Page 35 of Tiger's Trek
“Good. Come on. We’ve got to go back and help Iriko. He has a plan to save Zima.”
“A plan to save Zima? What plan?” he asked as she helped him to his feet and adjusted his pack, picking up items that had slipped out of the bag and tucking them back in.
“But he did save me,” a small voice behind them said. “See? I’m right here.”
Chapter10
A WOODEN BED IS BETTER THAN A GOLDEN COFFIN
Nik found the road easily enough and pressed on until he reached the small settlement. Not knowing what to do once he arrived and having no supplies or money to barter with, he located the nearest trading goods store and inquired about his friends inside. Unfortunately, no one had heard of or seen anyone fitting the description of the tsarevnas, Danik, Iriko, or Zakhar.
The owner asked Nik if he needed a room for the night and a meal, but as Nik had no money to offer in exchange, the man told him to try the local pub and ask if any of the farmers or herdsmen needed hands. He thanked the man and headed out.
Night was falling, and the streetlamps were being lit. Nik could feel the weather turning. It had been warm when he’d first arrived in this new land, but the air was now becoming cold. Very cold. He’d need a warm coat and supplies if he was going to head back out to look for Iriko, Zakhar, and Stacia. Perhaps if he worked for a week first, he’d earn enough to buy the supplies he needed. Then he could meet up with Pasha again, and the likho might help him find his friends.
He decided to focus on trying to be happy. If he could shrink the sorrow on his back, then maybe he’d not only help himself with his personal issues, but he’d fix the mistake he’d made in running away in the first place. The problem was, he couldn’t think of a single reason he should be happy. Nothing that had happened to him since his beloved Veru had transformed into a tiger had gone his way. In fact, he had every reason to be unhappy.
Not only had he been the one to lead the Death Draughtsman to the palace, which is likely the reason the tsarevnas transformed into cats to begin with, but he hadn’t even had a chance to explain himself yet. The sisters had lost their kingdom, their mother, and their very humanity, and it was all thanks to his clumsy attempt to help.
Then, on top of that, he had to relive the trauma of seeing the ghost of his past abuser, his own father, and had to kill him again—not once but twice. Instead of feeling jealous about the relationships between the tigers and the other men, he should be singing their praises for helping him save the twins’ lives. It was like for every step he took forward, his past insecurities dragged him back, until he felt like giving up altogether.
Happiness felt like an impossibility to him. It was a dream as distant as the stars—a dance with his mother that turned into a nightmare—with her blood on his hands and her weight in his feeble arms every time he closed his eyes. Laughter and joy weren’t something Nikolai Novikov deserved.
Passing a mother towing her two children, one on either side, Nik wished her well and forced a smile to his lips, saying, “Dobryy vecher.” But the woman just sucked in a breath and hurried her children along as if he were a demon trying to steal them away from her sheltering, heavy skirts.
“So much for pleasantries,” he murmured. The smile fell away from his face. It had felt forced and unnatural anyway.
Up ahead, he saw a few men heading into a log building. Warm light spilled out from the windows. When they opened the door, the sound of laughter and music echoed and was snuffed out when the door closed behind them. “Maybe I’ll find some joy in there,” Nik mumbled as he headed in that direction. “Or if not joy, at least a job.”
Grabbing the pull handle, he tugged the door open and entered the pub. It was warm, perhaps a bit too hot, with a crackling pipe stove in the corner and several well-worn tables that looked to be hand hewn, each one with a set of matching log benches on either side. The exception was one large table set off to the side. It was well-worn and polished to a sheen. Instead of benches, twelve heavy, carved chairs were stationed around it.
As it was just approaching sunset, only a few men were in the pub. Nik guessed that they were the type who tended to stay all day, but there was also a handful of men in another corner playing a brisk melody together, stomping their feet to keep the beat. He watched them for a moment, thinking of Danik and knowing how much the young man would long to join them.
After they finished, he clapped along with everyone else, then approached the counter and asked if the brewer knew of anyone needing men for work, as he was new in town and needed to earn a place to stay for a few days. He hoped he didn’t look as desperate as he felt.
The barkeep scratched his chin beneath his long, scraggly beard and considered. “Maybe. There might be a few men coming in tonight what would like some help. Here. Have a mug of sbiten on the house while you wait, and I’ll point those who seem interested in your direction. Sound good to you, lad?”
“Appreciate it,” Nik said, raising his mug of sbiten and taking it to an empty table in the corner of the room. He nursed it, keeping his eyes trained on the door. It wasn’t long before the place was bustling and crowded, but none of the men came over to talk with him. The barkeep kept busy talking to every customer and even looked in his direction on occasion, which made Nik think that he was telling the men about his problem, but then they’d laugh and look him up and down and clap one another on the back or congratulate each other on one thing or another.
Nik sank lower and lower into his bench, certain they were laughing at him or found him lacking in some way. Sure, he was smaller than other men his age, and yes, he’d admit that he didn’t look like much in the way of muscle or build, but he was smart and agile. He could work as well as the next man. Certainly someone, somewhere needed some help, even if it was just chopping wood or shoveling hay. If nothing else, he had plenty of experience mucking out stalls.
He closed his eyes, and he could almost hear his father’s voice telling him over and over that he was worthless. That he’d never amount to anything. That he deserved every awful thing his father had ever done to him and more. Hunching over his drink, he took a long gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, willing the voice of his dead father to disappear.
His neck itched. Reaching up to scratch, he suddenly remembered the sorrow attached to his back and yanked his hand away. Placing his fingertips on the table, he stood, shoving the bench back with his thighs. There was no way he was going to let the sorrow win, not while he still had some fight left in him.
Forcing himself to smile, he reached into his secret pocket and pulled out the deck of cards given to him by the likho. Slowly, he strolled over to the large table and thumbed through the cards, examining them. It appeared to be a standard thirty-two-card deck. But in place of the king, there was a green-skinned demon of some kind wearing a crown. The queen was no tsarina, but instead was unmistakably the bolotnitsa.
Ignoring the rest of the cards, Nik cleared his throat, grinned at the men, and asked, “Anyone fancy a game of prefa?”
A large, ruddy-faced man stood, saying, “I’ll play.” He dragged his drinking buddy along with him.
Soon several others joined the group, and there were five or six interested players. Some were eager to play, others to watch and place bets. “How about we rotate players in?” Nik suggested, and the men nodded agreeably. “Now, what shall we wager on this first game?” he asked smoothly.
“What have you got, boy?” the man with red cheeks demanded.
“Not much,” Nik admitted. “But I’m handy at mucking out stalls. Have any horses?”
“Yeah. Got me a couple.”
