Defort offered several guilders. The man looked at the two soldiers, then at the empty bed.
“Get in.”
They climbed into the back. There were no seats.
Koldin sat against the forward wall of the bed with the golok turned sideways. Defort sat opposite, boots braced against a timber rail. The carriage moved out through the gate.
Every defect in the road entered directly through Koldin’s spine.
Defort looked delighted.
“Better than the bus.”
“No.”
“Faster.”
“No.”
“Cheaper.”
“We paid him.”
“Still.”
The carriage struck a rut. Both left the bed by several centimeters.
Koldin grabbed the rail. Defort laughed.
“You enjoying this?”
“No.”
“Could've fooled me.”
“I'm holding on so I don't die.”
“That's basically enjoyment.”
Koldin did not answer.
Lenkerk passed around them.
The road entered neighborhoods he knew. Shacks. Warehouses. A mechanic's yard. Children kicking something round enough to serve as a ball. A woman watering plants with a perforated tin. Smoke from evening cookfires had begun to rise between the roofs.
At the agreed junction, the teamster stopped. Defort climbed down first and then offered Koldin a hand.
Koldin ignored it and jumped.
His foot complained. He pretended it did not.
“Thanks,” Defort called.
The teamster raised one hand and drove away.
For several seconds they stood beside the road, then Koldin remembered something.
“Zhe guy.”
“What guy?”
“Market.”
“Oh. Tax man.”
“We were going to report him.”
Defort looked toward the center of town.
“Police station has air conditioning.”
Koldin had already begun walking.
“Zhat is not why.”
“Sure.”
It was entirely why Defort was coming willingly.
The station appeared where it had before, still clean, still brick, still maintaining its small island of institutional certainty while evening gathered around everything else.
Koldin climbed the perron. Defort opened the door for him this time.
“Learned your lesson.”
“I could open it.”
“Sure.”
Cold air reached them.
Koldin stepped inside. His entire body seemed to release something.
The same officer sat behind the desk. The same typewriter waited before him. One of the glass display cases reflected the orange light from outside.
The officer looked up. Koldin approached.
“Yes?”
“We need to report someone from zhe market.”
The policeman took his hands away from the typewriter.
“What happened?”
“Extortion. Zhreatening two vendors.”
“Location?”
Koldin described it.
The officer's face changed slightly.
“A man in a dark shirt?”
“Yeah.”
“Thin mustache?”
Koldin thought.
“Maybe.”
“Approximately this tall?”
The officer held one hand in the air.
“Yeah.”
The policeman leaned back.
“You're late.”
Koldin looked at him.
“What?”
“A constable collected him approximately forty minutes ago.”
Defort stepped closer.
“Somebody reported him?”
“Several people.”
Koldin felt an odd little disappointment whose cause he could not immediately identify.
“Was he still unconscious?”
The officer looked at him.
“Why?”