was standing, and a shaggy head emerged and smacked Senka’s knee.
He yelled: ‘Lord, save me,’ and jumped out of the way.
But the head started barking: ‘What do you mean, by spreading yourself right across the burrow like that? Clumsy oafs all over the place, blocking the way!’
That was when Senka realised this was a ‘mole’ who had climbed out of his den. Underground, Khitrovka had this special class of ‘moles’, who stayed underground in the daytime, and came out only at night, if at all. People said they minded the secret hiding places for stolen goods, and the fences and dealers paid them a small share for food and drink, and they didn’t need proper clothes – what good were clothes underground?
‘Uncle Mole!’ Senka called, dashing after him. ‘You know all the ways in and out of this place. Take me out, only not through the door, some other way.’
‘You can’t get out any other way,’ said the mole, straightening up. ‘The only way out of the Kulakovka is on to Svininsky. If you hire me, I can take you to a different basement. The Buninka’s ten kopecks, the Rumyantsevka’s seven, the Yerokha’s fifteen . . .’
Senka was delighted. ‘The Yerokha’s the one I want! That’s even better than getting back outside!’
Siniukhin lived in the Yerokha.
Senka rummaged in his pockets – there was a fifteen-kopeck coin, his last one.
The mole took the money and stuck it in his cheek. He waved his hand: follow me now. Senka wasn’t worried he’d run off with the money and dump him in the dark. Everyone knew the moles were honest, or why would anyone ever trust them with their swag?
But he had to mind not to fall behind. It was all right for the mole, he was used to it, he could see everything in the dark, but for Senka it was hit or miss, feeling his way round the bends one step at a time.
At first they went straight and downhill a bit, or that was how it felt. Then his guide went down on all fours (Senka guessed only from the sound he made) and scrambled through a hole on the left. Senka followed him. They crawled along for maybe fifty feet, then the ceiling got higher. They left the passage and turned to the right. Then to the left again, and the stone floor changed to soft earth that was boggy in places and squelched under their feet. Then they turned left and left again into a place just like a cave, and he could feel a draught. From the cave they walked up some steps, not very far, but Senka still missed his footing and bruised his knee. At the top an iron door clanged open and behind it there was a collidor. After the passage they’d crawled though on all fours, it seemed quite light in here to Senka.
‘There, that’s the Yerokha,’ said the mole – the first time he’d spoken since they had set out. ‘From here you can get out either through the Tatar Inn or on to Podkolokolny. Where do you want to go?’
‘I want to go to the Old Rags Basement, Uncle, where the pen-pushers live,’ Senka said, and then, just to be safe, he added a lie: ‘I want a letter written to my father and mother.’
The underground man led him to the right, through a big stone cellar with high, round ceilings and fat-bellied brick columns, then along another collidor and through another big cellar till they came out in a collidor a bit wider than the others.
‘Ah-ha,’ said the mole as they turned a corner.
When Senka followed, the mole had disappeared, as if the ground had swallowed him up. There was grey light round the corner – the way out on to the street wasn’t far – but it wasn’t likely the mole had dashed out that way, he must have ducked into a burrow.
‘Are we here, then?’ Senka shouted, although there was no one there to hear.
The echo bounced off the ceiling and the walls: ‘eerthen-eerthen-eerthen’.
And the hollow answer seemed to come from under the earth: ‘Ah-ha’.
So this was it, the Old Rags Basement. Senka looked hard, and saw rough wooden doors along both walls. He knocked on one and shouted:
‘Where do the Siniukhins live round here?’
There was a pause, then a rattly voice asked: ‘What is it, want something written? I can do that. I write a better hand.’
‘No,’ said Senka. ‘The snake owes me half a rouble.’