THE DIMLY LIT TAVERN with heavy soot walls and air that held an odor of sour mash was the best accommodations the boys could find in Moscow. Their rooms, one flight up were in no better condition. Roman sat with his feet propped up on a wood chair in front of an empty fireplace.
Fëdor slammed an empty glass on the table and refilled it with another shot of vodka. “Where’s Uri and Boris?”
“Relax.” Roman yawned. “Boris has gone to visit his wealthy uncle. Uri–well you know where he is.”
“It’s amazing, that guy knows every gambling house in every city.” Fëdor gulped his vodka.
The door to the tavern opened exposing what light was left of the day. Several of the hung-over customers moaned. Boris pulled a chair over to their table and plopped down next to Roman. “My uncle said there is a ball to be given tomorrow with well over a hundred guests. I got invitations for us.”
“What makes you think we’ll find her at a gala?” Fëdor said.
“What else is there to do in Moscow?” Roman said.
The door opened again and further moans erupted from the crowd as Uri stumbled into the tavern. He brought company. A stout man dressed in civilian clothes. “Look who I found,” Uri said. The two intoxicated men propped themselves against one another for support. “This fine fellow is Mikhail Vershinin.” Uri slurred his words.
Mikhail tried to click his heels and bow but instead fell forward. Roman rose and caught him then placed him in his seat.
“Where the hell did you two meet?” Boris said.
“Cards. I’ve never seen anyone loose so much money at one time.” Uri laughed. “I know a secret.” Uri put his finger to his lips and in a loud whisper, “He’s getting married in a few days to our dear friend, Kira.”
All heads turned to Roman. The sight of the drunken man slumped in the chair with his chin pressed against his chest left an acrid taste in Roman’s mouth. “Uri, why don’t you and Mikhail go up to the room. We’ll wake you in a few hours and we can talk.” He paused. “Fëdor, show them the way.”
“What are you going to do, Roman?” Boris said.
Roman’s eyes remained fixed on Mikhail as he lumbered up the stairs. “I don’t’ know, Boris–I just don’t know.”
Oh, my, what will Roman do?