"No, but an early arrival was my intention; the convicts wouldn't
stand being kept chained in the wagons for many more days. I must attend to their moving into barracks," said Menshikov, about to pass on, but pausing, asked, "Will you tell your wife's brother that I'd like a word with him some time this evening?" as if he had just recalled something important.
"I will go by the Polish house before I return to--"
"The care-house. I remember. I'll have information for the Dutchman, too, in a day or so; I'll send for him to discuss the expansion he has requested so often." He considered again, then fanned his gloved fingers next to his head, showing his thoughts were in disorder. "One more thing: have you produced the proof you claim to have against the claims of the other Hungarian?"
"Not yet." Saint-Germain indicated the ice-bound marshes. "I have sent word to Grofok Saint-Germain where I last encountered him, but I do not expect an answer until spring."
"Um. Well, let me know when you have information: the Czar wants the matter settled quickly. If the war with Sweden continues, Austria and Hungary may yet have an important role to play, and having such an unresolved matter of identity could prove difficult when it comes to ensuring alliances." He coughed diplomatically and changed the subject. "My regards to your wife--the Ksiezna is a fine woman. I hope you will tell her I said so."
"As you wish," said Saint-Germain, and gave a second, little bow, then stepped back as the first of the largest wagons moved off toward the Guards' stable, the men inside huddled together for warmth, all of them cold and weary.
"Will you go to the Polish house, Hercegek?" Saari asked when Menshikov was out of earshot.
"I suppose I will have to: Menshikov expects it, and he wants to see Benedykt," said Saint-Germain, preparing to slog through the thigh-deep snow that lined the streets. "Tell me, Saari: have you learned anything more about this Lajos Rakoczi in the last several days?"
"Not very much. He has been staying with the Resident at the Hessian house now that the interior is finished. He has continued to mock your statement that you have seen his uncle, telling everyone
that you are either mistaken or determined to make mischief for him." Saari sounded apologetic for reporting this.
"He would be wiser to say that he welcomes my inquiries; his current tactics may cause some of the Foreign Quarter's residents to doubt him."
"I would think it would bring him supporters," said Saari.
"Possibly a few, but his continuing slights about me remind others of the reservations I have in his regard, and that can lead to doubts. That is one of the reasons I will not talk about the matter unless pressed." Saint-Germain waded away from the packed snow of the road along the dyke toward the Polish house, nine buildings along the street.
Saari plodded after him. "What would you like me to do?"
"For the rest of the day, go back to the stable and get warm; have a good sleep. The next few days are bound to be busy, so take rest while you can." Saint-Germain pulled his cloak more tightly around himself for emphasis. "Stay in for the night, have a good meal, and a pitcher of beer. Tell Gronigen I want the small sleigh harnessed and ready tomorrow at sunrise, and keep in mind while you do that the Ksiezna's coachmen overhear everything you say. Tomorrow I have to do my weekly inspection of the treadmills, and Menshikov is right: a storm is coming."
"Don't you want me to go with you to the care-house? With so many people out in the streets, you could be set upon again."
Saint-Germain shook his head, although the movement was obscured by his wolf-skin hood. "The crowd is not big enough to provide protection to an attacker; there would be no advantage for anyone making such an attempt with so many people about. And if anyone should be foolish enough to try, I have my francizcas with me. I will arrive safely enough." He adjusted the hood of his cloak and pressed on.
"Are you going to need me to go with you in the morning?" Saari asked.
"It would probably be a good idea," said Saint-Germain after brief consideration. "Gronigen will have his hands full out on the
dyke road just driving the sleigh; they've taken up the wooden walkways until spring, and the route is not well-marked. Another set of eyes will be useful. This is not the time to end up in a ditch."
"No, it's not," Saari agreed, pointing ahead through the fading light. "There. The lantern over the door is lit. Someone more than servants must be in."
"I see it," said Saint-Germain, and forced himself to move more quickly.
"Do you want me to go on to the stable?" Saari called, raising his voice.
"If you would; I will deal with the Ksiezna without fear of assassins," Saint-Germain answered. "I will see you tomorrow." He floundered his way toward the door.
"In the sleigh, when we come to the care-house," called Saari as he made his way toward the stable. His wave was broad so that it could be seen in the last of the daylight; overhead the first, pale streamers of yellow and pink and green began to undulate across the darkened sky.
"No wonder the Chinese think those lights are dragons," Saint-Germain said aloud to himself as he gazed upward. It almost made up for the long hours of darkness, he decided. But tempting as it was to stand in the cold watching the aurora, he had a task to accomplish. Abandoning the radiant sky, he made his way to the porch of the Polish house and used the heavy knocker, banging it three times as the Russians did to honor the Trinity. He waited, then knocked another three times, and this time saw the door open, and met the stare of Benedykt's manservant, Antek Lienjek. "Good afternoon, Antek. Is your master or your mistress within?" He spoke in Polish.
Scowling, Antek admitted Saint-Germain. "Hercegek Gyor," he said, ducking his head. "They are in their apartment."
"Would you be good enough to announce me to them?" Saint-Germain asked.
"You will wait here, in this room," said Antek, after he considered the request. "If they are willing to speak with you, I will inform you."
"As you like; you might tell them that I come on an errand from
Alexander Menshikov," Saint-Germain said, pulling his cloak off his shoulders and going toward the stove, just now pouring heat into the main room. "I will wait here."
Knowing he had over-stepped himself, Antek said, "As you like, Hercegek." His words were conciliatory, but his manner was irritable.
Saint-Germain selected one of the three visitors' chairs and dropped into it. He rubbed his face with his gloved hand to help restore warmth to his icy skin, then, realizing that he should offer Zozia his ungloved hand, he removed them both and thrust them into his coat-pocket on top of the francizca. For more than ten minutes he waited, his thoughts focused on the arrival of the supply-train. He was becoming restive when Antek came in from the adjoining room. "They will be with you directly." He bowed and went on into the servants' room without offering any other show of hospitality.
It was almost five minutes later when Zozia bustled out of her chamber, enveloped in an ermine wrapper, her cheeks bright, her demeanor unusually active; Benedykt was close behind her, his chamber-robe of heavy satin held closed with a broad, embroidered belt, and his wig slightly askew on his brow. She gave a small curtsy in answer to Saint-Germain's bow. "What an unexpected visit," she exclaimed.
"I am here at the behest of Alexander Menshikov," said Saint-Germain, "who has charged me with messages to both of you."
"Then he is back?" Benedykt asked. "Was that why we heard cheering a little earlier?"
"Yes; the supply-train has arrived." He looked around the room. "I was a bit surprised that you remained here rather than coming out to greet the train as most of the Foreign Quarter has."
"We have been playing chess," said Zozia.
"A most engaging game," Saint-Germain remarked.
"We were told the supply-train wouldn't arrive for three or four days," added Benedykt. "There was no reason to leave the house for less than that." His nose and cheeks were chapped and his knuckles were red from cold.
"There may be now," said Saint-Germain, noticing that both Zozia and Benedykt were wearing boots under their finery and that the boots
were wet; he kept his observation to himself, saying only, "Menshikov would like to see you later this afternoon, Ksiaze Radom. He asked me to inform you of this."
Benedykt sighed. "If he asks for me, I suppose I must." He began to pace. "Did he happen to mention why he wants to see me?"
"Not as such, no," said Saint-Germain. He turned to Zozia. "He asked me to convey to you his admiration: you are a fine woman."
"A compliment, to be sure," said Zozia, pursing her lips, not entirely satisfied. She said nothing more, and the silence lengthened.
Saint-Germain bowed again. "So. My obligation is discharged. If you have any message you would like me to take to the care-house?"
"There's no reason to send one; you are here, and you're the only one we have reason to communicate with." Benedykt lowered his eyes. "We have nothing to say to you."
Saint-Germain gave another bow. "Will you be attending the Christmas Eve festivities at the English Residence?"
"For a time," said Zozia before her brother could answer. "I take it you will be there."
"I have accepted the Resident's kind invitation, and I have a meeting there tomorrow afternoon with Brian O'Meaghar, Tarquin Humphries, and Mungo Laurie, in regard to the ice-bound ships out in the mouth of the river; they will need shielding from the movement of the ice, or risk damage before the thaw. They also want to know about the treadmills and the dredging-barge, which is why I have been asked to attend; so you may find me there before their celebrations."
"Will you play for the evening? On the clavichord?" Zozia asked.
"I have not been asked to, so I cannot say." He went to the door. "If we do not see one another before the day, the joy of Christmas be with you," he said, taking his cloak from the rack and drawing it around himself. He pulled on his gloves and let himself out into the night. All the way back to the care-house he wondered why Zozia's and Benedykt's boots were wet, why they both appeared chilled, and what they had been wearing under their enveloping garments.
By ten the next morning, Saint-Germain was ready to leave for his inspection; he met with Hroger and van Hoek as he got ready to step out
into the deteriorating weather. "I should be back by six in the evening. After the inspection, I will attend the meeting at the English Residence. If I am going to be later than six, I will send Saari with a message."
"Is there anything you would like me to tell Madame Svarinskaya?" Hroger asked. "She will be up from her sleep by three in the afternoon."
"When it will be light," said van Hoek, sounding annoyed.
"Four hours of not-quite-light in winter, and four hours of not-quite-dark in summer," Saint-Germain said, shaking his head. "If she would like to postpone our lesson until tomorrow, I would be willing to have it so."
"Very good," said Hroger, opening the door and revealing wind cutting along the drifts, sending thin swaths of snow scudding; the sky was gloomy. "I will continue to guard her, and the care-house, as you have asked me to do."
"If anything should need my urgent attention, send word out to me, unless the storm has arrived: in that case, send someone to the English Residence with a note to me, and tell me what has transpired."
Hroger pointed to the sleigh coming down the street, the horses blanketed in bear-skins beneath their harness. "There. Gronigen is driving, I see."
"Do you recognize him?" Saint-Germain asked, startled.
"No, but I know his cloak," Hroger said with a faint smile. "Make sure you wrap your face, my master."
"I will; you need not fret, old friend." In proof, he took his heavy Persian-lamb muffler and wrapped it expertly around his head so that only his blue-black eyes remained uncovered. "Will this do?" he asked in a muffled voice.
"It's satisfactory," said Hroger, watching Saint-Germain make his way out to the open sleigh and climb into it. He stepped back and closed the doors.
"Hercegek," said Adolphus Gronigen, nodding as much as his heavy fur robe would allow.
"Gronigen," said Saint-Germain as he settled down on the wide bench, facing the bundled figure of Yrjo Saari.
Gronigen snapped the whip and the two horses started off at a jog
trot, toward the road along the dyke, the beams of the two fixed lanterns framing the coachman's box providing a tunnel of light for them. "Clouds are thickening up," he said. "We won't see much sun today."
"We would see little sun even if the sky were clear," said Saint-Germain, thinking of the previous evening when the aurora had brightened the night.
"You have the right of it," Gronigen sighed as the sleigh moved on.
"What did he say?" Saari asked in his version of Russian.
Saint-Germain explained, and added, "If it starts to snow heavily, the lanterns will not be much use and I will have to get out and lead the way to be sure we stay on the road."
"I should do that," said Saari.
"It is one of the gifts that those of my blood possess that we see better than most in darkness. I will lead because I will see the way better than you or Gronigen could." Saint-Germain adjusted his muffler and squinted into the rising wind. "By tomorrow the snow will be falling, whether it does or not tonight. I can smell it."
"I agree," said Saari, and lapsed into contemplative silence as the sleigh continued onward.
It was more than half an hour later that they arrived at the first treadmill; it was wrapped in tarpaulins and its pump housing had been protected by a wooden enclosure. Snowy ice weighted down the tarpaulins and the wooden shield. Saint-Germain got out of the sleigh and spent the next twenty minutes making sure the tarpaulins were properly anchored and the enclosure did not have too much weight on it. Satisfied that the treadmill would be able to resume work in the spring, Saint-Germain climbed back into the sleigh and told Gronigen to drive to the second treadmill.
