City of Silence (City of Mystery) (13 page)

Vlad
endured the hypocrisy for as long as he could – the speeches from the men, the
weeping of the women, Yulian’s poor, bewildered mother reminding him so much of
his own – before he escaped outside.  It was a mockingly beautiful day and he
found himself walking down by the river.  He took pains to turn before he got
to the expanse of the Neva which led to the Winter Palace.  He could not bear seeing
it on this particular afternoon.

He
walked until his legs ached, his feet stumbling a bit in the marshy land by the
river.  The effort of pulling his boot from the mud with each step quickly exhausted
him and finally he climbed higher on the bank, where he could sit looking up at
the billowy clouds.  

A
formation of geese flew overhead and their presence excited a cadre of men on
the opposite riverbank, men whose presence Vlad had not noted until now.  St.
Petersburg fell from a bustling city back into a fetid marshland within the
course of an hour’s walk and the Neva had always been a working river, drawing
fishermen and hunters to its banks.  Two men stood up from their huddled group and
pointed their long guns toward the sky.

The
geese flew in a perfect vee, their symmetry so precise as to be militaristic. 
There is always a plan, Vlad thought.  Even birds have one.  The silence here
on the banks of the river was almost deafening.   He was aware of the pounding
of his heart, and - even greater weakness – the sadness that lay there as well. 

A
shot rang out, and then another.  One of the bullets must have found its mark
because the lead goose in the vee dropped from the sky, spiraling down as
gracefully as a ballerina before hitting with a splash.  A shrill blast of a
whistle goaded a pack of dogs into motion, and they galloped into the water, the
alpha male paddling to the center of the river to retrieve the goose.  The
racket they made was appalling but Vlad’s attention remained heavenward, where,
within the formation, another goose had moved forward to take the place of his
fallen leader.  The geese flew on, their symmetry slightly less perfect, but
their pattern essentially undisturbed.

Such
is nature, Vlad thought.  One life barely gone before another replaces it.   Order
restored before the dog can even carry the body of the dead goose back to
shore. 

And
so it was with the imperial family. 

This
has been our great mistake, Vlad thought, watching the geese move across the
sky until they were nearly out of sight.   We killed one tsar and another took
his place, and if we kill this tsar his son will move forward, and the
formation shall remain unchanged.  The Romanovs shall simply fly on, far above
us, until the end of time.    

To
kill one was not the answer. 

You
would have to kill them all.

Vlad
knew such a plan would not be readily accepted by his comrades.  Even Gregor,
whose bile sometimes rose to match his own, focused his fury solely upon the
tsar.  It was easy to hate a tyrant who thundered out his edicts, who, with his
barreled-chest and thick beard, fully looked like the bully that he was.  Any
man on the street would happily take a crack at such a beast.  But to accept
the necessity of dispatching of the whole family, including the blue-eyed children
and the inconveniently pretty women, required an entirely different turn of
mind.  

Vlad
knew that he could see the truth – this had been the curse of his life, his
almost singular ability to see the truth – but he also knew that his comrades
did not yet have the stomach for true revolution.  They wanted to overthrow the
imperial family, not obliterate them, and it would be years before they would
grasp the necessity of his ultimate solution.  Enough time for a different sort
of man to rise to the helm of the revolution.  Vlad’s thoughts stuttered back
to the image of the girl with the red sash, joking with her brothers, and then leaping
from the carriage before it had fully come to a halt.  How old would she be? 
Twelve, perhaps thirteen?     

The
dogs paddled back to the far shore, the alpha dropping the goose at the feet of
his master and earning a hearty pat. The others shook water and lay back down
on the bank while the men resumed their position in the blind.  One goose would
not feed the families of five men.

But
both the hunting and the fishing would have to wait for a while, because to the
left a boat was coming into view.  A large one, with both the flap of sails and
the dull drone of an engine, boasting a deep navy hull and sparkling white fittings. 
It bore no flags, but the craft was too fine boned and graceful to have been
designed for any practical purpose.  A yacht, a pleasure ship of some sort, and
across the bank the hunters all shifted to watch it pass.  One of the fools
even saluted, although there was no evidence of whom the vessel might carry or
what purpose it might serve.  Just as it passed Vlad, a figure appeared on the
deck.   A young woman with red hair, dressed entirely in white and then,
emerging from behind her, a plump pigeon of a man, raising his hand to squint
into the sunlight, a gesture the cheering hunters mistook for a return of their
salute.

They
don’t look like aristocrats, Vlad thought, but who could tell?  Oppression,
like the devil, had the ability to assume many forms.   

Vlad
lay back on the bank.  More of the titled and wealthy seemed to come to St.
Petersburg every day, with their tennis rackets and valises, their crates of
champagne, well-starched servants, and small yapping dogs.  These people
thought differently from the members of Volya – they were frightened and
pleased and motivated by different things.  It was beginning to occur to Vlad
that, at least for now, the energies of the revolution were perhaps better
spent looking for ways to influence the tsar than for ways to replace him.  Alexander
was not a man to be shaken by petitions or riots or strikes.  He would be
controlled only by a different sort of means. 

We
must take something that he loves, thought Vlad.  Something that not even he
will find so easy to replace.

A
kidnapping.  A hostage from within the inner circle.  The bear will not bend
his ear toward his people even if we bring a thousand petitions, Vlad thought. 
But will he bend it if he knows we have the girl in the red sash?

The
Royal Yacht – The Victoria and Albert

4:12
PM

“Do
you waltz?” Trevor asked Emma.

“Why
on earth would you ask that?  I don’t hear a band.”

He
chuckled.  “I am asking on behalf of the Queen.  We were just discussing Ella’s
last letter in which she spoke of rehearsals for an imperial waltz, one
featuring the ladies of the court and some of their attendants.   Her Majesty
had the very inspired suggestion that you and Alix might join in this
presentation.”

Emma
leaned against the ship railing.  The sailors had said they were within minutes
of St. Petersburg now and the yacht had been held back to a fraction of its
power.  Trunks and valises were beginning to be brought up on deck, stacked all
around them.  It still seemed unreal, perhaps because there were no clear signs
that they were indeed approaching a city.  Marshland stretched all around her,
as far as the eye could see.  Young green reeds poking up from blue water, pine
trees clinging to small spits of land, the loud and hopeful birds trailing the
yacht, screaming out as they dove and rose in the still air.

Emma
wrinkled her nose.  “It smells.”

“So
it does.”

“All
this stagnant water.  It seems the entire city would be full of contagion.”

“You
can mention your concerns to the tsar when you meet him.” Trevor leaned over
the railing too, clasping his hands close together and bringing his shoulder to
where it almost touched hers.  “But in the meantime, I believe we were talking about
the waltz.”

“I
waltz well enough, I suppose, at least for a schoolteacher.  But I don’t
understand what she’s asking.”

“There’s
a grand ball scheduled in a just a few days.  To mark the summer solstice and
the return of the composer Tchaikovsky to his motherland after a triumphant
tour of the continent.  There will be performances of all sorts, including some
sort of exhibition waltz featuring, just as I said, the imperial ladies and
their attendants.   Her Majesty believes it would be a simple matter to have
you and Alix invited to join them.”

“But
why should we do that?  If Ella wrote her about rehearsals, presumably they’ve
been going on for weeks, which suggests a rather elaborate presentation, does
it not?  And yet the princess and I are to arrive at the last minute and join
the troupe?”

“Heavens,
Emma you’re not thinking clearly at all.  This isn’t about whether or not
you’re the star of the show.  If you join in the rehearsals, this will give you
an excuse to be in the theater.  To get to know the other dancers, and that is
really what we will need.”  Trevor looked down into the swirling water beneath
them, the hosts of dragonflies hovering just above the surface.  “If you’re
afraid you will dance badly you can pretend to roll an ankle on the last day of
rehearsal.”

‘”I
never said I was afraid I’d dance badly.”

“Then
what are you afraid of?”

“It
just seems rather implausible.”

“Well
if we were to enumerate all the things about this journey that seem implausible
I hardly think you waltzing would be at the top of the list.”  Trevor darted
his eyes to the side and noted the freckles on Emma’s nose, more visible in
this light than they ever had been in London, and quite enchanting.   “Look,
dear, it’s Her Majesty’s suggestion and I think it’s rather a good one.  Alix
is quite keen to show her waltzing skills in front of Nicky and play at being a
Romanov for a day.  And it’s the best chance we have of getting someone backstage
at the theater and within the circle of the dancers.  They may know nothing of
Yulian’s true background and they may know quite a lot.”

“Why
has she lowered her standard?”

“What?”

“The
Queen has taken down the flag bearing her royal standard.”

“Hmmm…
I hadn’t noticed,” Trevor said, squinting up at the mast.  “I suppose it’s
because she wants to make it clear from the moment of arrival that this is not
a state visit but a personal one.  Look….there it is.”

And
indeed there it was, as they eased around a small bend, the beginnings of a
city.   They called St. Petersburg the Venice of the east, Emma thought, all
the random facts and details from her files still coming back unwarranted at
strange times.  Or at least the Russians called it that.  She doubted the
Italians would concur.   But she was beginning to see a bit of what they meant,
as the ship nosed its way along the bank and toward a city built on islands,
bridges slowly coming into view and the number of boats along the bank
increasing with each minute they sailed.  She wondered if the real Venice
smelled like this.

As
she and Trevor stood at the railing and watched the city grow before them, Tom
soon came up, and then Davy, followed by Rayley.  Finally the Queen and
Princess Alix, whose agitation showed on her face.  She wasn’t looking at the
scenery, which she doubtless remembered well enough from her visit four years
ago.  She was straining only straight ahead, waiting for her first glimpse of
the Winter Palace.   She was also trembling, Emma noticed.  Not just her hands
but her whole body.  Alix’s dress was pink, elaborate and overdone in Emma’s
estimation, with a high collar composed of silk roses, so many and so large
that she seemed lost in a mountain of organza petals.  The hat was even worse,
with the back ludicrously puffy and the brim so deep that her plump little face
seemed to have receded within a hollow of silk.  She had tried very hard to be
glamorous and failed.  It made Emma sad.

The
Queen’s affect was the opposite.  Her Majesty opted to arrive wearing the same
sort of black broadcloth mourning gown that she had worn for decades, and pointedly
devoid of ornamentation.  Victoria is sending a signal as well, Emma thought. 
She wants the Russians to know that for her this is all nothing more than
another day of work.

And
then it was there, the Winter Palace.  Enormous gates, grand swathes of iron
fencing and behind it, a light blue building the size of which Emma had never
beheld.  They approached a dock and sailed past it.

“Not
this one,” the Queen said in terse explanation.

They
continued to sail.  Another dock came and went.

“Nor
this,” the Queen said.

“The
palace has four separate docks along the river,” Alix whispered loudly to Emma,
a statement which caused Davy’s jaw to literally drop open. 

It’s
bigger than Buckingham, Emma thought.  Bigger than Windsor and Sandringham and,
as the third dock also slipped past them, she thought, Dear God.  It is bigger
than Buckingham and Windsor and Sandringham all together.  It is the biggest
structure I have ever seen, or ever will see.  Bigger than any building in
Britain.  Perhaps the biggest in the world.

The
five members of the Tuesday Night Murder Games Club remained motionless and
silent as they continued to sail and the Winter Palace continued to stretch. 
Davy was still openly gaping and Tom seemed on the verge of letting go a series
of the sarcastic quips he always used to hide any unease.  Rayley and Trevor
were managing to maintain a sense of professional reserve, but Rayley had begun
his nervous habit of blinking rapidly and, perhaps because she was standing
close to him, Emma was aware that Trevor had stopped audibly breathing two
docks back.