The Master Craftsman, page 9
The man stopped and looked at Karl. He took in the sight of Karl’s expensive coat and hat, his polished shoes and neatly trimmed beard.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” the man hissed, stepping so close that Karl could smell the hunger on his breath. “We came today in peace. We wanted to be heard by our tsar. We wanted him to know that we are starving and dying while he sits in his warm palace and throws away enough food to feed us all.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “We wanted him, and the people like him”—he nearly spat when he said this, his eyes flicking down Karl’s frame—“to see us and hear us. And what do they do?” He gestured toward the street behind him. “Ubili nac,” he growled. “They killed us. They opened fire on the crowd, and they killed us. Mothers holding their babies. Children watching in the trees. Men carrying icons, not weapons. They didn’t care who we were. They just killed us.”
He spat on the ground at Karl’s feet. “You look like you belong inside those palace walls,” he said with disgust. Turning on his heel, he headed back down the street, his shoulders slumped.
Karl watched his retreating figure, then turned back to the street, a lump forming in the base of his throat. A young woman now knelt next to the child’s body, racking sobs wrenching from her. She clutched at the child’s shirt.
“Pomogitye! Pomogitye!” she wailed, begging for help, but no one approached her. There were too many others still alive who needed help.
His stomach lurched, and Karl pushed away from the scene, turning and stumbling back toward his home at number 24. His head stayed down the rest of the way back.
He didn’t notice other business members of Bolshaya Morskaya looking out their windows in pity and horror at the men and women leaving the scene. He didn’t hear the sound of the ice crunching beneath his feet. He didn’t feel the cold that had seeped beneath his skin and settled in his bones. He simply clutched his collar closed and walked as quickly as his feet would take him until he reached the alley that led around to the back of the shop.
Pushing inside, Karl stumbled into the warmth of the back of the storeroom. He closed and locked the door behind him, hung his hat on a peg, then leaned against the wall, his hand still clutching his coat together.
Hearing footsteps, Karl looked up to see Augusta coming down the stairs, her normally stoic face pinched and strained.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
“They . . . they killed them.” His voice sounded tired, old. He was unaccustomed to feeling his age, but today he felt every bit of his fifty-nine years.
“They killed whom?” Augusta asked.
“The tsar’s forces. They killed the protestors.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.” Karl ran his hand over his face, wishing he could wipe away the mother’s wails and the image of the crumpled child. “Many,” he finally said. “Too many.”
Augusta nodded her head, then studied her husband’s drawn, tired face. In a moment of tenderness, she crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
“This is only the beginning,” he murmured into her shoulder.
“Yes, I know.”
Pulling away from her, Karl met his wife’s eye. He reached up and brushed a curl off her forehead. “You are a strong woman. Much stronger than I.”
Augusta stepped back. “I’ve had to be.” She shifted her eyes away from his. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, and the two stood in awkward silence for a long minute.
“Right,” Karl finally said. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the peg by the door next to his hat. “I must go upstairs and tell everyone to be careful going home.”
Augusta moved to the side as her husband walked by. She watched him go, his shoes scraping rhythmically as he trudged up the stairs. She thought of all the years they’d shared together, of the children they had raised and the memories they’d made. She didn’t regret any of it, but she did wish it was less complicated. She wished she knew and understood where the divide began. Was it the death of their fourth child? Was it the rapid success of the business?
Was this separation inevitable—an ultimate and inescapable reality that was destined from the start? Rubbing her eyes, Augusta peeked out the back door into the dark alleyway. The cries and sounds had died down, but she believed her husband was right—this was only the beginning.
“The worst is yet to come,” she whispered, turning slowly and making her way back to her sitting room.
Present Day
Okay, so hang on,” Ava said. She was now pacing at the foot of Nick’s bed. “You’re saying you already know where we need to start looking? Do you already know where the egg is?”
Nick shook his head. “Nope. That’s not how treasure hunting works.”
Ava stopped and turned to him. “I feel like you’re messing with my head.”
He gestured for her to sit back down. “Goodness, she’s not the most patient, is she?” he said to Carol.
She smiled in return. “She’s improved a little bit with time.”
“Ha, ha.” Ava made a face at her mom. “Alright, Nick. Fill me in.”
He turned to Ava. “Okay, so treasure hunting is all about finding the clues, and they’re rarely obvious. They’re innocuous and small. There’s no real formula to finding lost pieces, but there is a method.”
“Which is . . . ,” Ava said.
“Well, first you follow the trail that pricks at your interest, like you did in researching Alma Pihl. For whatever reason, her story stuck out to you, and you were compelled to chase it down. That’s step one.”
“But how do you know if the thing that pricked your interest means anything?” Ava asked. “What if you’re being led down the wrong path?”
“Well, that happens, of course,” Nick said. “Especially when you’re just starting out. But you get better at figuring out what clues to focus on and which details to let go of. Although, I must say I’m pretty impressed at your natural inclination so far.”
Ava smiled, his compliment momentarily disarming the shell she’d determined to keep up whenever she was around him. She blinked several times, shaking it off, and retrained her eyes on his, keeping her expression neutral.
“Anyway,” he said, “you’re on the right track with Alma. She absolutely had something to do with the missing egg. Now we need to find out what that was.”
“Okay, so how do we do that?” Ava asked. “What’s the next step?”
“Well, how do you two feel about international travel?”
Ava stared at Nick for a long moment before looking over to her mom.
“Excuse me?” Carol asked.
“Come on, girls,” Nick said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You didn’t think you were going to be able to find the missing egg sitting in this room with me, did you?”
“No, of course not!” Ava said. “I’m 100 percent in on international travel.” She looked at her mom with raised eyebrows.
“Well, I just . . .” Carol hesitated. “I don’t see how it’s possible. How would we afford it? Ava would lose her job. I only get two weeks of vacation. It just doesn’t seem at all feasible.”
Ava looked at her hands and drew in a deep breath. “Mom, I’m quitting my job anyway.”
“What? Ava!” Carol shook her head and opened her mouth to continue, but Ava held up her hand.
“Mom, I am a hostess at a restaurant. I’m hardly flushing a prolific career down the toilet. I can always get another restaurant job.”
Carol cleared her throat. “Well, that still doesn’t solve the problem of how you’ll afford it.”
“I’m paying,” Nick said.
Ava looked at him and, for the second time, felt a welling up of gratitude for the father she’d long since written off.
“Nick,” Carol said. “That’s generous of you, but really.” She lowered her voice and looked apologetically at Ava. “I don’t know if this is the best idea for either of us . . . or for you.”
“Hey, Mom?” Ava leaned forward so that her elbows rested on the bed next to Nick’s legs. “I’m going on this trip with or without you.”
Carol leaned forward and met her daughter’s steady gaze. “And what, exactly, do you hope to find on this little treasure hunt?”
“Uh . . . the missing Imperial Easter egg,” Ava replied sarcastically.
“And you’re not just doing this to escape? You’re not trying to go off on this crazy, nonsensical adventure as a means to not face your current reality?”
“Well, of course I’m trying to do that, Mom! But I am at a point in my life where I can do that. There’s nothing tethering me to this place—no one that needs me to stay or be present.” She flicked her eyes to Nick’s face and watched as he picked at the blanket lying over his legs, then looked back at her mom. “I’m going to do this with Nick . . . and for him. And also, I’m doing this for me.”
Carol sat back and crossed her arms. She stared at her daughter, then shook her head. “Okay, then. I guess we’re in this together.”
“You don’t have to come,” Ava said. “You have more to lose than I do.”
“Please,” Carol said with a wave of her hand. “I’ve worked for that company for twenty-five years now and have rarely taken time off. If they aren’t willing to grant me an extended leave, then maybe it’s time for me to look into new options.”
Ava raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“I can be spontaneous too.” Carol eyed them both. “Maybe not as easily as you two crazies, but I can do it.”
Nick looked at Carol and then at Ava, then shifted his gaze back to Carol again. “Okay, so is that part of the discussion settled, then?”
Carol shot him a look.
“So, what’s next?” Ava asked.
“Well, you’re going to need passports,” he said. “That may set our timeline back a little.”
“Nope,” Ava said. “We have them. We got them a few years ago in the hopes that we could take an international trip at some point, so we’re ready to go there.”
“Great!” Nick said. “So, the next step is to assemble your team.”
“Our team?” Ava asked.
“Yep,” Nick replied. “Nobody does it alone, kiddo.” Ava shot him a withering stare and Nick shrank back. “Sorry, not kiddo.”
Carol smiled.
“You need a team to help you manage all the pieces. You’ll need someone to run the details and be your lookout. You’ll also need protection—a bodyguard.”
“A bodyguard? Really?” Ava asked. “Why, just because we’re female? Come on, Nick. That’s lame.”
“Uh, no,” Nick shot back. “I always took a bodyguard with me as well. Simmer down, alright?”
Ava clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms.
“And you’ll need a computer wiz to help you with the research, and with the technicalities of searching areas that may be considered . . .” Nick paused and shot a glance at Carol. “Well, places that may be considered off limits.”
“Off limits?” Carol crossed her arms. “You mean like breaking and entering? Trespassing? That sort of thing?”
“Only when necessary to gather intel,” Nick said. “Never to defame or steal.”
“Oh, well in that case I see nothing wrong with it.” Carol tossed her hands in the air.
Nick smiled and continued. “Sometimes a hunt requires a little maneuvering around the law. This is why your tech wiz is vital, as is your bodyguard.” He raised one eyebrow at Ava.
“So, do you already have a team that we can use?” Ava asked.
“Well, my muscle is available. I’ve already spoken with him, and he’s in. He’s young, and a little green in the art of treasure hunting, but he was invaluable on my last hunt, so you’ll be in good hands. His dad had been my longtime travel partner, but he got sick about five years ago. Same kind of cancer as me, if you can believe it.” Nick paused. “He went pretty quick,” he finished quietly.
An uncomfortable pause hung in the air before Ava cleared her throat. “So, what’s this muscle man’s name?” she asked.
“Xander,” Nick answered. “Xander Majors.”
“Xander Majors?” Ava gaped. “Is that his real name or his made-up name to sound like a fictional character in some kind of spy book?”
Nick threw his head back and laughed. This sent him into another fit of coughing, and Ava and Carol both leaned forward and held his hands until it passed. He fell back on his pillow, spent.
“I’ll call Xander this afternoon to confirm,” he said, his voice tired and weak. “I’m also going to ask him to line up Anatoly, our Russian muscle and driver.” He drew in a careful, shuddering breath. “I never do anything in Russia without Anatoly. Good man. Xander will help . . . us . . . lock that down.” He blinked a few times, training his eyes on Ava’s, their glassy appearance sending a chill down the back of her neck. “I’ll call after I rest,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Sure,” Ava said.
Carol blinked heavily as she looked down on him with wide, concerned eyes.
“What about the tech wiz?” Ava asked.
Nick closed his eyes. “We’ll have to find someone,” he whispered. “My guy quit. I told him to stay home with his wife and kids.”
The last sentence was barely audible as Nick drifted to sleep. Ava and Carol silently made their way out of the room and pulled the door closed behind them.
Walking into the kitchen, they stopped and stood wordlessly for a long minute. The midmorning sunshine now streamed through the large, plate-glass window, bathing the room in natural light.
“We’ll need to drive home this evening,” Carol said. “I need more clothes and supplies, and I’ll have to call my boss in the morning and explain my leave of absence.”
Ava nodded. “We can drive back tomorrow with all the stuff we’ll need to take on our trip.”
Carol offered her daughter a sad smile. “This isn’t how I envisioned us reconciling with your dad,” she said.
“Yeah,” Ava replied, her voice steady. “Me either.”
Several hours later, Carol and Ava were settled into their car and headed back to Tampa. Ava leaned her head back against the headrest of her mom’s Camry and watched the flat Florida horizon slip past them. The drive from Lakeland to Tampa was as bland as it could possibly be, with nothing more than a few palm trees to break up the industrial trail that cut between the two cities. With little to talk about and even less to look at, Ava’s mind wandered to Alma Pihl and the missing Imperial egg.
“I wonder why he did it,” Ava finally said, cutting through the silence.
“Hmm?”
“I wonder why Fabergé would have created a secret egg and not shown it to anyone?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Carol said with a shrug.
“The thing is.” Ava furrowed her brow. “The only reason that the Fabergé eggs hold such intrinsic value is because they belonged to the Imperial family. They’re artifacts with an interesting history. But this egg was never given to the family. And it’s not like Fabergé didn’t make other eggs. He was known for his jeweled eggs. There were more than just the Imperial eggs in existence, but the Imperial eggs hold so much value because of what happened to the Romanovs.”
Ava drummed her hands on her knee and chewed on her bottom lip. “I just don’t understand why this fifty-third egg would hold much value if it wasn’t ever presented to one of the tsarinas.”
“Maybe there was something unique about this egg,” Carol said. She exited the highway and merged onto the street that would lead to Ava’s apartment complex.
“Like what?”
Carol shrugged. “Oh, I have no idea. That’s all I have to contribute to this conversation.” She sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t go with you on this trip,” she said quietly.
Ava turned and looked at her mom. “Why?”
“Well, I’m not going to be much help, am I? I know nothing about any of this history, I’m terribly concerned about the whole ‘breaking and entering’ business, and do you really need your mom watching your every move?” She offered Ava a sheepish look.
“Actually, Mom. I think I do need you.”
“Oh, stop. You don’t have to be nice.”
“No, I’m serious! You’re good at asking insightful questions. And you’re patient, which will probably be good for me since, you know, I tend to be a little impulsive.”
“Yeah, well, that’s true.” Carol smiled.
“And also, please don’t leave me alone to travel the world with some guy named Xander Majors. I mean, what kind of name is that! It can’t be real. No one would do that to their kid.”
Carol snorted. She paused for a moment. “Okay. I’ll tag along for no other reason than I am terribly curious about this Xander fellow.” She turned into Ava’s apartment complex and pulled to a stop in front of Ava’s unit.
“Thanks, kiddo.” She gave Ava a little wink and chuckled when Ava rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, Nick’s really going to have to stop calling me that,” she muttered. She glanced out the car window and an idea struck. She grabbed the handle and pushed open the door. “I just thought of something. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Sounds good,” Carol replied.
Ava closed the door and turned, walking quickly to the apartment below her own and knocking before she lost the nerve.
Zak pulled open the door and Ava almost laughed out loud. It was Sunday afternoon, yet there he stood with his crisp, collared shirt tucked into a pair of jeans that looked like they had been ironed. His dark black hair was slicked to the side, and he had a glass of what appeared to be iced tea in his hand.
“Well, Ava! What a pleasant surprise.”
Ava bit her lip and blinked a couple of times before answering. “Hey, Zak, you have a minute? I have a little proposition to run by you.”
