Berezovo

by A J Allen

  “It’s not just the money, Colonel,” blustered the Mayor, colouring slightly, “it is the time as well. First the deer have to be caught. Besides, you haven’t told us how many you will need or for how long.”

  “The convoy will require eighty deer. Each deer should be able to cover at least fifty versts a day.”

  “Eighty!” protested the Mayor, horrified by the expense. “But how long for? Where are they going to?”

  “Their destination is a state secret,” Izorov said. “Only myself and the sergeant in charge of the convoy will know the prisoners’ final destination.”

  “But Konstantin Illyich, be reasonable,” pleaded Pobednyev. “I must know. After all, someone will have to bring them back. At least you can tell me how long they will be away.”

  Captain Steklov cleared his throat loudly.

  “I think, Your Excellency,” he drawled, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his immaculately creased trouser leg, “that what the colonel is implying is that if you know how long they are to be away, their direction of travel and that they have to do at least fifty versts a day, it would only be a matter of time, a few days at the most, before you could calculate the convoy’s destination. Am I not correct, Colonel?”

  Izorov nodded, his face betraying the ghost of a smile.

  “Ah, yes, of course,” the Mayor said hurriedly and sank back crestfallen into his seat.

  “Anyway,” Izorov remarked, “if anyone should wonder, you must tell them that the reindeer will not be returning, just like the prisoners.”

  “Oh really?” said Captain Steklov with a wry smile. “Are you going to shoot them dead in case they talk?”

  Determined to press home his attack on the Mayor, Izorov ignored the young officer’s jibe.

  “My orders are quite specific,” he repeated. “The civil authorities are responsible for the provision of eighty reindeer and forty sleighs to transport the convoy to the prisoners’ eventual place of settlement.”

  “Forty sleighs!” exclaimed the Mayor, half rising out of his chair. “But there aren’t that many in the town! Where am I meant to get forty sleighs from?”

  “That is your concern, not mine. My orders are quite clear,” the colonel insisted. “They come from the minister himself, empowering me to even declare a state of siege should I think it necessary.”

  “Siege law, oh dear!” muttered Skyralenko, shaking his head unhappily.

  “Quite so, siege law. And might I remind all of you,” Izorov went on, “what that means? The suspension of all civil authority and the summary detention and elimination of those unwilling to cooperate with those officers empowered by the Imperial Crown for the maintenance of law and order. But I am sure,” he concluded with a wintry smile, “that it won’t come to that. As for the sleighs, I believe that there is a proviso in the terms of the Cholera Relief Fund for the commissioning of vehicles in the event of an emergency. And this is an emergency.”

  At the mention of the fund, the Mayor felt himself grow cold. Suspecting that his secretary had known all along, he promised himself that one day the wretch’s neck would be as twisted as his body.

  “At least, Colonel,” he insisted, “you can give me some help with the deer. Grant me the authority to commandeer a couple of herds. Or even better, lend me a few men so that the Ostyaks know that we mean business.”

  Izorov shook his head.

  “I think, Your Excellency, that my men will have enough to do in the coming days without floundering around in the snow rounding up reindeer. No, it’s your responsibility.”

  Leaning forward in his seat, he tapped the pile of papers that lay neatly stacked in front of him.

  “One word of warning, though. Should some of the deer go lame and delay the convoy, perhaps giving one of the prisoners the opportunity to escape, then you will be held personally responsible. Therefore, I earnestly recommend you to be very careful that only the best animals are chosen. We don’t want any rubbish, do you understand?”

  Mayor Pobednyev nodded unhappily.

  Satisfied that the Mayor’s guns had been momentarily spiked, Colonel Izorov settled back comfortably in his chair.

  “Do either of you have any questions?” he demanded of the other two men sitting opposite him. “Now is the time to ask them.”

  Shuffling forward in his seat, Skyralenko cast an enquiring glance at the handsome captain beside him. With a vague sweep of his hand, Captain Steklov gave way.

  “Well,” the gaoler began, “there are one or two points I am not quite certain of, Konstantin Illyich.”

  “Go on.”

  Skyralenko hesitated and moved forward again, until he was perching earnestly on the edge of his seat.

  “As I said earlier,” he began again nervously, “there is the problem of accommodation, especially since you tell us they have brought their wives and children with them.”

  “Only some of them have,” Izorov corrected him.

  “Granted, only some of them,” Skyralenko conceded hastily. “However, I still have only six cells and half of those are already occupied, either with prisoners awaiting trial or serving their sentence. In my opinion…”

  He paused again, glancing nervously at the colonel’s watchful expression as he tried to gauge his mood.

  “Yes, in my opinion, these new prisoners will provide a hazard to the security of the prison. As you are aware, ‘politicals’ and ordinary criminals don’t mix. They are like oil and water. What with bringing women into the cells and the overcrowding, we must expect trouble. Remember also I have only six staff to help me. Not,” he added hastily, “that I am asking for more men. But couldn’t we put some of these people – say the women and children, at least – somewhere else?”

  The colonel spread his hands open as if to say: look, I am a reasonable man.

  “Where did you have in mind, Dimitri Borisovich?”

  “Why not lodge them in the hotel? It is only for a couple of days and Fyodor Gregorivich has plenty of empty rooms at this time of year,” Skyralenko suggested hopefully. “A couple of armed guards on the landing would suffice to guarantee their security.”

  Colonel Izorov’s eyes narrowed as he considered the prison director’s suggestion. When at last he gave his answer, there was less of the abruptness in his manner than he had shown towards the Mayor.

  “No, Dimitri Borisovich, although I see your point. The hotel is not as safe as you think. It has too many exits and entrances; too many rooms to hide in. Nevertheless, knowing your prison would be overcrowded, I have already thought of an alternative. The new arrivals shall stay in the cells, as I have said. The prisoners you already have there will be evicted.”

  “Evicted?” echoed the gaoler, puzzled.

  “Yes. They will be given parole and told to get lost. Of course, as soon as the convoy has left, they will be ordered to report back to prison.”

  There was a stunned silence. Pobednyev, still smarting from his treatment by the colonel, was the first to find his voice.

  “You can’t do that, Colonel,” he protested loudly. “I doubt that even siege law gives you that authority to free convicted criminals already in gaol.”

  “Rather the reverse, in fact,” said Captain Steklov.

  “Quite!” agreed The Mayor, gathering steam. “You have some of the town’s biggest rogues in there. What of Ratapov, or the Gubernyn brothers? And that idiot Bambayev? What is Elizaveta Dresnyakova going to say when she hears that the man who waggled himself at her through her bedroom window is at liberty to do it again?”

  “And what guarantee do we have that the prisoners will return to their cells when this convoy has gone?” Skyralenko wanted to know.

  Again Izorov spread his hands out wide.

  “Where else is there for them to go?” he countered. “With the weather as it is they wouldn’t survive one night out in the open. And if they try to hide in the town, I shall make things too hot for them. Five blows of the knout for every day overdue; the same fo
r those that harbour them. That should make them think.”

  But Skyralenko was not convinced.

  “It is still a hell of a risk, Colonel,” he said. “I can’t accept the responsibility.”

  “It is quite unacceptable!” declared Pobednyev hotly.

  “Yes, it is a risk,” agreed Izorov. “I don’t like letting them go any more than you do. But is there an alternative? After all, the crimes they have committed pale into insignificance beside these swine from Petersburg. These so-called deputies of the people are guilty not of common assault or robbery or lewd behaviour, but of high treason. Let me remind you, gentlemen, they plotted to overthrow the Tsar himself, and came damn near succeeding.”

  The silence that followed this timely reminder was broken by Captain Steklov.

  “Apropos these people,” he wondered aloud, “might I ask the colonel what measures he intends to take to increase the security of the prison? As Skyralenko here has already told us, he has only six wardens under his command. Hardly sufficient, I suggest, for the task in hand.”

  “I was coming to that,” replied Izorov. “As I see it, we are all understaffed, but I think I have found a way to impress upon our visitors the impossibility of their position if we all pull together. Immediately upon their arrival, these exiles should be marched into the prison yard, where they will be met by a reception committee. This should consist of the combined forces of the police, the prison warders and the full military garrison. Give or take one or two, that should number about fifty men in uniform, armed and drawn up in ranks. If any of them have any doubts about our preparedness, then that should change their minds.”

  “A parade of strength,” muttered Skyralenko appreciatively. “That’s a good idea.”

  “I agree,” said Mayor Pobednyev. “It’s an excellent idea. As Mayor, I think a parade of strength is exactly what this situation calls for. I assume you will require my presence there as the representative of the civil powers?”

  “But of course,” the Chief of Police assured him. “And I thought, perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind that is, you could make a short speech…”

  “Of welcome?” suggested Captain Steklov mischievously.

  “No,” said Colonel Izorov with a pained expression, “not of welcome exactly.”

  “No! Goodness gracious, not of welcome!” expostulated the Mayor. “But, since this is something of an historical occasion, however grim, I think that a short address might be in order. A few words, just to show them what sort of people we are, so that the new arrivals can see that we won’t tolerate any of their monkey tricks here.”

  The colonel beamed benignly, pleased with the progress he had made.

  The fat fool is growing quite boisterous, he thought. Just dangle the prospect of a grand parade with a speech at the end of it and he will do anything.

  Turning his attention to the third man in the trio that sat opposite him, he asked Captain Steklov if he had any questions for him.

  “Yes,” Steklov replied, “but if His Excellency and Dimitri Borisovich would allow me, I should prefer to discuss them with you in private. They involve operational matters and military security and so forth,” he explained apologetically to the two other men.

  “Of course, of course,” Skyralenko and Pobednyev replied in chorus.

  “In that case,” said Colonel Izorov, rising from his chair, “I shall not detain you gentlemen any longer. This is indeed an historic moment in the history of Berezovo and you have important work to do. I do not think that I exaggerate when I say that the safety not only of this town, but of Holy Russia herself lies in your hands. If we should fail, if one of these swine should somehow escape us, then I shudder to think of the consequences.”

  The colonel’s face lengthened as he gave his final warning.

  “My last word is this. I need not tell you of the dark forces that still threaten our country. Forces that have their agents everywhere, even here in Berezovo. If they should hear so much as a whisper of who is coming they will be bound to prepare a desperate plot to free them or, at the very least, to cause us the gravest embarrassment. So, we must be silent as the tomb until the day itself. I must ask you all to swear upon your honour not to breathe even a single word of this to anyone.”

  In turn they shook the colonel’s hand. There was an awkward pause then, bracing himself, Pobednyev strode purposefully to the door. Pulling it open, he stepped to one side to allow Skyralenko to pass. When the prison director had gone, the Mayor saluted the two uniformed men clumsily and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

  Captain Steklov stood up and stretched lazily. “Idiots!” he sneered. “It will be all over town by lunchtime.”

  “How can I help you, Captain?” asked Colonel Izorov coolly.

  Captain Steklov felt himself flush with embarrassment at the snub. What a boor the policeman was! With studied calm, he walked to the door, turned and, leaning against it, folded his arms.

  “Perhaps, Colonel,” he demanded, “you could begin by explaining how the hell a convoy escorted by a military guard comes under the jurisdiction of the police?”

  Amused by the directness of this frontal assault, Colonel Izorov opened his desk drawer, reached in and produced a tin of cigarettes and a box of matches. Only when he had lit the cigarette and loosened his collar did he deign to answer.

  “Perhaps, Captain,” he replied, mimicking Steklov’s clipped tones, “I can answer you best by asking you a question. How long have you known about this convoy? For instance, do you know its exact destination? Or the exact composition of its escort?”

  “I only know what you have told me,” admitted Steklov.

  “Then you have answered your own question, have you not?” replied the colonel with a laugh. “You do not know more because the highest organs of the state have wished it thus. To be frank, it is felt in Petersburg that the army can no longer be trusted in affairs of this kind.”

  Colouring at the insult, Captain Steklov pushed himself away from the door and took a step towards the older man and then hesitated. Col. Izorov had been careful to leave the drawer of his desk open far enough for the young man to see the butt of his service revolver resting upon a pile of unused charge forms. Feigning not to notice the young man check himself and hesitate, the policeman flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the floor.

  “Let me give you an example,” he continued smoothly. “Because of the persistence of our country’s enemies, our resources, that is those of the police and of the gendarmerie, are stretched to the limit. We can call upon the special reserve of course, but more often than not they are more trouble than they are worth. So, when the time came for these insurrectionists to be transferred from their holding cells to the train that was to transport them part of the way here, a military escort was considered advisable. But,” he added, pointing the burning tip of his cigarette at the captain, “even then, it was thought more prudent not to use troops from the local garrison who might have included sympathisers. Instead they had to draft in men from outside the capital. That is the way things stand in Petersburg, whether we like it or not.”

  Despite his detestation of the policeman, Steklov did not doubt for one instant that what Izorov was saying was the truth.

  “I must say, with no disrespect to you, Colonel,” he retorted, “I find it strange that the police should be more trusted than the army. After all, if I remember correctly, it was only the intervention of the army which prevented the country sliding into wholesale chaos. Why, during the preliminary enquiry into the causes of the Insurrection, your colleagues even stole the briefcase of the Chief Investigation Officer, General Ivanov. It was in all the newspapers.”

  “Your naïveté does you no credit, Captain,” replied Izorov blithely. “If the army fought as well as it talked, we would still hold Port Arthur.”

  He stood up, and dropping his half smoked cigarette onto the bare boards, ground it to shreds beneath his boot. Turning to face the young cavalry officer, he glared a
t him.

  “Don’t think,” he said, for the first time letting anger creep into his voice, “that I am blind to the faults of some of my colleagues. I am not. Neither am I ignorant of what this will mean to the town.”

  Coming out from behind his desk he took a few paces nearer to Steklov.

  “How long have you been here, Captain?” he asked rhetorically. “Ten months? A year perhaps? I have been Chief in Berezovo now for ten years! Ten years of cleaning up other people’s messes. It’s not the kind of job which attracts princes trying to place their pampered offspring. I have survived being punched, shot at, stabbed and bombed. So you will obey my instructions not because my rank is superior to yours but because my experience is superior to yours. The army may be the armour that the country puts on to protect itself against external threats, but it has no place in a situation like this. Whereas the police force is…”

  Colonel Izorov hesitated, searching for the right word. At last it came to him.

  “The police force is the very skeleton,” he declared, placing a broad powerful hand on his chest, “upon which the body of Russia relies. As for myself,” he added deprecatingly, “I have no illusions about my place in this world. I am one of the smaller bones. If I pride myself on any achievement, it is this: that in Berezovo it is not the severity of the punishment that deters people from breaking the law, but the inevitability of it. I know who the radicals are and who are the members of the Black Gangs and while I am Chief of Police here, there won’t be any riots or pogroms. The rule of law and the maintenance of order are the twin pillars upon which our so-called civilisation rests. Those are the two tasks the Tsar has entrusted to me. There is no talk of glory, or even of victory; just stemming the tide of filth and chaos is all I can hope for. Can you honestly say that you envy me my task?”

  Captain Steklov said nothing.

  With a sad shake of his head, Colonel Izorov turned away and walked back behind his desk. Motioning the young man to sit down, he picked up the tin of cigarettes again.

  “Do you recall that young fool, in Tobolsk last year?” he remarked as he offered the tin to the soldier. “Your regiment, if I recall; a captain, same as you. Perhaps you knew him? He looked the other way and let a student escape from custody. He was reduced to the ranks for his pains and sent to a punishment battalion. Not very pleasant, and that was only for a lousy student. Can you imagine what they would do to someone who let one of these bastards escape?”