Fall of Giants

A few minutes later, Lev went back outside and Rhys followed. There was no toilet at the Two Crowns, so the men used the lane at the back of the barn. The only illumination came from a distant streetlight. Rhys quickly handed Lev his half of the winnings, partly in coins and partly in the new colored banknotes, green for a pound and brown for ten shillings.

Lev knew exactly what he was owed. Arithmetic came naturally to him, like figuring the odds at cards. He would count the money later, but he was sure Rhys would not cheat him. The man had tried, once. Lev had found his share to be five shillings short-an amount that a careless man might have overlooked. Lev had gone to Rhys’s house, stuck the barrel of his revolver into the man’s mouth, and cocked the hammer. Rhys had soiled himself in fear. After that the money had always been correct to a halfpenny.

Lev stuffed the money into his coat pocket and they returned to the bar.

As they walked in, Lev saw Spirya.

He had taken off his robes and put on the overcoat he had worn on the ship. He stood at the bar, not drinking, but talking earnestly to a small group of Russians, including some of the card school.

Momentarily, he met Lev’s eye.

Lev turned on his heel and went out, but he knew he was too late.

He walked quickly away, heading up the hill to Wellington Row. Spirya would betray him, he felt sure. Even now he might be explaining how Lev managed to cheat at cards and yet seem the loser. The men would be furious, and the Ponti brothers would want their money back.

As he approached his house, he saw a man coming the other way with a suitcase, and in the lamplight he recognized a young neighbor known as Billy-with-Jesus. “Aye, aye, Billy,” he said.

“Aye, aye, Grigori.”

The boy looked as if he was leaving town, and Lev was curious. “Off somewhere?”

“London.”

Lev’s interest quickened. “What train?”

“Six o’clock to Cardiff.” Passengers for London had to change trains at Cardiff.

“What is it now?”

“Twenty to.”

“So long, then.” Lev went into his house. He would catch the same train as Billy, he decided.

He turned on the electric light in the kitchen and lifted the flagstone. He took out his savings, the passport with his brother’s name and photograph, a box of brass bullets, and his gun, a Nagant M1895 he had won from an army captain in a card game. He checked the cylinder to make sure there was a live round in each chamber: used rounds were not automatically ejected, but had to be removed manually when reloading. He put the money, the passport, and the gun in the pockets of his coat.

Upstairs he found Grigori’s cardboard suitcase with the bullet hole. Into it he packed the ammunition plus his other shirt, his spare underwear, and two packs of cards.

He had no watch, but he calculated that five minutes had passed since he saw Billy. That gave him fifteen minutes to walk to the station, which was enough.

From the street outside he heard the voices of several men.

He did not want a confrontation. He was tough, but the miners were too. Even if he won the fight he would miss his train. He could use the gun, of course, but in this country the police were serious about catching murderers even when the victims were nobodies. At a minimum they would check passengers at the docks in Cardiff and make it difficult for him to buy a ticket. In every way it would be best if he could leave town without violence.

He went out of the back door and hurried along the lane, walking as quietly as he could in his heavy boots. The ground underfoot was muddy, as it almost always was in Wales, so fortunately his footsteps made little noise.

At the end of the lane he turned down an alley and emerged into the lights of the street. The toilets in the middle of the road shielded him from the view of anyone outside his house. He hurried away.

Two streets farther on he realized that his route took him past the Two Crowns. He stopped and thought for a moment. He knew the layout of the town, and the only alternative route would require him to double back. But the men whose voices he had heard might still be near his house.

He had to risk the Two Crowns. He turned down another alley and took the back lane that passed behind the pub.

As he approached the barn where they had played cards, he heard voices and glimpsed two or more men, dimly outlined by the streetlamp at the far end of the lane. He was running out of time, but all the same he stopped and waited for them to go back inside. He stood close to a high wooden fence to make himself less visible.

They seemed to take forever. “Come on,” he whispered. “Don’t you want to get back into the warm?” The rain dripped off his cap and down the back of his neck.