikimora wished there was some way she could comfort Yana. She felt sure that Dmitri would embrace his sister and soothe her. Instead he sighed, flopping back into his chair. "It's true Rudov is not a young man, nor perhaps the man you would choose. But he has many connections. Perhaps Father is right? It could be a great opportunity for you. Clearly it will be a marriage of convenience rather than affection - but that doesn't mean you can't be happy, does it?"
+Kikimora stared at him in astonishment. She recalled all too clearly the boorish, overdressed man with the bad hairpiece and florid complexion. He had commented archly on Yana's 'imperfections', and all but ignored Dmitri. How could he have forgotten that so quickly?
+"Do you truly think so?"
+Dmitri hesitated just a little before saying, "I'm sure of it. You will move in the highest circles. You will attend balls and parties. You might go to court and meet the King. Perhaps there will be fireworks?" he added, breaking off with a sudden exclamation as Kikimora kicked his shin.
+Yana mustered a smile, saying, "I would like to see fireworks again."
+Dmitri surreptitiously rubbed his leg.
+"I will do my duty, of course. But who will look after Father? Ow!" Yana said, as something tugged sharply at her hair.
+Kikimora prowled the room furiously. She didn't care if Rudov was young or old, handsome or ugly, rich or poor. All that mattered was that Yana was miserable; not blushing and nervous, as she knew from Barinya's stories, brides should be. Not excited; not hopeful. But bleak and resigned to her fate.
+She didn't understand why Yana would submit to her father's will in such an important and ill-conceived matter. Scowling across the table at the siblings, she willed them to come to their senses. But Dmitri only said, "We will have to employ a nurse."
+"Father will hate that. He'll be miserable."
+Dmitri acknowledged it was true. "But he'll make sure the nurse is more miserable."
+Yana laughed a little, and Dmitri closed his hand over hers. They each drank another glass of vodka, and Dmitri told his sister she should get home before Father worried.
+At the door she embraced him, asking that he not mention the betrothal to anyone, as the contract was not yet signed. She thanked him for listening, and for the good advice. This proved more than Kikimora could bear. She swept the empty bowls and glasses from the table, and they shattered across the floor tiles in jagged shards.
+Yana leapt back, exclaiming in dismay. Dmitri dismissed her questions, bustling her out of the door and into her waiting carriage. When the door was closed against the bitter night wind, he bent to collect the shards of broken glass. Kikimora lurked against the far wall, anticipating harsh words from him, and fully prepared to break everything in the kitchen until he realised his error.
+But he said nothing while he cleared the larger shards into a bucket, only giving a small exclamation when he cut his finger. He swept up the remaining debris, then fetched a clean glass from the shelf, pouring himself another measure of vodka.
+"If you are a household spirit," he said. "Then concern yourself with this household. My sister and my father are not your concern, and I'll thank you not to meddle in their affairs."
+Kikimora had never heard him sound so cold and angry. Taking up his candle, he climbed the stairs. Pausing at the top, he turned to the dark kitchen. "Or, if you believe you have a valid objection to the match, please tell me what it is?" He waited a moment, silent and listening.
+Kikimora struggled to find the words. He would do better to ask what wasn't objectionable about the match. Didn't he have eyes in his own head? Couldn't he see how miserable Yana was?
+While she hesitated, it occurred to her that perhaps he was right. Yana's life and happiness had nothing to do with her task. The tight feeling returned to her chest as she recalled how she was letting Anatoly and Leshy down. How had she become so caught up in the dreams and ambitions of these humans it was her duty to destroy?
+Dmitri sighed. "No. I didn't think so."
+Kikimora curled up behind the cooling stove, laying her head on her knees. The longer she thought about it, the more it seemed that in persuading Yana of her duty to marry Count Rudov, Dmitri had shown himself to be just as selfish and thoughtless as Anatoly said.
+Snatching up the soup ladle, she commenced thrashing the two iron cooking pots with a terrible clamour. A dog further down the street set up howling, and Kikimora howled along with it, her finest banshee wail.
+***
+In the morning Dmitri greeted her with a cool, Good day, asking if she was well rested – if indeed a being such as herself needed rest as humans did? He enquired whether staying up half the night just to disturb him was at all an inconvenience to her, saying he should hate for her to trouble herself on his account.
+"I must thank you for allowing me those refreshing two hours sleep," he continued, pulling on his boots. "Otherwise I'm sure I would be quite useless in my day's work." With a last scowl around the room, he stalked outside, letting the door crash shut behind him.
+He kept to his office throughout the morning, adding up and re-adding his accounts, in the hope they might eventually form themselves into less dreadful patterns.
+A knock at the door was a welcome distraction, though he supposed it could only bring more bad news. "What is it?"
+A squat, smudge-faced man let himself in, belatedly whipping off his hat.
+"What can I do for you, Pawel?"
+Twisting his cap in his hands, Pawel asked in a halting, roundabout way if he might have a few days leave to visit his sick mother in Baransk.
+"Of course," said Dmitri. "I hope it is not too serious?"
+Pawel looked at his boots, muttering that it was indeed tolerably serious.
+"That is too bad."
+Pawel said briskly, "It is that,"
+He turned to leave, but Dmitri called him back. He rifled through the cupboard, and emerged a moment later brandishing a bottle of strong wine. "Take her this gift from me - to strengthen the blood."
+Pawel flushed red, muttering that he couldn't possibly take it. Dmitri insisted.
+"Right you are then," Pawel said at last, pocketing the bottle. His hand was on the door latch when Dmitri asked what ailed his mother. Pawel hesitated. "A pleurisy," he at last decided, and was through the door before Dmitri could ask anything further.
+Crossing the yard, he nodded to a couple of men he passed, and they nodded silently back. As he headed onto the road, something about his manner piqued Kikimora's curiosity, and she began to follow.
+"Where are you going?" Zoria asked, appearing at her side.
+Pawel, thinking she was addressing him, turned, grinning, and tapped his nose. "Never you mind." Pulling the bottle from his pocket he took a drink, gave a sigh of satisfaction, and carried on down the road.
+Kikimora frowned after him. Zoria asked if she would tell a story, and scowled when Kikimora told her, "Perhaps later. I'm busy just now."
+Dmitri continued looking over the accounts, crossing things out and writing them back in, occasionally balling up papers and tossing them into the fire.
+"What is it?" Boris asked at last. "You're sighing like a love-sick maid."
+Dmitri drummed his fingers on the table top, wondering whether he could share his troubles with Boris. But what could he say? The foreman had made clear his distaste for any talk of spirits and unearthly goings on, and Yana had sworn him to secrecy on the subject of her betrothal.
+"Nothing," he said. "I am going out for a time."
+He walked into the trees, letting his feet take him where they would. There was a certain satisfaction in pushing through the crowding branches, breaking the crust of deep, fresh snow. But his heart remained heavy. Despite his confident assertions to both Yana and Kikimora, Rudov's motives concerned him.
+He cursed Marek for planting suspicions in his head, and he cursed his household spirit for exacerbating them. Why did she react as she did to the betrothal? What secrets might she know that were hidden to mortals? Regardless of whether there was any truth to the rumours, Dmitri wondered how well any man might treat a wife he married solely for money when he discovered she had none.
+In the evening he took his supper at the tavern and drank a few mugs of ale with Nuriyev. It was not late when he arrived home. He kicked off his snow covered boots at the door, shucked the coat from his shoulders, and quickly kindled a light in the stove. Taking the bottle of vodka from the shelf, he set two small glasses on the table, filling them to the brim.
+"I suppose there could be another explanation for your presence in the mine," he said without preamble. "A few nights ago I asked for your advice regarding our troubles. Perhaps you came there at my request? Perhaps I have wronged you. I don't know, Spirit." He took one of the drinks, and sank into the seat before the fire.
+"I have not been myself these past weeks. The troubles at the mine, so many odd and inexplicable occurrences - not least your own presence. Many worries crowd upon me. Many responsibilities, which I am not sure I can adequately bear. It is possible, perhaps, that I may have been a little... brusque with you over Yana's engagement. I may have overreacted." He sighed, and sipped his drink.
+"We had become friends, you and I, hadn't we? All friends have disagreements from time to time, but that doesn't mean their friendship ends. I must ask you one thing. If you have any knowledge regarding Rudov's character or history which has a bearing on Yana's betrothal then I beg of you to let me know. If not, then you must accept that their marriage is not your business. If you can do that, then perhaps I can give you the benefit of the doubt regarding your strange habits and your reticence. Perhaps you are beset by problems of which I know nothing. Perhaps you are constrained by laws I do not understand.
+"I would like it if we could renew our friendship. I would like to understand you; your desires and fears. Perhaps in some small way I could help you? As you help me around the house. Shouldn't friends share their troubles with one another? And try to find an answer to them?"
+The kitchen remained silent, but it seemed to Dmitri a watchful, speculative silence. He downed the contents of his glass, and said, "That is my offer. Think on it." He climbed the stairs, pausing at the top and wishing her good night.
+Before he quite disappeared, and before she realised she intended to, Kikimora whispered, "Good night."
+She heard him undress and climb into his bed, but he continued to shuffle and fidget, finding no rest. After a time, he took up his whistle and began to play.
+Kikimora crept out from behind the stove. She sniffed the vodka, and took a tentative sip. Though she had distilled Anatoly's vodka for many years, she had seldom drunk it herself, and was unused to its fiery effect. Dmitri broke off playing momentarily as she gave a spluttering cough.
+He was still smiling as she made her way silently up the steps. He played a couple of tunes, then put the whistle aside and lay down, saying, "I wonder where you come from, Spirit. Do you have a mother? A father? Are they proud of you?"
+He rolled over, closing his eyes. Kikimora lingered on the stairs. Sometimes in the past she had allowed herself to wonder what would have happened if Anatoly and Yevgenia had not fallen out, but had married. She struggled to picture how it would alter her own life, but she thought Anatoly might not spend so much time alone in his study; he might not drink so much vodka late at night, and probably he might laugh more often.
+Dmitri's breathing had at last grown slow and steady. Before she made her way down the stairs, Kikimora said softly, "I disappoint him every day."
+Dmitri's breath came a little faster, and she knew he was awake, that he had heard her. She hesitated, wanting to flee to safety in the kitchen. But the darkness and lateness of the hour lent her strength.
+"I am failing him at this moment," she said. Although the words were painful, there was relief in voicing them. "But what he said was right feels wrong, and what he said was wrong feels right. I cannot find my way." She broke off, wondering what had made her suddenly so bold.
+The bed creaked, and Dmitri sat up, peering towards her. "Even you are not free? It is hard to have a duty which denies your own wishes." He scratched thoughtfully at his jaw, and then lay down again. "I am not sure my father can ever be satisfied. Even if I were as attentive as Sergei. Even if I did everything he asked: charmed the rich matrons of the town, married the Olgakov girl, and became respectable... His dissatisfaction is a well that can never be filled. Perhaps your father is like that too?"
+But Kikimora had already said too much. She returned to the kitchen and lay down to rest.
+In the morning Dmitri spoke warmly to her, asking if she had slept well, but did not seem put out by her silence. "I know you are shy," he said. "It is gratifying that you trust me well enough now to speak, and I am sure you will do so in your own time. There is much I would ask you, much I would like to understand. I feel that we have entered a new phase of our friendship."
+Kikimora listened to him with a mixture of wonder and dismay. It thrilled her to hear him talk of their friendship as something which could grow and develop, but a nagging dread lingered in her belly. She had spoken her truest, deepest fears to him the night before. She had been making excuses for herself, but the truth was she was betraying Anatoly by pursuing this peculiar friendship with Dmitri. She knew it, and yet for all her efforts to do her duty, she only ever seemed to tangle herself more deeply into his life.
+***
+Dmitri once again began to leave aside food and drink for his household spirit. He greeted her each evening as he arrived home to a warm stove and a bubbling samovar. He told her about his day, and the various problems that had struck the mine. He continued to ask if she might be of some help regarding the Pale Lady, but he did not labour the point. The Spirit seemed to have accepted his terms, and she had nothing to say about Rudov. That alone was a great burden off his mind.
+Market day came around again, and Kikimora fell in with the flow of human and animal traffic leading towards the square. Everywhere, ragged, barefoot urchins dodged amongst those with money in their pockets and insufficient care.
+Kikimora darted amongst the crowds as nimbly as the urchins, and like them, took what opportunities she found. Some brightly coloured thread caught her eye, and she at once thought of smartening up Magda's drab, torn clothing. But she hesitated, reminding herself sternly that befriending the miners' children was not part of her duty.
+The thread was so pretty though – a deep, regal blue that was almost purple. Kikimora recalled the shirt she had been embroidering for Anatoly, and which she had not quite had time to finish before he sent her away. Such a deep blue would look very fine worked into one of the planets on the hem, she decided.
+While the merchant continued to haggle with a ladies-maid over a length of ribbon, she snatched the bright thread, tucking it inside her pocket. As she darted away, she became entangled with a hoard of young ladies spilling suddenly from the doorway of a milliners. Voices were raised in indignation, and there was much shoving of elbows and trampling of toes.
+"Girls, please," entreated an anxious voice. "Remember your decorum. Beatrice! Cecile! Stop fighting this instant."
+"She started it. She trod on my foot."
+"I did not. It was Agnesse, the great clodhopper."
+"Mother, did you hear what she called me?"
+"Quiet, all of you!" Mrs Olgakov pushed herself to the front of the little group. "I will not have you making a spectacle of yourselves here in the town square. For shame."
+The four girls fell silent, looking suitably chastened.
+"Now, if you can comport yourselves like ladies, then we shall take some tea."
+Kikimora slipped into the tea house behind them. She could clearly see which of the Olgakov girls was horse-faced Agnesse, with the wide, rolling eyes. Beatrice must be the plumpest of the four, who 'never stopped eating for long enough to say anything controversial.' Of the two remaining, both were handsome, with dimpling pink cheeks and yellow curls.
+One asked, "May we have cucumber sandwiches, Mama? Please say we might." Her voice was smooth and melodious, and Kikimora thought it likely she was Seraphina, not Cecile, 'with a laugh like a banshee's wail.'
+Mrs Olgakov ordered tea, cakes and sandwiches, which arrived on a large platter with many layers. The girls' conversation was all of their forthcoming dinner with Mr Rachmanov. They debated which gowns to wear, what was the most becoming way to arrange their hair, and which ribbons and slippers would best accent their colouring.
+Finishing her third cake, Agnesse declared the pink cakes far superior to the yellow, which were quite unappetising. Cecile agreed, and a moment later all four girls were vying for the final pink cake. After an unseemly scramble, Mrs Olgakov rapped each of their hands with her tiny silver cake fork. "Really, girls," she chided. "I trust you won't behave like this tomorrow? Whatever will Mr Rachmanov think? Since Seraphina is the only one who can comport herself decently, she shall have it."
+Beatrice complained, "But she already had a new ribbon, and I did not!" Cecile grumbled that they both had more ribbons than her. Agnesse only murmured unhappily that she never got her way in anything.
+When the clamour had died down and Mrs Olgakov had managed to restore order, it was noticed that the much coveted cake had disappeared. Amidst fierce recriminations, the girls turned out their pockets and purses; they searched beneath the table and behind the curtains. The cake had quite gone.
+"Well, what a queer turn up," Mrs Olgakov said.
+Cecile whispered to Agnesse that the household spirit must have taken it, and Mrs Olgakov said she would not stand for her girls discussing ungodly matters. Cecile protested that their cook left out a saucer of milk for it each night. "She says that if you don't look after the household spirit it will cause trouble and sour the milk."
+Mrs Olgakov's eyes bulged a little. "Ours is a Christian home. Heathen and sorcerous beings will not be tolerated. I will speak to Katerina."
+There was silence for a moment, before Agnesse ventured to say, "You won't turn Katerina out, will you, Mama? Only she makes such lovely pancakes, and what with Mr Rachmanov coming to dinner tomorrow, I mean, we must feed him..."
+Mrs Olgakov said repressively that the girls need not concern themselves with either spirits or the domestic staff. "Now if you are all finished with your tea, we shall get home. I know you all wish to bathe this evening and put your hair in curling papers. And I shall need to stand over Rosa while she cleans, or else she's sure to forget the banisters."
+Kikimora shadowed the family as they made their way down the broad streets leading from the market square and towards the well to do area of town. Here the houses were tall and double fronted. They were surrounded by iron railings and had side doors for tradesmen. She stood upon a well tended green and watched the Olgakov family pour into one of the largest houses. Smoke curled into the sky from not just one, but two chimneys.
+Returning to Dmitri's house, Kikimora lit the stove and filled the samovar. She felt restless, and wondered crossly where Dmitri had gone. The memory of the Olgakov girls irritated her, like a splinter under her nail. Everything about them seemed to aggravate her; their plump prettiness, their thoughtless bickering, their butter-coloured ringlets and wide blue eyes. Kikimora knew her ill humour was unreasonable, but that knowledge didn't lessen it.
+When Dmitri returned, he was in an infuriatingly good mood. He greeted his spirit warmly, and bounded up the stairs, re-emerging a moment later holding his fiddle. "I've rested my hand quite long enough," he told her. "I'm sure even Mrs Zubrev would agree."
+Lifting the instrument from its case, he began to tune it. He held the bow lightly, his first strokes slow and uneven. But encountering no discomfort, he drew the bow more vigorously across the strings, adjusting the pegs as he did so.
+Satisfied at last, he began to play a slow, courtly dance. The music was far more sedate and mannered than Kikimora was used to hearing him play, and she found that it quickly soothed the rough edges of her humour. Strangely, she resented this interference. Wasn't it just like him to go blundering into other people's moods and wrecking them? But it was hard to hold on to her ill humour, particularly when it was so senseless.
+When he'd finished, he made further small adjustments to the pegs. There was a moment's pause, and then he launched into a violently brisk tune, full of life and fire. Kikimora allowed the remaining shreds of her temper to fly away on the whirling notes. She crept out from behind the stove, and a smile found its way onto her face. It had been pleasant to listen to him play his whistle, but its sound did not compare with the voice of his violin, so rich and sweet and resonant.
+Dmitri played with his eyes closed, seeming lost to the world. As the piece finished, Kikimora glanced down and saw a faint outline of her hand against the floor tiles. She realised she had grown warm, and at once drew away from the stove, towards the stairs. That side of the room was always colder, and she hoped she would soon regain her usual temperature and lack of visibility.
+But the longer Dmitri played, the brighter and more visible she became. Now she could make out the blue vein snaking across the back of her hand. With a sigh of frustration, she climbed the stairs and withdrew into the bed chamber.
+Hidden in darkness, she listened as he played a popular song, a couple of dances, and finally a slow, achingly sorrowful tune. The piece ended, and she saw with dismay that she was fully visible.
+Dmitri gave a sigh of satisfaction. Being able to play his violin once more had soothed his nerves and smoothed the creases from his brow.
+Kikimora heard the soft rasp of his fingers against the case, the click of the latches, and realised that at any moment he was likely to return it to the chest upstairs. Hearing the bottom step creak beneath his foot, she cast about for some hiding place. There was really nowhere large enough but the bed. The covers were in disarray, as he had left them that morning, all bunched up in the centre. Lacking any other options, she dived beneath them, wriggling down into the middle of the bed and lying as still as she was able.
+In stifling darkness, she followed Dmitri's progress by the creaking of floorboards. He returned his violin to the chest, and locked it. There came a sound of cloth being pulled roughly over skin, and a little brisk splashing and towelling.
+Kikimora's heart raced, her breath coming shallow and rapid. Surely he was not yet preparing to go to bed? The evening was not far advanced. The thought that at any moment he might throw back the blanket and discover her only heightened her discomfort. The pounding of her heart increased until it seemed to her it must be shaking the bedstead. She braced herself for discovery. She would run for the stairs while he was still startled. He would be too surprised to react quickly...
+Dmitri cursed softly to himself, looking in his chest and in his cabinet. At last he found the clean shirt he wanted, and pulled it over his head. A moment later he thumped back down the stairs, and out of the house.
+Kikimora threw off the suffocating covers, gasping in cold air. She crossed to the washstand, and peered into the little mirror there. Despite the poor light, she saw that her cheeks were uncommonly ruddy.
+She recalled the night she had come to Korsakov, and seen Dmitri for the first time. She had listened to him play his fiddle in the tavern, and had grown so warm she'd had to throw herself into a snow drift to regain her invisibility. She hadn't been certain then what power affected her; whether it was fear of the unknown, the unfamiliarity of being in such a large and unruly town, of the firelit room full of loud, drunken men so close by... or whether it was simply the power of his music.
+But playing the spinet with Yana had not produced the same effect; nor had playing his whistle. "It is the violin," Kikimora realised. "Only the violin affects me in this way. It speaks to my heart as no other music does."
+Even now, the heat still thrummed in her veins. She plunged her hands into the bowl of cold water, trying to regain her strength. As the warmth ebbed from her, she began to fade from view; first her hands and then her arms. Her feet too grew cold, and vanished. Her head and torso remained visible, hovering before the wash stand.
+"I am a creature of ice," she told the pale, disembodied face staring back from the looking glass. "And heat is my enemy. Music..." She hesitated, then forced herself to say the words, "Music is my enemy."
+The pale face scowled back at her. She watched until the cold spread up her throat to her face. Her cheeks were the final part of her to disappear. She stood a moment longer, peering into the emptiness, trying to find herself.
+***
+In the morning she did not follow Dmitri to church, instead letting her feet lead her where they would through Korsakov's empty streets. In time she found herself among rows of narrow cottages, smaller even than Dmitri's home. Some ragged children played in the snow. Kikimora didn't recognise them; they were not miners families. She wondered if they had any occupation. Clearly not one which paid for warm clothes or dry boots.
+She turned down an alley into a dingy courtyard. She could see no one, but heard evidence of many bodies in close proximity. From unshuttered windows came a variety of coughs and the grumble of low voices.
+Kikimora drew closer to an open doorway, peering into the gloomy interior. There was no furniture but a table. In one corner was a pile of straw, and lying on it, a thin child. His coughs were frequent and hollow sounding. Five more children sat around the walls, the youngest playing some desultory game, while the oldest whittled at a stick. Kikimora recognised the boy's father, but it took her a moment to place him: Andras, the furnace man who had been sent home after she ruined the roasting.
+He and his wife spoke in low voices. "It is bad enough we had to leave our home and move to this-" The woman bit back whatever word was on her tongue.
+Andras didn't raise his eyes from the floor, saying in a dour tone, "We are lucky to have a roof. There's those that don't."
+"I know it," said his wife. "But we used to have so much more, and I don't understand what happened!"
+"Well, that's two of us."
+The boy gave a thin, barking cough that seemed to rattle around his ribs. The girl nearest to him laid her hand on his, and shuffled a little closer.
+Worry creased around the woman's eyes. "Can't you-?"
+"No," Andras said quickly.
+"Mr Rachmanov has always been so kind in the past. He sent broth for Alexi, you remember? I don't understand what-"
+"I said no. I'll not ask him for a thing."
+"But I'm sure if he knew-"
+"Damn it, woman, what part of 'no' don't you understand?"
+The girl began to cry, a quiet, unobtrusive cry that expected no comfort to be given.
+Kikimora withdrew from the doorway, tipping her face to the dull, grey sky. She could still hear the boy coughing as she retraced her steps down the alley.
+She recalled Andras' exchange with Dmitri. He'd said Alexi was better, and back at work. That was some weeks ago now, and since then Andras had been demoted to the dressing pool. It was unskilled work, and poorly paid - not enough to support a family of eight. And now, whatever ailed Alexi had returned, and the family didn't have enough money to feed themselves, never mind to buy medicine.
+When Anatoly and Leshy described her task to her it was about preventing greedy, selfish men from taking what was not theirs. They said nothing about letting families and sick children starve. Kikimora refused to believe it was an inevitable consequence of her actions, and tried to persuade herself Anatoly could not have foreseen it - despite his wisdom, his knowledge of the world, and his generally meticulous planning...
+That train of thought proved troubling, causing her insides to feel heavy and unsettled. Instead, she focused on one thing she could be certain of, Barinya would not stand idly by and observe such a calamity.
+Lengthening her stride, she moved quickly out of the narrow, twisting alleys and back towards the more affluent area of town. She found her way easily to the Olgakovs house. The family and most of the servants were still at church, and she had no difficulty letting herself inside.
+She saw only one servant, an elderly woman who sat nodding before the stove in the scullery. A silver kettle and a cloth lay in her lap, but little polishing was taking place. Kikimora slipped past the woman, and into a pantry well stocked with a range of covered pots and jars.
+She couldn't recall Anatoly or herself ever falling sick, and didn't know how best to treat it. But a broth had helped Alexi before, and she had seen Dmitri give a bottle of strong wine to Pawel for his sick mother - though she had also seen Pawel drink it himself, and something about that encounter struck her as odd, but she didn't have time to think about it just now.
+She could find no soup, but thought a pot of porridge, still warm from breakfast would do just as well. The remains of a meat pie would go some way to filling the family's hungry bellies. Wine would be kept in a cellar, and she didn't have time to investigate further, but glancing at the highest shelves, she spotted a dark bottle, and lifted it down.
+Doctor Cornelius Agrippa's Miraculous Restorative and Aquavit claimed to be a tonic for agues, apoplexies, colic, sweating sickness, flux, palsy, and many other dreadful sounding ailments. Kikimora placed it in a basket with the rest. Lastly she added half a cheese, and returned to the frozen streets. She tossed a stone through the door of Andras' hovel to attract the family's attention, and slipped away before they found the basket of food.
+She had thought she would feel better for her actions, but she did not. The queasiness remained, and her mind whirled with questions she couldn't answer. She didn't return to Dmitri's house until late in the afternoon, startling him as she let herself in. He wished her good evening before adding apologetically that the tea was cold and the bread all stale, "And I have no further time to entertain you, as I am due at the Olgakovs presently."
+When he went upstairs to wash and change his shirt, Kikimora helped herself to a small glass of vodka, knocking it back in one eye-watering gulp. With an effort, she managed not to cough or splutter.
+"I don't suppose I shall be back until late," Dmitri told her, returning downstairs. Kikimora noticed he wore the shirt she had embroidered for him with the little tree and blue flower. Somehow this stoked the dull embers of her discontent into a sudden, unreasoning fury. As soon as he'd left the house, she leapt up the stairs and rekindled the still smoking candle. Allowing herself to become visible, she glowered into the tiny mirror before the wash stand. In her life before she came to town she had seldom given any thought to her appearance. Neither Anatoly nor Barinya ever commented on it, and she used to see so few other ladies that she had little to compare herself to.
+Now she couldn't help but recall the Olgakov girls' smooth faces, with their rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. Her own face was pale, her hair limp and windswept, her over-large eyes a dull greenish brown, like a stagnant pond.
+Even the plainest of the sisters wore silk and lace and had brightly coloured ribbons in her hair. Kikimora's own dress was plain and ragged with no ruffles or fancy stitching. Though she had spent long hours embroidering Anatoly's shirts, she had never taken the time to embroider her own dresses. She wondered angrily why not.
+Her dissatisfaction increased as she recalled how the girls had all planned to preen themselves in readiness for Dmitri's visit. From the draughty corners of the room she seemed to hear again Mrs Olgakov's suggestive whisper to Dmitri weeks before, You need looking after. You need a wife.
+"I look after Dmitri," Kikimora told the pale face in the mirror, and it scowled fiercely back at her.
+"Whoever can that be?" Mrs Olgakov asked. "Right in the middle of the soup." She laid down her spoon, and inclined her head towards the door, hoping to overhear the exchange.
+After a moment, the front door closed again, and the servant returned to the kitchen. "Rosa," Mrs Olgakov called. She rang the bell beside the table, and called again, more sharply, "Rosa!"
+Rosa entered the dining room, flushed, and drying her hands on her apron.
+"Who was at the door? Why did you not inform me? I hope it was not a tradesman?"
+Rosa explained that she had opened the front door to an empty street, "Not a soul to be seen, up or down."
+Mrs Olgakov found this highly unlikely, and questioned Rosa more closely on the matter. Rosa, hoping to end the interrogation and return to her preparations in the kitchen, said she supposed it was probably children. This only increased Mrs Olgakov's discomposure. She pointed out this used to be the better part of town, and in her day children had known their place, and had respected their elders and betters.
+At last she dismissed Rosa, saying all her standing about chatting was letting a draught in. Pulling an embroidered shawl closer around her shoulders, she answered, "Our own home was robbed this very morning! Can you believe it, Mr Rachmanov? I am only grateful my girls were not here. Who knows what the villains might have attempted."
+Dmitri said he was very sorry to hear it, and hoped nothing of value had been taken.
+"We shall all be murdered in our beds at this rate!" continued Mrs Olgakov. "The town is overrun by ruffians and vagabonds. Were you not robbed yourself in the street last market day?"
+Cecile asked if it was a vicious gang and Beatrice said he must inform the magistrate so the ruffians could be brought to justice.
+"I shall go and watch them hang," declared Agnesse, and Beatrice and Cecile asked their mother if they too might go to the hanging.
+Dmitri, somewhat embarrassed, explained, "A poor boy with no shoes dipped my pocket. But he slipped in the snow, and ran off before I could speak with him. He got nothing but wet trousers for his troubles." He found himself wondering how the boy had eaten that night and where he had slept. "If he'd asked, I would have given him a coin."
+"A little charity is all very well," said Mrs Olgakov. "But too much only encourages idleness. At any rate, we shall have no cheese for pudding tonight."
+Kikimora retreated to the cold window, keeping out of the servants' way while they carried in bowls and platters and a huge piece of beef. Mr Olgakov carved the roast, handing out thick slabs of meat to everyone, and Kikimora pinched fatty, crumbling pieces from the girls' plates while they were busy helping themselves to buttered cabbage.
+As he refilled Dmitri's glass, Mr Olgakov commented that a glass of good wine was a fine thing, a boon to digestion, and the ideal thing to settle a fellow's stomach after a good meal. Mrs Olgakov parried with the assertion that one's stomach did not require much settling if one didn't cram it full to bursting in the first place. She and the girls did not drink wine, contenting themselves with elderflower cordial - although Beatrice accompanied each mouthful with a wincing grimace, and shot covetous glances at the claret.
+After a little polite, inconsequential conversation, Mrs Olgakov asked Dmitri pointedly if he didn't have some news he wished to share with them.
+"News?" Dmitri echoed, mystified.
+"A little bird told me some happy news has come the way of your family." By now the girls were all clamouring to know what was the happy news. Mrs Olgakov pursed her lips, and prompted Dmitri, "Concerning your sister?"
+"Yana? Yes, of course. Her happy news."
+Someone coughed, seemingly from behind the curtains. Mrs Olgakov raised her brows, asking, "Was my little bird correct then? Are we to expect wedding bells?"
+If Dmitri's confirmation of the nuptial rumour was less than overjoyed, no one noticed amid the excited clamour.
+"And a fine match for poor Yana, too. I am afraid we all worried she would remain unwed. It must be a weight off your father's mind to see her settled so handsomely."
+Dmitri had no polite response to that, but fortunately needed none, as the girls fired further questions at him: When will the wedding be? What colour flowers will she have? How many bridesmaids? Who shall they be? His inability to answer any of these questions in no way diminished their enthusiasm for asking.
+When a lull fell over the table, and Dmitri wearily drained his glass, Mrs Olgakov announced significantly that in her experience once one child was wed, her siblings were never far behind. The girls exchanged furtive smiles. Mr Olgakov again topped up Dmitri's glass, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder. Mrs Olgakov was so pleased with how the evening was progressing she didn't even tut.
+"Now," she said. "Perhaps some entertainment?"
+Kikimora began to follow the party into the drawing room, but something bright caught her eye. Seraphina's new pink ribbon lay beneath her chair, where it had fallen as she tossed her golden ringlets. Kikimora plucked it from the floorboards, rubbing the smooth fabric between her fingers. She had never felt anything so fine. Candlelight played across the satin, making it gleam jewel-bright. Lifting it closer to try its softness against her face, she found the ribbon was lightly perfumed with rose oil.
+The room was empty now, dark windows reflecting only polished wood and candlelight. Kikimora sighed, relaxed, and gained visibility – just enough that she could see her reflection faintly in the glass. Drawing forward one of her plaits, she replaced the indigo thread with Seraphina's ribbon. She turned and twirled and admired herself – then vanished in a heartbeat as Rosa pushed open the door.
+The servant gasped and lifted a hand to her chest as though she thought she had seen – but no, she must be imagining things. She crossed herself, just in case, and began to clear the dishes.
+Kikimora crept through the door and followed the sound of a spinet to the drawing room. The door was closed, but she gave it a light push and stepped inside, prompting further exclamations regarding cold draughts, and accusations of windows left open.
+The family sat in a semicircle facing the spinet. Dmitri sat at the keyboard, a slight frown on his face. Beside him stood Cecile, hands clasped at her bosom. The door swinging open had startled her, causing her to miss her cue.
+Voluminous velvet curtains draped the windows, and Kikimora judged these would make an excellent hiding place, should the need arise. But she was in no immediate danger of becoming visible.
+Dmitri played the introduction once more, and Cecile began to make a noise unlike anything Kikimora had heard before. She understood little of music. She wouldn't have been able to say whether a sound was sharp or flat. But she knew that what came out of Cecile's powdered throat was wrong. It made the fine hair on her neck stand on end. It made her stomach squirm so that she regretted the fatty meat she had eaten and the wine she had managed to drink when Mr Olgakov's attention was diverted. She wondered that Dmitri was able to continue playing so calmly while the girl squealed beside him.
+After Cecile it was Beatrice's turn to sing. At this point Mr Olgakov rang for Rosa, muttering that they would need another bottle. Mrs Olgakov suggested that Seraphina should play for them. Seraphina blushed, looking down at her hands and saying she would be embarrassed to parade her amateur playing before Mr Rachmanov.
+"Nonsense," said Dmitri. "I have heard you are learning swiftly, and already accomplished."
+Mrs Olgakov beamed with pride to hear this; whether she recognised herself as the source of the information was unclear.
+"Very well," murmured Seraphina. "If you are sure you will not laugh."
+"Who could be so ill mannered as to laugh?" Dmitri said, and all eyes turned briefly to Agnesse, who lifted her nose in the air, and pretended not to notice.
+Seraphina seated herself at the keyboard, arranging her voluminous skirts around her. She began to play, softly at first, but gathering in strength as she gained confidence. Kikimora had to grudgingly admit that her playing was tolerable. Though she supposed it would have to be dire indeed to not seem a relief after the previous turns.
+Seraphina played a number of slow tunes, and Dmitri said she did so very nicely. Emboldened, she launched into a polka. It seemed heavier and more ponderous than any dance Kikimora had heard before, but everyone applauded politely when she had lumbered to the end.
+Finally Mrs Olgakov asked Dmitri if he would take out his violin and play for them. Kikimora drew up her knees, settling back into the window sill. When he drew his bow across the strings it seemed to her that a wave of joy and warmth radiated out from him to fill the chilly room. The girls sighed. Their mother put a hand to her ample bosom, and a silly smile found its way onto her face. Even Mr Olgakov set aside his glass, his habitual frown beginning to smooth out.
+It was a beautiful piece, full of ache and sorrow and longing. Dmitri let his eyes close, and the forced smile dropped from his face. As always, Kikimora noticed how much younger he looked when the frown and worry eased from his brow. Reaching the end of the piece, the applause seemed to startle him. He nodded awkwardly, and launched into a lively jig which made the girls laugh and wriggle on their seats.
+Forgetting his father's admonishments, Dmitri played a wild folk tune, full of gypsy fire. As the piece built to a searingly fast crescendo, Kikimora peeped around the curtain, watching how his bow danced across the strings.
+The notes continued to rise, the pace continued to build. She ached for the tension to peak; she thought she couldn't bear it – and then Cecile let out a blood-curdling shriek. Beside her, Agnesse and Beatrice also began to scream. Following the line of her sister's trembling arm, Seraphina turned towards the window. Her eyes widened. She gave a tremulous cry and collapsed to the floor.
+Kikimora stared back at Agnesse's round, terrified eyes. The blood thundered through her head. She could see the blue vein pulsing on the back of her hand. She immediately slipped back behind the curtain, drawing close to the cold glass panes.
+"A ghost!"
+"A monster!"
+"What nonsense is this?" Mrs Olgakov demanded. She peered in the direction of the window as her daughters indicated, but saw nothing untoward. "Reflections," she said. "Perhaps someone passing by outside. Really, girls, you must master yourselves. Whatever will Mr Rachmanov think?"
+But the girls were past such earthly concerns. "It went behind the curtain, Mama," Agnesse insisted. "A terrible, pale, ugly thing. Like nothing God created."
+Dmitri too looked towards the window, but saw no pale monster. He frowned and began to pack his violin carefully into its case.
+Mrs Olgakov's face had grown a fiery red. "Nonsense!" she snapped. "Stop this. Stop it at once. I will not have this unseemly behaviour. Hieronymous, do something."
+Mr Olgakov blinked, and crossed to the cabinet. He poured two large glasses of vodka, handing one to a grateful Dmitri. Each downed the spirit in a single gulp, and sighed.
+"Does your playing often cause riots and hysteria?" he asked conversationally. Dmitri shook his head. "No, I should think not. Pleasant though it is. Another?"
+Prompted by further cries from his daughters, he at last put down the glass and approached the window. Tugging the curtain back he revealed one half of the window slightly ajar. A cold breeze billowed the lace curtain lining out into the room, and the girls shrieked again.
+Mr Olgakov tutted. "An open window. A pale curtain. Really, girls-"
+"To your rooms, all of you!" hissed Mrs Olgakov. "You are disgracing yourselves."
+Rosa and another servant summoned by the pandemonium succeeded in raising Seraphina to her feet, and all four girls were herded from the room, weeping.
+Dmitri said he should be getting home, and Mr Olgakov nodded understandingly.
+Blushing fiercely, Mrs Olgakov apologised for her daughters' frightful behaviour. She begged Dmitri to overlook this regrettable lapse in decorum, suggesting the girls were overwrought by the lateness of the hour, the rich food and unaccustomed excitement. She asked if Dmitri would stay for a nice, relaxing glass of tea.
+"Thank you, no. It really is rather late, as you say."
+"I hope I can rely on your discretion over this silly... this nonsense... this-" Words failed Mrs Olgakov, and her ruddy face became quite stricken.
+Mr Olgakov led his wife gently to a chair, patting her hand consolingly. Dmitri assured her that since they had no words for it, he couldn't speak of it. He thanked her for the fine food and hospitality, and exchanged a sympathetic glance with Mr Olgakov. Then he bolted through the door, and into the frozen night.
+***
+"What an evening!" said Dmitri, arriving home. "I should thank you for securing me an early release."
+Kikimora huddled behind the stove, facing away from him. She let a small brown spider crawl onto her hand, watching its progress around her arm.
+Dmitri poured out a couple of glasses of vodka, sipping his, and pushing the other along the table. Kikimora turned to see, and her stolen ribbon snagged against the rough plaster wall. Tearing it from her hair, she threw it onto the floor.
+She recalled all too clearly the Olgakov girls' expressions of horror, their description of the hideous, pale creature at the window. Very well, she thought. If I am a monster, I will behave like one! Leaping to her feet, she tore down the pans, throwing them on the floor with a terrible bong clang clatter.
+She snatched up the jar where Dmitri kept spoons and knives, and hurled it at the wall. Pieces clattered across the stairs, and she sank to the floor, burying her head in her arms and weeping as silently as she was able.
+Alarmed by her sudden violence, Dmitri stood still and watchful for a moment. Then he lifted the violin from its case, and began to play once more. The tune was slow and mournful and seemed to recognise and echo just the way in which Kikimora's heart ached. She wiped her eyes, gulping to steady her breath.
+He sang about a poor girl named Katyusha, who was wronged by her lover, and gave herself to the Rusalkas. Although it was sad, it lifted Kikimora's heart, as his playing always did. As the final note died away he opened his eyes, looking across towards the stove and saying, "I knew you weren't really ugly."
+Kikimora scrambled to her feet, pressing back against the wall as though she thought it could hide her. She tried to draw on her power to disappear, but the music still surged and swelled in her heart, and its warmth enveloped her.
+Dmitri took a hesitant step closer. "Why are you so shy? Surely we are quite familiar with one another by now. What do you fear? I think I have proved I mean you no ill."
+Kikimora screwed up her eyes, trying again to disappear, but Dmitri's undeserved kindness only increased her anxiety, and she was powerless.
+"Is this yours?" he asked, noticing the ribbon discarded beside the stove. "It's pretty."
+As he stooped to pick it up, Kikimora ran to the door, throwing it open to the biting wind.
+"Wait! You'll freeze to death!" Dmitri followed her into the street, but she was hard to make out amid the darkness and swirling flakes. The prints of her long bare feet were already filling with fresh snow. By the time he reached the end of the road there was no way to tell which way she had gone.
+Kikimora ran blindly. She knew nothing but that she had to get away from Dmitri and his suffocating kindness. Before long she came to the town gates, tall and solid and locked. She threw herself against them, pounding her fists. But the sound was deadened by thick snow, and if the watchmen heard they weren't sufficiently troubled to leave the warmth of their hearth and investigate.
+A sudden squall blew the snow all sideways, lifting her hair and her skirt. She almost thought she could hear in it Dmitri's anxious cry to her to wait, to come back.
+She turned to the wall. It was not so smooth on this side of the gate, since the need was not to keep people in. A decorative rim ran around the gate, and this was enough for Kikimora to scramble up. She sat for a moment on top of the wall, looking back at the scattered lights of the town, the steep roofs blanketed in snow. Then she turned to look at the forest hugging the lower slopes of the mountain; to the bare peaks, swathed in dark cloud. Home.
+She dropped lightly down on the far side of the wall, and continued running until the dark arms of the forest closed above her. She slowed to a walk, but still moved briskly through the trees, stepping over clawing roots, and avoiding low branches.
+When she judged she had come far enough, she called softly, "Leshy? Are you there?"
+She walked a little further and called again. Although there was no sound, she became aware of a presence close by, and then a warm muzzle nudged her hand. "Leshy!" she cried, throwing her thin arms around the wolf at her side. Burying her face in his fur, she began to weep.
+The wolf whined softly and licked her ear. "What is it, little one? What is the matter?"
+Kikimora could find no words to tell him, and continued to cry.
+"Is it that man?" Leshy asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Has he hurt you? I will tear him apart."
+"No!" Kikimora said. "No, you must not. He is good and honest and he plays such music..."
+The wolf drew back a little from Kikimora's embrace. "Music? Do you hear the wind through the pine needles? That is music. An eagle's cry from the far peaks - that is music. What need have such as we for human noises? They are but a poor imitation of what surrounds us every day."
+"But he is kind. And troubled-"
+"He should be troubled - the evil that mine spews out into my forest."
+"He doesn't even want to run the mine. It was his father-"
+"Enough."
+"Dmitri just wants to play his violin. That is all. And he is wonderful. When he plays, my heart-" Kikimora clapped a frozen hand to her chest. "My heart feels so strange, and I fill with warmth, and my powers all abandon me, and I-" She ignored Leshy's low growl, the way his black lip curled up over long teeth. "And I love him, Leshy. I love him."
+Kikimora sank down until she sat in the crisp snow, her head on her knees. There was silence but for her quick, shuddering breaths and the low rumbling deep in the wolf's chest.
+"The man has bewitched you," Leshy said at last, and he gave vent to a sudden, bone-chilling howl. It carried high in the freezing air, and was answered by other howls from across the mountain. "Men have strange powers, different to our own. I don't know how he has done it, but perhaps Anatoly will? He can break the spell."
+Kikimora shook her head. "It's not like that. He doesn't know what I am, or that I was sent to destroy him. He knows nothing about me, and I caused him trouble - yet still he showed me hospitality and treated me with kindness."
+The wolf lay down in the snow, resting his muzzle on powerful paws. "You were not ready. Anatoly didn't raise you as he said he would. I am a simple creature. I don't understand men's hearts. But I know this: Anatoly said he would create the fiercest monster ever seen, a creature of pure malevolence. But after Yevgenia left he lost all heart for it. I believe that cat raised you as much as he did."
+"More," agreed Kikimora.
+"What will become of us? If you cannot save us we shall all be destroyed."
+Kikimora had no answer. She knew she was the last hope of Anatoly and Leshy. "I tried. But it was so much harder than I expected. And the men, they are not as Anatoly said. They are not cruel and vicious and selfish. At least, not all of them.
+"He never told me humans could be kind and loving. That they could see fairies in an empty tree. That they created music that would break a Rusalka's heart. That they could care selflessly for another human, even though that person showed them no warmth or gratitude, and then went and married them off to a horrible old man."
+Leshy lifted his head, a soft growl rising in his chest.
+Kikimora fell silent. After a time she asked if Leshy had visited her home. "Is Anatoly returned yet from his travels? Was the princess glad to be reconciled with her father?"
+The wolf sank deeper onto his haunches, muzzle buried in crisp snow. "Anatoly returned last night, but he didn't find the princess."
+Kikimora hugged her knees closer, staring at her frozen feet. She had never before known Anatoly to fail. It seemed an unfortunate precedent.
+"He said he had not given up, but that he must learn some new method to divine her whereabouts. No art he possesses so far could locate her."
+"Perhaps it is as Barinya said, and the princess is dead?"
+They were each silent a moment, sunk in gloom. The snow had stopped falling, the thick cloud had pulled back, and now a bright quarter moon rode out among smaller, scudding clouds, filling the clearing with ghostly light.
+"What can I do?" Kikimora asked, and as her question hung in the chill air, unanswered, she wished that Barinya was there to advise her; to tell a story that showed the answer to her problem. Barinya had a story for every occasion and every dilemma. What story would she tell me now? Kikimora wondered. And she realised that although Anatoly had not told her of human kindness, Barinya had. Barinya's stories had told her of every kind of human there was: the wise, the foolish, the brave and the weak; princes and beggars, woodcutters and witches.
+"What must I do?"
+Leshy rolled over, flopping his head onto her feet. He licked a snowflake from her toe, then stood, shaking snow from his coat. His yellow eyes were level with Kikimora's as he told her, "You must go back. You must do as you set out to do. You must fulfil your destiny."
+Kikimora looked away from him, knowing he was right, and wishing he was not.
+"There is no other choice. Unless you would break Anatoly's heart?"
+Kikimora shook her head. She briskly rubbed her face, and climbed to her feet, saying, "You are right." But the little clearing was empty. Only the bright moon looked down on her misery, and the next moment even that was gone.
+The walk back to town was long and slow. When Kikimora reached the gates she didn't have the energy to climb over again. Instead she threw herself down in a snow drift and waited for daylight.
+But despite being bone tired, she couldn't sleep. She tried to think of a story she could tell herself. One that emphasised duty over love, of loyalty, and obedience to one's family. But Barinya hadn't ever told her stories like that. The story that came to Kikimora's mind was The Thief's Wife.
+***
+[ The Thief's Wife ]
+Victor was the greatest thief in all the world. He had stolen dragons' golden hoards. He stole the King of Persia's most beautiful daughter, and married her. Some said that when the time came he intended to steal death itself.
+He and his wife, Yasmina, were very happy, but for one thing. They had no children to love and nurture. And though they loved one another and spent many pleasant days and nights together, each felt this lack in their hearts.
+It so happened one time when Victor's bachelor friends were visiting and making free with his vodka, one friend commented on the beauty of the moon, and said to Victor, "Even you cannot steal her."
+If Victor had a fault, it was pride. He answered hotly that of course he could steal the moon if he had a mind to. His friend was unconvinced. "The moon is too far away," he said. "She is too bright, too beautiful. She is jealously guarded by the night sky, and he is huge and powerful. You will never steal her."
+Victor set out that very night to prove his friend wrong. He stole the tallest ladder in the world and climbed high into the sky. He stole a star, and disguised himself with it so that he could creep close to the moon. Then he took her and hid her in his shirt and returned to his home.
+The moon was very afraid, and she cried and beat her tiny fists. But Victor sang to her and soothed her, and fed milk to her on his little finger. And in time she quieted and was content.
+When Yasmina awoke in the morning she found him cradling the sleeping moon in his arms, gently rocking her and crooning a lullaby. "You must return her at once!" she said. "The night sky will be furious. And who will light the way for travellers lost in the night? Who will tell the ocean when to retreat and when to rise?"
+But Victor was unmoved by any of her words. Already he loved the moon as though she was his own child, and he would not give her up.
+If Yasmina had a fault, it was stubbornness. Victor had done a terrible thing in stealing the moon, and she was determined to make him see it. But he was besotted, and no matter how she tried, she could not persuade him of his error.
+The thief and his wife had a terrible row, and each said many harsh and unkind things to the other. In her fury, Yasmina made a vow, promising that Victor would neither see her form nor hear her voice until he had repented of his action.
+She at once disappeared from his sight, soaring up into the empty sky, growing small and round and pale. When night fell Victor saw that a new moon climbed across the sky, and he took it as proof that he had done nothing wrong in stealing the moon, for she was so easily replaced.
+Months passed, and the thief's wife sat up in the night sky, looking down upon the home she had once shared with her husband, and which he now shared with his daughter. Although he was sad that his wife had left him, the little moon was full of curiosity and joy, and her happiness spread to Victor.
+Yasmina grew old and lonely, and her heart ached to see Victor laughing with his daughter; to see her growing tall and strong and mischievous; to hear him coughing at night, alone in his bed, and be unable to comfort him.
+She wondered if she had been hasty in her judgement; if perhaps she had been as thoughtless and proud as Victor himself. But her vow was made, and she was powerless to break it. Only Victor had the power to release her from her exile, if he regretted stealing the moon.
+The little girl grew to a handsome woman, with many suitors. She married well and wisely, and had three fine, fat children of her own. And she remained close to her father, visiting him often and tending to him as he grow frail and unwell.
+Never for a second did Victor regret what he had done.
+***
+Kikimora stuck unwaveringly to her task. She spent her days causing trouble at Yanochka and her nights in the tavern stables, which were surprisingly warm and comfortable. She put off all Zoria's requests for stories or games. She stayed away from Dmitri as far as she was able, causing havoc wherever he was not. And if the occasional parcel of food found its way to a particular hovel in a poor part of town, and a certain boy's cough improved sufficiently for him to sit up and help his mother take in laundry – well, that was an unrelated matter of no consequence.
+Loitering by the mine entrance one afternoon, she waited until the cart was loaded then, as it began the descent, darted forward and cut through the harness. The pony whinnied and shied. Mikhail patted her neck, saying, "Whoa there, Grusha." But spooked by Kikimora's presence, she bolted, knocking him aside.
+Heavy with ore, the suddenly free-wheeling cart careered down the track, out of control. Men yelled and scattered in its path. Finally, it plunged through a thicket and skewed sideways, its load scattering down the mountainside.
+Initially there was much relief that no one had been injured, but soon the men began casting around for someone to blame. Grusha stood off to one side, shivering her dusty flanks. "Okay there, easy now," Mikhail crooned, sidling close and giving her a rub.
+Boris spoke with the men who had witnessed the accident. He examined the pony's harness and the smashed cart, and his face was grim. "I don't say you cut it," he told Mikhail. "But couldn't you see it had been tampered with?"
+"It had not," Mikhail insisted. "On my life, it had not. Whatever happened, it was after I began to lead her."
+Boris shook his head. "You know that makes no sense. I cannot have such carelessness, not in these times. It is a morning's work wasted."
+He told Mikhail to go home. Mikhail became very angry then. He said Boris didn't have the authority to fire him, and he would take the matter up with Mr Rachmanov. He said the mine was failing anyway, and he'd like to see how they got on without him. Finally he said he would take himself off to Baransk and work for the mine there. He'd heard the hours were shorter, the conditions easier, and the pay better.
+"Give it a few more months," he told the assembled men. "You'll all be coming to me looking for work! You ever think of that?"
+Boris swung a fist into his face. Within moments half the work yard were involved in the skirmish. Kikimora slipped quietly away.
+Boris spent the remainder of the afternoon foul tempered and with a swollen eye. A man came to deliver charcoal, and he dealt with him gruffly, finding fault with his supplies, his price and his attitude. He called a couple of boys to come and unload the cart, then swore at them as they tripped, spilling the bundles. "Are you idiots drunk?" he roared. "My old mother could do a better job of the unloading!"
+While he harangued them, Kikimora stole an ember from the smithy, and set the piles of charcoal smouldering. By the time the fire was noticed, a good portion was already wasted. What remained was doused in water, so would be of no use until it could dry out.
+"See if you can last an hour without destroying anything," Boris roared across the yard before disappearing into his office.
+Avoiding Dmitri as far as she was able, Kikimora concentrated her efforts on Boris. When evening fell, she followed him to a small house in the centre of town. He let himself inside, and she slipped silently after. It was sparsely furnished and scrupulously clean. As he latched the door, a sharp voice called from the next room, "Boris? Is that you? Why must you keep that door open? There's a devil of a draught in here."
+"The door's closed, Mother."
+"What's that? Well there's a terrible chill coming from somewhere."
+Kikimora saw Boris' lips move in an obviously grumbling but silent remark. His mother however called, "I heard that!" and he jumped guiltily as though he believed her.
+"I suppose a kiss would be too much to ask?" she said while Boris was still removing his boots. Kikimora saw his mouth set in a thin line, but he refrained from replying. He placed his boots beside the door and hung up his greatcoat to dry, then went through into the little parlour.
+Mariya Kosyak sat in a chair before the fire. Her features were sharp, her hands thin and claw-like. Some unidentifiable and half-completed piece of knitting sat in her lap.
+"Are you well this evening, Mother?" Boris asked, leaning down to kiss her sunken cheek. Mariya informed him in martyred tones she had not been well in many long years, nor ever expected to be again – not until she was welcomed into the loving arms of her lord Jesus Christ and his holy father.
+Boris asked if she was at least no worse than the day before. His Mother said it had been a sore, trying day, and now he had let the cold into the house, and she had forgotten what it was to be warm. "I shall be in the grave before ever I see the sun again."
+"Nonsense," said Boris with forced cheerfulness. He added that dinner smelled very good.
+Mariya snorted. "I suppose it should be edible if you add enough salt. The girl's been out an awful long time with Vladimir. I hope she has not lost him. She can be so careless, and he has never taken to her, you know. I took it as a sign, the first time you brought her home. I said to myself-"
+Kikimora never learned what Boris' mother had said to herself, for at that moment Roksana arrived home, pulling a small, reluctant dog behind her. She heard angry but indistinct muttering, picking out only the words, miserable little rat.
+"Don't pull on his lead!" Mariya said. "You'll hurt his neck."
+Roksana shot the older woman a narrow-eyed look, and both gave vent to low grumbling. Kikimora heard Roksana promise that one day soon she would wring the animal's stupid, stubborn neck, while Mariya expressed a wish that her daughter in law would put so much strength into scrubbing the front step, which was a disgrace, and had been these past ten years, ever since Boris had taken such a slatternly wife.
+"Good evening, Roksana," Boris said politely but, Kikimora thought, without warmth.
+His wife merely nodded in reply, and had almost turned away when she looked sharply back. "What on earth has happened to you?"
+Boris raised a hand to his swollen eye. "It's nothing. An accident at work."
+"An accident? Does Mr Rachmanov pay you enough to suffer accidents on his behalf?"
+"Well, I daresay I was somewhat to blame..."
+Roksana made a sound which, though delicate and ladylike, expressed disbelief and a certain amount of scorn. "Let's hear it then."
+Boris muttered that strictly it may not have had that much to do with work, as such.
+"I see. You've been in a fight. Like a common beggar."
+"Roxy-"
+"Don't call me that. It sounds so vulgar."
+"I hope you made at least as good an impression on your opponent?" Mariya asked.
+"I did that."
+"Always could handle yourself," she said proudly. "Come on, then. Come to Mother." This last comment was addressed not to Boris but to the dog, who continued to cower by the door, whining softly.
+"What is it, then? What has the nasty creature done to you now?"
+"Not half of what the flea-bitten devil deserves," muttered Roksana.
+The dog shifted uncomfortably on his back legs, a low growl starting in his throat.
+"Bring him to me," Mariya commanded. "So help me, if that wife of yours has hurt him-!"
+"Mother, I'm sure Roksana has done nothing," Boris said, adding pointedly, "He is merely old and crotchety, and doesn't realise he should be grateful she feeds and walks him twice a day." He reached for the dog's collar, but Vladimir cowered back into the corner, alternately snapping and whimpering.
+Finding the parlour uncomfortably warm and filled with bad feeling, Kikimora moved towards the entrance hall. She had not taken two steps before Vladimir's whining erupted into angry, ear-splitting barks.
+Kikimora froze. Although she had always got along well with the wolves of the forest, she had little experience with domestic dogs. She knew that all dogs were highly perceptive, even pampered lapdogs such as this. She also knew they were fiercely protective of their mistresses. She wondered if she had made a mistake in coming to Boris' home.
+Gathering up her skirt, she ran across the hall, and up the first few steps. Vladimir, incensed beyond fear, raced after her. Kikimora leapt onto the banister rail, and swung herself up onto one of the thick oak beams that crossed the ceiling.
+Vladimir, emboldened by his success, kept up a stream of furious barking directly below. Not the anxious imprecations of his mistress, nor the angry threats from Roksana could quieten him. Only Boris' hefty wallop finally calmed the dog to miserable whining.
+Kikimora crouched unhappily among the dust and spider webs while the family ate a joyless meal of boiled pork and cabbage. When she was not adding more and ever more salt to her meal, Mariya called to the dog to join her. But Vladimir kept his vigil beneath the beams, and even the promise of pork fat could not lure him away.
+She told Boris the dog was only doing his duty and informing them of some unwelcome visitor to the house. "You mark my words, there are mice up there. Or rats. My Vlad was the finest ratter in the district when he was younger. He can smell 'em a mile off!"
+Roksana insisted she kept the cleanest house in the street, and if there were any vermin to be found they could only have come in attached to that mangy hound. Boris silently drank glass after glass of vodka, bellowing occasionally for the dog, his wife or his mother to damn well be quiet.
+The family retired early to bed. Despite all her coaxing, Vlad stubbornly refused to join his mistress in her room. To Kikimora's dismay, he was left to guard the hallway. The prospect of spending the night balanced on the narrow beam was not appealing. But she made the most of it, soon realising she need do very little in order to disrupt Boris' sleep and fill the household with anxiety. She made a game of swinging from one beam to another, singing under her breath a rhyme she had heard from children playing around the mine,
+Riding-ho! Riding-ho!
+Over the hills and far away,
+Straight to my true love's arms I'll go,
+A-riding all the day.
+Vladimir was predictably driven to distraction both by the movement and her voice. Round and round he ran beneath the beams, growling and letting out sudden, shrill yelps.
+There was a thump of heavy feet on floorboards, and Kikimora climbed back onto the beams. Boris marched down the stairs, took the dog by his ear, and hauled him into the parlour. He latched the door, and returned upstairs without a word.
+Vladimir whined a little, and then quietened. Kikimora heard the breathing of the family settle once more into its former, soft sleep rhythms. She lowered herself onto the banister rail, and stood a moment, listening for any sound from the parlour. She hopped the couple of feet down to the hallway and tiptoed to the parlour door. Leaning against the polished wood, she sang softly, "Riding-ho-"
+Vladimir threw himself furiously against the door, barking fit to raise the dead. The floorboards creaked once more. Footsteps descended, swifter and more heavily than before. Kikimora just had time to climb onto a cabinet and from there onto the beams, before Boris threw open the parlour door, releasing the dog. Vladimir raced to the cabinet, knocking over a vase in his haste to get at the maddening, elusive presence he could only sense and not see.
+Boris dragged the dog outside. One of the neighbours called from a high window, "What's all that halloo? What's the trouble?" Boris gave no answer, only shooting the man a baleful look.
+He returned to his bed once more, but sleep did not come easily. Vladimir gave vent to regular sorrowful howls, earning the wrath of the entire street as well as his own household. The man next door threatened to shoot the animal, and was rewarded with several cheers. But Mariya hobbled to her window to assure the neighbourhood that if anyone so much as laid a finger on her poor, noble hound, they would have cause to regret it most fervently. She had no need to go into specifics. All believed her.
+After that, windows were shuttered, pillows were laid over heads, and Vladimir was left to howl.
+***
+As the mischief around the mine increased, Dmitri tried again to placate the Pale Lady, leaving wine and bread at the fairy tree, and even a silver locket that had been his mother's. It was all to no avail. Both he and Boris became haggard with worry over the mine's worsening prospects.
+When Sergei's little sister brought his lunch, Dmitri saw that her doll now wore the locket. He asked how she had come by it, and Zoria told him the Fairy Princess had left it as a gift for Magda, because she was her best friend.
+"Go along now," said Sergei. "Mr Rachmanov doesn't want to hear about your fairy princesses and your pale ladies."
+"Pale Lady?" Dmitri asked, and Zoria told him about the strange, cold lady who played tricks on the miners.
+"You can see her? Describe her to me."
+Zoria said she was tall - taller than Sergei, and she wore her hair in two long plaits, all the way down to her waist.
+"Yes," said Dmitri. "That is her."
+It came as little surprise, but still the confirmation of his fears caused him a pang of disappointment. Of course the Pale Lady was one and the same as his erstwhile Household Spirit. He'd been unforgivably naïve to ever suppose otherwise. "What is it she wants?"
+"She wants the mine to close and the Rusalkas to come back."
+"Is there no way to appease her and convince her to stop? Does she not like my gifts?"
+"You don't have anything she wants. Except the mine."
+Dmitri nodded; it was as he'd feared. "Zoria," he said, crouching down so that his face was level with hers. "I have something very important to ask you. I would like you to come and find me the next time you see the Pale Lady causing trouble, and point her out to me. Can you do that?"
+Zoria looked doubtful. "She doesn't like me to talk about her."
+"I expect not. But she's behaving very badly, and we can't allow her to continue."
+"I told her she was naughty, but she still does it."
+"Then she's not very nice, is she?"
+"Sometimes she is. Sometimes she tells me stories, and she sewed new slippers for Magda."
+"Yes," said Dmitri. "That sounds like her." It was no comfort to find he was not the only one confused by the Pale Lady's changeable moods. He understood all too well Zoria's reluctance. The Pale Lady showed her small kindnesses and treated her as a friend. Zoria wanted to believe that was her true nature, just as Dmitri did.
+"I don't intend to hurt her," he said. "If that's what you fear. But I do need to speak with her – and I can't do that unless you bring her to my attention. Will you do as I ask?" He had tried summoning her back to his home more than once, but her presence was quite gone from there.
+Zoria considered it, and shook Dmitri's proffered hand.
+"You knew of this?" he asked Sergei as they ate their lunch.
+Sergei reddened, saying nobody paid any mind to Zoria's prattling.
+"Maybe you should."
+After they had eaten, they left the grinding room, heading up to the mine. Dmitri carried a satchel filed with powder, candles and fuses. "Are you sure you want to continue, lad? I can see your health has improved these past weeks."
+Sergei said that Dmitri had done him a great service in allowing him to work grass-side. "But what kind of powder master would I make if I didn't know how to set it? I know you do not spend great lengths of time below ground, Sir. But it cannot be avoided altogether."
+Dmitri nodded, and they entered the mine.
+Kikimora spent the afternoon plaguing Boris in his office. She mixed up his files, spilled his tea and knocked logs out of the fireplace. When he finally sorted out his papers and began to write in the week's figures, she nudged his elbow so the pen scratched across the sheet. Boris was still swearing when the door was flung open.
+"Mr Kosyak!" gasped Sergei. He gave a belated knock against the open door. "I mean, excuse me, Sir, if you please. Mr Rachmanov needs you at once."
+Boris pulled on his coat and followed the boy into the yard. "What is it? What's happened now?"
+Kikimora hurried after them, alarmed by Sergei's abrupt manner. Had some calamity befallen Dmitri? She had heard no cries or sounds of alarm.
+All Sergei said was, "There's something you should see."
+At the mine entrance, Boris lit the candles, and they carried on into the tunnel. Kikimora hesitated. She knew she should not put herself in close proximity to Dmitri – but what if she could learn something of use? What was so important that Sergei had run all the way from the mine to fetch Boris? Ignoring her misgivings, she followed the men.
+The cramped tunnels were as harsh and smothering as she remembered, so remote-seeming they might be on the moon. Stepping from the ladder, a sudden fit of coughing took Sergei.
+Boris waited until he was done. "Alright, lad?"
+Sergei nodded, wiping red-rimmed eyes. He continued a short distance through the tunnel, then turned down one of the side drifts. The way was low and tight, and all three were forced to crouch. The sounds of other workers grew muffled. There was nothing but the slither of boots on damp rock, the huff and snort of shortened breath.
+It seemed a long time before Kikimora became aware of a change in the sounds the men made, a less enclosed feeling. The passage opened out into a taller space, then ended in a slope of tumbled rocks. Sergei was already half way to the top. Boris sighed and followed, grumbling that whatever it was had better be worth it.
+Kikimora picking her way carefully behind, rocks crunching and slithering beneath all of their feet. At the top was a hole in the rock wall. She climbed through, and slid down another pile of rubble. She knew at once she was in a very different space. No candle light reached the walls or ceiling of the cavern. From somewhere close by came the sound of rushing water.
+"Hello!" cried Sergei, his voice shockingly loud in the stillness, and echoing back eerily, hello-hello-ello-llo...!
+Boris cuffed him, calling him a damn fool. "Don't you know your voice can trigger unstable rocks to shatter? A stalactite falling from that ceiling could pierce you right through and pin you to the ground, as surely as a butterfly in a child's scrap book!"
+Sergei looked stricken, stammering out an apology.
+"It's alright," said Dmitri. "No harm done."
+"How big is it?" asked Boris, craning his neck to peer up into the darkness.
+Dmitri said he didn't know. He'd explored a little way to the left, but the way was blocked by a pool. He'd left a candle burning every twenty paces, but feared he would soon run out. "Did you bring more?" he asked Sergei, who nodded, showing him a thick bundle.
+The three men set off over plumes of pillowy rock. Even the light of three candles did not allow them to see far into the cavern – just an impression of wildly sculpted walls rising into nothingness. But Kikimora saw better than any of them. She saw the undulating walls rising higher than the highest tower in any of Barinya's stories. She saw dripping stalactites far, far above, and the fat, lumpen stalagmites below. She saw narrow crevices where even her eyes could not penetrate.
+Allowing some tallow to drip onto a flattish rock, Dmitri fixed another candle in place, and continued counting his paces. The cavern narrowed, and then opened out once more, the trail of previous candles lost behind a limestone buttress. Sergei glanced back nervously as the darkness closed around them.
+"Is there no end to this place?" asked Boris. "We could be here all afternoon."
+To Kikimora it already felt as though most of a day had passed while they travelled underground. The cavern did not hold the smothering terror of the passages, but in its enormity had an awful wonder of its own. Although Boris' words were grudging, he couldn't hide his excitement. Kikimora noticed it in Dmitri too. This mysterious place thrilled them, as the wild forest thrilled her.
+"Just think," said Dmitri. "These rocks have lain undisturbed for thousands of years. We are the first men ever to walk here."
+"The first men, aye. But they say Rusalkas used to haunt these caves, way back."
+Sergei glanced up sharply. "Rusalkas?"
+"When the moon is full, when the stars are bright, when they have captured some foolish man and mean to sacrifice him to the King of the Eels - then they hold their wild revels. They dance from moonrise to moonset. They sing and shriek and rend their clothes. If they come upon any luckless man in their path they tear him to pieces! Or suck out his soul. Or hang him from the branches of a willow tree."
+"Boris," said Dmitri sharply. He knew Boris didn't believe a word of it, and was only trying to scare Sergei. He had already dismissed the strange occurrences from last time they went below ground together. But Dmitri no longer felt confident of what was true and what only make-believe. Here in the darkness, far from the light of the sun and the eyes of other men, it was easy to believe there might be some malevolent presence lurking in the ever present water, just biding its time...
+Sergei swallowed, and hurried after the other men. In her haste to keep up, Kikimora stumbled on a loose stone, which skittered across the rocky shelf, and into unknown darkness below.
+Sergei wheeled round, holding his candle high. "What was that?"
+Dmitri said it was only their own passage causing disturbance, but Boris said, "Some pale creature, perhaps? Was there a glimpse of corpse-white bosom? A flickering light? The faintest stench of rotting fish..?"
+Dmitri told him sharply this was neither the time nor place for such jokes, and Boris let out gales of wheezy laughter. "Don't tell me you're spooked too?"
+Dmitri left three more candles before the walls curved around again, and they were able to see the ring of tiny lights curling back all the way to their entry point. Sergei's breathing at last regained a more measured pace.
+Climbing again, they came to a stream tumbling from a fracture in the rock. Dmitri caught a handful and drank, gasping at the cold and the clear, mineral taste of it. "Try it," he invited the others.
+Boris shook his head, saying no good ever came to anyone from drinking water. He took a hip flask from his waistcoat and drank deeply, then handed it to Sergei, saying it would put hairs on his chest.
+The stream remained on their right as they headed back, finally emptying into a dark pool. Turning to gaze back across the expanse of the cavern, the string of faint candlelight ringing the floor, Sergei said, "Did you ever see such a place? It is like a great castle in the stone. Like a..." He struggled to find adequate words. "Like a palace."
+"A cathedral," said Dmitri.
+Boris said there were many caverns throughout the mountains, but he had never encountered one so large - not in 30 years underground.
+Sergei scrambled over the rocks, exploring some of the narrow openings. Dmitri called to him to be careful, and Boris reminded him the Rusalkas liked those damp, hidden passages. Sergei only grinned, able to appreciate the teasing now that he was closer to familiar ground. He jumped down from a boulder and was lost to view, only a flicker of candlelight showing on the tapering walls. His boots slithered and scraped on the loose rocks, his breath heavy with exertion.
+"What do you think?" asked Dmitri. "Worth the walk?"
+Boris said it wasn't too bad, and Dmitri laughed at his understatement. Kikimora found herself fascinated by the strange, dripping formations decorating the walls. They looked soft as candle wax, and she felt compelled to touch each one, reassuring herself it was after all smooth, hard calcite.
+Dmitri called to Sergei, "Everything alright?"
+There was no answer. Exchanging an anxious glance with Boris, he began to scale the boulder.
+"Sergei!" Boris bellowed. "Come on. It's time we got back."
+There was a sound of scrabbling, and Sergei peered over the top of the boulder. "Master Dmitri!" he said. "Come and look."
+Boris sighed. "Whatever it is, can you not just tell us?"
+But Sergei had already turned back, squeezing along the fissure once more and out of sight. Dmitri raised an eyebrow at Boris, and jumped down.
+"I shall never get over that damned rock," Boris muttered, but he set off after them nevertheless. When he caught up with Dmitri, he was peering thoughtfully at a pale seam running through the rock, asking how far it extended.
+"All the way up to the roof, I think," said Sergei, squinting into the darkness.
+Boris spat on his finger and rubbed at the seam, then sent Sergei scurrying back for his pick.
+"This could be our salvation," Dmitri said.
+Boris told him to slow down. "It looks good, I'll grant you. But don't get your hopes up. We'll take a sample back and test it. Best keep it quiet for now."
+Dmitri nodded, trying to keep his composure. But he couldn't prevent a grin spreading across his face. On their way back through the passages, several men asked if they'd found anything in the new cavern. They were curious when such natural features were discovered, but they had a long day's work to do in their own area. They didn't have the leisure to go and explore out of mere curiosity.
+Sergei could barely contain his excitement, but Boris said repressively, "Too early to tell."
+In the office, he laid the various samples on his desk. From the cabinet he took a flat, black stone and a number of jars. He selected the likeliest looking sample and rubbed it across the black touchstone. Sergei watched with interest, but Boris waved him back as he unstopped one of the jars. "Spirit of Niter," he said. "Nasty stuff."
+He added a drop to the touchstone, then poured on a little salt. Immediately the liquid became a translucent milky white. Boris glanced up at Dmitri. "Silver," he said, and he allowed a slow smile to creep across his face.
+***
+Dmitri let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "We're going to make it." At the back of his mind lurked a fear of what the Pale Lady might do to sabotage this find, but he didn't allow it to spoil the moment.
+"The evening is fast drawing on," Boris said, taking out his flask. "I'll get men down there first thing tomorrow."
+Dmitri drank and passed the flask to Sergei, saying, "That was good work today, lad."
+As he saddled Agnesse, he told the men he would have wine waiting for them in the tavern. Sergei began to protest that his mother didn't like him to go out drinking in the evening. Boris landed a heavy hand on his shoulder, saying, "You're a man, now. The breadwinner of your family."
+By the time Kikimora reached the tavern, a bottle of spirit sat on the table before Dmitri. Empty bowls lay before him and Boris; Sergei still scraped out his own bowl. Dmitri called for more bread, and Sergei continued to eat.
+She watched uneasily, then returned to the stables, where she sat in the dark alone. A silver find could turn Yanochka's fortunes around. It might even be enough to negate all the trouble she had subjected them to over the past weeks. I shall have to redouble my efforts, she thought. Or all my work will have been in vain. But deep within her chest she felt a fierce, treacherous joy at Dmitri's change in fortune.
+In the morning a new carter and pony arrived at the mine. The beast was old and patient, only flicking his ears a little as Kikimora slipped around him, biding her time until all the ore was loaded.
+While she waited, an old man came huffing up the steep path. He paused for a moment, hands on his knees and breathing heavily, before carrying on into the mine. A little later, Dmitri emerged, saying, "Is this usual? I have had no word of it."
+Boris shook his head, frowning, and the old man followed behind looking anxious. Kikimora could make no sense of their conversation. She followed them to the enclosure, an uneasy feeling growing in her chest.
+"I left him in your office," the old man said. "I hope I did right?"
+Dmitri nodded. He took a moment to straighten his coat, pushed the hair from his eyes, and strode into the office. Through the open doorway Kikimora saw a tall gentleman warming himself before the fire. He stood very straight, a pair of tiny, gold framed glasses perched on the end of his nose, and a glass of tea cradled in his long, thin fingers.
+She hesitated. Something about the man seemed odd - somehow familiar, although she couldn't place him. While she frowned and tried to make sense of her confusion, Boris pushed the door shut, and she was left out in the frozen yard.
+"Dmitri Rachmanov?" The tall gentleman regarded Dmitri over the top of his glasses. "Alexi Glinka, Royal Inspector of Taxes. I have a letter from the office of His Imperial Majesty, King Ivan, advising me to investigate the operation of this mine - in particular, the taxes paid, or unpaid." He smiled coldly as he handed over a rolled parchment.
+Boris stepped forward, brows lowering. "You'll find no irregularity. It's all here. I keep the records myself."
+Dmitri broke the heavy seal, and tried to read the letter, but the script was so filled with flourishes and curlicues he found it hard to decipher. It didn't help that his head pounded from all the wine he had drunk the night before. He hadn't yet found time for a glass of tea this morning, and he found his attention kept reverting to the little glass in the tax inspector's hand – Dmitri's own glass, filled with tea from Dmitri's samovar. "What is this about?" he said. "Has there been some complaint?"
+Glinka said he was not at liberty to discuss any particulars of the case, but that Dmitri, Boris and any other employees of the mine were required to give their full and complete cooperation in any enquiry, investigation or action that he, Glinka, deemed appropriate.
+Dmitri glanced helplessly at Boris, whose frown only intensified. "Of course," he said at last. "We have nothing to hide."
+"I shall need full access to all records. But to begin with I should like to gain an overview of your operation here."
+"What would you like to see?"
+Glinka smiled. "Everything."
+Kikimora watched from the shadows as the men came back into the yard. Glinka turned a keen gaze on every detail. At one point it seemed he looked directly at Kikimora – but it was hard to tell with the sunlight glinting off his glasses. He frowned a little as though uncertain of what he saw, and his gaze passed on.
+While Boris returned to the cavern to supervise there, Dmitri trailed around after Glinka. Nothing was beneath the Inspector's notice. He was as interested in the binding of the aqueduct's supporting struts as he was in the weight of spoil from each hundredweight of ore. As they toured the workings, he made frequent notes in his ledger. Dmitri tried more than once to peer over the Inspector's shoulder at what he wrote, but his script was as illegible as the letter.
+Kikimora observed their progress from a distance, reluctant to tempt Glinka's scrutiny. Zoria asked what she was doing, and she gently shushed her, saying she needed to listen to what the men were saying.
+"Are you doing bad things?"
+"I am not making any trouble, Zoria. I swear it. I just need to hear what the men are saying, because... I just do."
+"Good. Then I don't need to tell Mr Rachmanov about you."
+Kikimora asked what she meant, and Zoria explained that if she saw her being bad she would have to tell the Master. "I promised him."
+Kikimora tried to hide her dismay. "Well, if you made a promise, I suppose you must honour it. Did Dmitri – Mr Rachmanov – say what he would do?"
+"I think he wants to tell you off."
+Kikimora nodded, and thanked Zoria for letting her know. While she wondered what to make of it, Dmitri emerged from the furnace room, saying, "Boris will know. We can check with him later."
+She could tell from the set of his jaw that he was fast losing patience with the Inspector. He had not yet had his morning tea, and she knew he would not regain his composure until he did.
+Glinka insisted he required the furnace records immediately, and the foreman must be summoned. Dmitri said it was not practical to drag Boris up again from the furthest depths of the mine simply to answer an obscure question which could just as easily be answered later this evening when the men ended their work.
+Glinka pushed the glasses up his nose, regarding him with chilly contempt. But Dmitri would not be cowed. "I have a business to run. We have struck a new vein only yesterday. It is inaccessible and dangerous. Either Boris or I need to supervise the work there."
+The inspector considered for a moment, then told Dmitri to take him to this new vein.
+"It is approaching lunch time, and the vein is some distance underground. Perhaps we should take some refreshment first?"
+"That won't be necessary. Lead on, Mr Rachmanov."
+Kikimora didn't follow them. Instead, she went to the fairy tree, and sat quietly for a time, thinking. Something about the tax inspector disquieted her. She couldn't shake the feeling he could somehow see her or sense her presence, and she didn't understand how that could be. True, Zoria was immune to Kikimora's invisibility – and she didn't understand that either. But Zoria was not dangerous; Kikimora felt quite certain Glinka was.
+Zoria found her again, and asked if she'd seen the icicle hanging from the branch of the fairy tree. She told Kikimora it was the biggest she'd ever seen, and when one of the fairy princess's suitors finally won her hand he would take it as his sword.
+"Has she many suitors?"
+"Oh yes. Hundreds. And she doesn't like any of them."
+"Why not? What is wrong with them?"
+Zoria said one looked like a donkey, and another like a rat. Some were mean, and others were greedy and didn't share their dried cherries. None of them were as clever as the princess, or could make her laugh.
+"Perhaps she should keep it as her own sword then?" Kikimora suggested. The girl's words recalled to her Barinya's strange story of Innessa and the Terrible Witch. She still didn't know what lesson she was supposed to take from it, but she said, "I know a story about just such a hard-to-please girl. Would you like to hear it?"
+Zoria said she would, so Kikimora told her of beautiful Innessa, of the wise woman's warning about the terrible witch, about the tower Innessa lived in, and her dissatisfaction with all of her suitors. She told how she drank the water of life, and although she grew old and plain and lonely, she could not die.
+Zoria didn't like the story. "So there was no terrible witch – only Innessa? That makes no sense."
+Kikimora agreed, saying it was very different to the stories Barinya usually told. "I feel sure there must be a lesson to it, but I can't work out what."
+"Don't listen to wise women," suggested Zoria. "If she hadn't told them to beware the terrible witch then they would never have built the tower, or set the tasks, and Prince George wouldn't have brought the water of life - and Innessa wouldn't have turned into the witch! Why don't wise women ever tell you useful things that you can understand? Instead of making you build stupid towers for no reason."
+Kikimora smiled. "I suppose you have to put in some effort yourself to understand the patterns of your life. Innessa surely could have married the most handsome man in the world - if her family had not closeted her away in a tower, if she had not been treated so strangely that she grew spoilt, if she had not grown to believe that no one was good enough for her. "Perhaps that is it? Innessa made her own fate, and her family and the townspeople – however well intentioned – helped her towards that fate."
+Zoria only scowled and said it was making her head hurt. As darkness began to fall, Kikimora accompanied her back to the yard. Before she ran off to find her mother, the girl turned and asked, "Was it a wise woman told you your destiny – about closing down the mine?"
+"No," laughed Kikimora. "It was a wise man."
+"What if he didn't tell you the important bit either?"
+***
+The tavern was busy when Kikimora went to find some supper. Dmitri and his friends were among the patrons in the public bar, so she slipped into the smaller, private lounge next door. A group of gentlemen sat before the fireplace, all in fine clothes and with neatly trimmed whiskers. Some discarded plates lay around the room, and she learned that wealthy men were very wasteful. She helped herself to a slab of bread, a piece of untouched meat, and even a full glass of ale. She tucked herself onto the window ledge, listening to them as she ate.
+She thought them very dull, their conversation mostly concerning stocks and shares, and the price of grain. But they livened up when the door swung open, and a tall, well dressed gentleman entered. Doffing his feathered hat, he bowed extravagantly low. His mat of yellow hair began to fall forward, and he quickly rammed the hat back on, straightening, and calling to the bar keeper to bring out his finest claret.
+"Pay me some of the 60 silver you owe, Sir, and I shall be glad to oblige."
+Rudov made an elaborate gesture of dismissal. "Forget your 60 silver. Soon I shall have such funds at my disposal as would make your eyes water."
+The barman remained unmoved, until one of the men by the fire nodded to indicate he would cover the cost. "Are these outlandish rumours true then?" the same man asked.
+"My friends," Rudov said, drawing a wing-back chair closer to the fireside. "Wish me well, for I am to enter into the blissful state of matrimony."
+The gentlemen expressed much astonishment, one saying, "We were sure it was a joke."
+"An eternal bachelor, I thought," said another. "The maiden must be fair indeed to reel you in?"
+"The fairest of them all," agreed Rudov. "Her name is gold."
+The gentlemen cheered and drank his health, and Rudov declared, "I am to wed and bed and pluck the golden goose! And what a goose she is..."
+Kikimora glowered from her corner. Though she already had a poor opinion of Rudov, his uncouth words shocked her. She wished to leave at once, without hearing another hateful word, but Rudov was sprawled right across the way, leaving her uncomfortably hemmed in.
+"It's true then? You are to wed Rachmanov's sister?"
+"I have that honour," said Rudov, with mock gravity.
+"Are they that wealthy? I understood they'd had some recent difficulties?"
+"Come now, a man must keep some confidences with his intended. However, since you are all such dear friends-" Rudov dropped his voice, leaning in close. "You may be interested to hear that very soon I shall have a significant share in a certain mining venture."
+The men exchanged looks. Rudov tapped a finger to the side of his nose, declaring that he would say no more on the matter. "I regret I could not share my good news with you earlier. Although the agreement was made, the contract was not signed until recently – and you know one cannot merely trust the word of that class of people."
+Kikimora was certain neither Yana nor Dmitri knew Rudov had been promised shares in the mine. She dutifully told herself it was not her concern; that she must sever all ties with the Rachmanov family, and that Dmitri's distress was of course the very purpose of her existence. She told herself that, and then fled across the room, leaping over Rudov's legs.
+Still invisible, she pushed her way through the public bar, causing confusion amongst those turning to see who had elbowed them aside so rudely. Dmitri sat slouched beside a table. Ducking in close – so close he felt a coldness against his cheek, felt icy lips brush his ear - she whispered, "Come quickly!"
+His friends asked if he was alright as he sat bolt upright, frowning at nothing.
+Kikimora gave his hair a sharp tug. "At once!"
+His hand shot out, and caught her wrist. Instinctively, she tried to pull away, but Dmitri held on tightly, rising from his seat. Kikimora realised she needed to direct him in any case. She twisted her hand around his, leading him across the bar, and through the empty corridor to the lounge door. He began to speak, but she shushed him, saying, "Listen."
+"I will not listen at doors."
+An icy finger pressed itself against his lips, and he fell silent, trembling a little - though he couldn't tell whether from fear, or cold, or some other reason. He was more aware than before of her coldness, perhaps because of the warm, firelit room he had come from; perhaps because she pressed so close against him.
+The finger withdrew from his lips, but the cold presence remained at his side, his hand still entwined in hers - though it was no longer certain who held on to whom.
+"Listen," came the voice, soft in his ear. The door pushed open a little way, allowing him to see the group seated around the fire and hear their laughter.
+Dmitri frowned, recognising many of the men, including Rudov. He didn't like this situation one bit. He would certainly not like to be discovered eavesdropping on the gentlemen – who seemed to be discussing nothing of importance, only making silly jokes and slapping each other on the back.
+"I hear she's as plain as mud," said one.
+"Plainer," Rudov agreed cheerfully. "She makes mud look glamorous."
+The Pale Lady's fingers tightened around Dmitri's, and he frowned, wondering what he was supposed to make of this.
+"Still," Rudov sighed, as the men all chuckled. "I suppose she is fertile, and that is all that really matters."
+"They say that old house used to be haunted," another man said. "But the ghost took one look at her, and ran off in fright!"
+Rudov wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and drops of fine claret from his wobbling chins. "But my friends, in case there is any doubt, let me make it clear that my intended has a good and pure heart. I am sure I shall grow fond of her in time."
+"You mean, her father has a good, pure purse!" The group again erupted in laughter.
+A coldness filled Dmitri's chest, which had nothing to do with the spirit by his side. The blood thundered in his ears, so that he barely noticed Kikimora's whispered apology. Dropping her hand, he pushed through the door.
+The laughter stopped abruptly as Dmitri took Rudov by the collar, kicking the seat out from under him.
+"Now look here, Rachmanov-" Dmitri's fist landed in his face, and he fell, sprawling over his discarded seat.
+"Get up!" Dmitri hissed. "If you have any honour, get up and face me."
+Rudov wiped blood from his nose, pushing his tongue around his teeth to see if any were loosened. Shaking out a lace handkerchief to dab at his nose, he told Dmitri calmly, "That was most unwise."
+"Get up!"
+Rudov gave his face another dab, and rose, leaning on his cane. Giving Dmitri a meaningful look, he unscrewed its top, pulling out a slender sword. "You wish to pursue this, Rachmanov?"
+Dmitri hesitated, breathing hard. A cold hand slipped into his, and tried to pull him away. He shook free, but made no other move. Rudov tapped the sword tip against his leather boot.
+"You will never marry Yana. She is so far above you – all of you - that your hateful words cannot shame her."
+Rudov smiled, showing bloodied teeth. "My arrangement is with your father, and the contract is signed. Nothing you or your pock-scarred sister say will make the slightest difference."
+Dmitri's jaw clenched. "We'll see." The contract could be negated somehow, he was sure. The real difficulty would be his father. Once Mr Rachmanov got fixated on a scheme, nothing could stand in his way.
+Again the cold fingers plucked at his, tugging, imploring, and he allowed himself to be led away.
+"And that," muttered one of the scandalised gentlemen. "Is why it is so unwise to marry beneath oneself."
+The hand released Dmitri, and a moment later the man who had spoken was wearing his upended tankard on his head. Amid his cries of indignation, Dmitri was pushed from the room, the door crashing shut behind him.
+***
+"I must go and speak to Father. This cannot be allowed to happen."
+Kikimora gently pulled Dmitri back to his seat at the kitchen table, and continued to sponge salt water onto his bruised knuckles. "It is late. And you are drunk. How well will your father receive you?"
+"I don't care how well he likes it," said Dmitri, wincing as the saline found a split in his skin. "I must tell him what a foul, hateful ape-"
+Kikimora said nothing. Somehow she did it in an assertive way. Dmitri sighed, slumping forward. "I suppose you are right. Father would not take well to being disturbed at this hour. I will speak to him tomorrow."
+Kikimora wrapped a soaked cloth around his hand, and laid it on the table. Fetching his vodka from the cupboard, she poured them both a drink. While Dmitri nursed his glass, she downed her own, and poured another.
+She knew the Rachmanovs were none of her business, and nor was the boorish Count Rudov. She knew Anatoly and Leshy would be furious with her, meddling in the affairs of these humans. Barinya would understand though, she was certain. She took comfort in that.
+"He will see sense," Dmitri said. "He must. He will see the insult to us all."
+Kikimora remained invisible to him, but he knew where she sat, and directed his comments towards her. "But what if he should see it that I have damaged the family honour? Rudov will deny saying those hateful things. What if father should believe him? I must make sure I speak to him first."
+He again tried to rise, but Kikimora took his hands, preventing him from leaving the table. "You are not thinking. Tomorrow is Sunday. Yana will arrive in the coach for church-"
+"She cannot be allowed to encounter that oaf! I must warn her to stay away."
+"His beard is black, and his hair is yellow," Kikimora sang softly. "Now his teeth are red and his nose is purple. Do you think he will make an appearance in church?"
+"No, you are right. He won't want to be seen in such a state." He sat again, running a hand through his hair. "You tried to warn me against Rudov. Did you know?"
+"I knew only what I saw in your company. It was enough."
+Dmitri looked chastened. "I should have seen what a wretch he is."
+"But you always see the best in people. Even in me."
+He glanced up sharply. "Why do you come to my aid when the mood takes you? You have caused me grievous upset for many weeks at Yanochka, yet now... What did I do right in my home that I have not done at the mine? I tried leaving offerings, I even played my whistle. All to no effect.
+"I try to think of scenarios which could explain the two sides of your behaviour. Perhaps your will is not your own. You are bewitched - in thrall to some higher power? Is that it, Spirit?"
+Kikimora wished it were that simple. Anatoly had schooled her, and Leshy advised her; but every action she had taken against Dmitri and his men had been her own choice. Kind and generous as he was, Dmitri would never understand that.
+"Well, I call you Spirit, because I don't know what else to call you. But you are no household spirit. I don't know what you are - yet you seem to know all about me and my family and our doings. I don't even know your name."
+There was silence a moment, and then the voice spoke again, so soft it was like new leaves shushing in a summer breeze, "I am Kikimora."
+"Kikimora? A pretty name. I am pleased to at last make your acquaintance, Kikimora." Leaning forward, he touched his lips lightly to the back of her hand.
+She pulled away with an exclamation, and Dmitri apologised, saying he was not familiar with the etiquette between an artisan gunpowder maker and a... whatever she might be. He peered towards her end of the table, trying to discern some hint of her in the shadows that gathered there.
+"Please don't run away again. I will endeavour to curb my curiosity, as I know it upsets you. So I will not ask you more about your business at the mine. I will ask you only this: how may I please you? You have done me a service tonight, and I would repay it. You must give me a hint, Kikimora, for I know so little about you. I could bring you a new ribbon next market day. Would you like that?"
+He heard a catch in her breath, and a smile lit his face. "Is that a yes?"
+"I would like that," Kikimora admitted, knowing she shouldn't encourage him. But she thought of her conversation with Zoria earlier, and felt a surge of obstinacy.
+"What colour should it be? Blue? White, perhaps? The light is dim, and I can discern you only a little, but I think green would suit you better than the pink you wore that night at the Olgakovs."
+Kikimora leapt back from the table, alarmed to realise the warmth and strange emotion had again caused her to become visible.
+"Why does it cause you such consternation? I would have thought it was very inconvenient to go around invisible all the time. I'm sure I would keep walking into things, and miss my mouth when I went to take a drink."
+"You don't understand."
+"No, but I would like to. I won't prevent you from leaving, if you feel you must. But you are welcome to stay here in my kitchen, as you used to." He drained his glass, and crossed to the stairs. "Goodnight, Kikimora."
+"Good night, Dmitri Rachmanov."
+His smile grew broader, but faltered once more as he recalled the business of the night. "I will not allow the marriage to take place. If necessary, I will accept his challenge. He is a swordsman, but the choice of weapons falls to the challenged party, and I am tolerably good with firearms."
+Kikimora watched him climb the stairs, her heart filled with unease. She told herself it wouldn't come to that. She had no high opinion of Dmitri's father, but surely he would see sense in this matter? He wouldn't allow his only son to fight a duel with Count Rudov?
+She remained in the kitchen until Dmitri's breathing at last settled into the regular, low rhythm of sleep, then she lifted the latch, and stepped out into the frozen street. Still warm from the encounter, she watched her breath steam out before her. The night was crisp and clear, an ice-haze ringing the crescent moon. There seemed more stars than on an ordinary night, sharp and hard as diamonds, pinning the firmament in place.
+The stable doors were bolted, but she climbed easily to a narrow hatch in the hay loft, letting herself inside. The sleeping horses barely noticed her, only one giving a low snort. Kikimora told it she meant no harm, and it had nothing to fear. The horse blew out its breath, idly munched a piece of hay, and then seemed to disregard her.
+She smiled. She had been practising exerting a subtle, wordless influence on the beasts she encountered. It was hard, and unpredictable, but at least the horses did not threaten to bolt each time she entered the stable now. She burrowed deep into the heaped hay, disturbing a family of rats, who squeaked indignantly, and were not calmed so easily as the sleepy horse. But in time, they found another nest, and settled back to their sleep.
+For a time she lay, gazing up through the tiny window at the distant stars. There were so many of them. And each one another sun, Anatoly had told her. What worlds might they shine down on? What forests? What mountains? On one of those distant worlds perhaps another girl lay, alone and uncertain, looking back at these same stars?
+She spoke softly to herself, "Perhaps there is another Kikimora?" (and she recalled Dmitri saying, a pretty name. And then she recalled the feel of his hand in hers, his dry, musky smell, the unfamiliar warmth of his body when she drew close. She recalled the feel of his lips lightly brushing her skin – so soft, so fleeting, barely there at all).
+"Is she failing another Anatoly? Betraying her destiny?" She frowned, again recalling Zoria's words. "But I am not at all like beautiful Innessa. And Anatoly is no vague, mumbling wise man whose words can be tangled and misconstrued. He is my father – sort of. He has spoken to me of my destiny every day throughout my life. There can be no mistake, no misinterpretation."
+But the doubt lodged in her heart, thick and troublesome. "What if that is why my task feels such a burden, why it sits so heavily on my shoulders? What if I have misunderstood something? What if Anatoly is mistaken?"
+Anatoly was the cleverest man in the world. Everyone agreed on that. It is why petitioners came to him from every corner of the earth, desperate to secure his advice and assistance - and perhaps also why so few of their problems interested him. He could go anywhere, best anyone, achieve anything...
+Except find the missing princess, Kikimora recalled unhappily. His failure in that task troubled her, though she could not articulate why. She rolled onto her side, away from the beguiling stars. "Perhaps somewhere," she said. "There is a Kikimora who has no task, no duty. Perhaps there is a Kikimora who is free to follow her heart, just like Barinya said?"
+It was a long time before she slept.
+***
+Dmitri waited in the market square until the Rachmanov's green coach arrived. He greeted Vitali, and helped Yana down. She at once asked what was wrong, saying, "You always wear your worry on your brow."
+Dmitri told her he must speak to their father, "And to you – but not here."
+"He is not well today. Irinka has given him a sleeping draught, but I expect he may be a little better in the morning. What is it? Not more trouble at the mine?"
+"No. At least-" There was plenty of trouble at the mine, and he really ought to speak to his father about it, but that was not his current concern. Throughout their conversation he had kept watch on who was entering the church. Yana followed his gaze, asking what he was looking for, and commenting on how distracted he seemed.
+Dmitri apologised, saying he was tired. "I had very much wanted to speak to Father today," he insisted, and Yana asked what was so important. He hesitated, considering his words. "It concerns Rudov."
+"Oh?" She at once became more sombre.
+"I cannot go into details just now. But Yana, you cannot marry him! He is no gentleman. I will not allow it."
+Yana said nothing, her expression guarded.
+"I'm sorry, I cannot say more. I will come and speak to Father tomorrow evening. Rudov mustn't be allowed to see him before then."
+This last comment triggered Yana's suspicions. "What have you done, Dmitri? Why is Count Rudov not here? He said most particularly that he would see me today."
+Dmitri squirmed a little under her glare, before admitting, "I knocked him down and bloodied his nose. I assure you it was thoroughly deserved," he added, over Yana's shocked exclamation.
+"This is very bad. Will he accept an apology?"
+Dmitri said there would be no apology – unless it was on Rudov's part, and even that would not be sufficient to repair the situation.
+"What could be so dire as that?"
+Dmitri shook his head. "Trust me? Whatever happens – whatever Father says – the wedding must not go ahead. Promise me?"
+"I don't know if I can give that promise without knowing what is wrong. Besides, the marriage contract is signed..."
+Dmitri looked stricken. "Alright," she said, glancing at the church. The congregation were all inside, and the deacon waiting to close the doors. "Alright, I promise. But you must swear to tell me what this is all about."
+Dmitri nodded, and at last they made their way into church, the deacon scowling after them.
+Kikimora listened keenly to the exchange, pleased that Dmitri managed to avoid saying anything that might upset Yana unduly. She didn't follow them into the church, but stayed close by as the singing began. Walking slowly around the building, she explored the graveyard, reading the names of townspeople from ages past. She noticed the bare patch of earth where Czernoboch had stood, and thought of him face down in the icy river. She hoped the people would soon repent, and return him to his rightful place.
+At last the mass ended, and she returned to the entrance. Dmitri seemed in better spirits. He and Yana spoke for a while in the square, exchanging pleasantries with those who passed by. Amongst the last to leave church were the Olgakov family.
+"What news on your betrothal?" Yana asked lightly, noticing Mrs Olgakov glance towards them, then quickly away.
+Dmitri sighed. "Come. We must go and be pleasant." He noted Mrs Olgakov's stricken look as they approached, and made sure to show her his warmest, widest smile. "Good day to you, Agnesse, Beatrice, Cecile, Seraphina, how lovely to see you again. I hope you are all well?"
+Agnesse's eyes looked wider and more alarmed than ever. "We are feeling much recovered," she mumbled, staring at her dainty, white shoes.
+Seraphina stepped forward, edging her sister out of the way. She dropped a little curtsey to Dmitri and inclined her head to Yana. "We are all in very fine spirits, thank you, Mr Rachmanov." Her cheeks were a little pink, but it was a fine, handsome glow, and might just as easily come from the strong north wind as from any lingering embarrassment over her conduct the week before.
+Dmitri thanked Mrs Olgakov again for her fine hospitality, and Yana said she hoped her brother had behaved himself, "I should hate for him to bring disgrace on our family name."
+She was puzzled when her comment fell flat, the girls lowering their eyes to the frozen ground. Mrs Olgakov mustered a weak smile, and assured her he had been the very model of gentlemanly virtue.
+"Dmitri Rachmanov?" Yana couldn't help herself asking. "Are you sure?"
+"Quite certain," murmured Mrs Olgakov, the tips of her ears turning pink.
+After an awkward pause, Seraphina said, "Miss Rachmanov, allow me to congratulate you on your engagement. My sisters and I were thrilled to hear you had made such a fine match. I am sure you and Count Rudov will make each other very happy."
+Yana avoided Dmitri's stony glare. She made excuses for the Count's absence, saying he was unavoidably detained.
+"I am sure he has much to attend to," Mrs Olgakov said kindly. Before taking her leave, she clasped Dmitri's hand, thanking him in an undertone for his graciousness and understanding.
+"What on earth was all that about?" Yana asked when they were alone. Dmitri shook his head, saying she wouldn't believe him if he told her. Yana lightly slapped his arm, saying he was becoming far too secretive, and it was most aggravating. Before she could pursue the question, Vitali arrived with the coach. Dmitri helped her up, reminding her before they parted of the promise she had made.
+"You will tell me everything, Dmitri," she said firmly. "Don't imagine you can wriggle out of it."
+After redistributing some food from the tavern to Andras and his family, Kikimora wandered the empty streets of Korsakov town. Finding herself at the bridge, she stood gazing down at the rushing waters, and at Czernoboch discarded there. Ice had formed in the little hollows surrounding him. A fallen branch lodged against his side, like the stick an old man uses to support himself. He was no god of hers, but she didn't like to see him so disgraced.
+Leaving the bridge, she climbed down through a tangle of leafless briars to the water's edge. The river was wide and fast flowing, but a trail of stones led out towards a shallower patch in the centre where Czernoboch rested.
+Kikimora stepped onto the first stone. Its surface lay just below the water, and was cold as death. The current nipped and pulled at her ankles, and she stepped to the next stone, toes clenching against its icy surface. Before she had quite found her balance, a swell licked up around her calf, and she fell forward into the hurtling current. She would have been swept away, but her fingers caught in the mat of debris washed up against Czernoboch.
+She pulled herself in towards the statue, wrapping her arms around him, as though he was her saviour after all. The icy water stole the breath from her chest. Her limbs felt leaden as she hauled herself from the torrent and onto the half-submerged statue. There she stayed for a time, crouched on his arm, one hand wrapped around a curling, granite horn. The wind when it blew dusted frost across her wet, clinging dress.
+Once when Anatoly had been teaching her about the gods of Ancient Greece, she had asked what became of gods no one believed in any longer. "As belief wanes, so does their power," he told her. "And as their power wanes, so belief in them dwindles still further. Once this slow death begins it requires some kind of miracle to stop the cycle of weakness and doubt."
+Clearly, Czernoboch was well advanced along this road of neglect. His fall from grace troubled Kikimora. It seemed an ill omen, as though the old god's fate might be tied to her own, to Leshy's and to Anatoly's.
+Wiping a roundel of ice from one staring eye, she told him, "Show these people you still have power. Show them you deserve more than to lie, forgotten in the frozen river. Bring an end to the winter. Then once again they will pour honey at your feet, and garland you with wild flowers. Their young couples will pledge their troth before you, and bless you for the safe delivery of their infants."
+Czernoboch continued to stare, blank and frozen. Kikimora pressed her numb fingers to his face, wishing she could impress on him the significance of the situation. No doubt many townspeople had tried their hardest to convince him too; why should he listen more attentively to her?
+While she crouched, shivering, she recalled something Anatoly had told her about Leshy, and the great power he had once possessed – in times gone by, when the forest stretched from one sea to another, unsullied by human hands. The forest still seemed huge to Kikimora; it encompassed her world. But Anatoly told her that what existed now was a mere shadow of what had been before. Only a couple of day's riding would bring you to its furthest edge, and then there were towns and farms and humans by the thousand.
+Leshy still had powers, but they did not extend far beyond the forest. Throughout Kikimora's short life, he had been as much of a father to her as Anatoly. His kindness and constancy could be depended on even when Anatoly's fierce and changeable moods could not. She understood that he was more than an ordinary creature, and certainly not a man, but she was not sure quite what he was, and had seldom given it any thought. He was her warm embrace, her comforting sigh, the smile that never betrayed disappointment – at least, not until these past weeks. She had never wondered what else he might be. But now she did.
+Leshy often complained that he no longer received tribute from the townspeople or from hunters and woodsmen. Dmitri had known his name, but only as a character from a nursery tale, not as a being of power or significance. Not as a god.
+The water slopped and gurgled. Ice had already formed around her motionless toes, but Kikimora barely noticed. Had Leshy truly been a god? Or perhaps one of those nebulous, elemental beings who work their will upon the world? She understood from Barinya's stories and from Anatoly's teachings that there were many such beings; the North Wind was one.
+She imagined Leshy sharing Czernoboch's fate, slowly dwindling into insignificance. "If a god can be neglected and forgotten, what hope is there for Leshy? For any of us?"
+Flexing her toes, she cracked the surrounding ice, telling Czernoboch sternly, "Your fate lies in your own hands."
+***
+In the morning Kikimora returned to Yanochka, though she no longer knew whether she ought to pursue her duty or not. In any case, wherever she turned the tax inspector was already there, poking and prying and noting everything down in his thick ledger. While he was off counting sacks of dry goods in the store, she approached a man carrying a tall stack of pallets. But before she had chance to trip him, Zoria yelled across the yard to Dmitri that the Pale Lady was going to do something bad, and she pointed helpfully.
+Kikimora fled to the trees. She tried nothing further that day, only watching Glinka's progress with a growing sense of unease. He counted the barrels of powder in the grinding shed. He interviewed the men, women, and even the children working in the yard. He drew water from the yellowing stream, sniffing it with wrinkled nose and raised brows.
+More than once Kikimora felt his eyes upon her, and wondered whether she was imagining it, or if he truly saw her. He didn't approach her or mention any strange sighting, and in time she was able to persuade herself her imagination was over exerting itself.
+While Glinka conducted his interviews, Dmitri was able to rejoin Boris, exploring the new vein. He spent the afternoon below ground, only emerging as the bell rang to signal the end of the working day. As he hurried down from the mine, Glinka hailed him, "Mr Rachmanov."
+"What is it, Inspector Glinka?"
+"I was greatly interested in your demonstration of blasting last week. I wonder if you could go over a few points for me?"
+Dmitri said he was very sorry, but would have to decline. He had pressing personal business, but would be happy to oblige the inspector with whatever he wished to know tomorrow.
+"I am afraid I must insist."
+"No, Inspector, I must insist. It is a matter of utmost importance, and cannot be postponed." He bade Glinka good day, and strode away.
+"His majesty shall hear of this impertinence, this obstruction of my duty."
+Dmitri turned. He spoke with tight, controlled anger, "I am sure his majesty would understand the duty of a son to his father? My men and I have indulged your every demand these past days. We shall continue to do so tomorrow. But tonight I need to see my father. He is elderly and unwell, and this cold weather does him no good." He tilted his chin up a little, adding, "Any man would understand that. What are you, Glinka? Are you a man?"
+The Inspector said nothing, his brows drawing down low. He flipped his ledger open, and began to make more notes.
+Boris hurried to Dmitri's side, hissing, "I applaud your spirit, lad. But are you sure that was wise?"
+Dmitri stalked on in silence a few more steps before answering, "Of course it wasn't wise, but I can only take so much. That man aggravates me more than I can explain or justify."
+"He aggravates everyone; that's his job." Boris lit his pipe, and took a long, calming draw. "I doubt you could sour him any further towards us, in any case. He seems to have it in for us, no matter what we do or say. I can't imagine what he will find to report us for – but be assured, he will find something." He gave Dmitri a friendly slap on the back, and expressed his best wishes for Dmitri's father. "I hope he has not taken badly again?"
+"He is constantly bad these days, Boris. But that is not really the issue. I have to see him on a personal matter. I can't say more. I'll see you in the morning," he added, riding across the yard.
+"Aye, and we'll see what merry hell greets us then."
+Fog began to gather along the road and in the hollow places. It deadened the cries and laughter of the many children and their families on the road ahead. Falling only a little way behind, it was easy for Kikimora to believe she was quite alone in the forest.
+Normally she might find that comforting, but today she just wanted to be out of the miserable, dripping night. Her hair and clothes grew damp from the fog. She blinked water from her eyes and paused, realising what was odd. The trees were dripping. The snow was softer, wetter. Icicles sweated. As she watched, a clump of snow slid from a nearby branch, landing with a soft whump on the ground.
+Finally spring was coming! Buoyed with a sudden optimism, her pace increased. Ahead, a pair of dark figures took form. One produced leisurely puffs of smoke that mingled with the surrounding fog. Kikimora slowed once more. She was always light on her feet, and took particular care whenever she shadowed people, but nevertheless, Boris turned, peering back towards her.
+"Hello?" His voice took on a dour tone, "Glinka? Is that you?"
+"What is it?" asked Sergei.
+"Nothing," Boris decided. "Don't worry. No Rusalkas are coming for you tonight." He began to grumble about the tax inspector, his unreasonable demands and peculiar habits.
+"Where does he stay?" Sergei asked. "He never leaves when we do."
+Boris said he was damned if he knew - or cared. "Never known a man so assiduous in his duties. It isn't natural. Sent by the devil himself, most like, for the express purpose of driving us all insane."
+This comment gave Kikimora pause. It occurred to her the awkward tax inspector was making a better job of her task than she was. She scowled and kicked at a thin, frozen shrub, showering loose snow upon the ground. Boris turned again, frowning into the darkness.
+A soft drizzle began to fall as she passed through the town gates, growing heavier and more insistent throughout the night. Kikimora listened to it beat against the stable walls, contrary winds sweeping it first against one side, then another.
+She wondered if Czernoboch could be responsible for this change in the weather. Had he listened to her plea, and brought up the warmer wind from the south? Or had spring simply arrived because it was due? She wanted to believe that Czernoboch was not dead, and had some power still. She wanted to believe he had listened to her, that he could regain his full powers, and the townspeople would worship him once more - but she wasn't sure she did.
+By morning the rain was steady, unrelenting, the whole world draped in dirty cloud. Streets ran with muddy streams, the frozen detritus of months now thawing and rotting, filling the air with foul miasmas. In the forest snow drifts still stood, thick and dirty, but water flowed along every path, pooled in every furrow. Immersed in the melt water, sliding on autumn's uncovered leaves, Kikimora's bare feet were colder than ever.
+Arriving at the mine, she saw the workers were all soaked and muddy, but a mood of optimism pervaded the yard. The warmer wind from the south was a welcome change. At last they could see an end to this bleak winter.
+She looked for Dmitri in his office and in the furnace room. She wanted to know how the confrontation with his father had gone, and whether he had managed to break Yana's marriage contract. Approaching the grinding room, she was in time to see Dmitri and Sergei leaving. The boy carried a heavy pack wrapped in oil cloth.
+"Make sure the powder stays dry," Dmitri said, striding ahead up the track.
+Kikimora shadowed them, trying to gauge how the interview had gone from Dmitri's behaviour. She had grown used to his moods and habits, knowing just the way his brow creased when he was frustrated, the thin line in which his mouth set when he tried to quell his anger.
+Normally he was easy to read, but his manner today was strange and aloof. Sergei made a jocular comment about the weather, and he only grunted in reply, showing no humour. When the boy slipped on the muddy path, Dmitri snapped at him to be more careful. After that they progressed in silence but for the squelch of boots on sodden ground.
+Kikimora guessed things had not gone well with his father. She wished she could speak to him, and find out what had happened. Perhaps she might be able to help in some way.
+Dmitri's sullen mood troubled her. It was not like him to take out his frustrations on those around him, particularly on Sergei, of whom she knew he was fond.
+But she had only observed him for a few moments; no doubt he would snap out of it before long. Returning to the yard, she wondered where Glinka was this morning, and if Dmitri had already suffered an encounter with him. That might explain his mood.
+Zoria came and told her the princess's sword had melted from the fairy tree, so she no longer needed a champion to come and claim it. After all the confusion on the matter of suitors and fate, she seemed to view this as an excellent outcome. "Come and see."
+Kikimora was achieving nothing by glumly watching the miners at their work, and wondered why she shouldn't keep the girl company instead. "I would like that," she decided, holding out her hand.
+***
+"Here?" The candlelight flickered across Sergei's face, deepening his frown. "But I thought-?"
+"Just as you demonstrated for Mr Glinka," said Dmitri. "You remember each of the steps?"
+"Yes, Sir. But Boris said it was too unstable-"
+"Are you apprenticed to Boris?"
+Sergei had rarely heard Dmitri speak to him so sharply. "No, Sir."
+"Then carry on. You've had sufficient practice. I want you to manage the blasting without my help."
+"But there are men working in the cavern. Shouldn't we call them out?"
+"The circumstances are unusual, I'll grant you. We can't afford to waste time. We need to start production on that silver lode." He added that he had spoken to Boris earlier, and the foreman was aware of their plans to blast the tunnel leading to the cavern. "The men will stay away from here. They will be quite safe."
+Still Sergei looked unhappy. These instructions seemed to go against everything Dmitri had taught him so far. His master had taken every opportunity to emphasise the dangers of their work, and the ways that danger could be minimised. He had advocated the utmost attention to detail, warning, caution cannot be applied retrospectively. My father would attest to that.
+"I have to return to the yard."
+Sergei couldn't keep the dismay from his voice, "You're leaving me to do it alone?"
+"Just for a short time, while I see to another matter. I'll be back presently and we can plan the next section." He fixed the boy with a solemn look. "You can do this; I know you can. Don't disappoint me."
+Sergei swallowed. "Yes, Sir."
+Dmitri held his gaze a moment longer, resting a hand on his shoulder before nodding and drawing away. He said nothing as he climbed the three levels to the main entrance, only nodding briefly at the men he passed in the shafts. He felt rather than heard a short series of explosions, the air pressure rapidly changing, making him feel strangely unbalanced.
+He gave a great sigh as he emerged from the mine, lifting his face to the grey and churning sky, and smiling at the touch of rain on his face. Long strides took him away from the mine. He discarded his hat with the candle stuck in the brim, tossing it into the trees. He left the track, heading into the forest. As he walked, his dark curls seemed to wither and fall back. His skin grew paler. The dark stubble disappeared, but was replaced with a neatly dressed moustache and goatee beard.
+He moved silently through the trees until he came to a little clearing where a young girl sat raptly listening to Kikimora tell a story of thwarted love.
+"...and then the woodcutter's daughter realised she had been tricked, and-" Glancing up, Kikimora saw the figure moving through the trees towards her. Hastily she climbed to her feet, brushing down the front of her dress.
+Zoria's brows drew down low. "What's he doing here? Nobody likes him."
+"You know him?"
+"He looks different," Zoria acknowledged. "He usually wears eyeglasses; they sparkle and make his face confusing."
+Kikimora looked from Zoria to Anatoly. Her bearings seemed to come adrift, as though the world lurched a little, and nothing was quite where she thought it ought to be. "You're Glinka?"
+"The child has clear sight," Anatoly said. "It is a rare gift." He considered Zoria a moment longer, as though he would like to speak with her, but instead he turned to Kikimora. "Come. We must leave."
+Kikimora only stared at him, feeling foolish. How had she been tricked by a simple glamour? She ought to have realised what was strange about Glinka. She was ashamed to realise how much better Zoria's perception was than her own.
+"Now, Kikimora." Anatoly spoke kindly, but with an edge of steel to his voice.
+"But... my task." She broke off, realising how bad this looked. Instead of terrorising the miners, she was telling stories to their children. "I have caused many accidents," she told him. "I burst the bellows, and I jammed the waterwheel. I tripped Dmitri on the stairs – that is, the mine manager-"
+"I am sure you have done your best." Anatoly offered his hand. "I'm taking you home."
+"You don't want me to do my duty any more? What about the mine?" For some time now Kikimora had wished she could be free from her task and her stifling responsibilities - but not like this, in failure and disgrace.
+"Hurry. We must go."
+Kikimora turned to Zoria, apologising, and promising to finish the story another time. "That is, if-" She glanced at Anatoly, and trailed off. Life beyond her task was a topic she had seldom dared to consider. What would she do now? What duties and responsibilities would she have? Her time before had revolved around the little house in the forest, the crops and the hens, the kitchen, the brewing and baking. When would she have time to visit the town and talk to these people she had unexpectedly grown to care for? And what would Anatoly have to say about that?
+"Goodbye," said Zoria. She watched sombrely as the Pale Lady walked away into the forest. The mine bell began to toll, and she turned back towards the yard. Through the trees she could hear raised voices, the words unclear.
+Kikimora also turned. "What is it? What has happened?"
+Anatoly took her arm, steering her away. With a muttered spell, a strange haze enveloped them. In just a moment, the two tall, pale figures were gone from the forest.
+Kikimora had only occasionally travelled in this manner with Anatoly - when he'd taken her to visit distant areas of the forest, or to inaccessible snowy peaks. She had always found it strange and disorienting. When the haze receded and the ground stopped bucking beneath her feet, she found she was sitting on the cold kitchen flags of the little house in which she had lived almost all of her life.
+A pair of bright green eyes stared into her own from very close proximity. A tongue gently rasped her nose. The eyes blinked slowly, and the whiskers beneath them twitched.
+"Barinya!" Kikimora cried, cradling the cat's chin and giving it a rub. "How I have missed you."
+Barinya purred with deep satisfaction, throwing herself against Kikimora's fingers. She had often complained in the past that Anatoly didn't rub her chin properly.
+Kikimora's attention strayed from the cat to the debris littered floor, the greasy table, and the stack of unwashed bowls in the corner. "But what has happened here?"
+Barinya narrowed her eyes and gave a pointed look at Anatoly, who commented that he'd been very busy since returning from his travels, and hadn't quite had time to see to the housekeeping. As he spoke, a mouse darted from the shadows, picking at the crumbs. Barinya moved like a greased shadow, pouncing on the hapless creature, and crushing it beneath her claws.
+Anatoly cleared his throat and harrumphed a bit before adding, "It seems I have come to rely on you around the house, Kikimora. Once I managed it all quite adequately myself." Here, Barinya broke off from chewing the mouse to give him a satirical look. "But I have got out of the habit. I suppose the North Wind may have had the truth of it, after all? If I had spent more time teaching you true horror, and less time on keeping house, perhaps things would have worked out differently."
+Kikimora flinched from the implied criticism. She had failed in her task, and Anatoly saw it clearly.
+"No matter," he said. "I have taken matters into my own hands, as I suppose I should have all along."
+A heaviness lingered in Kikimora's limbs from the transportation spell. She felt weary and dull-witted, and it took a moment for his words to sink in. She looked up sharply. "What have you done?"
+"Used their own infernal tools against them. There is a certain justice to it. With any luck they will have brought the tunnel down around their ears, sealing them inside as surely as a pharaoh of ancient Egypt in his pyramidal tomb."
+Kikimora's skin prickled with cold dread. Beside her, Barinya's tail thrashed, a low sound starting in her chest. "You used gunpowder? You said it was the greatest of evils; an abomination; an insult to every living thing-!"
+"I am aware of all I said. But something decisive needed to be done. Something you would never do." Anatoly turned away from the horror on her face, frowning at some imagined mark upon his cuff. "I thought I could teach you to be a monster, but I only taught your mind. Your heart remains that of a child, innocent and loving."
+The best part of me, Kikimora thought. She glanced at Barinya, who blinked slowly, her voice deepening to a thick growl. She had missed that fierce, intelligent gaze, missed the feeling of certainty that came from knowing Barinya was by her side, lending strength and courage. "What of the men trapped in the mine?" Dmitri. What of Dmitri?
+"They will die. I'm not certain how many were in the cavern. Perhaps six or seven. Of course there are many others who will escape. But it will be a blow they feel in their hearts - as well as their coffers. I must get back there," he told her. "You should get some rest."
+"Why are you going back? What else do you plan to do?"
+Anatoly gave a bleak smile and told her not to trouble herself. He began to speak the words of his transportation spell.
+"Wait!"
+For the first time Anatoly seemed to notice the fury in her voice. But already he was fading from view. "Kikimora-"
+Her hand clutched at the empty air. "WAIT!" With a cry of frustration, Kikimora slammed her fist against the table, causing a discarded glass to topple and spill its sticky residue. "I am not a child!" she told the space where he had stood.
+"We have to stop him, Barinya. He's wrong." After weeks of uncertainty, she felt the strange, jarring finality of the words. Her breathing began to calm, the clouds of hopeless fury ebbing away. "He's wrong."
+Barinya rubbed her head against Kikimora's wrist, saying, "Tell me about this cavern."
+Kikimora was puzzled by the question, but told her it was huge and high, filled with many undulations, and that a great torrent of water ran through it.
+"Ah, where water flows there may be a way to reach them."
+"How?"
+"It would be hard, and dangerous. Are you sure?"
+"Dmitri is down there."
+Barinya looked at her questioningly, and Kikimora gave a sigh. All that she'd longed to speak of during her weeks of exile and confusion now tumbled from her lips. She told Barinya of the music Dmitri played and how it filled up her heart with joy. She told of his kindness to his workers, even when they didn't deserve it. How protective he was of his sister, who was kind and unlucky, and who everyone disdained. How he struggled against his great bully of a father, who wanted him to be something he was not, and couldn't see the wonderful things that he was.
+"You love this man?"
+Kikimora fell silent, a blush creeping across her pale cheeks. She had tried so hard not to, but there was no need to pretend any more. "I do."
+"Very well, then. I know someone who may be able to help." Barinya leapt onto the window ledge and gave a strange fluting whistle, quite unlike any sound a cat should be capable of making. Presently a white speck became visible high among the rolling clouds. It approached quickly, gaining shape as it drew near. Tucking in its wings, the bird dropped through the air. At the height of the cottage roof, the wings spread out once more, slowing its descent.
+A stork the colour of milk landed gracefully before the cottage, its wing tips dusted coal black. Barinya greeted it respectfully, and the bird dipped its own head in reply. The two conversed in some manner Kikimora could not follow. Nor could she guess what language a cat and a stork might share. But she knew Barinya was a most unusual and resourceful cat, and so she was content to wait a little, and see what came of this encounter.
+Eventually Barinya turned to Kikimora, saying, "Anzhelina will carry you to the Rusalka, Zinobia. Tell her what you have told me, and she may agree to help you. It is up to you to convince her. Tell her I sent you – though I must warn you it may not help."
+Kikimora glanced uncertainly at the stork. She couldn't say exactly what she had expected from Barinya, but this was not it. "I don't understand. A Rusalka?"
+"There is no time to spare. You must hurry."
+Anzhelina ruffled her feathers, shaking out long, elegant wings. She gave an impatient honk, and gazed at Kikimora, her arrow-shaped head tilted to one side.
+Kikimora weighed little, but even so it seemed a terrible imposition to sit on that narrow back. "You're sure?"
+Barinya told her it was the only chance.
+Arranging herself as comfortably as she was able, Kikimora felt the strength in Anzhelina's lithe body. Her take off was slow and graceful, seemingly unimpeded by her passenger. As she cleared the tree tops her wing beats grew stronger, and soon they were soaring high into the sky. When she had climbed a little way, Anzhelina stretched out her wings, and glided above the forest.
+They passed ravines and cliffs, and steep tumbling waterfalls. It was all the world Kikimora had known until only a short time ago, but it looked small and unfamiliar from above. Crossing the hunched shoulders of the mountain, they passed close to the mine. No smoke rose from the blackened chimneys, no sound from the grinding wheels.
+"Take me closer," Kikimora said. "If you please."
+Anzhelina obliged by swooping low over the enclosure. The breeze of her passing lifted the hair of wailing children, stirred the head-scarves of crying women.
+"That's enough," Kikimora said, and the stork flapped twice, rising again over the tree tops.
+Rain began to fall once more, heavy and insistent. Kikimora was soaked within moments. But Anzhelina seemed untroubled, flying as swiftly and surely as before. Crouching low over the bird's serpentine neck, Kikimora willed her on faster.
+She couldn't tell how much time had passed, nor how many peaks they had crossed when she saw a lake in the distance. Ringed by trees and shrouded in mist, it stretched across a hanging valley, ending in a torrent that spilled a hundred feet into the forest below.
+Anzhelina tucked in her wings and began to descend. "Is this it?" Kikimora asked. "Is this where Zinobia lives?"
+The bird landed with a gentle hop, and Kikimora slid from her back, groaning as she stretched her stiff muscles. The mist was so thick she could see no more than a few strides ahead.
+"Hello?" she said, and felt ashamed that her voice came out such a thin and fearful whisper. "Zinobia?" There was no answer, only the gentle lapping of water against smooth, worn pebbles. She glanced at Anzhelina for some clue as to what she should do now, but the stork took no notice of her, and continued to preen her feathers.
+"Zinobia," Kikimora said more loudly. "Please." But the mist ate up her voice, allowing only a mushy echo of it to escape beyond the little area of shore. She sat on a sodden piece of driftwood, the breath catching in her chest. "What am I to do?"
+From the pale and drifting fog a soft voice answered, "I can end your heart-ache. I can make all the pain go away."
+***
+A face took shape amongst a swirling cloud of long, pale hair. It was ghostly white, as beautiful as the moon, its eyes as green as the glaciers that crept year by year down from the highest peaks.
+"Child," the creature said, and it reached out a cold arm, dripping with dank green rot. "Why fight when it hurts so? Join me in my palace below the water, and we shall know such joy."
+"Zinobia?"
+The pale woman smiled. "You know me. You have sought me out? That is pleasing, I admit."
+"I need your help."
+"Of course you do. As so many of your poor sisters have before you. You have come to the right place. Peace everlasting is just a short breath away."
+She stepped forward, and Kikimora couldn't help but shrink back a little towards the shadow of the forest. "No," she said. "I'm not here to join you beneath the water. Barinya sent me - the Magician's cat."
+Zinobia paused, and a frown settled on her beautiful brow. Her voice now was harder, less seductive, "Why does she send you?"
+Kikimora told her briefly of the explosion, and the miners trapped in the cavern. "Barinya thought you might be able to help somehow." She trailed off, realising she had no idea herself how a Rusalka could be of assistance in this calamity.
+Zinobia's delicate brows rose, and she gave a laugh like the crackle of small bones breaking. "Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want me to help rescue the men who poured sulphurous debris into my rivers? Who poisoned me and drove me from my home? Who broke up the greatest sisterhood of Rusalkas in all the land, and caused my Queen to go into exile? This is what you ask of me?"
+"It's true," Kikimora admitted. "I was supposed to stop them, but I couldn't. I love him, you see."
+This caught Zinobia's interest. "Well," she said, folding her long, graceful legs beneath her on the shingled shore. "You had better tell me everything."
+Kikimora tried to object that there was no time. Dmitri had already been trapped in the mine for hours. He might be injured, lost and afraid.
+"Crushed beneath fallen boulders," added Zinobia. "While the waters rise around him. Look at all this rain falling onto the mountain, draining into its many rivers and streams. I have seen those caverns flood wonderfully quickly in a deluge like this."
+"Then there is even less time!"
+Zinobia shrugged. "I have all the time in the world. What do you have?"
+Kikimora realised that without Zinobia's help she had nothing; even Anzhelina had disappeared into the fog. She was alone with the Rusalka, who so far showed no inclination to be of the slightest help. But she reasoned that Barinya would not have sent her here if the quest was hopeless. There must be some way to appeal to the better part of Zinobia's nature. She remembered Leshy telling her that Zinobia and Yevgenia had been great friends; that the Rusalkas all loved Yevgenia for her wisdom and gentleness.
+"Yevgenia would help them, I am certain."
+Zinobia glanced at her sharply. "That is perhaps so. But she abandoned us, and let us scatter to the four corners of the world. She is no longer my Queen."
+A sulkiness remained in the set of her mouth, and Kikimora sensed she had touched on a tender subject. "What did happen to her? No one seems to know."
+Zinobia gave her a long, appraising look before saying, "Her magician did something she could not forgive."
+"That much I've heard. But what was it? What did Anatoly do that was so terrible?" Even through her worry for Dmitri it seemed important to finally learn this missing piece of her family history – or at least, the family she might have had, if Anatoly had not so upset the Queen of the Rusalkas.
+Zinobia leaned close, and her voice dropped to a soft, silky whisper. "He created a monster; a baleful creature spun from the breath of an ice wyvern and the tears of a child-killer."
+Kikimora said nothing, an emptiness yawning within her.
+"But the creature would not quicken. It lay cold and unmoving in its nest of rags. It needed a heart to drive it, and so the magician looked out into the forest and he snatched the fiercest creature he could find, a young mountain lion. He cut it open and took its heart to give to his misshapen little beast.
+"And then it lived. It cried and wailed, and he didn't know what to do with it. He begged Yevgenia to help him, but she told him he had done something so awful, so unnatural that the earth herself would not forgive him. She fled into the night, vowing he would neither see her form nor hear her voice until this terrible mistake was made right."
+Zinobia's eyes narrowed, and a smile played around her pale lips. "Still silent, little one? Do you not like my tale? The magician didn't know what to do, and the infant monster kept howling. So he took it deep into the forest, and laid it on a rock by the stream. Then he returned to his home, and drank until he could no longer hear its wailing or see its pale little fists beating.
+"In the morning he regretted his cowardice, and he returned to the stream - but the infant was gone. He walked a long way through the winter forest - perhaps regretful, perhaps relieved. Who can say? But when at last he returned to his home he found the strange child lying upon his kitchen table, and curled beside her a sleek, dark cat, who hissed and scratched at his approach."
+"And though he had created his monster for a dark purpose, the magician found he no longer had the stomach to see the task through. He raised the child as well as he was able, and the cat raised it the rest of the way. And at the end of seven years-" Zinobia's gaze sharpened on Kikimora. "At the end of seven years she went out into the world wholly unprepared - and failed in the task she'd been created for."
+"How do you know all this?"
+"The waters whisper. All secrets come to me eventually." She regarded Kikimora's ashen face, and shrugged. "That's men for you. Tell me, do you still wish to rescue your miner?"
+"But Anatoly came back for me," Kikimora said, and the effort of speaking felt like lifting the weight of the earth on her narrow shoulders. "He regretted leaving me, and he came back."
+Zinobia waved a dismissive hand. "Regrets are easy. Oh, it hurts, I know. But I already told you, I can take the hurt away, if that is what you wish?"
+"Do you have any regrets?"
+"Not a single one," the Rusalka assured her. "Do you know what became of the mother who suffocated her child in his cradle, and wept and raged, and swore a wolf had taken him? After Anatoly took her tears and fashioned them into his monster, he led her to me. I embraced her. I told her gentle things. I soothed away her fear and anger. She is far happier now. She swims and sings and joins in all of our dances, as content as any of us. You too can have this peace."
+Kikimora was silent a long time, her cheeks so pale they were almost transparent. "Is that what Yevgenia meant? Will she return to Anatoly when I am dead?"
+***
+Zinobia gave a sigh of frustration. "No, I am quite certain that is not what she meant! Curse you, girl. I so nearly had you." She stood, shaking out the folds of her pale gown. "Come, then. I suppose there is no time to lose."
+"Then... " Kikimora hardly dared believe it. "You will help me?"
+Zinobia gave a strange, shrill call, and at once Anzhelina was by her side. "Take the girl to Once Golden Pool. I will find you there."
+Without another word she disappeared into the mist. Kikimora heard a faint splash, as of a smooth pebble sinking. Anzhelina turned to her, narrow head cocked on one side, and Kikimora once more climbed onto her back.
+The return journey was harder. A cold wind howled against them, flinging rain and hail with equal ferocity. Kikimora's plaits blew loose, her hair straggling and tangling around her. She bent low over Anzhelina's neck, frozen fingers clutching at her feathers. She saw that the waterfalls they had passed such a short time earlier were all swollen, white and raging, and her chest clenched with anxiety for Dmitri trapped beneath the earth.
+She didn't allow herself to think of what Zinobia had told her about Yevgenia and Anatoly. Dmitri needed her, and there was no room in her heart for other concerns. Or so she told herself each time the words misshapen little beast and terrible mistake came harsh and unbidden to her mind.
+The grey morning was advancing towards a bleak afternoon when the mine once more came into view. Anzhelina flew on past the still and silent works, following the path of the stream. From above, Kikimora could clearly see how the bright water became yellow and clouded as soon as it entered the works where the ore was washed and sorted. From here the stream flowed sluggish and unwholesome, no undergrowth clinging to its bare banks, no small life crowding its still pools.
+They continued further down the mountain until the stream emptied into a desolate looking pool. Anzhelina let Kikimora down on the rain-slicked bank, shook water from her wings, and launched once more into the air. "Wait!" Kikimora called, but with three slow wing-beats the stork was already clearing the treetops and almost out of sight.
+Wet through, hair and clothes plastered to her body, Kikimora glanced around uneasily at the shadow-hung trees. She wondered how long it would take Zinobia to reach her, but in just a few moments, the murky water shivered, and the Rusalka leapt clear onto the bank.
+"Ugh!" she exclaimed, shaking foul water from her hair. "It makes my skin creep so. I suppose you have not changed your mind? Very well, then. Come along."
+"Into the water? But how will I breathe?"
+Zinobia gave a sigh of exasperation. "You living and your precious breath! Shouldn't you have thought of this already?"
+"I didn't realise-"
+"I suppose your miners will expect to breathe as well?"
+"Yes, of course."
+"Of course," Zinobia mimicked in an unkind tone. "As though there were no other way to be!"
+"Please," Kikimora said. "Can't you think of something?"
+Zinobia harrumphed and was silent a moment. She hooked a sodden rat-tail of Kikimora's hair over her pale finger, and asked, "Have you ever observed spiders?"
+Kikimora said yes, she had, many times. Zinobia asked if she had ever seen a spider underwater. Kikimora had to think about that, but she said yes, she was quite sure she had.
+"Spiders breathe air, just as you do. But there are spiders that live their whole lives underwater, only visiting the surface briefly every day or so to collect more air."
+"Collect...?"
+"If you had looked closely at your underwater spiders, you might have observed that they carry their air with them in bubbles - stuck to the hairs on their legs and their bellies."
+"I don't have hairs on my belly," Kikimora said. "Nor on my legs really."
+"No, I don't suppose you do." Zinobia made this sound like a failing on Kikimora's part. "But you have all this." Again, she raised a hank of dripping hair. She pursed her lips, considering, then lifted both arms wide. Her face tilted up to the grey and lowering clouds, and her eyes flashed a brighter, wilder green.
+Kikimora felt the hair stand up all around her scalp, eddying and waving as though underwater. The knotted strands separated out, so that her head was enveloped in a cloud of hair, almost as wide as her outstretched arms.
+"If you have any powers, you could help me," Zinobia pointed out.
+"How?"
+"How do you think? Gather air into a bubble, and wrap it tight. Tell it to stay where it is, and not to be scared off by the water."
+"Will that work?" Kikimora asked uncertainly. Her magical powers were not strong. Anatoly had tried to teach her many spells and tricks, and she had mastered few but invisibility.
+Zinobia shrugged, saying, "I shall be interested to find out. Are you ready?"
+"How long will I need to hold it for? How far are we going?"
+"To the cavern," said Zinobia. "If we can get there. It may yet be so blocked even I can't squeeze through. Now if you're quite ready? I shouldn't like them to drown without even being there to take the credit."
+Kikimora nodded unhappily. She swept up all the air she could into her hair-wrapped pocket, and held it tight. Zinobia took her hand and dropped into the water. The air bubble might have kept Kikimora afloat, but the Rusalka's strength drew her down into a world of dim, yellow light and stinging silt. Enveloped in her own hair, she could see little beyond it. Zinobia was a ghostly presence, her hair and gown glowing a faint, unearthly white.
+Kikimora had swum many times in the forest's rivers, but she found it hard to propel herself with any speed or strength, encumbered by the air bubble. She would not have made much progress if Zinobia had not towed her swiftly onwards.
+Soon the way narrowed, and they were moving through tight and twisting passages. Zinobia darted ahead, and Kikimora snatched hold of her ankle, afraid of being stranded alone in the suffocating dark. Her air bubble lengthened and distorted, squeezed by the rocky walls; but it held fast and didn't tear.
+When they wriggled free of the last and tightest of the tunnels, the stream opened up once more. Zinobia pulled free of Kikimora's hand, disappearing in a swirl of silt and tiny bubbles. Kikimora shouted in fear, but the sound didn't leave her hair-wrapped bubble. She clumsily tried to pursue the Rusalka, but the bubble pulled her inexorably upwards, until she bobbed clear of the water's surface.
+There was a rocky shelf to one side, arching up to form the roof of a tunnel, perhaps six feet high. Ahead, it tapered away into darkness. Zinobia stood at the water's edge, saying, "You can walk for a little, if you like."
+Kikimora closed her eyes and let out a sigh of relief. She had no conception of how much time had passed in the narrow tunnels. Her fear of the dark, unforgiving water made it an eternity, but she suspected it was really not long at all.
+Fumbling with her no longer needed air supply, she tried to climb out onto the shelf. Zinobia darted a quick hand into the bubble, wrenched sharply outwards, and Kikimora's buoyant hair fell around her in disarray. She took a deep, shuddering breath of cold, cave air.
+"It worked," Zinobia observed, and Kikimora was troubled by how surprised she sounded.
+As they walked through a low, twisting series of caves, there was no sound but the rushing water, the huff of Kikimora's breath, and an occasional slither of loose stone. The uneven walls ran with glittering minerals. Long, thin stalactites reached down from the shadowy heights. Beneath them, fatter mounds formed from their calcite-rich run off. Some of the larger pairs had joined together, forming lumpen but oddly graceful pillars.
+Kikimora missed her footing more than once as she gazed in awe at the natural beauty of the caves. Each new chamber brought fresh wonders: intricate formations of filigree calcite, like the finest lace turned to stone, walls ribbed green with natural copper – and blazing with all the colours of the sunset where water trickled across the ore.
+"These were once our revelling halls," said Zinobia. "We came and went by Golden Pool. You should have seen the sunset across its clear surface. Bull-rushes and wild grasses crowded its banks, the air thick with damsel-flies and the competing calls of frogs. Small brown trout made their home in the water and, though we don't really need to eat as the living do, it was pleasing from time to time to catch one of the swift, sleek fish and bite its flesh.
+"But the men diverted the filth from their mine into the stream, and Golden Pool grew sulphurous and rotten. First the mayflies disappeared and soon after, the trout that ate them. The grass grew limp and yellow. The water lilies withered and died. Each time I passed through the pool I felt my flesh wither. My beautiful hair became lank and without lustre. I lost my appetites, as did my sisters. Some merely lay upon these rocks, not stirring a hand from one moon to the next."
+"Was that when Yevgenia came to you?"
+"She swore she would help us," Zinobia said. "But she went to that magician, and what did he do? Put a child in her belly is all. What use was that?"
+"A child?"
+"The day she knew for sure, he created his own beast, and she fled without ever telling him."
+They had reached the end of the cavern. Water tumbled from a crack in the rock, swelling the wide stream. Zinobia told her to create another air bubble, and Kikimora began to do so, asking unhappily, "How far must we go underwater this time?"
+"That depends how deep the water is. We may be able to surface from time to time. I expect you will be alright. Hold on to me, and don't let go. Ready?" She stepped forward into the torrent. The force of it almost knocked Kikimora to the stone floor, almost tore the bubble from her grasp. But Zinobia drew her relentlessly onward, allowing no time for doubts or weakness.
+They fought uphill against raging, icy water. Kikimora's feet slithered on sharp rocks, but she had no attention to spare for anything but holding on to her air supply. The narrow tunnel grew low, and then Zinobia swam again, pushing against the rocks with her hands, towing Kikimora behind. At one point they had to climb past a fallen boulder. The space was so tight, Kikimora's air bubble squeezed into a sausage shape, and she was afraid it would burst under the pressure. Zinobia saw the difficulty, and slowed, allowing the bubble time to reshape.
+At last, their progress became less of a battle. Zinobia was able to swim freely through deep caverns. When these too came to an end, Kikimora found herself once more breaking the surface. She sat on a rock at the water's edge, gasping, willing her limbs to stop trembling.
+A movement in the shadows caught her eye, and she turned to see a spider spinning its tall web from the rocks down to the water. Living in eternal darkness, it had no need of colour, and its fat body was transparent, as were the bodies of the small creatures caught in its web.
+"What's wrong?" Zinobia asked. "Are you having second thoughts? You can tell me; I shan't be cross. It is an awful lot of trouble to save a few miners, isn't it? The more so when you have to keep lugging that air bubble around. I almost wish I'd never suggested it."
+"Just catching my breath," Kikimora said. "No second thoughts." But in truth, her heart quailed at the thought of another journey beneath the water. She longed for Zinobia to tell her it wasn't much further, that soon she would see Dmitri's dark eyes and hear his voice.
+But she knew the Rusalka wouldn't tell her that, even if by some miracle it was true. So she climbed to her feet, filled her lungs with cold, damp air, and said, "Let's go."
+The way was easier for a time. They climbed through natural passageways, the water seldom coming past their knees. Kikimora became aware again of the great weight of earth and rock, of the entire mountain sitting above her. But it didn't cause her breath to shorten so, as it had that first time in the mine. After her underwater journey past boulders and up cascades, it took more than a mountain to frighten her.
+Finally they came to a deep pool, and Zinobia asked Kikimora kindly if she could face another swim.
+"Of course," Kikimora said, pushing down her dread. She wondered how long they had climbed and swum and fought their way through the inside of the mountain, wondered how much longer Dmitri could hold on. She willed him to know that she was coming for him.
+Gathering up her air bubble, she followed Zinobia into the water. The Rusalka caught her hand and pulled her downwards. Their passage was through a narrow gap deep in the pool. It was only a short swim, and then Kikimora surfaced once more. The space opened up hugely before her, undulating walls rising to an unseen roof.
+Zinobia stood pale and terrible upon the water, her ghostly light causing shadows to flicker and dance across the tumbled stones. Perched upon the rocks nearby, five men cried out in alarm, shielding their eyes and clutching each other's arms. Dmitri was not among them.
+***
+The short series of explosions had rocked the cavern, reverberating around the soaring walls, and shattering stalactites. Stunned, it had taken the men a little time to cross back to the entrance. The smoke was beginning to clear by the time Boris reached the pile of shattered rock leading out to the tunnel.
+"Dmitri!" he yelled. "What the hell's going on?" He began to scale the rocks, but they slithered and slipped beneath him.
+"There's someone there," said Feliks, scrambling up beside him. He was first to reach the ragged figure lying amongst the rubble. "Sergei!" He knelt beside his nephew, wiping blood from his face. "Sergei, can you hear me?"
+The boy stirred and groaned. Feliks began to ask if he was alright, but Boris pushed him aside. "What the hell are you playing at, boy? You might have killed us all! Where is Mr Rachmanov?"
+Dazed and terrified, Sergei tried to speak, and instead began to cough uncontrollably.
+"Easy," said Feliks, checking the boy's bones for breaks. "Can you stand?"
+Sergei nodded, wiping his eyes. Feliks helped him to his feet.
+With a sigh of frustration, Boris pushed through the gap to the far side of the rock pile. "Dmitri?" he called. "Are you there?"
+Sergei shook his head. "Mr Rachmanov returned to the enclosure."
+"Why would you set charges without him, lad?" Feliks' voice was thick with disappointment.
+"I did just as he told me. He showed me where, and I said, but what about the men...!"
+"There must be some mistake," Feliks said, helping him down to the cavern floor. "Why didn't you wait for him?"
+They heard Boris shouting in the tunnel, but no answering voice. A moment later he re-emerged at the top of the pile, saying, "The way is blocked. Grigory, Feodor, come and help me shift these stones-" Small pieces of debris began to rain down from a fault in the rock beside him.
+Feliks glanced up in alarm. "Boris!"
+Any further words were drowned in a sudden terrible grinding. A section of rock face as big as a cottage sheared loose, slipping down and shattering on the fallen rocks. Boris was thrown forward, the whole loose pile spraying outwards.
+"Boris!" Feliks yelled again. For a moment, no one dared move forward while the shifting stones settled and stilled. Choking dust hung in the air, stinging the eyes and throat.
+Grigory found Boris by following his vehement swearing. The foreman was pinned beneath a block of limestone, his face white with agony. Grigory shouted for the men to bring their shunts, and together they levered the stone up, dragging Boris free. Throughout the procedure he kept up a constant and endlessly inventive stream of profanity, which was an education to even the oldest of his companions. Sergei didn't think he repeated himself once.
+At last Grigory helped him to stand, but his leg was broken, and he could put no weight on it. Together with Feliks they manoeuvred him to the water's edge and sat him on the rocks there, well back from the fall.
+As the dust settled and the immediate danger seemed to be over, Sergei haltingly explained his instructions from Dmitri, to the men's shock and varying degrees of disbelief. Feliks rested his hand heavily on the boy's shoulder, saying wearily, "I am sure you believed you were doing right."
+"That's just it, though," Sergei said, his face ashen. "I knew it couldn't be right. I knew it, after all Master Dmitri has taught me. But I did it anyway, because he said he was counting on me, and I didn't want to disappoint him."
+Despite their anger and frustration, no one doubted Sergei's sincerity. Feodor muttered, "Perhaps the boy's right? Perhaps Mr Rachmanov's head was so filled with his fiddle playing and all his fancy parties, he plain forgot about us worthless wretches. What are we to him? Nothing."
+Boris' hand clenched on the rock at his side. "That is not true."
+"It is odd, though," said Feliks unhappily. "What would they even be doing in the tunnel?"
+"He showed me exactly where to lay the charges," Sergei insisted, not for the first time. "And he told me to do it alone."
+The older men exchanged troubled glances. "Aye, lad," said Feliks. "We don't blame you."
+Feodor looked up sharply at that, and might have had something to say about it, but Feliks' level gaze silenced him.
+"Perhaps the master has gone mad?" said Grigory. "They say his father is mad, what with-"
+Boris told him to shut his mouth, and not speak of matters he was ignorant of. Feodor muttered that they weren't all favoured lapdogs of the master, and the argument quickly grew to encompass every member of the group, with accusations and threats being thrown in all directions. But at last the anger burned out, and a miserable silence settled across them.
+"Well," said Feliks. "We had better start shifting rock."
+Feodor objected that there was too much, and they would never manage. Feliks asked him what he suggested – sitting on his arse and waiting for help from the other men? Who knew how long that could take. Days? Weeks?
+"Weeks?" echoed Sergei. "I didn't even bring my dinner with me."
+Feliks gave a heavy sigh. "Weeks, if we're lucky."
+While the other men began to move stones from the blocked entrance, Boris made an inventory of their possessions. All except Sergei had a small package of bread or pastry. It wouldn't last them a day. They had no beer, but there was plenty of water to drink if they were desperate - which he supposed they would be before long. He brought the small hip flask from his pocket, giving it a shake. It was light, the liquid sloshing freely. He pulled the cork, lifting it to his mouth, but paused, heady fumes dispelling the damp cave air. His mouth watered at the prospect of a drink, and god knows he'd earned if after his fall. But a more cautious part of him recognised that his need would be greater before this was over, and he tucked it back into his pocket.
+Between them, the men had just over two dozen candles. Boris knew each would burn for three hours – though several were already half used. They would not have much more than three days of light. It wasn't enough. He at once ordered the men to extinguish all but one candle; yes, he did mean the ones in their hat brims as well.
+"How will we see what we're doing?" Feodor demanded. "They'll be another accident before you know it. We'll all be joining you on the invalid's bench."
+Boris bridled at the description, but said nothing. He didn't have to; the men were already pinching their flames out and handing the candles to him for safe keeping. They all knew how vital light was. No matter how bad their situation seemed now, it would be immeasurably worse once the candles ran out.
+So they toiled in near darkness, taking it in turns to carry the solitary flame, swapping out occasionally to rest and scoop up handfuls of the icy water. For all their sweat and strain, progress was pitifully slow. The sounds of human exertion seemed thin and insignificant in that huge space. Rather than echo, the emptiness seemed to dampen the sound.
+Frustrated that he couldn't help, Boris sat alone, glaring into the black, unknowable depths of the cavern. There was a hypnotic quality to the darkness, the soft, endless roar of rushing water, the darting specks of light. He began to imagine the light growing stronger, an eerie glow emanating from the depths. How long had they been trapped here? It was hard to tell. Perhaps a day had passed already, and he had sat up throughout the night while the others laboured? Was he losing his wits through exhaustion?
+But no, they were only on the third candle. It couldn't be more than a day. And the light was growing stronger. Brighter. Blinding.
+The water erupted in a fountain of light, and a brilliantly glowing figure hovered before him. His first, and greatly astonished, thought was that an angel had come to lead him to his reward. Who could have guessed the puffed up priests had it right all along? But it took only a moment for his eyes to adjust and for him to see the figure more clearly.
+"Rusalka!" cried Sergei. "I knew there was something down here! I knew it."
+The men's terror pleased Zinobia. "Tremble, mortals!" she told them, and they did tremble. Those who were able drew back from the water's edge; only Boris remained sitting, stiff and awkward, before her.
+"We are honest miners," he told her. "Have pity, beautiful and terrible Rusalka."
+"Pity?" Zinobia hissed. "Did you pity my sisters when your sulphurous waste poisoned our waters? Did you pity the damsel-flies when they drowned in your stinking pools?"
+Boris didn't know how to answer that. While he tried to think of an appropriate response which might not unduly anger the creature, a second pale figure rose from the water. Less prepossessing than the first, she surfaced with a gasp, wiping her eyes and shuddering. She didn't hover eerily on the surface, but climbed from the pool, dripping and exhausted.
+Her large eyes took in the immense cavern, Boris seated, and the other four men cowering nearby. "Where is Dmitri?" she asked.
+Feliks overcame his fear sufficiently to tell her that was a damned good question.
+"He was with you," Kikimora said to Sergei. "I saw you enter the mine together."
+Since Sergei seemed too terrified to speak, Feliks told the two strange, pale women of Dmitri's inexplicable behaviour.
+"And what business is it of yours?" added Feodor, ignoring Grigory's attempts to shush him.
+"No," Kikimora said. "That's not what happened."
+"You were here, were you, girl?"
+Kikimora struggled to recall precisely what Anatoly had told her. It seemed a lifetime ago – before the endless miles of flooded tunnels. "Dmitri didn't cause the explosion. It was Anatoly. Oh no," she said, realising the extent of Anatoly's deceit. "We've come to the wrong place! It has all been for nothing."
+Zinobia's delicate brows rose and her gaze turned with interest to the weary men. "So, you don't want these ones? Can we drown them?"
+***
+Dmitri smelled damp earth. The darkness seemed to press upon him like a blanket. He had pins and needles in his arms, which were trapped or tangled or somehow restrained. His own breath sounded loud in the stillness. Beyond that was a faint and far off roar, like a storm-racked forest or a river in flood. He pulled against his bonds, but struggling seemed only to tighten them.
+His mouth tasted foul with the after-effects of too much wine, but his memories of the night before were clear enough. The encounter with his father had not gone well. Stanislav had accused him of trying to make trouble where none existed, of endeavouring to bring down shame and ill-repute upon their family. Dmitri didn't make the strongest case, for he couldn't bear to repeat some of the things Rudov and his friends had said about Yana. The things he did report Stanislav flatly refused to believe.
+By then Yana had heard the commotion, and come to intervene, although Dmitri had asked her not to. She overheard things Dmitri never wished her to, and she burst in upon them both – not in tears, but with cold and angry composure. Dmitri had coloured and apologised; Stanislav had raged that he'd raised her better – raised both of them better - than to listen at doors.
+Yana stood silently, letting them bluster and rattle. When they ran out of words, she said simply, "There will be no wedding, Father." She ignored his renewed raging, turned to Dmitri, and spoke without warmth, "I must thank you for bringing this matter to my attention before I became the laughing stock of Korsakov." She added that she would be in her chamber if anyone needed her, then left, closing the door carefully behind her.
+"I hope you're satisfied?" Stanislav growled, and Dmitri said that yes, he was tolerably satisfied, for his dearest wish was for his sister to be happy and respected, as she deserved.
+He left shortly after, with a good deal less composure than Yana had shown. But the damp, foggy night had soon cooled his temper. The fog pressed about him so close he could barely see the path. He hoped and trusted that Agnesse knew her way, and was not so easily confused by the darkness and mist. But Agnesse seemed disquieted. She stamped around in circles, and seemed inclined to return to Stanislav's house.
+Dmitri flicked the reins, chiding her laziness. The branches of overhanging trees pressed lower and closer than he remembered. Reaching out from the pale nothingness, they snatched at him like sentient things. He told himself sternly not to be so foolish, but his disquiet increased.
+Agnesse plodded onwards, ears flicking nervously from time to time. Dmitri gave her frequent, reassuring pats, whispering to her that everything was alright; they would soon be home and safe, and he would give her an extra handful of oats. But his voice sounded small and lost amongst the fog.
+In time the clawing branches fell away. "We must be nearing the road," Dmitri said soothingly. "Not far now."
+The fog drew back a little, and he could see that the way had opened up. Not too far away through the sparse trees he could see a light, and he allowed himself a smile of relief. They must be closer to town than he'd realised. He gave a sigh of relief, rolling back his hunched shoulders, and encouraged Agnesse to a brisker pace.
+From the drifting fog something large and pale loomed suddenly before them, hooting furiously. Agnesse reared up, her forelegs thrashing in fear. Dmitri fell heavily to the ground. Winded, he took a moment to gather his senses. By the time he'd regained his feet, there was no sign of Agnesse, or of whatever creature had spooked her.
+He called softly, clucking his tongue. But there was neither sight nor sound of the horse. The mist drew back further, and he could see the ground was boggy, covered in clumps of reeds and sharp grasses. The few trees were low and spiky. Dmitri didn't recognise the place.
+The fall had muddled his sense of direction, and he no longer knew for sure which way he had come. He set off in what he thought was the right direction, but his boots began to sink into the boggy ground, and he hastily retreated.
+More lights appeared, flickering among the grasses, but Dmitri realised now these were marsh-lights, and not to be trusted. "Agnesse," he called again, the fear rising thickly in his chest. "Come on, old girl." The tall grasses stirred, though whether from the rising wind or some movement within, Dmitri couldn't tell. He swallowed and called again, perhaps a little more softly, "Agnesse. I have an apple..."
+He turned in a slow circle, searching for any movement in the barren, marshy land. So quickly he never saw it coming, something large and heavy barrelled into him, knocking him down. Whatever it was tumbled with him, the two of them rolling over and over, until the soft ground suddenly gave way, and they were falling.
+He landed with a thump. In the brief, woozy confusion before unconsciousness claimed him, it seemed to Dmitri that deft fingers frisked him, and that a low, husky voice said, "I like apples."
+He couldn't say how much time had passed since then. His head was sore, as were his arms and back. His mouth tasted thick and unwholesome. He was in a low, gently curving tunnel. What little light there was came from beyond its further end. The earthen walls were stuck with roots and rocks. Whatever held him was rough and fibrous, and seemed well anchored to the earth. Roots, he thought. It is the roots of some tree. Though he couldn't understand how a tree could have bent itself around him so thoroughly.
+He felt more than heard a faint thud from close by. "Hello?" he called.
+There was a snuffling, scraping sound, and some large shape rounded the curving tunnel, moving quickly towards him. He felt rough fur brush his arm, and smelled its musty odour.
+He began a polite greeting, but broke off in surprise when fingers delved once more into his pockets. He was briskly searched, and relieved of a handful of coins and a few loose oats. These were sniffed, and tossed aside.
+"More apples?"
+Dmitri said regretfully that he had no more apples with him, but he would be happy to return home and fetch some - as many as the creature wished. More apples that it had ever seen.
+"I have seen many apples," the creature said, sounding both sceptical and offended – as though Dmitri had suggested it was some unworldly fool to be bought off so easily.
+"Of course. I apologise."
+The creature loomed closer, so that he felt its hot breath upon his face. "That's good. You have much to apologise for, Dmitri Rachmanov."
+Dmitri would have drawn back, but his bonds allowed little movement. He peered at the creature, his unease growing. Its form was hard to make sense of. It was somewhat like a bear, but its fur was long and shaggy. Also it had fingers, and it spoke.
+"I don't know who you are, or how I have given offence. But tell me what I have done that upsets you, and I will do my best to make what amends I can-"
+"Amends?" the creature snarled. "How will you make amends for all my dead trees? The sick and homeless Rusalkas? The poisoned plants and beasts? What powers do you have, human, to make all this right?"
+Dmitri asked with some indignation why these charges were laid at his door.
+"Do you not run that infernal mine? Do you not order the riches stripped from the earth? Boiled and beaten and transformed into your gleaming metals - and the poisonous residue dumped in the forest? You cannot make it right. The poison has gone too deep. It is hopeless."
+The creature beat his fists against the earthen walls, showering himself and Dmitri with loose soil. "What is the point even of apologies?"
+"Surely it isn't as bad as all that?"
+"You understand nothing."
+"Then explain it to me, and together we may be able to think of some solution."
+The creature frowned at him through the gloom. "Is this some trick, human? I know of humans and their tricks."
+Dmitri assured him he had no trick in mind. "Why don't you begin by telling me who you are?"
+"You don't even know? At one time the name Leshy was known throughout the land. It was whispered fearfully by men who knew to show respect. But those days are dead and gone, just like my trees, and the fish and the frogs..."
+"Leshy? Yes, I know that name."
+"Truly?"
+"Irinka told me many tales when I was a boy. The Leshy was a creature as tall as the tallest pine, strong as a bear, with eyes like glowing coals..."
+"Yes!" said Leshy. "Yes, that's me. I can be tall. And I can be small." He proved this by shrinking, taking the shape of a plump mouse, and running up Dmitri's chest on tiny claws. "I can be any creature of the forest."
+He still sat on Dmitri's chest as he retook his original large, shaggy form. Dmitri groaned, the breath squashed out of him.
+"What else did you hear?"
+"That you are the lord of the forest and the wild places."
+Leshy shook his huge head. "No, not the lord. It is like a human to make that mistake. The wild acknowledges no lord. I am the protector. The guardian. The forest is my responsibility. But you came and tore down my trees, more and more of them, to feed your furnaces."
+Dmitri said the forest was full of trees. "Why may we not take them? More always grow. Sometimes I swear they grow overnight."
+"And the effort costs me dearly," Leshy snapped. "You take too many. More than your share. The trees that grow back are weak and unhealthy. How could they be any other way when the waters that should nourish them are full of poison? Where will my creatures live? My squirrels? My sparrows and woodpeckers? And the grubs they feed on? What of the bears and wolves and wild cats that feed on the birds? Where will they go looking for food? To your farms? Your towns?"
+Dmitri said he hoped not, for the beasts would surely be shot.
+"And when the poison creeps into your farms? What then?"
+"There are no small-holdings near to the mine."
+"The poison flows from your mine into the streams, and from there to the river. The large estate down by the water meadows once produced the finest wine in the country. The land was rich and wholesome. Now it is barren. The vines failed so many years the man pulled them up and tried a new crop, but it fares just as poorly. His is the foulest beer for miles around. What answer have you to that?"
+Dmitri had no answer, for he realised Leshy was talking about Rudov, and one of the reasons for his failing finances. He saw that if what Leshy said was true, then he himself was in part responsible for that hateful man's determination to marry a rich wife. "You truly believe the mine is the cause of this despoliation?"
+"What else could it be? Have you not eyes in your head to see?"
+"Perhaps I have not looked too closely," Dmitri admitted. "But what of these Rusalkas? You say they have been driven away by the poisoned waters – but surely that's a good thing? Are they not evil spirits who murder innocent men?"
+"No!" cried Leshy. "They're the sweetest girls. Sometimes they drown people, I grant you. But they have their role to play, the same as any of us. They didn't even do much drowning those final years, after Yevgenia came to them."
+Dmitri was silent a moment, pondering all that Leshy had told him. "I am sorry the mine offends you," he said eventually. "But it is the livelihood of many men. How would you have us live, if not by the copper we extract?"
+Leshy said it was no concern of his.
+"But," said Dmitri, thinking of something clever. "Once I come into the forest, do I not become a creature of the forest? Do I not become part of your responsibility?"
+Leshy showed what he thought of this comment with a low and dangerous growl. "Perhaps once - a long time ago. But men stopped being under my guardianship when they began to use iron tools, and to strip minerals from the ground."
+Dmitri sighed, flopping back against the ensnaring roots. "I never wanted to run the mine, you know. I was supposed to be a musician. I was going to tour the cities of Europe, playing my violin."
+Leshy grunted. "That's how you bewitched Kikimora."
+"What do you know of Kikimora?" But Dmitri knew the answer before he had even finished asking the question. Of course Kikimora. "You sent her? To torment me?"
+"We all did, Anatoly and I, and the North Wind. We sent her to haunt you, to drive you mad. To destroy you."
+"Destroy me?" Dmitri had guessed his shy, mercurial spirit acted at someone else's behest, but still he was taken aback to hear it confirmed so baldly. "What hold do you have over her? What spell have you cast?"
+"We need no spell! She is Anatoly's child – one of us. Your destruction was the very purpose of her creation. It is you who bewitched her, with your music. She is a good girl, and she tried to do her duty. But you confuse her so that she doesn't know her own mind."
+Dmitri felt chilled through to his bones. It was hard to hear that Kikimora had worked against him of her own volition. Yet Leshy's words began to make sense of her puzzling behaviour. Despite all the mischief, she had also shown him many kindnesses. She had looked after his kitchen and embroidered his shirt. She had foiled the pickpocket, and taken him to confront that snake, Rudov. He recalled how he had read to her and sung and played, and afterwards how they had whispered to one another in the darkness of his bedchamber.
+"She thought she was fond of you, but it could not be. I told her she must go back and fulfil her duty. For a while she rediscovered her true purpose, but... I mustn't let her see you again."
+Dmitri glanced up sharply. "What do you mean?"
+"Her resolve is weak, and this hold you have over her is strong. It would be best if you do not leave my burrow. She will forget you, in time."
+Dmitri swallowed; his mouth tasted sour. He tugged at his bound arms until the fibres cut his flesh; but they didn't loosen. Through the gloom, Leshy's eyes seemed to glow like the fiery embers of Irinka's tales.
+"You mean to kill me? You must know it will make no difference to the mine. Some other man will come in my stead to run it."
+Leshy said it would make a difference to Kikimora. "Besides, Anatoly has a plan. He came to me last night, and told me where to find you. He wanted me to keep you away from the mine."
+"What plan?"
+"He didn't tell me any details. There will be an accident today. That's all I know."
+"This is monstrous. Men will die - women and children too! How can you speak so calmly of such a thing?"
+Leshy said he had observed more death than Dmitri could imagine: natural and unnatural, swift and merciful, cruel and lingering. "What is the life of a human, compared to the life of a forest? A small, insignificant mortal with a span of just a few years, and a living thing which spans acres and ages. A thing that could be immortal – if it was only left alone to thrive and grow."
+"But a forest doesn't live as a man does!"
+"True. It doesn't take without giving. It doesn't destroy. It doesn't plunder and enslave..."
+"But it has no feelings! No heart, no blood. It doesn't dream, and hope, and love..."
+"Doesn't it? What are the streams you have poisoned, if not the forest's veins? You say the forest doesn't dream or love? But what do you know? A may-fly could claim the same of you! To him, your life must seem unbearably slow and uneventful."
+"But," said Dmitri. He wanted to refute Leshy's words, but the arguments seemed to evade him.
+Leshy gave a sigh that shook loose earth from the ceiling into his shaggy fur. "You should have gone off to play your fiddle, like you wanted, and left all of this alone."
+Dmitri said it wasn't that easy. He had a duty to his father, who was old and unwell, and relied on him. Leshy made a dismissive noise, saying there was no duty in the forest; each creature was free.
+"Except Kikimora," Dmitri observed. "She is constrained by this duty to you and to her father. You do not allow her the free will even to form attachments."
+Leshy grew angry, saying Dmitri didn't understand, and it was none of his business, and they'd waited so long for her to fulfil her destiny! Then he sighed, and flopped down on his haunches. "I never thought of it that way before. Do you think she's unhappy?"
+"I don't know. Kikimora is... perplexing. Shy and fearful. Unpredictable and mischievous. But despite everything you have told me, everything you asked her to do, I don't believe she is wicked. She has a good heart, I'm sure of it."
+"The best," agreed Leshy. "Anatoly gave her the heart of a lion."
+Dmitri frowned, not understanding the comment. But there were many troubling things about his situation, and that didn't seem the most pressing. "Where is she now?"
+"At the mine, perhaps?"
+"Then she could be in danger!"
+"From Anatoly? No. He is her father. He cares for her."
+"But she makes herself invisible and sneaks around. What if he doesn't know she's there?"
+Leshy assured him Kikimora would be unable to hide from Anatoly. "He created her. He knows all her tricks and powers."
+Dmitri asked if Leshy had ever been underground – deep into the mountain. Leshy shuddered, and said he would burrow into earth, but not rocks; there was no comfort to be had there.
+"It is another world - dark, disorienting. Sound travels strangely. Distance and direction are hard to keep hold of. There are miles of tunnels down there, branching and ever branching. If she was far away down some distant drift, fathoms from the surface - are you quite certain he would know?"
+"But why would she be?"
+"As you said, she had rediscovered her purpose. What if she has gone to... well, to interfere with me somehow?"
+"No," said Leshy, but he picked fretfully at his fur, absently chewing whatever he found there. "He will make sure she is safe."
+"You're quite certain?"
+"Yes," said Leshy, sounding anything but.
+Dmitri hesitated a moment before suggesting, "We could go and make sure?"
+"I told you, no tricks. This sounds like tricks."
+With an effort, Dmitri kept his voice calm, "You say Anatoly loves Kikimora. You have spoken fondly of her yourself. But neither of you are prepared to make sure she is safe?"
+Leshy slapped his paws against his head, struggling to discern the best course of action, and frustrated by his own slow-wittedness. "Very well," he said at last. "I will find her, and see that she is safe."
+Dmitri sighed. "Thank you." He began to say more, but broke off with an unhappy exclamation as cold water seeped into his boots and breeches. Leshy too looked down at the water trickling into the tunnel, but seemed unconcerned by it. He turned and bounded towards the entrance.
+Dmitri tugged uselessly at his restraints. "Please! The water is rising. I'll be drowned."
+Leshy paused for a moment, turning to look back at his captive. He bowed his head, and carried on, passing out of Dmitri's sight.
+"Wait, Leshy!" Dmitri wrenched at the living wood holding him, but it wouldn't yield. Eventually he slumped back, exhausted.
+"Tree," he said, since he was out of ideas, and no longer had faith in the division between what seemed reasonable and what did not. "Tree, I am sorry if ever I offended or harmed you. I'm afraid I have been ignorant of many things. But if you let me go I will do my utmost to put right all the wrongs you have suffered."
+He listened for any answering creak or sigh, but there was none. The water began to creep past his knees. He tried again. "I am sure I could do more good if I am returned to the world than will be achieved by my death here."
+Still there came no answer, and the roots held him as securely as ever. "Well," he said, letting his eyes close. "Thank you for listening anyway, tree."
+***
+"No, you cannot drown them," said Kikimora. "We had better take them back."
+"No one will know," Zinobia promised. "Not even your Dmitri – if you ever find him. It's all just a terrible accident; and they brought it on themselves, in any case..."
+"Enough, Zinobia. We're not drowning anyone." And though Kikimora's voice was not loud or angry, there was a weariness to it, a finality, that caused the Rusalka to purse her lips and obey.
+"You remind me of her," she observed. "Yevgenia. The same incomprehensible attachment to these humans. The same bossiness."
+Kikimora said she would take it as a compliment. She told the men, "Dmitri was never here. It was just Anatoly wearing a glamour – the same as Glinka. He knew Sergei would do as Dmitri told him."
+Feodor wanted to know who Anatoly was, and what the hell any of it had to do with a pair of Rusalkas. Boris told him to be quiet, and politely asked Kikimora to explain herself in terms the men could understand.
+"It must have been a damned fine disguise," he muttered, when she had done so. But however unlikely it all sounded, he believed the girl spoke with conviction. Still, a large question remained unanswered. "So where is Dmitri?"
+Feodor muttered that the master had probably overslept again after staying up all night playing his fiddle.
+"No," said Kikimora. It couldn't be coincidence that he'd failed to turn up at the mine on the day Anatoly wanted to impersonate him. "I fear he may be in greater danger than any of you. But I can't help him until we get out of here." She said she and Zinobia could lead them safely out of the cavern, though the way was long and difficult, and the men would have to trust them.
+Feodor shook his head. "Trust a Rusalka? And a ... whatever you might be. Not while there's breath in my body! You'd have to be mad."
+"Or trapped," Kikimora said softly. "Deep within the earth, while a storm rages outside, and the waters steadily rise..."
+Sergei glanced up into the dark reaches far above his head. "But the cavern is huge. We won't drown in here."
+Zinobia shrugged. "Perhaps not. But you will starve while the caved in tunnel floods, and no one is able to even try and rescue you."
+The men glanced at each other uneasily. There was silence but for the steady rush of water, pouring across the stream bed, deepening the dark pool. Boris looked up at the strange, pale girl standing before him, at the Rusalka floating serenely beyond her. "I'll go with you."
+Zinobia scowled. "That one's broken. We should leave him. He'll only be a burden."
+"We will not leave him," Kikimora said. "We can bring all of them safely back through the tunnels."
+"Not a chance," said Feodor. "I'm going nowhere. They'll dig us out. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow-"
+"Maybe not next week, either," added Feliks. "Or the week after that. How long can a man live without food, do you suppose?"
+No one was sure. Sergei said he was already hungry. Boris asked how far they must travel through the water, and Kikimora told him they could do this first part on one easy breath, and then walk for a way.
+"Take me, then," he said, promising to come straight back so the others could see he still lived.
+Kikimora helped him to stand. He couldn't put any weight on his left leg, and hopped uncomfortably to the pool's edge, gasping as he slipped into the icy water. Grigory darted forward, clasping his shoulder and promising that if he didn't come back they would remember him fondly, "For as long as we are able."
+Boris smiled through chattering teeth, saying, "I'll be back before you know it. And before the night is through we'll all be free."
+Zinobia flashed the men a sharp-toothed smile before she, Boris and Kikimora disappeared beneath the water. The single candle seemed slimmer comfort than ever in the absence of the Rusalka's eerie glow.
+"Do you think we shall see Boris again?" No one answered Sergei's question. "Will they come back for us?" After further silence he said, "We shall die here, shan't we?"
+Feliks rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. He wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Instead he said quietly that it was as good a place as any.
+"No, it's not," said Grigory. "I'd rather die at home, in bed with my wife. At the age of 90."
+His words raised a quiet chuckle, and Feliks said he wouldn't mind dying in bed with Grigory's wife either. Ordinarily Grigory might have taken offence at this comment, and might have felt obliged to use his fists to defend his wife's honour. Perhaps it was the uncomfortable imminence of death, but her honour didn't seem to trouble him unduly.
+Feodor laughed first. Then Sergei let loose an embarrassed splutter. Soon all four men were helpless with laughter.
+Their mirth disappeared as Boris resurfaced, gasping and shuddering. Zinobia rose from the water, and hovered as before on its surface. It was left to Kikimora to help Boris up. He lay shaking on the rocks at the water's edge, skin blotched and ruddy from the cold.
+"He seems to be breathing," Grigory said, reaching a hesitant hand to his face.
+"Of course I'm still breathing!" Boris snapped. "And I'm bloody freezing. Now, will you come with me?"
+"I'll come," Sergei said. "Ludmila has promised she will dance with me this May Day, and I mean to hold her to it."
+"Good lad," said Boris. "So you shall."
+Feliks stood, saying, "I won't be shown up for less backbone than the lad."
+Grigory said, "I must at least try to get back to my Sasha."
+He turned to Feodor, who scowled and swore, telling them they were all crazy. "Dammit," he said finally. "I'll not stay here alone! But you mark my words, our bones will rot at the bottom of some hell-dark cave, and our wives never know what became of us."
+Boris glanced at Zinobia, twirling on the water, letting her ragged hems fly around her as she hummed a melancholy tune. "Perhaps," he said grimly. "But at least we will have tried to save ourselves."
+Kikimora guided him back through the pool. They surfaced in complete darkness, flailing for the water's edge, and hauling themselves out as Zinobia's light welled beneath the surface. She rose crossly into the air, and Sergei appeared a moment later, gasping for breath. Boris helped him to the rocks.
+"He kicked away from me!" Zinobia said indignantly. "I hadn't finished yet."
+"Finished what?" Kikimora asked sharply, and Sergei exclaimed that she had bitten him.
+"Only a little nibble. He's so young and juicy-"
+Kikimora told Zinobia to apologise, which she grudgingly did, swearing on her oath that she wouldn't bite the boy again. She returned alone for Feliks, and Kikimora remained with Boris and Sergei. As her pale glow disappeared beneath the water, they were left in perfect darkness, their ragged breaths echoing in the cave.
+Kikimora muttered under her breath, and a second later, a faint light appeared before her. Sergei crossed himself. Boris said, "What are you, then? You're no Rusalka. What's your business with Dmitri?"
+Kikimora concentrated on increasing the light.
+Sergei gave a sharp intake of breath. "You're the Pale Lady who has been haunting him!"
+"You're the one causing trouble at the mine?" demanded Boris. "Why, in God's name? Do you have any idea what you have cost us? Our livelihoods ruined!"
+Kikimora's light began to fade, returning her to darkness. "As Anatoly instructed."
+"This Anatoly again? Didn't we just establish that Sergei following his instructions is what landed us all in this unenviable position? Did Anatoly send you to us now? God knows I've said it seldom enough, but Feodor may be right! Are you leading us to some more dreadful fate than already awaits us?"
+"No, I had nothing to do with this. Anatoly told me what he'd done, and I came to save Dmitri. I didn't realise... Anatoly must have some other plan for him." She tried not to consider what that might be.
+"Do you truly mean us no harm?" asked Sergei.
+"We will lead you from the mountain, and I will do my best to prevent Zinobia from hurting you. I cannot say more than that."
+The Rusalka re-emerged from the water, towing Feliks behind her. She and Kikimora then slipped into the pool once more. They fetched Feodor and Grigory without incident, and everyone seemed relieved that the first part of the journey had been successfully completed. But the men didn't know how far there still was to go, and Kikimora didn't tell them.
+Feliks and Grigory each threw an arm under Boris' shoulders, and they began to walk back through the winding tunnels and shallow pools. Zinobia went ahead, her glow lighting the way. Kikimora came last, ensuring no one went astray. Progress was slow.
+With no immediate hardships to distract her, she couldn't help but wonder what had become of Dmitri. He might be injured. Dying. Lost and alone - with no idea what she had gone through to try and save him.
+Anatoly must be behind his disappearance; that much was clear. But what had he done? She longed to abandon the slow-moving miners, to race back through the miles of narrow tunnel, and confront him. But she knew she couldn't. The men would die without her and, unlike Anatoly, she didn't consider their lives a fair price to achieve her goal.
+Feliks slipped, and Grigory stumbled as Boris' weight all fell to him.
+"Wait," Feliks said. "I must get my breath."
+Kikimora struggled to contain her frustration as they lowered Boris carefully to the rocks. All the men were soaked and freezing. Their breath came heavy through chattering teeth.
+"Let me help," Sergei said. The others glanced doubtfully at his narrow shoulders and skinny chest. "I'm stronger than I look!" he protested, and Feliks nodded.
+Feodor then felt eyes on him. "I wish I could help, but I've already put my back out hefting those rocks around. You know it has never been right since that rock fall three years ago. It won't help anyone to have two invalids on your hands."
+Zinobia stepped forward. "Perhaps I can help?"
+Boris, his face pale and drawn, asked what she would have in return.
+Zinobia looked him over, a narrow tongue flicking across her lips. "He is not unattractive," she said, as though to herself. "It is a shame he is broken, but perhaps he could be fixed?"
+"Forget it," Grigory said. "We can manage. We'll make no deal with a Rusalka."
+Zinobia did her best to look wounded and innocent. "I ask only for a kiss."
+Despite the cold, Boris wiped sweat from his lip, trembling as Grigory helped him to his feet. "Get us all out of here in good health, and you shall have your kiss, Rusalka."
+Zinobia's smile was wide and showed many small, sharp teeth. She rose higher above the water, her light illuminating the dripping roof of sharp stalactites. She selected one, longer and thinner than the rest, and snapped it at its root. Her hands moved swiftly over the hard calcite surface, shaping and smoothing it as easily as warm wax. In just a moment she descended to the tunnel floor, and handed Boris a crude walking stick.
+He tested his weight, and found the stick comfortable in his hand. "Thank you."
+"My pleasure," said Zinobia.
+After what seemed hours of painfully slow progress, they arrived at the pool where colourless insects skittered across the walls. Feodor muttered that this would be where the drowning started, and the Rusalka flashed him a smile that was not at all reassuring.
+"How far does the water stretch?" Sergei asked, teeth aching from the cold.
+"Some way," Kikimora said cautiously.
+"At least we will be travelling with the current," Zinobia said. "If anything we will probably be swept along too quickly and lose control."
+"So one good breath will be enough?"
+"No."
+"I knew it." Rather than dismayed by the news, Feodor sounded pleased to be proven right.
+"So how will we pass?"
+Zinobia didn't answer for a time. She busied herself gathering a number of long spider webs from the cave's dark recesses. She gulped air into her little-used lungs, blowing it into each web in turn, inflating it, and folding it around until it formed a rough pocket. She handed a web-wrapped bubble to each of the miners, explaining that each had his own small reservoir of air to breathe as they travelled through the flooded passages.
+"Something's moving in mine," said Sergei.
+Zinobia glided to his side, and plucked a plump, transparent insect from the web. She popped it in her mouth, crunched and swallowed, chiding him, "If you hadn't made such a fuss you could have kept it all to yourself."
+"Will it be enough?" Kikimora asked, eyeing the lumpen bubbles. They were no bigger than apples - withered winter apples at that.
+Zinobia shrugged and said perhaps she could inflate them a little more. "Though if they burst I shall hold you accountable."
+"If any burst," Boris said. "You shall not get your kiss, Rusalka."
+Zinobia lifted one eyebrow, and said, "We shall see."
+She went to each man, filled the air bubble as tight as she could, and told him to clamp the loose ends between his lips. Sergei's bubble had begun to deflate through the hole torn in the side. But Zinobia smoothed it over, and it once more held tight.
+Feodor shook his head, asking what manner of devilry this was. "You can't tell me this is anything God would approve of."
+Zinobia gave him a scornful look and told him he could stay here if he wished, and see if his death pleased God any better.
+She manoeuvred the men to the water's edge and told them to link hands. "Don't lose your grip on those either side of you. Don't bite the web and tear it. Don't let go of it. We may all make it to the other side..."
+"Well, it was good knowing you all," Feodor said glumly and, turning to Grigory, he added, "At least your Sasha is young and handsome enough she may yet find another husband to look after her. My poor Olga – I daresay she'll be left to her own devices."
+"Feodor!"
+"And it's a shame, because the woman's a damned fine cook. Best goulash this side of the Carpathians."
+"Feodor," Boris said again, more gently. "You shall taste Olga's goulash again. I swear it."
+But Feodor only crossed himself and said it was bad luck to make vows you couldn't keep.
+Boris said, "I am honoured to have known and worked with you all. We shall speak again on the other side of this water." Placing the air bubble between his lips, he allowed Zinobia to lead him once more into the rushing water.
+***
+Leshy emerged blinking into a deluge. Clouds churned overhead, throwing down needle sharp rain. The wind seemed to come from every direction, violently shaking the trees, and tossing any loose debris into the air.
+He hurried to the shelter of the great willow tree in whose roots he had made his burrow. Shaking water from his fur, he hunkered down beneath its branches and began to lick mud from his paws. He knew he ought to go at once and make sure Kikimora was safe, but he thought again of the miner – the musician – trapped beneath the earth as the water rose, and he hesitated, unsure if he was doing the right thing. He reminded himself it was for Kikimora's own good he kept the man from her. But something felt uncomfortable deep within his chest, as though he had accidentally swallowed a piece of bark or some small piece of bone.
+As he argued it back and forth he was joined by a small, wet cat. "Barinya! What are you doing here, so far from home? Are you lost?"
+Barinya gave him a scornful look. "I came to find you. Hurry, there is little time."
+Leshy startled. He had never heard Barinya speak before, and it had always puzzled him, for all living things spoke to him.
+"You may close your jaw," Barinya said tartly. "Anatoly has been very foolish, and I need your help to prevent a disaster."
+While Leshy was processing this, the kittens Malinka and Yuri ran from the wet undergrowth and into the shelter of the willow, where they shook and licked themselves, mewing piteously. Leshy scooped them into his huge hands, soothing them with comforting sounds and his own great warmth.
+Sensing his disapproval, Barinya said defensively, "I couldn't leave them at that house. Anatoly may return at any time, and who knows what he might do in his madness? I fear I don't know him any more. He is like a man possessed."
+The kits began to quieten, and soon fell asleep on Leshy's furry stomach, uttering only the occasional tiny cat snore or wet sneeze.
+"I know you trust Anatoly," Barinya said. "You believe him wise, and just and fair. But he too is a man, with a man's weaknesses and foibles. Sometimes he makes mistakes. And he has made a terrible one. How long has he complained of the miners setting their monstrous explosions within the earth? Yet now he has emulated them – causing such a cataclysm the tunnels have collapsed upon themselves. Many men could be trapped or injured, perhaps already dead."
+"Anatoly did this?" Leshy struggled to believe it.
+"And this cursed rain only makes matters worse. The tunnels will already be flooding."
+Leshy's glance flickered uneasily to his burrow. The entrance gaped wide now, a steady stream of water eroding its earthen banks.
+"The men won't be able to move enough debris in time to save them. But you – you can throw boulders like apples! You have the strength of ten men. You could unblock the passages, and free those trapped within..."
+Leshy was silent a while, considering her words. "It is the North Wind brings all this rain our way. Perhaps he has asked his fellow winds to help."
+Barinya nodded, and said that no doubt he and Anatoly were in it together. "Did you truly know nothing of it?" she asked, and paused long enough for him to grow uncomfortable, wondering why his friends had not told him their plans. "I'm not surprised," she continued. "They must have realised you wouldn't stand for such barbarism. That's why they have plotted in secret and kept you in the dark."
+Leshy glanced awkwardly at his burrow once more. "They did give me a small task."
+Barinya's hard gaze snapped towards him. "What task?"
+"Only to waylay him. I knew nothing of the rest..."
+"What are you talking about?"
+"The miner," Leshy said. "Kikimora's musician."
+Barinya's tail stood straight up, only the tip quivering with fury. "He is here? Not trapped in the mine with his men?"
+"No," Leshy assured her. "He's safe. A bit damp..."
+Barinya's green eyes blinked slowly. Leshy continued to speak, but she didn't hear him, lost in contemplation of Kikimora's dangerous, impossible – and unnecessary – mission. She swore at length, and told Leshy he was just as foolish and meddlesome as Anatoly. He took her abuse with humility, finally asking, "Shall I let him go, then?"
+"Yes! Release him at once."
+Secretly relieved to relinquish responsibility for the decision, Leshy gently lowered the sleeping kittens to the ground. He ran through the rain, and down into the flooded burrow. He re-emerged a moment later, and Dmitri struggled out behind him, soaked and filthy. He staggered to the shelter of the willow tree.
+"I will not help free the trapped men," Leshy said, scooping up the still sleeping kittens. "But I will keep your children safe and warm while you do whatever you think you must."
+Barinya's tail swiped angrily. She said she supposed she should be grateful for that much, but she didn't sound it. Leshy hung his head, and loped off into the forest.
+Dmitri took a closer look at the cat. She seemed quite ordinary - except that he'd heard her speak. But then, he was having that sort of day.
+"Hello," he said politely.
+The rain fell steadily as Barinya led him through the tangled forest. There were no paths, but the cat seemed to know exactly where she was going. Great hunks of snow still lay in sheltered corners, but much of it had melted in the rain, forming into sudden streams that criss-crossed the uneven ground. Barinya skirted these obstacles as best she could, but seemed generally unperturbed by the pervading wetness.
+Although many times her size, Dmitri struggled to keep up with the cat, who was able to run nimbly below the many low branches that blocked his own path. "Don't you mind the wet?" he asked, as she waded through an icy pool, paddling her front paws to keep afloat.
+Barinya looked tiny and pitiful as she struggled out from the pool. She shook herself vigorously until her fur stood on end, then turned and gave him a scornful look, saying of course she didn't like it, but there were more important matters at hand.
+"Perhaps I could carry you?" he offered. He began to explain that it would be no bother at all, but tailed off under the weight of her glare. "I meant no offence," he added, with a sinking feeling about the amount of offence he was unwittingly giving lately.
+"Thank you," Barinya said primly. "But I prefer to trust my own four legs."
+As they walked, she told him about the rock fall, and the trapped men. She assured him Kikimora had not been in the mine at the time of the collapse.
+"She's safe?" Dmitri asked. Barinya said only that she was elsewhere. It was not a good answer, but it was sufficient when so many other concerns demanded his attention. He wanted to know who was missing, but Barinya knew only what Anatoly had told her and what little she saw as she passed by the mine.
+"I don't understand," said Dmitri. "Why would Sergei blast in the tunnel? He knew it was unsafe. We had all discussed it. Boris was most adamant on the matter."
+"Because you told him to."
+Dmitri assured her he had not.
+"But that is what Sergei believes. I am sorry to say, you were impersonated."
+Dmitri struggled to grasp this. "Sergei knows me. He wouldn't be so easily fooled."
+"Who said it was easy? Anatoly is most accomplished in his glamours."
+Dmitri was silent for a time, contemplating this. The longer he looked at it, the worse it seemed. "They will string me up."
+Barinya gave no comforting assurances that he was wrong. "Then perhaps you should stay away?"
+Dmitri scowled at her, and carried on through the dripping trees.
+Their route climbed a steep slope, and he was obliged to hold on to gnarled roots to keep his footing. He began to ask how much further they must go when, reaching the brow of the hill, he emerged from the undergrowth and found himself on the road below the mine buildings. From here he would normally be able to hear the roar of the furnaces, the ringing of the blacksmith's hammer; but all he could hear was the hissing rain and his own laboured breathing.
+Women and children were crowded into the buildings, sheltering from the heavy rain. Some sat beneath an oilcloth, gathered around a thin, flickering fire. They were largely silent, but for one wailing child.
+Dmitri walked some way into the yard before he was noticed. Erzsabet was the first to his side. "Mr Rachmanov, Sir. Thank God you have come. My Sergei is missing. And Feliks. They say Sergei caused this," she told him, an anxious hand at his sleeve. "That he blasted in the wrong place. But he would never! He is a good boy, and careful."
+"My Grigory is gone too." Dmitri recognised Sasha, Grigory's wife, a handsome woman with dark eyes and full lips. Today her face was pale and drawn with worry.
+"We will get them back," Dmitri said with as much confidence as he could muster. One of the other women commented dourly that Sergei should not have been down there alone to make the mistake. Several more agreed with her, though their voices were softer and less certain.
+"You are right!" Dmitri hastily assured them. "Listen to me, all of you. Sergei is an excellent apprentice, and did only as he believed he was instructed. But he was tricked. Many of you believe you saw me here this morning, but I tell you I was not here. An imposter waylaid me and has been impersonating me."
+Shocked murmurs swept through the crowd. "The man was most skilful in his disguise, and succeeded in fooling the men – with the terrible consequences we have seen. You all know that I would never do anything to endanger the men here."
+Some of the women nodded their agreement, relieved to be given an explanation, however strange and unlikely. Others frowned and muttered, thinking it a poor, unconvincing excuse. While they clamoured around him, asking more questions, a pair of carriages pulled into the yard, followed by a laden wagon and a dozen or more servants on foot. The head carriage rocked and swayed before finally disgorging Mrs Olgakov. After her, three more finely and impractically dressed ladies stepped down into the mud.
+Stoically ignoring the rain, Mrs Olgakov directed the wagon over to the store room. "We have brought blankets," she told the perplexed mine workers. "And hot food. There are kettles, and – Rosa, see to it, would you?"
+Under the direction of Rosa, half a dozen housewives, and several of the mine women, goods were quickly unloaded from the wagon and distributed as needed. Mrs Olgakov swept across the yard to clasp Dmitri by the arm. "Mr Rachmanov, I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you alive and well! We naturally assumed you would be amongst those trapped by the explosion. But I am happy to discover our misapprehension. I must send word back. The girls are quite beside themselves. It was all I could do to prevent all four of them from riding over here! Dear Beatrice said she would dig you out with her own hands. Only imagine!"
+Dmitri managed to edge his way into her monologue, telling her that five men were trapped, and although he was grateful for her assistance, he must go up to the mine and supervise the rescue effort.
+"Of course," Mrs Olgakov said at once. "The men will need feeding, I am sure. Do you suppose they would prefer mutton soup or pork dumplings?"
+Dmitri said he was sure any and all hot food would be received most gratefully, and set off to the mine before anything further could waylay him. He spared a moment to clasp Erzsabet's hands, telling her, "The men are not lost yet. They are strong, and you must be too. Know that we will do everything in our power for them."
+Erzsabet nodded silently, her jaw clenched on unshed tears.
+At the mine, Dmitri was greeted with cold eyes and muttered comments. He again attempted to explain his abduction and impersonation, but was met with frank incredulity. "Aye, well," said one of the older men. "You're here now, at any rate."
+Dmitri told himself that what the men believed was not important. They could discuss the days strange events more fully later; all that mattered right now was freeing the trapped men. But he felt the injustice of their bad opinions, and wished he could convince them.
+"Tell me everything," he said to Rasmus as he headed into the tunnels.
+"Well, Sir, Sergei laid the charges precisely where you left him holding a fistful of gunpowder - beg pardon," he corrected himself. "Where a man in a disguise left Sergei holding a fistful of your gunpowder."
+Dmitri sighed and said, "Rasmus, you are right; I have been remiss. I should have admitted weeks ago that the mine is indeed beset by supernatural forces."
+Rasmus glanced back at him sharply.
+"It is these same forces which have caused this catastrophe. I know you and the other men believe in far more than the priests tell you. You have seen events unfold here these past weeks, and you have whispered of malevolent forces. You were right. All the tricks and accidents, even Pieter's Pale Lady – all of it has been deliberately worked against us. They wished to destroy us, and they've damned near succeeded. But I shall not let them take our men."
+"As you say, Sir." Rasmus' tone was guarded, as though unsure quite what to believe; but at least he no longer showed open contempt.
+Lights showed ahead. Several men were gathered at the mouth of the fallen tunnel. One was bleeding from a head wound, another cradled an injured arm. They eyed Dmitri coldly and offered no greetings but the barest of nods.
+Lacking the energy for another explanation, Dmitri only said, "Get these injured men back up to the entrance. We need no further mishaps. There is hot food arriving. Keep your strength up. We could be here a long time."
+He ducked into the low tunnel. Water flowed everywhere, glistening down the walls, and gathering in the passages. They were ankle-deep by the time they came to an abrupt halt, the way blocked by half a dozen men. Dmitri pushed awkwardly to the front, calling ahead for an assessment of the situation.
+The rockfall began just as the passage began to open upwards. Large amounts of stone had shattered and fallen. Debris made the area impassable, and another stretch treacherous and unstable. Early efforts to clear the rubble had resulted in a second collapse, leading to the injuries they had seen at the mouth of the tunnel.
+"We have tapped our picks on the rock, and called til we're hoarse," Levi told him. "There's no telling if they can hear us on the other side, or if - you know. We've heard no answering sounds."
+Most of the men on this side of the fall were unfamiliar with what lay beyond. Dmitri recalled the times he'd make this journey over the past few days, how the tunnel had suddenly grown higher, and then led to the tumbled stones and the entrance to the cavern. "It is some distance still - perhaps 20-30 yards. And then, who knows on the other side." He shifted his feet in the fast flowing water. "How long has it been like this? Has it noticeably worsened since you began work here?"
+"Started as a trickle," said Levi. "Soon after we came down. But it's risen steadily. Lot of limestone down here. The water finds a way anywhere. They say the snow is all melting?"
+"Aye, and more rain is pouring down."
+Both men's eyes were drawn to the daunting pile of debris before them.
+"I never saw this new cavern, but I heard it's big?"
+"Huge. It couldn't possibly flood in a few hours."
+"You'd be surprised how quickly the water can gather," an older man said softly. "Forty years I've been underground, and seen many things I was told were impossible. But let us hope you're right."
+Dmitri nodded grimly. "How long will it take to shift, do you think?"
+The men frowned and scratched their beards, trying to make the calculation. "Too long," Rasmus decided, and all seemed to agree.
+"Nevertheless, we must try," Dmitri said. "With so little room, we need an efficient system. Rasmus, fetch boys with barrows. We need a chain going all the way up to the mouth - work a short stretch and pass on to the next man. Swap shifts regularly. There is only room for a few men to work at a time, so the others should rest and refresh themselves."
+"Yes, Sir." Rasmus nodded, and ducked back into the tunnel.
+Barinya prowled the mine enclosure, searching for Anatoly. She flicked a glance after Dmitri as he set off for the mine. She would have to trust he had sufficient sense to do whatever was required without her help – though in her experience, men had little sense, and what small amount they possessed was easily displaced by the most frivolous distractions. Which was one reason she had told him nothing of Kikimora's rescue attempt. Another reason was that although she hoped and trusted Kikimora would succeed, Barinya knew all too well how plans could go awry. It was always a good idea to have a back up.
+She at last found Anatoly on the far side of the enclosure, dressed as a woodsman. Thin face tilted up to the rain, he moved among the scaffolding that supported the aqueduct. Running a hand down the rough-hewn wood, he pulled on the criss-crossing struts, testing their strength.
+From his pack he unfolded a piece of oilcloth, lashing it to the struts to create a small shelter. He bound a package of powder to the strut at a meeting of joints. From a rolled cloth he selected a long goose quill, quickly stripping the feathers with his knife, leaving only a narrow tube. Placing the quill carefully into the package, he filled it with black powder from a vial.
+As he stood back to survey his handiwork, Barinya pounced, sinking her teeth into his earlobe. Anatoly twisted and grappled, but the cat was too quick for him. She dodged his flailing hands, writhing around his neck, finding any exposed skin to scratch. In his frenzy, he tore at the oilcloth, ripping it from its ties. Within seconds, the packet of gunpowder was soaked and ruined.
+With a yell of frustration, he managed to get a firm grip around Barinya's neck, tearing her free – though a piece of his ear went with her. She was back on her feet in a moment, hissing, watching for an opening to attack again.
+Anatoly clamped a hand to his bleeding ear. "I should never have taken you in, you wretched creature! You have done nothing but work against me. Haven't I given you food and warmth and a roof over your head? And this is how you repay me?"
+Barinya flicked her ears contemptuously. Crouching low to the ground, she shuffled forward a little at a time.
+"I have never known such an ignorant and yet so determined beast. What did I do to earn your unending animosity? If you only had the wit of your fellow creatures you would see that what I do I do for the good of us all." He sighed, running fingers through his soaked hair. "I don't know why I even waste my words on you."
+Barinya took the opportunity to pounce, but Anatoly was ready for her. He whipped the oilcloth around, and caught her in it, quickly wrapping her thrashing claws inside. Rolling her up like a violent, hissing cigar, he tied the package with twine, and stood back, panting.
+Barinya's furious growls sounded almost human. Anatoly muttered a quick spell to silence her, and was disturbed when it had no effect. If anything, her howls seemed to grow even louder and more angry.
+"I knew there was something more to you than meets the eye," he murmured. But much though his interest was piqued, he feared the racket would draw the attention of the miners. Holding the thrashing bundle at arm's length, he retreated further into the forest,
+"When all this is over, you and I shall have a talk," he told her. "I shall find a language we can both use, and we shall discuss quite what your issues are, Madam Cat. But just now I need you to stay out of my way."
+Taking a further length of twine, he strung the cat cigar up from a sturdy branch. Barinya howled her outrage so loudly Anatoly grimaced and gritted his teeth. "If you would stop struggling I'm sure you could be quite comfortable," he said reasonably, then yelped as she swung around and bit his fingers.
+Her angry yowls followed him all the way to the aqueduct, where he examined his useless, sodden gunpowder. He tore it away, and rigged another makeshift shelter. Working quickly, he brought out another package, resetting the charge on the same strut.
+He glanced briefly towards the miners' families, gathered now beneath a large shelter, sharing hot broth and bread. Though the rain still lashed down and no word had come from the mine, there was a less hopeless atmosphere in the enclosure.
+Anatoly frowned and turned away, reaching for his tinder box.
+***
+They formed a chain - the Rusalka, the five men, and Kikimora bringing up the rear – slipping swiftly through the water. Strong currents pulled them on through submerged caverns where Zinobia's pale glow couldn't reach the walls, and through narrow passages which bruised foreheads and grazed elbows.
+Kikimora recognised the boulder that had almost popped her air bubble so many hours earlier. The men were all thicker bodied than her, and they struggled to pass. Boris lost one of his boots. He began to turn back for it, but Zinobia pulled him onwards. Feodor became wedged tight, and Sergei used both hands to push his behind, while on the other side Grigory tugged at his arms.
+Eventually he scraped through, and Sergei surged after him, pulled loose from Kikimora's hand. The current drew him suddenly down, only to toss him back up again. He slammed against the granite edge, leaving behind a thin trail of blood and torn spider-web. Zinobia's light was already fading ahead, the other men nothing but shadowy legs kicking. Sergei's eyes widened as air bubbles coursed up and away.
+Closing her hand around his, Kikimora kicked through the water, hoping to catch up with the others. But she was not strong enough, and Sergei flailed wildly in airless panic as the darkness closed around them.
+She struggled to think clearly. Sergei's panic was infectious. The current slammed them against unseen rocks. Kikimora began to fear for her own air supply. When she was thrown against a ledge, she held on to it, resisting the pull of the current. She drew Sergei close against her, and tried to steady her thoughts, tried to impart some calm to the boy. But they could neither see nor hear each other, and he thrashed wildly against her embrace.
+Kikimora knew she must act quickly. She pulled his head close to her own, so close they might have kissed. Sergei began to quieten, perhaps sensing that she was doing something very careful and deliberate, or perhaps only despairing as his lungs strained and burned.
+The water continued to buffet past them, pushing them against the submerged ledge. Kikimora drew his cheek alongside her own, so that her air bubble was pushed out to the other side. Little by little, she took strands of hair away from her bubble, wrapping them around Sergei's head. Though he couldn't tell what she was doing, he sensed her purposefulness, and clung to her like driftwood on a storm-racked sea.
+The last bit of air escaped his lungs, tiny, unseen bubbles soaring away in the torrent. He trembled, trying to resist the maddening urge to open his mouth and his nostrils, to let the water in. The first stinging dribble coursed up his nose, burning inside his skull. He began to thrash, but Kikimora held him tighter still, and with an odd, gloopy lurch, air flowed in around his face, pushing the water back.
+His first breath was huge and juddering. Water streamed from his nose. He coughed, lifting hands up to his face, but Kikimora restrained him. "You can't bring your hands inside. Just cough it out."
+Sergei trembled against her, breath juddering.
+"We must carry on and find the others," she told him gently. "It isn't much further."
+"Truly?"
+"Truly. But we must remain close. If you pull away from me the bubble will be torn, and we both will drown. I know it seems immodest."
+Sergei gave a quick snort of laughter. "I won't tell Ludmila if you don't."
+Entwined like lovers, they kicked away from the ledge, letting the water carry them on. The current pulled stronger and fiercer as the passage narrowed. They scraped against ragged walls, and were finally torn apart. Kikimora's hair streamed out behind her as bubbles of air sped away. Her lungs began to burn with the effort of holding back the water.
+Her ears popped, and were filled with a sharp roaring, unlike the muted underwater sounds she had grown accustomed to. Opening her eyes, she saw the torrent hurtling away beneath her, the four men gazing up from a narrow ledge to one side. Only then did she realise that a strong hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her out of the thundering waterfall.
+"There's no time for dawdling," Zinobia said. While Kikimora coughed up silty water, the Rusalka pulled Sergei from the torrent. She sniffed at his face, and darted out a quick tongue to lick the blood from his cheek. Her eyes lit up with pleasure.
+"Rusalka!" roared Feliks, starting forward.
+"It was just a taste. He didn't even notice."
+Coughing and shuddering, Sergei barely seemed aware that he was back with his friends. Zinobia hauled him from the water and into his uncle's arms. Feliks slapped him on the back, helping the water out of his lungs, telling him he was alright now. Sergei clung to him, chest heaving. He tried to speak, but his teeth chattered uncontrollably, and his words were lost.
+"In truth, I'm astonished you've all made it this far," Zinobia said with what may have been a tinge of disappointment. "But there is still some way to go."
+When Sergei had recovered sufficiently to continue, she led them on. Ducking under an arch, a series of low caverns opened up before them filled with milky stalactite columns and delicate filigree patterns of calcite.
+Boris' walking stick had been lost in the underwater journey. He asked if Zinobia might fashion him a new one, but she turned on him fiercely, saying these were the Rusalkas' sacred revelling halls, and living men should not even be here. She would not desecrate a single rock or grain of mineral in this place, and neither would any of the men - or it would be their tomb.
+"Lean on me," Feliks said, and Grigory went to Boris' other side, supporting him again.
+Zinobia chivvied the men to hurry. She noticed how their eyes lit up when they saw the thick seams of copper running across the cavern walls, and she dimmed her own light, saying, "Don't look at that with your filthy human eyes! It is not for you, and you will not come here again."
+Grigory muttered that he wouldn't come back for all the gold in Nadezhda, which seemed to mollify her. But he continued to gaze longingly at the shining minerals, running frozen fingers across them at any opportunity.
+Sergei asked how much further they must walk, and Kikimora told him, "Not far."
+"I was wrong," grumbled Feodor. "Rather than drown us you will walk us to death."
+Zinobia shot him a cold look, and said that if it would make him feel better she could summon the King of the Eels to take him into the water, never to return. "We used to invite him often to our revels, so he knows the way. He would enjoy you; thick in waist, and shoulders – and the head."
+Feodor began to say it was all he had expected, but Boris snapped at him to apologise. When Feodor grudgingly did so, the Rusalka favoured Boris with a smile, touching her pale fingers to his face. "I am glad we didn't leave you," she told him. "I find you the least aggravating of them all."
+"Well," said Boris, but found no words to follow it. The Rusalka continued to watch him, and her ice-green eyes seemed to grow a little warmer. "Well," he said again. Zinobia patted his cheek, and set off once more through the cavern.
+In time the glittering walls closed in around them, the river growing deep and fast once more as it funnelled through a narrow gap and out of sight. "We're almost free!" Kikimora told the men. "This is the final stretch of water, isn't it, Zinobia?"
+The Rusalka seemed distracted, and didn't answer immediately. When Kikimora asked again, she said, "Hmm. Perhaps."
+"How will we get through?" asked Grigory. "Can it be done on a single breath? Or can you fashion air pockets for us once more?"
+"From what? There are no spiders here. You should have kept hold of the ones I gave you."
+"But-"
+"Besides, I'm not sure I want you to leave, after all."
+"Zinobia!" said Kikimora. "You promised."
+The Rusalka waved a pale hand dismissively. "I swore on nothing I hold sacred."
+"But what of Yevgenia? She wouldn't want this."
+The Rusalka asked why she should care what Yevgenia wanted. "She is not here. She is not my Queen."
+"I knew it," muttered Feodor. "I should have stayed put. They've probably cleared the rockfall by now. They're probably bringing through hot soup and vodka, and wondering where the hell we've gone."
+"Feodor," Boris said. "That's enough."
+But Feodor wouldn't be quiet. He'd had his fill of doing as he was told, bowing to everyone else's superior judgement. "But guess what? I was right all along! They'll kill us all, just like I said. I just don't see why they had to march us through miles of bloody tunnels first!"
+Sergei turned to Kikimora. "You won't let us die, will you?"
+"Of course not. Zinobia, what would you gain from this?"
+"Four more souls to give the King of the Eels. It is a long time since I paid him tribute. But he will forgive me."
+"Four?" asked Boris.
+Zinobia turned to him, smiling her sharp-toothed smile. "I shall keep you. At least for a little while. And the Eel King has no use for girls. She will remain with me. We can start a new sisterhood of Rusalkas! We can bring others to join us. It will be like old times again. I-" She frowned suddenly, and her voice grew softer. "I have missed my sisters."
+Kikimora glanced down at her bare, bony feet, at the ugly blue veins winding across her hands. She recalled the plump, pink Olgakov sisters screaming about the hideous ghost, and she told herself the life of a Rusalka was the best she could hope for. Slipping her cold hand into Zinobia's, she said, "Get these men safely out of here and I will stay with you. I will be content."
+"No!" said Sergei. "That's not fair." Feodor shushed him.
+"But drown them or leave them to die and, whatever you do to me, I will be unquiet. I will haunt and harass you. I will not join in your revels, and I will warn others against you, and frighten them off."
+"All of them? Even the broken one?"
+"All of them."
+Zinobia frowned, considering the offer. "Do you know any new songs?"
+"Lots," Kikimora promised.
+"Very well then."
+"There is one thing," she added, and Zinobia turned back to her with narrowed eyes. "I must find out what has happened to Dmitri, and make sure he's safe. Then I will come back to you. I swear it on my father, Anatoly, on the North Wind and on Baba Yaga."
+Zinobia nodded. "That is a good oath. I have met Baba Yaga, and she is not to be trifled with." She showed the men her fierce smile. "So, who will be first?"
+Sergei sat beside Kikimora, the rocks cold and sharp beneath them. "You don't have to do this," he said. "You've already done so much for us."
+"But it will all be for nothing if I let you die here."
+"Couldn't we just swim through by ourselves? Maybe it's not so far? Maybe there are little air pockets along the way..?"
+Kikimora tried to remember how far that first swim with Zinobia had been. But it seemed an age ago. And the water was higher now, stronger and faster. She thought again of how she and Sergei were pummelled and tossed about through the flooded passages. "Or maybe you will all drown, so close to safety. And the King of the Eels will take your souls anyway."
+She felt Sergei shudder beside her, though she could see nothing in the utter darkness. "It's better this way," she said, wrapping thin arms around her knees.
+"But what of your family? Won't anyone miss you?"
+Kikimora thought of Anatoly, and how disappointed he would be by her betraying everything he'd taught her. She thought of the unknown Yevgenia, so horrified by the infant Kikimora that she'd fled her lover and disappeared. She thought of Dmitri, and wondered again what had happened to him, and if he was hurt. She wished she could hear him play once more. She thought perhaps she could be content to die and stay with Zinobia if she could just hear him sing one last time.
+An image came unbidden to her mind of pretty Seraphina Olgakov consoling Dmitri over whatever hardships he had endured. She supposed they would have fat, pretty babies. With any luck they would inherit his musicality, rather than hers.
+Zinobia rose up from the frothing water, palely glowing, and beckoned to Sergei. "Come, little one. Your friends are all safely returned to the surface. Won't you join them?"
+Sergei glanced at Kikimora.
+"It's alright," she said. "Go and find your Ludmila; dance with her and be happy."
+He nodded and tried to smile, promising, "I will tell Zoria everything you have done for us." He stepped once more into the ice cold water, taking a deep breath as he had seen the other men do, one by one.
+Zinobia too filled her mouth with air, then let it all out again in wheezy giggles. "It tickles so. I don't know how you bear it." Kikimora frowned at her, and she composed herself and tried again. She tugged Sergei down beneath the surface, and Kikimora was left in darkness.
+A strange calm settled on her now that her fate was sealed. The weight of the mountain no longer troubled her. Nor did the darkness so complete it seemed a palpable thing, a substance with a smell and taste and texture all its own. Only the uncertainty of Dmitri's fate caused flutters of anxiety to wind around her empty stomach.
+To soothe herself she began to sing the winter wolf lullaby. Her voice was thin and uncertain, without any of Dmitri's warm, rich tones. But the words themselves gave comfort, as did her memory of him.
+She had lapsed into soft humming by the time Zinobia returned for her. "You're sure you wouldn't rather just get it over with?"
+Kikimora shook her head. "I will find Dmitri, then return to you."
+"As you wish."
+Kikimora spun herself an air bubble and wrapped it in her hair, as she had done so many times during this long, strange journey. She let the Rusalka lead her into the water, and tow her down into its dark, strong currents. The way soon became tight, and she held Zinobia's hand as they squeezed through narrow passages. She counted her breaths, wondering how many times the Rusalka had had to press her lips to the men she'd led through here, passing them the air she didn't need.
+Zinobia's white glow seemed to diminish, and Kikimora realised the surrounding water was less impenetrably dark. A dirty yellowish cast suffused it, faint light seeping down from above. The surface rushed upon her. Gasping and laughing to see the world once more, her skin tingled in the biting cold air. It didn't matter that the pool was sulphurous and foul, that the sky roiled with dark clouds, and a stinging rain hurled itself at her. She was freed from the underground prison, and around the banks of the pool were the five miners, living and breathing, their faces tipped up to the huge and glorious sky.
+"You have until midnight," Zinobia said. "And then you will return and make good on your vow."
+She was astonished when Kikimora threw her arms around her. "Thank you, Zinobia. I know this was hard for you."
+The Rusalka was momentarily lost for words. But a hesitant smile formed on her face, a smile unlike the devilish, teeth-flashing grins she had shown the men earlier. She lifted a hand to Kikimora's limp hair, gently stroking it. "We shall have good times, you and I."
+Grigory said, "We must return to the mine and let them know we're freed."
+Feliks and Sergei agreed, but Feodor said, "The mine be buggered. I'm off home to get warm and dry before I catch pneumonia. If you've any sense you'll do the same." No one replied, and he stumped off into the trees, grumbling about the weather and the day he was having.
+Boris slapped his broken leg, saying, "I'll wait here. Perhaps a pony could be brought?"
+"But the Rusalka-?"
+Zinobia adopted an air of injured innocence, and Boris said, "I can handle her."
+As they struggled up the wooded slope away from the pool, Kikimora heard Zinobia say, "I believe you owe me a kiss."
+***
+Anatoly swore and kicked the aqueduct's beam. He tried his flint again, but the tinder had got wet, and wouldn't light.
+"Anatoly Truth-Seeker is now a master of explosives?"
+He turned to find Leshy sitting beneath the dripping trees on a bank that was more mud than undergrowth. He sighed, telling his old friend, "I know a dozen different methods for creating fire, but nothing will light this cursed charge."
+"Perhaps something prevents you?"
+Anatoly threw himself down beside Leshy. Noticing the sleepy kittens clinging to his fur, he reached to pick up Yuri, asking, "How did you prise these beasts away from her feline majesty?"
+Leshy turned away, not allowing him to touch the kittens. "I have sworn to protect them - from you, if necessary."
+Anatoly protested that he bore the kittens no ill will. "However, that mother of theirs-!"
+"She is afraid of you. Of what you have become. She doesn't trust you."
+"When did you begin conversing with my cat?"
+Yuri gave a great, needle-toothed yawn, and Leshy gently stroked his head with one huge fingertip until he went back to sleep. "She came to me this morning, and told me what you're doing."
+"Told you?"
+"You and the North Wind. She wondered that you hadn't consulted me."
+"The North Wind had no part in this."
+"Yet he throws this rain down on us the moment after your explosion, flooding the caverns and mine-shafts. Is that a coincidence?"
+Anatoly frowned, considering.
+"He sees all. Whether you spoke with him or not, he sees what you're doing, and he throws all his might behind it."
+Anatoly said that only proved his plan was sound. "Besides, I came to you for help. Without you I couldn't have-"
+"You kept this from me." Leshy spoke quietly, but firmly. "You knew I wouldn't approve of such destruction."
+"Sometimes hard choices must be made. Long term plans-"
+"I am the guardian of the forest." Though he remained sitting, Leshy seemed to grow larger, eyes blazing from the darkness of his face. "I care nothing for your hard choices. You are destroying my realm – you, not these miners. And I will not have it."
+Anatoly climbed to his feet. From the forest two pale wolves padded silently to Leshy's side. The trees shuddered, and a black bear lumbered forward. Rearing up on its hind legs, it towered over Anatoly, expelling a carrion-flavoured bellow into his face.
+Anatoly seemed unperturbed, only asking, "What will you do?"
+"We of the forest have our own ways of doing things. And it does not involve explosives."
+The bear lumbered past Anatoly, towards the aqueduct. It slashed the bindings, pushing against the struts with all its considerable weight. As the aqueduct began to creak and sway, a cry of alarm came from the miners' families sheltering in the refinery.
+Leshy handed the kittens into the care of one of the wolves, warning Anatoly, "She will tear out your throat if you approach."
+Running from the cover of the trees, he leapt whooping onto the roof of the smithy. He tore off tiles, throwing them down at the terrified women. He jumped onto a neighbouring straw roof, and fell straight through into a store room. Bursting out through the locked door, he left a trail of destruction, smashing doors, breaking windows, crushing roofs – and roaring and bellowing worse than the North Wind.
+There was pandemonium. People ran in every direction. Equipment was knocked over. Leshy jumped up onto the makeshift oilcloth shelter, tearing it apart, and scattering the last, sheltering people out into the hammering rain.
+Sprinting back across the enclosure, he scaled the aqueduct's scaffolding as nimbly as an ape. Hanging from the highest, spindliest part of the structure, he began to swing, tearing loose the bindings. The bear continued to heave against the wooden beams below. A great crack sounded above the hissing rain, and the whole structure lurched a little to one side.
+The water continued to flow, but it was misaligned, no longer falling onto the wheel. Instead it poured onto the roof of the furnace house, which quickly began to give way beneath the deluge. Leshy gave a victorious hoot, swinging himself around faster than ever. There was another crack, a series of creaks, and a slow-building rumble as the aqueduct came crashing down into the yard. The miners' families fled. Leshy stood on the broken remains, beating his chest and roaring at the driving rain until the only human left to witness him was Anatoly.
+He fell silent, surveying the wreckage with satisfaction. Loping back to the trees, he told Anatoly, "That is how we do things in the forest."
+Barinya's furious growling had long ago turned to pitiful howls. "Alright, lady," Leshy soothed, lifting her down from the tree, and unpicking the knotted twine. "I'm sorry I couldn't let you down earlier, but I don't think you would have appreciated what just happened."
+Barinya continued to mew mournfully until the last thread was loosened. Then she leapt free from the oilcloth with a furious hiss, tearing into the undergrowth. Leshy sighed, and followed. He found the she-wolf backing off respectfully, and Barinya installed beneath the holly bush, waking her complaining kittens with enthusiastic licks, and low, affectionate grumbles.
+The humans began to filter back to the enclosure, emptiness settling on their faces as they surveyed the destruction. Every building was damaged, either by fire or water, or with holes in the roof. Wreckage from the aqueduct lay strewn across and inside the furnace house. Water still poured from the dark mouth in the cliff face, but without its artificial route, it fell amongst the trees, carving a new stream-path that wound around the buildings, pooling in the yard.
+One of the women began to absently pick up shreds of tattered oilcloth, folding them into as neat a pile as she could manage. When the wind blew the scraps from her hands she sank to her knees, weeping softly.
+"I think they are sufficiently demoralised," Anatoly said.
+"It's a long time since I gave vent to such rage. It feels good." Leshy scratched and yawned, stretching his arms up to the treetops. "What shall we do now?"
+Anatoly squinted up at the low clouds, the never-ending deluge. "Perhaps we could persuade the North Wind to stop flinging this cursed water at us, and join us for a game of cards?" Tipping his head back, he bellowed at the sky, "How about it, you old windbag?"
+By the time Dmitri made it out to the enclosure, the destruction was complete. It was as though a tornado had ripped through the yard, tearing up every man-made thing and tossing it aside. "We are finished here," he said. "Leshy has won."
+The rain finally ceased, and the dark clouds blew away. In only a very short time, pale blue sky yawned open above the forest. Mist lingered in the shady hollows, and a bright rainbow stretched across to the far peaks. Despite the destruction and misery, an end to the battering rain seemed almost miraculous. Faces were lifted to the warming sun, and some small solace was found there.
+There was a shout from the lower road, quickly taken up by others, "They're free! The men are alive!"
+The cart that had brought supplies from town now carried four dirty, bedraggled men. Those who had fled from Leshy earlier walked alongside, shouting that it was a miracle, and thanking God.
+Erzsabet covered her face, shaking with silent tears. It took Zoria to nudge her from her stupor and lead her to her brother and son. Sergei swung Zoria up into the air, whirling her around. When she was giddy with it, he carefully placed her back on the ground. "Ma," he said, and she enclosed him in her arms, crying and laughing and squeezing so hard he could barely breathe.
+Feliks managed to hold four small children in his arms, all of whom vied to hug him the tightest. A large, plain woman who had arrived with the supplies from town asked where her Feodor was. Grigory told her. A grim look settled on her face, and she set off home to hold him close, kiss him and box his ears.
+In moments the news had spread up to the mine, and those still labouring to shift the fallen stones began to emerge into the watery sunlight to see the miracle for themselves. The rescued men moved to the ruins of the earlier shelter. Dry blankets were found, and wrapped around them. Fires were rekindled, fallen cook-pots righted, and bottles of warming spirit handed around.
+Among the joy and relief, Dmitri hung back, feeling awkward. He longed to explain that he was not behind the accident, but couldn't bring himself to intrude on the intimacy of the reunions.
+"Are you going to help me down, then?" asked Boris.
+Dmitri went to him, asking if he was alright, or if a physician was needed, and many times saying how glad, how relieved, how sorry—
+"Alright, lad. We know it wasn't you gave Sergei his instructions. She told us how it was."
+"You know?" Dmitri looked as though a noose had been removed from his neck. With Boris' arm around his shoulders, he helped him down from the wagon and into a seat before the fire. A mug of hot tea generously spiked with vodka was soon pushed into his hands.
+"Is my Roksana not here, then?"
+Dmitri said he hadn't seen her.
+"No doubt she is kept busy at home. She is so very house-proud."
+"But how did you escape?" Dmitri asked. "Did you find another entrance into the cavern?"
+"Barely," said Boris with a shudder.
+Others took up the question. Grigory and Boris glanced at one another. Feliks gave a slight shake of his head.
+"We had help," Boris said at last. Asked what kind of help, he took a long drink before saying only that it may not have been of heaven, or of earth, but it was most welcome all the same.
+Sergei pulled Zoria close, whispering in her ear. The girl's eyes grew wide. "The Pale Lady?"
+He shushed her, and she repeated in a stage-whisper, "The Pale Lady helped you? I knew she wasn't bad really."
+Boris glanced back towards the cart. The ghost of a smile played on his lips, and he dipped his head in a respectful nod. Dmitri turned, following his gaze. A hazy shape wavered before the cart, seeming to gather substance out of the misty air. It was thin and pale, with long, wet hair. It gazed back at him.
+"Kikimora?"
+She began to fade once more. Dmitri leapt up, bounding across the yard. He took hold of her insubstantial wrist, and she at once grew brighter. A hesitant smile lit her face. "You're unhurt? I was so worried-"
+Dmitri grinned suddenly. "I've never been better."
+"But where were you?"
+Dmitri told her Leshy had taken him to an earthen burrow, "And kindly explained a few things to me."
+From somewhere came the sound of children lost in furious tantrums, but neither Kikimora nor Dmitri noticed.
+"He told me all about you, and your task."
+Kikimora dropped her gaze, blushing. "I thought I was doing right. But I wasn't. I see that."
+Dmitri said he wasn't sure he'd been doing right either. "Not that it matters now. The mine is destroyed."
+"What will you do? What of the miners and their families? How will they live?"
+Dmitri's look grew troubled. "These are questions for another day." Summoning a smile, he added, "Promise not to keep disappearing on me?"
+Kikimora's cheeks grew pink, but she didn't answer or meet his gaze.
+Anatoly sighed. "For seven years we waited for Kikimora to grow up and deliver us from these men, pinning all our hopes on her. But it was too much; she didn't have the strength of will. The task should never have been hers."
+"She is as you made her," Leshy said. "Gentle and loving. So eager to please you, but incapable of doing so."
+Anatoly frowned, rubbing at his temple where a headache gathered. "Is it possible I made a mistake? Perhaps Yevgenia was right all along. I admit, Leshy, I don't always feel as certain as I used to."
+There came a sound of hissing and gasping from the undergrowth, and a woman stalked out into the rain, naked and furious. "You cause all this destruction and misery when you're not certain? Just think what you could do if you truly put your mind to it!"
+Anatoly's mouth opened and closed several times without any sounds issuing. His consternation only increased when two naked children slithered out behind her, gazing around in horror and incomprehension. The girl's mouth drew open first, swiftly followed by the boy's. Within seconds both were screaming at the tops of their newly human lungs.
+The bear flicked his ears unhappily and disappeared into the undergrowth; the wolves glanced at one another, and began to howl along in sympathy.
+"Seven years it has taken you to realise how damned stupid and arrogant you are! I wonder that you didn't tell him." The woman turned her glare on Leshy, who said nothing, almost as startled as Anatoly. But he gathered the twins to him, soothing them against his warm fur.
+"Yevgenia? I looked everywhere for you." Anatoly frowned at the howling children, bewilderment battling a creeping realisation.
+"Except under your own nose! I should have disappeared from your life completely, but when I saw how hopeless you were with Kikimora, I couldn't leave her alone with you. However thoughtless your actions, she didn't deserve to suffer for them. That girl is worth ten of you," she told Anatoly, looking across the enclosure to where Kikimora stood amongst the miners and their families. "And stop staring at me."
+With a click of her fingers, a great warm coat appeared from nowhere, draping itself across her shoulders. She tied the belt firmly around her waist, and marched across the yard on bare feet.
+Anatoly took a step after her, but paused, glancing back at the two howling children. As they lapsed into breathless but less ear-splitting sobs, Leshy said proudly, "Yuri looks just like you. He has your temper too."
+The commotion grew too great to be ignored even in the midst of the miners' celebrations. Kikimora looked up to see a handsome woman with dark hair and striking green eyes marching towards her. As she drew level the woman looked intently into her eyes. Dmitri hastily let go of Kikimora's hand. It seemed as though the woman would speak, but she frowned, and her lips closed again.
+The silence stretched on awkwardly as they waited for the stranger to announce herself or give any greeting. At last the woman turned to Dmitri. She slowly blinked her wide green eyes, and in that moment Kikimora knew her.
+"Mr Rachmanov," said Yevgenia, offering her hand.
+Bewildered, Dmitri dipped his head and touched his lips to her hand. He tried not to stare at her bare legs and feet, and the open neck of her coat. Instead he glanced at Kikimora, but her own look of consternation told him nothing. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Madam...?"
+"Forgive me. Where are my manners? Yevgenia. I am... That is, Kikimora is... Well, she's my daughter." She frowned, turning to Kikimora as though for confirmation that what she said was true.
+"You're Kikimora's mother? Then I'm even more pleased to make your acquaintance! I didn't know she-" He broke off, wondering how to politely phrase his confusion. Again his eyes wandered to her bare feet, so incongruous with the rich, warm coat, and glossy hair.
+"I've been away for many years," Yevgenia explained. "A most unfortunate set of circumstances..." She rolled her eyes and gave a weary sigh. "Oh, blow it all. I can't maintain this silly fiction. If you're half the man she thinks you are you'll take it in your stride. The fact is, Mr Rachmanov, you already made my acquaintance this afternoon, but I was a cat then. It's a long story, and neither I nor my... Kikimora's father come out of it well."
+Dmitri made a few vague noises in his throat, but nothing that could be called speech. Yevgenia turned again to Kikimora with a hesitant smile. Reaching for the girl's cold fingers, she twined them in her own. "We have much to catch up on, don't we?"
+"I suppose so." Kikimora frowned at her hand in Yevgenia's, but she didn't pull away. "You've been a cat all this time? Anatoly drove himself mad looking for you. And your children are-?"
+Yevgenia winced at the still-strident sobbing from across the yard. "They are a little cross and confused. They've only known their cat forms these six and a half years. And I regret I haven't been able to teach them to speak yet. But they're resilient little beasts; I'm sure they'll pick it all up before long."
+As she spoke, Anatoly finally roused from his shock. His face fell into a frown, and he marched towards them. "It was you," he said. "Turning her against me all this time, filling her head with nonsense, and softening her heart."
+"I certainly hope so," Yevgenia said. "For that was the reason I endured your worthless company. I only regret I wasn't able to work a similar effect on you."
+"Well perhaps if you had remained with me as a human woman and spoken to me, instead of disappearing in a ridiculous sulk like a spoilt child-!"
+"Stayed with you? You made it quite clear I was not welcome-"
+"-heat of the moment! You know perfectly well I didn't-"
+"-couldn't bear another moment with your insufferable arrogance-"
+"My arrogance? You have quite enough of your own, Princess Gennie! That revelation certainly explains a lot."
+"You forget, I am also a Queen."
+"Retired. Or were you deposed?"
+This at last silenced Yevgenia, who reacted as though she'd been slapped. Anatoly too quietened, mastering his fury with a visible effort. "I am not a monster. We argued, Yevgenia, as we had many times, and as we will again. Why did you give up on me so swiftly? Why could you not stay and try to persuade me?"
+Yevgenia looked down at the sodden ground, a soft pink flushing her cheeks. "I suppose I am used to getting my own way," she admitted. "Perhaps more than is good for me. No one ever argued with me at my father's court - except his new wife." Her flush deepened. "I may not always have treated her as well as I might."
+Kikimora and Dmitri watched this exchange in frank and startled fascination. The disturbance was sufficient to attract the attention of the miners' families too.
+"We should go home," Anatoly said. "As you say, there is much to catch up on."
+"You want me to return and list for you your faults? Very well then. But I hope you have no pressing engagements in the upcoming days. It could take some time-" She was briefly silenced when Anatoly leaned close, cradling her face and kissing her on the mouth.
+Yevgenia pinched the ear she had earlier taken a chunk out of. "I don't know how you think you have the right," she hissed, as he yelped and flinched away. Pulling him back to her, she kissed him again for quite some time.
+Kikimora looked away, blushing. Dmitri's hand once more found hers. "There will be celebrations tonight," he told her. "Perhaps if you are not busy, you might accompany me?"
+Anatoly emerged from the embrace, eyes moist, a foolish smile lighting his face. The transportation spell was muttered quickly under his breath. In an instant he, Yevgenia, Leshy, the twins, and Kikimora all disappeared from the mine enclosure.
+Dmitri looked at his empty hand, and said, "Oh."
+***
+Bonfires were lit all around Korsakov's square to ward off the cold and dark shadows. Tables were piled high with warm stews and dumplings, rich cakes, whole wheels of cheese, beers and spirits. A pipe, a drum and a balalaika played fast gypsy music, and couples whirled in the dancing firelight. Amongst them, Sergei and Ludmila laughed and whispered, holding each other shyly.
+Snatched from the brink of disaster, the miners and their families drank freely, quickly growing raucous. Relief at their mysterious escape was tempered by an undercurrent of anxiety at what the coming months would bring now their livelihood was gone.
+Yanochka mine was cursed, people whispered, its watery lower caverns haunted by Rusalkas. There were rich deposits still to be had, both copper and silver. But it would take months to clear the rockfall, to shore up the tunnel, and make it safe - profitless months that the mine could ill afford, particularly since the smelting works had been destroyed. And what manner of creature had done that? Not one of God's, that was certain.
+Amidst all the dark speculation, Pawel returned from Baransk. Strangely, he had no word of his sick mother, but announced there were jobs for all who wanted them. The copper deposits were vast, the tunnels safer, the pay fair – and most importantly, the mine was not haunted.
+Word of the calamity reached Stanislav, and he sent Vitali to find out what had happened. He expected Dmitri to go at once and report to him in person, but he only poured Vitali a drink, saying, "The mine is finished. Tell him that."
+"He won't like that report, Sir."
+Dmitri shrugged and emptied his glass. "I don't much care for it myself, but that doesn't alter anything."
+Despite their initial wariness, once the drinks began to flow, the rescued men revealed strange details of their deliverance, and the uncanny beings who had helped them. Neither the men nor their listeners could explain why invisible spirits and bloodthirsty Rusalkas would lend their willing assistance.
+"I hope you struck no deals with them?" asked Jeronim.
+Feliks and Grigory exchanged troubled looks.
+"We promised them nothing," Feodor said firmly, and they didn't contradict him.
+"Nevertheless, I'd keep a close eye on your young, if I were you. I never knew a Rusalka do a favour without payment of some kind."
+Orlo asked how many Rusalkas he'd known, and the serious tone turned to mirth as Jeronim muttered crossly about all the tales he'd heard.
+Not everyone took the stories seriously. They were good for a thrilling tale around a fire, but some of the more serious minded townsfolk spoke about darkness and terror playing tricks on the mind. The men must have gone through unimaginable hardships crawling through miles of flooded caverns in total darkness. No one could blame them for coming up with fanciful explanations for their escape.
+Draining his glass for the third or fourth, or tenth time, Dmitri looked up to find Boris hobbling towards him, his leg stiffly splinted, and a staff in his hand. "You're allowed to walk?"
+Boris knocked back the drink Dmitri handed him, and slammed the glass down on the table to be refilled. "No. But I'll be damned if I'm staying another moment in that house listening to the two harpies sniping about whether I need bed rest or whether I need to sit by the fire, whether I should have herb tea, or whether I can be allowed spirits. Gah!"
+"They are just concerned for you," Dmitri suggested.
+Boris gave him a sour look. "All those two are concerned with is scoring points off each other; always have been. I could have died today in those tunnels, and they'd barely notice. They'd just concentrate their energies in arguing over the damned dog instead."
+Dmitri wanted to deny it, but lacked the conviction. Instead, he said, "Will it mend?"
+"Doctor Ibsen says so. If not, you might as well kill me now. I won't be left at the mercy of those two vultures."
+Dmitri gently chided him that it was no time to talk of death. But Boris muttered, "I've stared it in the face today. What better time could there be?"
+As they drank in silence snatches of conversation drifted to them from the other tables. Boris said, "So they think we are all moon-touched? Addled in our wits?"
+"It may be for the best. Some are already dismissing the creature that rampaged through the works. It was a tornado, they say. A freak wind."
+"And what do you think?"
+Dmitri said he had no doubt it was Leshy. "I had the pleasure of his hospitality all last night."
+"I think you too have a story to tell?"
+Dmitri spoke of all his strange experiences over the past weeks: of Kikimora alternately haunting him and showing him kindness; of his abduction by Leshy, their lengthy conversation, and his eventual rescue by a cat.
+"A cat?"
+"A talking cat," Dmitri clarified. "Later she turned into a woman, Kikimora's mother – you may have noticed her crossing the yard?"
+Boris nodded thoughtfully. "I believe I did. Handsome. Angry."
+Dmitri sighed. "I thought finally we had worked past all the confusions and difficulties. I thought I could begin to talk to Kikimora. But then she disappeared. Not as she used to. It was not her doing. They all disappeared: her mother, her father - this Anatoly, who has caused us so much grief! I don't know where they have gone. I'm afraid that this – whatever it all was – is over, and I shall not see her again."
+Boris chewed on his pipe, a frown creasing his brow. "You care for this girl, this spirit, or whatever she is?"
+Dmitri gave a little shrug and a smile, as though he didn't entirely understand it himself. "I know she is strange and uncanny. There is much I don't understand about her, and her family are unconventional, to say the least. Her father has behaved intolerably. I'm not sure I could even have civil words with him. But I suppose, if I must, then I would find the will." He met Boris' eyes. "But despite everything he taught her, everything she was raised and trained for, Kikimora is kind and courageous. She is..." He broke off, finding no words, and his smile broadened. "She is like no one else I ever met."
+"She saved our lives. That's for certain. Without her we'd still be stuck in that godforsaken cavern, wrestling each other for the last bite of bread, and praying to whatever guardian angels we thought might hear us down there. It's true she's not the handsomest lass - but she has spirit, and that's worth ten times as much."
+Dmitri began to protest that Kikimora had the most beautiful, deep green eyes, that her skin was flawless, her smile—
+"As they say, it's in the eye of the beholder," Boris said drily. "My Roksana was once the prettiest thing you ever saw. But I'd swap her for Feodor's missus any day of the week. She may look like a horse's backside, but the woman cares for him and looks after him – though God knows he gives her every reason not to."
+Dmitri gave a short laugh that quickly died away. "You have not been happy in a long time, have you?"
+Boris frowned, and emptied his glass once more. "Listen, there is no easy way to tell you this, and I think I should have told you much earlier. What time is it now?"
+"It must be approaching midnight."
+"Then there's no time to waste if you would save your Pale Lady. Fetch Agnesse and help me into the saddle. I'll take you to her – and pray to whoever will listen that we're not too late."
+It was easy for Kikimora to remain unnoticed in the corner of Anatoly's kitchen. He and Yevgenia were engaged in a seemingly endless cycle of arguing, reconciling, then finding further things to argue about. Yuri and Malinka howled almost constantly. They tore off their clothes, finding them strange and restricting. Having never learned to walk upright, they scampered about on all fours, frustrated by their sudden ungainliness where before they had been quick and nimble. Leshy did his best to calm them, but these abrupt and alarming changes to their lives were too overwhelming even for his comforting presence to counteract.
+When the North Wind turned up, grinning and saying he'd heard a card game was in the offing, Yevgenia turned on him angrily, saying it was all his fault for planting the idiotic idea in Anatoly's head in the first place; he'd always been a bad influence, and she'd never trusted him. His storm could have killed the trapped miners, and he was only lucky they had survived - or she wouldn't be able to vouch for his safety in their home.
+"Yevgenia!" Anatoly said, horrified.
+"I'm not afraid of him," she said. "He's all blow and bluster."
+An icy blast rattled the pans hanging above the stove, dusting powdery snow onto them. "You let your woman speak to me in this way? A guest in your home?"
+Anatoly glanced from Yevgenia to the North Wind and back again. Both were red faced and furious, Yevgenia's hair coming loose from a hastily assembled knot, and framing her face most becomingly.
+Before he could think how to reply, the North Wind said, "I see I am no longer welcome in this house. Very well, I shall find some companions more in keeping with my own status." He left with a slam that rattled the house, leaving the curtains swinging and candle flames guttering for long moments afterwards.
+"He always cheated you, in any case." said Yevgenia.
+Anatoly sank into his seat at the kitchen table, sighing and rubbing his head. Kikimora knew that look, and at once brought out the bottle of meadow-grass vodka. She poured some for him and for Leshy. She began to re-cork the bottle, then paused, glancing uncertainly at Yevgenia. She filled two more glasses, taking one herself, and pushing the other along the table.
+Yevgenia savoured her first fiery sip, saying Leshy was right; it was indeed a very fine spirit. "Why did I never think to ask you for some while I was a cat?"
+Kikimora gave only a brief, polite smile in return. An awkwardness remained between the two women. Although Barinya had been a great friend to her all her life, Kikimora found herself shy of Yevgenia, the cat-turned-human, the fierce and beautiful mother she'd never had. And the howling children horrified her - so noisy and messy compared to the sweet kittens they had been.
+"Kikimora is an excellent housekeeper," Anatoly said. "I should have realised long ago that her skills lay in an entirely different direction to that I'd hoped." He had thought to bring a smile to the girl, but she only returned to her corner, silently sipping her vodka. "And when did you start drinking?" he asked in mock outrage. "These are the lessons you've learned from the humans? I should never have let you leave this house!"
+Kikimora drained her glass, feeling the spirit's fire course through her veins, bringing colour to her pale cheeks. She fixed Anatoly with a level gaze. "I learned all I could wish to know about drinking away loneliness and regrets in this kitchen. In Korsakov town I learned that humans are kind and greedy and wise and foolish, short-sighted, perceptive, selfless, arrogant... They are every different thing they can be. And trying to push them all into one pot and label it is as foolish and thoughtless and harmful as everything else you've done."
+Anatoly's face grew pale, his eyes widening.
+With a quick, shuddering breath, Kikimora continued, "And from Dmitri I learned the futility of trying to please a miserable, single-minded old man who will never appreciate the things you can do because all he sees are the things you cannot do. I learned about beauty and love, and what it is to be alive."
+In the silence that followed, she refilled her glass, taking a number of rapid gulps.
+A broad smile lit Yevgenia's face. "I'm not sure if it was presumptuous of me to claim to be your mother. But it is true. I see it in your gaze, in the upward tilt of your chin. In your ability to stand your ground."
+She swept her arms around Kikimora, drawing her close, and leaning cheek to cheek. Kikimora found herself blinking rapidly, full to the brim with a bubbling stew of conflicting emotions she didn't know what to do with.
+Anatoly rose stiffly. "I know I have used you poorly, but I hope you believe I always had the best intentions?"
+"You would have killed them." Unlike Yevgenia as she harangued Anatoly for his many failings, Kikimora's voice remained calm. "Your fellow creatures. Men like yourself - except for having the misfortune to be poorer, less educated, less advantaged. Men who willingly sacrifice their own health and happiness to put bread on the table to feed their families. You would have killed Dmitri. As it is, you have merely ruined his business and destroyed his reputation."
+"I-" Anatoly glanced from the tall, pale girl to the woman beside her, both watching him with a disappointment that lodged in his heart and spread its bitterness throughout his body. "I believed I was doing right. But I have perhaps come adrift from my moorings these past weeks, without you – without either of you – to anchor me to what is right and true. Kikimora, I don't know if I deserve your forgiveness, but I would dearly like to have it."
+Kikimora was silent, searching his face, searching her own heart. She wanted to tell him she wasn't sure she could; that she would need a little time to think it through. But she had no time. She had until midnight, and then she would be gone from his life. Despite everything he had done, he was family, and she supposed she loved him. She wouldn't leave him uncertain of that.
+"You will have to make it up to me - and to the people of Korsakov."
+Anatoly's brow lowered. "How?"
+"First of all you must clear Dmitri's name. His men think he acted incompetently and left them to die. I don't care how you do it, but you must set them straight on that matter. As for the townspeople, they will face hardships now their main industry is destroyed. I don't yet know what will benefit them, but I charge you with finding a way to make amends." She held out her hand. "Deal?"
+Anatoly looked at her as though for the first time. "You are not the timid girl who left here a few weeks ago," he said, the hint of a smile at his lips.
+"I knew you would make us proud," said Yevgenia.
+Anatoly took his daughter's hand, giving it a firm shake. "I swear to clear this fellow's name, and help the townspeople, if I may."
+Kikimora looked as though she might object to his phrasing of the vow, but Yevgenia said, "Don't worry, I'll hold him to it. And I'll help him think of ways to help. It will be fun," she added, with a sparkle to her green eyes that made Anatoly groan and mutter that his life was about to take a turn for the catastrophic. But he couldn't disguise how very pleased he was about it.
+Kikimora found some cold meat, an elderly cheese, and an almost fresh loaf. The glasses were all refilled, and Yevgenia raised a toast to reunited family.
+The party didn't go on for long. Anatoly and Yevgenia held hands and exchanged many fond glances. Once the twins were finally sleeping Leshy made his excuses and retired to the forest. Yevgenia pressed a finger to her lips as she led Anatoly to his bedchamber, the door creaking shut behind them.
+***
+Kikimora sat before the fire, watching the flames jump and shudder, wondering if it was midnight yet. Out of habit, she tidied away the plates and glasses from the table, and brushed the crumbs out into the yard for the hens to peck. She took a last look around the little cottage, noting how the firelight glinted on the copper pans, how the shadowy rafters seemed to dance in the flickering light. Then she closed the door, and set off through the forest.
+It seemed to Kikimora a night of great peace and beauty. Only the highest treetops stirred in gentle breezes. A few nocturnal animals silently watched her pass. It didn't seem long before she reached Once Golden Pool. Zinobia perched in the spiked branches of a hawthorn, combing her silver hair and singing to the moon. She broke off when she saw Kikimora. "You came!"
+"As I swore."
+"Yes, but you'd be surprised how many people break their promises. I thought I might have to come and collect you. Did you find your young man, and put your affairs in order?"
+"As best I could."
+"Oh now, don't look so downcast. We will have fun, you'll see. And in time we'll find others to join us and swell our ranks. We can once more make this a sisterhood of great renown."
+Kikimora forced a smile. "How shall we do this?"
+"I suppose I will have to hold you down beneath the water, to make sure of it. Even after they've made the decision, surprisingly few people are content to simply hold still and wait for their breath to run out. It won't take more than a couple of minutes. And then I can teach you our sacred dances. It's been such a long time since I had anyone to dance with."
+Kikimora nodded her assent. She looked up at the silver treetops, the fine clouds sailing past. "Will the world look the same afterwards?"
+Zinobia hopped down from the hawthorn, gliding across the surface of the pool. She held out a bare arm, white as bone, and softly assured her, "It is more beautiful than ever."
+Her pale robes billowed in a breeze Kikimora didn't feel. She placed her hand in the Rusalka's, and allowed herself to be led into the water.
+Yevgenia woke with a start. Beside her, Anatoly snored and muttered. She slipped from the bed, padding silently to the next room. The children were sleeping soundly, only snuffling and twitching from time to time. She checked behind the stove, and in the pantry, and even looked in Anatoly's study. Stepping out into the yard, she called softly, "Kikimora?"
+Her only answer was the rooster sleepily rattling his feathers. She returned indoors. She noted the tidied table and cleaned pots, and sighed guiltily. Growing up as a princess, she had never quite got the hang of housework. She chided herself that yet again she had been selfish and thoughtless, and again she had let Kikimora down.
+"Kikimora," she called once more, and a frown began to crease her brow. She let herself back into Anatoly's office, hunting quickly through the cabinet which covered one wall. It was made of exotic mahogany wood, and contained many small drawers. She disregarded scraps of ancient parchment, cursed amulets and anatomical specimens, continuing her search until she found a large iron ring. Its stone glowed dully in the moonlight, but when she placed the ring on her finger, the colour cleared and brightened.
+"Kikimora, where are you?"
+She stepped closer to the window and, as she watched, a cloudy image took shape within the stone. When it had cleared sufficiently for her to make sense of the scene, Yevgenia cried out in alarm. She threw open the window and leapt into the air, transforming into a swift hawk. The iron ring fell clattering to the ground.
+Dmitri's feet caught on unseen roots. Twigs pulled at his hair. An unearthly glow lit the water ahead, and he ran, the breath tight in his throat. Boris called to him. Being on horseback was a hindrance in the thick woodland, but Dmitri couldn't wait for his friend.
+He fell, slamming hard into the muddy ground. Scrambling to his feet, he careened on towards the desolate shore, telling himself he was imagining that the light began to dim.
+There was no sign of Kikimora, just the Rusalka's silvery hair disappearing below the surface. He watched for a moment, the breath catching in his chest. Then he threw off his warm winter coat and leather boots, wading quickly into the pool. Boris' voice again came to him through the trees.
+Dmitri lunged into deeper water, not allowing himself to look back. Taking a frozen, shuddering breath, he ducked below the surface. Silt stung his eyes, but he forced them open. The faint light was moving ever further away. He kicked desperately towards it, heart thundering from the terrible cold.
+The light grew stronger, and he could make out the Rusalka's pale, shrouded form. Wrapped in her strong arms, a slender figure began to kick and struggle. But the Rusalka held her all the tighter, pressing her face close, and gently kissing her brow.
+A silent cry escaped Dmitri's lips. He kicked again, lungs aching as though his chest was wrapped in iron bands. He reached for the Rusalka's eddying hair, and tugged sharply. Swift as an eel, Zinobia span around. Her look of surprise quickly turned to fury. She surged towards him, and before he could react, Dmitri too found himself wrapped in her steel embrace.
+Kikimora's mouth opened, and the water rushed in, cold and crushing. She and Dmitri struggled together against the Rusalka, but she was in her domain, and her strength was inhuman, unflagging.
+Working her arm free, Kikimora reached towards Dmitri. She felt his fingers wrap around hers, squeezing fiercely. She could see nothing clearly, all was light and silt and bubbles. A roaring filled her ears, and the pressure in her flooded chest became a hammer, pounding, deafening, until she knew nothing else.
+Boris spurred Agnesse on, watching in dismay as Dmitri disappeared into the water. He scanned the surface for any further disturbance, frustrated by his own helplessness. Swinging awkwardly from the saddle, he hobbled to the waters edge. The Rusalka's light had grown dim, barely distinguishable from the moonlight that lapped the ruffled surface.
+"Zinobia!" he growled, and stumped a little way into the water. He hesitated, unwilling to throw himself heedlessly into unknown danger.
+A hawk skimmed low across the surface, diving in with an inexplicably large splash. Bubbles rose to the surface, and some commotion seemed to disturb the pool from below. Boris struggled to discern quite what was happening. All went still again, and he began to wonder if it had been nothing at all, when the water surged upwards, and four figures came spilling out into the shallows.
+Yevgenia hauled Kikimora and Dmitri to the shore, throwing them down gasping on the muddy bank.
+Zinobia roared up behind her. "You are no longer my Queen, and cannot command me!"
+Dmitri recovered quickly, having been submerged for a shorter time. Trembling with cold and fear, he pounded Kikimora's back until she had coughed up all she could. Boris draped his thick coat around her, and handed Dmitri a flask. "Give her a mouthful of this. That'll wake her up."
+"The girl and I made a deal," said Zinobia. "And I've been alone so long!"
+Yevgenia sighed, and sat on a rock at the water's edge, telling her, "I never intended to leave you that way. I went to Anatoly that night to tell him I was quick with child; to tell him I loved him and that we could make a life together. But when I found out what he'd done – how reckless and arrogant and cruel! - I think I lost my mind. And in that moment I swore a stupid vow; a vow I couldn't break. These two could though."
+She smiled at the pale, bedraggled girl and at the handsome young man who held her hand in his. "They found love, despite every obstacle, every hardship. I swore Anatoly wouldn't see me until his wrong was made right. What could be more right than this?"
+Zinobia disregarded Yevgenia's talk of love, only saying, "We didn't know what had happened to you. We were afraid."
+"If I could take back the last seven years I would do so in a heartbeat. But that is beyond my power. There is no use revisiting the past; let us consider the future."
+Kikimora reminded her that she'd made a vow, and it couldn't be broken.
+"It can if Zinobia releases you."
+"But I will not! I want a companion, and I shall have one. Will you return with me to our revel halls and dance with me as we used to?"
+"My place is with my family," Yevgenia said. "I have lost enough time in the wrong body. And the children need me."
+"Fine," Zinobia snapped. "I wouldn't want you back anyway. You cannot be trusted."
+"It's alright," said Kikimora. "I don't really mind." She looked at Dmitri's hand, tight around her own, his warmth seeping into her. This comfort was more than she'd ever expected to receive, and she was grateful for it. But she'd given her word, and there was no point wondering about a future she couldn't have.
+"I mind!" Dmitri protested.
+Zinobia said she was quite happy for him to accompany them - at least for a while. But Yevgenia and Kikimora chorused their objection.
+There was silence a moment. Boris took the flask of vodka from Dmitri, emptied it down his throat, and coughed a little. "I have a proposal."
+***
+Dmitri and Kikimora's courtship was brief. They said their vows beneath rustling spring leaves and ice-bright stars. Leshy attended the wedding in the guise of a milk-white owl. Yevgenia and Anatoly respectively stood proud and stiff. Yuri and Malinka, somewhat reconciled to their lot, roared and tore through the trees, and couldn't be convinced there was any merit in stillness or silence. The guests danced until the moon set, and most agreed that although it was an unorthodox affair, it had been a most enjoyable evening.
+Stanislav was not well enough to suffer such a heathenish event. In any case, he was far from convinced of this strange, pale girl's suitability. Why could Dmitri not have chosen one of those pretty Olgakov girls? Their family was known and respectable. Who were these people? The girl's foreign mother claimed royal lineage, but then, any stranger could make such a claim if they had the gall for it. Stanislav had seen no evidence to suggest her story was more than mere fancy.
+So he stayed home alone, grumbling to himself about uncanny, tall wenches, and wishing he'd had Vitali leave a second bottle within easy reach, while Yana and the servants danced and toasted the couple's good health.
+The next day, Kikimora and Dmitri boarded a coach heading to Vienna. It was Yevgenia's suggestion that an extended tour of the continent was essential to the completion of their education. Equipped with a generous dowry, courtesy of her father, King Maksim, and with little to keep them in Korsakov, they had taken her advice. For 18 months they toured grand cities and palaces. They crossed seas, and rivers so huge they might be seas. They visited ruined temples of long-dead gods, and marvelled at the ingenuity of the ancients.
+Everywhere they went, Dmitri played, and his reputation began to grow. He played to Princes, Lords and Ladies, merchants, sailors, farmers, and peasants. He played in taverns, in market squares and in private mansions. Always his music was well received, and it was thrilling to him to be able finally to pursue his heart's ambition.
+Kikimora also enjoyed their grand tour, visiting places she had previously only heard of in Barinya's tales. But in time she grew sick and listless, and began to long for her home on Korsakov Mountain. At the same time, her stylish new gowns began to grow tight around her middle, and her modest bosom began to swell. One night as Dmitri held her tightly in his arms - gritting his teeth against her continued iciness – he felt a small but distinct kick against his side, and realised finally what all these signs added up to.
+The couple were delighted and a little overwhelmed to realise they would bring a child into the world. They debated whether they should continue their migratory lifestyle, or whether to settle in one place and put down roots.
+Some weeks later the question had still not been decided when a letter from Korsakov reached them. Stamped with the Rachmanov family seal, it bore many addresses crossed out and rewritten in a variety of hands. Dated several months past, the letter was from Yana, informing them of her father's death.
+They at once packed up their few possessions, cancelled their engagements, and boarded a coach. Kikimora's soot black cat rode with them, to the disgust of several other passengers. Grandly ignoring the raised brows and whispered disdain, she held Mischka up to watch the forest streaming past their window, telling her excitedly, "We're going home."
+They travelled for many days. A bright sun was past its zenith when the stagecoach clattered into Korsakov's market square. They stopped at the tavern, and Dmitri stuck his head out of the window, asking the driver, "Must we stop? We are so close."
+"You may be close to your destination, but I have another ten leagues to cover before dark. The horses need refreshing, and so do I." The driver disappeared into the tavern, leaving the horses to the care of three underfed boys emerging from the stable.
+Dmitri helped Kikimora down from the coach, asking if she would like to refresh herself. She shook her head and said she only wished to stretch her legs.
+Crossing the square, they found the town much reduced in population and prosperity. The able bodied men had mostly moved to Baransk, along with their families. The loss of such numbers affected every shop and industry. What employment remained was scarce and poorly paid.
+Kikimora thought it very sad to see the smart milliners where Seraphina Olgakov had bought her beautiful pink ribbon now selling tatty second hand goods. The tea shop on the market square had closed down, and many of the smartest town houses were up for sale – although no one was buying.
+They passed few people out in the cold, bright afternoon, and those they did see kept their heads down, scarves pulled tight against the strong wind. "What a sad state the place is in," Kikimora said.
+Dmitri pursed his lips and said nothing. She knew he would never forgive Anatoly for his part in causing this decline. That the mine had already been failing and falling into debt was unimportant. Anatoly had wanted this result, and done his best to bring it about, heedless of harm and injury to any of the townspeople.
+The first penance Kikimora had found for him was the investiture of a free school for the children of Korsakov. This was considered highly progressive by those remaining in the town; none of the neighbouring towns had such charitable institutions. Of course, attendance depended on the children being excused their labours. But they were provided with a hot meal at midday, and that went some considerable way to offsetting the loss in earnings. In the evenings there were also classes for adults who wished to learn their letters, and these had proved popular.
+The Rachmanov Free School was housed in a smart stone building just off the square. The name was another condition of Anatoly's penance. The teacher, a Miss Godunov, greeted Dmitri and Kikimora warmly, and introduced them to her class of six boys and two girls.
+"But where are all the others? Where is Zoria?"
+Miss Godunov said she hadn't seen Zoria in some months, and these days eight was a good attendance.
+Kikimora tried to hide her dismay. She introduced her cat, telling the children that Mischka had been born the last and smallest of a litter of seven, in a small house just around the corner, on Uvarova Street. No one expected the kitten to live, but Kikimora had adopted her and looked after her, and now Mischka went everywhere with her. The scrawny little cat had travelled the world, and seen things her brothers and sisters couldn't conceive of. "Which I suppose is to say: don't believe your futures have limitations, no matter your background and circumstances." She caught Dmitri's eye and smiled. "There are surprises around every corner."
+After telling the students a little about their travels and the wonders they'd seen, they bade polite farewells, and returned to the coach.
+"It was and remains a fine idea," Dmitri told her. "But it's not enough to turn around the fortunes of the town."
+The horses were goaded away from their oat mash, and grudgingly took off once more, rattling across the empty square. "There must be something more we can do," Kikimora said, gazing out of the window. "At least Czernoboch is back where he belongs." The old god glowered at her as they rode by, and she smiled and blew him a kiss.
+A few miles into the forest, Dmitri banged on the roof, telling the driver, "Here is our stop." A few extra coins bought their passage up the driveway to Kirev House.
+Kikimora thought of her first visit here, clinging to the back of Dmitri's carriage, gasping at the speed and the thrill of the adventure. The estate had already been a little run down then. Now the gardens were overgrown, and there was a dusty, neglected air to the place.
+There was no response to the bell. Leaving the cases by the door, they went to try the back. Kikimora took Dmitri's warm hand into hers, and he shivered as he always did. But it didn't take long for his heat to affect her, and for her to grow warm in response.
+No one answered the back door either. Dmitri tried the handle and let himself inside, calling, "Hello? Yana? Vitali?"
+They passed through the scullery, and into the family rooms. Dmitri called again, but still there was no answer. He exchanged an anxious look with Kikimora, and they rapidly crossed the hall, the dining room and the drawing room. "Do you suppose everything is alright?" she asked.
+A thud sounded from the floor above, and they returned to the entrance hall. Dmitri was at the foot of the stairs when Yevgenia swung around the curved landing, absent-mindedly humming to herself. Her long, thick hair was wrapped in a headscarf, and a dusty housecoat covered a silk dress.
+She gave a delighted and most un-regal squeal when she saw them, and ran down the remaining steps. She squealed more loudly still when she noticed Kikimora's belly. Throwing a duster onto the floor, she gathered them both in a tight embrace, bestowing kisses liberally.
+"What on earth is the matter?" grumbled Irinka, appearing on the landing. "Oh, the prodigal has returned." Though she didn't squeal, she was clearly as delighted as Yevgenia.
+In rapid succession, Yana, Bettina and Vitali joined the gathering, exclaiming at all the hullaballoo before immediately adding to it. Tea swiftly appeared from somewhere while Kikimora and Dmitri told of all their travels and adventures, and answered a fraction of the overlapping questions fired at them. At last the clamour died down sufficiently for Kikimora to ask, "But what is happening here? Why did no one answer the door?"
+Yana explained they had all been in the attic, for they were doing a great deal of sorting, and were currently hauling several unwanted items into storage. "We had fallen into debt somewhat these past years, and could not well afford the upkeep of the house. I had tried to find a buyer ever since father died, but you've seen the state of the town. People of standing have no wish to come here."
+Yevgenia cut in, "So we decided we must make it a desirable place once more! We cannot help the land to recover from its poison. Only time will heal that. So farming will not be its salvation; not wool, not wine. There are no native crafts or natural resources-"
+"Except minerals," Dmitri murmured.
+"Anatoly takes his penance in good part," Yevgenia said softly. "He wholeheartedly gives of his time and his fortune, and is glad to improve the lot of the town. But he will not contribute to the reopening of the mine. You must know that."
+Into the silence, Yana said, "So we thought we must bring people here from outside – prosperous people who will require fine clothes and foods, and gloves and boots, wines and horses and leather goods, and places to stay. Re-invigorate the town by creating services that need fulfilling. Yevgenia told me how prosperous and well known were towns housing respected educational establishments – Salamanca, Leipzig, Wittenberg."
+"You mean to open a university?" asked Dmitri. "Surely that is a huge undertaking? And what credentials do you have? What guarantees of quality?"
+"A college," Yevgenia corrected him. "Sponsored by the world-renowned magician and natural philosopher, Anatoly Truth-Seeker. I believe we may expect much interest."
+"He will teach?" asked Kikimora, doubtful.
+"Your father has discovered an unexpected aptitude for teaching," Yevgenia told her. "His apprentice is quite the prodigy."
+She went on to explain that the dormitories would be in the east wing, that staff rooms would take the west wing, after some repairs. The family rooms would be converted to classrooms and laboratories. "There is much work to do, of course. But we are none of us afraid of rolling up our sleeves."
+The day drew on, and shadows gathered in the dusty corners of the house. "We are keeping you from your work," Kikimora said, finishing her fourth glass of tea and second slice of cake.
+"It's time I returned home to the kits, in any case," said Yevgenia. "I mean, children."
+Kikimora stood to accompany her. Dmitri objected that it was a long and dangerous journey through the forest as evening drew on. Kikimora laughed, reminding him that the forest was more her home than any place on earth, and even its wildest denizens were friends to her.
+"That is true," said Yevgenia. "But I was not proposing to walk. Pleasant though it is, it would take far too long."
+A muttered spell took her, Kikimora and Dmitri instantly to the cottage at the edge of the forest. Smoke curled from its chimney into the gusty twilight. Kikimora felt a little twist and skip in her heart as she drank in the sight of her childhood home. The door was thrown open, and a tall, thin boy tore past, whooping and blowing raspberries.
+"Yuri!" came an infuriated howl, and a girl rushed to the open doorway. She stopped abruptly, hissing, and watching the visitors from huge, dark eyes.
+"Malinka! Is that any way to greet your sister?"
+"Sorry, Mama." The girl dropped her gaze and backed off.
+"We startled you," said Kikimora. "I'm sorry."
+"Go on out and play with your brother. And don't lose your shoes this time!" Yevgenia watched them fondly, saying, "Yuri has taken to the role of human boy with enthusiasm, but I think Malinka still misses her four legs." She closed the door against the rising wind, and placed the stewpot onto the stove. "You see I've had to learn to be domesticated in your absence?"
+Kikimora glanced around at the cobwebbed corners of the ceiling, the dull patina on the once-gleaming copper pans. "Mm," she said politely.
+The murmur of low voices could be heard from Anatoly's study. Yevgenia told her he would be finished soon. She began to ask how they'd liked the Roman Coliseum, but was interrupted by a loud bang, followed by the sound of something breaking. There was silence for a moment, and Kikimora braced herself for his fury. But instead there was laughter.
+As the door pulled open, Anatoly was saying, "I believe that's quite enough for one day. We must leave something for you to break tomorrow."
+It's hard to say who was more startled, Kikimora, Anatoly or Zoria. The ragged girl of two years previous was barely recognisable. She had grown taller, of course. She was also now well fed and warmly dressed. She had always seemed unnaturally confident for her years and station; now Zoria seemed a force to be reckoned with.
+For a moment, awkwardness and uncertainty held each in their place, before Yevgenia said, "For goodness sake, give your daughter a kiss!"
+A warm smile lit Anatoly's face, and he crossed the room swiftly, folding Kikimora in his arms. Only then did he notice her unexpected shape, and was lost for words for a good several minutes.
+While he gathered himself, Kikimora caught up with Zoria. Despite her air of self-sufficiency, she proved to be just as frank and engaging as Kikimora remembered, telling her proudly, "I can make myself invisible now - like you used to. I don't play tricks on people though. Well, not often."
+Although she insisted she was perfectly able to manage the transportation spell alone, Anatoly spoke the words along with her, ensuring she reached her home safely, before returning a moment later to the warm kitchen.
+There was time for more catching up while they ate a supper of stewed rabbit and black bread. Yevgenia sent the complaining children to bed, saying, "You know it's your father's cards night, so no messing around."
+"Should we leave?" asked Kikimora. "We don't want to be an inconvenience."
+"Nonsense," said Yevgenia. "You know you can drop by any time. Though, as it happens, I have plans of my own, and would be honoured if you'd accompany me."
+She flashed Anatoly a look, and reluctantly he turned to Dmitri. "Do you play?"
+Dmitri did play, and Anatoly feigned enthusiasm at the news. "Then you must stay and join us."
+Leshy arrived shortly, and he swept Kikimora up in his strong arms, so that her head brushed the rafters. He embraced Dmitri, seemingly untroubled by the memory of trying to kill him. "It will be good to have a third again," he said, learning that Dmitri would join their game.
+Anatoly made a non-committal sound. He had taken it hard that the North Wind no longer called him a friend. His absence at their monthly card games was a constant but unspoken sore point.
+Kikimora began to clear away the dinner things. "Oh, you mustn't," Yevgenia murmured, clearly very pleased that she had. When the table was emptied, the cards were brought out, along with the last bottle of Kikimora's meadow grass vodka.
+Yevgenia glanced through the window at the full moon riding high in a blanket of velvet-dark sky. "It's time we left," she said, pulling a fine brocade cloak over her dress.
+Anatoly sighed. "Your best? Must you? You'll only lose it again."
+"And I will find it again." Yevgenia strode to the door, opening it to find a familiar but long absent presence on the doorstep. She looked him up and down with pursed lips. The North Wind looked back.
+At last he said, "It's a full moon."
+"That it is."
+"And I... I have no other engagements."
+Anatoly threw back his chair, striding to the door.
+The North Wind's ruddy cheeks lit up. "It is good to see you, old friend."
+"And you! Come in. Sit. We were just about to begin. You know my son-in-law?"
+The North Wind regarded Dmitri through shrewd eyes. "I am aware of him."
+Dmitri glanced uncertainly at Kikimora, who gave an encouraging smile, saying, "Watch out for him. He cheats."
+The North Wind said how silly it was to let misunderstandings get in the way of friendship. He sighed, emptying his first glass of spirit. "How I have missed your vodka! The finest I ever tasted."
+Before the door closed, Kikimora heard him telling the others of his attempts to befriend Baba Yaga, "-but the old witch is terrible at cards, and a mean loser. And her vodka tastes of cabbage..."
+Hoar frost glittered on branches, crackling on the leaves underfoot. Kikimora asked more than once where they were going, but Yevgenia only answered, "You'll see."
+The women were sure-footed, moving swiftly down the flank of the mountain, and along a narrow ridge. Soon they reached the banks of a fast flowing stream, and followed it a little way until it hurtled over a cliff edge, tumbling to the valley far below. Yevgenia slipped off her cloak and her leather shoes, tucking them under the eaves of a thick pine. Gasping and laughing at the cold, she crossed the stream, her bare feet finding purchase on submerged stones. Reaching the cusp of the waterfall, she stopped and began to sing, beckoning Kikimora to join her.
+Though she enjoyed the warmth Dmitri shared with her, Kikimora still wasn't troubled by cold, and went without shoes whenever she could. She stepped into the stream, lifting the hem of her dress, and though her voice was not strong and rich like Yevgenia's, she too began to sing.
+Before long a sweet, melodious voice rose up from the valley below, singing harmonies to Yevgenia's song. A deeper, male voice joined them, and his rich notes underpinned the twining melodies.
+As they sang, a pale glow began to flicker up from the waterfall. Kikimora craned a little way forward to see, and Yevgenia placed a restraining hand on her shoulder, holding her back from the precipice. Something was scaling the cliff face, effortlessly leaping from one outcrop to another, as graceful and sure-footed as a mountain goat, but far more beautiful.
+The two voices grew stronger as the ghostly light danced ever closer. The song reached its end, and Zinobia, laughing, leapt the final section of the waterfall. She landed delicately on the water's surface, shining droplets crowning her silver hair. From a little way below came a grumbling voice, "I'll just climb this last bit, shall I?"
+"I've carried you this whole way! Honestly, anyone would think you were afraid of a little scrambling."
+"Afraid? Of being stranded 200 yards up a sheer cliff beside a thundering waterfall on an icy winter's night? What kind of milksop do you take me for?"
+Zinobia smiled her sharp-toothed smile. "It's only five yards to the top. I did it at a single leap."
+"No doubt I too could accomplish such feats if I were a magical, flying, undead creature of the night."
+"I've offered plenty of times-"
+"You are not drowning me!" Boris said. "How many times must I tell you?"
+Kikimora peered anxiously over the edge.
+"He'll be fine," Zinobia said, turning her full attention to her visitors. "I see you are in an interesting condition. Tell me true, has your man abandoned you? Is it all too much to bear?"
+"Zinobia, stop trying to recruit my daughter."
+"She knows I'm only teasing. Although, if ever times become too hard-"
+From below the cliff edge came a wet scuffling, followed by a drawn-out yell. "Excuse me." Turning swiftly, Zinobia dived over the waterfall and disappeared. A moment later she returned, her strong arms wrapped around Boris, and dumped him unceremoniously beside the stream. "Helpless as a newborn," she sighed. "It is fortunate I find his weakness endearing."
+"Aye, and your cold-hearted treachery is charm itself."
+"Darling, you say the sweetest things." Zinobia planted a kiss on his cheek, and helped him to stand. "Shall we?" she asked Yevgenia.
+The three of them whirled away into the trees, singing to the fat, white moon. Leaping from the water, Kikimora followed the Rusalka, the miner and the magician through the moonlit woods, joining in their song and their endlessly intertwining dance.
+They danced past oaks and pines, chestnuts and elms, past flowing rivers and still pools. Night creatures watched them pass. A ghostly owl added his stern voice to their song; a vixen raised her muzzle and howled. They danced until their feet felt like dishrags, until they could barely stand. The moon crossed the sky and began to sink again. Dawn's murky glow muddied the sky.
+Boris collapsed to the frosty ground, "This time she has killed me, I mean it. I cannot walk another step. I shall die here."
+"Lie here and freeze, by all means," said Zinobia, and somehow he found the strength to continue.
+Kikimora felt as though she was surfacing from a dream. The night seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, yet she was wearier than she ever remembered being. "So that is how the Rusalkas revel?"
+Yevgenia nodded, happily exhausted herself.
+In the little cottage at the edge of the forest, Dmitri snored lightly, collapsed across his scattered playing cards. Higher up the mountain, Leshy watched the sun's first golden rays break across the far hills, flooding the valley with light. A ground mist hovered in the hollow places and wherever water ran. He recognised the song of every bird in the forest, and smiled as each awoke, adding its voice to the dawn clamour. The furthest, snow-capped peaks of the mountain were already shining blue, as cold and brilliant as the moon.
+Beside him the North Wind gave one of his huge gusty sighs. "If only it could stay like this."
+"All day?"
+"Forever."
+Leshy frowned, unable to imagine how the forest could ever be different. "The men are gone. We drove them off. The forest is ours once more."
+The North Wind only said, "Hmm."
+Anatoly stifled a yawn. He'd forgotten how the North Wind always made him stay up too late and drink too much vodka – and how he tended to win everything. Glumly, he said, "They'll be back, one day. When their greed overrides their superstition. When they've invented larger pumps and stronger engines. And then my friends, we shall truly be in trouble."
\ No newline at end of file