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for you, son. I went to work in the bloody mine at fourteen, was there till a magazine accident took my arm and my eyesight. Had a wood fragment skewered my brain, else we wouldn’t be here making idle talk. You come back for nostalgia?”
    â€œExplanations,” Bapcat said. “I guess.”
    Supanich said, “I just gave you good as you’re likely to get.”
    â€œMrs. Hoogstratton was head matron.”
    â€œCut her wrists and died, dispatching herself with a lot more efficiency than she ever showed when she was running this place. St. Cazimer’s was abandoned for months. Vagrants used it, but now it’s too run-down even for the likes of them. Listen, Bapcat—a name’s just a damn label, and there ain’t no shame in being a bastard. Back in the day of Queen Elizabeth, bastards were considered nature’s little accidents, and kids weren’t punished for something they had no say in.”
    â€œYou were around back then?” He had no idea when Queen Elizabeth had lived.
    Supanich laughed. “Seem old enough, don’t I? Nossir, I read till I lost my eyes, and now and then a whore named Aurey Pentoga reads to me. Says reading out loud for money beats being on her back for stinky loggers and miners, and I guess I see her point.”

14
    Swedetown, Houghton County
    FRIDAY, JUNE 6, 1913
    Rose DiSilvestro met Bapcat on the front walk and seemed irritated or confused.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” the new game warden asked.
    Vairo’s sister took a deep breath and said, “Your wife’s here—up in your room.”
    â€œMy wife? I don’t have a wife.”
    â€œNot my concern, you being a grown man and all.” His landlady stalked back into the house, shutting the screen door in his face.
    He saw crude crutches next to his bedroom and on the bed sat Zakov.
    â€œThe doctor you sent is no better than a barber in the matter of medicine. The imbecile wanted to remove my leg, until I informed him that my first action as a one-legged cripple would be to kill him slowly. Your Widow Frei requested I inform you that payment on account will be expected at first opportunity. I joked to your new landlady of being your winter wife, and she became all worked up before I could explain. American women are too damn literal. Initially, I said I was your dogsbody, but she did not understand the word or the concept, and I mistakenly substituted the word wife. ”
    â€œI don’t understand dogsbody either,” Bapcat said sourly.
    â€œThe word refers to an officer’s personal valet.”
    â€œI’m not no officer. You got something against using plain words?”
    â€œYou are far too touchy, my boy.”
    â€œI thought you would be in a hospital.”
    Zakov tapped a leg cast. “The latest thing. Plaster serves to immobilize bone until the bone can knit itself. I’m already a maestro on crutches.”
    â€œThe hospital should have put that plaster on your head until your brain heals.”
    The Russian smiled thinly. “This is a poor way to address the dear wife you’ve not seen in so long.”
    â€œYou ain’t staying with me—is that more to the point?”
    â€œI have nowhere else to go.”
    â€œThat’s not my problem. You tried to steal from me, remember?”
    â€œIrrelevant, my friend, and moot. In Russia if you rescue a critically injured man, you are subsequently and eternally responsible for his welfare.”
    â€œThis ain’t your goddamn Russia, and what exactly does critically mean?”
    Zakov waved a finger. “A hair of definition to be parsed, massaged verbally, and debated ad infinitum. It can mean what you wish, or not wish—your choice.”
    Bapcat slung a crutch at the man, who caught it. “Get out, thief.”
    Zakov didn’t move. “The hospital has discharged me, but I cannot return to the taiga until I heal. You are responsible for my