Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

The Bleater zealously set about his task. He took everybody's temperature. But this dragged out for a long time because there was only one thermometer in the camp. While one of the youngsters held it under his arm-pit, the Bleater examined the throat of another. He regarded himself as a great throat specialist. His mother worked in an out-patient hospital for ear, nose and throat cases.

"Open your jaws wider," the Bleater said, looking into the mouths of his victims, and as he was short of stature he had to stand on his toes.

Every time he looked into somebody's mouth, he meaningfully declared:

"Hm. There's a reddishness. Bad."

He would have been quite content to drag all his "patients" to the hospital by turn.;

But who wanted to stay in bed in this heat! Even a real patient would not have admitted he was ill. In the end, everybody got fed up. They had their fill of the Bleater, who stuck his brows into their mouths, and of that absurd thermometer. Misha saw that his idea1 was a flop. It had been silly to think that any healthy youngster could be persuaded he was ill. Misha gave it up. It could not be helped. They would have to clear out of the servants' hall tomorrow. They would have to say good-bye to such a fine opportunity of penetrating into the house and getting at the bronze bird.:

In spite of everything, a saviour did appear. He appeared in the image of Kit, an emaciated-looking, suffering Kit, who moaned and held himself by the stomach. Kit had overeaten!

Misha's joy knew no bounds. Kit would get well, of course. This was not the first time he had overeaten. A day or two in bed and he would be as good as new. There could be no doubt that this was the result of overeating when he had gone with Slava to Moscow for the stores. But Misha did not question him on that score. The important thing was that he had overeaten. That was very important and pleasant. The doctor would come tomorrow, give him a dose of castor-oil or Epsom salts, but at the moment he had to be put in bed in place of Seva, who was being held a virtual prisoner.

Kit was hurried to the servants' hall. Seva, overjoyed, rushed out of the "hospital" as fast as his legs could carry him.

The "countess" said nothing when she learned that one patient had been supplanted by another. She turned on her heel and walked away. But the doctor arrived soon after, though Misha did not call him.

"What's happened this time?" he asked, getting down from his carriage and hitching the horse to a tree although it was clear at a glance that the heavy, lazy horse would never move away on its own.

"Another of our boys has fallen seriously ill," Misha informed him.

"We'll see," the doctor said, frowning, and went into the house.

An examination confirmed that Kit was really ill. The doctor suspected it was dysentery, but Misha explained that Kit had attacks of indigestion approximately once every fortnight.

The doctor wrote out a prescription and said that Kit had to be put on a strict diet. Kit's spirits fell when he heard that.

Then, his frown deeper than ever, the doctor went to see the "countess," who was waiting for him near the verandah.

Misha did not hear their conversation. But when the doctor returned, he looked angry. His parting words were:

"The boy must stay in bed until I say he can get up. Don't forget what I said about putting him on a strict diet. He must have complete rest. Pay no attention to circumstances that don't concern you."

From that Misha concluded that it was the "countess" who had called the doctor to make him send the boys away from the manor. But nothing came of that.

The next morning, the "countess" took the train to town, obviously to complain about the troop and to get them forced out of the manor and from the grounds.

Let her go! She thought Serov had more authority than anybody else, but she was mistaken. In her absence, they would go into the house and examine the bronze bird. There was nothing reprehensible in that. The manor did not belong to her but to the state. She was only the caretaker. That made it not a private house but the property of the people.

Slava and the Bleater were assigned to look after Kit. The Bleater was to sit in the hall at his bedside, and Slava-to keep a watch outside. Their orders were to give two short and one long whistle at the least sign of danger.

The low massive door with peeling dark-brown paint hung unsteadily on rusty nails and hinges. The boys pushed it open and found themselves in a short corridor piled up with all sorts of junk.

Kit, too, wanted to take a look, but he was given a bowl of rice-water and that kept him quiet.

The corridor, as we have seen, was full of junk of all sorts: broken armchairs, a tumble-down bookstand, a wash-stand with a cracked marble top and an empty oval which had once held a mirror, boxes, baskets and barrels. But Misha noticed that the middle of the corridor was not obstructed and formed a narrow passageway. It had been made by the "countess," of course, so that she could spy on them. The passage ended at the iron steps of a spiral staircase.

' The boys drew a plan of the house to have it in case it would be needed later on. The recess with the bronze bird was in the facade, closer to the left side of the house, while the servants' hall was at the back, closer to the right side. The task, therefore, was to reach the loft, to find the way from the back to the front part of the house and then to cross from the right to the left side. That was not easy to do, because the boys had to find their way about noiselessly in a strange house.

As long as the door of the servants' hall was open, it was possible to make out the different objects, but the moment Misha closed it, the small corridor was plunged into inky blackness. Tiny beams of light came through the lattices in the iron steps of the spiral staircase. The darkness below and the rays of light coming from the ceiling gave the impression that there were people on the floor above, and that made the whole enterprise frightening.

"Perhaps we could do it in a much simpler way?" Genka whispered. "We could go outside, climb to the verandah and get to the recess along the ledge. We'll lose ourselves in this house."

"No," Misha said, also speaking in a whisper, "somebody might see us. If you're afraid, you can stay here."

"I'm not afraid of anything," Genka growled in reply.

There was an unearthly stillness all around. Not even Kit's noisy champing could be heard-perhaps because he had finished the rice-water.

Doing their best not to stumble over anything in the darkness, the boys went up to the staircase. Misha led the way, with Genka behind him. No sooner did they put their feet on the iron steps than the staircase began to clang and squeak. If anybody was in the house, they would be sure to be heard. Genka thought the staircase would fall on their heads: it was a mystery to him how it held in place. It was very narrow and steep, and had small triangular pieces of metal for steps. Genka missed a step and bruised his knee. Mentally he cursed the landlord system that doomed servants to climb stairs such as these. You had to spin like a top, with one shoulder against the wall and the other against an iron post, while your head kept bumping against something all the time.

They finally reached the first floor, finding themselves in another corridor, somewhat longer than the one below. It extended along the entire outer wall and the window made it look like a gallery. The panes were made of numerous pieces of coloured glass, most of which were broken. The boys saw the yard and the sheds. That meant they were still in the back part of the house.

In the corridor, there were two tall doors that had once been white: one was in the middle and the other at the far end.