As Kal sat on the floor in front of the weight bench, he could see Gulliver smirking out of the corner of his eye.
“You weren’t really that hungry,” Gulliver teased. “Glad I swooped in and saved you?”
“Hardly,” Kal tsk’d, grabbing his jacket and lunch from the weight bench Gulliver was sitting on. He pulled a sandwich and a few broken chips from the bag. “I have my reasons.”
“Couldn’t let me get too far into my book, right?” Gulliver poked at Kal with his foot. “I wasn’t reading it, anyway. You and Nikola trying to kill each other diverted too much of my attention.”
Nikola moved hundred-pound weight machines as though they were nothing, her arms capable enough to carry them without flinching.
“It’s crazy she didn’t end up unbreakable like you.”
Kal drifted his hand up to his shoulder, lying it over where Nikola dug into his flesh. “They are impressive, the abilities.”
“There’s hardly even a scar.” Gulliver ran his hand along the small scratch, sending a ripple of goosebumps across Kal’s skin.
“Nikola’s practically Boris Shakhlin at this point,” Kal grumbled in between bites of sandwich.
“She’ll be harder to catch and hold onto. There’ll be no more stopping her from rushing in on an objective. It could become problematic.” Gulliver had dropped his voice low.
“Could?” Kal raised an eyebrow and let out a deep laugh. “Ah, it already is.” He took a bite out of his sandwich and sat, just enjoying Gulliver’s company. Things seemed fine until Gulliver tapped his shoulder, in a panic. Kal glanced up from his food to find Nikola strutting their way.
“Kal, I think she heard you.”
Like that, Nikola had his attention. She moved forward with an intimidating prowess. “She couldn’t have heard me all the way over there.” Kal swallowed hard.
“Of course not.” Nikola winked.
“Oh, you’re in trouble.” The words left Gulliver’s mouth as a whisper.
“I can hear you, too, Gulliver.” Nikola crouched down to eye level as she met with the two of them.
“I think we’re in trouble,” Kal whispered back to his partner as though Nikola was not presently a few inches from his face.
“Who’d have thought you’d also come out with better intuition?” Nikola snorted, snagging her lunch from behind Kal’s head. “My rash nature is passion, Kal. You know this. More importantly, you know it’s never failed us.” She dug her hand into her lunch and pulled a sandwich from the bag. “You two enjoy yourselves. I’m going out.” She stood and walked away, then turned back to glare. “And get a haircut, Kal. Any longer and I’m legally obligated to report you blah-blah-blah. You know the spiel. Get a haircut.”
Kal continued to devour his sandwich, and Gulliver pawed through his book with his shoulders hunched. They waited until they heard the soft thud of the door.
“As if she didn’t hate me enough already.” Gulliver buried his head in his hands for a moment before looking to the ceiling.
“She can probably still hear you.” Kal chuckled, his mouth full of food.
“By god, you’re probably right.” Gulliver groaned louder this time, sliding off the bench and joining Kal on the floor. “Now she’ll really hate me.”
“Nikola does not hate you. Toys with you? Yes. Doesn’t respect you? Probably. But she does not hate you. You are good at your job. For her, that is often enough.”
“But I want her to like me.” Gulliver laughed as soon as the words left his mouth. “Christ, now that’s whining.” He huffed, grabbing his own lunch. “I’m just saying, I want to be in good standing with my commanding officer, ya know? Especially after what I pulled last week.”
“Please, she felt the same way about the steroid. She just didn’t dare defy her commanding officer,” Kal assured him. “But, things turned out good, yeah?”
Gulliver sighed, eating mindlessly. “She’s right, though, about your hair. It’s way past regulation.”
“You don’t say?” Kal deadpanned. He picked at the crust on the outer rim of his sandwich.
“Are you going to get it cut or shaved?”
“Why? You got an opinion on the matter?” Kal winked and gave Gulliver a gentle nudge.
“No,” Gulliver said defensively. “You’ve just already gotten a lot of warnings. I don’t want them to take disciplinary action against you.”
Kal was silent for a minute, the hum of fluorescent lighting filling the room. “How many warnings has it been?”
“I don’t know. Five or six?” Gulliver reached for more chips. “I’m sure Nikola didn’t run back and file a report, though. I think there are few things that woman hates more than paperwork. There’s still plenty of time to cut your hair.”
He hadn’t meant to, but Kal locked his jaw, his teeth grinding. Had there really been that many warnings? How many until higher-ups started to take notice?
“Kal, it’s all right.” Gulliver laughed nervously. “Why the sudden change in pace? It’s just hair.”
“I’m going to go get a shave.” Like someone had flipped a switch, Kal packed his lunch. “I cannot be careless.”
“Kal, slow down.” Gulliver rested his hand on Kal’s shoulder. “And also give me your crisps if you’re done with them.” He reached for Kal’s unfinished food.
“I’m going to eat them later.” Kal shrugged his shoulders as though he was saying sorry.
But, Gulliver was unmoved. “What a stupid thing to lie about.”
“What?” Kal asked, confused.
“Kal, I can see when you’re lying. Did you forget? I’ve been watching you lie all week.” Gulliver had a playful grin on his face, laughing at the whole situation, but Kal’s stomach dropped.
His heart swelled as his chest tightened. “You haven’t said anything.”
“Because your lies are harmless to me.” Gulliver rested his head against the cool metal bench. “I’ve always had a feeling you weren’t here of your own accord. Seeing how much you intentionally sabotage missions just confirmed it.” Gulliver traced shapes on the ground. “It’s crazy, honestly, that blinding light you give off when you tell the truth. I’m still getting used to it. What is it that they have on you, anyway? You still do a great number of missions so it must be something big enough to keep you from completely ruining our assignments.”
“Do you know what a domovoi is?” Kal asked, getting to the subject in his moseying kind of way.
“No,” Gulliver answered. “Is it a type of punishment?”
“No.” Kal let out a long exhale, a sad laugh at the end of his breath. “Not in the direct sort of way. The domovoi is the spirit of the house, and for a long time, I did not pay tithe to him. I was Sergei then.”
*
Work at the mill was slow this time of day. Soon enough, the men would pack up their things and return out to the cold. But even now the embers and irons still glowed bright enough to cast a waterfall of orange around the mill’s walls. This was when Sergei typically vanished, going from a giant forge worker to a common criminal in under twelve meters. He’d bow his head to his line partners and disappear for a moment to the secluded rows of lockers lining the walls, hints of orange decorating his hands as he reached into the bags and wallets of men he knew and men he didn’t know, never taking more than a ruble. Coins here, coins there, it was always enough to add up to something. An amount miniscule enough that those who realized something was missing would account it to an error of the mind, not a thief. He’d come back with food from his own locker, assuring the men he was merely peckish, and then finish out the day in the mill, leaving four or five rubles richer. Stealing was that easy and that hard.
“You need a lift home, Durova?” a dwarf of a man with snarled teeth and a dirty hat asked.
“I’m fine,” Sergei assured him, knowing very well that he’d stolen from this same man only twenty minutes ago. When the day was over, he hurried out of the factory, getting away from the crowd of cowork
ers and friends. He headed for a bus station on the opposite side of town. On his way, he would take four more rubles. One from a stout woman in a large coat, two from a sleek-looking fellow headed to the upper east end of town, and one from a beautiful woman by the name of Catharine. The town was large with sweeping Victorian-style buildings and a rich culture. Even though Sergei was significantly taller and broader than the average man, he was able to hunch himself over and play the part of an anonymous, generic commoner as he walked through the town. He only pickpocketed a few coins here or there, never anything extravagant. When he arrived at the bus depot, he was able to relax on the cool metal benches, watching his breath dance against the backdrop of sweeping metal beams and snow. There was a decent lot of people gathered around. The bus was always so crowded. He waited until he was on the safety of Bus 20 before taking a few measly kopeks to finish his day out, now ten rubles and eighteen kopeks richer than he was before.
For most of the bus ride home, he stared out the window, disregarding the abundance of conversation going on around him. The great skyline of the city gave way to large snow drifts, which eventually gave way to endless mountains. There was nothing but the bus, the road, and the few people left in it. Eventually, mountains gave way to farmland. Neither flora nor fauna interrupted this vast land of delicate snow. After two hours on the bus, they finally lurched to the route’s final stop. Sergei and a few stragglers hurried away. From there, it was a mile walk to his meager beginnings and current home.
There wasn’t much outside of the house. It was an old, wooden barn, and in the warmer seasons, potato sprouts could be seen for yards and yards away, but for now, as the winter settled in, there was nothing.
Sergei waited outside for a minute before opening the door. He checked his pocket, ensuring his money was tucked inside his jacket. His boots were well cleaned from the snow, and the scent of the factory had mostly drifted away with the wind. With that, he entered. Inside, two girls were curled before an open fireplace as a draft cut through the house. Sergei was quick to close the door and step gently through the house. He hung his jacket and removed his shoes before settling into the kitchen. At the sink, there was an unattended plate with two biscuits and a glass of juice beside it. His youngest sisters would believe this was their offering to the domovoi: a mythical house troll that controlled fate. His eldest sister, Alexandra, would leave the plate of biscuits out so that once Sergei returned home from his day at the mill, he’d have food waiting for him. He ate in silence over the sink, occasionally turning to watch his two younger sisters toss and turn at the fireplace. This was the best part of his day.
Once the food was gone, Sergei returned the empty plate to the counter, snuck back over to his jacket, removed the currency and coin from his front pocket, and then slid it into the breadbox—Alexandra and Sergei’s personal hiding place for what little savings the family had. If Alexandra asked him about where the money had come from, he would play pretend and say that the savings had always had that much money in it. It’d worked before, and he believed it would work again. Once it was hidden, he made his way to the fireplace and collapsed into a recliner. He drifted further off to sleep as the warmth of the kindling wrapped around him. Right as it seemed he was about to escape into dreams long since forgotten, two hands slammed down onto the arms of the recliner.
Sergei jumped awake, gasping as he came to. He was surprised to find his oldest sister before him. “Alexandra,” he heaved, his heart still pounding from the surprise.
“Come. Away from Lada and Elena,” she said in their native tongue as she began down a short, narrow hall toward the back of their home.
Sergei’s mind was still fuzzy with the soft tinge of slumber. He stumbled up and followed his sister. It was not often she woke him. It was not often anyone woke him until the sun began to rise and Lada and Elena needed to get ready for primary school. He moved his jaw mechanically, reawakening all the sore joints of his body.
“What is it?” He followed her right into the room of their parents. Since their death a year ago, the room remained untouched, a temple to a time that was.
She sat at the foot of their parents’ bed, waiting for him. “Something is wrong.”
As though he had just been drenched in water, Sergei came alive, his mind racing with what could have possibly happened during his shift at the mill. His thoughts first, as always, jumped to his youngest sister, Lada.
“What is wrong?”
“Someone said they saw you at a tavern the other night…” She patted the bed next to her, asking her younger brother to sit by her side. “As head of this household, I am implored to ask why.”
Alexandra had two icy gray eyes and fair-as-fair hair, as completely opposite to Sergei as one could be. She always wore black. The family always wore black. But, despite all her prominence and all her power, Sergei had no trouble lying.
“I was never at any tavern.” He spoke with a false shock in his voice.
“Have you been courting someone?” She gave way to lightness now, laughter disrupting the emptiness of their home.
“Have you?” Sergei teased.
“This isn’t about me,” she replied cockily. “This is about you.” She pulled herself back together and reverted to her previously more formal self. Sergei enjoyed spending time with his sister. Before their parents passed, Alexandra and Sergei were inseparable, causing trouble in the market, disrupting their neighbors’ barn life, running petty cons. Things were fun. Life was enjoyable. But that was years ago. This was now.
Sergei still had just a faint smile when Alexandra spoke again, her voice raining down tension. “Catharine wouldn’t lie to me, Sergei.” Alexandra paused, a frown on her face. Although Sergei’s age and hers were only four years different, it sometimes felt impossible for them to reach one another. “Sergei,” she repeated again, focusing in on him. “What were you doing there?”
“I go to work and come home, Alexandra, that’s it. Catharine was mistaken.” Sergei could feel the sleep starting to take him again. In only five or so hours, he would be back on his way to the mill. It was exhausting. He hurried the conversation along. “You have nothing to worry about, sister. Things are fine. I am fine.”
“I would understand if not, though,” she said wispily, her gaze scanning to the walls of their parents’ room. “Sometimes, I just come in here and sit at night. I miss them so much. There are vices worse than drink. We could figure something out.”
“Everything is fine, Alexandra. Drinking isn’t my vice,” he answered. “I am going to go back to sleep.”
“There’s one more thing.” Alexandra still sounded worried. “I think one of the girls has been stealing from their school…maybe even classmates. Our savings has been going up by about twenty rubles a week. I’ve been counting. And you know I’m not very good at disciplining the girls, and they like you so much,” Alexandra pleaded, but Sergei knew better. She was more than capable of disciplining the girls. She was looking for a confession rather than assistance.
“That’s from me.” Sergei shuffled his feet against the cool wooden boards of the floor. “I added the money. It’s just from odd jobs is all. I’ve been helping a few of the men after work. Alexandra, you are good at this. Do not worry.”
“When?” She didn’t miss a beat, as though she’d played this conversation in her head before. “You leave home at the same time you always have, and you arrive back the same, too. Your pay is the same, so certainly you’re not doing it on the mill’s time, so when?” Alexandra held his gaze with a serious expression. “If you have ever had any respect for me, Sergei, you’d tell me the truth.”
Sergei paused. He could feel his mouth going dry. “I have my ways of finding time, Alexandra.”
She watched him closely. “You’ve been stealing it. From the men at the tavern, from factory funds, from women on the streets. I’m not sure which, but it’s one of the lot, isn’t it?”
Sergei looked at her for a minute, his mouth slack-
jawed. “I could be pawning our parents’ belongings.” He offered her the halfhearted alternative, still trying to catch up with the conversation. How had she found out?
“This temple is untouched.” She held her hands out and gestured to the walls of the room. “So how have you been doing it, Sergei?”
Struggling to find his words, Sergei began to piece together how his sister had figured him out so quickly. He’d always had a habit of underestimating her.
He returned to her side and sat on the end of the bed. “Is it obvious, or are you clever?”
She sighed, but smiled. “You’re obvious to me, but I’d bet you’ve nothing to worry about at the factory.”
“Mmmmm,” he huffed, tired and growing more tired. She was right. No one could read him better than Alexandra. Before their parents died, they had practically functioned on the same brainwave. “So…” He waited for her to speak, respectfully holding back his own opinion on it.
“So what?” She shrugged.
“So it’s good then?”
“What do you want me to say, brother? That I want you to steal? Because I won’t.”
“But I can still stay here?”
“Of course, Sergei. We are family. I would have you nowhere else. Besides, with the money, we can buy Lada and Elena beds of their own. You could even move out of the chair.” She slapped his knee, and for Sergei, things felt right again.
“How does the saying go?” she asked. “Small thieves hang, great thieves escape? So, don’t hang, Sergei.”
*
“Funny thing is, they don’t hang thieves anymore.” Sergei looked right through Gulliver. “In special cases, they don’t even put them in the gulag. Sometimes, they end up right here. Sometimes, they’re KGB agents.” There was no show, no confidence in his tone. Sergei was reliving every misstep that got him to this training facility, with these partners, in this place, and this time. He was exhausted again.
Gulliver looked more emotionally traumatized than Sergei did. His eyes welled, but no tears would escape him. “So,” he croaked, “you’re telling me I can’t have your barbecue potato crisps, because a house troll who lives in our hotel room needs them more?”
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