Furtively she looks behind her. The shadows are long and moving along the street. She ducks into a nearby doorway and huddles as small as she can into the darkness. Her shaking hands balled into fists pressed close to her face. In her coat, sewn into the lining are papers. More cards and images. And in between those are instructions. There are secrets. Names and locations.

This morning at the market a man bumped roughly into her as she was haggling with a seller. The price of tea has skyrocketed. She is suddenly shoved sideways and her basket slides from her arm spilling its contents of paper wrapped fish, cabbage, an onion, and a loaf of hard bread.

“идиот!! (Idiot)” The word is out of her mouth before she can restrain herself. Crouching by the crates she quickly shovels her goods back into her basket. It is then that she feels the hand on her elbow. His eyes are dark and piercing. His mouth turned down into a grimace. He has shoved a packet of papers into her basket, his eyes never leaving hers.

“The last outbuilding, near the tanner. 300 yards towards the banks, he will be waiting there. Tonight. Go there.” Then he was on his feet and fading into the crowds milling around, calling to each other, hurrying by with baskets of their own clutched to their sides.

Anya’s hands twitch nervously as she covers the papers with the cotton rag. Tonight. On the banks. It echoes in her mind with a hollowness.

So now she finds herself trying to get out of the town and to the black banks of the Volga. The hour is late and the cold air is biting her mercilessly. Long minutes pass and still she does not move from her spot. Her hands become like claws clutching at her coat. Finally she raises her head. Moving soundlessly she hugs the wall and moves again towards the banks. The wind is howling like some angry wolf. Indeterminate minutes pass and she is finally there. Blackness blankets the world around here. An orb of golden light is visible, low and moving on the water. A man crouches on the bank white billows of smoke coming from his brown cigarette. It hangs carelessly from his lips.

“Here, девочка. (girl)” A voice whispers harshly from the darkness. She follows its sound and comes to stand next to the man. “Did anyone see you?” His voice is raspy and seems hard to summon.

“No.” She moves closer her fingers working at the small thread where she had sewn the papers hurriedly into her coat as her older sister Yula eyes her suspiciously from her place at the family’s table.

Finally the thread snaps and the packet falls into her hands. She passes the packet to the man who places it into his own coat without looking at it. He says nothing, only steps away from her and climbs into the waiting skiff Anya only just now notices downstream. The orb of light flickers and goes out. And then he is gone. And Anya stands in the blackness with only the sound of the river quietly nudging the earth somewhere near her feet.

Next Chapter: Lyllian, November, 2016, Seattle