There has been a request from the care-house for permission to
add another room to the building, and beds for another twenty patients. With the various injuries and ills that have been so prevalent here in the last months, it is not an unreasonable request. I have two days since visited the care-house, and I can say from my own observation that the care-house is overcrowded, and there is little that we can do to improve their situation without enlarging the building itself. It could be moved to the large barrack being built a short distance away, but that would mean that the care-house should be torn down and its site chosen for other uses. If this problem could be set before the Czar as soon as possible, we might be able to have the room the care-house requires by June.
Given that the weather is improving at present, it is a good time to mount hunting expeditions to resupply the larders of the Foreign Quarter with meat. I am proposing to ask a dozen of the foreign men to assist in the hunt. Since the foreigners do not observe the same fast-days we Orthodox do, it may require some negotiating to agree on a time, but since there are dwindling reserves in most houses, I trust that this proposed venture will meet with garrison approval. The provision-trains from Novgorod and Moscow will not arrive until early January, and that being the case, we must do something to bridge the gap. Let me know if this plan is approved as soon as you may, and if it is not, then propose some other way for the Foreign Quarter to avoid hunger between now and Epiphany.
Submitted with full respect,
Jeremye Kristostomovich Belayov
Clerk of the Foreign Quarter
Sankt Piterburkh
November 29th, 1704
7
"Tonight should be clear," Yrjo Saari said as he lingered by the stable door, his breath making ghosts in front of his face. "That may mean it will be much colder, as well, but at least there is no fog forming, and no clouds overhead." He regarded Saint-Germain warily. "You are going back to the care-house on your own?"
"I am expected there, and it is not far to go; hardly worth saddling a horse and arranging for its return," Saint-Germain said, a bit apologetically. "I thank you for the information you have provided."
"I wish it were more. Those men who told me about that Moscow gang didn't want to say too much, in case it should get back to them, and they should take action against the informers. That happens fairly often." He shook his head. "Thieves and cutthroats, all of them."
"Well, most of them," Saint-Germain agreed with a hint of amusement, pulling his cloak around himself and raising the wolf-fur hood.
"The coachmen here in the Foreign Quarter have all decided to carry pistols as well as long-guns when they go out. It's probably a good idea. A knife might not be much good on a driving-box." He tapped the scabbard on his belt. "I have my puukko. It is most useful at close range." His chuckle had no trace of humor in it.
"I would think so." Saint-Germain prepared to close the door. "Thank you for the information. I will see you in another two days."
"Unless I learn something urgent," said Saari.
"Unless you do," Saint-Germain confirmed, glancing at Zozia's house as he shoved the stable door and trudged away through the knee-deep snow, keeping to the track he had made when he went to the stable so as not to have to wade any more than necessary. He knew Zozia was attending a small salon at Nyland's house that evening and would not be in to welcome him; wherever Benedykt was spending
his time, he would not like to find out that Saint-Germain had been at the house when neither he nor his sister was there. Reaching the street, he looked up into the clear night sky, the stars standing out against the sky like white-hot sparks from a steel-furnace. It was unfortunate that none of their warmth reached this bleak part of the world, he thought, as he made his way to the street where one of the work-gangs had swept the wooden sidewalk clear of snow earlier in the day. He went along carefully, trying to avoid patches of ice that made the walkway treacherous, all the while trying to discern if he were being watched.
Kyril opened the door to him when he knocked, and bowed him inside. "Hercegek. It's good you're back."
"How is everything, Kyril Yureivich?"
"They are quiet, at least on this floor," said Kyril. "Heer van Hoek has taken to his bed with a slight fever, and Ludmilla Borisevna is dealing with the coachman from the Flemings' Residence--you know, the new house nine doors from the end of Spasky Street--who's upstairs."
"The man with the broken arm?" Saint-Germain had set it two days since. "Is he doing badly?"
"Quite the contrary," said Kyril, taking possession of Saint-Germain's cloak. "He has been demanding to be allowed to return to the Flemings' Residence tonight. He insists he is recovered enough."
"How very inconvenient for Madame Svarinskaya," said Saint-Germain quietly. "Should I perhaps have a word with him?"
"You may try--for all the good it may do," said Kyril. "Your manservant is in your quarters, measuring out medicaments for later this evening."
Since this was what Hroger did most late afternoons, Saint-Germain found nothing alarming in Kyril's announcement. "Good. Then the medicaments should be ready to distribute in a short while. I'll try to have a word with him before Madame Svarinskaya has her lessons. Now tell me about Heer van Hoek."
"He fears he may have taken the influenza from one of the patients,
and he thought it best not to expose more of them to the condition. He's in with the rest of the influenza patients." Kyril sighed. "It would be an unfortunate thing for all of us if Heer van Hoek should become seriously ill."
"So it would," said Saint-Germain, looking about the main room of the care-house. "No more new patients today, though. That is an improvement." He started toward the stairs. "Madame Svarinskaya is with the coachman, then."
"Yes, she is," said Kyril, looking tired and slightly annoyed. "Unless he has decided to be sensible and stay in bed."
"Do you think Madame Svarinskaya could use my help?" Saint-Germain asked.
Grudgingly, Kyril nodded. "The man is becoming obstreperous."
Sensing that this was more than disapproval of the coachman, Saint-Germain guessed aloud, "Would you prefer I look in on Heer van Hoek before I go up to Madame Svarinskaya?"
Kyril did not smile, but there was an easing of his expression that made his demeanor less disapproving. "He's in with the men who have influenza, as I told you."
"Very well," said Saint-Germain, and turned into the larger of the two flanking rooms; here the light was dim, and it took him almost a minute to discern which of the men was van Hoek. Making his way toward the back of the room, he saw that most of the patients were having their evening meal--a venison-turnip-and-onion soup along with a thick slice of black bread. "Heer van Hoek," he said in Dutch as he approached the bed where van Hoek sat.
"Hercegek," he responded with the suggestion of a bow. "I had hoped you might stop here before you go up to your quarters."
"I am sorry to see you in this place," said Saint-Germain.
"No more so than I am." He cleared his throat. "Still, with all the exposure I have had, it is small wonder that I should contract the illness."
"It is a hazard, certainly," said Saint-Germain. "How do you feel?"
"A bit light-headed, my joints ache, my mouth tastes of metal, my throat is sore, and my eyes are beginning to hurt: classic symptoms."
He made a self-deprecating gesture. "So I fear I will have to depend upon you and Madame Svarinskaya to treat all our patients, or close the doors to new patients until I am able to rejoin you."
"I shall have Hroger bring you willow-bark tea, and a pastille of minced orange rinds." He did a rapid surveillance of the room. "Shall I offer the same to the others?"
"If you would, please," said van Hoek. "Along with the other medicaments you've provided, this is deeply appreciated."
"Thank you for saying so, Heer van Hoek," said Saint-Germain, taking a step away from the Dutch physician.
"And if you would, give Ludmilla Borisevna any preparations you have that may help in preventing her from taking the influenza herself. You should do so as well. It is bad enough that I should be stricken, but if either of you also contract it--"
"I will bear that in mind," said Saint-Germain, bowing slightly as he took his leave and made for the stairs to the floor above. Turning left toward the patient dormitory, he hesitated for an instant, knowing he would have to meet with Hroger shortly. But the coachman seemed more urgent, so he went into the room and found Ludmilla standing beside the bed of the coachman while he perched on the edge of the bed and tried to pull on his britches using his one good arm.
"Ah, Hercegek; thank God you are here!" she called out. "Will you come and talk sense to this fellow?"
Saint-Germain walked up to the bed, paying little attention to the interested stares from the other patients. "It looks as if you have done so already, not that he has been listening." He stopped and looked at the coachman. "So, Valery Andreivich Rossiev, are you managing to dress yourself in spite of the splint?"
The coachman grunted and continued to try to work his britches over his hips, his cheeks turning red with his effort. "I'm doing it."
"As you see, he is not making much progress," said Ludmilla.
Saint-Germain moved a step closer. "If you are having so much trouble with your britches, how will you pull on your boots, let alone hold the reins?"
Valery looked unhappy, but stopped his tugging and wriggling long enough to say, "The Flemings are new to Sankt Piterburkh. Nine of them in the household, and they've been here only six weeks. They depend upon me."
"And no doubt you are most useful to them," said Saint-Germain, wholly unflustered. "For that reason alone you need to take good care of yourself, which includes another two days of rest before you undertake even moderate exercise of any kind. Your arm is newly set, and until the bones begin to knit, you could shift them, and they would have to be set all over again." He paused so that Valery could consider that possibility. "I doubt you would enjoy the process; I know I would not."
Valery Andreivich gave a snort of derision. "You've splinted my arm with linen and boards. How can I shift my bones?"
"You have very strong muscles in your arms, as all coachmen do. If you exert yourself, you could, by virtue of your strength, pull your bones apart. That could lead to a weakening of the arm itself, and then your coaching days might well be at an end." He said all of this in his most matter-of-fact manner. "I would like to think you are not so foolish as to risk so much for so little."
Valery halted, his face going pale. "That's impossible."
"No, unfortunately it is not," said Saint-Germain. "If you were a long-time family retainer, the Flemings might make allowances for your inability to drive, but as they, as you said, are new to the city, they would have no reason to pension you. What then, Valery Andreivich?"
For several seconds, the coachman sat still, indecision apparent in every lineament. Then he began to pull his britches off. "You must send someone to the Flemings' Residence to explain why I haven't returned," he muttered.
"Of course," said Ludmilla. "One of our staff will take care of it this evening." She shot a thankful glance in Saint-Germain's direction. "For now, be comfortable and allow our people to do for you. As soon as the Hercegek approves, you may return to the Flemish Residence."
"Heer Bourgdrei will have to--"
Saint-Germain interrupted, "I will see that all is explained to
him." He reached down and picked up the man's britches. "You will have your supper shortly, and then I will see you have a composing draught before you sleep."
Valery said something under his breath, swung his legs back onto the bed, and pulled up his blanket. "I won't stay here much longer."
"That is what we all hope, Valery Andreivich," said Ludmilla before Saint-Germain could respond. "For now, try to rest; it will do you good." She came over to Saint-Germain. "Our lesson should begin in a little more than two hours, as we have arranged. Will this suit you, Hercegek?"
"Most certainly, Ludmilla Borisevna," he said, warmth suffusing his voice.
She offered a quick, shy smile. "I look forward to learning new things."
"And I." He offered her a small bow. "For now, do you have any more need of my aid?"
"Not for now," she said, and turned away from him.
Saint-Germain watched her make her way down the room, her movements steady, her manner calm. How many times in the past had he longed for just such a competent colleague as she! He thought of the Black Plague, and the devastation measles had brought to the Americas, of the many epidemics he had seen over the centuries at the Temple of Imhotep, and of the terrible ruin throughout all China and Central Asia following the Year of Yellow Snow--in all those disasters, Ludmilla's steady capabilities would have eased distress for so many. "Until seven," he said, and left her to her work, crossing the surgery-room to his own quarters, where he found Hroger measuring out small cups of a clear liquid with an iridescent shine: this was Saint-Germain's sovereign remedy, which began as moldy bread. "The day has been difficult, I take it." At the far end of the room, the recently completed athanor gave off a steady aura of heat.
Hroger continued his work. "Difficult enough. I gather you convinced Valery Andreivich to remain with us."
"I did, for now. When was Heer van Hoek stricken?" Saint-Germain asked, going to his red-lacquer chest and removing a small
carton of slivered willow-bark which he opened and plucked out half a palmful of slivers. These he dropped into a large earthenware cup.
