Jascha came to Saint-Germain's side. "But, Hercegek, we're only supposed to take in supervisors. These are simple laborers. We have no accommodations for them."
"These men can tell us how the treadmill came to fall, and that will help us to rebuild it safely. That should be cause enough to admit them to the care-house." He thrust his hands into the fur-lined pockets of his cloak. "Explain matters to van Hoek, and tell him I will absorb the cost of their care while they are being treated. Take the Watchmen with you. They can help carry the pallets."
"Wait.
Wait!"
the Guard yelled. "I haven't given permission for any of you to depart."
Kainula made an impatient sound, and issued sharp orders in the Karelian dialect. It was similar enough to Finnish that Saint-Germain realized that Kainula had told the other two not to rile the Guard, but to get the men to the care-house as quickly as possible. Tonu and Jaakko took three rolled pallets and began to unroll them. "We Watchmen will take care of these men," he said in Russian. "That is part of our duties."
"But you must give me a report. That is part of my duties." He held his halberd very upright.
"Then come to the Watchmen's Barracks tomorrow morning. You will find us there." Kainula handed one of the lanterns to Klavdye. "Go. Tell the Dutchman we are coming, and what the Hercegek said." He pointed at the pathway. "Be careful where you step. The ground is soaked."
"I will," said Klavdye, and bowed slightly to Saint-Germain before treading cautiously along the narrow path, bound for the care-house.
"This is unacceptable," the Guard blustered. "We Guardsmen may be new to Sankt Piterburkh, but we know why we are here, and all of you must come to know it."
Saint-Germain went to help Jascha lift a semi-conscious workman onto the nearest pallet, taking time to wrap him well in the blanket and to make sure his face was protected from the storm. As he stood up, he said to the Guard, "Tomorrow morning, you will be able to discharge your duty in regard to these men. We will expect you at the care-house an hour after sunrise."
The Guard was about to protest more vigorously, but something in Saint-Germain's eye held his attention and he relented. "Tomorrow morning. I will have one of my superiors with me."
"Excellent," said Saint-Germain, taking the lead position on the pallet. "Ready, Jascha?"
"Da, Hercegek," he said; he picked up one of the lanterns and counted to three to lift the pallet.
"Go back to your barrack, Guard, and with my thanks. I would not like you to take a chill from tonight's work." Saint-Germain glanced over at Kainula. "Try to keep us in sight as we go, in case of problems."
"We will," said Kainula, who was helping the men who could walk to get to their feet. "We will go fairly slowly, so the men won't sweat and turn colder than they are now."
"We will bear that in mind," said Saint-Germain, and set off, thinking as he did that he would have to postpone his visit to Saari and Zozia. He would ask Hroger to carry a message around to them both, and would call upon them tomorrow once the Guards had left the care-house.
The Guard stared at Saint-Germain as he went off, Jascha behind him, the somnolent workman between them. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said to Kainula, "I've never seen a nobleman carry a workman--have you?"
Kainula had not, and was as surprised as the Guard, but only said, "Well, he's Hungarian. What do you expect?"
Text of an invitation from Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, and Missus Drury Carruther delivered to all foreign diplomats in the Foreign Quarter of Sankt Piterburkh.
To the most distinguished residents of the Foreign Quarter of Sankt Piterburkh, Zozia, Ksiezna Nisko, and Missus Drury Carruther extend this invitation for the evening of October 25th at the English Residence, where a salon will be held, commencing an hour before sundown and lasting until the clock strikes nine.
His Majesty the Czar will attend with Marfa Skavronskaya, and
urges all his foreign residents to join in this occasion, which will help to provide a model for future salons. He has declared that attendance will be seen as a personal favor to him, and respected in that light by him and those serving him most closely.
Seventeen musicians and three singers will perform in the ballroom, and a number of couples may dance while the music plays; two rooms will be prepared for diverse discussions. There will be a room for cards, for those inclined to play them.
The present mild weather cannot be expected to continue, and the English Resident has offered the use of his three carriages to bring guests to and from the salon if there should be snow or rain. Those seeking to avail themselves of this kind offer are asked to send word to the English Residence within the next five days.
October 16th, 1704
2
"I have been studying the lesson you gave me two days ago," said Ludmilla, her exercise book clutched in her hands. She was looking a bit tired, as if the long nights were taking a greater toll on her now that the care-house had every bed and a dozen extra pallets occupied; she had changed from her working smock and for this evening she had donned one of her many European-style dresses, this one of bitter-green wool with a high neck and long sleeves, for the evenings had turned clammily cold as the low fog insinuated itself through Sankt Piterburkh. "I have copied the alphabets you have shown me, and I have memorized them both."
Saint-Germain motioned to the stool at the trestle-table where he had laid out the tools for her lesson. "A very good beginning. We will make more progress this evening." He reached to adjust the flame on the oil-lamps hanging over the table; Ludmilla came toward him, her
expression eager, and climbed onto the stool. "Would you like a shawl to put around your shoulders? In spite of Hroger's and my best efforts, this room is still drafty."
Mildly surprised at his question, she gazed at him for nearly a minute before saying, "Yes, please. If you have one." The lamplight made the gold in her eyes shine.
He had anticipated her need; he had placed a long, broad Hungarian muffler of dark-red wool on the back of his reading-chair which he brought to her, unfolding it and slipping it around her shoulders. "It may not be elegant, but I assure you that it is warm."
"Warm is what I want." She eased it down her arms and let it drape at her elbows. "I have an hour for our lesson this evening," she said, "barring surprises."
On the lower floor, the first bowls of fish-stew were being served and the oil-lamps had been lit, dispelling the gloom at day's end. In the next room, Hroger worked to prepare food for those injured men in the room beyond, two of whom were workmen who had been rescued from another part of the flooded marsh; one had had half his foot removed when his toes had turned black four days ago, and one was still suffering from a badly sprained shoulder. The other injuries ranged from a deep cut on the chest to multiple broken bones from being thrown out of a wagon where the road gave way to a ragged laceration in the gut, the result of a dockside brawl.
Saint-Germain went to close the door so that they would not be distracted. "Then we must make the most of it. We will review what you learned in our first lesson." He opened a small notebook, spread it out on the table in front of her, and said, "Begin with the Russian: name all the letters."
She recited the alphabet carefully but without hesitation, taking the time to speak clearly. When she was finished, she smiled. "I told you I memorized them." She pointed to the Dutch alphabet and began to pronounce the letters as she ran her finger under them. "It's confusing to have letters that look like our Russian ones but are pronounced differently."
"I realize that," said Saint-Germain, spreading out a sheet of
English foolscap for her to use, "but it is helpful to keep the pronunciation in mind when you encounter a word you don't know, because this kind of alphabet makes it possible to sound out the word you want to say. There are many other languages in the world that do not do this." He thought of Chinese, and the angular patterns of the Hittites.
"Assuming you see words written down, you mean; simply hearing them is different," she said, and smiled over at him. "Shall I write them down, both these alphabets?"
"If you would, please," he told her as he handed her a trimmed goose-quill pen and a standish of ink along with a saucer of fine sand. "And name the letters as you write them."
Ludmilla turned back her unfashionably simple cuffs and tipped a little of the sand onto the paper, rubbed it over the sheet with her hand, then wiped it away with the small square of linen Saint-Germain provided. Next she dipped the pen into the standish and tapped the pen gently to keep it from holding too much ink, so that there would be no blots on the page. Finally, she squared the paper to the edge of the table and began to write the Cyrillic alphabet, adding ink to her pen every two letters. When she was done, she wrote the Dutch alphabet directly under the Russian one. "There."
"You have been practicing," Saint-Germain approved.
"I want to learn," she said, then went on in a rush, "Will you show me how to write my name? In Dutch as well as Russian." This time her smile was more tentative. "If you don't mind?"
"Why should I mind? It is good to know how to write your own name--why would I refuse to show you how?" he asked as he pointed out the Cyrillic letters. "That is your personal name." Dutifully she wrote it out. "Now show me what letters would spell Borisevna. Remember how they sound."
She tried to pick out the right letters, whispering them as she pointed to them. "Is that right?"
"Almost," he said, and showed her what she had missed.
"It is so complicated," she said as she watched him.
"Until you get used to it, yes, it is." He waited while she studied the two minor corrections he had made. "Now pick out Svarinskaya."
She went to work selecting the letters, sounding them out carefully before making her final choice. "Should I write it?"
"If you would," he said, keeping close to her shoulder, in the pool of light from the oil-lamps overhead. When she was done he said, "Very good. The letters are well-formed. Now in Roman letters." It took her a bit longer to decide on which letters would do, but she finally wrote her name and waited for Saint-Germain to speak. "You've done very well, but you will need to work on the placing of the letters so that the spacing is more even."
She sighed as if she had been holding her breath. "Thank you. I want to do well."
After a long moment, he said, "Then most certainly you shall: intent is the very heart of achievement."
"As Piotyr Alexeievich shows us every day," she said dutifully.
His dark eyes rested on hers. "And as you do, as well," he told her, then went on more briskly, "We will begin with some simple words. I will write them in Russian and Dutch, and you may copy them as I do." He had a second trimmed pen prepared, and took a second sheet of English foolscap, putting it next to hers. "Let us begin with
house,"
he said, writing the word first in Cyrillic, then in Roman letters.
She copied the words, saying them aloud to fix them in her mind. "What next?"
"You choose," he said.
"Man,
and then
woman,"
she answered at once, wiping the nib of her pen so that it would not become clogged with dried ink.
He wrote the two words side by side, both in Russian and in Dutch. "Copy them onto your paper." As she did, he said, "Let us try
food
next."
She copied his writing again. "Can we do
medicine
next instead? I have more call to learn them."
"Certainly." He wrote the word in both languages. By the end of the hour, they had gone over more than forty words.
"But I can learn some more," Ludmilla protested.
"You will want to memorize these before adding more," he said. "If you try for too many words at once, they may become confused. It
is easier to delay learning than to have to unlearn, as I learned to my grief when I was much younger." He had a series of memories flash through his mind: Egypt, Persia, Spain, Delhi ... He shifted his attention back to Ludmilla.
"You have taught others before now, haven't you?"
"Yes, over the years, I have," he answered, watching her.
She faltered, then asked, "Then, am I a good pupil, in your judgment?"
"You are a good pupil, which is why I would not want to damage your learning by forcing too much upon you too quickly. Take what you have done tonight and memorize it. If you want to practice writing, I will provide you with pens and a new exercise-book when the one you have is full." Handing her the two foolscap sheets, he said, "These will provide you a guide."
Ludmilla took them, and started to hand back the muffler. "I truly am grateful, Hercegek, but I can't help but want to learn as fast as I can. Every day I feel the lack my ignorance imposes, and it chafes at me. Heer van Hoek keeps records of our patients, but I cannot read them, and for that, the patients may suffer. If I could keep records of my own, then it would be even better." She looked directly at him, the muffler in her hand. "Who knows how much longer the King of Poland will allow you and your wife to remain here."
This had worried Saint-Germain more than once; he said, "Whatever the King wants must wait until spring." He took the muffler. "The seas will not be safe until then, and the ice is already forming on the Neva. I will be here until spring, most assuredly."
She nodded. "Yes. But that may be all the time we have, and I know I have to make the most of it." Her eyes grew troubled. "Can you understand?"