Dmitri grabbed Stanislaus by the front of his shirt hauling him to his feet. "Swear to it by all the saints, swear you will not take what is my right! I insist!"
Stanislaus put one arm around Dmitri's shoulders and patted the back of the man who was as a second father to him. Removing his arm, Stanislaus leaned his head on Dmitri's shoulder, then with a sigh, stood erect. "You have my word. I will not harm him."
Dmitri released Stanislaus and walked over to the window. With his back to the younger man, the Count gave him the details. They were both silent once Dmitri had finished relating the facts to the other man.
Finally, Rakov rose from the chair. "Do you fancy a drink in one of the taverns down by the wharf?" Stanislaus threw his empty glass in the general direction of the fireplace. It shattered against the wall.
Dmitri looked over at the young man who was half a head taller than he was. Stanislaus was rolling up his shirtsleeves. His arms were thick with muscle from all the hard physical labor he had done throughout the years. Stanislaus would have protected Anya. Dmitri felt his anger still pulsing just beneath the surface, as was Rakov's.
"Yes, I think I need a drink. Samuel Devins is at the wharf with the Damsel. We should let him know where we are going tonight."
"A very good idea. In fact, a very excellent idea." Stanislaus nodded.
The two men left the small house. They went downhill into the seamier side of Seattle. When Dmitri returned his horse to the livery, he had a message sent to the captain of the Damsel. The message was, he and Stanislaus were having a night on the town. Leaving his own animal at the stable until he should come for it, Rakov joined Bressoff in the walk to the closest saloon.
They started a fight in the first bar they came to. The two men drank and fought their way up and down the harbor. It was quite early in the morning when Samuel Devins dispatched two very large sailors to find Dmitri and Stanislaus in order to get them on board the ship.
Devins could not help the smile which came to his face when the two men, singing in Russian, stumbled down the rough planking of the wharf. They were making way slowly toward the area where the ship lay moored. The two seamen sent to look for them were hanging back, keeping a safe distance. Dmitri and Stanislaus were leaning on each other, their clothing in tatters.
Dmitri's eye patch was askew and his good eye was almost swollen shut. A huge bruise was beginning to turn purple on his cheek. His coat was gone and one sleeve of his shirt was missing.
Stanislaus had a cut on his forehead. It was leaking blood, which trickled into one eye. Brushing the blood away with one hand, he shouted whatever they were singing at the top of his lungs. A long gash down one arm was also bleeding. That arm was thrown around Dmitri's shoulders.
Oh they are a pair all right! Samuel shook his head as he wondered what the damages were going to be.
They staggered up the gangplank and Dmitri threw Devins a salute. Without a word Devins let the way below. Motioning the seamen forward, they were charged with making sure the two battered drunks were carefully put to bed. Dmitri would be the one who had the most explaining to do. Perhaps it was best they had come to Seattle, the wildest city in the northwest to lay some of their anger to rest.
Camille glared at her husband. "I thought you were going to keep him from doing something rash?"
The swelling had gone down around Dmitri's good eye enough for him to see reasonably well. The bruise on his cheek had faded to a greenish yellow and the skin on his knuckles was scabbed over. At least he could hold larger items without too much pain.
Samuel had dropped Dmitri at his doorstep. With a cheery wave and a silently mouthed "good luck", Devins left to go home and check on Leontine.
Dmitri knew the dressing down he was going to receive was only waiting on the absence of children. He also knew all would only worsen when she discovered the gash on his right side from a broken bottle, or perhaps a knife.
That part was too muddled to recall. What he did not think he would be able to explain to Camille, was the lessening of the deep seated need to maim Keetering.
Stanislaus' prescription for what ailed them both, had been costly in many ways. But, it had brought some relief. He had also come to the realization that Stanislaus was correct. Neither of them would ever believe Anya was dead until they saw her body.
Camille put the children to bed as soon as the evening meal was over. She was impatient to continue her discussion with Dmitri. She supposed that was one word for it. Another, she acknowledged, could be called nagging. The man had no idea how frightened she had been when she first saw his face. Quite likely it had looked far worse the morning after. How could he have taken such a chance?
Camille shoved the bedroom door open as she hurried inside. With his back to her, Dmitri was attempting to close his dressing gown and secure the ties.
He was not quick enough. In the mirror, Camille caught sight of the scabbed over gash across his rib cage on the right side. Eyes narrowed in anger, she hurried over to him.
Flushing slightly on catching her pointed glance in the mirror, his chin rose. Caught, Dmitri turned toward her. "It is not that bad."
"Mon Dieu! Define "bad" for me." Camille threw both hands into the air. "I thought you being the elder, you could keep Stanislaus from...from."
He scowled. "I did and I have! You did not marry some effete excuse for a man!"
Dmitri pulled the belt of his robe tighter. "I did what was necessary to keep Stanislaus and myself from greater harm." The telltale vein in his temple was throbbing.
Camille put one hand to her throat. "Would to God she had never wed Keetering." She whispered. "What a horror this has become!" Camille closed her eyes for a moment. She felt the stirrings of a headache. Opening her eyes, Camille massaged her temples with her fingertips. Dmitri opened his arms and she fell into his embrace. His breath whistled sharply through his teeth, causing Camille to pull back.
"Here." Moving his wife to his left side, Dmitri pulled her against him again. "Stanislaus and I have come to an impasse with Keetering's account of things. I will never believe Anya is dead until I see a body. I do not care what anyone else thinks. I just do not feel she is gone. I refuse to believe it!"
Camille put her palm against Dmitri's good cheek. "I was so frightened when I saw your face. What ever did you two men do?"
"We had a few drinks in a few taverns." It would do no good to try and hide the truth from her. Sooner or later, the two seamen Samuel had sent to find them were going to broadcast the story. It would not take long for it to reach her.
"In Seattle? You went into those hells in Seattle? Just the two of you? Why are you still here? Why weren't the two of you shanghaied?"
She smacked his chest with an open palm and Dmitri found he could still laugh.
"Stanislaus is a big man and he can fight. I may be older, but it just means I know a few more tricks. Never forget I was a fur hunter, I killed the bear that mauled me. Camille, I still split logs at home, recall? I am not ready to take to my bed yet."
"For that, I thank God, Dmitri Ivan Osvic Bressoff. Please stick to splitting logs in the future. I am not sure my heart can stand another fright such as the one you gave me."
Samuel Devins found Leontine in their bedroom curled up on the chaise lounge, reading. "Hello love. Are you feeling well?
She stretched, before rising with one hand against the small of her back. "A bit tired is what I am at the moment. But, not sufficiently exhausted to miss dinner with you." She leaned forward on her toes for a kiss.
"If you like, we could have a tray brought up." Samuel took the book she was holding. Careful to not lose her place, he lay it face down on the chaise lounge.
"No, it will not harm me in the slightest to go down to the dining room." Leontine replied with a smile.
They went down the stairs with Samuel holding Leontine's arm. He seated her in the dining room before he went to find the cook. They dined on cold cuts, fruit and cheese. Samuel had a glass of port
at the end of the meal. Leontine asked the cook for hot tea.
"Sam, how did the boy take it? Badly? You were gone a few days past what I was expecting."
Devins knew Leontine was more conversant with delivery dates and voyage times between the two cities. She had more experience of this end of the western run than Camille.
Samuel sipped from his wine glass. "Well we had to wait a few days in order for the swelling of Dmitri's good eye to go down." Samuel chuckled recalling the state of Dmitri's face after he sobered up.
"What? What on earth happened?" She asked with a frown.
The captain related the tale to his wife. When he reached the end of the story, Leontine set her cup on the saucer. It rattled into place.
"I think they both did Keetering a very big favor. It appears they intend to let him live, more's the pity!"
Devins stared at Leontine for a moment. "Well now my hot blooded little Frenchie, I must admit to being a trifle shocked." He smiled at her unexpected vehemence.
Leontine flushed. "I have never divulged the contents of Anya's letters to anyone including you. If I had..." She toyed with the spoon.
Samuel's smile faded. "That bad?"
"Frankly, if this were New Orleans of a few years ago, every male relative of Anya's would be lining up to invite Keetering to a dueling session under the oaks."
"I am sorry to hear it. I had hoped he was better than that." Devins responded.
Leontine put her chin on her hands. "I do pray the brat has learned something from this. Hope to God, Anya's sacrifice was not in vain."
Samuel Devins found himself speechless and thankful his astute wife had kept the unvarnished facts from rest of Anya's family.
Anya awoke to the terrified cry of another rabbit and happily dashed off to dispatch it. In a short amount of time she had it gutted, cleaned and the hide ready to stake.
Blowing on the coals of the evening fire, she added bits of dry bark to bring the fire back to life. Anya looked at the spear shaft and for a moment, thought about attaching the old pair of scissors to it on a permanent basis.
After looking at the possibilities and how it would need to be mounted, Anya gave up on the idea. Perhaps it might be better to just put a long tapering point on the spear, fire harden the point and leave well enough alone.
If she was able to obtain a second knife the old one could be permanently mounted to the shaft. After all, the main prey she would be after here would be birds and small animals.
With the knife she shaved the point on the spear to a fine taper. It would spear a rabbit or hare. Hopefully it would penetrate all the way through the animal so it would not be able to escape. Finished, she put the tip of the spear in as close to the flame as possible without it catching fire. Turning it in the coals until it was charred evenly, she removed it, scraped the char off and repeated the process. Methodically, she kept at the task until the fire had drawn the sap from the tapered tip. It was much harder than it would have been without the fire treatment.
That accomplished, she unrolled one rabbit skin. Anya squeezed the moisture from the hide. The work would be easier with a real stake, but she would make do with the knobby end of a branch.
After having trimmed off and scraped away any sharp edges, Anya pushed and twisted the branch into the ground until only a foot or so stuck out of the soil. Sitting cross legged in front of the stick, she ran the hide over the rounded end again and again until it was soft and pliable. She would begin smoking both the hides in the evenings over her campfire.
It was possible that leaving the throwing stick until last was only postponing the hardest task. Anya had been hoping certain things might come back to her as she worked.
The throwing stick itself was constructed fairly easily. She found a branch with a nice crook in it. After trimming and shaving the hook to a small point, she formed the handle of the stick with the knife by flattening the other end. Wrapping the handle with willow bark, she set it aside to dry.
She needed to make darts for the throwing stick. That was the real problem. Anya did not remember clearly, how it was done. It was, she thought, the longer the dart, the farther it travelled in flight. In the present circumstance she did not need real distance, as most of her shots would probably be short. There was just too much brush and too many small plants in the way for attempting long distance kills. The most likely wood to use would be willow which grew on the bank of almost every creek and was easily obtained.
A bow had been a consideration. Without sinew she would need to make string from willow bark. It could be done. Making cord from willow bark required boiling the bark in water.
But as she had only the one tankard, it would mean no hot drink with her evening meal. The spruce needle tea helped her stay healthy and the hot drink was comforting.
Anya cut several willow suckers after making a decision to try the throwing stick with shorter green willow darts. If the longer ones were usually shoulder height for the owner of the throwing stick, Anya decided to try hip length darts for shorter ranges.
As this was just a trial to see if she had the proportions correct, she did not bother to shape the thinner end to a point. It was still necessary to make a shallow depression in the butt end of the dart. The tip of the launcher should fit into the depression on the throwing stick.
Holding the throwing stick at shoulder height, Anya fit the launcher's point into the depression in the dart. The dart itself rested on top of one finger, as she held the throwing stick. She cocked back her arm and launched the dart. It wobbled a little then flew straight into the pond.
"Ai, yah!" Anya breathed. That dart was gone.
She spent time making a few more darts. The length was probably correct, she just had to practice to get the technique down. She practiced with the throwing stick for some time. By the evening she was at least getting the dart across the pond. The next step would be to start hitting a target.
But she was tired. A meal of rabbit broth accompanied by baked fern buds was appealing. The usual tea would help her to sleep. She had accomplished much, although there was more to do. But the day she had granted herself was over. In the morning she must move on.
The morning was gray and foggy. Anya expected to be wet by the time the day was over. Hopefully, her bedding bundle would stay dry as the goatskin was wrapped around it. Stopping under the shelter of a large spruce branch, she made sure everything was securely covered before moving on.
The fog turned to a fine sheet of rain which made walking difficult. It was time to look for shelter. On a hillock was a spruce tree with great spreading branches, several of which appeared to overlap each other.
A brook must be crossed in order to reach the tree. As she was already wet, it was no great matter to wade it. On the other side, the hillside was covered with a deep layer of moss.
Concealed dead wood and small holes made for a difficult climb. Finally, she reached the tree. As she ducked under the overhanging branches, Anya felt she had made the correct decision. There was a deep carpet of moss under the tree. What water did get through the branches overhead went down into the moss. The moss covered ground was not nearly as nasty as muddy, bare ground would be.
It would not be terribly comfortable, but certainly better than struggling along through the wet brush and mud of the riverbank. Reluctant to allow the bedding to become soaked, she sat on the goatskin, huddled in her coat. The rain stopped shortly before dawn. Curling up on top of the bundle as best she could, Anya napped.
On waking, she noted the sky was clear. Anya did not bother trying to start a fire as every form of material she might have used, was wet. The forest must dry out first. She hoped to be able to stop for lunch. It might be possible to make a fire then. Anya did need to dry out her coat.
It was late in the day when things were finally dry enough for her to chance making a fire. Anya began looking for a suitable campsite. Spending another night wet and cold was not appealing.
What she needed was anothe
r hide beside the goat skin. Where she would obtain one was the problem. She did not think she was able to kill a larger animal such as deer or moose. If she were able to kill a moose, what on earth would she do with the meat? It would take forever to cut and dry such a large amount of meat. It was unthinkable to kill an animal only for its hide. Perhaps it was something she could trade for later.
It took some time and effort to get a fire burning. The damp material forced her to use three of her precious matches to accomplish the task. That was another thing she needed to devise, a way to transport coals from the evening fire in order to conserve the precious matches.
Anya looked at the tankard she held in her hand. Perhaps she could use it for that purpose. If she stuffed it with moss and put the coals in the center, they might be viable when she stopped. But, somehow she must keep the contents from spilling out. It was not an ideal solution, but there might be a way. Tomorrow she would try it. Another thought occurred to her.
Walking over to the stream she had forded, Anya went to fill her tankard. While there she cut some thin willow suckers. While the tea steeped with the very last pieces of rabbit meat, she roughly wove a container from the willow wands. The bark tied it together.
When finished, she had a rough basket about the size of the tankard. Anya stuffed it with moss while leaving a cavity large enough to hold several coals from the fire. It might serve.
Bringing out her throwing stick, she practiced with it for some time before securing her camp for the night. She built up the fire, making it larger than usual so she could finally warm up. Thankful for the wool blankets, Anya climbed between them. Pulling the covers tightly around her, then over her head, she settled into her bedding. Whatever body heat she generated, Anya wanted to keep.
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