Child Thief by Dan Smith Page B

thing like that. String a man up from a tree and—’
    â€˜That’s enough.’ She glanced over my shoulder at the bedroom door. ‘We have to live with these people. They’re our friends, Luka. Svetlana’s my sister. And Dariya is safe.’
    â€˜If she hasn’t frozen to death up there, have you thought about that?’
    â€˜Luka.’
    â€˜You imagine how that idiot will feel if he’s driven his daughter away to freeze to death on the rise. Hanging a man to make her safe, while frightening her away to die.’
    â€˜Luka!’ her voice harsh but quiet. The words hissed. And her eyes were over my shoulder again.
    I turned to see Lara behind me. Fresh tears in her eyes. ‘It’s my fault,’ she said. ‘I killed Dariya.’ She ran to her mother and threw her arms around her.
    â€˜No, angel, she’ll be fine. You’ll see. The men will find Dariya.’ Natalia narrowed her eyes at me and stroked our daughter’s hair, running her hardened fingers over her head.
    â€˜Will you go?’ Lara turned to look at me. ‘You’ll find her.’
    I forced a smile. ‘If Dariya is there, your Uncle Dimitri will find her. They don’t need me.’
    â€˜Please,’ she said.
    â€˜Lara, it’s not your fault.’
    â€˜It is my fault, Papa. I should have told you I saw her, but I was afraid I’d get into trouble.’
    â€˜You’re not in any trouble.’ Natalia held her tighter.
    â€˜Please, Papa. Please find Dariya.’
    â€˜Of course he will, won’t you, Papa?’ Natalia glared at me.
    I sighed and nodded. ‘OK, angel, if it’s what you want. I’ll help them look.’
    To my daughter I was still a hero. I was still a figure of strength and adult wisdom. She had not yet grown to understand that even fathers are fallible. That even fathers make mistakes, just as everyone else does. And even fathers cannot beat all the odds.

    â€˜Thank you, Papa.’
    I sat on a chair and pulled on my boots before taking my coat from the hook by the door. I stood for a moment and looked at my daughter. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’ll find Dariya.’
    â€˜Promise?’
    â€˜Yes, my angel. I promise.’

9
    Adding my own footsteps to the many stale ones which now littered my land, I went round the house and climbed over the fence, starting up the gentle slope towards the line of poplars and the dark smudges that lay within. In the field beneath my feet, winter wheat seedlings lay in the stubble of the last harvest, buried beneath the snow.
    To the west, the sun was low on the horizon, spreading a muddled amber glow across the steppe. A beautiful sight for eyes that had never seen it, the sign of approaching darkness to those that had witnessed it countless times. It would drop within the hour, orange turning to red, like blood spilling across the snow, then it would bow its head and be gone from our world for another night. And the most bitter cold would sweep in to replace it.
    The snow was deep here but I tried to move quickly as I crossed the field I would harvest and re-sow next year. At least, that’s what I had done in past years, but I knew this year might be different. By then the land might not be mine any longer. It might belong to the state and I would be forced to work on it for nothing or be sent away to Kazakhstan, Siberia, somewhere they could wring the sweat from my body and make me work until my heart refused to beat any longer.
    I followed to one side of the mess of tracks, while the men before me had walked directly in Dariya’s footsteps. The poplars cast shadows that fell long and dark across the snow-covered steppe, and I headed towards them, wondering what the menhad found. Maybe Dimitri was scolding his daughter right now, telling her she shouldn’t have run away, bearing accusing looks from eyes that had witnessed her father’s