“That was the brigade leader?” asked the young man in a whisper as soon as Krapin turned around.
Artiom nodded.
The young man offered his hand and introduced himself: Mitya Schelkachov.
Krapin was already leaving, but suddenly turned around and stared at Artiom.
“What now?” thought Artiom, clenching his jaw.
Krapin took three firm steps, almost coming face to face with Artiom. He smelled slightly of herring. Artiom swore, not knowing how best to act — to stay on his bunk or jump down.
“Sit,” said Krapin quietly and, barely waiting for an answer, said slowly and wheezily: “You don’t seem a bad type, so what are you playing at? You’re not a con man, not a thief, not a Mason. Do you want to become a candlewick? You’ll have all winter for that.”
Artiom nodded, still not really understan
