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The door of his room burst open.
Grigori put his legs through the window, sat on the sill for a split second, then jumped to the roof of the washhouse. His feet slipped on the tiles and he sat down hard. He slid down the sloping roof to the gutter. He heard a shout behind him but he did not look back. He jumped from the washhouse roof to the ground and landed unhurt.
He picked up his suitcase and ran.
A shot rang out, scaring him into running faster. Most policemen could not hit the Winter Palace from three yards, but accidents sometimes happened. He scrambled up the railway embankment, conscious that as he climbed to the level of the window he was becoming an easier target. He heard the distinctive thud-and-gasp of a railway engine and looked to his right to see a goods train approaching fast. There was another shot, and he sensed a thump somewhere, but he felt no pain, and guessed the slug had hit his suitcase. He reached the top of the embankment, knowing his body was now outlined against the clear morning sky. The train was a few yards away. The driver sounded his klaxon loud and long. A third shot rang out. Grigori threw himself across the line just ahead of the train.
The locomotive howled past him, steel wheels clashing with steel rails, steam trailing as the klaxon faded. Grigori scrambled to his feet. Now he was shielded from gunfire by a train of open trucks loaded with coal. He ran across the remaining tracks. As the last of the coal wagons passed, he descended the far embankment and walked through the yard of a small factory into the street.
He looked at his suitcase. There was a bullet hole in one edge. It had been a near miss.
He walked briskly, catching his breath, and asked himself what he should do next. Now that he was safe-at least for the moment-he began to worry about his brother. He needed to know whether Lev was in trouble, and if so what kind.
He decided to start in the last place he had seen Lev, which was Mishka's Bar.
As he headed for the bar, he felt nervous about being spotted. It would be bad luck, but it was not impossible: Pinsky might be roaming the streets. He pulled his cap down over his forehead, not really believing it would disguise his identity. He came across some workers heading for the docks and attached himself to the group, but with his suitcase he did not look as if he belonged.
However, he reached Mishka's without incident. The bar was furnished with homemade wooden benches and tables. It smelled of last night's beer and tobacco smoke. In the morning Mishka served bread and tea to people who had nowhere at home to make breakfast, but business was slow because of the strike, and the place was almost empty.
Grigori intended to ask Mishka if he knew where Lev had been headed when he left, but before he could do so he saw Katerina. She looked as if she had been up all night. Her blue-green eyes were bloodshot, her fair hair was awry, and her skirt was crumpled and stained. She was visibly distressed, with shaking hands and tear streaks on her grimy cheeks. Yet that made her more beautiful to Grigori, and he longed to take her in his arms and comfort her. Since he could not, he would do the next best thing, and come to her aid. "What's happened?" he said. "What's the matter?"
"Thank God you're here," she said. "The police are after Lev. "
Grigori groaned. So his brother was in trouble-today of all days. "What has he done?" Grigori did not bother to consider the possibility that Lev was innocent.
"There was a mess-up last night. We were supposed to unload some cigarettes from a barge. " They would be stolen cigarettes, Grigori assumed. Katerina went on: "Lev paid for them, then the bargeman said it wasn't enough money, and there was an argument. Someone started shooting. Lev fired back, then we ran away. "
"Thank heaven neither of you got hurt!"
"Now we don't have the cigarettes or the money. "
"What a mess. " Grigori looked at the clock over the bar. It was a quarter past six. He still had plenty of time. "Let's sit down. Do you want some tea?" He beckoned to Mishka and asked for two glasses of tea.
"Thank you," said Katerina. "Lev thinks one of the wounded must have talked to the police. Now they're after him. "
"And you?"
"I'm all right, no one knows my name. "
Grigori nodded. "So what we have to do is keep Lev out of the hands of the police. He'll have to lie low for a week or so, then slip out of St. Petersburg. "
"He hasn't got any money. "
"Of course not. " Lev never had any money for essentials, though he could always buy drinks, place a bet, and entertain girls. "I can give him something. " Grigori would have to dip into the money he had saved for the journey. "Where is he?"
"He said he would meet you at the ship. "
Mishka brought their tea. Grigori was hungry-he had left his porridge on the fire-and he asked for some soup.
Katerina said: "How much can you give Lev?"
She was looking earnestly at him, and that always made him feel he would do anything she asked. He looked away. "Whatever he needs," he said.
"You're so good. "
Grigori shrugged. "He's my brother. "
"Thank you. "
