Vanya pushed past Yuri, tried to walk among the sailors as someone who expected to be obeyed. The men he passed had darkened skin. Their clothes were patched. Their belts were strands of rope. They’d sailed the globe. They’d seen liars and cheats the world over. And they had to know he was a fake, but he tried not to let that worry him. He needed to find Clay.
A group of four men dressed in clothing that looked a little less gray than what others were wearing blocked the plank leading to their ship, the tallest and grandest in port. Their shoes were clean and they spoke Russian. Vanya focused on the oldest man in the group, the one who looked to be in charge. He had a black beard that grew right up to his eyes and poked out of his chin like spikes. He wore a vest and had forearms as thick as Vanya’s thighs. “Would anyone like a cigarette?” Vanya asked. He held one out to the man with the spiked beard.
“Army rations?” the sailor grunted.
“Yes.”
“Sawdust.” The lines in his face cut deep as he laughed. “We have cigarettes ten times better from the Spaniards.”
Dismissed, Vanya turned back to Yuri, but the sailor dropped a hand like a claw on Vanya’s shoulder before he could move. “State your purpose,” the sailor said. Yuri was right. They should have gone back to camp, but now it was too late. He couldn’t run. Baba would have known to plan an escape before coming down the hill.
Vanya took a deep breath. “I’m looking for a steamer from America.”
“No steamers come here from America.”
“This one is called the New York. I know it’s coming here.”
“I don’t care what it’s called. You’re wrong. Look around. This is a trade port. No passengers. No parasols.”
“I’m looking for an American. Russell Clay. He’d arrive with dozens of crates.”
“Scurry home,” the sailor said. He shoved Vanya back toward Yuri.
“Try Libau,” another man called. He was short with a razor-thin nose that was crooked in two places. “Americans go to Libau.”
“Libau?” Vanya said. The name of the city had a recoil like a gun. Libau was south, too far from the centerline to make sense.
“Libau’s the only place you’ll find anyone fool enough to sail across the ocean in the middle of a war,” the sailor with the crooked nose said.
“There’s no war,” Vanya said.
“Is that what they’re telling the soldiers?” The sailors laughed. The man with the beard curled his lips. A wagon heavy with lumber heaved past, slowed by misshapen wheels.
Libau. What had Vanya missed? Could Clay have been diverted?
“Come,” Yuri said. He tugged Vanya back toward the hill. “We’ll return tomorrow, between exercises.”
“No, I have another question.” Vanya went back to the sailors. They stood in a tighter circle now, huddled around the man with the spiked beard. He was holding a polished box. Inside something gleamed. Vanya recognized the mark stamped on the silk lining.
“Won the Grand Prix Paris,” the sailor said. “Says it right here. I traded for it. The man didn’t know what he had. What it’s used for. The idiot.”
“She’s a beauty. Even if she’s German,” the man with the crooked nose said.
“It’s not German,” Vanya said. Every sailor in the circle looked up at once. “Zenith is a Swiss manufacturer. It’s a Swiss chronometer. And Grand Prix Paris, that’s the model.”
“How do you know?” the oldest sailor asked.
“I study time. May I? I’ll show you something about this model.” Vanya reached out to hold it. The sailor with the crooked nose shoved him back.
“What are you still doing here?” The sailor leered. He was so close Vanya saw skin peeling from sunburn on his nose.
“We mean no harm,” Yuri said. He pulled Vanya toward the hill again.
“You thinking of stealing this watch? Or are you deserters?” the crooked-nosed sailor asked. He clenched his fists. “You look dumb enough to have a price on your head. I’ve seen it before, lice like you dragged back kicking and screaming. The reward’s a tidy purse, isn’t it?”
“We’re not deserters,” Yuri said.
“Then where’s the rest of your soldiers?”
“We’re here on orders.”
“Orders? Soldiers never walk around alone like you two.” The sailor smiled as he and his men formed a circle around Vanya and Yuri. All told, they were fifteen.
“We don’t want trouble,” Vanya said.
“Then why are you looking to steal the chronometer?”
Vanya cleared his throat and stood as tall as he could. “I wasn’t about to do any such thing. I only wanted to show you how to use it, and to ask if any ships have arrived from Libau. Maybe the American we’re after, maybe he went to Libau first, then sailed here.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Yuri stepped in. “We’re leaving.”
“You are, now? As I see it, you’re outmanned.”
“And as I see it, if we don’t report back soon, our captain will be more than happy to come down here and cut every one of your throats. Now, make way,” Yuri said. He tried to push past but the sailors didn’t budge. The wind kicked up and a metal clasp bounced against a flagpole. A seagull cawed. The sailor with the crooked nose crept closer to Yuri. He was shorter, twice as wide, and no doubt more than twice as strong.
When he swung for Yuri, hard, he missed but Yuri didn’t strike back. Instead he dodged it, and another, before catching one to his ribs. One to his face. His cap flew off. The crowd cheered. Vanya tried to get closer but a fist clipped his chin. Vanya fell. His pants caught at the knee and ripped. The edge of his vision was black. He fought not to pass out. He was aware of men grunting. By the time he stood, the crowd was larger and louder. A man yelled for another to hold back Yuri’s arms. “Let him go!” Vanya yelled as loud as he could. He might not have adored Yuri the way his sister did, but he was still family, or almost. Vanya tried to push past the sailors now hunched in a scrum. “I said let him go.” Vanya kicked but no one seemed to notice.
“Enough!” someone yelled. A man Vanya couldn’t see tossed a sailor to the side as if he weighed nothing. He shoved another and came to the center of the circle. “A soldier’s not worth your skin.” It was the older sailor with the spiked beard. He had a gold tooth Vanya hadn’t noticed earlier. It glinted in the sun.
“We’re fine here, Dima,” the sailor with the crooked nose yelled. “Let us have our fun.”
“Let the soldier go and I’ll keep him away from you. Kolya, it’s an order, not a question.”
Kolya spat to the side and shoved Yuri forward, sent him to his knees. Yuri’s nose was bloody. His shirt was stained. Vanya shoved his way through. “Just bruising,” Yuri said when Vanya got to him. Blood trickled from his mouth. Vanya offered a handkerchief. It was white with blue stitches made by Babushka. The sailors loomed, still close.
“Help me to my feet,” Yuri gasped. “I’ll be fine.” Vanya put his arm around his waist. Yuri limped. He was in pain, that was clear, and the men around them made way. Yuri reached behind a crate and picked up his bag, his binoculars. Vanya hadn’t even seen him stash it there.
“You forgot something,” Kolya called. He held up Vanya’s medic’s bag. Vanya didn’t even know how he got it. Before he could step forward to take it, Kolya tossed it into the sea.
“Leave it,” Yuri said and urged him toward the hill.
“Not a good idea to head in that direction,” the sailor with the spikes called after them. “That hill’s a stage. If you want to be out of sight, go the other way.”
Vanya looked over his shoulder. “Leave us be.”
“But you should know, I’ve seen your American. Or, I’ve seen an American,” the sailor called. “He didn’t come here by boat, but I saw him. Didn’t catch his name.”
“What?” Vanya turned.
“He came for a load of crates, like the ones you were talking about.”
“Why didn’t you say that before?”<
br />
“I’m saying it now.” The sailor came closer. “Believe me or not, but I tell the truth.” He kicked at the shard of a clamshell and handed Yuri his cap. “Call me Dima. What shall I call you?”
“Doctor,” Yuri said.
“Doctor? Here?” Dima laughed. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” He hooked his thumbs in his belt and shook his head. “There was a ship came a few weeks past full of crates. That American, he must have come by train. He met the boat, had the crates loaded onto wagons.”
“Where did he go?” Vanya asked.
“He’s lying.” Yuri pulled Vanya’s arm.
“Straight to his hotel.”
“How do you know?” Yuri asked.
“Who do you think unloaded all those crates?”
“Which hotel?” Vanya asked.
“Didn’t say. But for a price, I can assist you in searching the premier establishments.”
“Of course,” Yuri said. “We have no reason to believe you.”
“Tell me, what did you mean when you said you study time? How do you know Zenith?”
“First, tell me your price,” Vanya said.
Dima laughed. “My price is higher than those cheap cigarettes you offered.” He pointed to Vanya’s feet. “I see your new boots. And I saw you had a pair of binoculars, up on that hill. Both will do.”
“You were watching us?”
“I told you, that hill is a stage. Every day you come. Every day I watch.”
“Then why not offer your help earlier?”
“I’m not offering anything but a trade. My guidance for those boots and binoculars. Do we have a deal? Or shall I feed you to the dogs, with Kolya in the lead?”
“We can still make it back to camp on time,” Yuri whispered. “If we go now, there’ll be no punishment.” He was right. Vanya knew it, but Dima offered their first lead on Clay.
“If we don’t go with this sailor, who else will help?” Vanya said.
“He could be lying.”
“Or he could be telling the truth.” Vanya looked over at the sailor. “You’ll take us to every hotel until we find him, our American?”
“I’ll give you the day,” Dima said. “One day. If we don’t find him by midnight, you owe me nothing. That’s fair.”
Vanya didn’t even have to think it over. He took his arm from Yuri’s waist and moved to shake the sailor’s hand, but Yuri grabbed him. “There’s more,” Yuri said. “I always know when there’s more. It’s in their eyes. Tell us, sailor. What else?”
“Perhaps you’re smarter than you look.” The sailor stepped closer. “When I find this American for you, I have one more condition. A simple condition.”
“What?” Vanya asked.
“If we find the American, you consider another business proposal.”
“Consider? Or it’s part of your price?” Yuri asked.
“I ask only that you listen. And consider. Perhaps you will accept. Now, we should start our search. Later, you can tell me what you know about chronometers.”
XXI
Dima walked with a limp that made one shoulder dip with every other step. Still, he was fast, scurrying up and out of the port with Vanya and Yuri behind him. And while Vanya caught himself several times complaining about his sore chin, Yuri didn’t say a word about the beating he’d taken, did everything he could to cover his own limp.
Soon, salty air gave way to the smell of coffee and perfume, and the piecemeal docks sank behind breathtaking architecture. Every facade was a sculpture. Flowering lintels held oversize, high-relief murals. Some depicted Roman myths, others Russian folktales. After a park, Dima stopped and leaned against a tree. At the port, he was well dressed compared to the other sailors. In the splendor of Riga, he was diminished to a figure in tatters. Even his skin looked sallow, the circles under his eyes deeper. And while Dima was less, Vanya and Yuri were more. They wore still-new uniforms, and soldiers and pedestrians nodded with respect as they passed, appeared not to notice the rip in Vanya’s knee or the drops of blood on Yuri’s collar.
“Start there,” Dima said. He pointed across the street. “That hotel is the closest to the port. Very expensive. It used to host Americans, before the war.”
“But there is no war.”
“You still insist on saying that?” He pointed to the door. “I’ll wait here.”
Yuri and Vanya dodged a trolley. A troop of soldiers passed. Their pants were dusty. Their faces were unshaven. They must have just arrived. The influx of soldiers meant the czar was fortifying the port, that more and more units would join them.
“If we find nothing, we go back to camp,” Yuri said to Vanya. “We still might be able to slip back in before we’re missed.”
“No. If Clay isn’t here, we check the next hotel.”
Yuri pinched the back of Vanya’s arm and pulled him close. “Vanya, brother, you have no intention of returning at all, do you?”
“This is as close as we’ve ever come to Clay.”
“How are we close? We have a sailor we can’t trust saying he saw an American that may or may not have been Clay.”
“It’s more than we had yesterday. If you want to return without me, go.”
“Miri would never forgive me.”
“This can’t be about my sister.”
“How can you say that? Everything I’m doing is for your sister. And you, you don’t know what you’re walking into. You’ve never seen what the czar’s men can do. What Russians do to each other—to Jews.”
“And you have?” Vanya wrenched his arm away from Yuri. He reached for his own visor. He meant to pull it down, but his head was bare. When did he lose his cap?
“You don’t know anything about me,” Yuri said.
“If that’s true, then we have a problem,” Vanya replied.
“We’ll search this hotel, and the next,” Yuri said. “But then we’re done. Do you understand?”
XXII
There were no Americans staying at the first hotel, nor had there been any in the past month. Yuri followed Vanya and Dima to the next hotel and then, after an argument that ended when they shoved each other and fell, to the next. Yuri never said he would stay, but he made no move to go, either. Instead, he walked slumped forward, sulking. They made their way through Riga in the shadows, terrified someone would stop and ask for their papers or why they were away from their unit. At first Yuri had whispered he was worried Dima might turn them in, but Dima seemed as keen to stay hidden as the two soldiers.
At one point late in the day, Dima took Vanya and Yuri down a narrow, older street lined with restaurants. It smelled like fried onions and boiled meat. “Americans used to congregate here,” he said. But now it was empty.
“Stick to the hotels,” Yuri said.
They tried four more locations and still found nothing. No American, or man named Russell Clay, had ever even written for a reservation. Near sunset, in front of a row of dark houses, Dima crouched behind a hobbled wagon, in a pile of straw. He gestured for Vanya and Yuri to also take cover. An army unit in formation was turning the corner, marching toward them. Their boots stamped in unison, trampling cobblestones. A woman in the house behind them closed her shutters. Then came a new sound. Steel wheels slammed against stone—a tank. Vanya had only seen one before. The wheels were constructed of metal plates that rolled over gears. The inventor of this Russian model, born and schooled in Riga, called them caterpillar wheels. The sides were reinforced with steel so thick it was impenetrable.
“Impressive,” Dima whispered.
“Despicable,” Vanya said. “Science should be for progress, not killing.”
Dima, Vanya, and Yuri hurried forward to the next hotel, and the next. Vanya struggled not to lose hope. Near midnight, Dima’s deadline, they stood in an alley to catch their breath. Seagulls cawed. Candles flickered through windows, and the smell of boiled potatoes was thick. Dima looked tired. His beard no longer spiked. “Why risk your lives for an American?” Dima asked. “D
oes he study time?”
“Do you intend to turn us in for the reward? Is Kolya reporting us now?” Yuri asked.
“Can’t you see, he would have already turned us in if that was his aim,” Vanya said. Yuri looked away, sucked on his cigarette. His cheeks turned concave as the tobacco singed.
“Doctor.” Dima grinned. “Your brother has a point. If I turned you in, how would I get such nice boots and binoculars?” He paused. “Where’d you learn to fight?”
“I can’t fight,” Yuri said.
“That’s a lie. I saw you at the docks. Kolya couldn’t have hit you if you hadn’t let him. Why? Where are you from?”
“Zhytomyr.”
“Aha. That city has a reputation.”
“You can’t believe everything you hear,” Yuri said.
“Then tell me this, why do you two stick together? I can’t figure it out. All you do is disagree, and yet you fight for one another. I know you’re not brothers by blood.”
“He’s engaged to my sister,” Vanya said. “They work together at the hospital.”
“A nurse and a doctor, a storybook tale,” Dima said. “Now I see.”
“My sister’s not a nurse.”
“She’s a doctor, my student. She works under me at the hospital.”
“All women are better under us, no?” Dima winked.
Yuri ignored him. “How do we know you won’t turn us in?” he asked again.
“He wants his boots and—” Vanya started.
“I told you, I have a business proposal,” Dima interrupted.
“Besides,” Vanya said. “He’s been seen with us. All day. If we’re caught, the czar’s men’ll hang him for helping. You realize that, Dima?”
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