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Chapter Text

The prestigious Bachelor Dankovsky spoke of a grand utopian future. He painted a vivid and enthralling tale. The Polyhedron was who he found himself devoted. He spoke past the Inquisitor and pleaded with Commander Block. The Changeling dismissed all of this with a wave, “You are blind. With such direct actions you will destroy something grand. He’s sick and dying. If you only save her, you waste all of our time. Both can be saved. My hands will be its conduit, for God loves me.”

The Haruspex shook his head, “Girl of fate, you are wrong. I admire your optimism, but one must fall and the people and the Earth come first. With a pinpoint shot we can end all of this and save Mother Earth, and the tower will fall. A potential future that seems to good to be true often is. Daniil, I’m sure you know that, Oynon, can’t you understand?”

Dankovsky ranted and wreathed at him, “Artemy, you cannot be serious. The Polyhedron creates eternal life, it is the key to all our futures and fates. You must be mad to throw that away. And for what? A town that has done nothing but hurt and persecute you. Have you lost your mind?”

“One precise shot.”, Alexander Block decreed. It was decided.

The Haruspex spoke with a grave gravel, “I’m sorry, Emshin.”

“Don’t.”, Dankovsky cut him off, “I do not need this dribble from you, Burakh. You have doomed us all to time.”

 The Haruspex looked on to the other two mournfully.

The Inquisitor rained in room with her soft voice, as if it were a whip they all turned, “Well. It is decided. You have until nightfall to evacuate the Republic of Children from the premise of the super structure known colloquially as the Polyhedron. I doubt you’ll have much resistance, Burakh, given your sway. Once it is done the Commander will end it. He will end all of this.”, she gathered her hands and skirt and sat down on her throne. The fabric draped down again. A hollow, grim gaze met the glossy, freshly mopped marble floor of the Cathedral.

Dankovsky was beside himself. Clara more so. She pulled at her hair and pulled her toque down over her eyes. She groveled, “It was all for nothing. We could have saved both of them.”

The Bachelor didn’t have the wherewithal to argue that point, so he nodded, “Yes. We are about to lose everything.”

The Town on Grokhon slept. The streets didn’t harbor even a mumble or murmur, everyone was still and silent. The wind played with the street signs freely, the rusty sway and scrapping was the only sound for miles. The empty visage of the Polyhedron loomed over them. Dankovsky parted ways with one glove to brush his hand over her and take in her sights before she would haunt him as nothing more than a memory. She was paper, she was glass, she was crystal, the texture was indescribable. She was everything, and she was now nothing. Her empty chambers clung onto discarded and forgotten teddy bears and wooden trains. Her glow had dimmed. He felt as if she knew. He sat on her stairs and gazed at the town below. The town that would eat her whole. A miracle left to die. And for what? He felt the pull of the fall. He hoisted himself up onto his feet and backed away from the edge. He looked back at her and said goodbye. Clasping onto her, as best as is feasible given her scale, he gave her a kiss. He mutters to himself, “What has come over me. The town’s absurdity has made me a depraved loon.”. He was smitten with her; he had been since day one. He watched her as he grew farther and farther away. Her familiar soft gold glow faded behind the Cathedral’s dark looming silhouette. The last day she lived was spent alone atop a hill, doomed to come crashing down in moment’s time. The townsfolk that remained outdoors quietly avoided looking at her entirely. He felt ill. Clara on the other hand hid away in alleys. Her old allies all spent and separated from her. The soon approaching winter promised a swift cold demise. She failed to think that far ahead. She huddled and hid.

The canons marched into town. With an army behind them they struck. She splintered and collapsed. The Earth taking her down with it. The town stared onward at her. The soil and debris filled the air and swarmed their lungs of anyone standing too close. Dankovsky hacked and pulled a mask over his face. Clara wasn’t so lucky. She was closer, just in front of him, and small. The rubble and dust threatened to take her out entirely in spite on the plague’s behalf. Dankovsky pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her and whipped a tear from her face. He found it in himself to scold her, “You should have thought this through, you stood too close and now you’re bound to get clown’s lung.”

“Akh, you’re one to talk, Bachelor. I was no closer than you.”, she coughed and hacked hard enough to strain her throat.

She was right, like his grandmother he finds himself chastising her for his own actions. She cannot know that. He pinches her ear lightly, more for the gesture of it, “Yes. But I am not the size of two pints stacked on top of each other. You must be carful.”

She wheezed, it then progressed into a laugh, a strained laugh but a laugh, “Oh-ho! You’re right as ever, Bachelor. It only takes placing you next to your Haruspex to discover you are the size of a cat playing as a man. You are a practical man, are you not? For the cost alone I am surprised you don’t move into a doghouse.”

He pulled on her ear.

“Ow!”

“You need to watch your tone.”, he crossed his arms and held back a smile.

She snorted, “You have forgotten manors in favor for bedside manors.”, and then coughed some more.

His deminer changed, she kept coughing, he began to worry, “Let’s get you out of here. The sand isn’t healthy for either of us, or I would be a disgraced doctor if I just let you stand out here with me, wasting your lungs away into husks.”

She wanted nodded, still clinging onto the embroidered fabric in her face for dear life. Her eyes were watering form the smoke. He pulled her by the wrist, and they moved past the crowded hustle and bustle on the Cathedral’s steps and towards the Stillwater.

“The hospital is east.”, her voice rasped.

“I have some supplies at Eva- at my current residence. And it’s closer.”

The observatory’s metal plating sparkled in the sun, unobscured form the Polyhedron’s majesty. The blue paint chips crunched into the stairs as he haphazardly swung the door open. The dust obscured his vision, and he was in a mad panic. He kept his hold on Clara lose and kept his head held high to feign confidence, if left with no other alternative, faking it is good enough. With a quick click the wooded door was closed, alas the twyrine polluted air still clung to their throats when they entered. He dusted her off, a small pile of sand overpowered the bright red carpet underneath the two of them. He dusted off his hair and shook out his coat, before giving up and discarding it. He washed his gloves quickly and handed Clara a damp cloth, “Here rinse your face with this.”. She did so and with tears still welling up she sat herself on a dinning room cushion. Dankovsky then pulled out a set of glasses and fully filled hers and placed it in front of her before drinking water himself. “How are your eyes feeling? And your throat?”

“I feel dry and gross. But I’m not miserable. My eyes are just watering.”, her tears were still pouring.

“That’s good. Your eyes are clearing out. Can you see?”

“Yeah, kinda?”

“Can you try and rinse your eyes with the sink?”

“Try?”

“Most find it hard to do, I’m just being polite.”

“Okay.”, she stumbled to the sink, he caught her when she fell and guided her the rest of the way. She thanked the lord he didn't make a snide remark out of it. He turned the tap and checked the temperature. With great hesitation she forced her head under the water and let it wash over her. In reflex she pulled her head out from the sink. Her tears began to stop, and she blinked a few times. She reached to whip her eyes and Dankovsky stopped her arm, “Wait, you’ll just get dust in your eyes again. Wash up first.”

“Right. Sorry.”, she looked mortified. She was a saint. And simple dust had rendered her in need of the Bachelor’s aid. She was furious with herself. Still, she washed her arms and splashed water in her face for good measure. She turned back to him to be met with a towel in her face. “Thanks.”, she accepted it and whipped her face raw. With her site cleared again she saw the disaster she made. The entire first floor’s floor was a mess. Dust scattered everywhere and the dinning room a mess. She felt guilty until she looked up at the Bachelor once more. He was worse. His hair blown so far back from the wind of the crash that his hairline was on display for once. It also looked like it was running away from him with how far it receded. His hair and clothes that were once black were powdered beige with dust and rubble form the tower’s fall. His snakeskin jacket was tossed on the floor next to the entrance’s rug in a heap, with the heap of sand and dirt it also collected to match. Her eyes clenched closed again, and her cheeks became sore from laughter. Her voice was still horse.

“Are you okay?”, his concern was genuine.

She must look mad. It only made her laugh harder, “Haha! Sorry- it’s just- Haha! You look like a plain mess!”

His shoulders softened, but the genuine worry left his voice, in exchange for a light mocking tone, “You should see yourself. I didn’t think it was possible for you to look worse.”

She playfully punched his side, “Hey!”

He smiled. Dusting himself off he offered her a pile of clothes from a black trunk by the door, “You can fully clean yourself up upstairs. I need to check on the other people near the crash, I’ll be back in a few hours at worse. I’m glad you didn’t require eye drops and are okay now, but you should rest regardless. It’s been a long day. Don’t destroy this place, but you can recover here in the meantime.”

She chugged some more of her water and then slammed the glass to the table, “I’ll be there to help too.”, her voice was so sore it was next to unintelligible. She continued to cough.

He refilled her glass and chuckled, “Right. I’m sure. But please, don’t get yourself killed. The plague has been delt with, it would be incredibly embarrassing and unfortunate to not see much more than that in your life.”

She accepted the glass and let him go alone. He was still in shambles. He put on his destroyed coat but a fresh face mask and gloves. She decided the embarrassment of almost dying of sand after the sand pest had been ended was nothing compared to state of the Bachelor’s outfit.

After washing up she felt refreshed, it was the first time she had felt warm water in a while, that wasn’t just boiled to make the red guck from upstream more palatable. She washed her clothes to the best of her ability with his fancy soaps. She pressed the water out with her full weight. With her best efforts most of her outfit was still damp, and her hat and scarf remained soaked and unwearable. She accepted the sweater from the clothes Dankovsky lent her. It was a simple black knit with a red rose embroidered on the back. The pattern placement was odd, and the stitching felt rough and awkward. With nothing but time to kill until her throat recovered, and nothing to do but drink water, she let curiosity take her. It drove her and with it she scavenged the Bachelor’s room. She had been in here before, so nothing was new, but she needed to- Oh here we go! She found it, his extra pair of boots. She pulled on the platforms, and they felt like clogs on her. She stood up and felt as though she might risk hitting her head against the roof. They were far too big, and she dared a broken ankle with every step, but she felt so much taller. She giggled to herself as she stomped around in his boots. His uncomfortable boots, and his scratchy sweater. Beauty was said to be pain; he must be very vain. She stumbled and fell onto the hard wooden floor, just shy of one of the carpets. She decided that was an omen for what was to come from such extreme stilts, and so she pulled off his heeled boots and tossed them back underneath his bed. With the simple joy distracting her she finally felt the weight of the day. She felt worn and exhausted. She stole one of Dankovsky’s over the top, beaded and embroidered blankets and took it to the couch downstairs. The living area was one of the few locations left unscathed from the pesky sand and dirt disaster that was the entrance and kitchen. The blanket was a rough and unconfutable from the outside, sacrificing all practicality for the intricate detailing. The sofa was also very intricate, covered in warm paisley print. The fabric was abrasive. The saving grace was the inside of the blanket. It was soft and lovely. She wrapped herself into a bundle, with just her buzzed head poking out. In seconds she scummed to sleep and passed out on Eva Yan’s old couch.

“Daniil, it’s done. You should be celebrating; we saved the town.”, the Haruspex pleaded with the Bachelor, clasping his hands.

Dankovsky yanked his hands away, “You cannot even comprehend what you destroyed. You’ve practically set us back to the stone age, you feigned.”

The Haruspex straightened is back and stiffened, he now towered over Dankovsky. The Bachelor was too enraged to care that he looked like an ankle bitter. The Haruspex’s voiced dimmed, “You don’t mean that.”

Dankovsky eyed the floor, his own hands bawled into fists.

 Burakh then sighed, “Danyushka…”, he sounded spent. The days had ravaged them both.

“I can’t talk any sense into you people.”, he dug himself a deeper grave, “Talking with you and your lot is an exercise in futility.”, he stormed out.

He listened for Burakh’s boots following him. Prayed for his arms, his hand pulling Dankovsky back, but it never came. He stormed out into the pouring rain. He could feel the dirt and guck rinse off him, and his hair flattened to his head.

The door swung open, his mud-covered boots claimed he already destroyed carpet. The house was a disaster. He resolved to clean it when his eyes weren’t fighting to remain open. With long languid blinks his body lulled through the house on auto piolet. He kicked off his boots, hung up his coat and marched himself up to his bed. A small lump caught his eye. Past the dinning room sat a little bundle on the couch. He softened; she was getting rest and taking her doctor’s advice. Perhaps she was less like him than he thought. He watched her for a moment, her rise and fall was normal. With a sigh of relief, he dragged himself up to his own bed. The decretive duvet covered thick blanket was stolen by the rascal downstairs. He threw on a sweater and thick winter socks. He made do and tucked himself under the flat sheet. It felt like the mere suggestion of a blanket. He was cold to the bone, gaining rest proved difficult and tiresome, but he couldn’t disturb the ruffian downstairs.

Chapter Text

Dankovsky heard skittering and rustling downstairs. Cupboards being rummaged through; it had been less than a week and he was being robbed. He reached for his side drawer and pulled out his trusty dévutant and pulled on his gloves. It was empty but an empty threat is still a threat. He delicately crept downstairs with his gun clutched in hand. The leather of his glove wrinkled tightly. In a swift motion he swung it to aim at the source of the noise. He found a young girl with a mouth full of bread and kefir clutched in hand. “Woah! Hey-”, and some unintelligible food filled rambles escaped her mouth through the crumbs.

He lowered his gun quickly and took a deep breath, “I forgot you were here.”

“So, you were going to shoot me?”, The bread flaked crumbs on the floor as she squeezed it in her hand.

“I didn’t know it was you.”, he called as he went back upstairs to store the firearm.

“That doesn’t make it better!”, she yelled from the kitchen. He could hear the new chunk of bread she shoved in her mouth overpowering her yell. He ignored her and quickly got ready for the day. He had it down to a science now. Time had been of the essence for so long. He was nowhere near this efficient at getting dressed back in the day, as Andrey can attest to. He came back down to see Clara still awkwardly huddled in the cupboards. He gestured to the table, “You can eat there you know.” He then realized, “It’s clean.”

She nodded triumphantly, “Yeah, I cleaned up.”

“Thank you, but please eat with your mouth closed.”, he went to rustle her hair only to find there was none, he merely shoved her hat off center and into her face.

She fixed it with her wrist and stuck out her tongue before running off and jumping to one of the cushions. The food she clutched so close to her chest was devoured in seconds. She was a frantic wolf. He looked through the cupboard to find them vacant of anything usable. A few lumps of lard in jars, and a lone stick of butter does not a meal make, no matter how hard to come by they may be. He turned to look at her as she was filled with remorse, “Sorry, I was hungry. In my defense, you did say I could recover here, and food is important to recovering.”

That was a stretch. He rolled his eyes, “No need to study law for this. I didn’t have a very well stocked kitchen to begin with.” He put his hands on his hips, “Are you still hungry?”

She nodded shyly.

“Good. I need to go shopping. It would be nice to have the free entertainment of a fool like yourself while I run errands, I’ll pay you in food.”

She beamed at him. Perhaps she needed higher standards. Or perhaps she was so obnoxious to most that this level of hostility was mistaken for kindness. Regardless he found himself slightly glad to have her at his side. The kiddo was the only one who cared for the Polyhedron in a similar respect as him. Though, she was a delusional cultist. She believed the Earth to be a bull and herself to be God’s messenger. He could barely take himself seriously when she came to his defense, but she was company nonetheless.

The town remained dead. The survivors were reluctant to face the outside world. The Termitary was the most extreme example. It was a hollow husk, a ghost town. The living had learned paranoia for their rulers and hid in the dark. This was far from unreasonable. The shops opened with barebones staff and every citizens’ footsteps could be felt for miles in the quiet. It was easy to forget they were not alone. It was easy to believe the plague had won.

The shop’s steps were worn and warped from patrons of the past. Dankovsky reached a hand to help Clara up the steps. She looked slighted by this. The interior was empty, the shelves bare, an optimist would call it minimalistic. The quarantine was only recently lifted, and shipments seemed hesitant to travel here. A small town was hardly a major trading center, and the other draw, the Termitary and meat industry, was in shambles. Not many people were willing to risk buying meat from a town recently decimated by plague. Clara wondered the shelves; she looked enamored with the limited candy on display. A massive lollipop called to her. He could easily be blinded by the glimmer in her eye. He handed her a pile of coins, kopeks, a pound or two, and a few escudos. He watched her dare to light up even brighter. “Thanks!”, she said and almost skipped to the merchant at the table. With great importance she slid the lollipop across the desk and handed him the miscellaneous pile of cash. He gave a nod, “Thank you for your patronage, little lady.”

And She was free to tear off the paper and surely the sugar would be the thing to fully turn her into a small giddy dog. Seeing her act so childish calmed him down considerably. He felt in the moment for the first time in weeks. She was the first person she had seen act like a normal human being in the town in so long. He must be mad if she is appearing normal to him. But of course, she was a normal kid. She should have been a normal kid. He filled a paper bag’s worth of general fixings and left the store with Clara in tow. She was attached to him at the heel. He decided not to tease her about it, “Come hither, fool. It is nigh time I get you ice cream or whatever is available in this backwater town.”

She scrunched her nose at him but followed just as she had been.

“Sir, sir! Bachelor Dankovsky! I have a letter for you!”, a man in common clothes came bursting out of the crowd. She was short of breath and had a single letter clutched in his fist.

Daniil accepted it, “Why thank you.”

“No problem…”, the man heaved, clutching his knees before sprinting back from where he came.

Dankovsky glanced at it. It was the Haruspex’s handwriting. He tucked it into his coat. He had important business to attend to, “So what kind of ice cream do you like?”

“I don’t know what ice cream is.”, Clara admitted.

“Well, that settles it. Come hell or high water, I will be getting you ice cream.”

Chapter Text

This was hell, and with the rain’s assistance, high water was sure to come too. Dankovsky trekked from shop to shop to no aval. With the supply chains in disarray and a kilogram of butter worth ten-fold it’s weight in gold what did he expect? He found himself exasperated and defeated and looking more like a soaked cat than the renounced thanatologist with his own practice he at the most could pretend to be in his dishevelled state. For a bite to eat if he was lucky, and to at least wring out his coat, the Bachelor was pulled into the Shelter by it's warm light that emanated from its windows. The warm fire light hugged him as he entered Lara’s home. His hair clung flat against his face and his light makeup pooled down and painted his cravat. Lara welcomed him in with a full smile, but her eyes still frozen in a wary expression – the past twelve days have carved that into many, “Bachelor, it’s a pleasure. What is the occasion?”

“Greetings, Ravel. My dearest apologises, I earnestly have no excuse for my intrusion. But I do have a favor to ask of you.”, Dankovsky said as he attempted to shamble his hair back into something more presentable with not much success.

“You, like anyone else are always welcome to take a cup of tea and a seat. I must thank you for the aid to provided for Artemy. Without it I don’t know if any of us would be here today. Ruble. I fully expected this all to be ruble after Alexander Block arrived.”

He felt a ting of guilt and nodded it off, “Yes. Well, I’ll have to thank Burakh before I leave.”

She looked at him perplexed, and with a breath to think she continued, “We find ourselves tangled in brangles and leaves, what did you come here to ask for?”

He thanked any higher power that the subject changed, “I have a strange request.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know how to make ice cream?”

Her mouth hung open. Her genuine concern from moments prior was violently replaced with complete confusion, “Ice cream?”

“Yes. I know it’s rather extravagant, but I find myself with a noose around my neck. I made a bargain I cannot possibly win without it.”, he shifted to lean on his other leg, “I promised a kid I’d get them some.”

“How did you manage that? Cream is hard to come by, let alone anything like that.”, her lips curled, and she held back a chuckle, “I cannot help you here. You’ll have to tell the kid ‘no’. I’m sure you can manage. Maybe ask a farmer for some assistance? Come to think of it, Artemy would be ecstatic to have an excuse to leave the hospital for some bizarre quest of yours. Ask him. After all he did cure the plague. He might also be a miracle worker.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at himself, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Ravel.” He did doom himself. But he couldn’t say no to her. She lost so much, and he made one promise to her. If he can’t do this, what good is he?

“Anytime, Bachelor. Keep me tuned into your crazed antics moving forward. I am curious how you do this to yourself.”

“So am I.”

The rain subsided. A gray blanket draped over the sky and piercing it was tall spires of smoke emanating from the smokestacks. The Haruspex’s Lair loomed large over him. His boots were covered in a thick layer of mud from the journey. His bag grew heavy in his hand. His eyes laid fixed on the massive metal monoliths of the factory buildings. He felt like a spec of dust in a crushing machine.

He knocked.

The metal reverberated out and creaked at it’s cracks and rust. He was not even sure he was home. His daydreams ceased with the heavy stomping of a set of boots banging and ringing out from the metal stairs. The door swung open the wrong way. Dankovsky not as concerned with the building codes as he was with the new behemoth in front of him. By all accounts Artemy Burakh was of the average height, but compared to him, and in his frenzied state he might as well have been a giant.

The Bachelor cleared his throat and gained a presence befitting his station, “Hello, Burakh.”

The Haruspex echoed him, “Hello, Dankovsky. It’s been a while since we’ve last spoken.”, his glare sent a chill down the other’s spine.

“Yes, it has. I find myself in need of your assistance.”

The Haruspex crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. A pair of spying eyes sat behind him and watched the conversation from inside. His children no doubt.

The Bachelor straightened his back, “I find myself in a strange bind. But if you help me, I’m sure it will be at least enjoyable for you as well.”, he felt wrong saying that, but he persisted forward, “I need to make ice cream. For reasons I cannot share this is dire I need your help.”, he turned his argument to pray on the peanut gallery, “I am only in need of a small quantity, so you are welcome to give the rest to your kids.”

Murky began to stir and Sticky rained in his sister.

Burakh was left without words.

The younger kid broke free from the other’s grasp and bolted next to Burakh. She clung to his leg and hopped. She made a sound of excitement but didn’t manage out any words. Sticky cut his loses and ducked back into the darkness of the building to watch from the shadows.

“Daniil. To someone as powerful as the Inquisitor that may be possible. But food isn’t exactly a thing we have a lot of right now.”

“I know. I made a promise like a fool.”

“Why and how?”

“To Clara.”

“She is quite an intelligent thief to get you to back her on this. Do you have any sugar?”

“Yes, actually. I am also in possession of fat and lard. I need milk and cream and whatever else it may entail.”

“Sugar is an incredibly good start. Okay.”, he held his head, “You are certainly a character.”

“So I’m told.”

He patted Murky on the head and calmed her, “I will help in exchange for some sugar. That’s good as gold.”

“Thank you. I honestly did not expect this to work.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You haven’t completely lost your mind then, Oyon. Give it time.”

Clara tore an old shawl apart. She broke it at the seams and cannibalized it for fabric. With her skirt laying across her lap and tucked into a blanket for warmth she began to sew in patches to cover the holes. She kicked her feet as she worked. Her heels poked out from her shoes, but they were unsavable. She would need new ones soon. With bright red patches of a long abandoned and discarded shawl she fixed her skirt. Looking at it, she felt it lacking. With a spark of inspiration, she cut a long strip of fabric and pulled the needle through wrinkled folds. She tied a knot at the end and sewed the crumpled chain to the hem of her skirt. The result was far from perfect. She was going for the waving folds of a cute lace trim but was left with something baring a striking resemblance to the edge of square pasta with crimped border. It was armature to its core. She tossed it on and felt incredibly pretty all the same. She spun and took pride in her handy work. The clocks rang out, and she hid the scraps of the shawl under Dankovsky’s bed. He was late. She decided to head out for the day.

War. It was a war zone. His arms ached. His back was daring to break on him. The grueling labor was intensive. The cold was unforgiving. Large bodies of the dead hung above him on hooks. He could not see the end in site.

“Oh, chin up! You’re almost done.”, Burakh nagged at Dankovsky as he himself hoisted a large chunk of beef up to chill.

“You’re not the one churning butter in this in the freezer room.”, Dankovksy snaped back.

“I am not the one who made a promise I could not keep, and I am in here with you, and that is cream, not butter.”

“Semantics.”

Sticky was helping along side him as the Haruspex coached them both with glee. Though his joy in teaching his son was completely sincere and uncomplicated. As for Dankovsky, part of him was happy to see Daniil being forced to do some manor of physical labor.

The kid was filled with bright eyes and passion. Dankovsky started to believe in vampires. The child must leach joy from people to be like that. With this work his joy of learning was unnatural.

With an unbearable amount of time passing, it was complete. He was cold and sore and miserable. How on earth did people learn how to make this in the first place? Surely it was a torture method gone wrong. The men in the 1300s must have been sick in the head. Sticky was still full of bountiful energy, “So what do we do next, Doc?”

Burakh patted him on the head, “We have to cool it and hope that this all worked out.”

The smiles on their faces were too much, and Dankovsky found himself grinning along. Maybe they were vampires, he must have caught the contagion.

Completely spent he had it. He did it. He hugged Artemy in thanks, “I would not have been able to do this without you.”

“I know. It’s good to see you again, I’m glad you came to me.”, he paused, “friend?”

“Yes, for now, friend. I’m glad to have that again.”

“You’re needlessly dramatic. Go on now, get, you have a promise to fulfill.”

Dankovsky nodded and ran off with the small parcel in hand. It was a miniature ice box with a waxed paper bag of ice cream carefully stored inside. The two kids already were having their share. Murky had some on her nose and Sticky, as kids do, was also making a mess. At least he now lived up to his name. Dankovsky bid them all farewell and thanked the lord he didn’t have a kid. What a mess that would be.

He came home to no one there. He stored the small ice box in the main ice box. He hadn’t had the opportunity to fill that with ice – he did not have the need for it until now – but the insulation was a good start.

He waited for her, and waited, and for a moment he considered hunting for her in the town. What if something happened to her? She was resilient but she was still a little girl.

A knock came to the door. He jolted up and Clara flinched from the sudden movement.

“Welcome back, Clara. How was your day?”, he kept his distance.

She relaxed and fixed her hat, “It was fine. Where were you?”

He then got a full look at her, he was taken aback by her new skirt. It looked hand made. No. It was the same skirt but altered. She had some talent indeed.

“Well, where were you? It’s weird for you to be this late.”

“I was busy preparing this.”, he fetched the paper bag from the ice box and handed it to her.

She looked confused and then opened it, and it morphed into complete astonishment, “Is this ice cream? How on Bos Turokh’s back did you manage that? Did you take a train to the big city?”

“A magician never tells.”

She scoffed at him and handed him the packaged, “Well, can I have some?”

“Definitely.”

He retrieved some old bowls and spoons. There was not much left. Regrettably he actioned off a lot of Eva’s porcelain and silver to afford food not even a week ago. Her empty cupboards were a gutting reminder. He swallowed and brought himself back to the moment.

Clara tapped her fingers on the short wooden table. She was too giddy to sit still. He placed her bowl in front of her and sat along side her on the small cushions. It was surprisingly comfortable if not completely unorthodox.

She prayed for a moment, and then dove in. She was a god to so many of the children days before. The sight of her praying had a certain irony to it. She wolfed it down with bright eyes. She must have been starving. Her hands were clutched onto the spoon like it was a knife. Her bones protruded through her tight fist. She was too thin. He’d need to buy more food for her. Her growth would be stunted if she didn’t get a proper meal soon.

He ate his meal peacefully, deeply enjoying a luxury he never thought he would experience again. He had to admit it was far from perfect. He could have churned it for longer. All in all he was too tired to care.

“Did Capella patch up your skirt?”, he attempted to make conversation.

“No, this is purely my handywork and expertise.”

“You’re very talented. I’m sure if you went to finishing school, you’d be a professional in seconds.”

She grinned ear to ear.

In her distraction she dropped a spoon full of ice cream on her lap and onto the expensive rug.

He shouted, “Oh, come on, you useless oaf, you made a mess!”, he felt as though his grandmother was speaking through him in reflex.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-”, she stammered out.

He reclaimed himself and stopped her, “No it’s alright. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Here tidy up. It can be fixed.”, he handed her his red handkerchief.

She nodded and started to clean herself, “I’m so sorry. This is so expensive, and I wasted it.”, she looked as though she would cry.

“It’s fine. It was for you anyway. You shouldn’t feel sorry to me.”

‘Thanked the lord he didn’t have a kid. What a mess that would be.’, what a fool he was. The real trial would be not making a mess of things himself.