The Masters

by Christopher Nicole

  “I will not make a sound,” she said. There would be no point. Besides, they understood each other, now. They were intimates. Until the moment of death.

  The steamer was anchored in the pool. Patricia was made to climb down the ladder into a small boat, and rowed ashore. They landed at a deserted flight of steps up from the water. Four men, including Reddich, had accompanied her, and they stood around her as she climbed the steps. At the top, Reddich stepped forward with handcuffs and clipped them on to her wrists. They walked, through deserted streets, it was past midnight, and came to the Peter and Paul Fortress. “Welcome home,” Reddich said. The steel grille clanged behind her.

  “Where is she to go?” the guard sergeant asked.

  “Put her in a cell, by herself, until Colonel Michaelin is ready to see her. That will be tomorrow morning.” Reddich chucked Patricia under the chin. “The Colonel is looking forward to having a little chat with you. This time there will be no confessing to save your pretty little ass. You will just have to grin and bear it.” Patricia gathered all the saliva she could and spat into his face. He recoiled, and instinctively made to strike her, then checked himself. “The Colonel does not want you marked,” he said. “He means to do the marking himself. But I will be there, Your Excellency.” He marched out of the room.

  One of the wardresses took Patricia along to a cell. “That was very stupid of you,” she said. “You know they will make you pay for it. That Reddich is a vicious monster.”

  Patricia glanced at her in surprise. “They are going to destroy me, anyway,” she said, and listened to the boots clumping in the corridor. The wardress turned with a grunt of irritation. “Who are you?”

  “I am to take the prisoner to see Colonel Michaelin.”

  “Now? I was told it was not to be until the morning.”

  “It is morning, woman,” the man said. The voice was as familiar as if she had heard it only an hour ago. Rurik Bondarevski!

  *

  Rurik gave no sign of ever having seen her before. “Come along, woman,” he said. “The colonel is waiting.”

  Questions, ideas, tumbled through Patricia’s mind, but she went into the corridor. She could not believe what was happening. That Rurik, so faithfully Anna’s slave, should be working for the Okhrana...but he was actually wearing uniform, had a revolver on his belt, and looked most efficient. And grim. “I must cuff you,” he said, when they reached the courtyard, and the waiting troika. Patricia held out her wrists without a word. “Get in,” Rurik commanded.

  Patricia got into the back of the vehicle. To her surprise, there was no driver; Rurik took the reins himself. He nodded to the waiting guards, and the gates were opened. They drove out of the prison yard and on to the bridge. It was three o’clock in the morning, and the city was dark and quiet. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  Rurik turned on to the Nevski Prospect. “Where would you like to go, my Trishka?” she asked.

  Patricia caught her breath again. “I do not understand.”

  “Then do not say anything, now. Be patient.” She bit her lip, and looked right and left. They were off the Prospect now, and driving into the suburbs of the city. They crossed several bridges, and the houses thinned. Then there were fields. In the distance a cock crowed, and the first fingers of light stole into the sky. “Do not worry,” Rurik said. “No one wakes up much before six. By six we will be far away. There are horses waiting in the next village.”

  “I still do not understand,” she said. “You knew I was coming?”

  “Of course. I am a member of the Okhrana.”

  “Why? How?”

  Rurik’s shoulders hunched; she could only see the back of his head. “Your aunt was very angry that I had taken you to that meeting. She thought that we had slept together. She was jealous. So she dismissed me. She even forbade me to return to Bolugayen. I nearly starved. There was no employment. Then I thought to myself, why not join the police. That way I will be employed, and that way...who knows? And then, I learned that you were being brought back, and I wished only to help you.”

  “Oh, Rurik,” she said. “You are most awfully brave.”

  Rurik squeezed her fingers, then released them to grasp the reins with both hands. “The seaports and the borders are where they will look for us, first. We must hide, until the search for you has been given up.”

  “Hide where?”

  “Can we not go to Bolugayen? The Countess Sonia will surely take you in. Are you not old friends?”

  “I could not possibly ask her to take that risk. Anyway, Bolugayen is the first place they would look for me. I know you would like to return there, Rurik, but it will have to wait.”

  “Wait until when, Trishka? I am sure it will be possible for us to get there without anyone knowing of it,” Rurik said. He pointed. “There is the village, where the horses are. We are all but safe.”

  The troika pulled to a halt outside a stables, and Rurik helped her down. It was seven in the morning. He went inside, to talk to the owner. People gawked at her, and she realised she must look a mess. But Rurik was back, leading four horses. Two were saddled. “The others will be remounts,” he explained. “We must ride far and fast.”

  “But we have no money. And no clothes.”

  “I have money.” He showed her his wallet. “And we will buy you clothes.”

  She couldn’t believe he was so well prepared. “But where did you get the money for all this?” she asked, as they breakfasted before setting off.

  He grinned. “I stole it. From the Okhrana. If I am going to be a criminal, well, then, should I not be a criminal? With you.” She flushed, and ate her borscht. “What would you like more than anything else in the world?” he asked.

  “To be reunited with my husband and my baby,” Patricia replied without thinking.

  He did not take offence. “I meant, here, within Russia.”

  “To kill Anton Reddich. And then have a hot bath.”

  “You will have one, when next we stop. I promise. Killing Reddich may have to wait a while. Now we must go.” He paid the landlord, and helped her mount. The crowd still gawked at them.

  “They will tell the Okhrana that we were here,” Patricia said.

  “They will not catch up with us,” he said confidently. “They do not know we are going to Bolugayen. They will be watching the frontiers.” He kicked his horse and cantered out of the village, leading the remounts.

  Patricia followed. “We will not to Bolugayen,” she said. “We will go to Moscow. I have friends in Moscow.”

  “Will that not be more dangerous than going to Bolugayen?”

  “No. I have said, I have friends there, who will help us. Can you take me to Moscow, Rurik?”

  *

  Michaelin studied the report given him by Reddich. “This is very satisfactory, Anton,” he said. “My congratulations.”

  “Thank you, your honour. You understand that Bondarevski was unable to persuade the Countess to return to Bolugayen.”

  “That is no matter. Certainly not when taken in conjunction with this other one...” He glanced at Feodor, who stood on the other side of the desk. “This is even better.”

  “Do you not suppose this fellow may complicate matters, appearing in Russia like this? Claiming that his wife, an American citizen, has been kidnapped?”

  “No, no. He will precipitate matters, by his desperation to find her, which is what we wish. I think what we will do now is determine a means of letting Mr Cromb know where he can find the Ulianovs. Or, I suppose, we should start referring to them as the Lenins, to avoid confusion. If he knows where to contact them, he will certainly wish to do so, as obviously he knows of his wife’s association with them.” He looked up. “You do know where they are?”

  “Yes, your honour. They are in the Kitai-Gorod district. But thus far they have done nothing overt. They are holding meetings, seeing people...you said not to pick them up.”

  “That is correct. I do not wish anyone picked up
until they start something big. Then we will have sufficient evidence to hang the lot of them. Including the Bolugayevskis. These are fish which need to be played.”

  *

  Morgan looked around himself in consternation. “Begging your pardon, Mr Cromb,” he said. “You mean your family owns this place?”

  “It owns several of these places, Harold,” Duncan told him, and gave his hat and gloves to the waiting footman.

  “If only you had informed me that you were coming, Your Excellency,” Dmitri said.

  “There wasn’t really time,” Duncan said. “Anyway, I don’t want you to turn the place upside down for me. All I require is room and board while I look for the Countess Patricia.”

  Dmitri looked puzzled. “You expect to find Her Excellency here, Your Excellency?”

  “She is here, Dmitri. She is in Russia.”

  “I am sure that was very unwise of her, Your Excellency. In all the circumstances.”

  “Dmitri, she didn’t come back of her own volition. She was kidnapped by your secret police. They’re begging for an international incident if I don’t find her, and quickly. And unharmed.”

  “Really, Your Excellency,” Dmitri said, deprecatingly. “I find that difficult to believe.” He looked to Madame Popov for support.

  “Very difficult,” Madame Popov agreed.

  “Well,” Duncan said. “You can find it what you like, but I am staying here until I find her. You going to let us in?”

  “Of course, Your Excellency. I shall prepare an apartment for you immediately.” He glanced at Morgan, more deprecatingly yet. “And for the gentleman.”

  *

  “Where do we begin, sir?” Morgan asked. While he whole-heartedly supported his master in what he was doing, he had expected some effort of concealment or subterfuge. But Duncan was travelling quite openly, as if defying the government to attempt to stop him. And no such attempt had been made. Morgan had to wonder if Mrs Cromb had actually been kidnapped by the secret police after all. But as they were here... “Are we going to see these Okhrana people, sir?” he asked.

  “That would accomplish nothing,” Duncan told him. “They are a secret state within the state. No, I shall write to the Tsar and ask for an interview.”

  “The Tsar, sir? But, doesn’t he employ these people?”

  “Yes, he does, Harold. But I doubt he knows everything that they do in his name.”

  “Well, sir, with respect, I am bound to say that in England this tsar is regarded as a tyrant of the most vicious order.”

  Duncan nodded. “He is in the States, too. But my cousin Alexei assures me that he is really quite a decent fellow, who has to govern as he does, by means of secret police and so on, because his forefathers always did.”

  “And you reckon this here tsar will receive you, sir?” Morgan was doubtful.

  “Why shouldn’t he?” Duncan sat at the ornate escritoire, pulled open a drawer, and took out some headed notepaper. “After all,” he said, “I am married into one of the foremost princely families in Russia.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll just unpack, shall I?” Morgan fussed while Duncan wrote.

  They both looked round as there was a tap at the door. “Come in,” Duncan said. Madame Popov sidled into the room. “Yes?” Duncan asked. Madame Popov closed the door, and looked at Morgan. “Do you have something to say to me?” Duncan inquired.

  “It is confidential, Your Excellency.”

  “I have no secrets from my man, my good woman,” Duncan said.

  Madame Popov gave them each a nervous glance. “You seek the Countess Patricia?”

  Duncan’s head jerked. “You said, just now...”

  “It was necessary,” Madame Popov said. “The Okhrana, they are everywhere. Who can tell who works for them and who does not. Even Dmitri...”

  “My God!” Duncan commented. “Then you know that my wife is in Russia. Do you know where she is?”

  “No, Your Excellency. But I know where she is likely to be.”

  Duncan was on his feet. “Tell me!”

  “You understand, sir, that what I tell you is most secret, and that when you leave Petersburg, you must tell no one where you are going. Least of all Dmitri.”

  “I understand that,” Duncan said. “Just tell me where I can find my wife.”

  “Well, Your Excellency...” Madame Popov’s voice dropped until it was only a whisper. “Have you ever heard of a man called Ulianov, who now calls himself Lenin?”

  *

  Alexei Bolugayevski watched the sun rising out of the mist which shrouded the hills to the east. With the sun there came a dawn wind, and on the wind was carried the sound of bugle calls; he even thought he could hear barked words of command. The Japanese believed in doing everything by the book, a book they had learned from European military methods, both French and German. A book which was going to have to be torn apart if this war was to be won.

  His batman was waiting to shave him, and dress him. His heavy belt from which was suspended both his sword and his revolver was strapped about his waist, his peaked cap set on his head at just the right angle. Reveille sounded, and he went outside for the morning inspection. The men’s uniforms were scruffy, not all their weapons were in a proper state of oiled cleanliness, and several of them very clearly had hangovers from the previous night. But there was no use considering punishing them, for any of these lapses in discipline; lacking the vodka, they would simply have deserted. “Reports,” Alexei told his officers when the parade had been dismissed.

  “Our patrols say there is no forward activity amongst the Japanese, Your Excellency,” the adjutant said.

  Alexei stroked his chin. There had been little activity along the front for some days. Which could only mean the Japanese were preparing something; he knew the Russians weren’t. He dismissed his officers, mounted his horse, and accompanied only by his batman rode up the slopes of the hill on which his regiment was camped, before turning his binoculars towards the Japanese position. It was quite clearly visible, and within the range of his battery of howitzers. But if he started shelling them they would start shelling him, and his guns were down to half a dozen rounds each; the single track railway from Moscow might be able to shift forty thousand men a month to Manchuria, but it apparently could not do that and shift sufficient bullets and shells as well. Or perhaps the bullets and shells were simply not available.

  While they were left to fight in the most inhospitable terrain in the world. Wherever he looked there was rolling countryside, ranges of hills, which often enough became mountains. In another couple of months the wild flowers would have disappeared beneath the snow, the lakes and rivers would be freezing...and so would the men. But he would still be here. He could see no end in sight.

  While his heart was on Bolugayen, with Sonia and Colin. Oh, to be there. But it would still be there, when he got back. Letters were scarce, but those that did reach him indicated that Sonia was managing the estate to the manner born. She was a treasure, an absolute dream. He would return to her... “I hear a bugle call, Your Excellency,” Corporal Petrosian said.

  Alexei turned his head. “That is a general’s call,” he said, and cantered back down the slope. Entering the camp was an entourage of officers, headed by General Kuropatkin himself. Alexei saluted as he drew rein. “Your Excellency.”

  “We’ll speak privately, Colonel Bolugayevski,” the general said, dismounting. Alexei also dismounted, and escorted the general to his tent. “Any movement from over there?” Kuropatkin asked.

  “Nothing of import, Your Excellency.”

  “Good. Well, you’ll issue your men with an extra ration of vodka.”

  Alexei frowned. “Is there to be an attack?”

  Kuropatkin glanced at him. “Do you know how many men there are over there?”

  “I have no idea, sir.”

  “Then you will know better than to suppose we can attack them. No, no, Colonel, it is necessary that we continue to stand upon the defensive. But I am the
bringer of great as well as sad tidings. The news has just reached us that Her Majesty has given birth to a son, Colonel Bolugayevski. And for you, that means a second extra ration of vodka: the Tsarevich is to be named Alexei.”

  “I am deeply honoured, Your Excellency.”

  “So, now we have a future to fight for, eh Colonel?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency. May I ask when we will be in a position to move to the relief of Port Arthur?”

  Kuropatkin glanced at him. “General Stakelberg is marching south now, to relieve the port.”

  “Is there any possibility of my being seconded to the column?”

  “None.”

  Alexei swallowed. “My brother and my aunt are there, sir, together with my sister-in-law and my niece.”

  Kuropatkin sighed. “Not your brother, Colonel. That is the sad tidings I mentioned. We have been informed by the Japanese that Prince Bolugayevski was killed during the assault on the Neck. You have my deepest sympathy. However, this means that you are now the Prince Bolugayevski.”

  “My niece...”

  “Is still a very small child, is she not? Were she able to marry, perhaps...but it is of no matter. Your letters patent have been confirmed by the Tsar. As of this moment, you are Your Highness.”

  “Does the Tsar know I helped my sister escape from Russia?”

  “This is his way of signifying that you are forgiven for that too. These are trying times, Your Highness. Russia is rampant with revolution. There are even strikes in St Petersburg. And there are rumours of more serious matters in Moscow. The Tsar needs loyal men about him. You are so considered.”

  “I am flattered, sir. However, I would prefer this change in my circumstances should not be released until we have finished here. We have a war to fight. And win.”

  “We do, Your Highness. But you do not. Your orders are to hand over command of your regiment and return to Moscow. There you will take command of the garrison. You are promoted general.”

  Alexei stared at him, open-mouthed. “I would prefer to remain here, General.”

  “Of course you would. You would rather kill Japanese than your own people. But orders are orders and must be obeyed.”