Page 125 of Shadowfox

“Boat?” I offered. “Up the Danube. Find someone who knows the old crossings.”

Egret frowned. “The river will be under surveillance. The Reds have been fighting smugglers since they occupied the place. Plus, there are probably minefields in some sections, post-war gifts from Hitler they still haven’t cleared out.”

Sparrow stepped away from the stove. “What if we don’t go out? What if we hide? Wait it out until heat dies down?”

“Not an option.” I shook my head, wincing at the sudden movement. “They’ll tear this city apart, find us eventually.”

Eszter, quiet until now, spoke from behind her mug.

“What if we . . . get inside something?”

We all looked at her. A child at a table of spies who was unafraid to speak, to suggest, to contribute. I couldn’t stop a small smile from forming as I encouraged her, “Okay. Go on.”

“Like,” she said, “a delivery truck. Or . . . or a coffin. Something no one would want to open.”

Egret made a sound. “Please tell me you’re not suggesting we fake our own funerals.”

“Who says we’d be faking yours?” Will jabbed.

Egret grinned. “Good one. You’re getting better.”

Eszter was undaunted. “I’m saying . . . people don’t check the dead. Or the boxes full of grain. Or . . . or museum crates.”

Sparrow cocked her head. “She’s not wrong.”

“Not wrong is a long way from right,” I muttered.

“What about a traveling circus?” Will offered, cracking a grin. “Slap a beard on Sparrow, make Egret dress in one of those skimpy wrestler outfits and pretend to be strong.”

“Hey!” He unfurled his arms and flexed one, balling a bicep into an impressive mass.

“That’s cute,” I teased. “But it might fool some people into thinking you’re a strong man.”

Sparrow joined in my ridiculousness. “We juggle our way to freedom.”

“I can juggle,” Egret said seriously.

“Of course you can.” Will chuckled, but the tension didn’t really lift.

“Those are great ideas, Eszter.” Sparrow nodded toward the girl in an almost maternal gesture, then rubbed her forehead. “What about . . . what about a pilgrimage group?”

I blinked. “A what?”

“There’s a pretty well-known one that goes from here to a Marian shrine in Mariazell, Austria, every year. I read about it in some of the papers Manakin gave us to get up to speed on the culture here. I bet the Soviets still allow it to happen. They might not love other religions, but even Stalin gets the local value of religious tolerance in a country he’s trying to control, Soviet PR and all.”

“Huh.” Egret sat forward, all humor replaced by deep thought—a look I found particularly amusing on the grumpy guy.

“We could hide among the travelers, alongside priests, a bunch of nuns, some poor children . . . No one would look too closely.”

“How far is it from here to Mariazell?” I asked.

Sparrow hesitated, then said, “A little over two hundred miles.”

“Two hundred—?” Will gasped. “With Thomas delirious and a teenage girl in tow?”

“I can walk,” I said, not quite believing my own words. It was one thing to walk from the bedroom to the den, but a twenty-six-day jaunt across foreign territory under the watchful eye of Soviet soldiers? The whole thing sounded more mad with every passing moment.

“It’s freezing outside,” Will protested. “There’s no way we’ll last that long. This is insane.”

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