The Wolf Princess

by Cathryn Constable

  Sophie squinted her eyes, concentrated really hard, and tried to peer through the dark and the driving snow. “Delphine!” she yelled. But her voice was whipped away to nothing by the wind. She took a step forward, dragging Marianne with her. “We have to get out of the storm!”

  Another step, and then, not knowing how, she found herself tipping forward into snow, a live creature at her feet. She screamed and tried to crawl away, but the creature grabbed her foot. It was sobbing and calling her name.

  “You idiot, Delphine!” Sophie cried. “What are you doing?”

  “My suitcases! I need to find my suitcases!” Delphine scrabbled frantically in the snow.

  “You’ll have to leave them!” Sophie yelled back. “We’ll find them later!”

  Delphine shook her head, refusing to give up.

  “I can’t see!” Marianne wailed. Her glasses and hair were completely coated in white.

  “Don’t take your glasses off!” Sophie grabbed Marianne’s arm to stop her. “If you drop them, you’ll never find them!”

  “But what are we going to do?” sobbed Marianne.

  Sophie turned her back to the wind, and peered into the night. There! A black square behind the furious snowflakes. A waiting room? A hut?

  “I think there’s shelter over there!” she shouted. “Hold hands. We mustn’t fall onto the tracks!”

  She wasn’t sure they had heard, but then felt Marianne grasp her frozen hand. She grabbed Delphine, pulling her up, and this time met with no resistance.

  The three girls shuffled through the blizzard to the hut. The wind screamed. Sophie could feel her teeth knocking about in her mouth. Finally, they reached a door of split and weathered wood. Sophie attempted to turn the handle, but cried out when she touched the metal: It was so cold it had burned her fingers. She pulled her sleeve down over her hand, tried again. After a shove and a kick, the door gave.

  Bringing swirling capes of snow with them, the girls fell out of the storm and into the hut, closing the door with their shoulders. The sound of the wind — a sound as wild and distressing as a wounded animal — was instantly muted. They leaned against the door, getting their breath back. Sophie felt snow melting on the back of her neck and dripping slowly underneath her collar. She turned to look at her surroundings.

  It wasn’t what she had expected to find. It was as if her father had opened the pages of a book and pointed to the illustration. A line drawing of a log cabin, just waiting for the woodcutter to return.

  There was a small black stove, which, judging by the warmth of the room, had been burning for some time. In front of it were a stack of logs, three wooden chairs, and a small table. The thick white cloth had been ironed with so much starch it was as stiff as cardboard, with sharp creases where it had been folded. On this a loaf of dark bread, a bread knife with a bone handle, and white butter had been laid out on a battered metal tray. There was also a plain white jug, and three small horn cups. Through a small window they could see furious swirls of snow. The contrast between the scene in front of them and the savagery of the storm outside was such a surprise that none of the girls seemed able to move.

  “What are we going to do?” Marianne shook her head as if a fly were annoying her. “I think and think, but I can’t think what to do!”

  Sophie squeezed her arm reassuringly. “We’re going to wait for the next train back to Saint Petersburg.”

  “But what if it doesn’t stop?” Marianne cried.

  Delphine took out her phone. She pulled off wet gloves with her teeth and turned it on to check for a signal. “Nothing!” She threw the phone on the floor.

  Sophie took a deep breath, and then bent down and picked it up. “Come on, Delphine,” she said. “We have to stay calm.”

  “Calm? Are you mad? No, don’t answer that. We already know you’re insane. Telling us that Russia would be exciting. And we believed you!”

  Sophie handed Delphine her phone.

  “Oh, what’s the use!” Delphine turned away. “The whole trip is stupid!”

  “Not stupid, Delphine,” Sophie said quietly. “Just different from what we expected.”

  She calmly took her friends’ hands and led them toward the table. She felt that she must speak slowly to them, as if they were wild animals that would startle easily. She mustn’t make too much of anything. Keep it normal. “Come on, Delphine.” She tried to smile. “We can rest here for a short while and sort everything out. Let’s eat.”

  Sophie took off her soaked coat, and the others followed suit.

  “Well, I am hungry!” said Marianne. The snowflakes had melted into little diamonds of water on her glasses. She took them off and wiped them on her sleeve, then put them back on, picked up the bread knife, and started sawing into the loaf.

  Delphine said, “But it isn’t for us. What if the owner comes back?”

  Marianne spread the bread with thick waves of butter. “Well, we’re in the middle of nowhere in Russia in a blizzard. I’m sure whoever it is for won’t mind.”

  Sophie cut and buttered a thick slice. “I’m hungry, too,” she said, and realized she really was.

  “Perhaps this is like one of those mountain refuges,” Delphine reasoned. “Things are left for people who get stuck on the mountain at night.”

  Marianne nodded, her mouth full of bread.

  “But we’re not on a mountain,” Sophie said, biting into her bread. It was delicious: soft but with a smoky taste, as if it had been cooked in a wood-fired oven. “We’re in Russia — somewhere.” And she shivered, but not with cold. She thought she should feel anxious about their situation, but somehow she wasn’t. Surely this was an adventure? Wasn’t this what she had hoped for in her beige boarding-school room?

  “I’ve got a little money in my pocket — in euros.” Delphine was helping herself to bread and butter now. “We could leave some here as payment. People usually don’t mind you taking things as long as you pay.”

  They sat in front of the fire and ate their strange little meal in the strange little hut. Their first sip of the rich juice in the horn cups made them smile.

  “It’s … it’s … cherry!” Marianne laughed.

  And when they saw Marianne’s crimson mustache, it made them all feel better.

  “This hut …” Sophie began, thinking. She looked around. “It reminds me of somewhere. A photograph … no, a picture.” She frowned, trying to secure the half-remembered image. “It’s as if a woodcutter is going to appear out of a forest.”

  Marianne glanced nervously at the door. “I hope he’s a friendly one.”

  “Yes, now I remember,” Sophie said slowly. “There was a picture in a book I had when I was little. My father read it to me. The hut was just like this.” It made her feel safe to talk about her father and the book and the stories. “He would sit on the edge of my bed and read to me until I fell asleep.” She felt a lump form in her throat. “When I started living with Rosemary, that was the hardest thing to get used to … I really missed his voice at bedtime.”

  Why was she saying this? What was she thinking? She put a piece of bread in her mouth, as if that would help get rid of the lump in her throat. She needed to stop thinking about how things had changed since he had died.

  “I don’t see my father much,” Delphine shrugged. “And even when I do see him, he doesn’t really seem to see me.” She smiled as if she wanted to make herself believe she didn’t care. Sophie put her arm around her friend. Delphine dropped her head onto Sophie’s shoulder. “Sorry about the phone,” she mumbled. “And saying you’re mad …”

  “Argh!” Marianne dropped her cup and ran to the door.

  “What’s the matter?” Sophie and Delphine cried.

  “There’s something under the table!” she yelled, her hand on the door handle.

  But before she could wrench open the door, a large black cat appeared from beneath the thick white tablecloth.

  “Marianne!” Delphine laughed. “It’s a cat! A big, beautiful cat!�
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  The creature rubbed itself against Sophie’s legs, allowing her to stroke it behind its ears, and then lay down in front of the fire.

  “He’s not dangerous, Marianne,” she said.

  Marianne came back to her seat, looking slightly foolish.

  “It’s not so bad here, is it?” Sophie said. “Anyone who can have a cat as splendid as you must be all right.” As if the cat had understood, he stretched one large, square paw across Sophie’s foot.

  “I wonder what he’s called?” said Marianne.

  “Something serious, like Alexey, or Sergei,” Sophie decided.

  “Don’t Russians always have two first names?” Delphine said. “I’m sure that’s what Miss Ellis said.”

  “You’re right,” Marianne smiled. “The men’s second names always end in ‘ich.’ That’s the name they take from their father.”

  “So if this cat’s father was called Dmitri,” Delphine said, “he’d be called Alexey Dmitrivich.”

  “Oh, let’s call him Sergei Sergeyevich,” Sophie said. “Doesn’t that sound magical? It’s the sort of name that would make anyone sound important, even this big, fat black kitty cat …”

  They were quiet for a few moments, wriggling their toes in the warmth.

  “Do you have any other names … other than Sophie?” Marianne said. She took a sip from her horn cup.

  “Of course not. Just plain old Sophie Smith.” Sophie wrinkled her nose. “But then, I don’t have any extra anything, do I?”

  “No extra money …” added Delphine.

  “No extra sweaters …” Marianne caught the mood.

  “Definitely no extra sweaters,” Sophie agreed. “Just holey ones. No extra family, either.” She gave her friends a half smile.

  “Families are overrated, in my opinion,” Delphine said. “They’re not all they’re cracked up to be.”

  Marianne offered Sophie the last crust of the loaf. “Oh, I don’t know. Spending time with my parents is lovely.”

  “If you like playing Scrabble,” Delphine said.

  “Well, I do!” said Marianne with enthusiasm.

  “Although when my mother saw your dad at New Bloomsbury’s open house,” Delphine went on, “she liked his cravat and that weird jacket he was wearing.”

  “She also told him the impoverished English look was going to be all over the catwalks next season,” Marianne added. She opened the door of the stove and put more wood on the fire.

  Sophie picked up the cat and put it on her lap. The animal settled down happily, his body becoming relaxed and heavy. “Why don’t we take turns staying awake so that we don’t miss the next train back to Saint Petersburg?”

  “That’s a really good idea,” Delphine said, settling herself further into the little chair and closing her eyes.

  “And it will mean that the fire won’t go out,” Marianne added, stifling a yawn. “Because whoever is awake can make sure there’s plenty of wood on the stove. And listen out for the train.”

  “Will you hear it above the wind, Sophie?” Delphine said cheekily.

  Sophie didn’t mind being on first watch. She didn’t mind if she kept watch all night. She was far too excited to sleep. Being here in this Russian hut, stirring up these memories of her father and those stories, felt somehow right — as if it was where she was meant to be, however ridiculous that sounded.

  “Sergei has excellent hearing,” she replied, stroking the cat’s haunches, and the creature started a deep purring.

  What was the story her father had told her? she wondered, as her friends’ eyes closed and their breathing became steadier. She could only remember the picture in the book, the hut in the woods that was so similar to this one it felt as if she had stepped into that picture and was now sitting inside the story. If only she could hear her father’s words …

  And as she stroked the cat, she felt that the wind was no longer hostile, but was calling up images and pictures in her mind, of bear cubs and magical horses and beautiful maidens dressed in sarafans and a child carved from snow. And … a hummed tune, which, after seven years, she still remembered quite clearly, although the words had slipped away from her memory. Then, beneath the wind, a voice, a familiar voice, that seemed to be right inside her head. What was it saying … ?

  “Oh, gray wolf,” says the little snow girl …

  Yes, that was how it went. The snow girl. She was called … Snegurochka? And what did she say to the gray wolf?

  “I have lost my way and it is getting so dark, and all my little friends are gone.”

  Yes, she remembered now — there was always a tiny, delicious pause before the next line. The voice would become lower, pretend to be threatening.

  “I will take you home,” says the old gray wolf.

  And she would always feel so scared. She wanted to tell the snow girl not to go with the wolf!

  “Oh, gray wolf,” says the little snow girl, “I am afraid of you. I think you would eat me. I would rather go home with some-one else …”

  She hadn’t heard his voice, the voice of her father, as clearly as that for a long time — not since the first few weeks she had spent with Rosemary, in fact. Lying in the dark in her room, she would have whole conversations with him … but Rosemary had shouted at her and said she was “weird” and it had to stop. From that day he had stayed silent. It was as if her father didn’t want to upset her guardian.

  “I will take you home,” says the old gray wolf. It was the story her father had told her: Those were his words. She had been the snow girl and he had been the wolf. She knew she was meant to be frightened of the wolf, but because it was her father’s voice, she always felt sad when the wolf ran away.

  The cat’s purrs were so loud they filled the room. Sophie looked up to see moonlight at the small window and a broad slice of silver on the floor. She had fallen asleep!

  Sergei sprang down onto the floor and sat looking at her, as if he expected her to do something. Fool! She had been the one on duty. What if they had already missed a train? She must not let her friends down.

  Feeling determined, she got up, pulled on her coat, and went to the door.

  Sophie stepped out onto the platform. The moonlight made everything glitter and a light flurry of snow danced about in the dying wind. All around were the narrow, dark triangles of pine trees, each branch laden with snow, waiting like passengers for something to happen. Every so often, the weight of the snow would be too much for one of the branches and the snow would suddenly slide off and land with a satisfying thud, sending up a white cloud of snowy dust. Then the branch would spring up, light again at last.

  The air was cold, and it made her catch her breath. There was a brisk scent of pine needles as well as the softer smell of snow. Sophie’s face was already tingling. She knew she should be anxious — she had fallen asleep when it was her turn to listen for the train, after all — but seeing this forest coated in thick drifts of snow and moonlight, breathing air so clear it seemed to sparkle inside her lungs, made her feel full of excitement. This was not like the silver forest her father had taken her to in her dreams. But then, that would be impossible.

  Marianne and Delphine stumbled out of the hut, both in their coats, bleary-eyed.

  “Oh, you are clever, Sophie!” Marianne said.

  “Am I?” Sophie dragged her gaze away from the trees to look at her friend.

  “We knew you wouldn’t let us down,” Delphine cried, clapping her hands.

  “Really?” Sophie was puzzled. What were they talking about? Then, seeing her friends staring into the forest behind her, she turned to look.

  In the distance, coming toward them on tracks she couldn’t have seen due to the deep drifts of snow, was a magnificent white steam train, with two enormous lights, like twin moons, at its front. She felt momentarily disoriented.

  “But it’s coming from the wrong direction …”

  The others were too excited to listen. They were jumping up and down on the platform, yelling.r />
  There was a long blast on the whistle, an accompanying joyous screech of metal, and the train slowed down and finally stopped right where they were standing. A cloud of steam enveloped them.

  And then, as they laughed with relief, the door of the engine opened and out stepped a man as tall as a bear, with black hair and beard. He was dressed in a white tunic with a black belt around the middle and gold buttons across one shoulder and all down one side. His black trousers were tucked into long black boots.

  He walked toward the girls through the folding, spiraling steam, then bowed. As he stood upright again, he smiled broadly, showing square, white teeth. His eyes crinkled at the edges as if he were about to tell them a tremendous joke.

  “At last!” he said over the hissing of the engine. “Marianne, Delphine, and my dear, dear Sophie! You are safely here at last!” His voice sounded exactly as Sophie thought a Russian voice should sound. Fat and roly-poly, the words knocking into each other like bowling pins.

  The man bowed once more. “I am sorry I was not here to meet your train. Russian blizzards …” He shrugged. “But you were comfortable?” he went on anxiously. “You found the hut? I prepared everything in advance.”

  The girls nodded, then looked at each other. It was as if they were each waiting for one of the others to say something. Sophie, who had felt so comfortable in the hut, now felt less sure about what to do. It felt rude to have a discussion in front of the man about whether they should go with him or not, but then … they didn’t know him!

  The man opened another carriage door and stood to one side, holding it with one hand, the other stretched out toward them. “But make haste! We must get out of the cold. Frost bites more deeply than the wolf!”

  Through the steam, Sophie saw the head of an animal painted in silver on the side of the train. Mouth open, teeth bared, as if about to snap its fierce jaws shut on the soft body of its prey. A wolf.

  “My luggage …” said Delphine.

  “I will dig it out!” said the man.