1636:The Kremlin games rof-14 Page 36

  As fast as it moved, Captain Ivan Borisovich Lebedev reached the gate before the dodge did. But it didn’t give the captain all that much time to consider what to do. In Tim’s experience if the thing approaching was something other than a drink or a young girl, his cousin took considerable time deciding what to do about it. But woe be to the subordinate who acted in advance of those decisions. This time, as it had so many others, the thing approaching passed before the captain made up his mind. It slowed. Two people in the front seats waved at the gate guard and it kept right on going, just as if it had every right to be here, not at the Dacha where it was supposed to be.

  The captain, having failed to act in time to stop it, now followed after it, Tim following in his turn. By the time they got down off the walls, it was turning into the Gorchakov palace-again just as if it had every right to. As it happened, the Murom radio was located in the Gorchakov palace. Why not? It was provided by the Dacha and the batteries to run it were in the palace. Until quite recently all the operators of it had been Gorchakov retainers. Where else would it be?

  In the city hall seemed a good place to Tim, but moving it there was another thing his cousin Ivan Borisovich hadn’t decided on yet. So it had stayed in the palace. They had put their own radioman in charge of all the other radiomen in the radio room.

  Tim wondered if that worthy happened to be on duty at the moment as he followed his cousin toward the palace gates.

  The palace gates that had opened so easily to admit the dodge failed, for the first time, to admit Tim and his cousin. They were informed that the princess was now in residence and they could not be admitted without her consent. That was especially inconvenient since they had been living there since they had arrived in Murom. By tradition, the captain of the Murom Streltzi was a boyar’s son, a retainer of the Gorchakov clan. Being a retainer, he lived in their palace.

  When the Boyar Duma had made cousin Ivan Borisovich captain of the Murom city guard, they had not specified quarters. So when Tim and Ivan Borisovich had gotten here, the Gorchakov’s captain, one Vladislav Vasl’yevich, had been unceremoniously ejected from his rooms and sent to stay with the guards. Just one of so many things Tim’s cousin had done to make himself popular with his new subordinates. Tim knew this was an unimportant post. Was supposed to be an unimportant post. But just at the moment, this post was starting to look pretty important.

  While Captain Ivan Borisovich Lebedev was still fuming and threatening, word reached the gate that the captain was to be admitted. And was to report to the princess post haste. So off they went, Tim trailing his cousin and both of them surrounded by Murom Streltzi who were not hiding their grins at all well.

  Princess Natalia Gorchakovna looked stone-cold and somewhat miffed. Tim suspected that she was actually in a rage, but she was doing an admirable job of hiding just how much of a rage. Which was quite understandable given the recent events in terms of control of the Gorchakov estates. With Prince Vladimir in Grantville and Princess Natasha sequestered in the Dacha, control of the estates had fallen to estate managers who had proved less strong in their loyalty than might be hoped. Through bribes and coercion, actual control had shifted to the Sheremetev clan.

  “Who, precisely, are you people?” the princess demanded.

  Ivan Borisovich, as was his nature, began to bluster. And Tim cringed internally. Tim had never had great respect for his older cousin and his time in Cousin Ivan’s command had only made his opinion worse. The man was an embarrassment to the family.

  “Captain Lebedev. My executive officer, Lieutenant Lebedev,” Ivan Borisovich said. “We were sent by Director-General Sheremetev and the Boyar Duma to reassert government control over Murom and the Gorchakov estates. How dare you have us held at the gates? We are Great House.”

  “The proper form of that question is,” Princess Natalia said coldly, “how dare you have us held at the gates, Princess? Your family may be great house, but apparently they didn’t teach you manners. But see, the answer appears magically when you ask the question correctly. Princess is how I dare! These are my lands, Captain. My city. My house. My people. The real question is what are you doing here in my home?”

  “Who are you to question me?” Ivan Borisovich said. “You’re supposed to be in your dacha.”

  “Arrest him,” the princess said. “And the other one, while you’re at it.”

  The princess’ men immediately leveled their guns at Tim and his cousin.

  Ivan Borisovich was an idiot when times were good. He was an even greater idiot when times were bad. Tim was grateful that he was being held in a separate cell, even though he could still hear his cousin’s blustering, if dimly.

  Unlike Ivan Borisovich, Tim was a popular young man. Due to his actions at Rzhev, for one thing, and his much nicer nature, for another. So Tim wasn’t entirely surprised when the young Streltzi of Murom, Pavel, brought him some food and stayed for a bit to talk. He’d had long talks with Pavel before, while they were pulling guard duty.

  “It’s a terrible thing that happened to the princess,” Pavel said.

  “She seemed fine when she had me arrested,” Tim pointed out.

  “She barely escaped! That outlander-the other one, not Bernie-he attacked her! In her own bedroom!”

  Tim found himself interested, as the story continued to pour out of Pavel. Pavel wondered what Director-General Sheremetev was thinking putting a man like Cass Lowry in charge of the Dacha. Especially when it was doing so much for Russia under Princess Natalia.

  Tim knew precisely what Director-General Sheremetev was thinking. His great uncle had told him. The Gorchakov family was becoming dangerous. Princess Natalia Gorchakovna had been using her position in the Dacha to garner support among the great houses. After four years, she had garnered quite a lot. Cass Lowry was the Sheremetev family’s way of saying to the other great houses “if you want high tech in the future, you apply to the Sheremetev family not the Gorchakov family.” At the same time, Tim had met Lowry and didn’t like the man. Pavel’s description of the attempted rape of a princess seemed quite believable.

  “How can you work for Director-General Sheremetev,” Pavel asked, “when he’s doing what he’s doing? Putting people in prison right and left? Killing all those people in Moscow in his purges?”

  Tim had begun to wonder about that himself.

  “And what about Czar Mikhail? Taken out of Moscow! What kind of man does that, imprison the czar?”

  “No one is imprisoned. The czar and his family are just at a hunting lodge, to get away from the troubles in Moscow. He even took his up-time nurse and her family with him,” Tim said.

  “How do you know that?” Pavel sneered.

  “We get radio messages from him,” Tim said. “The hunting lodge he’s at isn’t on the normal network, so they radio through here.”

  Russia had set up radio stations just within range of one another. Each one had a high antenna placed on a high hill or at the top of a tall building. There were normally two or three radio stations within range of each antenna, not that there were all that many yet. When a message was sent, it would be tapped out in the Russian version of Morse code and would be heard by the station the transmitter was tuned to. That station would then resend the same message up the line. This would repeat until the message arrived at the proper place. So the fact that they were getting messages directly from the hunting lodge meant that the czar had to be somewhere within twenty-five or thirty miles. Tim knew all that, but he didn’t think about it when he told his friend Pavel that the czar’s messages traveled through Murom.

  “So, he has to be somewhere near,” Pavel told his boss. His boss, in turn, told the princess. And the princess, of course, told Bernie and her other friends.

  “But Sheremetev doesn’t have any lands within thirty miles of here,” Natasha said. “Not one village, not one house. Nothing.”

  “Do you have a hunting lodge within thirty miles of here?” Filip asked.

  “Yes, just west
of Tatarovo.” Natasha stopped. “You don’t suppose

  …”

  “So we go get him?” Bernie asked.

  Vladislav Vasl’yevich, restored for now to his post of captain of the Murom Streltzi, said, “Not the princess.” Then looking at Natasha, “You should stay here where it’s safe.”

  “No, my good and loyal Captain,” Natasha said. “I must go because it will fall to me to decide what to do if the czar is not, in fact, being held against his will.”

  Chapter 77

  An exhausted trooper rode into Moscow and made his way to the Kremlin. After a couple of misdirections, he reached Director-General Sheremetev and reported that Princess Natalia Petrovna had escaped in the Dodge with Bernie Zeppi, and some others. Cass Lowry had been killed, apparently by either the princess herself or one of her chambermaids. One of the guards had been killed and the other badly wounded. He’d been shot in the chest but the bullet had missed his heart. His survival now seemed likely, but so far he hadn’t told them anything very coherent.

  Director-General Sheremetev and a troop of his men left immediately for the Dacha.

  Sofia smiled to herself when she heard the uproar outside her quarters. She never had liked that Sheremetev brat, all puffed up and strutting the way he did. She sat quietly, waiting, knowing what was about to happen. She’d grown up in Russian politics, after all.

  As she expected, there was no polite knock. Her door burst open, armed men stormed in, searched her room for what hidden dangers they imagined, then the man himself strutted in. Richly dressed, overbearing, and much too old to be doing this. Even if he succeeded, the stupid man would die, probably within a few years, as the next Time of Troubles began.

  “Where is Princess Natalia?” he growled.

  “That’s none of your business,” Sofia answered calmly. “Princess Natalia is Great House. You have no authority over her.”

  “I’m the Director-General. I speak for the Boyar Duma,” Sheremetev said.

  “The Duma has no authority over Princess Natalia,” Sofia pointed out.

  “The Duma speaks for the czar.”

  “Let the czar speak for himself, then.”

  Balked, Sheremetev stepped back and, somewhat more politely, asked, “What happened here?”

  Sofia told him of the attempted rape and of Anya coming to Natasha’s defense.

  “A household servant killed two of my men!” Sheremetev was outraged and deeply offended. More by the manner of his mens’ death, than the fact that they were dead. To die at the hands of a menial! It was desecration. He turned to one of his guards. “Find that woman and bring her here.”

  Sofia tinkled a little laugh. “Be my guest. If you can find her.”

  “Are you saying Princess Natalia took a murderess with her?”

  “She took her servant with her, yes. We are loyal to those who are loyal to us,” Sofia said, “unlike some people.”

  “Take her away,” Sheremetev told his guards. “I’ll decide what to do with her later. For the moment, take me to the radio room. I need to send a message.”

  Sofia started laughing.

  “What do you mean you can’t fix it?” Sheremetev demanded.

  “We can fix it, sir,” the technician said. “But not quickly. We will have to make new parts, which will take a couple of days.”

  Sheremetev was tempted to have the man punished, but the technician was the nephew of one of his supporters. He couldn’t have him beaten with a knout like a serf. Yet.

  “Back to Moscow!” Sheremetev shouted. “That’s the closest radio.”

  ***

  At last, and several hours later, Director-General Sheremetev strode into the radio room in the Kremlin and ordered that a demand for Princess Natalia’s arrest be sent to all stations. The message went out, but because of the many stations it would be transmitted through, it would take still more time.

  Chapter 78

  As Natasha, Bernie and the rescue team were driving away from the palace at Murom, a radio message came in.

  PRINCESS NATALIA GORCHAKOVNA WANTED IN CONNECTION WITH DEATH OF TWO MEN AT ARMS AND THE SEVERE WOUNDING OF CASS LOWRY. REPORT SIGHTINGS TO MOSCOW AND DETAIN. BY ORDER OF THE BOYAR DUMA AND THE DIRECTOR-GENERAL FOR CZAR MIKHAIL. END MESSAGE.

  The radio operator was one of Natasha’s loyal men. Alas, his boss wasn’t.

  Partly out of fear, and partly out of greed, Petr Timofeyivich used the order from the Boyar Duma and the czar to release Captain Ivan Borisovich Lebedev and his men.

  Control of Murom passed quickly-but not firmly-back into the hands of Sheremetev loyalists. This had very little effect on anything. Most of the people in Murom were keeping their heads down and staying just as far from politics as they could manage.

  A radio message was sent to Moscow telling that the princess had been spotted, but had left before the message ordering her detention had arrived.

  For the next several hours, things were very tense in the halls of government in Murom. Captain Lebedev didn’t even attempt to keep the lid on, raging around the palace. Lieutenant Lebedev, however, had made friends with the Streltzi and urged them to wait and remain calm.

  The Dodge traveled slowly, pulling a down-time made trailer behind it. The trailer carried some twenty of Natasha’s men at arms led by Vladislav Vasl’yevich. In order to avoid jarring the men too much, Bernie kept the speed down to around twenty miles per hour, and often much less than that. The thirty-two mile trip to the hunting lodge took three hours. It was evening when they approached the hunting lodge.

  “You need to warn me before we get there, Natasha,” Bernie said. “We need to stop the car a mile or so away from the lodge and let the boys in back out of the trailer.”

  A few minutes later Natasha told Bernie to stop. “The path goes forward, then turns right. After the turn, you can see the lodge.”

  Bernie consulted with the armsmen, including one of her huntsmen who was very familiar with this particular lodge. “How close can you get before you’re spotted?”

  “It depends on who’s doing the spotting,” the huntsman said. “If it was you I could tap you on the shoulder before you knew I was there.”

  “Maybe you better go scout for us then.”

  “I can do that.”

  The wait seemed to last forever, but it wasn’t really that long before the huntsman came up behind Bernie and said “Boo.” Bernie grinned and turned to face the man. He’d spotted him well before time. The huntsman grimaced. “So what did you see, Boo?” Bernie asked.

  “About a hundred yards east of the lodge, there are several tents and a paddock with maybe twenty horses. Considering the size of the lodge, I don’t see how there can be more than thirty or so men, at most.”

  “All right,” Bernie said. “You and the men infiltrate. Natasha and I will drive in just like we own the place.”

  Vladislav Vasl’yevich started to object but was interrupted.

  “I do own the place,” Natasha said.

  “Fine. We’re the distraction, Natasha. Ride in like the queen of England, order them off your property. And while they’re arresting us, the rest of these guys will get the drop on them.” Bernie didn’t have to explain “get the drop on them.” He’d already done that. Many times.

  And, in essence, that’s what they did.

  Bernie drove up to the house, with the horn blaring. Most of the horses in the area panicked. Half a dozen men came out of the tents and one man came out of the house itself.

  Natasha emerged from the car, using her most regal manner. “What are you people doing at my lodge? You’re trespassing. Get out at once!” Then, apparently seeing Czar Mikhail for the first time, she added, “Except, of course, for Your Majesty. You are always welcome on my lands.”

  The czar was looking as shocked as anyone. But it wasn’t he who spoke. It was a man Natasha had never seen before, who was dressed in a black fur coat with a silver dog’s head clasp. Sixty years before, Ivan the Terrible had created a band
of enforcers called the Oprichniki who were recognized by their black fur coats and the severed dog’s heads they carried. Later Ivan had outlawed them and made it a crime to even say the word Oprichniki.

  This man and the six he had with him, also wearing the clasp, weren’t the same Oprichniki as Ivan had had. A silver dog’s head wasn’t the same as the severed head of a real dog. Still, the symbolism was unmistakable.

  “You are under arrest!” the latter-day Oprichniki said.

  Feeling more than a little pale herself, Natasha turned to the czar and waved at the man in black. “Did you authorize this, Your Majesty?”

  She was unutterably relieved to see the little, almost unconscious, shake of the czar’s head.

  The black coat spoke again. “Seize them!”

  “Hold!” Natasha shouted. “You have no authority here and none over me! The only one who could give you such authority is right here and he hasn’t done so.”

  Her arguments went unheeded and the troops kept right on coming. Then she heard Bernie.

  “Hey, Dogboy!” he shouted. “That fancy silver puppy won’t stop a bullet.”

  When Natasha looked, Bernie was holding a large up-time revolver pointed at the chest of the Oprichniki.

  “My men will kill you and the princess!” the Oprichniki shouted back.

  “Could be,” Bernie acknowledged rather more calmly than Natasha really would have preferred, “but you will still be dead.”

  “They will be dead before then,” came another voice, as calm as Bernie’s but much colder. Looking over, Natasha saw that Vladislav Vasl’yevich had come out from the gap between two of the tents, followed by several of his men. All of them had their weapons raised and ready to fire.