The Ocean of Time by David Wingrove Page A

doubt by the axe and sword he carries – standing close by, keeping an eye. They look underfed, and from the bruises on their arms and legs it would seem that their masters have been none too kind.
    Feeling despondent, we cut the tour short and search out Bakatin. He’s drinking beer and laughing with a merchant friend in the riverside ‘inn’, a crowd of locals pressed into that hot and fetid room. The smell is awful and I wonder how they can stand it. I say hello and am about to make my way back to the boat when I see them standing in the shadows of the far corner.
    The two men we saw in Belyj. The ones who were with Krylenko.
    Noticing my eyes on them, one of them speaks quickly to the other’s ear, and immediately they begin to push through. But they have to get past me, and I move slightly so that they can’t do that without either pushing me aside, or asking me to move.
    Katerina glances at me, then looks again, noting how I’m watching the two men.
    ‘Excuse me, cousin,’ the first one says, trying not to make eye contact.
    I put my hand flat on his chest, stopping him. Immediately, every eye in the room is on me.
    ‘How is Krylenko?’
    The man swallows nervously and glances at me. He’s trembling now. His answer’s almost a whisper. ‘Krylenko’s dead.’
    ‘And you?’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘You? Are
you
dead?’
    He’s shaking now, afraid I’ll strike him down. ‘I … I … No … No, I’m alive.’
    ‘Good. Then stay that way, eh?’ And I remove my hand from his chest and stand aside, and the two of them stumble past me and then run out of the door, as if all the devils in hell were chasing them. You might think there’d be laughter at the sight, but the room is deathly silent. Even Bakatin is quiet, watching me from where he sits, tankard in hand, waiting to see what I’ll do next. But I do nothing, merely look to him and smile.
    ‘I’m sorry, Fyodor. Don’t mind me, I’m just saying hello to old friends.’
    Bakatin’s face is serious a moment longer, and then he smiles, the smile broadening until he gives a great roar of laughter and the tension in the room breaks and suddenly everyone is laughing – with relief, it seems. But I know something now. They all know who I am – or who they believe I am. A sorcerer. A powerful magician. And behind every smile, every laughing face, I see an element of naked fear.
    I have made a mistake. I know it now. There is not a single village or settlement on this river that hasn’t heard of me and what I did back there. Only it’s to be hoped it won’t follow me across land to Rzhev. Because if it does …
    I turn and leave, taking Katerina with me. She’s silent, too, thoughtful, and back at the boat she asks me quietly what I mean to do about the men.
    ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘I can’t blame them for what Krylenko did.’
    It’s true. But it’s not the only reason why I won’t go after them. I could track them and find them, and even kill them if I wanted, only it would mean leaving Katerina here while I did. Besides, I don’t think they’re a danger. They’re much more afraid of me than I am of them. Even so, I’m slightly worried. Why were they here? On Blagovesh’s orders? Or maybe they’re cousins of Krylenko and this is a kind of vendetta? Only, if so, why not sneak up on us and kill us while we sleep? Why slink about from village to village, following us?
    Because they think you are a sorcerer, Otto. They probably think you never sleep.
    It’s dark when Bakatin returns, not drunk exactly, but unsteady. His business has gone well, and he wants to talk, and maybe to drink some more, only I’ve another idea.
    ‘I want to go, Fyodor. I want to leave here now.’
    ‘To go? But it’s late, Otto. And, my friend, my purchase won’t be ready till the morning …’
    ‘Forget that. Tell him you’ll come back for his goods later. I’ll pay you both for the inconvenience. But let’s get out of here, now.’
    ‘But