They were half-way there when Gronigen drew rein: a line of chained men occupied the road, a dozen Guards watching them, whips and cudgels in their hands. Iron poles hung with lanterns provided illumination to their efforts.
One of the Guards held up his hand. "Who are you and where are you going?"
Saint-Germain stood up in the sleigh. "I am Arpad Arco-Tolvay,
Hercegek Gyor, inspecting the treadmills--those of my design--on the order of Alexander Menshikov."
The Guard looked displeased. "It would be better if you would wait a day, Hercegek."
"No doubt; but tomorrow will be stormy and I am charged with delivering my report this afternoon." Saint-Germain remained standing. "If you would permit me to pass ..."
The Guard held up both his hands. "You will not move," he said, and signaled two of his men to approach him, and they talked in low voices. "These men are outlaws," the Guard said at last, waving his men back to their posts. "They are assigned to repairing the slippage in the embankments. We have to keep them working. It is important that this section be repaired, and as you say, it will storm shortly."
"Don't believe him!" shouted one of the chained men. "They are killing us!"
The Guard struck the outlaw with his cudgel. "If they die, that is unfortunate, but the embankment must be saved, or part of the city will flood when the ice melts."
Saint-Germain did not raise his voice, but there was something in his demeanor that commanded the attention and respect of the Guard. "Are you killing them?"
"They're outlaws. They are condemned to death in any case," said the supervising Guard. "If we move the men, will you drive on?"
Gronigen started to answer, but was stopped by Saint-Germain, who said, "What are you doing to them?"
Another of the chained men dared to answer. "As soon as we stop working, they strike us over the head and shove us down that hole in the ice. Who's to say if we freeze or drown." His complaint was echoed by resentful, ragged shouts.
"That is hardly an honorable execution," said Saint-Germain, looking directly at the supervisor of the Guards.
"Hercegek," Saari whispered. "Don't interfere."
The Guard gave a mirthless chuckle. "We can do this, or we can let them starve: which is more honorable from your point of view, Hercegek?"
"It would be better if they are not required to die," said Saint-Germain.
"Are you prepared to house and feed them?" the Guard scoffed.
"I wish I were, but as I am a foreigner, I would not be allowed that opportunity. Still, I would think you will want to keep them alive," said Saint-Germain. "If only because you will be short of workers in the spring." He saw the Guard frown under his bear-skin hat.
One of the Guards began making ominous motions with his whip.
"Vadim Levovich, don't be so unkind to this Hercegek." He strolled over to the sleigh. "We know these men attacked, robbed, and killed more than a dozen men in the last year, and beat up another twenty or so, judging from the money, jewelry, watches, and other items they had in their possession when they attacked the supply-train--more fools they. We found a kind of tally-sheet for their victims and what these men took from them. After being questioned, they admitted they kept a camp near the fishermen's cabins at the far end of the island. We found all manner of loot in their baggage, and they claim there is more at their camp." He leaned on the sleigh. "So you see, these are men who have given death to others--they wouldn't hesitate to give it to you--and so should be willing to take it for themselves. We're only making sure they do something useful before they die."
"Hercegek, please," Saari whispered. "Move on."
Another of the Guards drew his pistol, giving a long, significant look to Saint-Germain before shouting orders at the chained men to form a line along the side of the road. Slowly, sullenly, the men shuffled into the line required.
The supervisor-Guard stepped away from the sleigh. "You may drive on; take as much time as you like getting back," he said, offering a deep bow that almost submerged his head in a snowdrift.
Gronigen did not wait for Saint-Germain to sit down, or for his order, but snapped his whip and set the sleigh moving on. He remained utterly silent until they had reached the second treadmill, when he said, "Hercegek, you don't want to challenge soldiers like that. They wouldn't think twice about putting you under the ice with those men."
"Those men," said Saari. "I recognized a few of them from my
days as a Watchman. They're outlaws, all right. They might even be the gang that set upon you, Hercegek."
"Would that not be convenient," said Saint-Germain ironically. He got out of the sleigh and approached the treadmill, taking his time inspecting it. He found it difficult to concentrate on the tarpaulins and housings and cables: what if those men were being murdered by the Guards--and what if the men were the ones who had tried to kill him in May? He finally decided that he had done all he could to ensure the preservation of the treadmill, and went back to the sleigh, going on to the third, where he made another somewhat preoccupied inspection as the wind picked up and the first, ephemeral flakes of snow began to fall.
"Hercegek!" Gronigen urged as Saint-Germain kept up his inspection. "It's almost full dark and I don't want to have to pick our way without our tracks to guide us."
"Very well," Saint-Germain said, complying more quickly than Gronigen had expected. "Saari, get onto the driving-box with Gronigen, to help him see his way. I doubt anyone will be lying in wait for travelers out on the dykes this afternoon."
Without making any comment, Saari did as he was told, shielding his eyes with his arm so that he could make out their tracks ahead of them. No one spoke, but Gronigen kept the horses to a smart trot, determined to get them back to their stable as quickly as possible. By the time they made their way to the place between the first and second treadmill, the Guards and the chained men were gone, only the lanterns burning on their poles and rapidly vanishing trampled snow remained to remind others that they had been there.
Text of a note from Benedykt Rozmowaslad, Ksiaze Radom, to Viatislav Brodsky, both in Sankt Piterburkh, written in code and carried by private messenger.
Viatislav,
Can you please tell me why Arco-Tolvay is still alive? You assured me that you and your men would make short work of him, and that
his death would be attributed to the same men who had attacked him shortly after his arrival in the city. I have paid you well for your skills, but I begin to think that my good opinion may have been fraudulently obtained, in which case, I will expect the return of the sixteen silver Angels I gave you against the completion of the mission with which I entrusted you.
Because of the sacred season, I will not expect the return of my money quite yet. Let me urge you to use this time to redeem yourself. You have until ten days after Epiphany, and then I will assume I will have either a pouch of coins or a corpse from you. I am not interested in any excuses you may have for your failures--only your success matters to me, and you have had little in your performance to give me hope that you will come through with your promise.
To enable you to make the best use of your time, I will include as much of the Hercegek's schedule as I know it. If you make a note of it, you may find opportunities within it that will provide you with the advantages you say you have lacked.
Christmas Eve, the Hercegek will attend the festivities at the English Residence, and may join some of the Foreign Quarter at Midnight Mass at the Cathedral.
It would be inappropriate to kill him on Christmas Day, since anyone dying that day goes immediately to Heaven, and that is more than I am willing to countenance.
The day after Christmas, he will be playing the violin for the ball at the Hessian Residence, an engagement that will keep him there until midnight or later.
The last day of December, he is engaged to come here to this house for a conference with his wife; unless it is actively snowing, as it is now, I think you may assume he will walk back to the care-house, it being so near.
On New Year's Day, he will be one of those in the Foreign Quarter to attend the fete at the house of Alexander Menshikov, and his return from that engagement may well be the most opportune time to rid me of him; the guests will be drunk and the Guard will be busy
making sure no one falls down in the snow, lost in drink, and freezes to death. You may move about largely unhampered; if asked, you need only say that you are looking for your master, who has not yet returned home.
If you apply yourself, you should find something in his agendum to turn to your advantage. If you fail, then I will be glad to have my money returned. Do not think of denouncing me to the Guard: I have already warned them that there are workmen in the city who have attempted to blackmail me with spurious charges so outrageous that only a fool would lend them credence.
Appreciatively,
Benedykt Rozmowaslad, Ksiaze Radom
December 22nd, 1704
9
Over the last few hours the wind had dropped so that now the snow came coursing out of the sky as if pouring from a vast celestial sieve; it was deceptively tranquil in its falling, concealing its danger in a brilliant display of winter's loveliness. All over Sankt Piterburkh, the steep roofs were fancifully decorated with jaunty caps and swaths of snow, glistening like cloth-of-gold in the shine from the windows and the lanterns on poles set in along the streets to guide the people of the city. As the chimes of the Cathedral of Sankt Piter and Sankt Paultje struck midnight, the beginning of the Mass took up where the bells left off, a sonorous, penetrating harmony of deep voices that carried softly through the night to all the city.
At the English Residence, the festivities were winding down; many of the guests were feeling the effects of the many cups of hot
wassail, and were in need of escort to their homes; others, knowing tomorrow was close at hand, wished to show proper reverence for the day. A small number of guests lingered to gather the last sweetness from the evening, a few of them singing traditional carols and madrigals in the room next to the ballroom.
"It was good of you to come, Hercegek," said Drury Carruther, bidding Saint-Germain the joy of the holiday as he prepared to depart. He was looking tired, although he was splendidly turned out in rich, dark-green velvet with revers of gold brocade to go with his waistcoat and leg-hose; his elaborately tied neck-cloth had wilted a little during the evening and his wig was a bit rumpled.
"You offered a grand evening," said Saint-Germain as he drew on his wolf-skin cloak, covering his burgundy elk-leather coat and britches, which he had got from the leather-tailor just four days ago; ordinarily he would have saved the ensemble for hunting, but in this pervasive cold, more sporting than formal dress was approved, unlike expectations in England. "I think your evergreen swags are appropriate and excellent decoration, no matter what some of the others may believe." Earlier that evening, one of the guests--perhaps overcome by the wassail of brandy, whipped eggs, and heavy cream--had complained loudly that the evergreens were tasteless.
"You mean Dvama--that was unfortunate. His companions told me he is a Hussite, and opposed to holiday displays. There are Hussites in Bohemia still, it appears." Carruther shrugged. "At least no one wanted to fight, as happened at the Four Frigates."
"Something to be thankful for, no doubt," said Saint-Germain. "Between the sailors and ships' officers at the taverns, the ration of spirits in the supervisors' barracks, and the party for the Watchmen at Menshikov's house"--which Saari had attended under protest--"the Guards must have their hands full tonight, if they are patrolling."
"At least we have the Guards." Carruther touched his brow in a show of relief. Fatigue had made him nervous and his thoughts were over-strung. He licked his lips. "They weren't here last year, you know, the Guards weren't."
"They began at the end of July," said Saint-Germain.
"They and the Clerks. About time we had a central place for records. These Russians are dreadfully lax about records."
"Because so few of them can read," Saint-Germain suggested.
"That may be. But it's much better now than a year ago, that I can promise you."
"That's right. You and the Prussians were the first ones living here, weren't you?" Saint-Germain asked. "How did the Watchmen deal with the celebrations?"
"There was only one tavern, hardly more than a single large room, and there were far fewer residents in the city; only a few wives and hardly any children at all. I don't think we had more than fifty Europeans in the Foreign Quarter, so the possibilities were limited. Most of us were expected to fend for ourselves, as was the case for the rest: the army garrison was in place, but they looked to the work-gangs and the building of the port. Christmas was not much different than another cold day: the work-gangs weren't allowed more than an extra ration of drink and a sweet cake for the occasion. The service in the Cathedral was much less grand, and for that matter, so was the Cathedral. Spartan as this year is, it is a great improvement on last year. Next year should be grander still, if Czar Piotyr has his way." He made an uneasy motion of his head. "If the Resident would only agree to leave in the spring, so someone of a hardier constitution could take his place. Gout is the very devil in this climate."
"Has the tincture I provided given him any relief?" Saint-Germain inquired.
"I don't know. He has become so invalidish in his habits that I can no longer discern when he is actually incapacitated, or only fears he might be." His sigh was almost a snort. "The trouble is, with his health so poor, this mission is not functioning well, and another year of such performance, and we English will lose even more opportunities than we already have. Our government is at a disadvantage."
