Teenage Treasure Hunter

by Daniel Kenney

  “There’s something I don’t get,” Curial said. “And I mean no disrespect, but, well… using a mold to make the dolls hardly seems especially ingenious. Yet my mom talked about how the Romanov Dolls were so perfect that many people wondered how they were ever created. If it was really so simple, why were people so disbelieving?”

  Gennady looked toward his wife again; she turned away and set her gaze into the corner of the room. At last Gennady spoke. “My grandfather said they worked for months and months on getting the dolls just right, and when they were finally finished, he and Vasily were very proud.”

  “But?”

  “The day came for Vasily and Ivan to show off their work. The Czar was sending a representative to Abramtsevo to collect the work and pay their commission. But when the man arrived, it was no ordinary man…”

  “It was Rasputin,” Curial said.

  Gennady’s mouth fell open. “H-how did you—?”

  “We saw a picture, we know Rasputin was there.”

  Gennady bit down on his lip, nodded, then continued. “Rasputin, even back then, even in the early years, he was known in Russia. There were rumors. That he was a holy man, some said a charlatan, some said a sorcerer. So when Rasputin came into the workshop to see their work, he took one glance at the dolls and…” Gennady couldn’t find the right words, and asked Valeeni something in Russian.

  She replied in English. “That madman lost his mind.”

  Gennady nodded. “That’s it, Rasputin lost his mind. ‘Not good enough for the royal family,’ he told them. He was furious. Finally, he said he would have to fix things himself. He threw Vasily and Ivan out of their own workshop. My grandfather waited outside—outraged, but mostly humiliated. He felt like he had let the Czar down. He also felt like he had wasted months of his life on these dolls.”

  Gennady danced his fingers across his knee. “Fifteen torturous minutes later, the door opened, and Rasputin waved them back. As my grandfather walked in, he smelled something. He told me he would never ever forget that smell, like a cross between burnt hair and licorice, and the air was smoky. On the workshop table were the Romanov Dolls.”

  Gennady paused and looked up and into the corner of the room. A smile spread across his face. Then he looked down at Curial. “And the dolls were perfect.”

  Curial felt like he’d just dropped down a roller coaster. “W-what do you mean?”

  “They were the same dolls Vasily and my grandfather had fashioned, and yet, somehow, by someone or by something…they’d been made perfect.” He shrugged. “Rasputin thanked the men for their work, paid them in full, and then he left. They never saw nor heard from him ever again.”

  The four of them sat in silence, Curial trying to process what it all meant. Maurice finally interrupted the silence.

  “That is some seriously spooky stuff.” Then Maurice leaned closer to Dina. “You think Valeeni here can bake as good as my old pal Mischa?”

  Dina mouthed the words “Shut up” then turned her attention back to the old doll maker.

  “Gennady,” she said. “There’s something I still don’t understand. I get you not wanting to tell us about Rasputin. I do. But why did you need to change your name?”

  Curial picked up on Dina’s point. “And why did you move from Abramtsevo in 1970? I assume you know that’s the same year the Romanov Dolls were stolen?”

  Gennady nodded gravely. “When Ivan died, I carried on the family tradition and continued to make dolls at Abramtsevo. I met Valeeni, and we got married and we had a nice life. It was a little life, but it was ours, and it was quite lovely. And we were happy.”

  Valeeni squeezed his knee. “We were very happy.”

  “A new artist came to the collective in the spring of 1969, by the name of Boris Markoff. He was young, had tremendous energy, was funny, charismatic, and I liked him immediately.”

  “But I didn’t,” Valeeni said as she rocked back in her chair.

  “No, Valeeni thought Boris was too charming for his own good. Still, he and I became fast friends, and I taught him everything I knew about doll making. One night, after entirely too much vodka, Boris told me that in his previous life, he had been an accomplished thief. I told him I didn’t want to know any more.”

  “Why?” Dina asked.

  “Dina, Dina, Dina. You never grew up in Soviet Russia. There were eyes and ears everywhere. If Boris had done something wrong, I didn’t want to know.

  “Then another night, after another too many vodkas, I told Boris the story of the Romanov Dolls. He was incredibly interested and asked me a question. Did I think I could make dolls as good as the Romanov Dolls?”

  “And you said yes,” Maurice suggested.

  “I said ‘heck no!’ Not a chance. I laughed it off and didn’t give it another thought.”

  “Until?” Curial asked.

  Gennady sighed. “Four months later, Boris comes to me with a plan. Says he has a buyer who’s willing to supply the precious metals and the gems if I would make a duplicate of the Romanov Dolls. I tell him it can’t be done. He wants to know if I will try. I say I can’t. Then he hands me more money than I’ve ever held in my life.”

  “And we should have given it back and said no.” Valeeni rocked back again.

  “But I didn’t. I knew that with this money, Valeeni and I could follow our dreams. Our lovely little life wouldn’t have to be so little after all. So I took the money. And I made the dolls.”

  “You made a set of Romanov Dolls?” Dina asked, her voice and body rising up at the same time.

  “It took a lot of trial and error, even with the molds… but after much effort, I finally made something quite beautiful.”

  “But let me guess,” Curial said. “Not perfect.”

  Gennady shook his head. “No, not perfect. At the time, Boris had been gone from the collective for a while. When he came back, he examined the dolls and said they would have to be good enough. Then he took the dolls and left.”

  Gennady paused.

  “That’s it?” Dina said.

  “That was the last time we saw Boris. A month later, I was in my workshop, carving dolls, when Valeeni comes in, her face white as a ghost. She says the Romanov Dolls had been stolen from New York. Then a week later she came in, her face as white as a ghost again.”

  Valeeni stopped rocking.

  “She heard in town from a friend of a friend. Boris was dead.”

  Dina cupped her hands to her face. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, and Valeeni and I weren’t going to stay around long enough to find out. I never had a good feeling about what I’d done. Money isn’t free, especially that much money, and I had taken a shortcut and I knew it. I’d already endangered Valeeni enough with my stupidity and greed and I wasn’t going to take any more chances. We left Abramtsevo the next day, moved to St. Petersburg, changed our names, and used the money to open our doll shop. And that was it.”

  “You really don’t know how Boris died?” Curial asked.

  “I don’t even know where he died. I never wanted to know, but I had a pretty good idea what happened. I’m sure he had something to do with the theft of the Romanov Dolls and I’m guessing something went terribly wrong. But, like I said, in Soviet Russia, there were eyes and ears everywhere; if I had started poking around, getting interested in what happened to my friend, people would have been liable to take notice. So I just put my head down and tried to forget it happened.”

  Curial leaned back. “So when I show up out of the blue and start asking these questions…”

  Gennady nodded. “It spooked us pretty good. Dina, we’re sorry for lying.”

  “Does my grandfather know? Does he know who you really are?”

  Gennady laughed. “Heavens no. Nobody knows accept for the three of you. And Dina, if it’s okay with you, we’d like to keep it that way.”

  Dina smiled. “I understand.”

  He looked at Maurice.

  “Young man?”

&nb
sp; “My silence can be purchased for the price of one small, delicious confectionary.”

  Dina punched him in the arm.

  “Ow, fine I won’t tell anybody.”

  “And Curial?” said Gennady.

  Curial smiled. “Do you mind if I tell my friend Dina?”

  Gennady laughed. “You’re not bad for…”

  Curial stood up. “For what?”

  Gennady smiled and extended his hand. “For a blockheaded American.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five – Home Invasion

  Curial and Maurice waited for Dina outside of the doll shop. When she finally came, she looked dazed. “I still can’t believe it. I can’t believe Gennady was wrapped up in all of this.”

  “You guys know what we have to do?” Curial said.

  “What?” asked Dina.

  “We have to find out who killed Boris Markoff.”

  “Curial’s right,” Maurice said. “We find out who killed Markoff, and I bet we’ll solve this mystery once and for all.”

  Dina tapped her foot. “Okay, best chance we’ve got are the newspapers from back then.”

  “1970?” Maurice said. “Where we gonna find newspapers from 1970?”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Dina, “Haven’t you done a research paper before?”

  Maurice shrugged. “Is this a trick question?”

  “The library,” Curial said. “The library has newspapers right?”

  “Right,” said Dina, “but with Grandfather’s party tonight, I don’t have time to go to the library.”

  “Wait, you’ve got a party to go to?” asked Curial.

  “Yeah, well, my mother sent me a few texts reminding me that my attendance was required at one of Grandfather’s parties.”

  Dina suddenly smiled and pointed at Curial. “You know what, you should come. Those parties are boring and full of nothing but old people.”

  Curial sighed. “You have no idea how many parties with boring old people I’ve had to attend in my life.”

  Dina glared at him. “Then one more won’t kill you. Maurice, you up for it?”

  “Will there be food at this party?” asked Maurice.

  “Yep,” said Dina.

  “Then I am most definitely up for a party.”

  “But back to Markov,” said Curial. “If you don’t have time for the library, how do we figure out who killed him?”

  Dina held up her phone. “Luckily, being the granddaughter of a university professor has it’s privileges. I have a code that allows me to access all the digital microfilm of the college’s old newspapers.”

  She pulled up an app and then started typing. She clicked the tab for English so Curial and Maurice could follow along and then typed “Boris Markoff” into the query field. After a few seconds the results showed up.

  “Russia is a very large country,” she said. “And there are apparently a lot of Boris Markoffs. Too many. We need to narrow the search parameters.” Dina typed “death 1970” in the search field and hit enter again.

  This time a few more seconds passed, and then only a handful of results came up. Curial scanned the entries and saw one that was a newspaper article. Dina clicked on the “translate” button and then the article came up in English.

  Burglar Shot In Home Invasion

  Dina and Curial were almost cheek to cheek as they scanned the article together. Finally, Curial’s eyes landed on one passage:

  A man identified as Boris Markoff was shot in St. Petersburg early Saturday morning while trying to break in to the home of a prominent St. Petersburg figure. Authorities have not released any more details of the shooting other than to confirm the incident took place at the White Hills Estate of Anton Koralenko.

  Curial’s heart stopped when he saw that name.

  “Oh my God,” Dina said as she grabbed Curial’s forearm and squeezed. Maurice pushed in between them.

  “Anton Koralenko!” Maurice howled. “I knew it, I knew those dirty no good Koralenkos were behind this the whole time. You don’t threaten to pull a kid’s limbs off unless you’re pretty messed up. I’ll remind you that I had figured out Koralenko was behind this after just a few hours.”

  Curial shook his head. “I guess you were right.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Dina.

  Curial swallowed. The truth. He finally knew the truth. Part of him figured that he’d probably never actually figure it out. But now that he did?

  He swallowed again. Dina and Maurice were both looking at him, waiting on him.

  “In less than forty-eight hours, one of my mom’s oldest and dearest friends is going to lose the only job he’s every known unless I can bring home the Romanov Dolls.”

  “So what are you saying Curial?” said Dina.

  “I’m saying tonight is my last chance to get them back.”

  Dina frowned. “But my grandfather’s party is tonight.”

  “I know. Maurice, if you did some poking around with your street contacts, do you think you could figure out where a guy like Koralenko might hide something as valuable as the Romanov Dolls?”

  Maurice curled up his lip. “No problem. And if I do figure it out, what then boss?”

  Curial licked his lips, took a big sigh so that his shoulders rose and fell. “Then I guess…w-we have to get them.”

  Maurice smiled and clapped his hands together. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Dina’s eyes grew big. “We’re going to steal the Romanov Dolls from Victor Koralenko?”

  “No Dina, this isn’t your fight. The less you’re involved from here on out the better.”

  Dina punched Curial in the shoulder.

  “Ouch!” said Curial. “You know, at some point my shoulders are going to stop functioning because of you.”

  “Don’t do that,” said Dina, her jaw set tight.

  “Don’t do what?” Curial answered.

  “You should have saved your little speech for before I was kidnapped outside of Red Square. No, after everything you’ve already put me through—there is no way I’m backing out of this now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Dina folded her arms across her chest and stood tall. “I’m sure.”

  “Okay then, Maurice, can you plan a job this fast?”

  Maurice bit his lower lip. “Maybe.”

  “We’ll need better than maybe,” said Curial.

  Maurice smiled. “Well then maybe you better not every ask me a question like that again because of course I can!”

  “Okay then. Maurice, when you’ve got everything ready, you come to the party and go over the plan with Dina and I.”

  “And then?” asked Dina.

  “And then,” said Curial, “we go get those dolls.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six – The Party

  Two hours later, Mike drove Curial through an enormous black wrought-iron gate then down a long blacktop drive, old-fashioned lamps lighting the way. He turned into a circular drive. Curial looked out with astonishment at the enormity of the house and the gathering.

  Professor Ardankin was apparently rich. Very rich, Curial thought. Funny that Dina never mentioned it.

  Curial followed a group entering the house and then began moving through the crowd. As he took in the opulence of the grand home, he couldn’t help but notice that people kept staring at him. But after a lifetime of people staring, he had become used to it.

  He squeezed through the crowd and made it to the edge of the great ballroom. The house was old and full of art—spectacular art. By the looks of it, Professor Ardankin’s house could also double as an art museum. Just how a college teacher made this kind of money, Curial couldn’t quite figure.

  Curial took the main stairwell up to the second floor. A large security guard looked at him strangely but Curial walked past without a word. The second floor was full of statues—not Italian-renaissance quality, but beautiful nonetheless. Professor Ardankin apparently had a keen eye for quality.

  “Are you lost?”


  Curial jumped, then spun and saw Dina ten feet away. At least, he thought it was Dina. This girl was dressed in a long silver gown, had her hair up, wore makeup, and definitely didn’t look thirteen.

  “What have you done with Dina Ardankin, the profoundly mean Russian girl who’s been guiding me around Russia the past two days?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Shut it.”

  Curial stepped closer and put his finger to his chin. “You know, you look very…”

  Dina glared at him. “My grandfather makes me dress fancy for these parties.”

  “But like I said, you look—”

  She held her finger up. “Not a word.” She looked around. “So what do you think?”

  “It’s not every day I get to visit a big Russian house. Funny how with all your rich American jokes you conveniently forgot to mention that you were also rich.”

  “I’m not rich,” she said. “My grandfather is.”

  Curial smiled. “You know, I should really use that line. How about giving me a tour of this modest home?”

  Downstairs, music started up and Dina’s expression changed. “Listen, Grandfather expects me to dance certain dances during the evening and normally I have to do it with smelly old guys.”

  “Your point?”

  She smiled and grabbed his hand. “Not tonight. Tonight I dance with you.”

  Dina dragged Curial down the stairs and before he knew it, he was on the dance floor. His palms were sweaty, his feet were clumsy, and he was twirling around the floor with an impossibly beautiful Russian girl who had helped him figure out more about the Romanov Dolls than anybody else had learned for forty years. He sure hoped his mother was watching him now.

  Curial and Dina danced through three songs before a commotion at the front door caused them to stop. They turned to see Maurice trying to get in the party while a large Russian security guard held him by his collar.

  “Oh the brutality!” Maurice cried when he saw Dina and Curial. “You tell this goon that unless he wants a rug burn on his hand from strangling me to death, he better let me go.”

  Dina laughed and then addressed the man in Russian. He promptly let go and Maurice collapsed in a heap onto the marble floor. He stood up, collected a black backpack and looked around. “Nice joint Dina, how exactly does a History Professor get a house like this?”