Men of Winter

Chapter VIII

Messengers brought gifts of treasure to the hall. — Odyssey 8

When Polozkov and I returned to our pension, the landlord and his wife were not to be found. We placed the unconscious stranger on the couch in the parlor and added coal to the burner in what used to be a fireplace. While I prodded the coals into quicker combustion, Polozkov disappeared for a moment; he returned with a bottle of sherry and a tumbler intending to administer the drink to the woman for medicinal purposes. I convinced him that she had had quite enough alcohol, so he drank the sherry himself. I felt her hand, which had been inside the cocoon of bearskin, and it did not feel quite as icy. I removed my coat and placed it on top of her in addition to the animal fur.

I said, "She needs to eat something, and have something hot to drink." Polozkov was sitting in an embroidered chair pouring himself another sherry. "Watch her a moment while I fetch something from the kitchen." He nodded while putting the tumbler to his lips.

I went to the kitchen and began snooping about. I had been more awake than I realized when my landlady made my tea earlier, so I knew right where to find the leaves and packet of tiger-root. The kettle was already on the stove, and there was some fire glowing in the cast-iron belly. I placed a quartered log inside and stirred the embers a bit with a smoke-black poker. I shut the door on the stove then began looking for some biscuit and butter. The kitchen door opened. I hoped it was my landlady but instead her husband entered. He was in his long-sleeved undershirt and wool trousers, the suspenders hanging slack at his knees.

"What are you doing?" he said. "Who is this woman in my house?"

Surely Polozkov had explained a little. "She fainted at the Luminarium. Mr. Polozkov and I brought her here – she could not be tossed onto the street."

"I am not operating a house of charity for streetpeople; this is a business ... and my home."

"I understand, but I met the woman on the train ... I felt some responsibility toward her."

"What is her name? Where does she come from?"

I was found dumb. "I ...."

"You have no idea, do you?" He pulled up his suspenders but got them twisted. He appeared not to care.

"You have an extra room. I shall pay for her lodging." What was I saying? Mezenskov's money was not infinite. I tried to do the mathematics in my mind but I was too flustered. Somehow I would make do.

"At full rate."

Was it a question or statement? "Yes – full rate." I reached into my vest and removed some money, enough for a couple of days at the pension. "Now," I said, "may I get the woman some food and drink before she dies and I have to ask for my money back?"

My landlord folded the currency and tucked it into his back pocket. "Go see to her; I will bring something in a moment."

His wife entered the kitchen. She looked at me but not questioningly. Perhaps Polozkov had spoken to her. "It will do no good to feed her now," she said. "She has vodka poisoning; she will need a purgative before anything else." Ah, reliable countryfolk – they know what to do in any circumstance.

I left the kitchen and the matter in their hands. I returned to the parlor, which was becoming quite warm. Polozkov had fallen asleep in the embroidered chair; the sherry bottle and tumbler were about to slip from his hands. I took them and told him to go to bed, that I would handle things from here. He appeared too tired to care one way or another as he left the parlor and headed for the stair. I put my hand on the woman's cheek and it was cool. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment but I saw only their whites.