Page 17 of Foul Days

“It’s called a train,” Gizda said. “It’s a kind of horseless carriage—”

The end of the sentence got drowned by loud hissing and screeching, as the train passed over the bridge above their heads. Its windows shone, and inside it, people sat, talking and laughing, and snoring with their cheeks pressed against the windows.

A train! Kosara let go of the breath she’d been holding. Of course it was a train.

She’d read about trains in plenty of romance novels. They were often the scenes of dramatic chases over the roofs of the carriages, and hushed love confessions in the dark compartments. She’d just never thought they would be so big, so loud, or so bright.

But then again, everything in Belograd seemed to be big, loud, and bright.

Kosara looked down at her ruined talisman. She let the egg fall to the ground. It would make a fine dinner for one of Belograd’s many stray cats.

“Sorry. I thought…” Kosara cleared her throat. Gizda must have taken her for an uneducated, provincial fool. “I thought it was a monster. It’s been a long day.”

“Don’t worry about it. The first time I saw them, I nearly pissed myself, too.” Gizda laughed again. “We’re almost there. I should have maybe mentioned the room is near the train station. I hope you don’t mind the noise.”

Kosara shrugged. She was so exhausted, she doubted anything could keep her awake.

Finally, they reached a dilapidated house squeezed between two taller buildings. Gizda led Kosara up the narrow stairwell soaked in a familiar cocktail of smells: dirt, mildew, and Chernogradean sour cabbage.

The attic room was barely big enough for both of them to fit standing next to the rickety bed. The wind slammed against its only window and whistled in the chimney. Gizda reached and pulled on a cord, making the electric bulb hanging from the ceiling crack and sizzle, filling the room with bright yellow light.

Kosara gasped despite herself. How posh was that! In Chernograd, you only got electricity in public buildings.

“I know, I know, it’s a mess,” Gizda said, obviously misunderstanding Kosara’s reaction. She waved a hand towards the old clothes scattered over the bed and the miscellaneous objects in boxes on the floor. “As my mum used to say, it looks like Lamia has been through it, though it beats me what that’s supposed to mean. But it should do you for a few days. There are extra blankets in the wardrobe. I keep old clothes there too, feel free to help yourself.”

“Thank you,” Kosara said. Gizda looked at her as if she was a charity case. Which, Kosara supposed, she was. “I had no time to pack…”

“Don’t worry about it. We Chernogradeans have to help each other. God knows no one else would. Do you know anyone on this side of the Wall? I can ask around for them if you want.”

“I don’t.…” Kosara said, but then she realised that wasn’t entirely true. There was someone. He still owed her quite a lot of money, and besides, she was certain he was involved with smugglers. Maybe he knew the stranger.

Kosara couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when she turned up at his doorstep.

“Do you know Sevar Tabakov? He’s about my height, dark hair—”

Gizda clapped her hands in front of her chest. “Of course I know Sevar! Why didn’t you tell me you’re Sevar’s friend?”

“I’m not exactly his—”

“Oh dear, how exciting is this? You’ve arrived right on time—his engagement party is the day after tomorrow. Or”—Gizda checked her watch—“I suppose, tomorrow. Everyone’s going.”

“He’s getting married?” Kosara said, but the real question she wanted to ask was, He’s found someone stupid enough to marry him?

“Yes, to a Belogradean girl, can you believe it? I heard her parents are furious. Anyway, I’ll give you the address.” Gizda buried her arm in her bag, rummaging for a piece of paper and a pen. “He’ll be so happy to see you, I’m sure, he’s such a lovely boy.”

Internally, Kosara rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother saying anything. She had to admit Sevar could be charming. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have managed to swindle her out of her life savings.

Roksana had introduced her to Sevar a couple of years after Kosara had escaped the Zmey’s grasp. A couple of years after Nevena’s death. Sevar had sensed Kosara’s vulnerability, and he’d done precisely what every good con man did: he’d mercilessly exploited it.

“There you go, hen.” Gizda handed her a note with the address. “I’ll let you get your beauty sleep now. I’ll be downstairs. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I can’t believe you never told me you’re Sevar’s friend!”

Kosara forced a smile. It immediately fell off her face once she shut the door behind Gizda’s broad back.

She walked to the window and peeked through the dusty curtains. Her room was as basic as they got, but she had to admit the view was magnificent. At nearly four in the morning, Belograd didn’t sleep. The multihued lanterns decorating its market stalls and shop windows shone brightly. Streetlights framed the roads like garlands. The tall towers and onion domes of churches, mosques, and palaces glinted in the moonlight: green copper, burnished brass, and bright, shining gold.

Kosara smiled despite herself. She’d just had a terrible day. Scratch that, it had been a disaster of a day. But there was a silver lining—she could at least ruin Sevar’s engagement party tomorrow. And hopefully, he’d tell her where to find the stranger.

She rested her forehead against the cold window frame. Her mind cleared somewhat. Away from the Zmey’s threatening presence and Belograd’s bustle, for the first time in what felt like hours, she started thinking.

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