had to sleep hanging on a hook.
“Misha and I will take the front bedroom,” Lubochka finished matter-of-factly.
Lubochka and Misha? In the same bedroom? Genny had the impression that Lubochka, big and deep voiced, played for the other team.
Surprise made her careless; she tripped on the uneven wood floor and stumbled.
Every person sitting along the length of the two oak tables turned to stare, and every voice hushed.
Genny froze in embarrassment, and stared back.
The big room was longer than it was wide, with stone walls covered by rough plaster. A huge stone fireplace yawned in one wall. Bottles and kegs lined another. The lighting was dim; nothing more than a few naked bulbs hung from the ceiling with pull chains dangling beneath them. Mismatched mugs and glasses studded the bar, and a huge polished brass samovar bubbled on one end.
A female stood next to Lubochka, and it struck Genny the two women were photographic negatives of each other. Both exuded strength of will. Both were the same height, the same age. But this new female had a tanned face, pale blond hair, and blue eyes. Where Lubochka was strong boned and strong featured, this woman was delicate, with the shape of a supermodel.
In fact—Genny looked around—none of the locals in the inn looked like Genny’s idea of a stereotypical Russian. They were all tall, thin and tanned, with blond hair and blue eyes. They gawked at Genny without an ounce of delicacy; gawked as if incredulous about something.
Genny looked down at herself. Was her zipper open? She touched her upper lip. While she was asleep, had Brandon used a black felt-tipped marker to draw on a mustache?
But no. No one was smiling. Slowly, one by one, the villagers stood and retreated from the benches around the table.
Lubochka looked around at the locals and scowled. “What’s wrong, Mariana?”
The supermodel lifted a pitcher off the table with the kind of competence that marked her as someone who knew her way around the barroom. With a nod toward Genny, Mariana said, “That one will bring . . .” She hesitated.
“Trouble . . .” The faintest whisper floated from the back of the room.
“No!” Mariana shook her head. “Not trouble. But change.”
Genny didn’t like this attention, didn’t like the signs of wide-eyed recognition from people she’d never met before. “I, uh, am not here to change anything.”
“She saw the first lynx of the year,” Lubochka said.
And the first yeti. Genny bit her lip on the comment.
Mariana smiled, her eyes looking deeply into Genny’s eyes, sending a message Genny didn’t understand. “Then she has already brought luck. More is sure to follow.”
Dropping her bag on the floor, Lubochka gave Genny a shove toward the stairs. “Go to bed.”
“But I . . .” She thought she should remain down here with the others, bond with the rest of the team.
“Are you hungry?” Lubochka asked. “No? I thought not. So go to bed. You have first shift. Tomorrow at six, I will take you to your observation post and you will watch for the Ural lynx.”
“Okay.” Genny smiled, so exhausted and excited her eyes filled with tremulous tears. “I can’t wait.” Turning, she fled up the shadowy steps, then paused on the landing.
A man spoke in Russian, quickly and with a local accent that was hard for Genny to follow, but she understood one word, repeated over and over. Trouble .
During the ominous silence that followed, Genny sat and, keeping to the shadows, slid down the steps far enough to see Lubochka dominating the room with her strength of will.
“You listen to me. All of you.” Lubochka’s voice was low and intense. “Up here, the flowers die too soon. The snow stays too late. The soldiers come and stomp around in their big boots. The big cats barely cling to existence. I bring my team to you while we track the Ural lynx. We pay you for our lodging, our food. We bring you prosperity, money until the crops come in, until you can mine
“Misha and I will take the front bedroom,” Lubochka finished matter-of-factly.
Lubochka and Misha? In the same bedroom? Genny had the impression that Lubochka, big and deep voiced, played for the other team.
Surprise made her careless; she tripped on the uneven wood floor and stumbled.
Every person sitting along the length of the two oak tables turned to stare, and every voice hushed.
Genny froze in embarrassment, and stared back.
The big room was longer than it was wide, with stone walls covered by rough plaster. A huge stone fireplace yawned in one wall. Bottles and kegs lined another. The lighting was dim; nothing more than a few naked bulbs hung from the ceiling with pull chains dangling beneath them. Mismatched mugs and glasses studded the bar, and a huge polished brass samovar bubbled on one end.
A female stood next to Lubochka, and it struck Genny the two women were photographic negatives of each other. Both exuded strength of will. Both were the same height, the same age. But this new female had a tanned face, pale blond hair, and blue eyes. Where Lubochka was strong boned and strong featured, this woman was delicate, with the shape of a supermodel.
In fact—Genny looked around—none of the locals in the inn looked like Genny’s idea of a stereotypical Russian. They were all tall, thin and tanned, with blond hair and blue eyes. They gawked at Genny without an ounce of delicacy; gawked as if incredulous about something.
Genny looked down at herself. Was her zipper open? She touched her upper lip. While she was asleep, had Brandon used a black felt-tipped marker to draw on a mustache?
But no. No one was smiling. Slowly, one by one, the villagers stood and retreated from the benches around the table.
Lubochka looked around at the locals and scowled. “What’s wrong, Mariana?”
The supermodel lifted a pitcher off the table with the kind of competence that marked her as someone who knew her way around the barroom. With a nod toward Genny, Mariana said, “That one will bring . . .” She hesitated.
“Trouble . . .” The faintest whisper floated from the back of the room.
“No!” Mariana shook her head. “Not trouble. But change.”
Genny didn’t like this attention, didn’t like the signs of wide-eyed recognition from people she’d never met before. “I, uh, am not here to change anything.”
“She saw the first lynx of the year,” Lubochka said.
And the first yeti. Genny bit her lip on the comment.
Mariana smiled, her eyes looking deeply into Genny’s eyes, sending a message Genny didn’t understand. “Then she has already brought luck. More is sure to follow.”
Dropping her bag on the floor, Lubochka gave Genny a shove toward the stairs. “Go to bed.”
“But I . . .” She thought she should remain down here with the others, bond with the rest of the team.
“Are you hungry?” Lubochka asked. “No? I thought not. So go to bed. You have first shift. Tomorrow at six, I will take you to your observation post and you will watch for the Ural lynx.”
“Okay.” Genny smiled, so exhausted and excited her eyes filled with tremulous tears. “I can’t wait.” Turning, she fled up the shadowy steps, then paused on the landing.
A man spoke in Russian, quickly and with a local accent that was hard for Genny to follow, but she understood one word, repeated over and over. Trouble .
During the ominous silence that followed, Genny sat and, keeping to the shadows, slid down the steps far enough to see Lubochka dominating the room with her strength of will.
“You listen to me. All of you.” Lubochka’s voice was low and intense. “Up here, the flowers die too soon. The snow stays too late. The soldiers come and stomp around in their big boots. The big cats barely cling to existence. I bring my team to you while we track the Ural lynx. We pay you for our lodging, our food. We bring you prosperity, money until the crops come in, until you can mine
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