Father Kiril was having dinner with them. Kiril was a nice guy. Luckily, he spoke almost no English at all so he couldn’t follow what Cass was saying,
Natasha could, however. Her face was cold as she regarded Cass. “Indeed. And you did? Have a clue, I mean. Didn’t you say that back up-time you could have avoided all the difficulty by simply moving? Could you not?”
“No. The big guy didn’t tell us either, but then if he had you would have gotten a ghost town.”
Cass managed to leer and look superior at the same time, and Bernie was more and more sure he was going to have to hit him. The problem was that what Cass was saying was close enough to what a lot of up-timers, and more than a few down-timers, believed to hurt. Certainly if Bernie’s family had known the Ring of Fire was coming, they would have gotten his mom out of the Ring. Bernie would probably have opted to stay in the twentieth century, given the choice. He hadn’t joined the Peace Corps, had he? It was also true that the presence of the up-timers had turned out to be of considerable benefit to the down-timers, at least the large majority of those affected, one way or the other. Looked at one way it looked like God had drafted the up-timers to rescue the seventeenth century from itself. That the up-timers were God’s chosen representatives; whether they wanted to be chosen or not.
Then Cass laughed raucously and snorted beer up his nose.
When all the spewing and coughing was finally over, Bernie looked at Cass. He was pretty drunk. “I think I’ve had enough, Cass. I’m going to crash. You ready?”
Cass was a little bleary from the vodka he had consumed, but wasn’t ready for sleep, apparently. “No, dude. I don’t think so. You go on. I’ll just keep this lady company.” He was eyeballing Anya in a way that Bernie didn’t like at all.
Natasha’s already cold face froze. Anya looked scared. Bernie could see it happening.
“I, myself,” Natasha said, “am quite tired. You gentlemen feel free to enjoy . . . whatever it is that you enjoy. Until the morning, then. Come along, Anya, Aunt Sofia.” Natasha rose and swept from the room, casting a telling glance over her shoulder. Aunt Sofia’s glance was even more telling.
Bernie got the message. Cass had to learn to behave properly.
* * *
“That one will get himself killed,” Vladislav Vasl’yevich murmured. “Soon, I expect.”
“Not by us, though, and preferably not in Russia. Let some other nation do the world the service.” Natasha agreed with his assessment. Cass Lowry was a barbarian. “I know he’s already said things that would be reason for a duel. Certainly most would already have been punished for those remarks. But the czar will want to meet him, just as he met Bernie, and Russia needs what he knows. Vladislav Vasl’yevich, we need to avoid any incident. You’ll have to restrain yourself and your men.”
“At least Bernie did not intentionally insult. This one, though . . .” Vladislav shook his head. “He is a different type of man. He thinks himself a boyar’s son, protected by his father’s position. He seems to think that everyone in Russia is a peasant.”
* * *
Cass was a bit drunk. Not much, just enough to take the edge off. He was wondering what the fuck was Bernie’s problem. After all, Bernie got the fancy job here in Russia, with all the servants and lots of money. What did Bernie have to complain about? Had the idiot gone native? Could have happened, he figured. Bernie had been all alone with a bunch of down-time barbs for over a frigging year. “What is your problem, man? They’re just down-timers. They need us, we don’t need them. Ain’t you figured that out yet? Hell, even up-time kids are getting rich.”
“So what are you doing here, Cass? Since you’re so rich, I mean?”
Cass flushed. “Cheap shot, man. The breaks haven’t been going my way. It’s Stearns’ fault. Treating the down-timers like they’re real Americans and selling us out to the Swedes like he done.”
“Cass, we’re not in high school anymore.” Bernie stared at him intently. “Some breaks are coming your way, sure enough. Broken arms, broken legs and a busted head. One of the ladies you were hitting on is a frigging knyazhna, Cass. That’s Russian for princess. Don’t think for a minute that her guards won’t cut off your dick and feed it and the rest of you to the pigs.”
“What the hell is your problem, Bernie boy? Afraid of the competition?” Cass pulled his new Peacemaker and pointed it casually in Bernie’s direction. He liked the gun and how it made him feel strong and dangerous. It was modeled loosely on the Colt Peacemaker but made in a down-time gun shop. “Anyone wants to cut me, they had better bring a whole lot more firepower than these candy-asses have.”