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"
Well
met
,
"
said
Czernobog
.
He
shook
Shadow
’
s
left
hand
with
his
own
.
His
hands
were
rough
and
callused
,
and
the
tips
of
his
fingers
were
as
yellow
as
if
they
had
been
dipped
in
iodine
.
"
How
do
you
do
,
Mr
.
Czernobog
?
"
"
I
do
old
.
My
guts
ache
,
and
my
back
hurts
,
and
I
cough
my
chest
apart
every
morning
.
"
"
Why
you
are
standing
at
the
door
?
"
asked
a
woman
’
s
voice
.
Shadow
looked
over
Czernobog
’
s
shoulder
,
at
the
old
woman
standing
behind
him
.
She
was
smaller
and
frailer
than
her
sister
,
but
her
hair
was
long
and
still
golden
.
"
I
am
Zorya
Utrennyaya
,
"
she
said
.
"
You
must
not
stand
there
in
the
hall
.
You
must
go
in
,
sit
down
.
I
will
bring
you
coffee
.
"
Through
the
doorway
into
an
apartment
that
smelted
like
overboiled
cabbage
and
cat
box
and
unfiltered
foreign
cigarettes
,
and
they
were
ushered
through
a
tiny
hallway
past
several
closed
doors
to
the
sitting
room
at
the
far
end
of
the
corridor
,
and
were
seated
on
a
huge
old
horsehair
sofa
,
disturbing
an
elderly
gray
cat
in
the
process
,
who
stretched
,
stood
up
,
and
walked
,
stiffly
,
to
a
distant
part
of
the
sofa
,
where
he
lay
down
,
warily
stared
at
each
of
them
in
turn
,
then
closed
one
eye
and
went
back
to
sleep
.
Czernobog
sat
in
an
armchair
across
from
them
.
Zorya
Utrennyaya
found
an
empty
ashtray
and
placed
it
beside
Czernobog
.
"
How
you
want
your
coffee
?
"
she
asked
her
guests
.
"
Here
we
take
it
black
as
night
,
sweet
as
sin
.
"
"
That
’
ll
be
fine
,
ma
’
am
,
"
said
Shadow
.
He
looked
out
of
the
window
,
at
the
buildings
across
the
street
.
Zorya
Utrennyaya
went
out
.
Czernobog
stared
at
her
as
she
left
.
"
That
’
s
a
good
woman
,
"
he
said
.
"
Not
like
her
sisters
.
One
of
them
is
a
harpy
,
the
other
,
all
she
does
is
sleep
.
"
He
put
his
slippered
feet
up
on
a
long
,
low
coffee
table
,
a
chess
board
inset
in
the
middle
,
cigarette
burns
and
mug
rings
on
its
surface
.
"
Is
she
your
wife
?
"
asked
Shadow
.
