The Volk Advent (6 page)

Chobo wagged and stole one of my mittens. She pranced around me in the darkness, shaking it as though she had just vanquished the rabid vole of death or something.

I crept to the window and gazed out. The door in the stone wall still stood open. I pressed my cheek against the peeling window frame and shot a prayer toward heaven.
Lord, what on earth am I supposed to do?

It was one of those awful times when I actually knew exactly what God wanted from me. It didn't happen very often and I was starting to think that it never occurred during pleasant circumstances. But the weight on my chest when I stared down toward the wall made it clear. I had left that door open. I must close it.

The weight lifted. My thoughts echoed with words. Words from the ancient Bible hidden beneath the mattress I shared with a girl who moaned and rocked herself all night.

The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and His ears are attentive to their cry.

I was glad to have the eyes and ears of the Lord, but I was really hoping that He would lend a bit more than that. I needed to walk across the castle grounds while they crawled with wolves and shut that door in the wall before anyone else was hurt.

All I had to help was a moldy fur coat and the wimpiest husky I had ever met.

The Lord better have something else up His sleeve or my valiant escape from the orphanage would be a short and bloody tale that was sure to give listeners horror-filled nightmares.

8

Doors and Gossip and Fleeing the Scene

With a fair amount of trepidation, I opened the door that led deeper into the castle. I had spent at least fifteen minutes huddled by the broken window trying to plot a course back to the gate in the wall.

The wolf pack was everywhere.

Rasia Volkova was hunting me rather than containing them. She and Igor stomped around the grounds peering into dark doorways and under leafless shrubs. They simply blasted a shot into the air whenever a wolf got too close. Apparently, they considered me the greater threat.

Chobo and I elected to attempt an indoor route to the ground floor before braving the wolf-ridden gardens outside.

For some reason, the word “castle” brought to mind images of shining towers, princesses with ridiculously long, braided hair, opulent tapestries, fine china and gold and such. This was not that kind of castle.

The floors were made of marble tile and several of the rooms we crept past had grand marble fireplaces meant to provide heat and a cheery glow. There was no cheery glow.

The marble tile was cracked and gray with dust. Pillared arches braced the hallway every few feet, their graceful lines marred by falling plaster and mold. The floor was a clutter of dust, splintered boards, and plaster chunks. The exposed walls showed every layer of construction, from the delicate beauty of the original wall paper, to cracking plaster, down to the crumbling brick deep within.

Moonlight filtered through row after row of leaded windows, allowing Chobo and I to creep through the wreckage without having to turn on the ancient flashlight.

I had heard that Rasia Volkova employed a crew to clean the ancient dwelling back in the summer. How did she expect to hold the Christmas gala when the place looked more like a haunted house than a grand estate?

Chobo and I tiptoed forward, past vast oak doors sagging on rusted out hinges and long, torn tapestries rife with moth holes and decay.

As we moved downward, the air began to warm and the rubble disappeared. The cracked marble tiles gave way to a delicate design of polished wood. The plaster was clean and elaborately decorated furniture pieces leaned against the freshened walls. I passed a grand iron mirror that dominated an entire wall. It was guarded by twin chairs of the same metal carved in dainty detail and topped with cushions of velvet.

Soon opulent rugs covered ancient hardwood floors. Glowing lanterns spread their warm light against polished stone and beautiful benches lined the way for any weary partygoer who needed to sit in repose. Thankfully, the renovated portion of the castle even had working restrooms.

Not bad. But I hoped Volkov's niece and nephew planned to put up signs.

Horrible Haunted Wreck: That Way

Gorgeous Castle, Fancy Snacks, and Dancing: This Way

I had just reached a massive,
X
-shaped stair when Chobo pricked her ears and froze. I paused beside her.

Voices echoed through the vast hall.

I ducked behind the highly decorated hand rail and held my breath. Dust from the more dilapidated sections of the castle tickled my nose and I smashed my mitten against my face. I would not let an errant sneeze be my downfall, not after surviving creepy tunnels, a Siberian snowstorm, and rampaging wolves.

“No, I haven't seen him since they argued.” A familiar female voice insisted.

“You're sure he didn't—” A man's low rumble replied.

“Of course I am! He loved Uncle Kirill. It must have been that starving girl, though I suppose my uncle had his enemies as well as his hidden loves. Imagine, love letters and from Ms. Melora no less. He never got on well with the priest and you heard how he clashed with that crazy film maker, but no, it must have been the girl. She was in the wolf pen, next to his body.” The woman's voice faded and the man's reply was nothing more than a murmur in the long narrow hall. They must have walked into a distant room.

I slipped out from behind the railing and padded down the giant stair. We were within sight of the entryway. Would it be too conspicuous if I used the front door? I might never find any of the smaller entrances. Perhaps an unexpected escape was best. They might miss us if I just marched right out.

Surely, Rasia Volkova was concentrating her efforts on forgotten cellars and hidden garden tunnels and all of the smaller, sneakier ways of escape.

Chobo and I did not march, but we certainly crept right out the main entrance. I cringed when the massive door boomed shut, but even so, our passage remained undetected.

The Siberian night hit my face with a gust of wind and a thousand icy tingles. My chapped cheeks stung and my lungs ached with each new breath. But it was not the cold that sent shivers crawling across my skin.

The wolves had begun to howl. Deep primal moans rose and fell in a savage song beneath the shadowed stars. It would have been beautiful to hear from inside, next to one of the massive marble fireplaces restored to its former splendor.

I could appreciate the wild melody if only I'd been wrapped in a thick quilt and holding a hot cup of tea or a good book. But wolf song when one is shuffling across the cracked tiles of a dilapidated square, with the moon shadows stretched out in gloomy fingers across the ground, while the arctic wind blows dark clouds across the heavens and sends shudders of cold clean to your bones, it's not so musical then.

I wanted to go back. If I flung myself onto my knees before Rasia and Igor, would they let me tell my tale?

Chobo wanted to go back too. Her ears were tipped at a worried angle and her tail dragged low.

I tried to get her to do her new trick, whispering “Snack time!” and offering her another chunk of the dried fish. Instead of a fierce snarl or mighty bark, I received a whimper of distress and a slobbering kiss. As we slid forward through the shadows, Christmas music blared through my overstressed brain. “It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas”
evolved into something more relevant to our present situation as my feeble nerves sought some kind of release.

I'm beginning to look a lot like wolf chow

No matter where I hide

We tiptoe behind the stair

All wrapped up in moldy hair

But packs of hunting wolves just chase us down

I'm beginning to look a lot like wolf chow

Though I creep and cower

I slink down the garden path

Hoping the aftermath

Won't see me torn and bloody on the snow…on the snow

Ack. The songs were not helping, no matter how pleased it made me to rhyme path and aftermath. I couldn't help my racing heart when the “torn and bloody on the snow” bit rolled around. I squelched my musical inclinations and darted past the chapel and toward the wall.

Chobo skittered behind me, looking less and less like the savage guard dog I longed for.

I reached the tall, outer wall and pressed against the doorway to catch my breath. I heard the crunch of footsteps breaking through the icy crust that had formed on the deep drifts outside the castle. I crouched in the gateway.

Someone was running away from the castle and into the darkened night. The figure paused when he reached the tree line. The moon was high overhead and the terrible storm had blown past. The man looked back over his shoulder and I stifled a gasp, pressing both mittens over my mouth.

Vladim Volkov!

He scanned the empty stretch of snow behind him, pressed his forehead against the trunk of a pine for a few breaths, and then hurried into the forest beyond.

I wrapped my mittens around the thick iron ring in the door and heaved back. The heavy wood stuck for a moment, then groaned and eased shut, blocking out my view of Kirill Volkov's missing nephew.

9

Chobo is Less Than Stealthy

The wolves were contained. I had officially saved the day and trapped Chobo and myself inside the castle grounds with a pack of ill-mannered pets and an angry young woman who was convinced that I was a killer. Why hadn't I slipped out the door and locked the wolves inside?

My reasons were simple. I did not want to freeze to death. There was nowhere for me to take shelter except behind the tall rock walls surrounding the castle. At least I could duck into a tunnel if hypothermia really started to kick in.

So why had Vladim Volkov run off into the woods? True, he was dressed for it and probably had the advantage of actual snacks which he could eat to keep his body from shivering itself to pieces. But even with the snacks, it didn't seem like a smart move. Did he have a reason to flee?

I looked toward the wolf pen. They had removed Kirill Volkov's body, but there was still a bloody patch where I had found him.

That thought stopped me. The tunnels…

I needed to find the real killer. Rasia was certain I had murdered her uncle. I wouldn't last long out in the woods and I needed shelter and work. I must prove my innocence. Although I supposed one might find shelter in prison. However, it was sure to be even worse than the orphanage and there would be no babies to rock, no purpose in life, only punishment and the passing of time.

Yikes! I needed to get cracking and the only thing that even remotely resembled a clue had been down in those tunnels.

Chobo sat in the snow at my feet and let out a happy “Wooo wooo woooo.”

I ruffled her ears and was about to answer her (with words, not woo woos) when something else answered first. A long, low howl hung in the clean night air, followed by another and then another. The castle grounds rang with the cries of hunting wolves until I was sure all the wolves had joined the savage song.

“Thanks a lot, Chobo,” I whispered as I took off for the dark stair that led down into the tunnels. Chobo gallumped after me. I slid into the stone alcove just as the darkest wolf trotted into the courtyard. He scented the ground, and then raised his pointed muzzle to the sky. His long, ghostly howl seemed part of the dark forest, the hungry wind, and the vast empty castle that sprawled across the hillside above.

The hair on my arms and neck stood up and I bit my lip to keep silent. The whimper of fear that sat in my chest and pressed against my throat would only bring him running.

Chobo whined.

His dark head swung toward us. Yellow eyes locked with mine and the breath froze and stilled within my lungs.

I turned and scrambled down the stairway, sprinting into the tunnels beyond.

The good news, there were a lot of tunnels and the wolves seemed hesitant to delve too deeply into their depths. The bad news, there were a lot of tunnels and Chobo and I had fled with such alacrity that once we finally slowed, I had absolutely no idea where we were. I tried a few commands on Chobo, wondering if she would lead me to freedom once again. “To the top, Chobo!”

She sat and wagged.

“Escape, Chobo!”

She rolled over.

“Upstairs, Chobo!” She woo wooo woooed.

I clamped my mittens around her muzzle and shut off the vintage flashlight for several minutes. I decided to work on one she knew. “Snack time!”

She immediately stood up, bared her teeth, and snarled. I gave her a bit of the moldy fish. At least she had that one down and it wasn't too loud. One more try.

“Go home, Chobo!”

She woo wooo woooed again, but before I could snap my mittens over her nose, the dog took off down a side tunnel. Maybe she did know what she was doing? If only the fuzzball could be quiet enough to get us topside without attracting the wolves.

Silent Night started playing in my head...

Silent doggy

Soundless doggy

Muzzle glued

Noise eschewed

Through the tunnels so icy and dark

I'll use you for BBQ if you bark

Let's not be wolf snacks tonight

We both know how well you fight

It seemed to help. Chobo trotted on without so much as the tiniest of woo wooos.

At first the way seemed to grow colder and more narrow. But eventually our tunnel widened and the way seemed familiar. After some time we jogged past a small alcove and I stopped and shined my light inside. The WWII chest was still pushed up against the wall, undisturbed.

I ducked inside and knelt to examine the shiny new padlock. I really should have picked up some tools before running down here hunting for my only clue. Although the wolves hadn't given me much choice. Yep, the lock was just as solid as the last time I'd looked at it. Now what?

Chobo had flopped down in the main tunnel to wait for me. She leapt to her feet and let out the loudest woo wooo woooo of the night. I scrambled to my feet and made a dive for her. We were close to the surface. The wolves were sure to hear. She was faster than her girth suggested, but I managed to snag her by the tail.