The Kremlin Games(118)

Pavel looked at his mother but she was looking back at him just as hard-eyed as his father. “You don’t remember what it was like when we had three czars in as many weeks, Pavel. But I do and your papa does.”

“Now, are you going to do what I tell you to?” Boris asked and Pavel felt his father’s fingers tighten around his throat. Pavel nodded.

Then his father released him and went on as though nothing had happened. “On the way, you pick up Ivan. Thank God that two of your brothers are in Germany already. If Natasha asks what’s happening, tell her but don’t dally to do it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Dacha is targeted in the next few days.”

Boris’ estimate was off. When Pavel and Mariya passed the Dacha there were troops already there. In fact, there were troops at the Dacha before the riot was well started.

* * *

After seeing his wife and son off, Boris went back to the office. This was a time to be precisely where you were supposed to be and easy to find—so people wouldn’t think you were somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, doing something you shouldn’t.

By the time he got to the office, several of his more experienced people were already there. “Gregori, I need you to sanitize our records.”

“You think we’re going to get inspected?” Gregori asked, then blushed for such a silly question.

“Of course we will. Every bureau in Russia is going to get inspected after this. Oh . . . and Gregori . . . not too sanitized.”

Gregori smiled. It was still a rather nervous smile, but at least it was the smile of a man who knew what he had to do. The way these things went, the inspectors would keep looking until they found something. It was best to leave them something minor to find.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Colonel Shuvalov said politely. “But I have my orders from the Boyar Duma.”

From the Boyar Duma, Natasha noted. Not from the czar or from the Assembly of the Land. Just the Boyar Duma. The cabinet and the bureau heads had taken over the government. The troops, she was told, were there for the protection of the Dacha. Natasha also noted that the colonel was a member of the Sheremetev faction at court. Which wasn’t good news. The takeover of the Dacha was amazingly anticlimactic, certainly for most of the people living and working there. From the start, the majority of the workers and researchers had been from the dvoriane and the deti boyars. Including a couple of boyars’ sons. Oh, there were a few peasants who had, through talent and work, made a place for themselves among the researchers. Anya and a few others. And more Streltzi, especially where craftsmanship was needed. But the cultural outlook of the Dacha was that of the dvoriane: do your job and stay away from politics. At least court politics . . . the bureaus had their own.

Unfortunately, that option wasn’t really available to Natasha. What protected her was the value of the Dacha itself. That, and keeping her silence. Changes were happening all over. The winners were moving their family members into positions of greater influence.





Chapter 69



December 1635



“Where are you headed, Tim?” Ivan Maslov asked, looking over Lieutenant Boris “Tim” Timofeyevich Lebedev’s new uniform—complete with the new lieutenant’s insignia—with more than a touch of envy. Then he grinned. Tim was finally back in Moscow having—lucky fellow—missed Sheremetev’s takeover in his absence. Tim was still not as good as Ivan was at war games but was getting better. More importantly he was a friend, and Ivan was pragmatic enough to realize that Tim’s friendship was even more important now than it had been before the coup.

Tim shuddered. “My uncle . . . he requires my report.”

“But you did well at Rzhev! At least officially.” Ivan envied the status his friend’s family provided but didn’t envy Tim his great uncle at all. He had met the old monster once and that was more than enough. Tim’s great uncle was, by good fortune, a supporter of the Sheremetev faction, which now controlled the Boyar Duma. General Shein, on the other hand, was now in charge of one section of the Siberian frontier, demoted and sent as far from Moscow as you could get and still be in Russia. From what Ivan had heard, General Shein had missed execution by a hair’s breadth.

“My uncle is not limited to official channels,” Tim said. “I’m to have a chat with him. Which translates to giving him a full report on everything that happened. It will take hours, I promise you. Hours! I won’t be able to gloss over anything.”

Ivan knew that Tim would much rather downplay parts of what happened in Rzhev. More for Izmailov’s sake than his own. Which was a pretty positive response to someone that had you cleaning out latrines.