tradition, the captain of the Murom Streltzi was a boyar’s son, a retainer of the Gorchakov clan. Being a retainer, he lived in their palace.
When the Boyar Duma had made cousin Ivan Borisovich captain of the Murom city guard, they had not specified quarters. So when Tim and Ivan Borisovich had gotten here, the Gorchakov’s captain, one Vladislav Vasl’yevich, had been unceremoniously ejected from his rooms and sent to stay with the guards. Just one of so many things Tim’s cousin had done to make himself popular with his new subordinates. Tim knew this was an unimportant post. Was supposed to be an unimportant post. But just at the moment, this post was starting to look pretty important.
While Captain Ivan Borisovich Lebedev was still fuming and threatening, word reached the gate that the captain was to be admitted. And was to report to the princess post haste. So off they went, Tim trailing his cousin and both of them surrounded by Murom Streltzi who were not hiding their grins at all well.
Princess Natalia Gorchakovna looked stone-cold and somewhat miffed. Tim suspected that she was actually in a rage, but she was doing an admirable job of hiding just how much of a rage. Which was quite understandable given the recent events in terms of control of the Gorchakov estates. With Prince Vladimir in Grantville and Princess Natasha sequestered in the Dacha, control of the estates had fallen to estate managers who had proved less strong in their loyalty than might be hoped. Through bribes and coercion, actual control had shifted to the Sheremetev clan.
“Who, precisely, are you people?” the princess demanded.
Ivan Borisovich, as was his nature, began to bluster. And Tim cringed internally. Tim had never had great respect for his older cousin and his time in Cousin Ivan’s command had only made his opinion worse. The man was an embarrassment to the family.
“Captain Lebedev. My executive officer, Lieutenant Lebedev,” Ivan Borisovich said. “We were sent by Director-General Sheremetev and the Boyar Duma to reassert government control over Murom and the Gorchakov estates. How dare you have us held at the gates? We are Great House.”
“The proper form of that question is,” Princess Natalia said coldly, “how dare you have us held at the gates, Princess? Your family may be great house, but apparently they didn’t teach you manners. But see, the answer appears magically when you ask the question correctly. Princess is how I dare! These are my lands, Captain. My city. My house. My people. The real question is what are you doing here in my home?”
“Who are you to question me?” Ivan Borisovich said. “You’re supposed to be in your dacha.”
“Arrest him,” the princess said. “And the other one, while you’re at it.”
The princess’ men immediately leveled their guns at Tim and his cousin.
Ivan Borisovich was an idiot when times were good. He was an even greater idiot when times were bad. Tim was grateful that he was being held in a separate cell, even though he could still hear his cousin’s blustering, if dimly.
Unlike Ivan Borisovich, Tim was a popular young man. Due to his actions at Rzhev, for one thing, and his much nicer nature, for another. So Tim wasn’t entirely surprised when the young Streltzi of Murom, Pavel, brought him some food and stayed for a bit to talk. He’d had long talks with Pavel before, while they were pulling guard duty.
“It’s a terrible thing that happened to the princess,” Pavel said.
“She seemed fine when she had me arrested,” Tim pointed out.
“She barely escaped! That outlander-the other one, not Bernie-he attacked her! In her own bedroom!”
Tim found himself interested, as the story continued to pour out of Pavel. Pavel wondered what Director- General Sheremetev was thinking putting a man like Cass Lowry in charge of the Dacha. Especially when it was doing so much for Russia under Princess Natalia.
Tim knew precisely what Director-General Sheremetev was thinking. His great uncle had told him. The Gorchakov family was becoming dangerous. Princess Natalia Gorchakovna had been using her position in the Dacha to garner support among the great houses. After four years, she had garnered quite a lot. Cass Lowry was the Sheremetev family’s way of saying to the other great houses “if you want high tech in the future, you apply to the Sheremetev family not the Gorchakov family.” At the same time, Tim had met Lowry and didn’t like the man. Pavel’s description of the attempted rape of a princess seemed quite believable.
“How can you work for Director-General Sheremetev,” Pavel asked, “when he’s doing what he’s doing? Putting people in prison right and left? Killing all those people in Moscow in his purges?”
Tim had begun to wonder about that himself.
“And what about Czar Mikhail? Taken out of Moscow! What kind of man does that, imprison the czar?”
“No one is imprisoned. The czar and his family are just at a hunting lodge, to get away from the troubles in Moscow. He even took his up-time nurse and her family with him,” Tim said.
“How do you know that?” Pavel sneered.
“We get radio messages from him,” Tim said. “The hunting lodge he’s at isn’t on the normal network, so they radio through here.”
Russia had set up radio stations just within range of one another. Each one had a high antenna placed on a high hill or at the top of a tall building. There were normally two or three radio stations within range of each antenna, not that there were all that many yet. When a message was sent, it would be tapped out in the Russian version of Morse code and would be heard by the station the transmitter was tuned to. That station would then resend the same message up the line. This would repeat until the message arrived at the proper place. So the fact that they were getting messages directly from the hunting lodge meant that the czar had to be somewhere within twenty-five or thirty miles. Tim knew all that, but he didn’t think about it when he told his friend Pavel that the czar’s messages traveled through Murom.
“So, he has to be somewhere near,” Pavel told his boss. His boss, in turn, told the princess. And the princess, of course, told Bernie and her other friends.
“But Sheremetev doesn’t have any lands within thirty miles of here,” Natasha said. “Not one village, not one house. Nothing.”
“Do you have a hunting lodge within thirty miles of here?” Filip asked.
“Yes, just west of Tatarovo.” Natasha stopped. “You don’t suppose
…”
“So we go get him?” Bernie asked.
Vladislav Vasl’yevich, restored for now to his post of captain of the Murom Streltzi, said, “Not the princess.” Then looking at Natasha, “You should stay here where it’s safe.”
“No, my good and loyal Captain,” Natasha said. “I must go because it will fall to me to decide what to do if the czar is not, in fact, being held against his will.”
Chapter 77
An exhausted trooper rode into Moscow and made his way to the Kremlin. After a couple of misdirections, he reached Director-General Sheremetev and reported that Princess Natalia Petrovna had escaped in the Dodge with Bernie Zeppi, and some others. Cass Lowry had been killed, apparently by either the princess herself or one of her chambermaids. One of the guards had been killed and the other badly wounded. He’d been shot in the chest but the bullet had missed his heart. His survival now seemed likely, but so far he hadn’t told them anything very coherent.
Director-General Sheremetev and a troop of his men left immediately for the Dacha.
Sofia smiled to herself when she heard the uproar outside her quarters. She never had liked that Sheremetev brat, all puffed up and strutting the way he did. She sat quietly, waiting, knowing what was about to happen. She’d grown up in Russian politics, after all.
As she expected, there was no polite knock. Her door burst open, armed men stormed in, searched her room
