Free The Winter Horses by Philip Kerr Page B

unremarkable, Kalinka.”
    “Do I?”
    Max turned and looked back at their trail, which was already being covered by a light layer of snow; in an hour or two, the trail would have disappeared for good.
    “But maybe that’s how you’ve survived on your own for so long,” he said. “By thinking four or five moves ahead.”
    “No,” she said. “I think I’ve just been lucky. That’s the difference between survival and chess. In chess, you don’t need any luck at all.”
    “The way I play, you do.”
    “True.” She paused for a moment and then added, “Being good at chess is a little like looking into the future. Mostly it’s about seeing things that other people can’t see.”
    Max shook his head. “Chess is one thing. But I think you’ve also seen things that people are never meant to see. Such as your mom and dad being killed. That’s what makes you a survivor, Kalinka. That’s what makes you so strong.”
    Kalinka didn’t answer; she didn’t feel particularly strong, but she felt that Max was probably right. Then again, it wasn’t like she had much choice. Going on with her life was the only thing that she could do now—and not for herself but for her mama and her papa. Her own survival was something she had dedicated to them.
    They reached the smallest lake, where the forest was at its thickest and most overgrown.
    “The waterworks,” he said. “It’s in those trees.”
    Kalinka looked closely and then shook her head. “I can’t see anything,” she admitted.
    “Good,” said the old man. “That means the Germans won’t see anything either.”
    He led the way through some thick undergrowth to a doorway in a brick-built structure not much taller than Kalinka that was almost invisible underneath the snow-covered vegetation. Max opened the door and then lit a lamp that was hanging on a hook on the wall inside.
    “The baron built this place because it’s difficult to provide a park of this size, surrounded by steppe, with enough water,” he said, advancing along a low passageway. “Down there is the old pumping station. And out here—”
    He opened another door to the outside and pointed to what looked to Kalinka like two circular stone huts.
    “These are the old storage tanks. Water from these used to flow all over the reserve in pipes and canalsthat go underground. As you can see, we’re completely surrounded with trees and bushes. The only way you could see these is if you were to fly over them. The tanks were both completely watertight until the earthquake of 1927. That put a big split in the wall of each of them and that was the end of the waterworks. Over the last ten years, the splits have got bigger, until now they’re more like doorways. We’ll put you in one tank and the horses in the other. But I reckon the horses can come and go and do their business out here within the perimeter of the trees without anyone noticing. Not even you, probably. There’s an inspection window in the roof of each tank that should give you plenty of light in the day.”
    Kalinka stepped through the jagged doorway of the water tank and looked around. There was an old mattress, some boxes of junk and the makings of a fire.
    “Has someone been living here?” she asked.
    “Just me. Like I said, for a while, I considered living in here instead of the cottage. Gave it a shot for a couple of weeks one summer. You’ll find some useful things in them boxes, I shouldn’t wonder. Candles, lamps, some blankets, a few tins of food. It’s quite cozy, actually. Light a fire under that window and the smoke will go up through the broken glass.”
    “What changed your mind? About living in here? I mean, there aren’t any ghosts, are there?”
    “Ghosts?” Max grinned. “Whatever gave you such anidea? The only ghost around here is me. Since you ask, the reason I never stayed here was because it turns out I don’t much like enclosed places. There’s a name for it. Claustrophobia, they call it. So I stay