Almost before Filaret consciously realized what was happening, he ducked behind his desk and started scrambling to get the drawer open. Filaret, too, had one of the Gun Shop’s six-shooters that had been introduced by Cass Lowry.
Filaret’s guardsman started to shout, then there was a loud bang. Filaret never reached his six-shooter. The men ran around his desk and three shots were fired.
* * *
The noise brought more guards, as Father Nikon had expected. What he hadn’t expected was the bullet that entered his heart. Because he’d been assured that, once the false patriarch was dead, he would be safe and protected.
Father Simon was killed next, then Father Petr joined him.
* * *
“What’s going on here?” Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev shouted. “Where is my cousin? We have an appointment.”
“The patriarch has been murdered.”
“How did you allow this to happen? Where are the assassins?”
“I don’t know, sir. The two guards that were here are dead. We had to kill the assassins. They were armed with up-time weapons. Could they have been sent by the Swede?”
“Oh, my God. My cousin! The patriarch and I disagreed on many things, but Russia is a poorer place without him. For now we must see to protecting the czar and the royal family. Come with me, Captain.”
Over the next few hours, Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev went about protecting the realm from the unknown threat. Just as he’d intended. He spirited Czar Mikhail and his family out of Moscow, and then called an emergency meeting of the Boyar Duma.
* * *
The rumors started spreading before the meeting started, for Fedor Ivanovich Sheremetev had seeded the ground.
The primary rumor was that the czar and the patriarch had had a major argument over Czar Mikhail’s plan to allow all serfs who could afford to buy out of their bondage to the land to do so. In the course of that argument, it was said, Filaret had suffered a heart attack.
A secondary rumor was that Czar Mikhail had shot his father.
Another was that he collapsed, weeping hysterically, when he heard the news.
But, consistent among them all, was that without Filaret’s influence, the czar would allow the serfs to run free.
Moscow was packed with service nobility, whose estates would be left worthless by such an act.
Chapter 68
“Back,” Boris said softly. “Get back.”
Pavel pulled his head away from the alley’s mouth. “We can’t go that way, Papa.”
“Then we’ll turn back and try another. We’ve got to get home to your mother and get her out of here.”
Boris and Pavel had rushed home, taking as many back ways as possible. There was danger on the major streets of Moscow, and it wasn’t just the burning buildings. Gunshots were frequent.
When they reached the house, Mariya had already packed. An old Moscow hand, she’d smelled the smoke and heard the shots. Fire was never a good thing in wooden Moscow, which had burned and arose from its own ashes numerous times.
“What started it this time?” Mariya asked.
“The patriarch is dead and there are crazy rumors making the rounds,” Boris said. “But they all seem to agree that the czar is planning to free the serfs.”
“He’d never do it,” Mariya said.
“I don’t know,” Boris said. “He’s been influenced a lot by the up-timers and the way they feel about serfdom is totally unreasonable.” Boris shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter now. Get the bags out to the carriage.”
“Where are we going, Papa?”
“You and your mother are going home to the village. On your way, stop by the Dacha and pick up Ivan.”
“You think it’s that bad?” Mariya asked.
“Yes. This isn’t just a riot. This is politics,” Boris said.
“I don’t understand,” Pavel said, somewhat apologetically.
“That’s because you don’t remember the Time of Troubles,” his mother explained. “Dvoriane serve Russia and stay out of politics. Especially at times like these.”
“But surely not this time. This time the dvoriane are involved and the boyars’ sons as well. This is about the serfs and the limited year. Our friends and our neighbors are involved. Many of them could lose everything if their serfs run off looking for gold—”
Suddenly Pavel found himself against the wall with his father’s hand around his throat. Pavel was a fairly tall young man, taking more after his mother than his father. He was also fairly quick, but he had been looking right at Papa and hadn’t even seen him move.
“Yes,” Boris said. “And whoever wins, a lot of them are going to die in the next few days and weeks. The ones who have made too much noise. Someone is giving the dvoriane enough rope to hang ourselves. The bureaus are going to be purged. That includes friends of ours, people we have known for years. But it’s not going to include your mother or your brothers or you. Not if I can help it. We don’t stay out of politics because we don’t care, boy. We stay out of politics to stay alive. And I’ll tell you something else. Whoever wins, it won’t be the serfs and it won’t be the dvoriane, the boyars’ sons or the Streltzi. It will be a faction of the high families. And any dvoriane who gets involved will lose . . . even if they are on the winning side this time.”