The Last Tsar's Dragons

Chapter 11

I took the stairs two at a time. Coming around the corner on the floor where the apartments were situated, I told myself that it no longer mattered who was there with Ninotchka—cookboy or prince. Out he will go.

And I shall lock her in her room.

Though I rarely gave orders, she knew when she had to listen to me. It was in the voice, of course.

After I lock her in, I will send out invitations to those I already know are against the monk.

I checked my face in a hall mirror. Damn, my face looked grim, nearly growling. But I didn’t feel grim. I felt elated, counting the conspirators on my fingers as I strode down the hall. The archbishop of course, because Rasputin had called rather too often for the peasants to forgo the clergy and find God in their own hearts. The head of the army, because of the monk’s anti-war passions. To his credit, the tsar did not think highly of the madman’s stance, and when Rasputin expressed a desire to bless the troops at the front, Nicholas had roared out, “Put a foot on that sacred ground, and I will have you hanged at once.” I had never heard him so decisive and magnificent before or—alas—since.

I shall also ask Prince Yusupov and Grand Duke Pavlovich, who have their own reasons for hating him. And one or two others. But then another thought occurred to me. Too many in a conspiracy will make it fail. We need not a net but a hammer, for as the old babushkas like to say, “A hammer shatters glass but forges steel.” And this operation needs both the shattered glass and the steel.

I already knew that my old friend Vladimir would be by my side. Vladimir had called Rasputin out in the Duma, saying in a passionate speech that the monk had taken the tsar’s ministers firmly in hand, saying brilliantly that the ministers “have been turned into marionettes.”

What a fine figure of speech! I hardly knew he had it in him. A good man with a pistol, though. I counted on that pistol.

But was one pistol enough? The peasants believed Rasputin unkillable. And no one doubted the story of that slattern who tried to gut him with a filleting knife, calling him the antichrist. She had missed her opportunity, alas for Russia. Yes, her knife slid through his soft belly, and he stood before her with his entrails spilling out. But some local doctor pushed the tangled mess back in the empty cavity and sewed him up again.

“Or so they say. So they say.” I was muttering to myself now. With the mad monk, it’s difficult to know how much is true and how much is story.

Oh yes, he might be the very devil to kill.

And realizing that I’d made a joke—I entered the apartment, giggling.

Ninotchka was working on her sewing in the alcove. Two women friends, the delightful Masha and the despicable tart-tongued Dasha, plus the maid who cleaned up the place, were walking around her, gabbling like geese. Ninotchka looked up, her blond hair framing that perfect, heart-shaped face.

“A joke, my darling?” she asked.

“A joke,” I agreed, “but not one a man can share with his adorable wife.” I cupped her chin with my right hand.

She wrinkled her nose. “You stink, my love. What is that smell?”

I’d forgotten to wash the stench of dragon off my hands.

“It is nothing. I was talking to the horses that pull our carriage, reminding them of what sweet cargo they will have aboard tonight.”

“Tonight?” The look in her eyes forgave me the stench. It was not yet the start of the Season, and she had been growing feverish for some fun.

I planned to take her to the Mariinsky Theatre and dinner afterwards. And she would reward me later, of that I was certain.

“I have planned a special treat out for us. It will be a surprise,” I said. It was amazing how easily the lie came out. “But now I have business,” I added. “I beg you to go to your rooms. You and your women.”

“Government business?” she asked sweetly, but I knew better than to hint now. She was simply trying to discover some bit of gossip she could sell to the highest bidder. After all, I alone could not keep her in jewels.

Later in bed, I will sleepily let out a minor secret. Not this one, of course. I am a patriot, after all. I serve the tsar. Even though the tsar has not lately served me and mine at all.

I smiled back. “Very definitely government business.”

As soon as Ninotchka and the women went into her room, and the maid went on to the next apartments to clean them, I locked her door from the outside.

Let them make of that what they will, I thought, though knowing it was government business would keep them from complaining.

Then I sat at my desk and wrote the letters, taking a great deal of time on the initial one until I was satisfied with the way I had suggested but never actually said what the reason for the meeting was.

Then I sent for Nikita to deliver the letters and to make a reservation at the Mariinsky and Chez Galouise, the finest French restaurant in the city, for their last sitting. I knew I could trust Semyon completely, thinking, He, at least, would never shop me to my enemies. After all, I have saved his life upon three separate occasions. That kind of loyalty is what distinguishes a man from a woman.