Kremlins Boxset

by K L Conger

  “There is one thing, my lord.”

  “Anything you need, you have simply to ask.”

  “My mother died here some years ago, and I never obtained a detailed explanation as to what happened to her—the details of her accident. Might I have Your Highness’s permission to ask those who knew her, to satisfy myself on the subject?”

  “You have my permission,” Ivan said without hesitation, “and anything else you desire.” He turned to the audience. “All hear this. Anyone whom Master Taras approaches has my command to answer his questions and show him hospitality.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Taras bowed again and walked backward toward the door. He glanced to the side often so he didn’t run into the occupied benches. To turn one's back on the imperial tsar was treason, if not blasphemy. Many of the boyars followed him with their eyes. Eyes that held calculation. He had been greatly privileged in the tsar’s sight.

  Nikolai fell in beside him, and they backed up to the grand doors before turning to go. By then, another petitioner had been presented to the tsar, and Taras was obviously gone from his mind.

  They left the room together, but Nikolai waited until they were several corridors away before speaking. When he did, he clapped Taras on the shoulder.

  “You did well, Taras. The tsar has favored you highly. You may come into great power and wealth.” Taras smiled briefly, and Nikolai frowned. “Were his gifts unsatisfactory to you?”

  “No. I hoped to be a soldier. Only a soldier. I have little interest in life at court. I would rather not be pulled away from my military duties to advise the tsar on how to manipulate any English ambassadors that arrive.”

  “The tsar has given you great privileges, boy. Most of those boyars in there would kill to be in your shoes—with the tsar’s ear available to them. You shouldn’t speak so negatively of the tsar’s plans for England. It might be misconstrued.”

  Taras said nothing.

  “Take heart. The chances to entertain English ambassadors will be few. If you handle it well, the tsar will reward you handsomely. With your new position, you will have a great deal of freedom to move around and ask your questions.”

  Taras stopped walking and turned to Nikolai. “What do you know of my mother’s death?”

  Nikolai spread his hands. “Very little, I’m afraid. I'd gone out with a hunting party when it happened. I got back in time to hear of your mother’s injury and came to tell your father, if you remember. If he had any concerns about the incident, he didn’t confide in me.”

  “Nikolai, why did the tsar grant my requests so readily? Why did he put all the boyars at my disposal?”

  “Most ask for position or wealth. The tsar was probably impressed with the humility of your request. Besides, his generosity will ensure your loyalty, will it not? So he will have your services when he needs them. He will grant you anything you want, within reason, and your requests are so reasonable, he is all too happy to do such favors. But keep in mind, Taras, he will expect such favors in return.”

  Taras sighed and turned to walk again. Nikolai grabbed his arm. “Taras, know that I am your friend and will help you any way I can. Your father was a good man, and I was fond of him, so please take this as friendly advice.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Nikolai glanced in both directions. They were alone. “Be . . . circumspect in your investigation.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You say you want to find out more about how your mother died. Am I correct in assuming you think foul play was involved?”

  “I never received a full explanation. I don’t know what happened.”

  Nikolai nodded. “Nor I, but . . . too many questions into such things can bring trouble. I won’t tell you not to ask your questions, but be careful. Don’t push too hard. Let the information come to you in its own time. All things come to light eventually. If you try to force them, it could end badly. You say all the boyars are at your disposal, but be cautious with such assumptions. Notice the tsar commanded them to answer, not to tell the truth.”

  “Why would they lie?”

  “Most men would do anything to further their own position. I advise you to wait a few weeks before beginning your investigation. Get to know the boyars, their dispositions and respective power. It will help you to better judge when you are treading in dangerous territory.”

  Taras stared at Nikolai for several seconds. What he’d seen this morning, and what he remembered from his childhood told him Nikolai was a decent, god-fearing man. He seemed sincere and Taras decided to trust him.

  “Will you help me?”

  Nikolai hesitated. “How?”

  “Keep your eyes and ears open for anything that might be helpful. Bring the information to me, and I will act on it. No one will suspect you.”

  Nikolai nodded. “I can do that.”

  “Thank you my friend.” Taras turned and walked toward his rooms, already making plans.

  Chapter 16

  A SHARP RAP AT THE door brought Taras’s head around. In the silence of his rooms, the thunderous fist on the wooden door startled him. He nodded at Anatoly.

  Once Taras was assigned rooms, the head clerk had attempted to find another, younger servant for him. Taras insisted on keeping Anatoly. He didn’t have any hard labor in mind for the man, so an older, wiser friend was what he needed. The clerk went on about how Anatoly was old and couldn’t move very quickly. Wouldn’t Taras prefer a younger servant with more spring in his step? Taras assured him Anatoly would be fine. The clerk walked out muttering about young men not knowing what’s good for them, and Anatoly appeared soon after.

  Taras’s apartments were intended for a family, so he had a lot of extra space. Anatoly moved into the smallest room off the main one so he would be close if Taras needed him.

  Anatoly now stood behind the door and pulled it open so it almost grazed his face. Nikolai strode in.

  “Hello, Taras.” He tossed his fur-lined cloak onto a chair. “I find I am bored. All these people arriving, and I know none of them! I thought you might like some company.” The pitch of his voice rose at the end of the sentence, making it a question.

  “Of course. Pour yourself a drink.” Taras motioned to the table laden with goblets and vodka. As Anatoly closed the door and came to help Taras tie his cloak at the shoulder, Nikolai poured some vodka and threw back two goblets in as many minutes. Taras chuckled softly.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” Taras shook his head. “I'd forgotten how much you Russians like your vodka.”

  “It is the bread of life,” Nikolai grinned. “What, they don’t have liquor in England?”

  “Oh, the English can drink with the best of them, but I think the vodka here is more potent. I’ll have to . . . reintroduce myself to it.”

  “I’d be more than happy to help you,” Nikolai smirked.

  Taras laughed again. “I’m sure you would.”

  Anatoly again dressed Taras in the finery he’d worn to see the tsar. It was far too extravagant for Taras’s usual tastes. He would have asked Nikolai if he looked appropriate for tonight’s event, but Nikolai wore much the same things. Different colors, of course, and slightly different styles, but still fine fabrics, intricate embroidery, and an air of affluence Taras had never seen equaled.

  “How do you like it, staying in your parents’ old apartments?”

  “Strange,” Taras conceded. “At first, I thought they must have been rebuilt, because nothing seemed familiar. But when I consider a particular corner, or the shadows fall in a specific way, a memory will come back to me suddenly; it’s breathtaking.”

  Nikolai nodded. “Memory is a haunting thing.” His voice had a far away, reminiscent quality to it.

  “What do you mean?”

  Nikolai shook his head. “Nothing.” He took some more vodka—in sips this time—and remained silent.

  “May I ask you a . . . strange question, Nikolai?”

  “Of course.”
>
  “There’s a woman here—a kitchen maid, I think. Her name is Inga.”

  Nikolai nodded. “I know who you mean.”

  “I met her yesterday when I arrived. I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that I know her from somewhere.”

  “Well, of course you do. The two of you were children together here, before your father left.”

  “That’s what she said. But . . . did we do something specific together?”

  Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “Not that I know of.”

  “I don’t remember her particularly, but her face looks so familiar to me, like I should remember something specific about her.”

  Nikolai considered, tugging on his beard. Then a smile leapt onto his face. “Perhaps you like the look of this woman and you are making up stories to bring her to you.”

  Taras frowned. “What?”

  Nikolai glanced pointedly at the bed.

  “No,” Taras shook his head, “it’s not like that.” Nikolai looked unconvinced. “Truly, Nikolai. I.. . can’t . . . place her.”

  Nikolai’s smile faded. “Well, there was the snowball incident—with the rocks?”

  “The snow—?” It flooded back to him, as the memories of this room had. The snowballs, the rocks, Sergei and his friends, the ring of blood around her on the snow. He remembered the freezing bite of the air and the smell of guilt. He'd never felt such guilt and shame in all the years since. The memory of it hit him so hard, he clutched his chest.

  Anatoly stepped toward him with concern. “My lord?”

  “Taras, are you well?”

  Taras looked up at them, regaining his composure. “Yes,” he smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “She’s the girl we threw the snow at. I’d met her before in an empty room.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Taras shook his head again and waved the question away with his hand. “Nothing. That’s what I was trying to remember—why she looked so familiar. Thank you, Nikolai.”

  Nikolai’s eyebrows climbed as Taras spoke. “I’m not sure what I did, but if it helped, you’re welcome.”

  Taras smiled and went back to the buttons on his coat.

  “You know,” Nikolai said, “if you like her, you can go and ask the tsar for her. He said he’d grant you anything.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Must I spell everything out for you, boy? Inga is young and beautiful. It may be spring now, but Muscovy winters are notoriously cold.”

  Taras rolled his eyes. “I meant why would I ask the tsar about such a thing? Wouldn’t I simply ask the lady?”

  Nikolai considered a moment. “When it comes to courtly relations, there is always money, prestige, and property to be considered. As Inga is only a servant, I suppose you could approach her. If she is willing . . . but even if she isn’t, the tsar can command her to come to you.”

  Taras’s head came up sharply. “Even if she doesn’t want to?”

  “Of course. The tsar’s word is law. He can force her to submit.”

  Taras frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t want that.”

  Nikolai cocked his head to the side. “Why not?”

  “For one thing, it’s not very flattering to me.”

  Nikolai raised a puzzled eyebrow.

  “The only way to a get a woman into my bed is to ask the tsar to make her come? Not a very pleasing reputation for a foreigner.”

  Nikolai laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Anyway, women are fickle.”

  Taras chuckled. “Pour me some vodka, will you? I need some before this party starts.”

  “That nervous, are you?”

  “I haven’t danced these dances since I was a boy. I’ve had some practice—a page named Boris helped me this afternoon. I’m still praying I don’t fall on my face in front of the entire court.”

  “An afternoon dancing with young Boris—what was that like?” Nikolai’s face looked grave, but Taras detected a teasing tone.

  “Splendid.”

  Nikolai dropped his eyes, hiding a smile. “Well,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “if you do—fall, I mean—simply get up, put your nose in the air, and keep dancing, as though you have every right to fall on your face if you want to. The boyars will respect you more for it.”

  Taras gave Nikolai a flat-eyed stare. “That’s very reassuring.”

  Nikolai grinned and brought Taras a goblet. They chinked cups, toasting nothing in particular. Taras followed Nikolai’s example and threw the entire contents of the goblet into the back of his throat at once. It burned on the way down, making his eyes water. The drink here was stronger than in England. For all that, it wasn’t as bad as he would have thought. He got it down with only a slight wince.

  “It seems you can hold your drink better than you imagined.”

  “It seems so.”

  “Remember: you may have been raised in England, but the blood of Russia also flows through your veins.” He poured Taras another glass.

  Chapter 17

  “INGA, WATCH OUT!”

  Inga stepped to the side and a heavy wooden bucket flew past her head, barely missing it. She glared upward.

  “Sorry,” the boy called as he passed. One of Bogdan’s apprentices, his mess of straw that passed for hair and skinny limbs made him look like a rag doll. He lowered a bucket by rope to be filled and heaved up to the kitchen on the second floor.

  It had been a long time since the extra kitchens were needed, but tonight the tsar held a ball for the Khan of Kasimov. The palace rooms were filled to bursting with important boyars, emissaries, ambassadors from foreign lands, and those who’d been called back from exile.

  In addition, noble families now arrived from all over Russia. Many only arrived an hour before. Tonight promised to be a celebration unlike any before, and no one wanted to be left out.

  No one knew where the newcomers would bed down for the night. Someone suggested turning the cathedrals into makeshift inns. The tsar put an end to that right away, saying it would be sacrilegious. Yehvah said it didn’t matter. The party would last all night anyway. In the morning, the visitors would simply drive home.

  However, extra people, with more arriving by the hour, meant more food must be prepared. The tsar would be mortified if his servants—and thus he—could not provide food for his guests. Every available hand had been called in to help, and the unused kitchens were dusted out and their fires lit. Inga had been running since daybreak.

  The guests would soon convene in the great hall for entertainment. Supper was only a few hours away, and they still had a whole day’s worth of preparation to be done.

  Inga opened her mouth to reprimand the ragdoll apprentice. Yehvah’s reprieve came first. “Be careful, Alexei. We already have too much to do and not enough hands to do it. We don’t need you knocking anyone out with your carelessness.”

  “Yes, Yehvah.” The boy sounded bored. A second, dark-haired boy with a noticeable limp stumbled in with a bucket of water from the well. Without looking around, he poured his water into Alexei’s bucket. Inga stepped back to keep her shoes dry. Without a word, the dark-haired boy limped out again, and Alexei heaved the bucket upward.

  “Inga, come,” Yehvah commanded.

  Without a word, Inga followed Yehvah out of the kitchen. She'd served with Yehvah long enough to know the tone of her voice brooked no argument. Inga did not ask where they were going. When they got there Yehvah would explain. Asking foolish questions would only anger the older woman.

  They walked briskly through the corridors, dodging other servants, each about their tasks with as much rigor as the kitchen staff. The palace servants had been around long enough to avoid running into each other. Yehvah led Inga out to the courtyard. In one corner, near the palace wall, stood a dozen or so women, most of whom she recognized. None of the others were kitchen maids, but many served in other areas. They were all within a few years of her age and clustered in groups, whispering or milling around.

  “What’s this, Ye
hvah?”

  Yehvah searched the courtyard, going up and down on her tiptoes as her gaze swept back and forth. “The head clerk wanted me to gather all the girls in the palace who are about your age. He’s going to inspect you.”

  “For what?”

  Yehvah stopped her search and gazed at Inga. She looked troubled. “I don’t know. He only said to bring everyone here in twenty minutes. I brought you last, to keep you from your duties as little as possible. Ah, there he is. Stay with the others. I’m going to find out what this is all about.”

  Yehvah marched across the courtyard toward the head clerk, who had entered with his retinue. Inga pitied the man. She wouldn’t want Yehvah coming at her looking like that. Inga feared the head clerk. For all Yehvah’s show of aggression, Inga knew Yehvah feared him too.

  With a sigh, Inga glanced around. None of the other women seemed to want to speak to her, so she walked to the palace wall and leaned against the cool stone, grateful for the respite. Shutting her eyes, she laid her head against the wall, but then decided it was too dangerous—she might fall asleep standing up, and she still had a long night ahead of her. She yawned and stared straight ahead. Movement in the corner of her vision caught her attention.

  Taras and Nikolai walked into the courtyard, side by side. They gazed in the opposite direction, watching as more people arrived. Nikolai pointed, saying something Inga couldn’t hear, and both men laughed.

  Then they turned, surveying the courtyard. Taras’s gaze fell on Inga. Her stomach constricted. He stared at her, then leaned over and said something to Nikolai. Nikolai glanced at Inga and nodded, then went back to watching the other side of the courtyard. Taras, on the other hand, walked toward her.

  Inga glanced around to be certain he was looking at her. No one else stood anywhere near, and he walked toward her in a straight line.

  “Inga,” he stopped in front of her. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  Yehvah still stood across the courtyard engaged in what looked to be a lively and heated discussion with the head clerk. Inga wondered if she’d ever have that kind of nerve. The other women still milled around, waiting for something to happen.