48

In Mirgorod, in the Raion Lezaryet, Vissarion Lom woke suddenly, heart pounding, the sour taste of sleep in his mouth. The attic was in darkness. He knew instantly by the feel of the room that Maroussia was gone. He fumbled for the matchbox and lit the lamp. Looked at his watch. Just after three.

Shit.

He pulled on his clothes, grabbed the Blok 15, stuffed it into his waistband and went downstairs. The kitchen was in darkness, the banked-up fire in the stove glowing dull brick red. The door at the end of the hall stood open. Maroussia’s coat was not on the hook.

There was a small pile of coins on the hall table, a few kopeks and a single rouble. He scooped them into his pocket and stepped out into the dark and icy cold.