Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

"Who started it?" Genka protested. "You called me a khalzan first. All day you've been poking it at me: khalzan, khalzan... I'm not going to be a khalzan!"

Khalzan... Khalzan... The word sounded familiar. Misha looked first at Genka, then at the Bleater. Khalzan. Khalzan.

"Did you say khalzan?" Misha asked.

"Yes, khalzan."

"Is it a golden eagle?"

"Yes. Khalzan is just another name for it."

Khalzan! What was the local river called? The one where Kuzmin was murdered? Khalzan! That was where the name Khalzin Meadow came from. The very meadow that Kuzmin had set out for with Nikolai.

Misha was so taken aback by this discovery that Genka asked Worriedly:

"What's wrong with you? You're not ill?"

"Khalzan," Misha murmured. "Khalzan."

"It's a khalzan all right, but what of it?" Genka said, giving Misha a puzzled stare.

But the latter went on murmuring:

"Khalzan. Khalzan. The river."

"What are you mumbling?" Genka asked, lifting his arms in despair. "Khalzan, that's right, khal..."

Suddenly, with a dazed look at Misha, Genka paused, then whispered:

"Khalzan."

His voice gradually rose:

"Khalzan. Khalzan."

He jumped and slapped himself on the knees.

"Khalzan! The devil take it! Khalzan!"

But Misha had already come to his senses:

"Don't get excited! Don't shout! We must have no panic! You say, Khalzan?"

"Yes, Khalzan," Genka whispered in the voice of a conspirator. "I at once connected the bird with the river."

"I put it to you that you never thought of it. You guessed it only now, with my help. And don't boast."

Genka felt offended.

"But I was the one who mentioned khalzans, while this white-headed vulture," he looked scornfully at the Bleater, "bores everybody stiff with his vultures."

The boys believed that they had found the first clue which might prove to be the most important one. The secret of the bronze bird was in the emblem itself and not in the false route that had deceived so many people.

They now had the first of the instructions-the Khalzan River. The treasure was buried somewhere near the river. Now it was clear why Kuzmin had been killed in Khalzin Meadow. The murder was linked with the treasure. That proved Nikolai Ribalin's innocence. True, that also freed the boatman from suspicion-he was searching for the treasure in the woods and probably knew nothing of the Khalzan. That could not be helped. In the end, the chief thing was to show that Nikolai was innocent. So far as they were concerned, the finding of the real murderer was a secondary problem. Perhaps they would get on his track when they would find the treasure.

But where were they to look for it? Although shallow, the river was fairly long. It was hardly marked on the new maps, but the old ones showed it to stretch across several uyezds.

The bronze bird should therefore contain other instructions, which undoubtedly were connected with the names of eagles, as in the case of the Khalzan River.

Genka, whose knowledge in this sphere Misha now trusted, again named all the eagles he knew. Some seemed to answer the purpose. Particularly the steppe eagle, which was also called the kurgan eagle. If that was of the same importance as the word khalzan, they would get a chain reading: the Khalzan River-a steppe-a kurgan. Splendid! Good for Genka that he knew birds! The Bleater had far to go to catch up with Genka! The inference was that near the river, in a steppe, there was a kurgan or burial mound, and that the treasure was buried in it. Well done! It was simply magnificent.

"That's absolutely right," Genka said in an authoritative tone of voice, "absolutely right and logical. Khalzan-steppe-kurgan. And vultures have nothing to do with it. Any ornithologist who's any good can never mix these two species. An eagle is an eagle and a vulture is a vulture. Khalzan is the Eastern name for the golden eagle, and we know that the Karagayevs originated from the Golden Horde. The Tatars lived in the steppes and probably built kurgans for their dead. Consequently, from the standpoint of zoology and of ethnography all what we've said is absolutely correct. We must go to the Khalzan River."

"Let us assume that that is so," said the cautious Slava. "We know there's a river called Khalzan. But what about a steppe? There's no steppe in the vicinity. Let's suppose that the plain is the steppe we want. All right. But what about the kurgan? Which kurgan? There are many hereabouts, but the ones we've seen are on the right bank of the Utcha. And all of them have been dug up long ago. Even archaeological expeditions have stopped coming here."

"The task is not easy, of course," Misha agreed, "but there always are difficulties in such matters. We'll go to the Khalzan River early tomorrow morning."

"Bear in mind that tomorrow's Tuesday and that that Karagayev character is coming on Wednesday."

"We'll try and find all we want before he comes."

At the first sign of dawn, the boys set out for the Khalzan River. They were not afraid of anything, of course. All the same, it was frightening to go where a man had recently been murdered.

It was a misty morning. A gusty wind drove thin, shaggy clouds across the sky, bent the tops of the trees and flattened the grass. It grew so violent from time to time that it made walking difficult. But the boys pressed on across a marshy meadow along the bank of the Khalzan.

The river was shallow, almost dried up. In spring, it broadened out considerably for it flowed across a lowland. At this time of the year, however, it was no more than a tiny creek, thickly overgrown and scarcely noticeable amid the shrubbery and tall grass. Only in some shadowy places could one see a narrow clear stream of water flowing along the bottom.

The sight of this tiny stream was totally out of keeping with its loud-sounding name, with the mystery that surrounded it and with the fatal role it had played in the affairs of the Karagayevs. But that did not worry the boys, particularly Genka. He strode across the meadow with confident step and looked about him with the keen and meaningful gaze of a man on whose knowledge the outcome of the enterprise depended. Practically speaking, had it not been for him, nothing would have come out of this whole business. And they had the nerve to say that he was erratic in his studies. What was so erratic about it? A really gifted person is not a plodder: he had a talent for one thing and that was quite enough. Take Misha and Slava. They were all-rounders, yet when it came to differentiating between eagles, it had not been they but he, Genka, who had won the day.

So mused Genka, inwardly puffing himself up with the consciousness that his was an outstanding personality. This consciousness was so great that he even refrained from speaking his mind about it, feeling that at the moment a staid silence became a person such as he best of all.

Misha, who was not so certain of the expedition's success as Genka, nevertheless did not lose hope. He yearned for success, but in order not to be disappointed, he prepared himself for the worst. It was always wise to do that. They might not find anything today. But that did not mean that all was lost. They would go on with the search. The important thing was to continue looking and not to lose hope.

Slava was sceptical. He looked upon himself as a person who regarded life realistically. In his opinion secrets, riddles and mysterious adventures belonged to the world beyond and since he did not believe there was such a world he ascribed a great deal to the teeming imagination of his friends. But he did not lag behind them because he was a good comrade.

After they had gone about three kilometres, the terrain began to rise, the ground became drier and stonier and the stream more sharply outlined. They came across boulders and big stones, but as far as the eye could see there was not a single kurgan.