Page 6 of Wild Wolf

I thanked my lucky stars I’d already put soup on the stove for the day and that it was ready to serve. Tea wouldn’t take long to provide, either, although I would have been a better host if I offered Turkish coffee instead. We went through yet another ritual among the locals, attempting a refusal of the gift before accepting his second offering. I placed the flask on my small table and gestured to my rocking chair, my shameless creature comfort. At my invitation, he sat while I bustled around my kitchen, first washing my hands before bringing him a mug of soup.

I loved everything about the custom of feeding guests, especially when I surprised most with the quality of my cooking.

Good food put people at ease, and not even the uchastkovyi was immune to my culinary arts.

“Your solyanka is superb. Where did you get the recipe?”

“A butcher’s wife,” I replied, grateful I could tell that as a simple truth. “One of his machines broke when I was in his store, so I fixed it for him. He thanked me with everything needed to make supper that night, plus the recipe. It has become a favorite, although I embellished a little. I enjoy cooking.” On second thought, I would offer him the coffee or tea, which would fit better with my status as an outsider. “Would you like some tea or coffee? I have both, although my coffee tends to be quite strong. I make Turkish coffee.”

“You make Turkish coffee?” he asked, straightening with interest.

“I will make you some. How would you like it? How can I help you?” Turkish coffee would be a good reward for the hard work I’d done, and I’d found a little, albeit expensive shop in the heart of Blagoveshchensk with oddities from around the world, including everything I needed to make and serve Turkish coffee. As Turkish coffee used a much finer ground of coffee, I’d taken to getting whole beans whenever I could and grinding it myself.

It had taken me several months of living in the area to learn Turkish-styled coffee was the default for home brewed in Russia, but cappuccinos ruled the rare times they went to a café. Restaurants in the city also baffled me.

The locals preferred finer dining if they went out at all, and going to a restaurant meant a special occasion, something to be savored and enjoyed.

“Az seker. There has been another death.”

It intrigued me that the man used the proper Turkish way of indicating he wanted a hint of sugar in his. I sighed at the news of another death and made the loathed gesture of warding against evil. “Who has passed?”

“Stanislav Dmitrijevich Morozov.”

No wonder the uchastkovyi had come knocking at my door. The overseer’s death would cause trouble in spades as the sawmill workers vied for the right to take his place. Weary resignation took hold. “How? When?”

“The sumasshedshiy volk hunted him and his family to his home, killed them, and fled sometime last night.”

I wondered about that. Why would a mad, wild wolf kill so precisely? Why hunt specific people? Wouldn’t someone mad and beyond control kill indiscriminately? “That’s terrible.”

“We are concerned the sumasshedshiy volk will hunt all who work at the sawmill, including you despite you being new to our city and homeland. I saw you keep a talisman on your door.”

“I wasn’t sure where else to put it.”

The uchastkovyi waved his hand in a dismissal of my concern. “It’s well placed. Had Stanislav Dmitrijevich taken half as much care, he and his family might still be alive. Still, I must ask you. When did you last see him alive?”

“I last saw him with you at the sawmill. Afterwards, I went to the general store, the library to study, and to the butcher. I stayed there for a few hours, as he needed help to fix his truck. I then came home, and I’ve been here ever since. I try to avoid making unnecessary trips whenever possible, although I will head back to the city to resume my studies soon.” I shook my head and regarded my mortar-encrusted clothes. “I thought it would be the best use of the time preparing for winter.”

“You built all of this?”

“Most of it. I had fixed a car for a co-worker in exchange for the chair, which he made.” While I kept an eye on the coffee, I pointed to the hearth. “I installed that yesterday. I will add the heat shield tomorrow. I need to get a few extra parts from the city for that. I’ll finish the chimney and the mantle last, along with anything decorative around the fireplace.”

I already made plans for expanding the cabin, getting a better tub, and expanding the septic tank I had built myself. The crumbling state of the public works in Blagoveshchensk still stunned me, and I’d used every skill I’d scraped together over the years to build my home.

Some of my co-workers didn’t even have functioning toilets in their homes. I had it all, from a good well, my hot water tank, a nice bathroom, a septic tank large enough to last me years without worry, and the necessary permits needed to build them.

“And you have the permits to do this?”

Most Russians disliked the government’s rules, obeying the critical ones to dodge the politsiya. With my ID, as legitimized a fake as I could get, I’d acquired every permit legally to dodge additional scrutiny. I went to the shelf I used for books and papers, and I grabbed the envelope with my second copies of the permit, as I had them all in triplicate. Just in case. I offered the envelope to him. “All of my permits for the property are in here.”

The uchastkovyi wasted no time sifting through them, and I finished making our coffee while he read. I brought down my Turkish coffee cups, one of my few conceits, and made use of the tray that had come with the set of four, bringing him his cup and taking a seat on the edge of my fireplace’s foundation.

“You are quite thorough, Sergei Sokolov. I am impressed.”

“I told the office what I wanted to do here, and I gave them all of the details. They issued the permits.”

“They guided you well. This is all in order. I would be interested to see the work when you have finished. By your job, I did not think you are so skilled of a worker.”

I had learned the appropriate answer to that question through unfortunate trial and error. “It was all that was available when I applied.”