them," said Saint-Germain. "If it seems that you are hiding, your claim against Rakoczi will lose credibility. This will be a suitable occasion for you to make yourself known to the Foreign Quarter."
"Will Lajos Rakoczi be there?" Niklos asked shrewdly.
"He very well may; he has stayed there from time to time, and he works to be visible." Saint-Germain was aware of Niklos' hesitation. "Better to meet him sooner than later, and in company rather than alone."
"I suppose so," said Niklos, having more of the raw goat. "I didn't come here to hide."
Saint-Germain managed a wry chuckle. "I should hope not."
"But will it matter that I don't join them at table?" It was always a problem for Niklos, as it was for Hroger, for the only thing he ate was raw meat, as did all ghouls.
"Say you do it as a courtesy to me. They all know I do not dine. And with food in short supply, their protestations will not be great, in fact, you may be regarded as a conscientious guest for not taxing the dwindling reserves here." He thought a moment. "Every one of us is under scrutiny; bear that in mind."
"You warned me," Niklos said, and glanced around the room as if wondering if there were spies watching them. "And you were right to do so."
Saint-Germain touched his fingertips together. "Yes; unfortunately."
"This game is a very dangerous one, Sanct' Germain," Niklos warned him.
"I know," said Saint-Germain.
Text of a challenge issued to Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain, by Lajos Rakoczi, Grofok Saint-Germain, written in German and carried by the Hessian Residence's messenger.
To the so-called Ferenz Ragoczy, claiming to be Grofok Saint-Germain, this formal response to your answer to my challenge.
Spurious Grofok,
Despite your smooth words at the concert, I do say, and will continue to say, that you are an impostor and that I am the rightful heir of the man you claim to be, and I will vindicate my claim on your body under the terms put forth in your answer: you have the choice of place, hour, and weapons, which I am willing to accept.
The duel will take place as you have chosen on the dyke-road by the second treadmill at dawn on the first clear morning to come.
The weapons will be paired short-swords.
You will have your ally Hercegek Gyor as your second, and I will have the only other Hungarian in the Foreign Quarter, Janos Czobor, to act as my second.
Each of us may bring our own short-swords, subject to inspection by our seconds.
Each of us may engage a physician.
Each of us may bring a carriage or a sleigh.
Each of us will have no more than four men attending him.
Each of us pledges to bring a signed and witnessed Will to the engagement.
The Watchmen and the Guards are not to be informed of this meeting until after it has occurred.
If either of us should fail to appear on the first clear morning, then whichever party has arrived will be said to be victor by default, and the defaulter engages to remove himself from Sankt Piterburkh within forty-eight hours of the default or face ignominy and odium. If both fail to keep the appointment, then the challenge and all that goes with it are null and void.
In the hope a clear day will come shortly,
I remain
Lajos Ragoczi
Grofok Saint-Germain
January 24th, 1705
11
A chatoyant glimmer along the south-east horizon heralded the dawn; long, attenuated shadows lay across the snowy ice that was alternately steel and brass in the first rays of dawn. In the declivity behind the levee the darkness was like iron; the tarpaulin-wrapped treadmill loomed above in its stiffened shroud. The morning was still but for the crunch of Yrjo Saari's footsteps as he trudged the broad elevated roadway, marking out its length before returning to the enclosed sleigh that stood at the edge of the appointed dueling ground. This was an incisive cold, slicing through to marrow without regard for clothing or other protection; the cold was a living presence that held all the world in its frigid embrace. In the sleigh, Niklos Aulirios sat wrapped in a bear-skin rug, two short-swords on the seat beside him.
From his vantage-point on the driving-box, Saint-Germain stared out across the marshes, his body wrapped in the engulfing coachman's cloak of boiled wool and marten-fur; his muffler wrapped his head so that only his eyes were visible; he held the pair of horses with steady, gloved hands, relieved that the grays were protected with marten-fur blankets and traveling-boots of shearling wool.
"There's room enough, but they'll have to be careful of their footing; it's very slippery," Saari reported as he made his way back to the sleigh. "Shall I post the boundaries of the duel?" For Niklos' convenience, he spoke in Russian.
"Not yet; Rakoczi may want to pace it out himself when he arrives, to be sure we haven't taken advantage of him. He's suspicious enough to want to measure out the area for himself." Saint-Germain slewed around on his box and stared at the road along the dyke--nothing seemed to be moving.
"It's early; the sun has only just risen," said Saari. "He probably won't be along for a while yet, if he waited for dawn to come out."
"His stipulation was that the duel is forfeit an hour after dawn," Saint-Germain reminded him. "It takes a while to drive out this far. If he is not on his way by now, he will miss his own appointed time."
From inside the sleigh, Niklos said in his Greek-flavored Russian, "He may want to draw the wait out in the hope of making me nervous. It's a tactic that other duelists have used."
"True enough, though you do not appear to be nervous," said Saint-Germain as he handed a ceramic flask of Carthusian spirits down to Saari. "Here. To help you keep warm."
"Not nervous," said Niklos, "but hellishly cold. The damp goes through like a razor. I'd rest a bit if it weren't for the chill."
Saari took the flask in his gloved hands, opened the cap and drank, smacking his lips when he was done. He put the cap back in place and held the flask up to Saint-Germain. "Thank you, Hercegek."
"If you would like more, you have only to ask." He slipped the flask into his cloak's outside pocket.
"I thank you," Saari repeated and paced some more to keep warm. "You'll want to let the horses walk a little. Winter coats and marten-fur blankets won't keep the chill out of them if they don't move, and we have no provisions to warm beer for them."
"I'm aware of that," said Saint-Germain, and continued to wait, watching the road behind them. After a silent ten minutes, he set the pair in motion, moving the sleigh along the levee and back to where it joined the dyke at a brisk walk to keep the horses warm. He duplicated the circuit again five minutes later, his grays mincing through the crusty snow, their breath billowing like smoke from their nostrils.
"A sleigh is coming," Saari said, pointing along the dyke-road toward a moving smudge. "Bay horses--three of them, a troika harness: Russian. Two lanterns, as well. He's taking no chances."
"About time," said Niklos, getting out of the sleigh, his swords in his left hand. "Let's settle this nonsense."
"You would think the sleigh would be Hessian, given Lajos Rakoczi's circumstances, and the time he has spent at their new Residence." Saint-Germain secured the reins and climbed down from the driving-box. "He's cutting it very thin."
"He may be the one who's worried," said Niklos in Greek. "He may not be as good with short-swords as I am."
"He was probably hoping for pistols." The chuckle Saint-Germain gave had only a suggestion of humor in it. "Remember the Huns, and use your swords accordingly."
"I can hardly forget them." The sleigh grew nearer, and Niklos exchanged a glance with Saint-Germain. "Do you recognize the horses?"
"No," Saint-Germain said, studying the sleigh. "I doubt they are from the Foreign Quarter; I know almost all the sleighs and carriages and horses from that part of the city. There are few troika harnesses in the Foreign Quarter."
Eight minutes later the Russian open sleigh pulled to a halt behind Saint-Germain's, and Janos Czobor stepped down from the broad seat, his traveling coat of arctic-fox blending uncannily with the snow, so that his head appeared almost disembodied. He bowed deeply to the three waiting men. "I have come alone, prepared to end this encounter," he said in Hungarian, his voice strained by more than cold; his eyes kept shifting uneasily, as if he expected some kind of ambush had been set for him.
Niklos held up his short-swords. "Lajos Rakoczi has withdrawn his challenge?" he asked in a tone of ill-usage.
"I ... I believe he has," said Czobor.
"You don't know?" Niklos was baffled.
"No," Czobor admitted. "I have had no communication from Lajos Rakoczi since I received a note from the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter last night that stated that your patents and proofs, Grofok Saint-Germain, have been authenticated, and entered into the records of the Archive as such, and Rakoczi's have been declared invalid and expunged. You will probably be issued an official apology for the errors that were made because of Rakoczi's claims." He coughed. "And because of those errors, Poteshnye Menshikov has declared
that Lajos Rakoczi has three days in which he may leave Sankt Piterburkh and Russia without let or hindrance; if he remains beyond that time, he risks being taken into custody by the Guards and posted to a work-gang."
"I thought only the Czar could banish people or condemn them out of hand," said Saint-Germain.
"In matters of this sort, the Czar has extended that right to Poteshnye Menshikov as regards Sankt Piterburkh when Piotyr himself is absent from the city; Menshikov has a decree to prove it." Czobor rubbed his gloved hands together, flicking snow off them as he did. "I can't recall a time when he has used this authority he has before now; nonetheless, used or unused, he has it."
"Do you think Menshikov would order Lajos Rakoczi's arrest? The weather is such that having to leave would be difficult," said Niklos.
"Someone will surely speak with Menshikov on his behalf," said Czobor, making a fussy adjustment to his fox-fur hat and his thick muffler. "Don't you think? No one should be sent out in the depths of winter."
Saint-Germain said nothing for a short while, and the others kept quiet. Finally he broke his silence. "If one or two Residents spoke to Menshikov, he might be willing to permit Rakoczi to remain in partial custody until spring: as it is, Rakoczi can hardly slip away at present without endangering his life, and if he has done that, we may never know why he has done what he has done. In a few days, when the excitement is over, perhaps you would join me in addressing Menshikov on Rakoczi's behalf?"
"You'd be willing to defend him?" Czobor asked incredulously.
"No, not defend him--spare him from dying out in the wastes," said Saint-Germain. "And perhaps while he is being detained, I could persuade him to tell me how he came to take on this daring impersonation, and for whom." His tone was heavily ironic, knowing he himself was guilty of similar misrepresentation, as was Niklos.
"Yes. Exactly so; you could learn a great deal over two or three months," said Czobor, his expression lightening. "As you realize, there is no need for a duel." He turned to face Niklos. "Your claim, Grofok, is
fully vindicated, and you need have no reservations about your standing in the city. I have it from Menshikov himself that all Russian property conveyed to Lajos Rakoczi will be formally restored to you before the end of the month." Czobor lowered his head. "I hope you will accept the humble apology I extend to you on Lajos Rakoczi's behalf."
"Of course," said Niklos. "I have no dispute with you."
"And none with Lajos Rakoczi, whoever he may be," Czobor added.
"That I can't pledge," said Niklos less genially. "He has caused me trouble and effort which I have yet to conclude. Like Hercegek Gyor, I would like to know how he came to decide to make his claims in the first place."
"He probably believed that Grofok Saint-Germain was dead and that being the case, he might as well gain the man's fortune," said Saint-Germain, thinking of the times in his past when similar errors had been made.
"That could be possible," said Niklos, clearly unconvinced. "It's a somber business, whatever the case may be."
"A place like this--so new and with so many strangers in it--will surely attract more than a few adventurers," said Saint-Germain, regarding Czobor steadily. "The Russians are fortunate there has only been this one so far."
"That they know of," added Niklos with a quick glance at Saint-Germain. "Others may still be in the city, undiscovered."
"Most assuredly," said Czobor, his edginess dissipating still more. He bowed to the three men. "I must return to the Clerk and tell him I have informed you of the developments of the last fifteen hours. You may want to call in at his office tomorrow to receive his formal notification, and have your patents and proofs restored to you." Without waiting for a response, he stepped back into the sleigh, saying, "Mustn't keep the horses standing in this weather. Turn around, Ivan Modesteivich, and back to Sankt Piterburkh."
The coachman snapped his whip and set the sleigh moving, taking great care not to let the runners reach the edge of the dyke-road.
When the sleigh was aligned with the road again, the coachman kissed his three horses to a trot, leaving Niklos, Saint-Germain, and Saari standing in the snow, each of them perplexed.
"If he's fled alone, he freezes," said Saari at last. "No man can go into this cold alone unless he has remounts, food, and fuel for fires."
