The Apothecary Page 0,75

was early: A glow of light appeared in the east. Ludvik called, astounded, “The red paint is already dry!”

“We still have to do something about Shiskin’s family,” I said.

“I’ve been working out an idea,” Benjamin said. “Who’s the nicest of all of us? I mean the softest touch?”

“Jin Lo,” Count Vili said, and we stared at him in disbelief until he burst out laughing at his own joke. It was my father’s kind of joke, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“I think it’s Janie,” Benjamin said.

“Of course it’s Janie!” the count said. “It isn’t you, and it certainly isn’t me.”

I frowned, secretly pleased. “I’m not that nice,” I said.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” Benjamin said.

CHAPTER 31

The Execution

In the morning, after breakfast, I knocked softly on the door to Shiskin’s cabin. The men were taking turns guarding it with a revolver, and the skinny young crewman, whose name was Niels, was on guard duty. I nodded to him and went inside. Shiskin lay listlessly on his bunk, his hands and leg tied, his head on the pillow. I closed the door behind me.

“Ah, the little girl,” Shiskin said. “Who thinks she is saving the world and instead has ruined my life.”

I tried to ignore that, and tried not to feel hideously guilty. “I wanted to ask you to change your mind and help us,” I said.

“Ha,” Shiskin said bitterly.

“You used to believe in the apothecary,” I said.

“That was before my family was held hostage.”

“The crew is willing to help us.”

Shiskin rolled on the bunk to look at me. “I could lie and say I would,” he said. “But your friends would not believe me. Jin Lo especially knows that every person acts for himself, and his family.”

“The apothecary isn’t acting for himself.”

“Of course he is. For himself and for his dead wife. Every minute of every day is for his dead wife.”

“He’s trying to save humanity.”

Shiskin scoffed. “Humanity is not worth saving.”

There was a pause. Finally I said, softly, “They’re going to kill you. I tried to argue, but they won’t listen. They’re worried about our survival.”

Shiskin sat up as well as he could, bound as he was. “Janie,” he said, alarmed. “Untie my hands. You must let me signal.”

“I can’t!”

“The radio is in my suitcase. Janie, listen. If the Soviet kidnappers think I have helped the apothecary, there is no hope for my wife and daughter. But if they know I have been murdered in their cause, perhaps they will have some pity and free my family.”

I hesitated, so as not to seem too eager. “You swear on Sergei’s life you won’t do anything but signal?”

“I swear on Sergei’s life.”

It was all going perfectly. I untied his hands, and he rubbed his wrists, bringing blood back to them.

Then I turned to pull the little suitcase close to him, as Benjamin had told me to do, but Shiskin had loosened the rope tying his leg to the bunk, and he launched himself at me. I felt one powerful arm tighten around my neck and tried to scream, but Shiskin clamped his free hand over my mouth.

“Tell them to open the door,” he said.

“Mmph!”

“Any tricks and I will kill you, I swear.” He released my mouth.

I didn’t know what to do. “I’m ready to come out,” I called weakly.

Niels opened the door carefully, with the revolver raised, but Shiskin grabbed the barrel and wrested it free. I screamed, and Shiskin crooked his arm around my face, smothering my mouth. He leveled the gun at Niels. “Put your hands on your head,” he said. “And find my leg.”

Niels lifted his skinny arms. “But I don’t know where it is!”

“Find it,” Shiskin said. “Or I kill her.”

“Benjamin!” I shouted, my mouth full of the wool of Shiskin’s jacket. “Jin Lo!”

Shiskin knocked me in the side of the head with the butt of the gun, making my eyes fill with tears, and he tightened his elbow around my face. I had no doubt that he could break my neck if he wanted to. Niels had disappeared into a cabin, looking for the leg, and we were alone in the corridor.

Count Vili came into the saloon and said something calm and placating in Russian, which Shiskin ignored. Vili held up both hands, one empty and one dangling his walking stick, in a gesture of peace or surrender. He looked inconsequential—soft and whimsical, with his expensive clothes and his unnecessary walking stick, facing the hardness and desperation of a man with nothing to lose.

“Comrade,” the count said. “Friend. Please.”

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