Chapter 3: Two for One

Dmitri is buried at sea.

Tension is high on the ship. Much of the crewmen want to throw Robert overboard. He's not worth ten thousand rubles, but Alexi admires Robert. There's a glint of pride in the man's eyes every time he glances in the boy's direction.

"Lawrence was right. You'll be good for them," Alexi had said at dinner the night of Dmitri's burial. Robert had beamed from the praise despite neither he nor she knowing who them were.

They will make port that day at Riga. There first port had been at Denmark awhile back which Hermione wasn't allowed to leave the ship. The crewmen took turns leaving and returning with pastries in their hands and bruises on their necks, accompanied with a spring in their step. And when Hermione longingly looked upon Aarhus, she pictured herself running along the cobbled streets and pressing her face against the glass windows of the sweetshops. Staring didn't cause cavities.

Alexi feared she'd tell a grown up or a police officer her story.

His fears weren't unfounded.

She wants to go home.

The hours pass too quickly for Hermione. She finds herself on deck, shivering from the cold. There are ice chunks the ship has to dodge, but up ahead is land. Grayish black smoke rises into the sky from factories. Riga is not as pretty as Aarhus. There is a bone-deep coldness in the air, which makes everything before her appear lifeless. Should it be so cold in March? Is still March? She's not sure.

Robert appears beside her, and she tries to read his expression out of her peripheral. There's a tick in his jaw, and that's it.

"You'll have to leave the gun," she tells him.

"You'll have to leave the knife," he counters.

"Do you think," she starts hesitantly, "they'll be nice."

The foreboding they that is them.

"No."

"Do you think we're going to die?"

His jaw ticks again, and then he's standing tall, chin out. "I'm not. You might."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm Ralph and you're Simon."

Her fingers curl and tighten around the cold metal of the railing, and she focuses her blurry gaze on Riga again. She bites back the urge to cry and tells him forcefully, "You're Jack."

He shrugs. "Either way, you're done for."

"They want me, you know? Dr. Lawrence got rid of you because he was sick of you."

Robert grabs her by the shoulders and forces her to face him. "He got rid of me because he's scared of me. I would've lit that bloody institute on fire." He gets closer to her. "Starting it in your room."

He doesn't scare her, even though she believes him. She stands her ground, refusing to shirk from his glare. He's not going to hurt her now. He will die if he does. Ten thousand rubles, she's worth as opposed to the nothing he is. He'll be tossed overboard before they reach port.

Alexi calls them down below deck, and they're led to a washroom neither had seen before and instructed to clean up as good as they can. There's a rectangular metal tub of steaming water on the moldy, tiled floor and a jagged chunk of soap. She and Robert haven't bathed since their arrival on the ship, and both start gravitating towards the tub which promises warmth and cleanliness.

Modesty isn't something they concern themselves with because they both insist on bathing first. They remove their clothes and tuck themselves into the tub. Hermione's fine with Robert using the soap first. It gives her time to enjoy the hot, steamy, liquid-y warmth of the water. She even dunks her wild, heavy hair into the water and cleans it with the soap when Robert hands it off to her.

Pretty soon they're both finished. Hermione dries herself off with the tiny scratchy towel folded up on the nearby bench and slips back into her clothes. They need a washing to, but that's not in the cards.

The ship comes to a stop, and they're fed lunch on the ship once last time. They each get an extra serving of fish and then Alexi comes to collect them. He holds each of their hands and escorts them off the ship. Hermione's heart is in her throat, and her chin trembles at the sight of a suited man leaning against an old but well-kept car. He's looking at her with keen interest which then fades when resting on Robert.

When the three of them reach the car, the suited man speaks in a language Hermione can't understand. It could be Russian, but she doesn't know. The man gestures to the boy, and Alexi says something, too. They argue, the suited man quite fervidly before throwing his hands up and saying, "Okay."

He opens the passenger car door and pulls out a briefcase and shoves it at Alexi who opens it, running his hands through the bills and then nodding. They shake hands.

"Good sailing, Alexi," says the man.

Alexi dips his chin and kneels before her and Robert. "Hermione, do you have your gifts."

The knife is up her sleeve, and the book is tucked in the waistband of her pants. She bobs her head up and down, sniffling.

"Robert," Alexi turns to the boy, finger pointed admonishingly, "don't give them reason to kill you. They will. Prove yourself worthy."

Robert puffs out his chest. "I will."

"Good. Now give me the gun."

The boy looks stricken and darts his eyes away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Give me the gun, boy."

His shoulders sag. "You let Hermione have the knife."

"The knife's a gift. You stole the gun." Alexi holds out his hand, flexing his fingers pointedly.

"No."

"Robert," he warns. "You can't take the gun with you. My good friend Eli here will not take you to your new life if you don't give it to me. Prove yourself, boy, and in time you will be rewarded with many guns."

Grumbling, Robert removes the pistol from his waistband and gives it to Alexi who pats him on the head. "Good boy," he says and retracts to the ship.

Eli opens the backdoor. "It's no use looking at him now. He's in the past. You two will never see him again. Come, children."

The drive isn't as long as Hermione expects. Having got used to the long drawn out days on the ship, she's surprised and beside herself with fear that she's only been in the car for a little less than an hour before Eli's pointing at a structure up ahead. It's a facility of sorts, encased by a mountain and perched on a rocky hill. The building is anything but welcoming, and she shivers when Eli says, "Welcome to your new home, children."

They drive over a stone bridge, a partially frozen river beneath, and stop at a gate. There's a booth with two guards in it, and they're two guards at the gate. One of the men in the booth waves at Eli to head on through, and the gate opens.

The driveway winds halfway around the hill, and Eli drives the car inside a parking garage housing several other vehicles. Two more guards come up to the car and without preamble, open the backdoors to grab her and Robert. The boy wiggles and screams which does nothing to distract the large armored man holding him. If anything, the guard picks up his pace and darts through a wide doorway. Hermione hears his echoes bounce off the stone walls as the guard carrying her follows behind.

Unlike Robert, she doesn't put up a struggle. What would be the point, really? She's far from home. Far from the docks. She can't speak the language. She wouldn't make it to the gate before being snatched up again.

Robert's echoes fade to the point she can no longer hear him. The guard brings Hermione into another hallway, this one looking more like a hospital's corridor. A woman around her mum's age who wears a white lab coat appears from around the corner and motions to the guard.

"Bring her in here." Her accent is thick. Thicker than both Alexi's and Eli's. The guard brings her into a tiled room with a drain in the middle of the floor. There are showerheads off the left, and a chair with straps off to the right.

"She's filthy." The woman turns up her nose. "Strip her and burn those rags."

The guard pulls out a pocket knife and slices through the material like the threads are made of hot butter. Her knife and book fall to the ground, and the guard laughs picking the knife up and showing it to the amused and smirking woman.

"Give that back, it's mine." Hermione goes to reach for it, but the guard throws it across the room.

"You're only allowed a weapon if you intend to use it. Do you intend to use the knife against me and Kristof?"

Hermione quiets, shame coloring her cheeks as the guard shreds her trousers. Her boots are removed, and the woman turns on one of the showerheads, her hands testing the water.

"That will take a minute to warm. Kristof," she dips her chin at the guard and then flicks her gaze to Hermione, eyes narrowing at the child's torso, "what is that on her stomach?"

Hermione attempts to hide the healing wound Dmitri left her, but the guard grabs ahold of her hands. The woman marches up to the girl runs her cold fingertips over the wound. Hermione flinches and turns away.

"Who did this to you? Was it Alexi?"

"No."

"A part of his crew?"

She doesn't say anything.

"Do you know what it means?"

Her head shakes. Alexi never told her. Said she didn't need to worry about it.

"Ved'ma," says the woman. "You'll learn soon enough what it means. Kristof, strap her to the chair and shave her head."

"No!" cries Hermione. This time she does struggle as the guard manhandles her into the chair and fastens the straps over her forearms and legs. The woman presents to him a pair of shears and an electric shaver, and she watches unmoved as Hermione sobs a little bit harder when seeing a lock of hair hit her lap. Then when it's all over and done with, she's placed under the water. Her shaky hands run over her head, and there's nothing left but a tuff.

"Stop crying. It's only hair. It will grow back and hopefully into something much more pleasing." The woman gives her a bar of soap and a scrub brush. "Get yourself clean. The Baron is going to want to see you soon."

"The Baron?"

The woman nods. "You were a pricey investment. Do not disappointment him."

Hermione's told to sit down underneath the water stream and scrub her feet and in between her toes. The woman instructs her to clean under her arms, behind her neck, and behind her ears. She also tells her to wash her bum and between her legs.

Hermione blushes, and the woman sighs and tells the guard he can have a cigarette break. Following the shower, the woman grabs a towel and wraps Hermione it.

"There is no hiding here, child. Follow me."

"Can I have my book?" asks Hermione, gesturing to the discarded and forlorn Lord of the Flies.

The woman purses her lips. "Can you read it?"

"One day I might."

The woman considers her and then shrugs one shoulder. "Fine."

Hermione is guided to the hallway and through a steel set of double doors. On the other side of the doors, there were at least three guards roaming the hallway, their guns at the ready. Hermione and the woman pass several doors—these doors looking more like steel traps. Each door has a number, and they stop at number six. The woman punches a code into a keypad on the wall next to the door.

"Don't bother keeping note of the code," the woman comments. "They change daily."

The steel door slides open, revealing a single made-up cot, a sink and a toilet both bolted to the wall, and a tiny desk with an attached chair. No mirror. No shelves. No carpet. The walls are white, and the lights are florescent. On the cot are folded clothing, and Hermione pads over to them. There are two pairs of trousers, one soft and light blue and the other khaki material. There are two white t-shirts, as well, one of them a bit thicker than the other. A few plain white pairs of knickers are folded up, too. At the foot of the bed are a pair of loafers and a pair of trackers, as well.

"Dress. Place the extra clothing under your bed."

The woman leaves, and Hermione sits on the bed for a little while, wanting to just do nothing for a moment. Sensory overload. Coming from a two-week boat trip to this is too much to take in. When she's ready, she shirks the towel and shimmies on the underwear, khakis, and t-shirt. Despite the circumstances, she relishes the clean clothing against her clean skin.

And then she remembers her hair.

Her face crumples, and she rubs her head, wondering if she looks like a boy now.

To distract from the aching sadness and the unbearable homesickness, she puts the remnants of clothing underneath the cot and lays down with her book. She flips through the pages until the unfamiliar words become blurry, and her eyes close.

Once she wakes, she catches a waif of food. On the desk is a metal tray, and there's a bowl of reddish-pink liquid with questionable chunks. Hermione sits down on the chair and sniffs, detecting a savory scent with the slightest hint of sweet. Her belly growls, but she's unsure of the dish. Pink foods are usually associated with sugar, and that's a no no.

A slice of bread is also on her tray and looks much safer. She takes a bite and grimaces, the bitter flavor much like rye. She chokes it down with her carton of milk, which thankfully tastes like what she's used to, before testing the pink soup. With a tentative sip from her spoon, she finds the dish okay. In time, she could even acquire a taste for it. But for now, it's very…beet-y.

Part way through her dish, the door opens and a well-dressed man in glasses enters her room. Hermione straightens in her chair and scrambles to her feet, facing him head on. The man's eyes run up and down her form, and then he smiles warmly.

"Hello Hermione." He comes close to her and kneels, offering his palm which is clean and manicured. Nothing like Alexi's or the guards or even Dr. Lawrence's. "I'm The Baron. I am so very glad to finally meet you."

Hesitantly, she takes his hand and shakes it, biting her bottom lip nervously. The Baron uses his other hand to trace a crooked finger over her cheeks and then under chin.

"You've got a very pretty pair of eyes."

She furrows her brow. "They're only brown."

"Oh, no my dear. They're not only brown." The Baron taps her nose "Good nose. Freckly but not too much. Very nice bone structure. You'll blossom nicely, I have no doubt. Now show me your teeth."

Her mouth cinches closed, and The Baron flicks her nose ungently. "Show me."

Reluctantly, she pulls back her lips and then hurriedly closes them. The Baron chuckles and pats the side of her face. "We won't worry about those now, but you'll make good for Chelintsov's program. For now, you are mine. And Ms. Bērziņš was telling me…"

His words linger, and he lifts the hem of her shirt, and Hermione refrains from shoving his hands away. The scar's ugly. Why does he want to see it?

He pets her head and stands. "Finish your borsch. Get a good night sleep. Your evaluation begins in the morning."

To be Continued...