The Wolf Princess

by Cathryn Constable

  Then Sophie couldn’t stop herself. “It’s you!” she cried.

  The woman narrowed her pale eyes and looked at Sophie, then quickly looked away again. “Who else could I be but me?” she said.

  “I mean, it’s you. From the school. You came to my school. In London.” Sophie wasn’t sure if she was making herself clear. “I showed you the playground,” Sophie insisted. “You took my photograph. To show Natalya.”

  “Who?” The woman frowned.

  Sophie felt confused. Had she got it wrong? “Natalya, your daughter …”

  The woman waved her hand airily. “Ah, yes. Perhaps. I travel often. I visit many schools!” She smiled approvingly at Delphine. “That is good coat. Good for Russian weather.” She reached out and stroked the fabric. “Is designer?”

  Delphine smiled. “Of course!”

  “So now,” announced Dr. Starova, checking her tiny wristwatch, “we run for train!”

  They scarcely had time to pick up their bags before Dr. Starova was marching smartly toward the platforms. Sophie, seeing that Delphine was struggling, took one of her suitcases and Marianne the other. They set off after the elegant figure of their host, feeling awkward and out of place, trying to get past commuters and travelers who were not in the habit of moving to accommodate three hobbling schoolgirls.

  “Where’s she going?” Delphine said. “Why aren’t we taking the Metro?”

  “Just don’t take your eyes off her,” Marianne replied, her breathing shallow. “If we lose her, I don’t get the feeling she’ll come back for us.”

  “Quick!” Dr. Starova called over her shoulder as they reached a platform. “The train is leaving. We must not miss him. Next train tomorrow!”

  The girls immediately upped their pace, almost breaking into a run as the woman strode alongside an old-fashioned-looking train, which seemed to go on for miles. Eventually, Dr. Starova thrust her tickets at a uniformed guard standing at the farthest door, fluttering them like a fan under his nose and laughing coquettishly. He waved them on without looking once at the tickets.

  “We are just in time!” she said, smiling at them all.

  The girls struggled up the steps with their bags, Dr. Starova doing nothing to help.

  “Turn right! Second compartment!” she called. “Hurry!” She stepped lightly up behind them, banging the door shut.

  The train jolted, then began to move.

  “Hurry!” Dr. Starova urged, pushing past them. “We must find our carriage!”

  Sophie felt a delicious combination of fear and excitement. This was not the glamorous sleeper she had imagined, but it would do. She was on a train in Saint Petersburg. Who cared if she wouldn’t have time to put chocolate cats under her pillow as she did in her fantasy Russian journey? After all, they wouldn’t be traveling very far; soon they would be in Dr. Starova’s home, enjoying Russian food and meeting the rest of the Starova family, including Natalya, the math prodigy.

  “Watch it!” Marianne turned to Delphine as they tried to maneuver their suitcases along the narrow corridor. “I need both my legs!”

  “Too slow!” Dr. Starova pushed past them and disappeared into a compartment ahead.

  The girls struggled on. They had to stop to let another passenger pass, but finally they caught up and put their bags down. They were in a cramped cabin with four narrow red seats and a small drop-down table.

  Dr. Starova drew the curtain behind them. “We good!” she said.

  Delphine got out her phone. “Would you mind if I took a photograph of your coat? My mother is a fashion editor in Paris and she likes me to send her pictures of things that have caught my eye. Is it vintage?”

  Dr. Starova took off her coat and folded it carefully. “No photographs. I stop them many years ago.” Then she took Delphine’s phone out of her hand and turned it off.

  “You can’t do that!” Delphine said.

  Dr. Starova shrugged and handed it back. “But if I let you take photograph, I must let everyone take photograph!” She smoothed her claret wool skirt over her hips before sitting down.

  The train was picking up speed. Dr. Starova reached into her handbag and brought out a jeweled compact, an old-fashioned-looking thing that nevertheless seemed exotic and precious in the bare train carriage. She snapped it open, ran her tongue over her teeth, arched her eyebrows, pushed a curl back from her forehead, and pursed her lips. “Every hour men want photograph … It must stop!” She snapped the compact shut. “So!” she said. “This your first time in Russia?”

  The girls nodded.

  “Voy gavaritye parruski?”

  The girls stared at her.

  “What did you say?” Sophie asked. She thought the last word might be something to do with the word for Russian, but didn’t want to risk looking silly.

  “That funny.” And then the woman laughed. A short, sharp laugh, like a slap. “You not understand Russian?”

  Marianne looked stung. “I have memorized the alphabet,” she said.

  “And we are very keen to learn,” Sophie added quickly.

  “You two are,” muttered Delphine.

  “Of course!” Dr. Starova was still smiling, but her eyes had assumed a more watchful expression. She stared out of the window at the blizzard and the black night. The train was now rattling along at high speed. She turned back to the girls.

  “So, I think because you not need school until Monday, we spend weekend with my friends!” She had a curious habit of making everything sound as though it were an announcement of enormous importance, and that the girls should be incredibly pleased with her. “They have dacha. Do you know what that is?” Her eyebrows flew up. “It’s … little house … in country … for holidays and weekends. North of city.” Dr. Starova was speaking rapidly but smoothly, as if she were rehearsing lines for a play.

  Sophie couldn’t think what to say. She was sure that Miss Ellis had told them they would be going to a suburb of Saint Petersburg called Stary Beloostrov, which wasn’t in the country at all. “We aren’t going to your apartment?” she asked.

  “We go to country.” Dr. Starova looked faintly annoyed. “I told you.”

  “But I have to go shopping tomorrow,” Delphine said.

  “Shopping?” Dr. Starova said this word as if it were the most lunatic thing she had heard.

  “I have to get special notebooks for my mother. From the shop on Nevsky Prospekt. And a chocolate carriage from the shop near the Stroganov Palace.” Her cheeks became pink. “That’s really important.”

  “But how you send chocolate carriage to your mother?” Dr. Starova said. “It not possible!”

  “But that’s the most important thing. She needs the carriage by Tuesday. She’s doing a shoot. A Cinderella jewelry shoot. For a magazine!”

  Dr. Starova shrugged. “I know this shop. There is no more carriage. Only …” She thought for a moment. “… chocolate yacht! Rich people in Russia not want carriage. They want yacht!” She smiled at Delphine.

  Delphine looked as if she was about to say something else, but Dr. Starova turned her head away and looked out of the carriage window. The conversation was clearly over.

  The train slowed down. It jolted and stopped. They were at the first station. Sophie saw people crowding on the platform and heard large, loud Russian voices. Dr. Starova looked out of the window. There was a crease between her eyes, as if the girls were irritating her now. She didn’t say anything.

  The train picked up speed again as it left the station. Dr. Starova reached into her handbag and brought out their tickets. She checked the names and handed one to each of the girls in turn. They were large, the paper faintly marbled, incomprehensible Russian letters swarming all over them. She glanced at her watch. “I think we arrive by nine,” she said. “It not far.”

  “But that’s two hours away!” Marianne said. “How can you say that’s not far?”

  “We are in Russia.” Dr. Starova looked even more irritated. “It is large country.” She smoothed her s
kirt again.

  “This isn’t on our itinerary!” Marianne pulled a piece of paper out of her coat pocket, unfolded it, and read out the details. “It says we will be staying with our host families in Saint Petersburg!” She thrust the paper at Dr. Starova. “See? You can read it for yourself!”

  Dr. Starova took the paper from Marianne, held it far away from her, as if she needed glasses, then shrugged, as if what was written on the paper was of no interest to her.

  “I will fetch you some tea,” she said, standing up and sliding into her coat. She put Marianne’s itinerary in her pocket. “I think perhaps you thirsty.”

  “Thank you very much.” Sophie smiled, trying to be polite. “I’m sorry … we’re not being ungrateful … it’s very kind of you …”

  The woman picked up her handbag.

  “We’re just a bit tired,” Sophie added, although she wasn’t sure that Dr. Starova had heard as she slipped quickly out of the compartment.

  “Do we want to go to the country?” Delphine asked. “I’m not sure I want to. I don’t care what Dr. Starova says about chocolate yachts! I don’t want to leave Saint Petersburg. I have a lot of shopping to do.”

  “She’s just trying to do something nice for us,” Sophie said. “Show us a bit more of Russia.”

  “But what am I going to do about the chocolate shop?” Delphine said, her voice wound tight. “And the notebooks? What will I tell my mother? She’s relying on me.”

  Sophie reached across and squeezed her hand. “We’ll sort it out.”

  Delphine took a deep breath and squeezed Sophie’s hand back.

  “Just think. Everyone else is taking the cooking course,” Marianne sighed. “Probably drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows and playing Scrabble …”

  The train slowed down for another station, this one much less busy. Sophie watched the dark-coated figures get off the train, their breath escaping in great clouds. She tried to read the letters of the name of the station, but couldn’t make head nor tail of them.

  “It’s odd how Russian looks so foreign,” she said, more to herself than to her friends. “It’s so frustrating not even knowing where to start.”

  She watched a woman walk quickly up the platform, her hands thrust into her pockets, her arms close to her side. Black hair like petals and a tapestry coat.

  “Dr. Starova!” she called, banging on the window.

  The woman’s eyes flicked toward their carriage, but she kept on walking.

  “That couldn’t have been Dr. Starova,” Marianne said, shifting in her seat. “She said she was going to get us some tea.”

  “Why would she need to get off the train to get tea?” Delphine looked puzzled. “It can’t have been her.”

  The train started to pull out of the station.

  “Did anyone see her get back on?” asked Sophie. The others shook their heads.

  They sat silent for a couple of moments, each of them waiting for Dr. Starova to pull back the curtain and step into their compartment.

  After a few more minutes, Sophie said, “She’s not coming.”

  Marianne said, “There are one hundred and forty million people in Russia. The chances are it was just someone who looked like her.”

  Sophie shook her head. “It’s no use, Marianne. It was Dr. Starova I saw on the platform. She’s left us on the train.”

  There was a longer silence. Sophie felt her heart pick up speed in time with the train. They were now slipping farther and farther away from the station, through the blizzard, into the vast, empty countryside. But where were they heading?

  It was unbearable. Sophie stood up.

  “What are you doing?” Marianne said.

  Sophie didn’t know. She stared out of the window but saw only her own face staring back.

  Delphine said, “You got it wrong, Sophie. Dr. Starova must be on the train because … if she got off …” She turned a blank face to Marianne. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  Marianne looked down at her ticket. She stared very hard at the writing. “I learned the alphabet,” she whispered. “I ought to be able to read what it says.”

  Sophie sat down again. She and Delphine waited quietly.

  After a minute or so, Marianne looked up. It was clear she was upset. “I’m really smart,” she whispered. “I know I am. But I don’t understand what’s written on the ticket.” She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.

  Sophie said, “I think that says Saint Petersburg.” She pointed to the top left-hand corner.

  “Even I knew it said that,” Delphine said. “It’s two words.”

  Marianne chewed her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said. She folded her ticket up and put it in her pocket. And then, her face crumpling, she whispered, “What are we going to do?”

  Sophie tried to think, but she felt like her brain was as full of swirling snowflakes as the night outside. She simply could not make sense of what had happened. Their three reflections in the window seemed very small as the train hurtled through the night.

  “Let’s call the conductor.” Delphine got up and pulled the curtain open. She stepped out of the compartment, but then froze. “We won’t know how to explain to him,” she gasped. “We can’t speak Russian.”

  Sophie, realizing that her Russian amounted to just three words, said, “We’ll just have to make him understand somehow.”

  “Understand what?” Delphine looked on the verge of tears. “That we’ve been left on a train? That we don’t know where we’re going?”

  She came back into the carriage, drew the curtain closed again, and sat down. She took off her hat and raked her hands through her hair.

  Marianne had her thoughtful face on. “Let’s think about this logically,” she said. “Did someone forget to tell us something? Miss Ellis seemed a bit stressed.”

  “I’m going to call her.” Delphine got out her phone. She tapped at the screen and put the phone to her ear. Sophie held her breath. Delphine shrugged. “It just rings and rings. I can’t even leave a message.”

  “Beel-yet!” The conductor, a small wiry man wearing a peaked cap on the back of his head, pulled back the curtain. He stood with his hand out. The girls didn’t move. He smiled and said more loudly, “Beel-yet!”

  “What does he want?” Marianne asked.

  The man said, “Teekits!”

  Sophie handed hers over. He looked at it, looked at her, and made a strange clicking noise in the back of his throat. He shook his head and said something under his breath. Then he shrugged, checked both Marianne’s and Delphine’s tickets, and left. They heard him walking up the corridor, yelling, “Beel-yet!”

  “At least we’ve learned one word,” Marianne said, folding her ticket up and putting it away.

  “He looked surprised,” Sophie said, staring at her ticket as if she would suddenly become able to read Russian, or find the answer to their situation printed on it. “I wonder why?”

  Within minutes, they found out.

  The conductor reappeared and picked up their bags, moving them into the corridor.

  Marianne said, “What’s he doing? Why is he taking our bags?”

  Delphine pulled at the man’s sleeve. “Leave my things alone!”

  The conductor ignored her. Sophie got the impression that, although a small man, he was used to getting people off trains without any bother. And without losing any time.

  Sophie and Marianne found themselves moving toward the door. But Delphine stayed in her seat. She folded her arms, crossed her legs, and stared straight ahead. The conductor took her by the shoulder. She shook him off. He took her shoulder more forcefully. Sophie saw her wince.

  “Come on, Delphine,” she whispered. “This won’t help.”

  Delphine’s mouth became harder as the conductor maneuvered her out of the compartment. But despite the determined angle of her jaw, her resistance was just for show. The whole episode seemed to have achieved a dynamic and an inevitability of its own, as if they were moving through a
dream.

  The train slowed down. The conductor opened the door. Snow flew into the train.

  “There must be a mistake!” Sophie said desperately.

  The conductor shrugged. “Maybe mistake on teekit,” he said. “No station! Only old platform. But you leave where teekit say.”

  Then he threw Sophie’s rucksack out into the night before picking up the first of Delphine’s suitcases with two hands.

  It was as if Delphine suddenly came to life. She screamed at him in French to put the suitcase down, how dare he, she would kill him with her bare hands if he so much as touched anything of hers. And then, as the suitcases went out into the night, she cried, “Mes vêtements!” And pushing past the others, she leaped from the train.

  The brakes squealed and the conductor yelled, “Uiditye!”

  Marianne turned her head as if it were filled with concrete. “What did he say?”

  To Sophie, her voice sounded far away. She had a sense that she was looking at everything through very thick glass. Even if she spoke, she wasn’t sure that Marianne would hear her.

  The man bellowed, “Von. Out!”

  Marianne’s suitcase was thrown into the snow. And now the conductor clamped a small white hand around Marianne’s arm as if he would throw her, too, from the train.

  Confused, frightened, but unable to know what else they could do, both girls jumped down, into the dark and the fury of the storm, and onto a narrow platform that was completely covered in deep, deep snow.

  Sophie and Marianne clung to each other as the lights of the train floated off into the night. The wind snapped at their fingers and faces and screamed in their ears. Snow jabbed and stung their eyes.

  They were nowhere. This was no longer even a station. How could they have been put off the train here?

  Delphine was gone. It was as if she had jumped into nothingness, another world, perhaps.

  All Sophie could think was that they couldn’t stay on the platform, if it even was a platform. This snow, this wind, was not romantic, as she had thought it might be from the safety of the train station. It was vicious and savage. They had to find Delphine so they could get out of the cold, find shelter, just so they could think about what to do next.