Next, I looked for “Savarov.” Prince Vladimir Savarov had been Eli’s dad. The prince still had a listing on Hickory Street, which was close to a big park. There were two other Savarovs listed, separate addresses on a street a few blocks away from Hickory. I was fairly sure those were Eli’s older half brothers.
I refolded the map and the trolley schedule. I got my guns. I went down the stairs to the lobby and gave the guns to Paul. I watched as he put them in the safe. He gave me a receipt.
Then I clenched my teeth and stepped out of the hotel into the city, by myself. It was different from looking out the window.
There were cars everywhere. No horses. Lots of people on foot or riding bicycles.
By the time I’d walked three blocks, I’d gotten a few second looks, but there were so many different kinds of people around I didn’t think I stuck out too bad.
I took a deep breath and went on.
I walked for a good mile, maybe farther. I saw a trolley car and stopped to watch it pass. They ran on electricity, Eli had told me. At its next stop, I got on and put a coin in the slot, one Paul had given me in change. He’d told me that was the right one to pay for my fare. I was nearly sure I was going in the right direction.
Not often I felt this uncertain. And I’d been in cities before. I figured out why by the time we’d gone a block.
San Diego, at least in this part, had tall buildings, many of them five or six stories. There weren’t many clear lines of sight, and those were all at intersections. There were so many people. Even in these hard times, many of them looked prosperous.
It was almost a relief to see a beggar sitting on the sidewalk, his hat in front of him.
I thought I was at the corner where I should get off, and I inched my way to the door. But the trolley took off again before I could push past the people who’d just gotten on.
At the next stop I made my way off with some energy.
I was so relieved to be on the sidewalk with space around me. I leaned against a storefront. I didn’t care if this looked strange or not. I wished like hell I could get out of this place, go back to where I knew the rules.
But then I might never see Eli again.
I told myself Felicia had written me because she thought I could do something about his being in prison. The confidence of an eleven-year-old girl was not much to lean on, but it was all I had. I straightened up, oriented myself with the map, and walked some more.
Then I could see the water. San Diego Bay. I could see the “island” where the tsar lived surrounded by as many houses of his courtiers as could squeeze into the space, and a large contingent of armed guards. You could tell even from a distance that there was a lot of construction going on. A ferry was halfway from the mainland to North Island. The sun was making the water sparkle.
I let myself look for a good long time. I had never seen so much water. It was worth the trip. I promised myself I would find a spot where there was no island to block the view. I tore myself away and returned to my task.
Across the street from me was a low wall topped with an iron fence. It said, You can see us—so we are open. But you can’t come in—so we are closed. There was a short sidewalk to double front doors that would have looked fine on a church. The building itself was shaped not unlike a church, not too wide but deep. A covered walkway led from the middle of that building to another one, smaller and plainer. Between the covered walkway and the fence, the whole yard was planted with grass and flowers and bushes. In the middle of this was a tomb, very fancy, white marble on a gray base. I guessed the gray stone was granite. There was carving in the marble. The side I could see read GRIGORI RASPUTIN. Some withered bunches of flowers were wedged in the iron fence, I noticed.
I’d found my way to Felicia’s school. I felt as proud as though I’d won a contest.
I peered through the barred gate that lined up with the big doors into the churchlike building. I figured the covered walkway led to the student dormitory. That was where Felicia and about half the students lived, she’d told me in her letters. The other kids lived at home.
I didn’t want to bang on the gate until I understood it. I looked real close at the latch, then realized all I had to do was lift the U-shaped bar and pull the gate open. Could not understand the point of having a gate anyone could simply walk through. It wasn’t like they were keeping goats in. There should be a lock, to protect my sister.
Maybe the gate was spelled? But I didn’t feel any magic on it. I pushed the latch back down and turned to face the building. I straightened my back, walked up to the big wooden door, and opened it. It was a public building. I figured I didn’t have to knock.
The reception room was decorated with a big rug in shades of blue and rose over a tiled floor, a group of dark upholstered chairs, and a desk. Of course. For the gatekeeper.
The person behind the desk was a man. I could tell he was a grigori, so I knew why they hadn’t felt the need to lock the gate. Grigoris start getting tattooed the minute they qualify. As they gain in talent and experience, the tattoos extend from beneath their shirts. This man’s had crawled up his cheeks, even.
This particular grigori had been reading, and he didn’t like being interrupted. His scowl made that clear.
“Good morning,” I said, in the most pleasant voice I could summon.
“How can I help you?” the grigori said, in a voice gauged to make sure I knew he didn’t want to help me one bit. He was a blond with big brown eyes and broad shoulders. Those should have added up to a good-looking man, but he was too scary to appeal to anyone with sense. One hand was in a pocket of his grigori vest. Yep, he was ready to defend the school.
“My half sister, Felicia Karkarov, is a student here,” I said. “I’ve come to town on business. I didn’t have time to let her know I’d be here. I’d like to see her.”
“Your name?” He looked a fraction less hostile.
“Lizbeth Rose.” I had not been able to figure out why I should lie about any of this. Which was a relief. In a town full of grigoris, it was a good idea to tell the truth anytime you could.
Without introducing himself, the blond grigori opened a desk drawer, pulled out a worn book, and opened it to consult a chart. Then he glanced at a clock on the wall. “Miss Rose, Felicia is in class right now. You can’t see her for an hour.”
I think he hoped I’d say, Oh, gosh, I can’t possibly wait that long. But I didn’t.
I sat down in the one of the upholstered chairs (after the train seats, it was heaven to my rear) and prepared to be patient. I’m pretty good at that. Being a gunnie is not nonstop excitement. It’s lots of boring hours of being watchful with (every now and then) some shooting thrown in. I read a brochure about the school while I waited, and I read all the signs in the waiting room. NO VISITORS AFTER 5 PM, read one. NO SMOKING OR ALCOHOL ON SCHOOL GROUNDS, read another.
After that, I looked over at the gatekeeper, who had returned to his book. I wondered if he was reading a novel or a textbook.
I wondered if he knew Eli. If I asked, he might tell me he had put Eli in jail, and then I’d have to kill him.
I wondered how long I could afford my hotel. It was the same as $2.50 New American. Thanks to my stepfather, I had a huge cushion. But I had to eat, and I might have to bribe someone.
I sure missed my Winchester. It had been my grandfather’s. It was a fine rifle. I felt like it was part of me. But I couldn’t figure any advantage to lugging it all the way to San Diego. In a city a rifle wouldn’t have been as much use as my two handguns, and they were locked away. I was carrying knives, of course. I didn’t know of a law against that, and I wasn’t asking. Wasn’t going anywhere unarmed.