"My master," said Hroger as he held the door open. He carried an oil-lantern in his hand and placed it in the alcove above the door. "Come in. We have the place to ourselves tonight."
"Very good," said Saint-Germain, closing the door behind him as he entered the main room.
"Your chests and trunks are on the second floor, and they're in the rear room you selected." He pointed to the thick tiles on the far side of the room. "The stove will be brought in two days, I'm told. Until then, there is no heat."
"An inconvenience, not a real problem," said Saint-Germain, looking about to see the way the rooms were being framed. "This work-gang isn't Russian, by the way the walls have been set up."
"Livonian, or so their supervisor tells me," said Hroger. "They built barracks for the Swedes and that's why they've been put to work doing
the same thing here. They've almost finished the stairs--there are no bannisters or railings yet, but the risers and treads are in place." He nodded toward the staircase half-way down the room. "It's well-supported, and should be enough to allow heavy loads to be carried up."
"In a care-house, that is almost necessary." Saint-Germain sniffed, smelling the sharp, distinctive odor of pine. "When do they panel the walls, did they tell you?"
"No later than five days," said Hroger. "There are sixty of them, and they know what they're doing." He continued on to the stairs and led the way up them. "The room we have reserved for your use? I have set up your bed and installed a trestle-table for you. Your chest-of-drawers is in place, and your wardrobe--fortunately it is a small one--and the other chests are stacked against the outer wall, under the window. The door will be in place in a few days, and the paneling."
"All to the good. What of Ludmilla Borisevna and Heer van Hoek?"
"They are packing their supplies now and by day after tomorrow they will bring all their things that they can here, and as soon as the two care-rooms are finished, they will transfer their patients. That should take about a week." He looked around the main room of the second floor. "The carpenters are making two rooms on the opposite side of this floor for them--Ludmilla Borisevna and van Hoek. This main room should be reserved for surgery and setting bones, or such is my understanding."
"A good idea," Saint-Germain approved. "Van Hoek will be relieved. He was afraid he would have to remove limbs where patients could see him do it, which would distress them all, and could lead to all manner of disruptions. Such things are more upsetting to watch than to do, and they are unpleasant necessities."
"As is true of so many things," said Hroger. He found an oil-lantern hanging on a hook near the top of the stairs, and used flint-and-steel to light it. "This should be a reminder that this place is occupied."
"Assuming we want to do that," said Saint-Germain wryly.
Hroger shook his head. "Well, those who have been watching you know you're here; it's the street-gangs we want to warn. They like empty buildings, not inhabited ones."
"And you, old friend--where is your place?"
"In your medicaments room, of course. I will have a bed and a closet, which will suffice. It will also keep the curious from exploring your laboratory." He very nearly chuckled. "Do you remember that impetuous footman in Bohemia, not quite a hundred fifty years ago? The poor boy almost collapsed when he saw your laboratory there."
"Things might not go so well here," said Saint-Germain. "You are right, as always, to take precautions."
"It is also convenient," said Hroger. "This way I can eat in private and not have to answer questions as to why I take only uncooked meat."
"That is a good plan," said Saint-Germain. "How many house-servants has Menshikov allocated to our use here?"
"I haven't found out yet. Kyril Yureivich brought a note from Ludmilla Borisevna today saying that she has been told that her request is being evaluated."
"Whatever that means," said Saint-Germain. "She's asked for twelve--I suppose you know," Hroger remarked. "Since you'll be paying their upkeep."
"It is probably the best we can hope for," said Saint-Germain. "We will have thirty beds to start with, and even with Kyril and van Hoek's man, twelve is barely an adequate number."
"Do you think you'll be granted the twelve?" Hroger asked, starting back down the stairs.
"I hope so," said Saint-Germain. "I paid a high enough bribe for them."
Text of a letter from Klaus Demetrius Krems, in Dresden, to Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain, in Sankt Piterburkh, in care of Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor, written in code and delivered on September 13th, 1704.
To the most respected Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain, the greetings of Klaus Demetrius Krems, on behalf of Augustus II, former King of Poland.
My dear Grofok,
As you are most certainly aware, the imposture you have undertaken with Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, has been extended by order of Stanislas, recently elected King of Poland. Orders have been dispatched to the Ksiezna enjoining her to continue her work, and to include you in her mission, an arrangement that is simple enough for her, but difficult for you, in that your risk is greater than hers; she is a spy, you are an impostor. It is with that in mind that Augustus wishes me to ask you if you would continue your reports to me--the last two have been most valuable--on much the same terms as before. My one reluctance, and the reluctance is genuine, is that the aims of Poland and the aims of Augustus may not be always in accord now that Augustus no longer rules there, and the resultant cross-purposes may increase the risk to you for continuing your efforts on his behalf.
Send word as soon as you can as to your decision; I sincerely hope you will be inclined to continue on as you have been, and for the rest of the year: I will assume for now that you are willing to do this, for if you decide to leave Sankt Piterburkh, you will want the license of Augustus to accomplish it. In case we cannot have direct contact again until spring, I am instructed to send you the thanks and high regard of Augustus, and his assurance that his gratitude will not be lacking when next you meet.
May God guard and keep you.
Your servant to command,
Klaus Demetrius Krems
confidential secretary to Augustus II, formerly King of Poland
August 6th, 1704
10
The first floor of the new care-house was almost finished, and all but five of the beds were in place; most of those beds were already occupied by men in the grip of illness, and by nightfall, there would be three more patients to care for, according to the Watchmen who patrolled the levees and dykes where the work-gangs labored, and where the supervisors struggled to keep up with the demands of the Czar. Already there were isolated groups of tents in the drained part of the marshes where members of the work-gangs were sent when they became too ill to function--the stricken supervisors were brought to the care-house.
Little though anyone said so aloud, the whole of the populace of the new city was terrified of epidemic disease breaking out among the gangs, for surely once that happened no one would be safe. Dread hung over the Neva as surely as mosquitoes did, and stung as pertinaciously. The weather did not encourage hope for improvement: the last heat of summer lay over Sankt Piterburkh; the brassy sky reflected in the river and the standing water in the marsh; the air itself seemed enervated by the dreadful humidity. Activity lagged on this day, as it had for a week: validating the deepest fears of the populace, Swamp Fever was slowly spreading from the work-gangs to the other residents of the city even as the insistence for more and faster building was emphasized by the supervisors, who strove to get as much done as possible before the cold closed in.
"The Watchmen are coming shortly," said van Hoek to the five male nurses he and Ludmilla had received thus far: two were monks; the other three had served aboard ships as their crews' medical officers. All five men maintained stoic demeanors as the number of their patients increased. "The messenger said he has collapsed from his injuries, including a ragged puncture in his side." They were in the
largest of the care-rooms, which just now was darkened by closed shutters and oppressively hot.
"More Swamp Fever, and a fall while sick, like Szymon Victrovich?" she said, sounding tired. "That is twenty-six we have seen and treated, and it's only mid-September." She turned toward the rear window. "I wish they would finish the out-buildings. We need a real mortuary, not just a rear porch, especially in this weather."
"Of those twenty-six, we've lost four, with two more failing," van Hoek said as if reciting a necessary but unpleasant fact. "So far."
"Will this be another?" Ludmilla asked. "How badly is he affected?"
"No; you misunderstood me, Ludmilla Borisevna. This one isn't Swamp Fever, for a change, or so the Watchmen's messenger reported. This one was injured when the dredging-barge was rammed this morning by the Danish ship while the fog was low," said van Hoek. "They say he's badly hurt."
"Broken bones, or worse," Ludmilla thought aloud.
"Worse, I fear. The messenger said the man had frothy blood coming from a tear in his side."
"That's dangerous, then. He shouldn't be around Swamp Fever, that may settle in his wounds and cause putrefaction." Ludmilla sighed, her face showing her worry. "Still, we must be ready to help him. The Hercegek is upstairs working on more medicaments. Shall I tell him we will need the surgery this afternoon, finished or not? I need to get some more of that tincture of willow-bark and pansy in any case."
It was a chore for Kyril Yureivich, but neither of them mentioned it. Van Hoek looked around the room. "Go ahead. Jascha and Klavdye will do your work for a short while."
To confirm this assurance, Jascha and Klavdye both said, "Da," and went on offering small cups of lemon-flavored water to the men in the beds.
"There--you see?" Van Hoek motioned her out of the room. "Go up to the Hercegek and tell him what is coming. Tell him I'll join him as soon as the patient arrives."
"I will," she said, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her
European clothes. She hurried up the stairs, taking care not to risk getting splinters in her hands from the unsanded railing. As she reached the top of the flight, she saw four carpenters working on the surgery area, their iron-cored leather mallets hammering out a regular rhythm
tap-POUND, tap-POUND, tap-POUND,
like the steady beating of hearts. Ludmilla averted her face as she went into the side-room where Saint-Germain had set up his laboratory, and found him with Hroger filling up a book-case.
"Ludmilla Borisevna," said Saint-Germain, turning at the sound of her footsteps. He wiped his hands on a length of cotton that was draped over the end of a small trestle-table. "What may I do for you?"
"We have an injured man being brought in. He's probably going to need to have bones set and may need some kind of surgery, as well. Heer van Hoek can tell you more; he received the report from the messenger." She spoke quickly, but with the kind of certainty that kept her from sounding too hasty. "From the messenger's report, his lung may be damaged."
"That's unfortunate," said Saint-Germain. "How soon will he be here?"
"As soon as he can be brought here," she answered. "My guess would be in less than an hour."
"Then we should make ready now." He motioned to Hroger. "If you will ask the carpenters to come in here and work on filling the space between the outer walls and the paneling with packed sawdust? That way van Hoek can attend to the man without distraction, and the carpenters need not witness what the injured man requires to have done."
Hroger put down the stack of books he carried. "I'll attend to the mattress," he said at his unflustered best. With a nod he left the room.
"All right," said Saint-Germain. "I will go in as soon as the carpenters are out of the place and put a thin mattress on the surgery-bed, and set out the tray for Heer van Hoek's use."
"Thank you for attending to it so quickly." She stared at him. "You know how to treat these sorts of injuries, don't you? You've treated them before, not just studied them."
"I have some experience along such lines, yes," he said, curious to know what was on her mind. "I learned most of what I know in Egypt, some time ago." He had learned many things during his centuries at the Temple of Imhotep: treating injuries was among them.
"So you've mentioned," she said, still concentrating on him as the carpenters filed into the room, their supervisor bringing a wheelbarrow filled with packed sawdust. "Should we leave this to them?"
"It is probably for the best." He bowed her through the door, saying as he did, "Have you had your mid-day meal yet, Ludmilla Borisevna?"
"There hasn't been time," she said, noticing that Hroger was already putting the surgery room into as much order as he could achieve.
"You would be wise to make time. You must protect your health if you are to care for the sick. Have a bowl of strong broth with marrow within the hour, and take a dish of tea with it." He picked up a stiff-bristled broom and began to sweep away the chips and shavings that remained on the floor. "We do not want a bad footing."
She made a gesture of agreement. "A good precaution." She saw that Hroger had slipped away. "He has other work you require?"
"He is getting a mattress for the surgery-table," said Saint-Germain. "An injured man needs something softer than bare boards to lie upon." He patted the surgery-table, not wanting to add that the mattress would soak up more blood than planks could do. "This will be ready in ten minutes."