They had travelled to the border already; they were bound for Russia. It turned out that Herr Stoll had been a man of certain prominence in the Communist Party, and he had made quite a few friends abroad who were willing to provide lodging for his remaining family.

The Stolls shivered underneath the soft and sporadic flickering of a tiny piece of sun in its cast-iron trapping. It was around dinner time and the three of them could smell the taste of food lingering in the air, accompanied by the lively chatter of families.

Presently, a man came to meet them. He had a large, jovial face and was wrapped in a thick woollen coat. Autumn was approaching and the leaves tinged in the vibrant colours of a volcanic eruption were paying heed to that.

"Maria?" The man asked, and when their mother responded, he threw up his arms in joy. "Thank the Lord in high heaven—you made it!"

Pleasantries were exchanged and the man—Rotz—lamented at the loss of their father; "a fine man, to be sure". At the end of it, he pulled out a stack of wrapped cards from his pocket and presented them to Maria who opened them gratefully.

"Travelling for you should not be much of a problem, Frau Stoll. It's the boy who I had to make the fake ones up for—I doubt our generous Fuhrer would appreciate the loss of a fine soldier!"

"The boy?" Maria asked in confusion; a confusion that grew more apparent when she only pulled out one fake document. "I'm sorry, Herr Rotz, but all three of us are going!"

Slack jawed in shock and horror, Herr Rotz sputtered, "But the messenger said that only two of you would be making the journey!" He pointed a beefy finger at Travis. "I only got his picture; not the other ones!"

Travis and Connor rolled their eyes in unison. "Honestly Rotz," Connor joked, "We thought you were the best and you mixed up a simple order!"

Maria glared at him. "It's no matter, Herr Rotz. We can simply find a place to stay until you can help us make Connor's—"

"'Fraid you can't." The man said dismally. "See, Frau Stoll, our Fuhrer—blessed is his name—is going to wage an entirely idiotic war on the rest of Europe very soon. And I'm not staying here to be dragged down by that madman. I've got my own bags packed and I'm leaving in two hours for America. I'm terribly sorry, but it's all been arranged."

"But—but..." The seconds that pressed on them were urgent and desperate.

Connor looked at Travis with an exasperated expression. "Oh of course he made your document, Travis. It's always me, isn't it?"

"We simply can't go, then." Said their mother.

"Go ahead." Said Connor with much effort, "I'm sure I can find someone to help—"

"Not a good idea." Said Rotz. "We all knew you came to me because your father," his voice grew sombre, "was a great friend of mine. You don't know anyone else here; who are you going to trust? For all you know they could be Gestapo spies!"

"You're not helping, Herr Rotz." Travis groaned.

"Actually I am." The man said, pausing. "Frau Stoll, you and your son can board the train for Poland and on to Russia first. That part there will be no trouble with."

"But I can't leave my son behind!" The woman protested in frustration.

"You will not. Connor—is that it?—will be going to Russia as well, just taking a different route." Enjoying the hope that appeared on their faces, Rotz continued, "I have a niece of mine—Natasya—who will be making a trip to Russia on her own accord. She has no documents or anything and her trip is contraband; Lord knows why she does it. She will be leaving tonight, after a little mission. I'm sure she will be able to bring Connor along."

"What mission?" Connor asked, interested.

"No one knows."

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Their mother asked, "No offence, Herr Rotz… It's just that these are dangerous times."

Herr Rotz burst into amused laughter. "I myself don't trust Natasya! She was crooked from the moment the Good Lord in high heaven saw fit to curse her mother with her, the devil!"

"That," said Connor with resignation, "Is encouraging."

"That," replied Herr Rotz, "is why she can be trusted. I would trust her with nothing, it is true—except my life. Thieves honour, my friends. I and she will betray each other in any way except one that involves life. Rest assured, your son will be safe ."

"I'm still not certain…"

"It's the only way, ma." Connor said. Noticing the expression on Travis's face, he asked, "You're not worried about me, are you?"

"No. If you don't make it it just means that there'll be more food for me."

"Travis!" His mother began and he shrugged.

"I suppose… If you can guarantee, Herr Rotz… My husband did trust you after all."

"And that trust I will not betray," he promised. "Come, Connor, let's go meet the demon!" He turned away to give the little family some privacy.

"Ma, you have to do this," Connor said, "We'll all meet in Russia."

He looked at Travis; it was an unspoken pact that they knew that one of them would have to go with their mother. It was just the way things were; they had tried to be especially dutiful after their father's leaving. They had to make sure their mother would be safe as well.

"Now?" Connor finally asked, giving his mother a hug and Travis a clap on the back that his brother returned.

"Yes, now!"

With a final wave and a step around the corner, he disappeared.

-x-

"Why doesn't she use documents? Isn't it less dangerous?"

"More fun for her, she says. She's not right in the head. German on her father's side, which accounts for me being her uncle. Russian on her mother's which accounts for both her name and her thick skin."

Rotz led Connor up a steep, spiralling staircase in a musty, dark enclave to a shoddy looking door. He rapped twice and pushed it open. Immediately a shoe flew at him, accompanied by a burst of angry cursing.

"Hello, my dear niece!"

"Go to hell!"

Connor felt whatever faint glimmer of hope he had gradually fade away. After angrier cursing, Natasya calmed down enough to talk to them cordially. She was not pretty, but pleasant looking; her hair was thin and the colour of malt and her eyes were wide set and deceptively honest. The argument was something old and comfortable like a worn flannel shirt; not particularly hostile.

She agreed that she would help Connor to get to Russia and all but kicked her uncle out of the house. She glared at Connor in the aftermath. He glared back at her.

"So what's this mission you're uncle said you were going on?"

"If it was any of your fucking business, I would tell you!" She snapped as she tossed some items into bag.

"Language, now." He winked.

She gave him a murderous glare and wrenched the bag shut. She crossed over to the door, and turned off the lights. "You coming or what?"

Connor was half-tempted to say "or what" to piss her off, but decided against it. He would prefer not to be sent to Russia in a box.

-x-

The minute they descended onto the now-quiet early night time street, Natasya swivelled around to go right; the houses were arranged in way of wealth: the poorest made up the left; the biggest, most ornate house was located on the right.

"Who lives there?" Connor asked.

Natasya sighed. "The village mayor does; he's a Nazi. Of course he's not the only one, but he's the most terrible. I'm going to be taking some money from him."

"This a grand-robbery, huge heist thing? Connor asked eagerly. Natasya glared at him. It seemed to be a habit.

"Please don't mess this up."

"Woman," he snorted, "I'm an expert at these types of things."

"Are you?" Her gaze frosted again. They were walking a bit off the curb, the grass around their feet soft and comforting. "What is your expertise? Apples, vegetables? Food from the crates outside the store?"

Connor made to retort but she was already walking briskly past him. Perhaps it was a bad idea: stealing from the village's most dangerous Nazi on the night he was illegally leaving Germany, but Natasya had issued an unspoken challenge, and as such, it was his duty to accept it.

The house was arrogant and overtly extensive. Already, Connor felt a twinge of hatred for the inhabitants. He imagined a crisp officer like Katie's father.

"Did this village have any Jews?" He asked Natasya.

"Yes. She was a young woman, she lived alone; she worked for the tailor. She was taken awaken when... when, you know."

They walked purposely towards the windows of the first floor, which were dark and of a floor-to-ceiling length.

"Good." Natasya said. "He must be out. The bastard always has the lights on at night if he's in.

"Is he scared of the dark?"

Natasya ignored him and went over to the door which was locked. Connor slid a bobby pin from her hair and jiggled it inside the lock. She hit him and he winced but the door—which was a rich, golden-brown, honey-wine sort of colour, clicked open. They both went inside.

The room was dark.

"I doubt he keeps all his money in here." Connor said uneasily.

"He keeps some of it, at least; in a safe by his bed. I've seen it."

"How the hell are we going to open the safe?"

"I know the combination. I've spied on him."

"I just wanted to go to Russia." He said mournfully.

"For God's sake, shut up!"

They walked up the staircase—the banister slippery and well-polished under their fingertips—and turned into the third door on the right. The bedroom was unlocked.

It was a neat room. The officer was a methodical, logical man who had a fist of iron. He was good to the children of course; the children he viewed as human, at least. In his arrogance at his superiority—it did not cross his mind that anyone would go against what he thought his firm, kind leadership—he had kept the safe by the bed, disguised only be a fine, set of scarves that made it look like an ottoman. A flag hung from the balcony railings: red with a white circle in the middle, the swastika leering down at the rose garden below. A light drizzle was creating a fine, thin mist; the damp air was causing a thick and heady perfume to rise from the roses. Connor was momentarily reminded of Katie writing about flowers in a notebook, which in turn reminded him of his friend Reuben and how they both would tease his younger brother Malcolm. He saw his father, showing him how to tie a proper knot, his weathered face creased in concentration. Shaking his head to rid it of the unwelcome memories, which were making his skull itch, Connor watched Natasya swing the safe door open. Her hands immediately lunged for the money and Connor knew there was no way he'd be getting any of it. He walked around the room, coming to a stop at a burnished cabinet.

Prising open the drawer, he blinked. It was full of watches atop a green felt layering. Looking back to make sure Natasya was still busy with the safe, Connor pulled the first one out. It was gold. He wondered briefly why the man hadn't worn this out before he realised: the graceful curve of the clasp, the intricacy of the detailling that surrounded the watch face mimicking embroidery; it was a woman's watch. He stuck it into his pocket. There were many more; all expensive, all tasteful. The man was a watch collector. Connor stuck all of them, there were ten in total, in his bag's hidden compartment. Natasya came from behind, plucking the remaining watch from his hand. This watch was slightly plain compared to the others, but no less beautiful. The face was mother-of-pearl, faint rainbows on the shining surface, and surrounded by crystalline jade.

"Hey-" Connor began to protest, because Natasya was pissing him off, but she shook her head, her expression repulsed.

"I know this watch. It was hers, the Jew I told you about! The bastard!"

I suppose even thieves have moralistic qualms.

Connor felt sick. Stealing was all fine and well, but stealing from the dead... Well that was something neither he or Natasya could stomach. The girl stuffed the watch angrily into her pocket and Connor knew that she would not be using that to her advantage, at least.

"Well that is done." She said, "Let's go."

They made to leave by the front, but they heard the door open and slam.

"The window, the window!" Connor gasped and they ran towards it.

"It's nothing but garden!" Connor despaired. Natasya sighed and heaved him out of the open window; he was too shocked to think proper but he landed into a soft clump of rose bushes, water fairies from their gentle petals slipping onto his skin. Natasya joined him mere seconds later. He realised belatedly that the length was not that far off, there hadn't been much risk of too bad an injury.

"You could have killed me!" He was fine- winded from the fall, but fine.

"Too bad I didn't."

He glared at her, but she had already made her way to her feet and was running down the street, so he followed.

-x-

"So there are two men in jail, right. One of them says to the other, 'hey what are you in here for?' He replies saying that he always comes in to work on time. The first man is confused and asks for elaboration. 'Oh,' says the other, 'They assumed I must have an american watch to always be on time.'"

Connor was so amused by himself that he doubled over laughing. "Welcome to mother Russia!"

Natasya had gone into her moods again and she turned around to glare at him while picking an apple of a pile and slipping it into her pocket.

"Don't you ever speak to me again."

Connor sighed. Travis would have laughed at the joke; but then he would have followed it up with something better and everyone would forget about Connor. That did tend to happen.

What was wrong with him today? Perhaps it was just something to do with the soft rain and the train station but he was feeling strangely melancholy.

The rumbling of the train was making congealed, grey puffs in the air. It was a supply train and it's destination was Russia. The locomotive was whistling, a high-pitched sound that seemed to scrape at Connor's ears.

"How are we going to get on again?"

"It will be no problem when we get into Poland. It will make a stop and we can get a ride legally on another train."

"Well, are we going to sneak in amongst the goods for this one?"

She gave him a disgusted look. "The goods? They'll check the goods! We can slip in under the train."

Connor shook his head. "Ah... And I thought you couldn't joke, Natasya."

"I am not joking! It is the safest place! You get underneath, secure yourself by the rods and just hold on! Or don't you dare?"

Plenty of unpleasant words were teetering on the edge of Connor's tongue but he burst out with a simple, light, "Of course I dare. Just tell me how."

"We get on know." She appraised him coolly. "It's due any minute and we'd best do it in the clear."

They both rolled under the train, the soot etching itself momentarily in their noses and causing them to sneeze. Connor watched how Natasya wedged herself neatly into the underside of the train and imitated her. One of the bars was pressing into his stomach but a quick shift gave him a more comfortable position.

"We stay this way until Poland?"

"No, you idiot! We wait until the train leaves the station for a bit, then we climb out and get in to the supplies. We can leap off when just after we reach Poland so they won't know."

"Why didn't you just get papers. Or your own documents?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

She probably had some issues. The train rumbled the life, the wheels next them whirring. With an almighty lurch, the locomotive started to press forwards. Connor found himself amazed at the speed of which he was flying over the gravel. The sound of the engine in his ears, the ground both close and away from him... It was surreal, strangely surreal.

He found himself in a contented silence, his mind drifting to other matters. Travis was probably comfortably in an aisle seat now. Connor did wish that his brother was here- that would be fun, no doubt; indeed it was strange for him to be separated from Travis, if only because the two had been together for as long as he could remember (forever, actually) and it felt odd to be out from under his shadow.

And he wouldn't be thinking this if Travis was in danger -no this was only because he was secure in the knowledge that his brother was safe- but that was a strangely freeing place to be; not being under his brother's shadow.

-x-

About forty-five minutes after the train set off, Natasya gave the signal for them to get up. Connor didn't feel too happy about making his way up the violently shifting train but the friction and contained space were beginning to hurt his back and his arms were getting numb; if they didn't make it off now there was going to be a far chance that they would fall off.

So he waited for Natasya to ease her way out and grip the underside of the train before she swung out. His heart beating wildly, he followed; the once comforting and monotonous rush of track underneath now seemed lethal. In his peripheral vision, through eyes clouded with fear, he saw the girl make her way to the connector. He realised that he was standing up now and he followed her. He only dared to breathe normally when they had made their way into a carriage filled with what he presumed to be grain. Compared to the howling of the wind outside and the rushing of the train, the space here was wonderfully quiet.

Once they neared Poland, Natasya nudged him awake; he had fallen asleep and he rubbed his eyes.

"We get off here." She instructed, pointing. He saw nothing but an expanse of grass that led off into an eventual forest.

"What; we leap off?"

"Isn't that what I told you?"

So they both stood, facing the grass with the wind rushing into their faces, whistling in their ears and making their eyes water before Natasya grabbed Connor's wrist and threw them both off the train; they rumbled onto the downy grass, collecting their breath in short, raspy puffs.

It was so absurd that Connor began to laugh.

Standing up on shaky legs, they made their way into the small town that greeted them, where they bought a ticket that would take them to Russia.

Connor's usual documents would let him in since he was no free of the German guards that would have turned him around and marched him to the step of the army. Natasya had hers too, free from the German strain as well.

They waited by a lake for the train to board. It was strangely peaceful with the faint starlight and the rippling water. In the deep quiet, it was hard to believe that a shadow was hanging over Europe, that soon life as they knew it would become a bloody mark on the sheet of history.

"She always liked the water; lakes more than seas." Natasya said, sliding a thumb over the watch's clasp. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft and free of it's usual droll cynicism.

"They're bastards," she hissed to herself, "damned bastards." She drew back her arm and threw the watch as far out as she could reach; it shimmered once in the water before it twinkled into oblivion.

In ten days, though they didn't know it then, Hitler would march his armies into Poland. The lake, now silent and sparkling, would be tinged with blood.

Connor shrugged. "Why did the bird drop out of the tree?"

Natasya stood up to leave. He pursed his lips to suppress his laughter.

"It was dead."

-x-

They spent the ride to Russia stealing: Natasya took the blobs of butter packaged into wrapped cubes. Connor took paper tubes of sugar.

-x-

When they finally reached Russia, it was evening. The horizon was purplish-blue, the edges fringed with a reddish glow that rinsed the buildings and the skeleton trees. Trouble arose immediately on the platform when a gang of angry men started a fight. Connor had no idea what the hell was going on but things had started flying around and people were running and screaming and then there were gunshots. It was over nothing really, just a gang war that they had the misfortune to find themselves in.

He realised that the human wave had separated him and Natasya. A haze of bullets and sharp objects were cementing the barrier between them. Something knocked Connor on the head and he collapsed onto the hard floor, blood erupting from his upper lip.

He looked up at Natasya; it would be suicide for her to try help him up (and no one else even realised because they were too busy fighting or escaping) but she had to, didn't she?

I would never trust Natasya.

Her blood uncle's words, Connor thought despondently; he himself was unsure if he could trust the girl.

And rightly so: she was looking over her shoulder, wondering if she should help Connor. Her expression seemed to decide against it and she turned slightly to go.

Connor looked at her pleadingly, the shouts and shots echoing in his already throbbing head, before his vision clouded and faded into black.

-x-

When Connor woke up, the first thing he experienced was a thwack to the head that made everything go black again.

-x-

When he woke once more something was pressed immediately to his lips; he felt a hot, burning trickle run down his throat. There was a gleeful, "It's vodka, ass!" and he heard footsteps, vaguely.

Then the bottle was whisked away and a beam of light entered -oh he was in a room. On a bed. Outside he could see the spires of Saint Basil of Moscow: the fleshy, blossoming bases that gave way to tapered swirls; they were painted in clay shades and their effect against the dark sky was mystical.

"Did you whack him again, Travis?" He heard his mother's comforting voice.

"No, ma, I swear!"

Then his mother was engulfing him into a hug.

"You made it, oh you made it! Natasya brought you up here... Not by yourself, of course, she wasn't strong enough so she got help to carry you up the stairs."

"What?"

"He's confused!" Travis said with a strange delight. "Okay, Connor. You owe me money- lots of it!"

"Travis!"

It was all coming back to him now: the fight at the train station, the soft bed of roses, the gravel as he flew over it pressed to the underside of the train...

"I made it." He said slowly, savouring the words. "I made it!" He grinned up at them before asking, "Where's Natasya?"

"Oh, she left. Couldn't say, she said. She won't be back."

"Oh." He was too muggy to think about that for now. So she had helped him, she supposed she wasn't that bad after all. He then realised that she wasn't that bad, actually. After all, he'd made it to Russia! She'd put up with his jokes! They'd stolen enough to run a confectionary, even! He then remembered the watches; now that they were in a brand new country, a little bit of wealth wouldn't go amiss.

He stretched over the side of his bed to pick up his bag and rifled through the zippers until he found a hidden compartment. He reached into it and withdrew his hand, torn between a fierce desire to either laugh or curse.

The bag was empty. Natasya had struck again.