Sitka (27 page)

The villages were as alike as peas, gray lumber and weather-beaten logs, a hint of decoration at the eaves. The few people who moved about were bundled to the eyes in odds and ends of clothing.

The steppe had changed to pale green with here and there the golden yellow of wild mustard or buttercups. The driver pulled off the muddy road to the prairie and drove more swiftly, crushing grass and flowers under the spinning wheels. He was a younger man, this driver, and filled with good spirits. He sang as he drove, and seemed to know everyone along the road. He shouted at them and they shouted back. Several times they raced past trains of wagons whose drivers plodded beside them, and several times they raced for miles over plains that were blue with a carpet of forget-me-nots. Distant hillsides were thick with the slim white trunks of birch, and always the villages kept appearing, shutters hanging loose, gates sagging. They drove on and on with a succession of teams and drivers until all sense of time was lost and all was forgotten but their own spinning wheels, and the never-ending shouts of drivers who raged, cajoled, praised, petted and swore at their teams.

From Tiumen to Ekaterinburg the road was bordered on either side by a double row of splendid birches nearly eighty feet tall, set so closely their branches arched over the road and shut out the sun with their green canopy. This was known, Helena told him, as “Catherine’s Alley,” for the trees had been planted by the order of Catherine II, and now, almost a hundred years later, they offered shade to the traveler.

The peasants’ huts were alike in their cheerlessness except for occasional flowers in the windows. Rarely was there a tree or blade of grass in any of the villages, but in the windows one saw geraniums, oleanders, tea roses, cinnamon pinks or fuchsias.

Then came the night when they slept in a two-story brick house near the river where the owner advertised “rooms for arrivers.” LaBarge was awakened in the first gray of dawn to find a rough hand on his shoulder and bending above him the thin, cadaverous face of an utter stranger. He sat up quickly and the man stepped back. LaBarge glanced toward the connecting door to Helena’s room.
 
“It’s all right,” the man said. “I tell you, mate, I’ve touched nothing, and as for the lady, I’d bother no lady, mate. Not I.” “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

The fellow stood with his feet apart, grinning. His nose was a great beak, his red, wrinkled neck like that of a buzzard, and his eyes, small and blue, twinkled with a cynical humor. “How did I get in, you ask? Through the door, mate, through that very door. Locks, you know, I’ve no time for them, and I’d no wish tg go knocking about on your door at this hour of the. morning. Start folks looking, you know, and maybe start them thinking.” “What do you want?”

“Now that’s more like it. I like a man who comes to the point. But it ain’t so much what I want, mate, as what you need. It’s the police, mate, and they’re hunting you. You, the lady, and the sailorman who’s with you.” “Sailor?”

“Aye ... spotted him at once, I did. And you likewise, mate. I’ve seen a bit of the sea myself, seven year’ aboard a lime-juicer out of Liverpool. It’s where I learned my English. But if I were you I’d be getting myself up.” Jean rolled out and dressed quickly. He had no idea who the man was, but a warning was a warning, and that the police were looking for him was more than likely.

“What is it?” LaBarge asked. “What makes you think the police are looking for me?”

“This is the way of it, mate. I’ve no love for the law, not to speak of, I ain’t. Time to time they’ve given me a bit of trouble, so when I seen the man in the black coat, seen the wide jaws and bullethead of him, I says to myself, it’s the law. So I listen...

“Inquiring, he is, for people of your description. Now I’d seen you arrive, knew where you’d gone and, thinks I, this man and his lady would like to know, so I’ve come.”

“Where’s the officer now?”

“Eating, he is. Eating better than I’ve eaten these many weeks, stuffing his fat jowls in the town, and when he’s finished that, had a bit of tea and picked his teeth, then most like, he’ll be after you.”

“We’ll need a team for our tarantas.”

“They’ll be ready for you, mate. Leave it be. A boat’s better, and I’ve spoke to a man for you. He’s owner of a barge, and he’s made room for us.” “Us?”

“Look, mate. I’ve nothing here I can’t leave behind, and I’d best be leaving it, too. With a bit of cash I might make it, and if I come along with you, I might be helping you.” He winked. “I’m one who says it will never go wrong with a man to help the gentry.”

Coolly, Jean checked his pistols. To be taken now was not part of his plan. He slid the pistols into his waistband.

The man with the great nose and twinkling eyes glanced at the pistols and then looked up at Jean LaBarge. He had a sudden feeling that he would not like to face a pistol backed by those eyes and in those hands.
 
“Gentry, you said?”

“Did you think I’d not notice the lady? And a beauty too, if I may say so...”

Helena came through the door, dressed for travel. She looked gay and excited.

“Why, thank you! That was nicely said!”

The ruffian bowed, his eyes twinkling. “A lady, I said, and you, sir, anybody can see you’re a gent.” He canted his head at him. “And maybe a soldier, too, but a fighting man in any course. Take that from me, as one who knows.” When Boyar entered the room, LaBarge explained their situation hurriedly and the man led them out the back way, across the court and into one of the sheds that surrounded it. Here he lifted a board and they all emerged into an alleyway that ended in a field bordering the river. Walking along a path, half-concealed by a line of trees, they reached the stream and boarded the barge.
 
A man seated on a bollard got to his feet, knocked out his pipe and came aboard.

He cast off while the red-faced man hauled in the plank that served as gangway.

“I’d go below,” he told LaBarge. “You’re dressed a bit well for barge folk.”

The cabin was cramped but clean, and there was a samovar with a fire under it.
 
When they were well into the stream, their guide came below and took cups from the cupboard and began to make tea.

“Murzin, they, call me,” he said. “It’s a good name, short and handy-like.” He was a long, bony man, slightly stooped in the shoulders and his body was so lean that every rib must show, but his thin hands were dexterous and swift. “A thief, they call me, and they are right. I steal from travelers.” “You have not stolen from us,” Helena commented. Jean could see that she liked the man, and he did himself.

Murzin chuckled and grinned wickedly. “Because the police are after you. I’m not one to foul my own nest, to rob my own kind.

“Oh, I know! You two are gentry, although that one”—he pointed a finger at LaBarge—“would have made a fine thief. Maybe that’s another reason I didn’t steal from you. He would kill a man if he needed killing. He would kill a man very quickly, I think.” He glanced sharply at LaBarge. “Is that why they want you?”

He decided to be frank. “Madame and I have enemies who would like to prevent us from reaching St. Petersburg. That could be it, although I think we lost them, but it may be another thing. Back there”—he jerked his head toward the Siberia that lay behind—“we helped an escaped convict. Our driver might have informed on us.”

“That could be it ... they don’t like that, not one bit do they like it.”

He gulped his tea. “St. Petersburg, is it? Aye, and I’m your man. I can help.” He swallowed more tea. “We’ve ways of our own, you know. Ways of getting about that the police don’t know.”

“How much?”

“The bargeman will want fifty rubles, but you can give me what you like when we get there.”

He looked slyly from one to the other. “And when you are there, where will you go?”

“We will have a place,” Helena said.

Helena looked straight into Murzin’s eyes. “There is a story that King Richard trusted a thief, and I shall. We go to the Peterhof.” Murzin’s eyes were bright. “I know that story. Robin Hood, wasn’t it? So you go to the Peterhof? Yes ... yes, that would be it.” His eyes lighted with savage, cynical amusement. “The Peterhof! What a place for a thief! What a place from which to steal!”

Moonlight lay cold upon the Neva as their carriage rolled through the silent streets. Long ago they had left the barge behind, and since then had changed their means of travel several times. Now there was no sound but the clop-clop-clop of their horses’ hoofs.

Sitting back against the cushions of the carriage in which they now rode, Jean LaBarge looked about him at the wide avenues and stately buildings, wondering that he, born in the swamps of the Susquehanna, grown to a fur trader among the northwest islands, should have come to this place. He rode now in the streets of the city of Peter the Great, riding beside a niece of the Czar, and within a few days, a few weeks at most, he would see the Czar himself.
 
At last they dismounted from their carriage before the palace of the Rotcheffs.
 
A strange group: Shin Boyar, the Polish promyshleniki from Alaska, Murzin, the wandering thief, Jean LaBarge, merchant adventurer, and the Princess Gagarin, wife of Count Rotcheff and said by some to be the most beautiful woman in Russia.

It was her hand that rang the bell. They waited, saying nothing, and for a long time there was no sound within. Finally, after the third ring, the door opened slightly.

“Alexis! Open the door! It is I!”

The old man opened the door with fumbling haste, bowing and backing away, his face covered with a smile. Yet when he looked past her at the three men, he hesitated. “The Master? Is he all right?”

“He is in Sitka, Alexis, and wounded. He sent me home to see His Imperial Majesty, and these men have brought me safely here. We will want food, Alexis, and beds for these men. Quickly now, for we are cold.” The old man hurried away and somewhere in its vast depths the building began to stir and breathe as it came to life. When Boyar and Murzin had been shown to the Servants’ quarters, Helena led Jean to a sitting room where a fire was blazing.
 
Food was brought to them there, and tea. Jean watched the firelight playing on her face, finding lights in her dark hair. “I suppose I’ll see little of you now,” he said unhappily.

“There will be time.” He had walked to the fireplace with his brandy, and she followed, standing beside him. How tall he was! “Jean, we must work quickly.
 
There is no telling what they will do, so I must arrange an audience with Uncle Alexander at once. Once that is done I shall try to arrange an interview for you. It will not be easy, Jean, for he is a busy man. I believe I can do it.” “I’ll need some clothes. Tomorrow I’ll hunt up a tailor.” She laughed. “You need not go to a tailor, Jean. We will have him come here. I will tell Alexis and the tailor will come at whatever hour you wish.” She left the room and he was alone with the portraits on the walls and the fire that crackled cheerfully on the wide hearth. The ceiling was high, and the flickering light played upon the faces of the pictured men. The food had been excellent, slices of cold beef, cheese, and a bottle of claret. It was all strange and very different here.

When she returned she joined him at the fireplace again. “So ... at last we are here.”

“Did you doubt we’d make it?”

“Not really. Yet sometimes ... Jean, I shall keep Murzin with me. I like him.”

“He’s a thief.”

“Of course. But somehow I do not believe he will steal while he works for me. He has his own pride, I think.”

“Yes, I’ve known men like that. They’re rare though.” “Jean.” Helena hesitated. “I shall never forget what you have done for me ...
 
for us. You have no idea how far Sitka seemed from here, even though it is part of Russia. It is like the end of the world. Without you we might both have failed, Alexander and I.”

“That makes it harder ... a man can’t steal the wife of a friend. My kind of man can’t.”

“You couldn’t steal me, Jean. He is my husband.” They were silent, watching the fire.

“It’s hard to believe that when I leave St. Petersburg I’ll never see you again.”

“I shall return to Sitka. I must go back to Alexander.” “Don’t do it, Helena. You can’t. Believe me, if you destroy Zinnovy, he’ll end by destroying you. I know. The man I looked at that last night would stop at nothing. You can’t put yourself in his hands again—you can’t.” “I must ... I must return to my husband.”

“Someday,” LaBarge said slowly, “someday I think I’ll kill Zinnovy ... or be killed by him.”

“Then kill him. I do not want you to die.”

“What use is it to live and not have the woman I love?” He spoke angrily. “I’m a fool, Helena. A double-dyed fool.”

They stood together, staring down into the fire. The flames were smaller now, the bed of coals glowing and red, shimmering with changing color. They turned to face each other, looking into each other’s eyes, then Jean drew her close and they stood for a long time, held in a tight embrace. Finally she stepped back, out of his arms. “Good night, darling,” she spoke softly. “Good night, I—“ She turned quickly and walked from the room.

A month passed. The Czar was in the Crimea and would soon return; until then there was nothing to do but wait. There were balls and parties and despite his restlessness Jean enjoyed St. Petersburg.