This one is slightly out of sequence from yesterday’s post. Oopsie-doo. It’ll also be somewhat asynchronous because of the way we narrated and resolved many of these actions.
The Opoczno party returns to Ponikla on the afternoon of the 20th. Red oversees Janek’s transfer into the clinic. A quick blood test confirms that Janek has the mysterious geometric shapes, so the doctor notifies Magda that he’ll need kitchen support for the accelerated care regimen the newcomer will need.
Arkadi gets a briefing from Leks on events in Opoczno. He has some thoughts, but he asks for time to process all the news. In the meantime, he has an update of his own: the village’s small bulldozer is in dire need of heavy service, but the flood wall is complete! [One project clock is closed out, finally. That reminds me – I need to do a comprehensive inventory of pending projects and plot threads.]
Arkadi spends the rest of the day on equipment and vehicle preparations. Early the next morning, he, Leks, Zenobia, and Miko crank up the Hilux and head back to Opoczno to escort Fedorov and her delegation westward. It’s an all-day effort, complicated by the season’s first heavy snowfall and some engine trouble on the return leg.
Minka travels with the group as far as Opoczno, where she jumps off to put in the promised machine shop work with Albert Niemczyk. Red relieves her on the 22nd, having turned over care of the rapidly-healing Janek to a newly-sober Ludwig, and begins fitting Albert’s new prosthesis.
Two days of heavy snow force the village to reprioritize its harvest efforts. Magda and Maciej the Brewer confer. The apples and pears are in the greatest danger, as there’s a risk of branches breaking under the combined weight of mature fruit and heavy, wet snow.
With the micro hydro generator complete, Zenobia enlists Arkadi’s help. The two begin work on the village’s second local power source, a small wind turbine.
Leks reads in the village’s inner circle on his invitation from the Bracia Wilkow. He’s not too proud to ask for help – especially in light of Filip’s instruction to “bring nothing that wasn’t made by living hands.”
Minka withdraws to her workshop. Pawel, one of the railyard teenagers who’s been hinting at an interest in apprenticeship, tags along at her heels to fetch and carry. For two days, Minka doesn’t leave the shop. She catnaps next to the forge. Sleep is fleeting for anyone within earshot of her hammer. Pawel brings her food, water, clean clothes; rallies a couple of the other teenagers to help him tend the horses in between.
Magda puts on a pot of tea, cracks open her hoard of baker’s chocolate, and convenes her council. Idle children (or those with the misfortune to appear idle) are dispatched on various errands. Cedar chests are opened, their contents brought forth for consideration. Wool stashes are aired out. The hostel’s common room fills with the chatter of knitting needles and gossip.
Alexei checks in with Minka. Pays his respects to Magda and the grannies. Visits Janek during one of the newcomer’s spells of lucidity. Makes a list. Packs his saddlebags, fuels Thing Two, mutters dire lyrics regarding the continuing heavy snow, and disappears in the direction of Opoczno.
Two days later, he returns. Arkadi takes possession of the motorcycle. Taps the tank, hears the echo of nothing but fumes. Notes a fresh set of scratches on the front fork and something that looks suspiciously like a bloodstain on the spokes. Recognizes the look in Alexei’s eyes and decides not to ask at this moment.
Leks awakens to a soft scuttling sound and the click of his bedroom door closing. His hand slips under his pillow, closes on the hilt of his dagger. His eyes slit open. There’s no sense of presence – but the first light of dawn glows on steel that wasn’t in his room when he went to bed.
For that matter, he’s fairly certain the carved wood pegs weren’t on the wall last night.
The top set holds a bear spear in the Polish rohatyna style, asymmetrical with only one hooked crosspiece. Somehow, the head and crosspiece suggest a wolf’s muzzle, jaw agape and fangs bared.
Beneath that hangs a fighting hatchet. It’s proportioned similarly to Arkadi’s tomahawk. The head is wider, though, to accommodate an engraving of an Estonian heraldic lion, its outstretched claws reaching to the cutting edge. The poll is an octagonal hammerhead.
Leks goes in search of Minka. Finds her asleep on a horse blanket next to her forge. While he’s debating whether to wake her, Pawel slinks in, goes to a small table under the east window. Picks up an empty glass and a plate with a few crumbs on it, considers them carefully. Exchanges two candle stubs for fresh votives. Shivers. Backs out of the workshop.
Leks is fairly certain he catches the phrase “… and that wolf girl,” as he enters the hostel. The flashing needles don’t break rhythm, but the conversation screeches to an ominous halt as a half-dozen grey heads rotate toward him in unison.
“Sit down, young man,” one commands, “and try on these socks.”
“And while you have your boots off, let’s see if these pants fit now,” another orders.
Someone mutters something that sounds an awful lot like, “don’t be shy, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
The door swings open to admit Alexei. His jacket has a fresh slash down the left bicep and a not-so-fresh bandage peeking through the new damage, and he smells like a fire in a sauerkraut factory.
The German drops his saddlebags on the nearest table with a ringing thud. He begins hauling out things. A net bag of wool yarn, which he ceremoniously offers to the grannies. A pair of hand-stitched leather boots, heavily scuffed but freshly re-soled. A pair of steel vambraces and a left gauntlet, tarnished and dented, with bright scratches showing where gold inlay used to be. A bottle of Hibiki 21-year whiskey. Two cassette tapes.
He uncorks the bottle with his teeth, pours into the nearest glass, slams the shot, ockets the tapes, and staggers toward the door. Pauses, leaning on the jamb. Turns his head toward Leks. “Be fuckin’ metal,” he rasps.
