"No doubt," said Niklos, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin. "It does seem a little desperate, running off like that."
"But he is desperate," said Saint-Germain. "He is very desperate; he must believe he has good reason to take such a chance."
"Unless he has an accomplice in the city, someone who will hide him," said Niklos. "In which case, if he remains in the city, he is going to risk discovery and all that goes with it."
"Especially if his accomplice--assuming there is one--turns on him," said Saint-Germain.
"I'd take my chances with winter," said Saari.
"Unless he had more to hide than this fraud: an accomplice would make his situation more precarious," said Saint-Germain, feeling increasingly apprehensive as he thought about Lajos Rakoczi. He motioned to Niklos. "Get into the sleigh and let us return to the Foreign Quarter. There is no reason to remain out here in the cold." For emphasis, he swung back onto the driving-box and unfastened the reins. "Saari, if you will take your place on the rear of the sleigh, we can be off." In response to this, Niklos slid his short-swords onto the seat and climbed in, sitting next to the shining blades while Saari bestrode the rear of the vehicle and took hold of the broad rail that wrapped around the back of the sleigh. "We will start back," Saint-Germain said as he signaled his grays to trot.
By the time the care-house was reached, Sankt Piterburkh was alive with whispers and speculation; two secretaries, a translator, and Colonel Broughton were waiting in the main room of the care-house as Saint-Germain and Niklos Aulirios came through the door, the sleigh consigned to Saari's care, to be returned to the Ksiezna's stable behind the Polish house.
Heer van Hoek looked up. "Thank God you're back, and safe."
"And to all the forgotten gods," said Saint-Germain, and felt Ludmilla's eyes upon him from the top of the stairs as he removed his cloak; he noticed that no one from the Polish house was here for news.
"What happened?" van Hoek prompted. "Was it a hard fight?"
"It was no fight at all," said Niklos, getting out of his long coat and removing his Astrakhan-lamb hat. "Janos Czobor came out to inform us that the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter has upheld my claims and has rejected those of Lajos Rakoczi, who, it appears, is missing." He held up his hands to forestall more questions. "That is all we know--any of us. Tomorrow I'll call upon the Clerk and find out whatever I can."
Van Hoek shook his head to express his incredulity. "What an amazing change." He regarded Niklos with an emotion close to awe. "You left facing a duel, and return unscathed and exculpated without having to raise your weapons."
Niklos bowed. "I have been spared two unwanted battles, neither of which I have sought. I am grateful to have been spared. Neither a duel nor a prolonged action in the courts appeals to me, so it's fortunate that this matter has been settled without having either. Yet I am curious about Lajos Rakoczi, and where he might have gone." He was aware of the interest of all the occupants of the care-house, and added, "I have come a long way to set a great wrong to rights, but I am sure that without the good opinion of you and many others, this happy result might not have occurred." He swung around to Saint-Germain. "I would not have known of Rakoczi's claims had you not notified me, Hercegek. I am most appreciative."
Saint-Germain felt the intended, good-natured barb in Niklos' words, but gave no outward sign of it. "We are all gratified that you could come here so hastily, or matters might not have fallen out so well."
Van Hoek signaled to Kyril. "Heat up some wine and put in cinnamon, as the Danes do. It will be a welcome drink for all."
"Most gracious," said Broughton.
"And if there is anything we must discuss, we may do it in good fellowship," said van Hoek, waving toward the two upholstered benches that comprised the seating in the room. "I will not offer hot wine to you, Arco-Tolvay; you do not drink."
"An excellent notion; something hot would be most welcome," Niklos exclaimed, and waited for a moment before adding, "You will have much to discuss, don't you think?"
Colonel Broughton was the first of the four to speak in response to this slight prod. "Whatever else we have to discourse upon, you may be sure it will not be to your discredit: I congratulate you on your deliverance, Grofok."
"Thank you," said Niklos.
"Do you have any information regarding Lajos Rakoczi beyond what we have been told--that he is missing?" Broughton asked as if it were only a passing interest rather than the reason for his visit.
Niklos shrugged. "I'd probably be the last one to have such intelligence to impart, since I doubt I'll be told much beyond what I already know. Talk to Captain Fet of the Guards tomorrow afternoon. He's likely to have news, if there is any, and he will know what he ought to reveal." He started toward the stairs. "I can see you have questions, but I won't be in a position to say anything officially until tomorrow after I go to the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter. Whatever I tell you now is nothing more than speculation."
Broughton scowled. "By tomorrow there will be so many rumors abroad that what you say will make little difference; unless the gossip is quelled with hard facts, it will run riot through the Foreign Quarter. After that happens, the mischief, whatever it may be, will be done, and the truth will be lost in the confusion around it."
Niklos bowed again. "I see we understand each other, Sir Peregrine," and before anyone could stop him, he went up the stairs two at a time to the haven of Saint-Germain's quarters on the second floor.
Gerhardt Pfassbinder, the under-secretary at the Hessian Residence, gave a startled jump at this unexpected dismissal; he turned to Micheau Pastorine, the translator at the Flemish Residence. "What do you make of that?" he exclaimed in German.
"I expect his nerves are overwrought; I know mine would be," said Pastorine in the same language; in his not-quite-four months in Sankt Piterburkh, he had developed a calculated indifference to the unexpected, which at the moment served him well. "Think of what he
had been through this morning. You might want to recover yourself were you in his shoes."
"I might want to spend the day with a bottle or two of brandy," said Colonel Broughton, also in German. "And a friendly wench to comfort me--not that there are many of those to be had here, more's the pity."
"They say more women will come in the spring," said Pastorine.
"So they do," agreed Broughton. "But that's no help now. If we were in the army, at least we'd have camp followers."
"This is a most ... Spartan place, for all the court manners and pomp." Pastorine cocked his head. "It isn't what I expected it would be."
Pfassbinder sighed. "Rumors and secrets: the city is filled with rumors and secrets. How am I to sort out what to tell the Resident?"
"Wait a year and you won't have to be bothered with such things," recommended Hugo Weissenkraft, relishing his own cynicism. "Heer Bourgdrei will have spies in this household and a dozen others, just as the rest do. You won't need to deal with these awkward inquiries; you won't have to come here yourself."
"How can you say that?" Pastorine asked, shocked.
Saint-Germain answered before any of the others could speak. "It is the nature of the place. Everyone is new to it, and striving to seize the greatest advantage possible."
Pastorine considered this. "The Czar sees it as a great city even now, when it is little more than an army camp. When I came here, I thought there would be more, and greater buildings, and more people."
"And who is to say it will last? Many people think this whim of his will fade when its many problems overwhelm his plans, or the Swedes recapture it," Weissenkraft remarked. "The Czar may decide he can direct his energies and money elsewhere, and this place will vanish into the marsh."
"Highly unlikely," said Broughton. "This is his pride and joy. I think he would rather lose Moscow than Sankt Piterburkh."
Saint-Germain nodded. "I would agree. This is where he has gathered all his hopes and ambitions, and unless the Czar falls, Sankt Piterburkh will go on." He gave a small bow to the four men. "To
morrow we might know more, but today, we are as ignorant as everyone else." With that, he went to the stairs.
"Hercegek," Broughton called out. "If you learn anything tomorrow, will you pledge to inform us all?"
Saint-Germain was on the third step, but he paused. "If it is of anything significant, I will send a note to all of you."
The four men exchanged glances; Hugo Weissenkraft shook his head slowly. "Don't worry about significance; with so many rumors flying, anything will be grist for the mill. Just give us your word that you will pass on anything of interest."
Van Hoek wagged a finger at them. "Be wary of gossip, gentlemen. This city is a hotbed of rumors as it is."
"I will guard my tongue, and suggest that others do the same," said Weissenkraft, adding piously, "That's why I want the information Hercegek Gyor can supply, so that I will be able to quash any outrageous bruiting that I may come across. There are so many untruths about, as you have been told already."
Saint-Germain offered a gentle bow as he continued up the stairs, but stopped as there came an energetic pounding on the door. "What now?" he asked the air, halting once more as Kyril went to discover who was outside; the four visitors clustered around him, eager anticipation in their eyes; van Hoek joined them, not as avidly.
In a moment the door was opened, and Adolphus Gronigen all but fell into the room, his eyes wide in shock, his face pale beneath his hat of fox-fur. "Hercegek! Come! You must come." His dark cloak flapped open where he had neglected in his hurry to lace it. "Please, Hercegek!"
Van Hoek moved aside so that Gronigen would not be completely surrounded. "Come in," he said. "You need help."
Saint-Germain rushed back down the stairs and pushed the visitors aside to reach his coachman. "What has happened, Gronigen?" he asked, noticing that the arm of Gronigen's cloak was stained with blood. "Are you hurt? Have you been attacked?"
"Not I," Gronigen panted. "No. It's Saari." He staggered as if he had been struck a blow.
"Kyril, some brandy, if you would," Saint-Germain ordered, determined to find out what the trouble was.
"At once, Hercegek," said Kyril, pushing his way back toward the stove and opening the chest that contained all their strong drink.
"No. No," said Gronigen, gasping for air. "You must come. Now." He reached behind him for the door. "Now, Hercegek. It's Saari."
"What about Saari?" Saint-Germain asked, sensing that the news would be bad; he gave Gronigen his full attention.
"You must come with me!" Gronigen insisted, his voice going up five notes. "He's ... he's dead."
"Are you sure?" Saint-Germain kept his voice low and steady, but he felt a cold come over him that had nothing to do with ice and snow.
"Yes. Yes. He's dead." Gronigen noticed the other four men as if he had been unaware of them until now. He drew back as if his coat could protect him.
"Calm down," Heer van Hoek recommended. "Tell us what you require. We will be better able to serve you. You say Saari is dead. How did it happen?"
Gronigen took a deep breath. "The sleigh came back to the stable at a fast trot. That troubled me, because Saari was supposed to be leading them--at a walk, of course. In so much snow, the horses shouldn't move too quickly; over-heating is bad for them."
"About Saari," Saint-Germain said, recalling him to his purpose.
"I was going to admonish him about not minding the horses"-- Kyril thrust a mug of brandy into Gronigen's gloved hand--"Thank you." He took a deep sip, coughed once, and went on. "I thought he might have tried to drive them, but he wasn't on the driving-box."
"Do you mean he, too, is missing?" Saint-Germain asked, astonished at such a notion.
"I thought that he might be. So I looked inside the sleigh." He shuddered. "He was on the seat, on his side. His throat was cut and he was nearly dead. I think he realized I was there, because he struggled to talk. He said something like lan or lank or lang, I think; it was hard to hear him. He said it twice, and then ... he died." He drank more brandy. "I took the sleigh to the stable and told Vincenty
to unfasten the horses, take off their harness and blankets, and groom them, then I sent Antek to the Guard station and I came for you."
"He must have been attacked almost as the sleigh reached the stable," Saint-Germain said. "If he could speak at all, the cut had to be within--"
"Blood was still running from his wound, but the spouts of it were slowing; they no longer reached the ceiling of the sleigh." Gronigen was shaking again.
Saint-Germain heard the hush around them as ominous. "And Saari--what did you do with him?"
"I left him where I found him. There was so much blood, that even putting my arm on the seat, well, you see--" He lifted his bloody cloak and indicated the stain, like a black blot on the dark-brown canvas. "I couldn't bear to move him, not with so much blood. It was so fresh that it steamed in the cold air." He thrust out his arm for support, and found Saint-Germain beside him, holding him up.
"Finish the brandy--you need it by the look of you--then take me with you. I need to see him before the Guard takes the body." Saint-Germain reached for his cloak and pulled it on. He looked directly at van Hoek. "I do not know how long this will take. I apologize for having to leave you this way."
Van Hoek held out his hand and shook Saint-Germain's. "When you return, tell me what has transpired."
"Do you want to be wakened?" Saint-Germain asked as he pulled the door open and let Gronigen precede him outside.
