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“Pardon?” I patted down my skirt pockets, the interior pockets of my winter coat. Nothing. My heart thudded. If I hadn’t shown it to Anastasia and Ileana this morning, I might be worried that I’d simply imagined the drawing. I turned my pockets out—they were empty.
“What are you looking for, Wadsworth?”
“My dragon,” I said, trying to recall if I’d placed it back in my pocket before heading down to the dining hall. “I must have left it in my chambers.”
Thomas stared at me for a moment with the strangest expression. “Where did you find this dragon? I’m sure all manner of scientists will want to speak with you and see the specimen. Small enough to fit in your pocket, too. Quite the discovery.”
“It was a drawing in my train compartment,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “I found it after the guards came to take the body.”
“Oh. I see.” He suddenly turned and continued on toward the village, leaving me openmouthed in his wake.
I grabbed my skirts, mindful of not exposing any area above my boots, and hurried after him. “What was that about?”
Thomas nodded at the brush and brambles on the edge of the trail. I followed his gaze and noticed what appeared to be fresh paw prints from a large dog in the snow near the edge of the forest. They seemed to be following a trail of Wilhelm’s vomit. I hoped to avoid both contracting whatever it was he was suffering from, and whatever animal was following him. I watched the boy stagger again along the path, nearly cresting the hill. I wanted to run after him and offer an arm—he truly wasn’t looking well.
Thomas trekked through the snow, keeping his attention on our classmate.
“We don’t want to get caught out here once the sun goes down later,” Thomas said. “It’s winter, and food is scarce in the woods. Best not to tempt our fate by risking an encounter with the wolves.”
For once, I was too annoyed to imagine the forest coming alive with beasts. I sped up, my focus set entirely on Thomas as I reached for him. “Are you going to pretend as if I didn’t ask about that dragon?”
He stopped walking and lifted the hat from his head, dusting off a bit of snow that had fallen from branches above us before securing it again. “If you must know, I drew it.”
“Oh.” My shoulders slumped. I should have been happy there was nothing more sinister to the drawing, relieved a murderer hadn’t sneaked into my compartment and left a taunting clue. And yet I couldn’t deny my disappointment. “Why didn’t you simply tell me that sooner?”
“Because I didn’t intend for you to see it,” he said with a sigh. “Seemed rather rude to just blurt out: ‘Apologies. Please don’t ask about the dragon. Very touchy subject matter at the moment.’”
“I was unaware you sketched so well.”
Even as I said it, something nudged the edges of my memory. Thomas hunched over a corpse in Uncle’s laboratory, drawing remarkably accurate images of each postmortem, hands smudged with both ink and charcoal he didn’t bother cleaning away.
“Yes, well. It’s a family trait.”
“It was… lovely,” I said. “Why a dragon?”
Thomas set his mouth in a grim line. I didn’t expect him to answer, but he took a deep breath and re
plied softly, “My mother had a painting made of it. I recall staring at it while she lay dying.”
Without uttering another word, he marched off through the snow. So that was it. We’d come much too close to an emotional fence he’d erected long ago. He never spoke of his family, and I longed to know more details of how he’d come to be. I collected myself and hurried after him, noticing with a jolt that Wilhelm was no longer in view. I moved as swiftly as I could, though part of me now worried there was nothing out of the ordinary about Wilhelm’s train journey. It was simply another fantasy conjured up in my cursed imagination.
We were nearly to Brasov, and I was quite sick of sloshing through snow and ice. The hem of my skirts was soaked through and was as stiff as corpse fingers. Wearing close-fitting breeches and my riding habit would have been a better idea. Actually, staying inside the castle and studying the anatomy display cases and taxidermy chambers would have been the smartest idea yet. Not only were we wasting our time following a sick boy, we were miserably cold and wet. I was near convinced I could feel tendrils of my father’s worry over catching an influenza wrap around my sensibilities.
“Ah. There it is.” I caught glimpses of the buildings Thomas pointed out, his smile turning a bit more sincere. Nothing more than flashes of color through the evergreens, but excitement urged my feet to move faster. Then, as we started down another hill, I fully spied the gem that had been hidden between the craggy mountains.
We trudged along the snow-covered path, our attention fixed on the colorful village. Buildings stood crammed together as if they were pretty ladies in waiting, their exteriors painted salmon and butter and the palest ocean blue. There were other buildings, too, made of pale stone with terra-cotta colored roofs.
A church was the grandest sight of all, its Gothic spire pointing at the heavens. From where we stood, we could see its red-tiled roof spreading over a massive building made of light-colored stone with stained glass windows. My eyes stung before I blinked my awe away. Perhaps the trip hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.
“Biserica Neagra.” Thomas grinned. “The Black Church. During the summer, people gather to hear organ music that pours from its cathedral. It also has well over one hundred Anatolian carpets. It’s absolutely stunning.”
“You know the strangest facts.”
“Are you impressed? I didn’t bother pointing out it had been renovated after a great fire, or that its blackened walls were how it received its name. Didn’t want you to swoon too much. We do have a suspect to inquire after.”
I smiled but remained silent, not wanting to share my fear of this being a fool’s errand. Wilhelm had likely been just a passenger on the train and had already been ill. Sickness explained his jittery actions—he very well might have been feeling faint, and the stress of witnessing a murder proved too much.
We walked in silence, finally arriving in the old village. My feet were no longer numb but felt as if I’d been stomping about on bits of glass in my stockings. Liza would be enchanted by the way the snow dusted the rooftops, a sprinkling of sugar electrified by the rays of the sun. I would have to write to her later tonight.
