Page 56 of The Book of Lost Hours

“Only a little,” Ernest said. Only what Vasily had taught him. He held out a hand to the boy. “My name is Ernest,” he said in English this time.

The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve, eyeing Ernest’s hand as though it had teeth. He was so young. Barely older than Amelia.

“Anton,” the boy said at last. But he wouldn’t take his hand. “Please, don’t take me. I do not want to go.”

“Take you? Take you where?”

“Out into America,” Anton explained, his voice cracking. “They said that’s what the Americans do to us. It’s what they did to my father. Dragged him out and killed him.”

Ernest’s face went slack with shock. Vasily was… dead? His first instinct was to demand further explanation, but Anton was still trembling. Now was not the time.

“You can relax,” Ernest said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Y-you won’t?”

“Nah. I’m off duty today,” he teased.

Anton blinked several times and sniffled, slow to accept the joke.

“Are you lost?” Ernest asked, remembering how long it had taken him to navigate things in here when he first started.

“I… I do not know how to get back out,” Anton said, hiccuping between his tears.

“They didn’t teach you?” Ernest asked with a frown.

“They did, but I wasn’t listening. They were going to send me in, and I was—” He broke off, either not knowing the word he was looking for in English, or not wanting to admit to his fear.

Ernest sat back on his heels. In their broken, half-baked second languages, they talked.

Ernest asked him about his life in Russia and told him about his own.

Little snippets of information that could do nobody any harm.

Eventually, Anton took the hand that was offered.

He let Ernest show him the way to navigate the time space using the stars overhead.

Ernest gave him a handkerchief so he could wipe his eyes and taught him how to use his watch to get back out of the time space.

But he didn’t say anything more. Nothing about the Americans.

Nothing about Vasily or the fact that they’d been friends.

Not right now. The last thing Anton Stepanov needed was to be told of his father’s past by one of the very same set who might have killed him.

When they finally parted ways, the door to Anton’s world closing behind him, Ernest wandered the time space in a daze.

He didn’t know what to make of this. Had he caused this?

Said something he shouldn’t have without realizing it and jeopardized another man’s life?

It was possible that the Russians had lied about what happened to Vasily.

An indoctrination tactic to get Anton to cooperate.

Then Ernest thought of that night a few weeks ago.

The blood on Moira’s blouse. The terrified look in her eyes.

Ernest grappled with his own grief as well, knowing that, whichever version of things was the true one, in both of them, Vasily Stepanov was dead.

When he finally encountered Azrael amid the shelves, the words tumbled out without greeting or preamble.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Vasily?”

Azrael’s ghostly eyebrows raised. “The truth has its own way of coming out. It’s not my place to meddle.”

“That’s bullshit. You’ve done plenty of meddling already, haven’t you? Introducing me to Vasily in the first place. Getting us involved. But now that someone has died you all of a sudden ‘don’t meddle’?”

Ernest knew he was being harsh but didn’t care.

Azrael looked down at the floor. “In truth, I assumed you already knew. I didn’t realize they had kept it from you.”

So it had been the Americans. Ernest turned away, shaking with anger. “I have to do something about this,” he said, reaching for his watch.

In an instant, Azrael was in front of him, head shaking. “Don’t do anything rash, Ernest. It will only bring trouble.”

“Well, maybe a little trouble is what the TRP needs.”

“Maybe. But at least think it through.”

“I have thought it through.”

“Have you? Have you thought about how you’ll explain your connection to Vasily? How you came to know about his death? Last time I checked, speaking with Russian timekeepers was not something the Americans did.”

Ernest had already begun spinning the crown of his watch. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll make something up.”

“You’ll get yourself killed. Or arrested and tortured for information as they’ve done to others before you. You think your anger won’t harm anyone else?”

Ernest’s fingers paused as Azrael’s words caught up to him. Arrested. Tortured. Killed. All those options felt like wild impossibilities, but were they? He shook it off and pressed down on the crown of his watch, seeing the door materialize before him. He started toward it, reaching for the knob.

“You think your actions won’t affect Amelia?” Azrael asked in a hushed voice.

Ernest froze and looked back at the man, faltering a second time. “What does she have to do with this?”

Azrael gave him a sad look. “The most difficult part about dying is the people you leave behind. I imagine it’s the same for getting thrown in prison for the rest of your life.”

Ernest’s hand dropped from the doorknob.

A pang ran through him as he thought of Amelia, who’d already lost her mother, alone in the world.

Abandoned by his recklessness. He couldn’t do that to her.

He thought of the other person he’d be leaving behind: Moira, who had been dragged into all this.

Moira, who well might have been forced to watch the interrogation of Vasily Stepanov.

If Ernest stepped out of line and revealed himself, would Jack force her to be a part of his interrogation too?

Ernest stepped away from the door and turned back to Azrael in defeat. “Help me keep an eye on the boy?” he asked weakly. “I know there’s nothing I can do for him right now but maybe someday. If he turns out to be anything like his father.”

Azrael said nothing, bowing his head in affirmation. A silent promise.

That night, Ernest went to the boardinghouse where Moira stayed and knocked on the door.

He asked to see her, ignoring the house chaperone’s reprimands about the lateness of the hour.

He insisted that it was urgent. At last, the woman called Moira downstairs.

She arrived in her robe and slippers, her eyes wide with concern, and joined him out on the porch.

“Is everything all right?” she asked.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her closer and kissed her hard, pressing a hand to the back of her head. She made a noise of surprise, melting into him.

“Ernest, what are you…”

“I love you,” he said quietly. Barely more than a whisper.

She inhaled sharply. He kept his eyes shut and pressed his lips against her temple.

“Is everything… are you okay?” she asked.

She sounded afraid.

He opened his eyes to take in her expression, reaching up to brush the hair away from her cheek. “I just came to tell you that I love you. And I’m sorry for the other night. I didn’t mean it. I was…”

“I love you too,” she said, cutting him off.

There were tears in her eyes and she looked terribly, painfully sad.

He wanted to take her away from all this.

From the TRP, from the boardinghouse, from Jack.

He couldn’t protect Anton Stepanov from what was happening to him, nor could he extricate himself from what he had started, but he could protect her .

He could keep her safe from all of it, if she’d let him.

“I want you to meet Amelia when she comes to DC this summer,” he said, still whispering.

Moira drew another trembling breath. “R-really?”

“I know it’s still a few months away, but I… I think it’s time. Don’t you?”

She nodded, her eyes as wide and fearful as Anton’s had been. Ernest kissed her again, knowing in that moment, and with absolute certainty, that he wanted her in his life forever. Knowing that soon, when summer came, he was going to ask her to marry him.