1636 The Kremlin Games (41 page)

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.”

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.

*     *     *

Tim’s great uncle was no one’s fool and ten times as politically astute as Tim ever wanted to be. It had taken him all of a minute and a half to get through the fiction of the contingency plan. He had laughed at General Izmailov’s notion of giving Tim a medal and then having him shot. A rough, cackling laugh, that seemed to come from the depths of hell. “A good plan,” his uncle said when he finished laughing. “But he was wise not to carry it through. I would have regretted having a man of such wit put to death.”

Tim waited. Silent. At attention.

“Well?” his uncle barked.

“Yes, sir. General Izmailov is a great general and a great asset to Russia.”

“But a friend of Shein’s—one of his protégés, in fact. Keep your distance from him, boy. Sheremetev’s not fond of Shein. The war party didn’t do well in this last shake up. I’ll try to keep your general alive for you, but not to the point of risking the family. Now tell me about Khilkov. What went on? And why did Izmailov let him do it?”

Tim told him. It wasn’t like General Izmailov had much choice, considering Khilkov’s family connections. Then they went on to the situation in Rzhev and the Polish border in general.

“Rzhev was a mistake, sir,” Tim said. “They didn’t have the steam ships to take advantage of it, even if they had held the town. It really was one of the magnates going off on his own.”

“I don’t doubt it, boy. That’s what started that business with the false Dmitris, back at the beginning of the Time of Troubles. Poland uses its magnates to test the waters.”

“Yes, sir. But they didn’t have the logistic train to support it even if it had worked.”

“You seem pretty sure of that, boy. The Poles are cavalry. They need their horses but can steal the rest.”

Tim hesitated. He was in fact quite sure that cavalry would be trashed if it lacked infantry support and Russia controlled the rivers for troop transport. But his great uncle was a boyar of the
Duma
and ruled the family with an iron hand. “Not with us controlling the river with steam barges. War horses need grain, horseshoes, and so on. Cavalrymen need food and equipment—which breaks in the field—and gunpowder. They would do damage but with the steam barges to put troops in front of them and the walking walls and cannon . . . especially with the AK3’s . . . they are going to run out of cavalry long before we run out of bullets. Over the course of an hour cavalry can outrun a steam barge, but over a day they can’t keep up. With the dirigible to locate them . . .” Tim shook his head. “They wouldn’t last a week.”

“Tell me about the flying ship.”

“It told us where they were. That was important in Rzhev, but would have been even more important if the Poles had tried to push farther in. It would have let us see where they were going and get there first. They would have been forced from one trap to another, until they were utterly destroyed. Cavalry is doing well to cover thirty miles a day; a dirigible can cover that in an hour or two, if the wind is good. Then go home and tell the infantry and mobile artillery where the cavalry is headed. Cavalry’s day is over except as support troops. If that.” Which was a risky thing to say because his great uncle had been a cavalry commander under Ivan the Terrible.

All in all, it was a grueling interview and Tim was happy to get back to the Kremlin. Though Tim didn’t know it, the interview had a strong effect on the policies of the
Boyar Duma
. Cavalry, which had always been the province of the service nobility, was downgraded in importance and so was the service nobility. Instead, the
Streltzi
class with its rifle companies would be given more support and respect. It wouldn’t happen in a year or even a decade, but between the destruction of Khilkov’s cavalry and the many reports, both official and unofficial, the writing was on the wall. Eventually, because the service nobility was the class that produced the bureaucrats and the
Streltzi
class was the class that produced the merchants, the private sector would gain—a bit at a time—the ear of the government and the public sector would be heeded a bit less. The years of limited mobility would not be allowed to lapse. With inflation, that would mean that more and more of the peasants would be able to pay off their debts to the lesser nobility and seek factory jobs.