And Having Writ . . .

by Donald R. Bensen

"I have grave news, gentlemen," the Czar said. I noticed that he bore himself in a more decisive manner than when we had first met him and that this was reflected in his speech. "I owe you much, and on that account have even gone to the length of giving careful attention to the remarkable proposition with which you approached me, abominable though it is. I have conferred with the Kaiser and King Edward as to courses of action that seem appropriate in the light of what you say, and you may be assured that there will, in due course, be certain results from those discussions which you will find significant. There is, however, another point which requires our immediate attention. Rasputin has evidently been telling his troubles all over St. Petersburg, and his highly colored account of your presence here has come to the attention of the Ambassador from the United States. My Foreign Minister, Isvolsky, has within the hour come to me with an urgent communication from President Edison, demanding your return and that of Mr. Oxford, as a military officer under serious charges, to his custody."

  He frowned at a piece of paper he held in his hand and said, "He is most pressing about this. But I could not, in all conscience, allow you, who have done so much for me, to be taken captive against your will. Nor can I, as ruler of Russia, take such a provocative step as outright refusal against a powerful nation with whom we have many dealings. Therefore you must disappear."

  "How do we do that?" Dark asked uneasily. It seemed to me, too, in light of what Wells had said about the Czar's autocratic powers, that "disappear" had a sinister ring to it.

  The Czar gave a tight smile, as if divining what had passed through our minds. "I mean leave here, and in quite sound condition. Especially," he added dryly, with a look at me, "as our vodka supply appears to have been exhausted. You shall quit Russia, and in such a manner that there will be no official involvement of my government—ordinarily, I should have sent you off in a naval cruiser, but you will see why that is out of the question in this situation. However, there is a Spanish nobleman resident in St. Petersburg, owner of a seaworthy yacht and well known to me. I have arranged with him to put this vessel and its crew at your disposal for a fast sail to England, where you will be quietly received and sequestered until matters have developed further. The King is on his way home now and has promised to make all necessary arrangements for your secure accommodation there."

  "Won't Edison's crowd figure out pretty quick what's going on?" Dark wondered.

  "It may be so," the Czar replied, "but he won't be anxious to make a public outcry once you're away from here, and I can truthfully maintain that I am free of any official involvement. And he won't be likely to protest to Spain about your use of the yacht, as the Americans have already had one war with that country, and the public would not take kindly to beating a dead horse."

  When we conveyed this news to our friends, along with the Czar's instructions to pack immediately, Wells bore it more philosophically than Oxford did. "At any rate, I'll get back to England," he observed, "and that's more than I felt like counting on a day or so ago."

  Oxford was on the edge of surliness. "I've been smelling something fishy for some time," he said. "There's a lot going on I don't like the look of, and this is part and parcel of it. If what you've been telling all these king people is just that you'd like their help in getting your ship back in shape, how come it's so secret? And how come they're getting themselves all worked up over you? If we're to be whisked to England and hidden, that makes it seem as though there's more in it for the King than what you say. I'll stick by you fellows, for I don't seem to have a choice right now, but I'm bound to say that I don't think you're being square with me and Wells."

  "They're not, of course," Wells told him mildly, arranging some clothing very neatly in a container he was packing. "That's one of the things that encourages me. It makes them seem more like us, doesn't it?"

  "You will understand, I am sure," Ari said smoothly, "that what has been discussed between ourselves and the monarchs who have been kind enough to grant us their attention must of necessity remain confidential, and that what you take for a furtive secrecy is in reality a matter of necessary diplomatic courtesy. I trust this will allay your unworthy suspicions."

  "See what I mean?" Wells said. "They're getting more human every day."

  It was dusk when we reached St. Petersburg, after a comparatively brief train journey, and the carriage conveying us to the waterfront district, where we were to board the Spanish yacht, passed along a wide street lit by softly glowing lamps which cast pools of brightness onto the pavement.

  As we approached one of these lit areas, Dark took a close look at a group of people outlined by the light. "My word, there's that Rasputin fellow!" he exclaimed. When we were nearly up to them, he leaned from the window and called jeeringly, "Hey, monk, had your bath yet? He won't have understood, of course," he said, sitting back in his place once more, "but I expect he caught the tone pretty well."

  I looked back and saw the huge robed figure glaring after us; I also got a clear view of the two men with him. "If he didn't," I told Dark, "Captain Thatcher and Sergeant Olson will very likely explain it to him."

  Though we had naturally anticipated pursuit after this encounter, it did not materialize, so far as we could see, and we gained the yacht's mooring place, boarded it, and stood out to sea without any hindrance.

  "All the same, I don't like it," Oxford said as we stood on the deck and watched the lights of St. Petersburg dwindle behind us. "Thatcher and Olson are after us to save their hides, and Rasputin'd like to drink our blood for getting him thrown out of his cushy berth in the Palace."

  "True enough," said I. "But now that we're out of Russia, there's nothing they can do, is there?"

  Next morning, which broke gray and damp in the open reaches of the sea, I congratulated myself on having put this observation in the form of a question rather than a definite statement. Had I not done so, I should have been quite abashed at the sight of a large ship, bristling with guns and flying the ensign of the United States, cutting through the water to intercept us.

  A loud voice, amplified, I imagine, by some mechanism, emanated from the ship, instructing our vessel to halt its progress. When, at Oxford's urging, the yacht's captain refused to do so, Oxford's order was effectively countermanded by a shot which raised an impressive spout of water not far ahead of us.

  The warship drew up alongside us, and the captain yelled up at it, "This is piracy, señor!"

  "Not at all, Don Diego, or whatever your name is!" the voice boomed from the ship. "We're following the orders of the President of the U.S.A. and Commander in Chief of the U.S. Navy, and I guess that makes it legal enough for me! We want your passengers, and we're going to have them. Far as I'm concerned, you're just a leftover we forgot to sink at Santiago Harbor, and I don't mind adjusting the error now, if you've a mind for it."

  "This would not hold up under international law," Wells muttered.

  "And this ship wouldn't hold up under a four-inch shell through the hull," Oxford said dispiritedly. "I guess we've been trumped, fellows. Edison wants us, and he's got us. Let's get our stuff together; they'll be coming for us any time now."

  When we were conveyed to the warship by a party of sailors and brought on board, it was dismaying, but not excessively surprising, to be greeted by Captain Thatcher and Sergeant Olson. Behind them stood Rasputin, who grinned wolfishly at us and snarled something in Russian.

  "He's saying, near's I can make out, that you can't be so fond of baths neither, since you give up rather than havin' to take one in the ocean," Olson told us with a derisive grin.

  22

  Our trip back across the Atlantic went more quickly than the one from America, the captain of the destroyer not being concerned with the comfort of his crew and passengers, but only with completing his assignment, and we were approaching New York harbor five days after we had been obliged to come on board.

  Though we were prey to great apprehensions concerning our reception, the intervening time was not without
its points of interest. Strangely enough, Thatcher and Olson, secure in the successful completion of their mission, became quite friendly and appeared particularly to enjoy talking with Dark, who shared many of their traits; they traded experiences of encounters in far places with evident relish.

  Rasputin, now that his lust for revenge had been satisfied, appeared rather at loose ends, and spent much time striding about the deck alone. Only Olson spoke any Russian, and he was mostly occupied with Dark; in any case, the ship's crew pointedly avoided the bearded monk, as he grew hourly more unpleasant to be close to, with the salt from the sea spray and a certain tang from the coal smoke the ship's engines poured forth adding memorably to his already pungent personal atmosphere.

  It was not any real fellow-feeling—for I did not think I could ever actually like Rasputin—but rather boredom that drove me to seek his company. Ari and Valmis were mostly sunk in gloom, as were Wells and Oxford, and I did not wish to spend what might be my last days of comparative freedom for some time in sharing their misery. To pass the time, I fetched out the Communicator, virtually unused since it had been employed to give us four a command of English, and adjusted it so as to perform, in a limited way, the same function for Rasputin.

  This could not be done with full effectiveness, as its memory banks contained only the limited amount of English—quite enough for practical purposes, but of course nowhere near the complete language—that they had been fed, and no Russian whatever. All the same, with Rasputin's at first reluctant cooperation, in a day or so he was able to make himself understood most of the time, if without any degree of elegance, and to comprehend a good bit of what was said to him.

  "What you think I can doing in Oo Ess?" he asked me, once we were on a conversational footing. "I don't think monk business very good there. Thatcher and Olson, they tell me when I help catch you, they see I be all right there, but I don't know. I so mad at you fellows curing Czarevitch when I can't, so Little Father throw me out, away from all good food and nice ladies, that I don't care, so long as you get it in neck. But now is time for cooling heads, and I am worry. Can't go back to Holy Russia, or Little Father have me struck with knout many times a day, every day, for hurting his friends. I don't think any good tell him I'm sorry, you?"

  I agreed that it was unlikely that the Czar would feel that a handsome apology met the case adequately, and I suggested that one requisite to success in the United States would be a reform of his external hygiene.

  "Wash?" he asked, puzzled. "Why that? Dirt has nothing to do with soul. Besides, women like man to smell like man. Countess, duchess, they go weak when I approach—I be's outside room, and their nose tell them I coming, they faint with desire." It seemed to me that he might have been right about the effect; though not the emotion involved; and I told him that in any case, from what I had seen in advertisements in the journals I had leafed through, it did not work that way in the United States.

  He reluctantly agreed to allow himself to be bathed, and a party of cheering sailors hosed him down on the afterdeck, as he capered and shouted in the chilly spray. After his unspeakable robe had been scalded with live steam from the boilers and dried by being held in front of the firebox, he put it on his newly cleaned form, and said, "By God, I feel like new man! Old Grigori washed away, as in Blood of Lamb. New man for New World, not? You say ladies like clean there: they get clean. It work same way, clean or not." It did not appear that his exterior laundering had penetrated at all deeply.

  It was as we entered New York harbor that I saw, circling the head of the symbolic statue there, a large mechanism making its way through the air. "What's that?" I asked a nearby sailor.

  "One of them new Wright electric fliers," he told me. "Takes sightseers around the harbor; I went up in one when I was here on liberty a couple of weeks ago. Don't make no noise, hardly, and goes like the wind, faster'n a train, almost. I hear they'll be using 'em to carry the mail next."

  "We having like that in Russia pretty soon, I bet," Rasputin said as he lounged at the rail beside me. "Fellow came to see Little Father, month, two month back, name Sikorsky, he all hot in collar about flying machines, say he got brand-new idea. No wings, but spinning thing on top keep in air. He want money to build, and Little Father say he think about it. I tell him idea from devil, so he drop, but I guess he go for it now Grigori not there. Hey, what goddam tall buildings! If that where American men work, I bet they tired at nights from climb up and down, no good to wives. Not worry, wives! Here come Grigori!"

  Rasputin, of whom we lost sight after we had docked at a shipyard across the river from the main island of New York—I understood that he had been given a sum of money and escorted to a section of the city inhabited by persons formerly of his country—was the only one of our group who took our arrival thus light-heartedly. Oxford and Wells and we four Explorers were naturally subdued at the thought of what was in store for us—Wells, though not directly involved in our escape and not really subject to Mr. Edison's authority, could not hope to avoid some awkward moments at the least; Thatcher and Olson were grimly aware of their responsibility in getting us over the last leg of our journey.

  "Boys," Thatcher said, as he directed us into a large, closed van, "we've got you this far, and I want you to know I don't propose to lose you between here and Glenwood. For you may as well know we're going on back to your little gray home in the East, as Mr. Edison thinks you'll be safest there. Of course, there'll be a few changes, such as the park-like grounds being enclosed with electrified barbed wire, and dogs loose after dark, and, to guard you, a full company of Marines that's seen service against the Moros and don't like anybody that ain't a Marine. But you won't notice that, boys, so long as you stay inside the house or lounge careless-like on the front porch of an afternoon, and do what you're told. Now, that ain't no mean setup to go back to, is it? So don't get notions about pulling any of that cute stuff, the way you done before. I like you guys, I really do, and it'd pain me to do you a lasting injury with this forty-five you will observe me holding. I believe I may safely speak for Sergeant Olson as well."

  Olson agreed that this expressed his viewpoint precisely, and we began our journey into captivity.

  Wells was quite interested to see our house and, with his ingratiating manner, smoothed the ruffled feathers of the servant couple (that is of course a metaphor, as they were, like almost all employees on the planet, human and not avian), who had been somewhat brusquely handled in the commotion after our hasty departure.

  Oxford went with Wells to get him settled into a vacant bedroom, and the four of us took the opportunity to confer privately.

  "Well, here we are again," Dark said. "And much good it did us to leave in the first place! All it's accomplished that I can see is that it's put us in the way of being shocked or bitten to death if we get a little careless in strolling around."

  "I fail to take your meaning," Ari responded. "Our talks with the King, the Kaiser and the Czar were of the greatest moment. It may take a while for the seeds I have planted in their minds to bear fruit, and it is certainly a pity that we did not have the opportunity to acquaint other rulers with—"

  "Ah, stow that!" Dark said violently. "Those chaps thought your top story had a 'for rent' sign up, and no tenant applying; they made that clear enough! Face it, man, they don't have the stomach to set up a war on your say-so, no matter how much Metahistory or meta-whatever you feed them. Your game's played out, Ari, and it's damned well time I took a hand."

  "How do you propose to do that, Captain?" Ari asked coldly. "While my own poor efforts in effecting changes in the course of a planet's historical development may not seem impressive to you, I fail to see how a . . . a mechanic could do better. And while we're at it," he continued, turning to Valmis and me, "I suppose you two have your own notion of how to manage what we're after? Perhaps you, Raf, are carting around some splendid plan you haven't yet bothered us with? Ah, that's what I like, a nice, crisp negative shake of the head—there's Communication f
or you, economical of means, yet conveying accurately an admirable sentiment. And you, Valmis, have you Perceived how to use the Patterns of this planet to our advantage? Do let us know."

  He and the rest of us were taken aback when Valmis answered mildly, "Well, you know, I think I might. It seems to me—"

  "Damn your 'seems,' sir!" Ari said. "It's preposterous that you and Dark seem to think—"

  While I was made quite uncomfortable by this acrimonious display, I was not especially happy to have it ended abruptly by the entrance into our sitting room of Captain Thatcher, now back in full uniform, who paused at the door, looked behind him, and said, "They're in here, sir. I'll get Oxford and the Englishman down and shoo them in, too." He gave a salute and left.

  Mr. Edison came into the room and stood leaning on a cane held in front of him, surveying us with unconcealed dislike. He looked older than when I had last seen him, and the lines on his face were etched noticeably more deeply.

  "I'll wait 'til your friends are here before I tell you what you're going to do," he said, without any preamble or greeting, and continued to survey us in the same unfriendly manner.

  When Oxford and Wells were ushered—pushed, very nearly—into the room, he acknowledged their presence by grunting. "Oxford," he remarked after a moment, "I've looked it up, and I find I can't have you shot. Not legally, anyhow. But you'd better make it your business to help me deal with these people, or you can bet you'll be looking up loopholes to see if you can find some way to rate a firing squad. You, Wells, it don't look as though I can do anything to, I'm sorry to say. But you helped this crew on their way when you knew darned well I wanted 'em here, and if you're meaning to try any lecture tours in the United States, I wouldn't advise it. I never especially wanted to be President, but, by God, now I am, and I don't take kindly to being flouted, by my own people or by foreigners."