by Levi Stack
Chapter VI
THE WOLF DEN
With no exit in sight, the blood brothers threw themselves behind a pile of old crates in a dark alcove, praying for a miracle. Two groups then came into view, heading toward the side street's center—the Masqueraiders, but also the gang of youths they'd seen earlier!
"Maybe they're enemies," Romulus said under his breath.
"Hold up!" a man in the alligator mask said. "What have we here—accomplices of the cardholders? Seize the swine!"
The youth gang stood aggressively, but it was the curly-haired, smallest boy who leapt at the chance to speak. "Ha! It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on!"
"Are you admiring my mask, runt?" said the Masqueraider.
"Keep quiet, Belch," said the girl in the group, but the tiny boy continued.
"Not even in my salad days, when I was green in judgment, cold in blood!"
"Devil-tongue!" the moon Masqueraider snarled. "Why's he talking in riddles?"
"Why, to hold a mirror up to nature—all the world's a stage!" cried Belch.
"Silence!" demanded the alligator man. "It's our duty to make sure no vagrant tramps run free in this town. Our lord won't allow it. It makes this place look like a sty!"
A boy with shaggy black hair and olive skin chuckled. "So why's he hired you?"
"I just told you, bonehead!"
"Forget it, Arseni, he missed it," said the tallest, palest youth.
"Missed what?" spat the alligator Masqueraider, drawing closer with his sword.
"The punch line, of course," said the youth exasperatedly.
"What punch—"
THUMP.
The tall youth had leapt off his left foot and slammed his right fist downward into the alligator mask. The Masqueraider fell in a heap to the ground, moaning and clutching at the cover over his face, where blood seeped out of the openings for his mouth and nostrils. Alarm ran through Viktor—who were these youths not a year older than him?
Brandishing a mallet, the jester stepped forward. "You've wounded a Masqueraider. For that, the girl gets chopped to pieces."
But even as the girl retreated, the two shirtless boys sprung at their oncoming attackers and leapt off either side of the narrow alley: One gave the jester a bone-crunching kick to the chest; the other dodged the moon Masqueraider's sword and slammed the man's head against the wall. The strong-muscled youths landed like cats above their incapacitated foes. Viktor gaped, realizing the barechested boys were mirror images of each other—identical twins.
Only the Greek tragedy Masqueraider remained standing, but after a momentary pause, the black-cloaked figure turned tail and sprinted for Elli Way.
The lone girl bent down and picked up the jester's mallet. Her face lit with beauty and amusement as she pushed back her hair and held out the hammer. "Well, go ahead, Arseni."
The boy with messy black hair grinned as he took the weapon. His arm cocked back and let loose the mallet, which spun end over end until its iron struck the fleeing Masqueraider in the back, landing the man on his face.
"Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow!" called Belch, bowing low. Then he caught up with the rest of the gang, who had resumed their chatter and were meandering down the empty street as if nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.
Viktor and Romulus caught each other's eye, both recognizing that their odd escape was a gift in and of itself. With haste, they left their dim alcove and dashed past the still groaning Masqueraiders. At the edge of Prospekt Street, they parted ways, agreeing to meet at the forest's edge tomorrow night at midnight to talk. It would be a long time before either of them fully realized the implications of Petya's death, but already the miner's ultimatum weighed heavy in their minds: Find the Silent Deal document, or die.
"Viktor, wake up!" his mother called.
He blinked. Had he slept? Had he dreamt up the horror of last night? He sniffed the air; the toxic odor of Blackbirds clung to his clothes. He felt his ankle; the Fire Wire had left a painful burn. Then came the image of Petya being impaled by the black-beaked man. Tears slid down Viktor's cheeks. This was reality, but worse than any nightmare, like a lucid night terror he couldn't wake up from. Why hadn't he taken his father's advice and stayed far away from cards?
"Don't dawdle! You've slept long enough."
Viktor's legs were so sore from jumping rooftops that he nearly collapsed while getting out of bed. The memories of Petya's words about the Leopard and the Silent Deal added to his faintness. What Viktor needed were answers—especially from Romulus. If he were to stick by his new blood brother's side, he would have to learn about the boy's mysterious past. Tonight.
His mother banged about in the kitchen. "Have you forgotten it's Saturday, Viktor?"
Viktor sighed. A break from lessons was no break at all. He and every other serf student in Aryk would spend the weekend working in their family's house, farm, or, for Viktor, field. So after changing and managing to keep down a bowl of vegetable soup, he walked nervously behind his home to the potato plot his family grew. What the day would bring, he had no idea. He didn't think anyone had seen his face last night, but there was nothing to do but go about his business quietly and wait—and waiting was agony.
It was the middle of autumn, but frost was already attacking the knee-high crops. Some years, the plants became so injured or diseased that after Master Molotov's officials took their quota, nothing living was left. Viktor couldn't let that happen this year. Even with his father in the mines and his mother in the textile mill six long days a week, their combined living allowance barely kept the family alive through the winter months.
Thus, from dawn till dusk, Viktor toiled. He rebuilt the potatoes mounds to cover the tubers emerging from the ground, took special care of the vegetable patch, pulled weeds, drew water from the well nearby, watered the plants, and fixed fence boards around the garden. Then he split firewood until his mother called his aching stomach and drooping eyelids for supper.
Viktor took a seat across from Grandpap and glanced at his father's empty chair.
"He's running late," his mother announced, dishing Viktor up the same soup they had eaten that morning.
"Of course they keep the men late on a Saturday, Starsha," spat Grandpap. "Why would they care if everyone's dead tired Sunday? Thieves."
"We'll just have to start without him," Viktor's mother answered.
But she had just sat down when the door burst open.
Vassi entered, coughing and caked with grime. He looked deeply troubled as he pulled out the table's head chair and sunk down.
"Um ... Vassi, dear, do you want to wash up?"
"No."
Everyone sat there unmoving, waiting for him to speak.
"There was an accident in the mines," he croaked, resting his head in his worn hands. "A tunnel collapsed. There was a death."
"No! Who was it?" Viktor's mother whispered. Many of the miners' wives were her good friends.
Vassi looked from Starsha to Grandpap with knowing eyes. "You remember Petya Savvin."
A coughing spell hit Viktor. He buried his mouth in his fist, not daring to meet his father's gaze. His mother dipped her head, covering her weepy eyes.
"God gave, God took back," declared Grandpap, glancing down at where his left arm should have been. He scratched the white stubble on his chin. "Petya was a good, faithful man, wasn't he?"
Viktor's ears rang. Something about the tone of the question was unsettling, as if the words had significance beneath their surface.
"Yes, he was," Vassi said. "But sadly he's left a son, Rodya, in prison. Oh, and his wife—he loved her so. Yet she died many years ago ..."
Grandpap blinked back tears. "Easy, Vassi. They don't talk about ropes in the home of the hanged person."
The hanged man flashed in Viktor's thoughts. He knew Grandpap was probably referencing his own deceased wife, but the saying was further unhinging.
"Petya shouldn't be dead. T
he tunnel shouldn't have collapsed," said Vassi.
"It was smooth on paper," Grandpap offered.
"I saw him alive and well this morning, and by nightfall, he was gone. How quickly things change from morning to night!"
Now the deepest disturbance of all came over Viktor upon hearing his father's words, because he knew them to be false. You couldn't have seen Petya alive this morning because he was dead last night! Viktor thought. He was stabbed. He bled out on the stones. I saw it! No mine collapse killed him—he was murdered! Why would you want me to believe otherwise?
"And already the men are talking, spreading fabrications. Isn't it enough to let a man die in peace?" Vassi murmured, his eyes flickering to his son.
This time, Viktor held the gaze, and though he still regretted Petya's death, for the first moment that day, he didn't regret his initial decision to go to the Brass Art. Because now he saw firsthand how far the truth was swept under the rug, and he refused to let it lie there. This town would not keep him in the dark.
Petya's gruff voice echoed over and over: "The Silent Deal will explain everything. Find it! Finish the work of your fathers!"
For the second night in a row, Viktor snuck out of the house after everyone had fallen asleep. He wasted no time on the journey to King's Corners, this time staying off the road and continuing northwest until he came all the way to the schoolhouse. In its abandoned state, the field looked eerie and dead, save for Mother's Kissing Tree, whose oak branches twisted upward like a giant octopus that had broken out of the earth.
"Viktor." Romulus stood at the forest's edge, waving him on.
"Romulus, I ... need ... answers," Viktor gasped, breathing heavy after his run. "Things ... are getting out of hand. If you ... would've heard my dinner table conversation ..."
"Not here." Romulus swept the field. "Let's go into the forest."
Viktor hesitated. He wasn't eager to enter the forest again, especially in such thick darkness. "Where would we go?"
"My house."
Though disconcerted, Viktor was far too intrigued to turn down the offer, so he shadowed Romulus into the woods. Unanswered questions created a layer of tension that rested between the two boys. Viktor wondered all the while why Maksim's king of spades card was famous. And for that matter, was Maksim truly Romulus' father? What had happened in his past, and how did it connect with the Leopard, this faceless man who was after them?
Romulus, too, seemed deep in thought, but he still traversed the woodland with extraordinary ease, dodging potholes and hanging branches and even spiderwebs. Viktor felt as blind as the bats that flapped overhead, and whenever he forgot to imitate his friend's movement, these obstacles tripped him up. Romulus came to an abrupt halt in front of a dead oak tree growing in the middle of a thicket of bushes.
"This is it," he said.
"This is what?"
"Home. You've seen a bear den, now see the Wolf Den."
"You don't live here. You're pulling my leg."
"I'm not, but these ropes on the ground sure will. Be careful not to step on them."
Viktor had overlooked the network of ropes that crisscrossed through the bushes. "What'll they do?"
"Snare you, release toxic smoke, sling you up in the air and so forth—it gets worse the more ropes you hit." Romulus winked. "My Saint Benedict medal can only ward off so much evil."
Which brings up yet another question, Viktor thought. Why did Petya recognize that necklace?
Cautious to copy his steps, Viktor followed Romulus through a path in the bushes. Close to the trunk of the dead oak were a few small boulders, and a tiny crevice between them revealed an entranceway. Viktor ducked through the gap, preparing himself to see what true hardship looked like. A narrow passage sloped downward, just tall enough to stand in. Underground, the air became warmer and smelled of a mixture of candles, sawdust, spices, and herbs. The boys rounded one more corner, this one bathed in growing lantern light. Then Viktor's jaw dropped: He entered a room four times as big as his own.
Without a doubt, the Wolf Den was the most fascinating living quarters Viktor had ever seen. Bright candles hung on walls decorated with animal furs, and a long wooden worktable stretched along the entire right side of the room, with a makeshift bed to the left. A stone fireplace was built into the back wall, whose chimney fed into the dead oak's hollow trunk, dispersing smoke high above the tree canopy. The range of objects lying around the room was equally magnificent—from wood chests and jarred plants and insects to springs and gears and an assortment of knives. There were so many unidentifiable projects in the workings that Viktor almost overlooked the handmade antler chandelier; it hung from a ceiling reinforced with a wood frame.
"You ... live here?" Viktor sputtered, breaking the silence.
Romulus flushed. "I know it's not a real house. Like the floor, for instance, is only hard-packed dirt under rugs, but because it's underground, it stays warm all year and—"
"You mean ... you built this?" Viktor said.
"Well, I dug it."
"It's ... amazing."
"You're the first person I've ever shown it to," Romulus said, his voice falling away.
Perhaps to give himself something to do, he went over to the fireplace and pulled two steaks off the pan he'd set over the flames. Viktor didn't feel right accepting such a delicacy, but upon seeing Romulus toss an enormous raw slab to Blizzard, who nearly swallowed it whole, he assented. Apparently an abundance of food could be won from illegally hunting in the forest.
Viktor sat against the hearth and gobbled down the delicious meal just as fast as Blizzard. Only when he was done did he think to ask, "What is this?"
"Bear."
Viktor nearly swallowed his tongue.
"So you had something to tell me?" said Romulus.
Viktor's dread came flooding back. "It's my father. He knows about Petya's death."
"You told him?" Romulus snarled.
"No, he told me. He said Petya died in a mine collapse."
"What? Then the masked men are covering up his death—they're making it look like an accident!"
"That's what I thought at first," said Viktor, "but it gets stranger. My father lied to me about seeing Petya alive in the mines this morning. It was like he was trying to cover up the truth. Listen ... I think the miners know Petya was murdered."
Romulus shook his head. "No, wouldn't they do something? Protect their own?"
"Maybe they're afraid."
"I still don't understand. That captain saw my card, became furious, and called for backup—but I didn't even know the Masqueraiders or this Leopard character existed until last night. Did you?"
"Yes."
"What?"
Viktor looked hard at Romulus. "Look, whatever we've stumbled upon, whatever happened last night—it'll get worse if we don't confess our secrets to each other. We both need answers. I mean, someone has actually died because of us. And I won't go any further groping in the darkness until I'm absolutely sure that we can trust each other—that we know each other's past."
"Alright, Viktor," said Romulus after a long pause. "I'll tell you my secrets, but let's not pretend that this isn't a one-sided confession."
Viktor scowled. "You're wrong. I'll start."
Romulus looked a bit taken aback but sat still and waited, making no comment.
"I haven't been honest with you. I also have my own interest in cards," Viktor said, letting the words sink in. "Four years ago, I witnessed a hanging: A quarter of the men in this town watched as Captain Ulfrik sentenced a man to death—simply because he was found with a two of spades playing card. I fled to Prospekt Street in fear, and in the aftermath, those same Masqueraiders overran the town. That's when I accidentally stumbled across the Brass Art alleyway. Now ... those memories haunt my dreams every single night."
"Actually killed for having a card!" Romulus spouted. "I figured the law was more of a warning ... but actually executing someone?"
"I know. It's madness, which ...
brings me ... to another confession," said Viktor. "Ever since the second day of school, I knew I had to find out how and why you had that king of spades. I had to uncover the mystery of the cards, if only to keep my sanity. About a month later, the other boys and I drew sticks to see who would follow you into the forest. I broke mine so I would lose and have an excuse to spy on you. But things changed when you saved my life. We became blood brothers—"
Romulus started to laugh.
"What?" Viktor said.
"All this time, I thought I was using you, but you've been using me!"
"It's not funny! I thought you knew the secret of the cards. But you know less than I do!"
Romulus fell silent. "You're right. I do know less. I guess it's time for my own confession ... but let me warn you, you're going to be disappointed. Know why?"
"No."
"It's because sometimes a lie sounds better than the truth. I know what our classmates say about me—they say I'm a bloodthirsty boy of the forest. Your friend Mikhail seems to think Blizzard raised me." Romulus smiled weakly at the thought. "The truth is, my life is much more pathetic than any rumor you've heard. If I seem fearless, it's because I've had nothing to lose. The forest will do that to you, if you stay here long enough."
Viktor slowed his breath, preparing to learn the truth about his blood brother, the boy who had so long remained a mystery to his peers.
"So here it is ... my life."
