The Fifth Doll(28)

“All right, Tradesman,” she whispered. “I’m coming.”





Chapter 9


Matrona had never walked the village at night. Every star in the unreachable heavens felt like an eye watching her, and the calm breeze that loosed strands of hair from her braid sounded like whispers. It reminded her all too much of her shameful walk to her izba after opening her first doll. She shuddered.

Keeping her spine straight and shoulders back, Matrona tried not to feel like a vagrant. She pieced together excuses should she run into anyone. Then again, whoever might see her would have explaining of their own to do, wouldn’t they?

She glanced over her shoulder—she’d been doing that a lot recently. Listened to the voices of the nearby wood, the silence of the izbas around her, all darkened windows and cold chimneys. The air smelled different at night: earthier, cleaner. She could taste grass in the air. Crickets called after her, muting her footsteps along the worn path encircling the village.

When the path turned eastward, toward Slava’s house, a muffled giggle startled Matrona. She nearly tripped over her own feet in her haste to leap off the path. It was a maiden’s laugh, and Matrona’s gaze followed the sound to the tiny shops to her right, where she saw two shadows dancing. Her blood heated when she realized they were a man and a woman. They shushed each other as they ran from eave to eave, oblivious of Matrona’s proximity.

She thought to continue walking, but her muscles froze at the sound of a whisper from the man. Squinting, Matrona tried to draw his outline in her mind, and her stomach sank. Was that . . . Jaska?

The roving couple dashed to a new eave, and the moon cast just enough light for Matrona to see the cut of the man’s hair. A long breath escaped her. Not Jaska. In fact, it looked quite a lot like his brother Kostya. Matrona pinched her lips together, forced her gaze away, and trudged up the path with renewed energy. The sooner this was over, the better.

Even in the embrace of night, Slava’s house was not hard to spot. Not because of its size, its incredible decor, or the fact that, at the right angle, it looked like a dragon. No, it stood out from the shadows for the light in its window. A single candle flame, but amid a village sleeping in the dark, it blazed like the sun. Matrona fixed upon it, slowing to watch the subtle shifting of its light, before approaching the front door.

The bright colors of the home looked muted, almost gray and dull, and Matrona fancied that if she ran her hand against the siding, she could wipe off the shadows like ash from fine porcelain. Instead, she brought her knuckles toward the door. Paused, and dropped her fingers to the door handle. She stepped inside.

The air in the house was too warm—almost suffocating after her brisk walk through the cool night. It smelled faintly of kvass and strongly of smoke. Turning the corner by the stairs, she saw Slava sitting in one of his fine chairs beside that flickering candle, a glossed pipe held to his lips. Corn-silk-colored smoke passed through his nostrils as he looked up at her.

Dragon, indeed.

He pulled the pipe’s stem from his lips. “I was concerned I’d have to persuade you,” he said, and Matrona noticed two dolls on the table beside him—her parents’. Were their bellyaches Slava’s doing? How far would he have gone, had Matrona not come?

He paused to puff twice on the mouthpiece, then let the smoke flow all at once from his lips. “I’m relieved I do not have to.”

Persuade me, Matrona thought. She didn’t bother to hide the frown tugging on her lips. “I’m here now, Tradesman.” She emphasized his occupation. A bit of metal caught her eye—a bridle, new enough that it gleamed without blemish, beside a leather satchel, its sides expanding with the contents within. Slava must be leaving for his trades soon. Matrona wondered again how he alone managed to escape—

“Tell me about the loop,” she said.

He raised a gray brow. “What loop?”

“In the wood. Walk too far south and you appear in the north. Too far west and you appear in the east.”

“So you’ve noticed.” Smoke spilled from his nostrils. “And what were you doing so deep in the wood?”

Matrona rolled her lips, trying to determine how far to extend her honesty.

Slava’s face seemed to melt into his wrinkles. “I will teach you soon enough, and you will not speak of it to another soul, is that understood?”

She watched him for several long seconds through his halo of smoke. “Show me what’s inside the third doll.”

He smirked faintly—Matrona saw it only by the twitching of his beard. He took one more draw of his pipe before dumping its ashy contents in a bowl on a small side table. He stood, both knees popping as he did so, and took up her parents’ dolls before walking back toward the kitchen and the carpeted hallway that led to the dolls. He said nothing to her, only motioned with his hand, fully expecting her to follow.

She did.

The hallway was unlit, save for the light of a lamp glowing under the door to the room of the dolls. The hall seemed much longer than Matrona remembered, and she was oddly out of breath by the time Slava opened the door.

The hissing of the kite scared Matrona. Her shoulder slammed into the doorjamb when she jumped.

“Easy, Pamyat.” Slava spoke with a grandfatherly tone, his voice worn. He set her parents back in their respective places on his tables. Matrona wondered again at his veiled desperation to have her take his place as the keeper of the dolls. He was old, yes, but seemed to be in good-enough health.