Angelopolis A Novel Page 0,65
road plunged down into canyons cut by streaks of moonlight and up to the mountaintop villages and then down again through more narrow passes, so that it seemed to Vera that they were making their way through an elaborate topiary maze, one that might lead nowhere. After hours of driving, they reached the summit of what must have been the highest peak in the region. Vera saw nothing above them but a vast canopy of stars. The village of Smolyan crouched in a scoop of land, hidden in darkness.
Azov directed Vera to turn onto a darkened gravel road that twisted and turned downward until a small Orthodox church appeared. A tower hovered nearby, its ironwork clock looming over the village. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning. At Azov’s instruction, Vera continued down the road, passing the ancient ramparts and arriving at a square lined with evergreen trees. She cut the engine. Nobody spoke, but a new sense of hope had been born. It was as if they all felt that a solution was possible, that once they made it to Valko they would overcome the seemingly impossible odds.
“We’re here,” Azov said. “Let’s just hope Raphael will see us.”
Trans-Siberian Railway, between Kirov and Perm
Bruno leaned into the soft cushion of his seat and stared out the window at the starlight playing over the snow. The clattering of the train’s wheels punctuated his thoughts with a sharp, staccato rhythm. He tried to imagine the thousands and thousands of miles of open space stretching to the Pacific, the permafrost and ancient forests, the bogs of peat, the stark, immaculate mountains. The train traveled over five thousand miles between Moscow and Beijing. The landscape seemed so alien, so far removed from the modern Russia they had just left, that he could almost imagine the distant era of the Romanovs, with its palace balls and sledges and hunting parties and regiments of elegant soldiers on horseback. Secrets could be buried forever in such a vast and inhospitable landscape. Perhaps Rasputin had entombed some himself.
Turning, he stole a glance at Verlaine. His skin was pale, his hair a knot of dark curls, and his shoulders slightly hunched. Even if the doctor’s salve had helped ease the physical pain of the attack, the psychological effects of Eno’s electric shock had had a terrible and indelible effect on him. Bruno couldn’t help but worry. Bruno’s feelings had changed in the past several hours from anger at his own bravado—he should have known better than to encourage Verlaine to go after Eno alone—to relief that his most promising hunter was alive. He was so thankful that he couldn’t be angry about the pendant.
A trolley moved through the compartment with coffee and tea. Bruno attempted to hold his china teacup steady in his hand as the server poured, but the saucer shook, spilling hot liquid over his jeans. Once this cup had been filled, Bruno smelled the rich scent of the black tea and tried to ease his mind by sorting through everything that Nadia had said before the creatures had attacked. It seemed to Bruno, as he turned over the details in his mind, that there was no clear method for how to act. Nadia had never fully explored the information in Rasputin’s journal. Indeed, she had seemed content to let the pages remain a curiosity from the past. It was up to them to learn what Rasputin had intended by his book of flowers.
Bruno felt Yana’s hand on his shoulder. “Come on,” she said.
They walked through a seemingly endless caravan of train cars, Yana sauntering ahead, leading the way. Bruno noticed her gun, tucked discreetly into a brace under her jacket. With a pang of admiration, he remembered her savvy in taking down Eno in St. Petersburg, handling the Emim with unbelievable skill in a studied, almost clinical manner. Bruno wondered what hindered his own ability to fight Eno. Maybe he unconsciously subverted his own efforts. Maybe something inside him wanted her to be free. Maybe women hunters didn’t have these problems.
Yana paused before a steel door at the rear of the final passenger car, and, after fumbling through a ring of keys, inserted one into the lock. Turning to Bruno, she said, “The last ten cars are our storage and transport cabins, reserved for prisoners on their way to Siberia. In addition to the infirmary, there are cars equipped to hold the various species of angelic creatures, each one designed to counter the creature’s particular