"It may be nothing more than a story--that Menshikov sold pies in the streets of Moscow: the sort of things jealous nobles say about royal companions," said Saint-Germain, elegantly arrayed in a coat and knee-britches of deep-rose silken twill, with a waistcoat of needlepoint tapestry in burgundy, ivy, and mauve. His leg-hose were
the same shade of mauve, and his shoes were buckled with elaborate silver set with garnets; inwardly he longed for his customary black, white, and red, but knew that Augustus was right and that he needed to dress as Hercegek Gyor was known to dress. He turned the unfamiliar gold signet-ring on the little finger of his partially bandaged right hand, finding its alien presence disquieting.
"They say it's true. They also say he was born in a brothel: he has no patronymic; I heard someone call him Nyetovich--no father--and almost everyone laughed. Whatever the case, he is hardly a worthy deputy for the Czar, who should choose his court from among his nobles--the boyars," Zozia insisted, smiling at the Prussian Envoy's confidential secretary, a handsome man of twenty-nine years named Hugo Weissenkraft. She lifted her near-empty glass in his direction.
"Piotyr may not trust the boyars," Saint-Germain suggested.
Zozia laughed, and at the same time did her utmost to keep Weis-senkraft's gaze locked on her. "He is making plans, I think." There was quiet satisfaction in her whisper. "Now that he has this future city under way, the Czar is turning his eyes westward, and wants the world to take notice."
"He has done that already, and this project of his is the result," said Saint-Germain carefully. "As we've discussed."
"That was weeks ago. You ought to know that I've decided we've underestimated the seriousness of his building this city." She glanced at him, continuing more urgently, "Piotyr says now that he has no serious interest in European conquests beyond Sweden, but if he's going to turn this into an important port city, what can we do? We must consider that Sweden's isn't the only empire he may covet, and Poland is near at hand."
"Not here, Ksiezna. We will talk later, when there is less chance of being overheard. Think of your mission, which includes saying nothing against the Czar," Saint-Germain recommended in an under-voice.
Zozia frowned. "What does it matter to you?"
"To me, very little. But to your husband it could mean a great deal: it is your husband you will compromise, not me. If we're to keep
up the imposture, we must suit our conduct to the roles we play." He took her small plate and bowed gallantly. "In that capacity, allow me to secure you something more to eat. I will return directly." With that he strolled away to a well-laden buffet table and selected more hard-boiled eggs and caviar, along with two soft rolls and leg of broiled goose. He then retrieved another glass of Champagne, as well as a linen serviette. Selecting food was a service he was glad to perform, not only because it pleased Zozia to be waited on, but it helped to maintain the illusion that he had eaten something, which spared him having to make awkward explanations. The choices he had made he carried back to Zozia, and found her deep in conversation--carried on in German--with a Danish nobleman who had arrived in Sankt Piterburkh only three days ago; he was an attractive man of about thirty-five, with a handsome dark wig and blue eyes. Trim, well-turned-out in mallard-blue satin and lace-edged silk, he carried on his part of their exchange in an animated manner that wakened all the coyness Zozia possessed. Saint-Germain gave a small sigh and went to present her with more food.
Zozia looked up, smiling. "Arco-Tolvay, here you are," she said to Saint-Germain. "This is Axel ... Graf, you said?"
"Roughly Graf. It's what I use here, since Danish and Swedish sound too much alike, and Swedish is unwelcome here in Sankt Piterburkh. Axel Joren Evert Reynard Harald Nyland." He returned her smile. "Of Horsens; a pleasure, Herzog," he said to Saint-Germain with a casual bow. "Your wife has been most affable, telling me about the month you have been in Sankt Piterburkh and your harrowing adventures. Not what I would call a happy beginning in this place. You've had a most difficult introduction to the Czar's new city, or so I gather." He touched the rim of his glass to the one Saint-Germain carried. "Your good health. By the sound of it, you need it."
Saint-Germain handed the glass and plate to Zozia as he said to Nyland, "You're most gracious, Graf."
"To be set upon twice in a month--quite alarming, even in such a place as this is," Nyland continued, looking at Zozia rather than Saint-Germain.
"And for no apparent reason. How very distressing for you--for both of you."
"It is that," agreed Saint-Germain. "I trust that my portion of ill-luck is now used up for the rest of the year, and that I will enjoy good health and safety through the winter." He joined Zozia, leaning a little against the balustrade. "Otherwise I must suppose that someone has a reason to single me out, and that is a far more perturbing notion than unpleasant happenstance, which I believe the two attacks to be: I cannot imagine that anyone would have developed so much hostility toward me in the four days I had been here, that I would become a deliberate target for attack. What would be the reason?"
"Yes; exactly: who in this place would want to attack you?" Zozia asked, an edge in her playful tone. She was examining the food on the plate Saint-Germain had handed her, and finally took a nibble of one of the rolls and washed it down with Champagne.
"I have no idea, which is why it is so perturbing," he responded, offering Zozia a slight, ironic smile; he looked at Nyland. "I hope your stay here will have no similar mishaps, for it would make foreigners less likely to come here once the pattern is known."
"Amen to that," Nyland said with a bit of a chuckle, then shifted their discussion to a safer topic. "Little as I may want to remain in this bleak village--for it is hardly more than that, in spite of all the workmen--I have been summoned to advise the Czar on the layout of his harbor."
"And why you? Have you a particular skill the Czar seeks?" Saint-Germain asked at his most gracious.
Nyland gave his attention to Zozia again as he answered. "Our harbor at Horsens has recently been expanded, and it seems that Piotyr Alexeievich wants the benefit of my experience contributed to his improvements here. Sankt Piterburkh is more of a challenge than Horsens, of course. I've brought four engineers with me, all of whom worked on the new harbor at home. Two of them are Germans, the other two are Danes."
"Did the Czar actually send for you, then? Or was it one of his
many engineers who issued the invitation on the Czar's behalf--Graf? Do you know?" Zozia asked, taking a provocative bite out of her egg.
"The Czar extended the solicitation of my help; he wrote to the King and asked if Denmark could spare me and my advisors--and, of course, pay the cost of our presence here--for two years." He made a mock sigh. "The balance we Danes must strike between Sweden and Russia is a precarious one, one that is constantly shifting; my engineers and I are part of the balance." Then he grinned at Zozia, making the most out of her flirtatiousness. "I imagine Poland must feel some of the same strain as we do."
Zozia bristled. "Augustus is on good terms with the Czar; the two have a fondness for each other. It's well-known," she declared staunchly. "What I do here is a service to my King, just as Arco-Tolvay has his work to do on Augustus' behalf, for the benefit of both Poland and Hungary." Color mounted in her cheeks and she moved as if she might storm away; Saint-Germain laid his hand on hers.
Nyland realized he had over-stepped. "I didn't mean anything against Augustus," he assured her, glancing at Saint-Germain for some hint as to how he should go on.
Saint-Germain inclined his head, remarking urbanely, "As a loyal Pole, my wife feels the burden of our mission here. She has a highcouraged temperament, and because of that she is most diligent in her delegacy."
"Commendable," Nyland said.
Aware that she needed to provide something useful to their colloquy at this juncture, Zozia had a little more Champagne and said, "My husband was asked to come here to aid in the draining of the swamps, as he has done in his own lands. I am to make note of the state of the houses, the provisions, the rate of building, and similar information."
"The Czar has been getting many to help him make this city," said Nyland dubiously, trying to anticipate her intent.
"And how did he come to know about your harbor improvements?" Zozia finished her egg and reached for the glass of Champagne with calculated seductiveness.
"Through the recommendation of a Dutch seaman, who described what we had done to the Czar during his time in Holland in some detail, or so I've been informed. You know how fond the Czar is of the Dutch, and his penchant for the company of seamen," said Nyland, lifting his brows to show his opinion of such low company. "We came on a Dutch ship, in fact. The
Goud Marie:
she's anchored with the others in deep water."
"Did you have a safe passage?" Saint-Germain inquired politely.
"Safe enough. One day of squalls but otherwise a fairly uneventful voyage. Now this." He gestured to include the expanse of marsh that spread away from the two streets of houses and barracks that made up the Foreign Quarter. "You know this better than I do, Ksiezna: it will never prosper, this place, even with the river-mouth dredged free of silt."
"Are you certain of that?" Zozia cocked her head and caught her lower lip between her teeth.
"Yes, I am, although I would like to be wrong, in fact," Nyland answered. "I happen to be one who likes the idea of a Russian port giving access to the Baltic a great deal. We need to have more trade with Russia, if only to off-set what the French and English and Spanish are doing in the Americas; this--um--city seems the only possible place to accomplish that in any way that Russia can exploit, but this is the end of the earth, as desolate as anything I've ever seen: flat, damp, miserable, and isolated. Once the Czar tires of his project, or is defeated in battle, this will become swampland again, and all the men and treasure he has devoted to securing the port will be gone. It will be a sad day for the Baltic trade, but it will come."
"Do you really suppose it will, or is this just distress at seeing what the Czar has to work with here? Why would the Czar abandon a place he has done so much to build up?" Zozia asked, her face mocking and coquettish at once. "Don't you think the Russians will see the advantage of this place more than anyone else, and bring it to fruition?"
"The Russians?" Nyland laughed aloud. "They still kill themselves and one another over whether they should cross themselves with two
fingers or three--or is it one or two? No matter: it goes to show how they are--the same adherence to old rites, to outworn traditions. No wonder the Czar and the Orthodox Church are at loggerheads. It's the way of the Russians; they're the slaves to custom, to stability. So long as they are told it will not bring change, they'll endorse almost any abuse, for the sake of maintaining their way of life."
"Do you think so?" Saint-Germain asked. "Might it not be their long history of invasions and hard conditions that makes them reluctant to embrace the new?"
Nyland shrugged. "Perhaps. But whatever the cause, the effect is the same." He rounded on Zozia. "How does it seem to you Poles?"
She drank the last of her Champagne. "It would depend on which context you ask," she said, and laid her hand on his arm. "I want another glass of Champagne. Surely you can find me one, Graf?" With a languid glance at the Dane, she said to Saint-Germain, "I'll return shortly, my husband--have no fear."
"An interesting woman," said Nyland with a ghost of a smile when Zozia had moved away into the gathering.
"That she is," Saint-Germain said levelly, watching her take another glass of Champagne and engage Drury Carruther, the English Resident's secretary, in a lively exchange; studying her face, Saint-Germain decided they were speaking French.
"How long have you been married, Herzog?" asked Nyland.
Remembering what he had been told, Saint-Germain answered, "Eight years and seven months."
"No children?" It was an impertinent question, and asked brashly.
"Not yet," said Saint-Germain with almost no inflection. "Our positions in life require that we spend a fair amount of time apart, she at Nisko, I at Gyor." He began to wonder why Nyland was keeping near to him.
Nyland looked directly at him. "So tell me, Hercegek--that is the Hungarian title, isn't it?--what is it the Czar wants of you--really?"
Saint-Germain went through his standard explanation of a more efficient treadmill-pump to drain the marshes. He could see that Nyland wanted a broader explanation. "Gyor, being in a valley, is much
subjected to floods, and I have done all I can to make sure flooded land is quickly reclaimed; the treadmill-pumps have made it possible to clear the fields of water in relatively short time. That way my tenants need not face famine every time the river overflows its banks."
"A most useful tool. Yet--you'll pardon my saying--you don't have the appearance of a man who works much with his hands. I would have thought you are more theoretical in your approach to things."
"I do not, in general, spend much time in laboring"--he recalled long, exhausting hours in Aleppo, in Tunis, in Stara Zagora, in the marshlands of Krozn--"although I have done so from time to time. But I have traveled widely and studied all I've seen, which has been useful to me, for I have been able to adapt what I have discovered in other parts of the world to my own purposes, such as draining marshes." He supposed that Nyland was continuing his tests, and did his best to remain affable. "And before you ask, I have no additional information as to how the Czar learned about the treadmill than what my wife has already imparted; Augustus only told me that he needed me to come here and show the work-crews how to make the pumps, and to supervise their installation and use."
