I have spent most of the spring at Sarna Potok overseeing the planting for the year and arranging for another four large fields to be cleared in anticipation of a goodly number of calves and foals by the start of summer. You may not believe it, but I think we can double our herds in the next three years if all goes well and neither the Swedes nor the Russians sack the estate.
Uncle Bartek has attempted once again to find me a wife, and once again he has failed. I have seen the woman--a Bohemian Graf-fen, and I am not inclined to accept the terms proposed. I may need to have sons before I'm old, but not with a woman with a squint and four black teeth. Uncle Bartek is very disappointed in me, or so he says; I have asked him to look further for a woman whose rank is nearly equal to my own, and whose lands and substance will complement what I have. So far, Uncle Bartek has not achieved such a proposed match. I have advised him to use you as his model, and find me a woman as much like you as is possible, in appearance, in position, and in wealth. He has said he may have to go as far as France to find what I seek, and I have told him to pack his bags. He may be the senior relative, but he cannot force me into an untenable marriage.
And speaking of untenable marriages, I understand your husband remains among the missing. We can but hope that he doesn't arrive in Russia to denounce your companion for trading upon his reputation and good name. Arco-Tolvay, as I recall him, is not the sort of man to swallow such an insult as your pretender represents; he would be inclined to make a denouncement at the very least. I must admit, I'm curious to meet his stand-in, for I believe he must have bravery to undertake this mission with you. From what Augustus has told me, it requires a man of daring to make your imposture a success. No doubt I'll be jealous of him, but you know best how to end that. And I am willing to admire his dedication to our Polish cause.
They say that Frederick IV is being careful regarding the Swedish advances, and has avoided throwing in the lot of Denmark with that of Sweden. Given that the Czar is besieging whatever the name of that
accursed Baltic port may be, the Danes are holding back, awaiting the results of the campaign, and Frederick IV is a most clever King when it comes to alliances. Imagine having to base your fortunes on the whims of the Russians. You can surely tell me what you have learned for Augustus while I'm visiting that latest piece of Czar Piotyr's attempt to be European, or Scandinavian, or whatever he seeks to be this month.
The
Apollo
will sail in three days, and I should arrive by the end of August at the latest, bringing you cases of wine and barrels of food, for I am told that Sankt Piterburkh is in short supply of both, and such a gift should guarantee my welcome in your household. So until that time, my dearest sister,
I am your most faithful brother,
Benedykt
July 5th, 1704
8
"We are being followed," Yrjo Saari told Saint-Germain as he descended from his carriage onto the levee road; Saari rode next to Gronigen in the driving-box, apparently acting as a kind of guide, but actually keeping a close eye on the men and women in the street. It was a blustery summer day, the rollicking wind tagging about among the small, fluffy clouds. The mid-day light was clear and pale, showing the broad stretch of shiny, bronze-colored exposed mud in the expanse of marsh at the foot of the first treadmill; the tide being out, there was a strong odor of decaying vegetation on the air. Sankt Piterburkh had been warm for the last week, alive with insects and other pests, but now the wind had driven away the heat and stirred up another outbreak of Swamp Fever that was taking its greatest toll among the work-gangs and their guards. "There is a man in European
dress, long dull-blue coat, broad-pleated knee-britches with banded garters, black leg-hose, having the look of perhaps a merchant or a merchant's clerk, between thirty and forty, with a broad-brimmed hat on."
"I know," said Saint-Germain. "I've been aware of him since we took the turning for the third dyke. Until then he was fairly inconspicuous, but no longer. There are few merchants out on this part of the island." He looked toward the second treadmill-pump and said, "At least they've built the road out this far."
"The embankment builders need it, and the men starting to build the fourth dyke. The wooden walkways aren't enough for moving supporting sledges loaded with logs, and too uneven for men with laden wheelbarrows." Saari prepared to get down, but Saint-Germain waved him back.
"You can watch better from where you are, and you will be less obtrusive here. I do not want to alert the one following us; I would prefer to let him remain unaware of our observation." He said this in Finn, and added in Russian, "You know how uncertain the wooden walkways can be when they're crowded."
"All sorts of mischief can happen," said Saari.
"Exactly," said Saint-Germain. "It would be unwise to attract too much notice, as your presence would do."
Saari relented. "Just be careful. They've brought in two more work-gangs from Kazan. You can't trust Tartars. They're dangerous men. They'd kill you for a roast potato." He looked sharply at Gronigen. "You'll help me watch."
"Of course," said Gronigen, but with a hint of reserve.
Saint-Germain closed the coach-door and took a step away from the vehicle onto the wooden walkway. "I shouldn't be much more than an hour--probably less than that."
"Keep in mind that you have been summoned to a treadmillpump before, on a so-called emergency," Saari said.
"I have not forgotten," said Saint-Germain; the memory of the attack he had endured in May had caused him a slight qualm when the workman had come to his house to summon him out to the treadmill.
"We'll be here," said Gronigen. "I hope we won't have to keep the horses standing much longer than that."
"And we'll keep watch," Saari assured him.
"I have no doubt," said Saint-Germain as he left the coach behind and went along toward the second treadmill-pump; all around him work-gangs struggled to improve the footing in the mud in preparation for building; to bring logs to set in the riverbank, to pile up the silt brought by the dredging barges to add to the drained marsh-bottom, to build up the fourth levee, to remove the ooze of rotting vegetable matter from the exposed mud, to mix sand with the boggy earth where the roads would go, to bring in loads of rocks to shore up the dykes and levees, to provide access to the new dyke being built. The noise was constant and confusing. By the time Saint-Germain made it out to the second treadmill-pump, he wondered what he--or anyone--could do to lessen the chaos of this intense industry.
The new supervisor was waiting for him, a big man with black hair tied back, Asiatic features, and clan-mark on the side of his neck; he was dressed in the long canvas smock and short linen trousers that most of the workmen wore, all of it grimy from the task they had been assigned. He made an eastern bow to Saint-Germain. "Thank you for coming today, Exalted One. This is not something that can be ignored." His Tartar accent was strong, but his Russian was good enough for him to be understood.
"It is my duty to do so, Udek," Saint-Germain said, returning the bow. "What is the trouble?"
"There is something we must show you. We found it under the mat of water-weed, over there." He pointed down into the knee-deep water where his work-gang was busy using knives and hatchets to cut away the tough water-weed.
"Show me," said Saint-Germain, although the thought of going into water under the noon sunlight made him uncomfortable. "I should remove my shoes and leg-hose."
"Yes. The swamp will ruin them, most surely." He pointed to one of the low supports of the treadmill. "If you sit there, you will be able
to take off your shoes and leg-hose without any interference from the work-gang." He held up his whip for emphasis.
Saint-Germain went and removed his shoes and leg-hose, putting them on the plank-brace that supported the axle of the huge double wheel. "Now I am ready. Tell me what you have found and how you found it."
Udek bowed again. "I don't know where to report this, but we cannot ignore it. If you would tell me who is to be informed, and how, or, better yet, do it yourself, none of us will be blamed for what seems to have happened. They won't torture us for information." He started down the rough steps in the damp bank.
"Tell me what this discovery is, and I will do my part in reporting it, so long as there is nothing that I, as a foreigner, am forbidden to report." He knew that workers who came upon unusual things were often punished rather than rewarded for making their discoveries known; he would spare them that if he could. "What have you found?"
But Udek was not yet ready to tell him. "The men were working early--less than an hour after sunrise. I saw them stop their labor, a few of them getting out of the marsh and refusing to go back into it. I asked what had happened." He paused. "There was an arm, one that has been under the weeds for at least a month, probably more. Most of the flesh is gone, and what remains is rotten."
"An arm? You have found nothing more?" He had seen workmen injured severely from their labors, and wondered if he should ask Ludmilla if any of her patients had lost an arm.
"Just the arm. It was cleanly severed, like a joint of meat. It made me think of a long knife or an axe-blade." He stepped into the water and waded toward a knot of Tartars standing silently around a mound of water-weed, some of them keeping as much of a distance as they dared, a few others staying close to one of the workmen to get a better look. "You men!" Udek shouted in the language of Kazan. "Out of the way! Make room! Bezmat!" The man bowed. "Show the Exalted One what you've uncovered."
One of the men reluctantly used the blade of his hatchet to lift the water-weed, revealing a human arm, most of it little more than
bones and ligaments. A few of the finger-bones were gone altogether, but the three long bones were intact. It added to the general marsh odor--metallic, disgusting, and sweet all at once.
Saint-Germain stepped forward, bending over to look at the work-gang's find. "You have found nothing more?" he asked in their dialect.
Udek blinked, startled. "They told me they had not."
"Well?" Saint-Germain asked, addressing Bezmat.
"There may be more down there, but we haven't found anything," he said, uncomfortable with the question.
"Have you looked closely?" Saint-Germain inquired softly, purposefully.
"No," said Bezmat. He fretted, then added, "The arm was wedged into the weed-mat. I think it was hidden on purpose."
"I would agree," said Saint-Germain.
Bezmat was surprised. "Then you don't think this was an accident."
"With a clean cut? It is possible, but unlikely," Saint-Germain said, and watched as three of the workmen crossed themselves.
"Then hiding the arm could mean a crime has been concealed," said Udek.
Saint-Germain nodded. "That would appear to be the case: then why not take some time to make a search? The more I can find out now, the better for all of us." As he moved aside to allow the workmen to search for any more bones, he could not keep from wondering if this might be the remains of Vladimir Pavlovich Timchenkov, who had disappeared on the night he had first been attacked: the man had never been found, and there was no record of him leaving Sankt Piterburkh. This was near the place where the attack had occurred, although in May the water-level in this sector had been much higher. He told himself not to speculate and resigned himself to waiting.
Four men joined Bezmat and began to cut away more water-weed; they proceeded gingerly, afraid of what they might find, but worked quickly as well, since they wanted the search to be over. After fifteen minutes of effort, they came upon three ribs and male hip bones. The men piled these wordlessly with the arm. "It's thick mud beyond this. Anything in that is gone."
Saint-Germain went to look over the bones and found the straight cuts that revealed the man had been hacked with a long-bladed weapon, as Udek surmised, but there was nothing more to be learned from such an incomplete corpse. He pointed to the bones. "Put these in a sack and keep them near the treadmill until I come to claim them. Tell no one about them; you do not want to alert the culprits, or the guards." Even as he said this, he knew word of this discovery would be all through the work-camp before nightfall. "I will make a report and find out what the officials would like to have done with these. We cannot identify them, which may be troublesome in terms of burial." He was unsure to whom he should report, or what he should say in making such a report, but he was fairly certain that anything he remarked upon would eventually make its way to Alexander Menshikov and the demand for bribes would begin.
"We are not responsible for them," Bezmat insisted. "We don't want to keep them here."
"You will need to have them kept safe in case there is an inquiry," said Saint-Germain carefully. "If you dispose of them, you will be regarded more suspiciously than if you keep them." As he said this, he decided that he should make his first report to the Orthodox Metropolitan, who had arrived in Sankt Piterburkh three weeks ago. Czar Piotyr Alexeievich might have weakened the Orthodox Church by weakening the office of Patriarch and replacing it with a council made up of Metropolitans, but in matters of burial, the Church still had precedence over everyone but the Czar; the Metropolitan would have the final say regarding the bones: by seeking out the Metropolitan, he could avoid the scrutiny of the Provost Marshal and Menshikov.
The workmen exchanged uneasy glances, but finally Udek said, "We will keep them, and see they are safe unless we have to move the treadmill. If that happens, you will have to take charge of them."
