The door opened with the ugly creak of rusted hinges. Four people walked in; Anderson, a tall, graceful woman and two Cossack guards. The first Cossack was lean and wiry with a drooping moustache; the second was shorter, younger and with mobile eyes.
Jack frowned; he had seen the woman before but he could not think where. She picked her way across the straw and stood before him. 'You are Lieutenant Jack Windrush?' She spoke English with an accent that was Russian yet contained something of Anderson's American drawl.
'I am Lieutenant Jack Windrush, at your service, Ma'am.' Jack decided that politeness was the best option when he was a chained prisoner. He moved his arms, 'not that I am able to do a great deal to serve at the moment.'
Jack's memory clicked into focus. This had been the woman he had seen on the grandstand at the battle of the Alma.
'You know Major Snodgrass.' The woman did not react to his poor attempt at humour.
The statement was the last thing Jack had expected to hear. 'I do,' he said.
Her slap took him by surprise and he jerked back, cracking his head against the wall.
'I am Valeria Kutuzov.' The woman hissed said. 'Major Snodgrass murdered my brother.'
The name shook Jack. Major Kutuzov had been a bitter enemy until Charlotte Riley shot him during the battle of Inkerman. 'Your brother died in battle,' he said, and grunted as Valeria delivered another vicious slap. 'He was not murdered.'
'Major Snodgrass boasts of killing him.' Valeria landed a third slap which drew blood from Jack's lip. Anderson watched with what seemed quiet amusement.
Jack allowed the blood to dribble down his chin. 'What Major Snodgrass says or does is not my concern,' he said.
Valeria leaned closer so her breath was hot on Jack's face and her mouth within inches of his ear. 'You are of his regiment, Lieutenant Windrush. I would kill you myself if my husband did not require you.'
'Your husband?' Jack looked at Anderson, 'I wondered what your connection to Russia was, Anderson. I have never heard of an American fighting alongside Cossacks before. What happened? Did the United States kick you out? Are you wanted for murder? Or did you run away from the Mexicans?'
He knew he was playing with fire. Unable to retaliate, he was vulnerable to anything Anderson wished to do to him, yet he probed to find out more. 'That's what it was, Anderson: you ran away in the Mexican War and now you cannot return to the United States.'
Jack expected Valeria's slap. He forced himself to laugh at her. 'And you married him. You married a coward who ran away from the Mexicans. Is that why you are here, Valeria? Are you making sure that he fights for Mother Russia better than he fought for the United States?'
She pressed her face close to his, her eyes narrow and her mouth pursed with hatred. 'I met John in California, Windrush; I was with the Cossack fur trappers there.'
'Valeria…' Anderson pulled her away.
Jack laughed again, mockingly, inviting the slap as he taunted her to reveal more. 'So now you capture British officers; have you got tired of trying to murder us?'
Her next slap was the hardest one yet, and was followed by a backhander that loosened one of his teeth and filled his mouth with blood. He tried to ignore the pain. 'Are you a typical Russian lady? Is it normal for Russian ladies to torture an officer when he is chained up?'
'You will know torture if I choose to show you,' Valeria eyed him meaningfully. 'John wishes you to be unharmed when we display you through St Petersburg.' She stepped back. 'We have you both; Captain William Windrush of the famous Royal Malverns, the hero of the Quarries, captured unwounded at the Redan, and Lieutenant Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot, leader of the band of killers who ambush and murder Russian soldiers.'
Jack held her gaze, expecting another slap yet prepared to encourage her as she revealed his future.
'We will parade you through the streets of St Petersburg and let our people see our victory over the best and worst of the British Army.'
'How civilised,' Jack said.
'Of course,' Valeria continued. 'We will not treat you the same. While Captain Windrush will be our honoured guest, you and your men, the outcasts of the British Army, the unwanted from the gutters, will be carried bound in cages, shown up as the murderers you are.'
'My men had no choice,' Jack said, and winced at Valeria's slap. He spat out blood. 'They were ordered to do what they did.'
Ignoring him, Valeria continued as if he had not spoken.
'And then you will be tried for murder, Windrush, and sentenced to death.' Valeria said with satisfaction. 'But to show the mercy and humanity of Mother Russia, you will be reprieved and instead sentenced to katorga. Have you heard of katorga, Lieutenant?'
'I have not,' Jack was aware that William was listening intently.
'You will wish you had remained in ignorance,' Valeria said. 'Katorga is exile and forced labour in Siberia, where the cold is intense, not like the near-tropical conditions in Crimea.' She leaned closer. 'There, Windrush of the 113th, you will meet with hardships and pain more than you even knew existed. You will learn to jump at the command of a Russian; you will learn to crawl like a dog when a Russian snaps his fingers; you will lap your food from the ground and be grateful for it. Your proud British neck will bend before us and you, my arrogant English gentleman, will be lower than the lowest serf in Russia. You will beg for death to release you from suffering, and you will not find it. You will learn of the knout and the meaning of cold as you work until you die…'
'Is this truly your wife?' Jack interrupted Valeria to address Anderson. 'She really can talk can't she? No wonder you went to war to try and escape from her. What a mouth she has on her!'
Anderson had been an observer, saying nothing as his wife taunted Jack. Now he spoke in that long, calm drawl. 'Tomorrow you will be on your way to St Petersburg, Lieutenant Windrush, and as my wife said, you will be treated as the criminal you are.' Lighting a long cheroot with a sliver of wood, he flicked the burning match into Jack's face. 'As you travel north, Windrush, I want you to ask yourself what I and my happy little band will be doing in your absence.'
'Probably murdering somebody,' Jack said.
'Undoubtedly.' Anderson smiled. 'We all know that the British Army is a broken reed. Last year you landed here with experienced men, but your shockingly poor higher command allowed them to die in their thousands.' He shook his head. 'Now you have a collection of children led by old men and only a handful of officers fit to claim that name; my Cossacks and I have eradicated some of the best, and now only a few good leaders remain.' He blew smoke into Jack's face.
'We have more than sufficient to defeat any force your people send out,' Jack said. 'If ever you decide to stop cowering behind your walls.'
Anderson drew on his cigar. 'Your little group were inconvenient; but now I have them under control, nobody remains to stop me. You really are very naïve in matters of war and espionage. Sir Colin Campbell is next on my list, and be assured that I will deal with the officers of the 113th. By the time you reach St Petersburg they will be dead and gone. Defeat at the Redan demoralised your little army; bereft of leaders you will crumble and the French will bully you, or discard you.' He shrugged. 'I don't really care which.' He tapped ash over Jack. 'The British are thinking only of this campaign around Sebastopol, but Russia takes a longer view of things. When the world learns that the British lion is only a paper tiger, other nations may wish to test their mettle against you. I will watch as your empire crumbles.' He turned away, with one hand on Valeria's back.
'My men!' Jack called. 'What about my men?'
Anderson turned around. 'They may be shot or they may just disappear. Perhaps we will be kind to them.' He blew more smoke and barked a casual order that saw the Cossack guards approach William.
'Relax, Captain Windrush,' he said as William adopted a position of defence. 'You are a true English gentleman, and will be treated as such. I apologise for the necessity to treat you like a criminal but we used you to capture this … thi
s fellow here.'
Jack watched as the Cossacks released William from his chains and held him upright until he regained the use of his arms and legs. The younger one seemed more sympathetic and, surprisingly, he patted William on the back. Even more surprisingly, he spoke to William in English.
'You will be all right, sir.'
'We have more comfortable accommodation for you, Captain, as long as you give me your word of honour as an officer and gentleman that you will not try to escape, as you did before.'
With a glance at Jack that may have included triumph or gloating, William nodded. 'You have my word, sir.'
'Good man,' Anderson became the soul of geniality. 'Cigar?'
Rubbing his arms to help restore the restricted circulation, William accepted the proffered cheroot. He allowed Anderson to light it for him. 'Thank you.' He blew smoke in the direction of Jack, turned and walked away without another word. The door shut; Jack heard the key turn in the lock and he was alone with his thoughts.
Anderson had used William as bait for the 113th, fed the information to Ansar and he, Jack had blundered into it with both eyes wide open. Jack rattled his chains in frustration: Charlotte Riley would mourn her husband, while all the other men he had commanded were liable to God alone knew what fate. With the whole unit taken there was nobody left to carry news to the British camp; nobody would know what happened to them. They were all lost men.
Jack yanked at his shackles again, fully aware of the futility of his actions. Men such as Anderson would not leave a weak point in his chains. He was a prisoner and would remain so until his trial and execution, or worse his removal to some hellish camp. He would disappear from the ken of civilisation, while William would be treated as an honoured guest and returned to Britain as a hero.
Who would win this war? Jack shook his head. With the Allies defeated at their last assault on Sebastopol, they were no better placed than they had been nine months ago, despite the colossal loss of life, the huge expense of wealth and the massive artillery power they had at their disposal. The Russian engineers under the redoubtable Colonel Todtleben worked marvels to repair any damage the Allies wreaked on the defences. Worse, if Anderson led his Cossacks to assassinate the best of the remaining British officers, the army, already badly led, would suffer a consequent loss of morale and efficiency. Spending another winter in the Crimea, without decent leadership and with young, untrained soldiers could see the end of the British Army and the loss of the war. Jack could not visualise the collapse of the Empire if such a calamity occurred, but there would undoubtedly be stirrings in some of the more disaffected quarters.
There was a soft thump in the far side of the room, and a slight rustle in the straw. Jack looked up, wishing he had some sort of weapon. What sort of devilry were the Russians up to now? What new torment was this?
'Good evening, sir.' The voice was educated, quiet and unexpectedly familiar.
'Who's there?' Jack peered into the dark.
'It's Riley, sir. Keep still now until I see what's to do.' Hard hands ran over Jack's arms. 'Manacles and chains.'
'I thought you were dead! You were shot and pitched into the river.'
'I was not even wounded, sir.' Riley said. 'I tried to dodge the bullet and fell over the bridge. Now keep still until I work out how to get these things off you.'
Jack sighed. 'It's good to see you, Riley.'
'Thank you, sir.' Riley inspected the manacles. 'I have to do this by touch sir. Try to keep still and silent if you can. There are two guards outside the door.'
'How did you find me?'
'I watched, sir.' Riley grunted. 'Here we are; just a simple catch.'
Jack felt a sudden release of tension in his wrists. He lowered his arms slowly, feeling the agony of returning circulation. Riley freed his ankles in seconds. 'Now follow me, sir, if you will.'
Riley led Jack a few feet toward the other side of the room and guided his hand to a knotted rope that descended from the ceiling. 'It's a bit of a climb sir. How are your legs and arms?'
'I'll manage,' Jack rubbed his arms to help restore circulation. Although he was weak from confinement, the prospect of escape would give him strength. Grimacing, he reached up; the rope was thin and swayed alarmingly as he took hold, but the knots afforded foot and hand-holds.
'I'll go first, sir,' Riley swarmed up as agilely as a sailor, and Jack followed more slowly, feeling his way, clawing back the cobwebs as he peered upward.
There was a small hole in the roof where Riley had removed two of the tiles, and Jack emerged into cool air with a million stars to welcome him to freedom. Riley touched his arm and put a finger to his lips, then gestured downward. They were on the roof of a long, low building within a small hamlet dominated by a single large house. As well as the two Cossack guards that lounged outside the prison door, there was a small picket patrolling between the other buildings and another man smoking a pipe outside what looked like a stables. Another bored sentry stood outside a small hut-like structure. The only lights shone from the upper windows of the large house.
'The roof is often neglected,' Riley said. 'I've robbed more houses through the roof than any other way.' His grin showed white teeth.
'Where is this place?' Crouching on the roof, Jack surveyed the village.
'I don't know its name, sir,' Riley said. 'We're about five miles north from the ambush.'
The Cossack sentries were talking in low tones, interspersed by the occasional laugh. They moved slowly to another long building and spoke to the man who stood outside the barn.
'That will be where our men are held.' For some reason Jack felt no qualms about referring to his men as 'our' when speaking to Riley.
'Yes, sir.' Riley said.
'I want to rescue them.'
'I thought you would, sir. It won't be easy with so many Cossacks floating around.'
'Could you get them out the same way you got me?'
Riley screwed up his face. 'Maybe sir. You see, freeing one man is easy, but freeing ten is different. At least one will talk and make a noise; maybe Thorpey or Kelly.'
Jack nodded. Thorpe was not the cleverest of soldiers while Kelly liked to tell the world his opinion of things. 'Would it be easier if there were no guards? Say, the guards were on the opposite side of the village?'
Riley grinned. 'With no guards? I would go in the front door and have the boys out in two minutes flat, unless they are chained like you were, sir.'
'I doubt that the Russians have the facilities to chain them all. I suspect I was in the local lock-up,' Jack said. 'Did you see what happened to the other officer, Riley?'
'Captain Windrush, sir? Yes, I saw Anderson and a couple of Cossack fellows escort him to the big house there.' Riley said no more.
'Could we get him out as well?'
'I don't know how he is held, sir. Or where. I could have a look.'
Jack considered. 'Our mission here was to rescue Captain Windrush. I would like to try to do that before we hurry back to camp.' He glanced at Riley. 'We have to get back, Riley. Anderson has plans to murder Sir Colin Campbell and others and we are the only men who can stop him.'
'He trapped us well enough, sir.' Riley did not try to blame anybody for their defeat. 'I would like to get equal with him for that.' He paused for a second. 'How do you propose getting the guards away from the lads, sir?'
'I'm going to create a diversion, Riley. They will hopefully leave their post but it'll only for a few moments; enough time for you to free the men.'
'Yes, sir.'
Jack took a deep breath. 'Do you think you can break into the big house too, Riley?'
'Yes of course, sir,' Riley sounded hurt, as if his professional skill was being doubted. 'For Captain Windrush, sir?'
'We'll go there first,' Jack decided. 'It will be easier freeing one man and then get the rest, rather than having ten men wandering around when we break into the big house.'
'Yes sir,' Riley said.
'I'm not leaving my men be
hind,' Jack had no need to explain his decision to a private, but he and Riley had been through a lot together. With his new intelligence about Anderson's intentions, getting his men back to counter the Cossacks was more important than rescuing William. However, he wished to complete his mission and, anyway, he knew William would never forgive him if he left him behind. Jack took a deep breath; somewhere inside him he wanted to regain his relationship with his brother.
'We go into the big house first,' Jack said. He knew it may appear that he considered one officer more important than ten of his own men, but that could not be helped.
Riley led them down to the ground, landing as soft footed as the cat that gave his former profession its name. Jack followed, crouching low the second his feet touched the earth. Aware that sudden movement attracted attention, they remained static for a full minute, and then Riley moved one careful step at a time.
Music and laughter guided them to the large house, where people could be seen crossing and re-crossing behind the bright upper floor windows. They stood in the lee of a house opposite, studying the building.
'The house is awake.' Riley said.
'They seem to be having a party of some sort,' Jack stated the obvious.
'That means the servants will be up and about,' Riley said. 'That could work to our advantage as they'll be too busy to pay attention to any noise we make, or it could be disadvantageous as they'll be moving through the rooms.'
'In your cracksman days,' Jack said, 'how would you have robbed it?'
'In my cracksman days,' Riley said, 'I would have observed this place for weeks before I attempted it. I certainly would not gone in cold.'
'Beggars can't be choosers,' Jack glanced around as a pair of Cossack sentries ambled past. 'The guards are a bit lax here anyway.'
'There are two posted at the front of the house,' Riley said, 'one at either side of the door, but that seems to be all.'
Windrush: Blood Price (Jack Windrush Book 3) Page 22