“To you. I had no need of such men.”
“So, Ivan, what about this bloke?” asked Gwaine. They all looked at Koshchey. No one leaped to his defense.
With Billi and Elaine up front, the rear two rows faced each other. Gwaine and Ivan were opposite Koshchey, with Lance wedged up beside him.
“Too bad for you, fat man,” said Gwaine. He looked at Lance. “What do you think?” Koshchey’s eyes widened as he got it: they were going to execute him.
Billi couldn’t help glancing at the reflection of the four men in the back. Despite the crowded car, she felt cold and put up her hood, casting her face into shadow.
“Oui, kill him,” said Lance with little feeling. He could have been ordering a baguette.
“Billi?” asked Gwaine.
She turned around and looked at the big man. Koshchey was ashen, frozen stiff in his seat. He raised his hands in a futile gesture.
This was not how they did things, Billi knew that. Templars were warriors, not executioners. Killing a defenseless man went against the Templar Rules, their code.
But as Billi peered out from under her black hood, she knew even Arthur would make an exception in this case. “Yes, kill him.”
“Wait,” said Koshchey. His eyes darted between them, desperate. “I can help you.”
Gwaine found a strip of cloth and began wrapping it around the barrel to use as a crude silencer. “We don’t need your help.” He pointed the pistol at Koshchey’s face.
“No, no, you don’t understand.” Koshchey’s voice rose an octave, almost screeching in fear.
Lance slapped him. “Hush now,” he said. “At least die like a man.”
The big bad Bogatyr. He could torture and murder. Melt people in acid. He’d killed so many, but couldn’t face death himself. There he sat, white with terror, sweat pouring off his face, legs trembling. Billi reached back and put her hand on Ivan’s shoulder. He hadn’t moved throughout the discussion. He put his fingers through hers. Gwaine creaked in his seat, slightly shifting to half face the young man.
“Tsarevich?” Ivan should have the right to issue the command.
“No!” Koshchey screamed. “I know where Vasilisa is!”
Gwaine tutted. “Sorry, mate, but I don’t believe you.”
“Lady SanGreal, let me help you save your friend.”
“Wait,” said Billi. Gwaine lowered the pistol.
“How do you know where she is?”
Koshchey looked down. “The Polenitsy woman. She told me.”
“The woman you tortured to death. Right?”
Koshchey didn’t respond.
Blow his brains out. That’s what he deserves. But Billi realized that if he knew where Vasilisa was, well, the execution would have to wait.
Billi pulled down her hood and drew her hair behind her ear. “Where is she?” He shook his head. “Your word, as a Templar, that you will not kill me if I tell you.”
Gwaine looked at Billi; this was her play.
“I swear, neither I, nor any Templar here, will kill you,” she said. “Now, where is Vasilisa?”
Koshchey smiled. “She is to the south. In the old forest.”
“The Belovezhskaya Pushcha,” said Ivan. “It is the oldest remaining forest in Europe. It stretches from Poland, through Belarus, into Ukraine.”
Billi cursed. “Better call Dad and tell him he’s at the totally wrong end of the country.”
“I am telling the truth, I swear it,” said Koshchey, his old arrogance slowly returning.
He was, she could tell. They could still find Vasilisa. Billi’s heart surged, but she couldn’t let it show. After days of stumbling in the dark, hope glimmered inside her. They had their chance. Koshchey smirked, knowing she believed him and thinking he had saved himself. A Templars’ word was their bond, and Billi would not break hers.
Billi looked at Ivan and nodded slowly. “He’s all yours.”
“W-w-wait!” Koshchey stuttered, his face ghost-white. “You gave your word.”
“And I’m keeping it,” Billi answered in a flat, pitiless tone. She drew the collar of her red coat tighter. “Ivan’s not a Templar.”
Ivan pulled his own pistol from his waistband.
“Please, Tsarevich.” Koshchey clasped his hands together. “Where is the honor in this? To murder a defenseless man?”
Ivan paused. The pistol was in his grip and his finger rested in the trigger, but he looked up at the big man. “Honor? I thought you said honor was for fools.”
“I am the fool, Tsarevich.” Koshchey leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he squeezed his hands together. “You are Tsarevich Ivan Alexeivich Romanov. I am nothing. Think what you father would have done. He would not have permitted this…execution.”
“I…” Ivan hesitated just for a moment.
Koshchey bellowed incoherently and sprang forward, barreling into Ivan. Lance grabbed at the huge man, but Koshchey swung the Frenchman against Gwaine, who crashed into the back of Elaine. The car swerved as she momentarily lost control, and Koshchey kicked the side door open. Lance grabbed him as he jumped, and both of them tumbled onto the road.
Elaine slammed on the brakes and Gwaine leaped out, Billi a second behind him.
The three cars behind accelerated.
Koshchey and Lance tumbled down the high verge, taking a small avalanche of snow with them. Gwaine glanced back at the cars, then grabbed Billi. “Go back! Now!” He pushed her toward the van, then leaped off the road after Lance and Koshchey. Bogatyrs rushed out of their vehicles and made their way down to the two struggling men. One of the cars swung around and came toward Billi, blinding her with its headlights.
Gunfire deafened her left ear as Ivan shot at the approaching car. It swerved savagely and skidded to a halt. Ivan took a few steps forward, his black coat swirling around him, as he coolly fired the entire magazine into the car’s engine and lights, oblivious to the gunfire coming at him. The pistol empty, he tossed it away and took Billi’s hand.
“Come on,” he ordered, pulling her away from the verge.
Billi glanced down, hesitating, hoping that Lance and Gwaine were clambering back up. But all she saw were indistinct shadows fighting in the snow, and she was unable to tell Templar from Bogatyr.
Billi ran into the car, slamming the doors shut just as they were raked by gunfire. Billi and Ivan huddled together on the floor as the four-by-four accelerated under the hailstorm of bullets. She buried herself against him and didn’t look up until they were far away.
28
THE RING OF SOVIET-ERA TOWER BLOCKS GAVE WAY snow-cloaked fields, and after an hour Ivan directed Elaine down a side road through the woods. Billi saw a light two-seater aircraft rise from behind the shield of trees, and moments later they came to the gates of a small airfield.
Ivan’s window rolled down as he greeted the security guard, who took more than a little interest in the bullet-punctured vehicle. They talked briefly, then Ivan took off his Rolex and handed it over. The guard pocketed the watch and waved them through.
“We fly south from here,” he said. “You know how to fly?” Ivan obviously took his James Bond pills every morning.
“Doesn’t everyone?” He pointed at a single-story concrete building to the left. “Canteen. Fill yourself up with something hot. The goulash is good.” He headed toward the hangar. “Let me freshen up and then I’ll sort out a plane.”
The canteen was rough and ready. Posters of aircrafts and old Soviet airshows hid most of the awful brown-and-yellow wallpaper. There were four chipped Formica tables with plastic foldout chairs stacked up against each. Two men-mechanics, judging by their greasy overalls-sat at a table, smoking and reading the paper. On the side of the counter was a large jar filled with loose change. On it was stuck the word vesuvius. The whole world was joining in with mourning the loss of the Italian city, not knowing what was still to come if the Templars failed.
Billi and Elaine each ordered a bowl of goulash and a cup of tea and s
at by the window. Billi faced the doorway, keeping her eyes peeled.
“What are we going to do?” asked Elaine. She was busy trying, and failing, to light her breakfast cigarette. Billi took the lighter from her shaking hands and applied it.
Elaine took a long drag off her cigarette and closed her eyes.
“We’ll be okay, Elaine,” Billi reassured her. She reminded herself that Elaine was mostly back-of-house research, a glorified librarian, really. This sort of fieldwork was way out of her comfort zone.
“Yes, just give me a minute,” said Elaine. She nodded as though she were agreeing with herself.
Above the door was a clock, just coming up to eleven thirty. Billi wanted a bed, but it looked like that wasn’t going to happen. She got up. She needed to splash some water on her face and start thinking about their next step. She found the washroom and went in.
Ivan was leaning over a steel basin in front of a mirror. His shirt hung over a radiator and his wet back shone like marble under the stark white fluorescent lights. He ran his hands over his bristling hair, sighing wearily. Then he raised his arms and turned slowly, looking at the marks Koshchey had given him. He gently pushed his finger against the row of bruised stomach muscles. Then he saw Billi watching him in the mirror.
“Er…” said Billi, mortified at being caught out.
Ivan said nothing and turned his attention back to his bruises. He leaned closer to the mirror, checking the swelling on his cheek. Water dripped off his chin; small sparkling droplets glistened on the surface of his neck.
“What do you think?” he asked. He struck a pose, flexing his biceps like a body builder. “You can touch me, if you like.”
Billi laughed, grateful to Ivan for breaking the tension. She handed him his shirt, finding it hard to keep her attention on his shoes. “You’d look great even in a body bag.”
“Let us hope we never find out. And it’s not what you wear that’s important,” he said as he slipped the shirt over his head. He then picked up his pistol. It was a Glock 19, one of the pair he’d grabbed off the Bogatyrs. He tucked it into his waistband and patted it.
“It’s all about the accessories,” said Billi.
Ivan smirked at her and left.
A few minutes later Billi returned to the canteen and joined Elaine.
“I called Arthur. He’ll be on the next flight south,” said Elaine, still lost in her own thoughts. She smiled, but it was stiff and forced. “Should be in Kiev by morning. He’ll get local transport from there into the forest.”
“You okay?” Billi asked as she sat down.
Three cigarette stubs smoldered in the ashtray, and Elaine lit up a fourth. “I just needed my vitamins.”
“I didn’t realize nicotine counted as a food group these days.” Billi took a sip of her tea and shifted her chair closer. “What was it you found out about Baba Yaga that you were going to tell me in the library before we were so rudely interrupted?”
Elaine grimaced at the memory.
“You remember how Baba Yaga had been injured?” Elaine said. “Apparently she’d vanished at the beginning of the twentieth century, after suffering some terrible injury. That first made me suspicious. I looked up events around that time, natural disasters mainly.” Her eyes brightened. “And I found a big one. The Tunguska blast.”
Tunguska? Why did that ring a bell? Hadn’t Vasilisa said her great-grandmother had been there?
“What was it?” Billi asked.
Elaine spread out her arms. “A meteor. Just thirty feet across. It hit the forest region of Tunguska in 1908 and wiped it out. If the rock had hit London, the entire city would have been obliterated.” Elaine leaned closer, whispering but excited. “Baba Yaga is Russia. What happens to the land happens to her. That meteorite impact must have sent shock waves, psychic shock waves, into the old crone, nearly killing her. I believe she’s spent the last hundred years healing.”
“So we need to stand Baba Yaga under the next meteorite strike? There’s going to be one in the next two days? And you know where?”
Elaine screwed the cigarette into extinction. “This is sympathetic magic, Billi. That meteor injured Baba Yaga once. A connection has been established between her and that meteor. Now, if I’m right, any piece of that rock, however small, will have the same effect on her as the whole meteor.”
Billi laughed. “It’s just like homeopathy. You dilute the medicinal mixture in more and more water, but the potency remains. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Elaine frowned. “That’s not the comparison I would have chosen, but yes, that’s it. The rock injured Russia; it will injure Baba Yaga.”
“Sowe needtogoto Tunguskaand findalumpof space rock? Fat chance of that, Elaine.” Billi shoved her bowl away. “Bloody hell, that’s worse than useless. We’ve two days, Elaine, just two.”
Elaine took a picture from her back pocket and unfolded it. “After the blast, locals explored the crater and picked out bits of the meteor. Made carvings with it and sold them to tourists and scientists who’d come to investigate. I’d hoped by staying in Moscow just for another day, I might have been able to get to some museum or antiquities shop and buy one. Or steal one.” She slid the picture, torn from a book, over to Billi. “That is how we could have defeated Baba Yaga. It was taken at a market in Tunguska.”
The photo was a grainy black-and-white that showed a couple of well-dressed men standing on either side of a simple wooden-framed bazaar stall. The table was half hidden in shade, but one of the men held out a small stone carving. A carving of a crude, big-hipped woman.
“Oh God. A Venus figurine,” Billi gasped. She held the photo in her quivering fingertips. Vasilisa’s great-grandmother had made one. She’d put it into the heart of the matryoshka doll.
“I had one, Elaine, in my hand.”
“What?”
Billi stared at her palm, remembering the small stone statue lying there, maybe hoping, by some magic, by her own desperate desire, that it would suddenly appear.
“Where is it now?” Elaine dug her fingers into Billi’s arm. “We’ve got to get it.”
Where was it? The last time she’d seen it was with Vasilisa, just before the Polenitsy attack.
“At home. It’s probably lying under Vasilisa’s bed.” Billi had literally let the means to defeating Baba Yaga slip through her fingers.
“We could call Rowland. Get him to search for it.”
“Even if he finds it right now, what good would that do? No way he’ll get it to us in time.” Billi slapped the table. “And send it where? The Knights Templar, care of Baba Yaga, the big cave, deep forest, Russia?”
Billi couldn’t duck it any longer. It had been the default plan from the very beginning, but she’d hoped there’d be some way out. “We’re not going to be able to save her, are we?” she said, but not to Elaine, to herself. “Poor Vasilisa.” There was only one way to stop Fimbulwinter. But the price was Vasilisa’s life.
Billi peered out the window, her body weary and her heart heavy. Somewhere out there was a frightened nine-year-old girl, held hostage by monsters and a cannibal witch, hoping that someone, that Billi, would keep her promise and rescue her.
Perhaps there were times when Templars had to break their promises.
Ivan entered, Lance’s backpack slung over one shoulder, and with some food supplies. “The plane is ready. We should leave now, before the others find us.” He then pulled out a brand-new mobile phone and gave it to Billi. “Full satellite function and GPS-useful where we are going. If Lance and Gwaine escaped, you could contact them with this.”
“What’s next, boss?” Elaine asked, looking to Billi.
Boss. What did she know? Billi felt like she was stumbling from one disaster to another. God, she wished her dad were here. She didn’t want this responsibility. But being a Templar-this was her life. And she had chosen it.
“We take the plane south and try to find Baba Yaga’s camp. Simple, really.”
Elaine put her cup
down. “No time to lose, then.”
“You can’t come, Elaine,” said Billi. “I’m sorry, but we won’t be needing you here anymore. From now on it’ll just be fighting, and the Templars need you alive.”
My kind of work, not yours.
Billi addressed Ivan. “Elaine needs to get back to London. Can you sort that out?”
“I’ll make a few calls.”
Elaine started forward, wanting to say something. But she couldn’t: Billi was right.
Billi held out her hand. “Deus vult, Elaine.”
Elaine sprang forward and crushed Billi against her chest. She had a lot of power in those scrawny limbs. Billi squeezed the old woman back. When Elaine eventually let go, her eyes were red and watery.
“Good luck, girl.”
29
TEN MINUTES LATER AND IT WAS DONE. ELAINE would go straight to the airport and get on the next plane to London.
Billi went through Lance’s backpack while Ivan walked Elaine to a taxi.
She could smell the poultices for wolf bites as soon as she opened the zipper. They were tucked tidily into sandwich bags. There was also a box of silver bullets, 9mm caliber and perfect for their pistols.
Ivan returned and led Billi out on to the airfield. The deep night sky was littered with stars, not a cloud in the sky.
“You can sleep on the plane,” Ivan said.
Billi looked at him guiltily. Even though she hadn’t been thinking about it, she was exhausted. Ivan must have been feeling even worse than her; she hadn’t recently been used as a punching bag. The bruise on his cheek was coming up big and shiny, but it didn’t mar his good looks in any way. She glanced sideways as they walked across the airstrip. His hard jaw was fixed, his gray eyes focused on the job ahead.
Everything about Ivan radiated iron discipline. She’d seen how he’d entered the gunfight, unflinching as the bullets had whizzed around him. Then he turned and smiled, and the almost machinelike persona vanished. Another Ivan appeared. One warm and thoughtful toward others. The true noble. He took her hand.
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