She took a long moment to gather up her courage. "I would like you to teach me to read and write, not just in Russian, but in Dutch as well."
He was startled, but he held his surprise in check. "If that is what you want"--the line moved forward again--"then I would be honored."
She gave him an amazed look. "You will?"
"Of course," he answered. "We may have difficulty setting aside the time for lessons, but I will be delighted to teach you as much as you wish to learn for as long as I am in Sankt Piterburkh. With the
work you do, reading and writing can be essential to preserving life. I think you are wise to learn Dutch, and the Roman alphabet."
"Spasiba," she whispered.
"No thanks are necessary," he assured her. "Only tell me when you want lessons, and I will accommodate you."
"As soon as the Swamp Fever is over," she said quickly, drawing on every consideration she had brought to making this request. "I won't have time to study until then."
Saint-Germain shook his head. "No, Ludmilla, you must not wait for opportunities. If you make lessons determined by work, you will not begin studying until the end of winter, if then, and you will have to adjust your education to the impositions of the day, and all continuity will be lost. No, Madame: choose a time and instruct the nurses and Kyril not to disturb you except in a true emergency." He glanced behind him, and gave a little bow to Graf von Altenburg, saying to Ludmilla as he did, "Tomorrow morning, let us agree on the time to be set aside."
"As you wish," said Ludmilla, knowing he was right in his caveats.
"It will suit your desires more satisfactorily," Saint-Germain said with a quick, encouraging smile, and turned to answer the greeting of the man in line behind him.
"I hope I see you well, Hercegek," von Altenburg exclaimed. "Half the world seems to be laid up in bed, thanks to this Swamp Fever."
"True enough, Graf. Fortunately, I have not succumbed to the disease." Nor would he; no disease had touched him since his death thirty-seven centuries ago.
"May you continue as fortunately," said von Altenburg. "It is most lamentable that the disease should be so pervasive while the Czar is here."
"Or at any time," said Saint-Germain. "Fever is never a good companion."
"How much longer do you anticipate it will continue?" von Altenburg asked, doing his best to conceal his worry.
"Another three weeks, perhaps four," said Saint-Germain. "I doubt it will continue once the weather turns." He moved ahead, keeping an eye on Zozia and Benedykt.
"I hope you're right. My cook and my driver are both suffering, and the work-gang putting in the new street has been decimated by the fever. The work has slowed down. I fear the rest of my household will not be safe from it."
"Would you like me to prepare a tincture for them? For those who have not become infected by the disease, to help them to resist contracting it? I will have our messenger carry it round to you." He saw Colonel Broughton bow to their hosts, very grand in his dress-regimentals, and begin to offer his effusive compliments in German.
"Would you? I'd be most grateful. I don't trust the remedies our houseman provides, and there is no one else in the household who has knowledge of herbs and medicines." Von Altenburg made a point of not eavesdropping on the conversation Colonel Broughton was having with the Czar; he glanced around as if to be sure he himself was not overheard. "You're most kind to do this."
"I am glad to be of service," said Saint-Germain, and saw that Zozia was about to make her curtsy; he turned his attention to her as he prepared to be presented, smoothing his coat and tweaking his neck-cloth.
"The Ksiezna Nisko, Majesty," said Menshikov. "Zozia is her name."
Zozia dropped a deep Court curtsy, her eyes lowered as she sank down. "Majesty," she said, not moving.
"Polish. Hungarian husband," said Piotyr abruptly. "Is this he?" He stared at Benedykt.
"Alas, Majesty, I am only her brother. The gentleman behind me is her husband." Benedykt offered a graceful flourish with his bow. "I am Benedykt, Ksiaze Radom, if it please the Czar. My credentials were presented to your comrade a week ago in anticipation of this happy occasion. It is my honor to serve Stanislas as his Resident, along with my sister. In that capacity, I extend the greetings of the King to you, and look forward to serving both Poland and Russia in days to come." He held out his hand to help his sister rise.
Zozia dared to look at Marfa. "It is most gracious of you to include me in your celebration, Madame."
Marfa's smile was wide and welcoming. "I am delighted to see
you here, Ksiezna." She put her hand on Piotyr's arm. "This is the Polish lady of whom I've told you, Majesty."
Piotyr had been watching a work-gang sliding logs down the embankment to provide reinforcement to the retaining wall. "What did you say?"
"This is Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, O Joy of my Life. I have told you of her many kindnesses to me since I've come here. She has been unstinting in her attentions." She continued to smile. "You said you were grateful that such a generous woman was here to bear me company."
The Czar turned his prominent brown eyes on Zozia. "A pleasure, Ksiezna. And the same to your ...?"
"Brother," said Zozia patiently, reminding him, "My husband is behind me, Majesty, with the founders of the care-house where he presently resides, the better to aid the sick and injured."
Menshikov motioned Saint-Germain, van Hoek, and Ludmilla forward. "This is the Ksiezna's husband, Majesty. This is Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor and husband of Zozia."
Saint-Germain made a most respectful bow. "My felicitations to you on the progress of this city that bears your name."
Piotyr stared at Saint-Germain, then blinked slowly, like a satisfied cat. He touched his upturned mustache and spoke. "You are in a most disconcerting situation, aren't you, Hercegek?"
"In what way do you mean, Majesty?" Saint-Germain asked, sounding unperturbed.
"With Stanislas ruling in Poland and not my old friend Augustus, your position is very ill-defined. If you were Polish, it would be different, but you are Hungarian. You have no true position now beyond husband." He laughed abruptly. "No, I am wrong. You are the one who has built the three treadmill-pumps to speed the draining, aren't you?"
"I have provided plans and advice," Saint-Germain answered. "And aided in the construction when it was necessary."
"Very good," the Czar approved. "You will be useful for some time to come."
"And he has done much to assist at the care-house," said Menshikov.
Piotyr nodded. "A man of many parts." He looked past Saint-Germain. "And this is--?" He scowled directly at van Hoek.
Van Hoek bowed. "Physician-anatomist van Hoek."
The Czar slapped his head. "Of course! Yes, of course! I remember you. It is a pleasure to welcome you to Sankt Piterburkh. We met while I was in Holland. You agreed then to answer my summons when it came. And here you are!" He looked at Menshikov. "You allocated a barrack to him for his care-house, didn't you? That's the one you meant when you spoke of Arco-Tolvay, isn't it?"
"Yes, Majesty," said Menshikov. "It is the only care-house we have."
"A good thing, then, to move it to a barrack instead of a house. A prudent thing to have done, with the Swamp Fever everywhere. Next year, we must provide a second care-house for our people. I am told you're already over-crowded. I'll be sure you have relief by next summer." Piotyr put his big, lean hand on van Hoek's shoulder. "I applaud your efforts. We need more men of your quality here in Piter." He watched Ludmilla curtsy. "This is your assistant, then? The boyar's wife? I've heard much good about her."
Ludmilla listened to him with both satisfaction and dismay. "If you have heard things to my credit, I am flattered that you remember them." This had not come out as she had intended, and she tried to think of a better way to acknowledge his compliment. "Not that I expect that such minor service should be--"
"Rise, rise," said Piotyr. "You have a difficult task, haven't you?-- attending to the sick is a very demanding occupation."
"And a worthy task," she dared to correct him.
"Certainly," said the Czar. "But still a most exacting kind of work." He sighed. "We will speak of this later." He motioned the three to pass on and smiled at Graf von Altenburg. "And how is my Prussian friend?"
Ludmilla put her hand to her face as she moved away toward the far end of the dock. "How can I have made such a mull of speaking to him?" She could not bring herself to look at Saint-Germain or van Hoek.
"I doubt the Czar was offended," said van Hoek.
"I would wager he has heard others say similar things, so much so that he probably listens very little to what he hears during receptions like this one," Saint-Germain remarked as Zozia and Benedykt came up to them. "Van Hoek, you know my wife, do you not? And Zozia, you remember Ludmilla Borisevna?" He took Zozia's hand and kissed it. "How is your visit with your brother going, my dear?"
Zozia's laugh had a brittle edge to it. "Oh, it is always a joy to see my brother, even when he turns my life upside down."
Benedykt's frown came and went rapidly. "It is not surprising that she misses you, Arco-Tolvay. She reminds me daily of your virtues."
"As she has done for me with yours," said Saint-Germain, and earned a little chuckle for his efforts.
Behind him, van Hoek said, "Ludmilla Borisevna and I are going to get some lemonade. We'll return shortly."
Saint-Germain nodded. "Just as well to get out of the sun," he said, wishing he could do the same; even with his native earth lining the soles of his shoes, the combination of sunlight and the force of running water was enervating for him.
"You may think I am unreasonable," Zozia said archly, "but men, being what they are, are often more prized in their absence, when their daily failings aren't everywhere apparent." She looked around and saw Drury and Abigail Carruther going toward the open door to the tavern where wine, beer, and Russian spirits were being poured. "If you will excuse me, I must have a word with Missus Carruther." Without waiting for any formalities, she hurried away toward the English couple.
"How are things at the care-house?" Benedykt asked in Polish once Zozia was out of earshot. "We keep hearing about Swamp Fever. Is it getting worse, or are those dire tales only rumors?"
"It is increasing," said Saint-Germain.
"A good reason for you to remain at the care-house, then: that, and there's no room in my sister's house while I'm here." Benedykt folded his arms. "The Czar is right: with Stanislas King in Poland, you are in a difficult position. Just as well that you keep your distance from Zozia."
"And why do my difficulties please you so?" Saint-Germain asked in an even voice.
"They don't please me," said Benedykt, looking affronted. "Why would you say that?"
"Because you were smiling," said Saint-Germain.
"I am a diplomat--I am expected to smile." Benedykt continued to frown at him. "You don't understand our position here."
"How can I, when I have been told only to do as Zozia instructs me, and she tells me nothing? If Stanislas expects me to continue to assist your sister, he must suppose that we will have regular contact, and that I am well-informed on what the King desires." He noticed Hugo Weissenkraft headed toward them. "We can talk later. For now, we had best mingle among the guests."
Benedykt sighed. "It isn't as if we don't see one another every day, as part of being in this place. The city is more a small village, especially for the Foreign Quarter. Everyone lives in everyone else's pockets."
"But we do not see the Czar every day, nor do we have banquets like this one," Saint-Germain pointed out. "When Piotyr Alexeievich is here, this village is a world capital, and has been told to behave as such." He moved away from Benedykt and soon found himself near the entrance to one of the open taverns: inside perhaps thirty of the Czar's guests were drinking various liquids and trading bits of scandal and speculation to bruit about. He noticed a saturnine man in dark-brown silken twill cut dolman-style over full britches, with a fine wig from Vienna--Saint-Germain decided this must be the new Hungarian arrival he had been told about two days since. He wondered if he should introduce himself to the stranger, but remained where he was as Piotyr Alexeievich strode into the tavern, calling for beer.
"Best drink deep now. We're about to sit down at table. You can take your plates and fill them as soon as I have my beer and my first plate is readied." He clapped his hands and stood, arms akimbo, waiting for beer.
Half a dozen men surged toward the bar to get a tankard of beer for him, two of the men colliding and scuffling in their efforts to be the one to procure what the Czar wanted. They exchanged a few
blows and discovered that Tarquin Humphries, the English shipwright, had beaten them to the prize and was now handing a large tankard to Piotyr.
Lifting his tankard, the Czar called out, "Let us drink to Sankt Piterburkh and its glory!" He took a long draft of beer, looking around to see that everyone had joined in the salute. "You!" he shouted, pointing at Saint-Germain. "You do not drink to this city?"
"I endorse the pledge with all my heart, Majesty," Saint-Germain said, feeling intensely uncomfortable. He wanted to find an excuse to leave before the Czar became angry. "But sadly, I am unable to join in the toast. Pardon me, and permit me to depart."
Piotyr's face darkened. "You will drink!"
"If I could, I--" Saint-Germain began, and felt the Czar's free hand come down on the back of his neck.
"You will drink!" Piotyr insisted.
