I went after them, unsteady on my own legs, and there was a haze that made everything seem as dewy as the morning after a storm. All of us went laughing down an alleyway and then through a door into a tavern, which I could tell right away was a poorer establishment than the one I had been to with Sevas, because there were only blackened oil lamps inside and no women laughing daintily.
At the bar, we ordered vodka in dirty glasses and drank it all without stopping for breath. And then, as my sight—as Fedir’s sight—got blearier and closer, I stumbled into the bathroom and leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet. Water poured into my mouth and I swallowed. After the vodka it tasted like nothing at all.
Darkness closed around me, and when I managed to open my eyes again I was back in the flat, still kneeling over Fedir’s body. Gooseflesh rose on my arms as the vision ebbed, and I took my hand off his jaw and let go of his earlobe. It was bright pink and swollen where my fingers had pressed so hard into it.
Sevas was watching me with a sort of bridled concern, though Papa’s glare kept him from speaking. When I had managed to calm my jaggedly pounding heart, I said, “He went to a tavern last night, and drank water from the sink. Have any of you ever—”
Before I could even finish, Niko let out a groan. “Oh, Fedir, you damn idiot. Everyone knows that tavern bathrooms are about as clean as the end of a street sweeper’s broom. You might as well lick the cobblestones. There’s something in the water that got him sick.”
I had heard floated rumors about illnesses you could catch from drinking dirty water, and a few years before I was born there had been a spate of deaths that Papa recounted happily, because the slums were purged of nearly a third of their residents. Now I felt my own stomach churn and roil.
As I brushed back tendrils of sweat-damp hair from my forehead, there was a knock on the door.
All of us went quiet, and I could hear only the sound of Fedir softly moaning. There was another rap on the door, more urgent this time. I began to speak, but Niko put a finger to his lips, eyes glassy with panic.
After the knocking had ceased again, he whispered, “It’s the landlord. We’re two weeks behind on our rent.”
Papa gave a huff of anger. “Boy, he knows you’re inside. It reeks like death in here and I’m losing my patience with this whole endeavor. My daughter’s work is already costing more rubles than you can spare.”
As Niko opened his mouth to reply, a voice came from the other side of the door. “Sevastyan, if you don’t open up I’ll bring the Grand Inspector and his men to break your lock.” It wasn’t the landlord.
It was Derkach.
What little color there had been drained from Sevas’s face. Without speaking, he paced slowly across the apartment and paused with his hand on the knob. I could see his chest swell with a held breath. After a moment, he opened the door just enough to peer out, knuckles whitening around the knob, but before Sevas could say a word Derkach stuck his foot into the knife-thin crack and barreled into the apartment.
He scarcely paused to take in the scene before wheeling on Sevas. “Are you absolutely mad? Practice began an hour ago and none of the other dancers can start without their Ivan. It would be one thing if this was the first practice you’ve missed, or even the second or the third, but since coming to Oblya you’re gone more than you’re there, and that’s not even considering how many times you run out into the alley after a show to retch. I found the vodka in your dressing room; don’t think you can lie to me about sea air any longer.”
As Derkach stopped to inhale, at last his gaze ran over the small flat. He saw Fedir sprawled on his cot and me kneeling beside him and my father standing above us both and Niko slumped against the wall, face in his hands. Sevas was staring at the ground. Derkach turned back to him and said, “What the hell is going on here?”
“Fedir has been sick,” Sevas mumbled. “My flatmate. I had to stay here and help.”
Derkach’s lips went thin and white. His voice was very low when he said, “And what did I warn you would happen, Sevas, if you moved out from under my roof? I told you the only lodging you could afford would be in the slums, shared among workingmen without more than a ruble to their names on any given day. What if you come down with your poor flatmate’s illness? What will the company do without its Ivan, and what will your mother think when I tell her I had to bury her only son in Oblya?”
“It isn’t catching.” I was so surprised to hear myself speak that I flushed at once, all the way from forehead to chin. “Fedir’s illness, I mean. Sevastyan will be fine.”