Strange Are the Ways

by Strange Are the Ways (retail) (epub)

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake – here!’ Elisabet laid the small, lethal-looking pistol upon the dressing table for a moment. ‘We haven’t got all night.’ With austere efficiency she began to unfasten the dress.

  ‘Elisabet – please – what exactly is going on? What’s happened to Jussi? Where – where are they taking me?’

  The other girl stepped back, retrieving the gun. For a moment her face remained hard as granite, and Katya thought she would not answer. Then she shrugged a little. ‘You don’t need to know exactly what’s going on. Jussi and the others went on a mission tonight, that’s all. Things didn’t go quite the way we had hoped. It could have been worse – we don’t think Jussi was recognized – but he was hurt –’

  ‘What sort of mission?’

  There was a small silence. ‘An assassination,’ Elisabet said, calmly.

  Katya’s fingers stilled. ‘An –’ She stopped. ‘You mean Jussi and the others – they killed someone?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so, yes.’

  ‘Who? Who did they kill?’ Katya’s voice was a whisper.

  Elisabet turned on her fiercely. ‘One of the men responsible for the arrest and exile of half my country’s judges, her provincial governors, her doctors, lawyers, national officials. One of those – Russians –’ she invested the word with a blistering scorn that turned it into an epithet ‘– who believe they can keep the people of Suomi in slavery by sending our leaders to Siberia to die of cold and of hardship. For God’s sake, Katya, don’t you know anything of what’s going on around you? Are you so self-centred – so stupid? Don’t you ever read a paper?’

  ‘Well, yes, of course – I –’

  Elisabet turned from her in undisguised and weary disgust. ‘Get dressed. Hurry.’

  Katya scrambled as best she could into the borrowed riding suit. It was uncomfortably tight across her breasts, and the heavy skirts swirled a little too high about her ankles. ‘Does – does your husband know about all this?’ she asked. Oddly, she was recovering her equilibrium a little as she adjusted to the strange circumstances.

  Elisabet shook her head. ‘No. Of course not. Poor old Turnakov would have a fit – several fits – if he knew the use to which his roof and his money have been put.’ She smiled a small, humourless smile. ‘The old man uses my body; I use his money and his name. A fair exchange I think. You’ll need some boots. And a coat. It will be cold out on the ice.’

  Katya, who had been struggling into the fitted woollen jacket of the suit, stopped, eyes startled. ‘The ice? You mean – the Gulf ? We’re going across the Gulf ?’

  ‘Well, what else do you think you might do? Arrive at the Finland station in the Turnakov sledge to catch a train? With Jussi with a bullet wound in his shoulder and half the city looking for the group responsible for tonight’s activities? Do try not to be any more stupid than you can possibly help, Katya.’

  ‘But – the ice? Isn’t it very early in the year to try to cross the ice? Is it – is it safe?’

  Jussi’s sister gave her a long, cool look. ‘For Jussi it’s a lot safer than St Petersburg is at the moment,’ she said, tartly. ‘They have no choice.’ For one moment her composure faltered. She clenched her fist and banged it upon the dressing table. ‘If only he hadn’t been hurt! We had it all so well planned. He had a perfect alibi –’

  ‘He had two,’ Katya said, miserably.

  Surprised, Elisabet glanced at her and then, astonishingly, laughed in sudden genuine amusement. ‘Oh, my poor Katya! What an evening this has been for you! And – you had used Jussi as your alibi?’

  Katya nodded.

  ‘All the better then. Your parents won’t be surprised to hear that the most brainless and irresponsible pair of young people in St Petersburg have decided to run away together, will they?’

  Katya was not so sure. Nor did the idea of remaining tangled in this confusing and violent web into which she had so appallingly blundered appeal. She tried once more. ‘Elisabet, please! Won’t you take my word that I won’t breathe a word of what I’ve seen and heard tonight? Won’t you please let me go?’

  The fair head shook. The faint warmth that had flickered in the other girl’s eyes died. ‘No. Absolutely not. There’s more at stake here even than simply my brother’s life – though that alone would be enough for me to kill you, whatever Jussi said.’ The words were totally matter-of-fact. Katya fought the uncomfortable and worrying squirming of her stomach. ‘We have to get him away, and quickly, and we have to do it with no possible suspicion falling upon him or upon me. It should be easy enough – he comes and goes so frequently no-one will question it. But his wound can’t be treated here. We can’t trust anyone. We don’t even have the contacts that most of the revolutionary groups do. And under no circumstances must our association with the freedom fighters be discovered. Our connections in St Petersburg are invaluable to our country as things stand; discovered, we would be less than useless. I will not allow my brother and my cause to be jeopardized by a stupid and irresponsible girl who spreads her legs for a man and then runs screaming for help when he does as nature – and presumably she – intended. I don’t know why men bother with girls like you, Katya. Whores are much better value.’ She had turned towards the door, but stopped, turned back, shaking her head, passing a hand across her eyes. The gun hung by her side in a suddenly limp hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quietly. ‘That was unforgivable. I should not have said it.’

  Katya was staring at her, white-faced, the flat cruelty of the words taking her breath. Then, ‘You’re right,’ she said, bleakly, and blinked at the sudden rise of frightened tears. ‘You’re right,’ she repeated, her voice a whisper.

  Elisabet shook her head again. ‘I’m tired. Overwrought. I apologize. These past few days have been – difficult. And now, to see Jussi hurt –’ She made a small, vague gesture with her hand. ‘I can’t tell you how it makes me feel.’ For a moment the cool possession dropped from her; she looked young, tired, close herself to tears. She made a visible effort, straightened her back, lifted her head. ‘Come. We’re wasting time.’

  Katya did not move. ‘Elisabet?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Wh-what will happen to me?’ She could not for her life control the trembling of her voice.

  The pale blue eyes met hers, serious and direct. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, but there it is. It’s up to the others. It’s up to Jussi. He’s saved you so far. But there are others involved. One thing I promise you –’ the words were dispassionate, but by no means entirely unfriendly ‘– a false step and you’re dead. An – unfortunate accident; they are easy to arrange. So behave yourself. Perhaps, for us, you are a blessing well disguised; at least his “elopement” with you will in the short term explain Jussi’s absence if embarrassing questions should be asked.’

  ‘My parents?’ Katya’s voice wobbled precariously again.

  ‘You’ll write them a note, of course. The note of a scatterbrain. A note they will recognize as yours. You’ve eloped with your handsome Finnish prince.’ Even Elisabet smiled, wryly, at that, remembering Jussi’s far from princely looks. ‘Another thoughtless, silly escapade. A whim of the moment. Make it good. They have to believe you.’

  ‘But –’ Katya stood like a bewildered child, uncomfortable in the slimmer girl’s clothes, her face blotched with tears, her cut lip swollen.

  Elisabet leaned to her, her face deadly serious. ‘Take it, Katya. It’s all there is. The alternative you’ve been told. This is not a game we’re playing. We risk our lives and our liberty, and the lives and the liberty of those we love. Every day. Every hour. I’m afraid that makes for a certain – lack of sympathy – for others.’

  And for the first time the true peril of the situation in which she found herself struck Katya like a blow. Pale and silent, unable to control the slight, frightened trembling of her limbs, she followed Elisabet from the room.

  * * *

  The city was still wreathed in a freezing fog that drifted and
swirled about the gas lamps and braziers, hung above frozen river and canal, cloaked and muffled the city and its sounds. Midnight was well past when two ordinary and unremarkable sledges set out from the Turnakov mansion, their occupants wrapped to their ears in furs and blankets, their booted feet resting uncomfortably upon hastily concealed guns. In a tense and wary silence they sat, as the horses picked their careful way through the fogbound, snowy streets. There could be no question of speed.

  Katya sat crammed between a huge young man in a shabby and remarkably pungent sheepskin jacket and the man called Heimo who had doctored Jussi’s shoulder. Opposite were Jussi, his face in the dim light drawn to the bone with pain, and a girl dressed in the clothes of a student, though she looked indefinably misplaced in the part.

  The city was surprisingly quiet, though once at a hissed instruction the two sledges drew to a halt in a quiet sidestreet as a company of soldiers rode beneath the lamp that lit an intersection some fifty yards away.

  ‘The bridge will be the key. There’s bound to be a guard,’ Jussi said, quietly. ‘Remember – let me do the talking.’

  ‘Can’t we go further upriver?’ It was the girl who spoke.

  Jussi shook his head. ‘No. They’ll all be guarded. It’ll look far more natural to take one of the larger ones. We’ll try the Dvortsovyi; and don’t forget – you’re off to enjoy yourselves – make it good!’

  The young man beside Katya, whom she had heard addressed as Kaarlo, produced a bottle from beneath his dirty sheepskin jacket. ‘We’ll make it good,’ he said, and tilted his head back to drink.

  ‘Not too bloody good,’ Jussi said, only half humorously.

  ‘Take it easy, Kaarlo,’ the man called Heimo said.

  ‘Piss off,’ Kaarlo said, gently, and drank again. Katya could smell the spirits mixed with the unpleasant odour of the filthy coat. She huddled into her cloak, arms tight across her breast, leaning away from him. He felt her movement, watched her with bright, callous eyes, grinning.

  ‘Watch it. Here they come.’ They were at the bridge. Faintly the huge bulk of the Winter Palace loomed in the darkness. A road block had been set up. Several soldiers huddled about a glowing brazier, rubbing their hands and stamping their feet, their fog-smudged figures vague in the opaque light. Others stood beside the barrier, rifles slung across their shoulders. A mounted officer slouched, bored, in his saddle some small distance away. He straightened and walked his horse forward as the two sledges drew to a halt.

  Katya was shivering. How many times had she seen this? How many times had she impatiently waited as her carriage or sledge was waved respectfully through just such a checkpoint? How could it possibly be that she was sitting here, helpless, amongst assassins, her feet upon the barrel of a machine gun? Oh, God, she prayed, desperately, if I ever get out of this I swear I’ll never misbehave again. Never!

  ‘Keep still,’ Kaarlo said, conversationally. ‘One word. One movement. That’s all it would take.’

  ‘Well, well.’ It was Jussi, very quietly, a trace of satisfaction in his voice. He raised it a little. ‘Ola! Malinski! It is you, isn’t it? What are you doing stopping respectable citizens from going about their legitimate pleasures?’

  The officer leaned in the saddle, peering into Jussi’s face.

  Then he straightened, laughing. ‘Lavola! You dog! Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?’

  ‘Out to the Islands of course. For a bit of fun. What in Hell’s name are you doing stuck here? Come and join us, why don’t you?’

  Kaarlo stirred beside Katya. The knife he held beneath the furs touched her hand. She drew back.

  The young officer shook his head ruefully. ‘You trying to get me court martialled? They’d shoot me for a lot less, you useless article.’

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘The usual. A bunch of bloody lunatics have shot up Kanoviev’s carriage as he drove to the theatre tonight. Why the bastards always have to choose a night when I’m on duty I don’t know.’

  The girl beside Jussi leaned forward. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked, eagerly.

  Through the drifting mist Katya saw Jussi’s quick frown.

  ‘Very,’ the officer said. ‘And so’s his driver. But they got one of the terrorists, so they say. Badly hurt from the sound of it. They won’t get far.’

  ‘Neither will we at this rate,’ Jussi grinned. ‘You sure you won’t join us?’

  The horse danced in the snow. Fog billowed from the ice-locked river, rolling about them; frost gleamed and glittered in the pinpricks of lamp light. ‘Better not.’ The young officer threw back his head and laughed. ‘For more reasons than one. The way I recall it you nearly got me knifed last time we went out to the Islands together. Remember the girl at the Angel?’

  ‘How could I forget her?’

  ‘All right. Let them through.’ The young man raised his hand to the men by the barrier. Leaned forward to Jussi again. ‘Have one for me,’ he said, and slapped his shoulder in friendly salute before wheeling the horse and moving back onto the bridge.

  Jussi’s fair head went back in an agonized spasm of pain. How he had resisted crying out Katya could not imagine. She watched, appalled, as the sledge began to move forward. Jussi swayed, white-faced; lifted his good hand in an answering wave to the young officer.

  ‘Hold him,’ Heimo said, sharply.

  The girl grabbed Jussi, her arm about his waist, supporting him. As they passed beneath a lamp Katya saw the savage pain that bleached his face; and still he made no sound. Once off the bridge and away from danger Heimo called for the sledge to stop.

  ‘No.’ Jussi, who had slumped forward, straightened. ‘No. We can’t stop now. We have to get on.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You can do whatever needs to be done once we reach Finland.’ Jussi’s voice was quiet, husky with effort and with pain. ‘Thirty miles. That’s all. Just thirty miles, and we’re safe. But we can’t stop now. There are still the forts.’

  The fog thickened, and so did the silence, as they reached the forest that edged the marshlands of the coast. There were few lights now, their own lamps were like glow worms smothered by the blanket of the freezing mist that drifted between the trees in wreaths and ribbons that seemed imbued with an unearthly life of their own. Katya’s eyes ached from straining them into the eerie, shifting darkness. They passed the occasional house or cabin, barred and muffled against the cold. Woodsmoke mixed sometimes with the fog; the smell brought visions of small, often all but unnoticed comforts. Suddenly Katya was overwhelmed with misery. She wanted to go home. She wanted things to be normal, ordinary. She wanted to be the girl she had been that morning. She wanted her room with its pretty things, its warmth and safety. She wanted her mother.

  ‘How far out are the forts?’ It was the girl who spoke, her voice small and unnerved in the quiet that was broken only by the faint jingling of harness.

  ‘Six miles.’ Jussi eased himself in the seat. He had appeared to sleep for the past few miles. His voice was stronger, his face more alert. ‘Once past them we’re safe. At least the fog will be some protection against the lights.’

  ‘But no protection against losing our way,’ Heimo said, softly.

  Jussi shook his head. ‘We’re in safe hands. Our drivers aren’t only Finns. They’re – shall we say more than usually experienced with this crossing? They won’t lose us.’

  ‘Smugglers,’ Kaarlo said, and tilted his bottle again.

  ‘Gentlemen of the free trade,’ Jussi said, and in the darkness there was the shadow of a smile in his voice.

  ‘But the ice?’ It was almost the first time Katya had spoken. ‘Is it safe?’

  She could all but feel the silence about her.

  ‘Trust you to ask a bloody silly question like that, Katya my love,’ Jussi said, mildly.

  Ahead, faintly through the trees, could be seen a cluster of lights, as they approached a small community of cabins set along the frozen quiet of the shore. Figure
s moved in the misty darkness. Words were exchanged, quietly. Coins chinked. Men bent to the horses’ hooves, worked upon the harness. ‘What are they doing?’ Katya asked.

  ‘Deadening the sound,’ Heimo said. His voice and his face were tense. ‘The sailors in the Kronstadt tend to fire first and ask questions afterwards at this time of night. Or at any other time come to that.’

  A man, muffled to the eyebrows, came to the side of the sledge and offered tin mugs of sweet, strong tea. Katya sipped it gratefully; she was shaking with cold and nerves. Kaarlo shook his head, swigged from the bottle again.

  ‘Give Jussi some of that,’ Heimo said.

  Kaarlo lifted his eyebrows.

  Purposefully Heimo leaned forward, forcibly took the bottle from him and splashed some of its contents into a mug of tea. ‘Drink that.’ He thrust the mug into Jussi’s hand. Katya was shocked to see how it shook.

  Five minutes later, amidst whispered good wishes, the two sledges, runners swishing quietly, swung down off the shore and through the flat, frozen marshes that led out onto the wide, quiet ice of the Gulf.

  * * *

  It was a journey Katya would never forget. As they left the land the fog closed about them, claustrophobically dense, brutally cold. In virtual silence they moved through a lightless world, their breath and that of the horses clouding about them, freezing as it settled, as they moved with tense care towards the line of forts, dominated by the Kronstadt, that guarded the sea approach to St Petersburg.

  Katya ached all over. Her head, her shoulders, her back. There was an uncomfortable burning between her legs that she tried to ignore. Her lip was swollen and sore. She felt utterly wretched. Yet not even she could sink so far into self-absorbed misery that she could not sense the taut nerves of the others as the first searchlight swept through the fog, reflecting uselessly back into itself against the shifting wall of mist. The sledge stopped – they had long since lost contact with the second one – the driver scrambled from his seat and walked quietly forward to take the horse’s head. Heimo slipped from his seat beside Katya to join him. Together, dim figures in the foggy darkness, they led the horse on, trudging one each side of the beast’s head, hands ready to muffle the slightest sound.