Two Cases for the Czar

by Gorg Huff

  "I'd like to," Bernie assured the lad, "but where did Pavel go?"

  "He went to tell Colonel Aslonav that you are here."

  "Dumnye D’iaki Zeppi." Colonel Aslonav bowed and Bernie sighed. Mikhail had bumped Bernie to the status of "duma clerk," basically the highest position a person could get without being a member of an upper class family. It made him almost a suitable match for Natasha, which met with Bernie’s approval. It also made him the target of fawning attention and knives in the back, which Bernie liked rather less.

  But Mikhail didn't do it to make it easier for Bernie to get married. He did it because in the months since the escape, Bernie had become Mikhail's semi-official fixer. And to do that job in Russia in the seventeenth century, even the Ufa-based modern Russia they were trying to build, you had to have high rank.

  "Colonel Aslonav." Bernie gave back a nod for the bow. "I'm here to provide a bit of backup to the sergeant in his murder investigation."

  This announcement was met with gratitude that was mixed with more fawning than Bernie liked, but at least Aslonav wasn't the sort to put a knife in his back. It took a few minutes to get the colonel back into his office, then they got down to business.

  Pavel pointed at the stock certificates. "I think that he was killed for those. And I think he was killed by an agent of the embassy bureau, or perhaps one of the Kazaks who are in town with the khan."

  "How did you get those?" Bernie pointed at the embossed stock certificates.

  "Miroslava found them in a secret compartment in the victim's wardrobe." Pavel said it without hesitation or resentment, Bernie noted with some relief.

  "Where is she, by the way?"

  "We think the killer was a woman or a small man from the wound, the blood spatter, and where we found the bullet. Miroslava spent yesterday looking for a prostitute as the killer. I think that if it was a prostitute, she was employed by someone else."

  "Why?"

  "Because of the locked room."

  Bernie shook his head, and lifted his hands in question.

  "It was done by a smart person, but a—what is it you called them—a smart-ass, someone who just had to prove how smart they were. Even when there was no point."

  Bernie grinned. "That sounds like the embassy bureau, all right. But you still haven't told me where Miroslava is now?"

  "Looking at fingerprints." Pavel sighed. "She doesn't seem to have the insight into this case that she did into the one about the girls killed at the Happy Bottom. She hasn't even addressed the locked room. And she seems obsessed with the notion that it was a prostitute who killed him."

  "Well, let's collect her, and go visit the embassy bureau."

  Chapter 3

  Location: Ufa Kremlin, Embassy Bureau

  Date: May 11, 1637

  Simeon Budanov didn't frown. He was a professional, after all. But Bernie could tell that he wanted to. "Mr. Zeppi," he said in passable English, "what brings you to our little corner of the Ufa kremlin?"

  "I go where Mikhail sends me," Bernie replied in Russian. The use of Mikhail's first name without honorifics was intentional. "The czar is concerned about the lack of cooperation the detective sergeant here received in his investigation. If our man on the China desk has been murdered, we need to know why and whether it has anything to do with his work or this railroad venture he was involved in."

  "How did you find out about that?"

  Bernie turned to Pavel. "You nailed it. That was what he was trying to hide, or at least part of it."

  "Apparently, Dumnye D’iaki Zeppi," Pavel said. "Though I suspect there is more."

  "How," Budanov asked again, "did you learn about the railroad?" He didn't sound nervous. No, he sounded angry, really angry.

  "Let's go into your office," Bernie said. They were in the outer office of the embassy bureau, not Budanov's private office.

  "Yes. That's an excellent idea. And the sergeant, the young woman, and the boy can wait out here, not speaking to anyone."

  "No," Bernie said. "They'll come with us."

  "Mister Zeppi, you are a clerk of the duma by the czar's will, but I am a boyar."

  "Yes, that's true. But I am here on Mikhail's instructions. You have three options." Bernie held up his right hand, finger pointing at the ceiling. "You can cooperate with me." He extended a second finger. "You and I can go see the czar right now. You won't like that, but you will probably survive it." He held up a third finger. "Or you can refuse, in which case I'll be back with a company of the imperial guard in about five minutes to arrest you. You probably won't survive that." Bernie dropped his hand. "Your choice, but make it now."

  There was a pause. Not a really long one, but one long enough to suggest that Simeon Budanov was at least considering the second option, if not the third. Then he said, "We'll talk in my office." He turned and headed for his private office.

  Bernie, Pavel, Maksim, and Miroslava followed.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  As soon as they were all in the room, Maksim closed the office door and leaned against it.

  Pavel waved Miroslava to one of the seats in front of the desk. It was an expensive desk of up-time design with a matching office chair behind it. There was also a small but plush couch against the far wall.

  Simeon Budanov didn't go around his desk to sit in his chair. He turned to Bernie and hissed, "You idiot! How dare you embarrass me in front of my staff like that!?"

  "Simeon," Bernie said, "I am here on Czar Mikhail Romanov's instruction. I told you that at the beginning. He sent me here because you were impeding a police investigation into the death of one of his people. The reason you got embarrassed was because you were pitting your will against Czar Mikhail. Mikhail Romanov will tell you himself that he isn't a very assertive person. He doesn't like to argue. He doesn't like to fight. For a very long time, while he was surrounded by forceful people who pretty much ignored what he thought, that made him pretty ineffective. However, he is no longer surrounded by strong-willed people who don't listen to him. Now he has surrounded himself with vigorous people who do listen to him. Mikhail isn't domineering. That's what he's got me for.

  "Back before all this, before the Ring of Fire, I was a football jock. Not the sort of thing that shy and retiring folks go in for. I may not be as smart as Mikhail Romanov. I'm certainly not as smart as Natasha, or most of the people I know. But I know how to rush a quarterback."

  Pavel was looking at Bernie in confusion. So were the rest of them. Oddly enough, the only person in the room who wasn't, was Simeon Budanov.

  "That's the game that Sterns' brother-in-law played, isn't it? The one who scares the crap out of German mercenaries."

  "Yep." Bernie didn't play a lineman like Tom Simpson, and he hadn't made it into college, but Budanov didn't need to know that. "Now, we are going to need access to everything Nikola Vetrov was working on, especially the Russia China Railroad." Bernie watched Simeon's face as he mentioned the railroad. Yes. It wasn't surprise. It was fear he was seeing on Simeon's face. Simeon knew about the railroad project. That only left the question: why the hell hadn't Mikhail?

  "Railroad?"

  "Yes, the proposed railroad that will go through the Kazak Khanate from Ufa to northwest China. Czar Mikhail isn't thrilled that Pavel here learned about it before he did, but he's glad that the cops, at least, decided to share the information."

  Simeon professed his complete ignorance and promised complete access. Bernie didn't buy either the ignorance or the idea that the access would be complete. But there wasn't much more they could get from Simeon right now.

  So, after getting Simeon to publicly inform everyone they had full access, they let him get back to spying, and they started going through Vetrov's notes. Well, Maksim started going through Vetrov's notes and files. Pavel wasn't really literate, and Miroslava was just becoming so. Bernie was literate, but Russian was his second language, so he struggled with it. And none of them spoke Kazak or Chinese.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Kiril
l Blinov had a distinctively oriental cast to his features. He had a round face, a wispy black goatee, and more than a hint of an epicanthic fold on his eyelids. He was five feet six inches tall, which put him in the size range of the killer, and he didn't seem overly upset by the fact that his boss was dead. He was also the only person in the Ufa Kremlin who could read Chinese. Probably the only person in Ufa. He was the son of a Russian merchant and his Chinese wife.

  And he was the number one suspect for the murder of Vetrov in Pavel's mind. He was also a friendly and engaging man, and seemed quite willing and helpful.

  "What can you tell me about the railroad?" Pavel asked as Maksim, with Bernie and Miroslava looking over his shoulder, read through the files in Vetrov's cabinet.

  "It's an opium dream," Kirill said in accented Russian. "Even if the khan can get the right of way, it's going to take years to build and the Kazak's relations with their eastern neighbors aren't great.

  "But Vetrov was going to get rich selling stock in the project." Kirill shook his head in disgust.

  "What else was he working on?"

  "The silk trade and the tea trade mostly, and Russian furs being exported to China. Lately, we were working on trying to develop markets for freeze-dried and canned foods made in Nizhny Novgorod being shipped to China as foreign delicacies. Oh, and cameras. We can make those now, though the cellulose-based film is still pretty basic. And, of course, it has to be shipped back here to the Dacha to be processed. But that's a good thing."

  For the next several hours as Maksim, Bernie, and Miroslava went over the books, Pavel questioned Kirill, nominally about what Vetrov was up to, but he also learned that Kirill had at least a shaky alibi for the time of the murder. He was home with his wife. It was better than nothing, but the assumption was that a wife would lie to protect her husband if necessary.

  All in all, Pavel found it a frustrating day.

  Location: Ufa Kremlin, Czar Mikhail's Office

  Bernie was shown into the czar's private office by a secretary. The czar was again having tea, and again Bernie shook his head at the czar's offer. "So, Bernie, how was your day?"

  "Frustrating. There are a few possible suspects in the embassy bureau, but no solid leads. And Miroslava doesn't think that the murder had anything to do with the railroad."

  "What's going on with the railroad?"

  "Nothing!" Bernie said disgustedly. "Best we can tell, in spite of what Vetrov was telling his investors, he hadn't cleared any of it with Salqam-Jangir Khan. And, though a couple of his people may have been in on the scam, there are no agreements in place."

  "Damn. That's inconvenient."

  "Why?"

  "Because it's a very good idea, even if it takes a decade or more to do," Mikhail said. "Look, we leak that we have an agreement to build the railroad and word gets back to Moscow. That makes us seem stronger. The same is true for Shein and for the Cossacks. To the boyars back in Moscow . . . pride in Russia is what rules them. The notion that we could become real competition for something like the USE? That's enough to give every boyar in Moscow a hard on."

  Bernie still wasn't really used to the seventeenth century's casual vulgarity. As long as you left God out of it, you could say anything. And they did. "And that, in turn, strengthens you and weakens Sheremetev. So you're planning to run the same scam as Vetrov?"

  "Not a scam. The railroad will get built, just not next week. But I can't do it without getting Jangir's approval, and he left two days ago to go back to his capital. The Dzungars are making trouble, or at least noise."

  "So send a dispatch rider after him."

  "I have. I wish Vladimir had brought more tubes."

  "How's our tube factory going?"

  "We're ahead of the original Dacha on that one. Along with the tubes, Valdimir managed to bring detailed instructions on their production. We have a couple of working tests and we'll be in production in another few months."

  They went on talking about Russia and its political and technological future for another half hour or so. Then they called it a day and went home.

  Location: Room 22B, Ufa Dacha

  Date: May 11, 1637

  Miroslava arrived home about six in the evening. I put away my work and we went downstairs to the dining hall for dinner. It was venison stew with a lot of cabbage, fresh baked black bread, and ice cream sweetened and flavored with vanilla.

  For most of dinner, we talked about the continuing problems with putting a steam engine in an airplane, even an airplane as large as the Jupiter 4, which was what we were copying. An airplane developed in Grantville and sold to the Dutch, the plans of which had been, ah, liberated from the Dutch by an agent of the embassy bureau working for Vladimir Gorchakov. Good progress was being made on the airframe, but the engines were proving a challenge.

  After dinner, we went back to our rooms, and we talked about Miroslava's case. She told me about the railroad, and how Pavel was convinced that the railroad provided motive, even though it wasn't real.

  "Not real yet," I told her.

  "What? You think they will actually build the thing? Kirill Blinov called it an opium dream."

  "No. Even if it were an opium dream, which it's not, it would still be a motive. Because if he was selling stock in a company that didn't have the right of way it needed to build the railroad, the buyers would have plenty of reason to be angry. And in any case, the people who were left out of the deal had reason to be jealous and angry."

  "Why do you say it's not an opium dream?" Miroslava asked me, taking off her outer dress and stretching.

  It took me a moment to get my mind back to her question and, from her smile, she didn't mind. "We can build steam engines in Ufa. We already are. We can build boilers and condensers. It's fitting the condensers into an airplane we're having trouble with. Steam-powered locomotives to pull trains fall well within our capabilities. And we have wood, Miroslava—" I waved out through the walls at the forest that surrounds Ufa. "—for fuel and rails. It can be done. Not quickly or cheaply, but it can be done."

  Then it hit me. The airplane project was even more important for Russia. Even if the railroad was built, it would take years. But an air route to China using airports in the Kazakh Khanate could begin operations as soon as we had the planes for it. The same was true of dirigibles, but I didn't have nearly as much faith in dirigibles as I had had prior to some of them crashing and burning before they had paid for themselves. "Airplanes could be going to China in a year or less."

  "No!" Miroslava told me. "My turn. We talked about your day at dinner. Tell me why Pavel insists that it was a man from the embassy bureau? It was a woman unless Nikola Vetrov liked boys. And I am pretty sure it was in self defense."

  "Why?"

  "It was the bedsheets. I told you!"

  "What about the bedsheets? You said they were linen, good quality, and that they were rumpled. But what does that mean?"

  "It was the way they were rumpled. Vasilii, I have seen a lot of rumpled bedsheets, and the way those were rumpled tells me that someone either jumped onto the bed or was thrown onto it. I thought it when I first saw the room and when I talked to Tatiana, she confirmed that Vetrov liked rough sex. The other person in that room was thrown onto the bed. The broken glass . . . There was a fight and a rape, or an attempted rape. I don't know whether it was because the prostitute wasn't paid or if he got too rough, but she said no, and he tried to force her. Would have too, if she hadn't had or found a gun, because he was much bigger and stronger than she was."

  I considered what she had said. I know that Miroslava was sold to a brothel at a young age, and I know that that, combined with her unique way of looking at the world, gives her a strange view of sex and a great deal of knowledge of beds mussed in that way.

  "What makes you think it was a prostitute?"

  "Who else would be in his room?"

  "An investor, a female friend, the maid? It is a hotel, after all. There would be a maid to change the sheets and tidy up the room."


  Miroslava looked at me strangely when I said female friend. Truthfully, the female friend was a bit of a stretch, based mostly on my reading of up-timer books. In Russia in the seventeenth century, women didn't go to men's rooms by themselves. Investor was less unlikely, even a female investor, but a woman would have had a companion of some sort. That just left the maid.

  "What about the maid?" I asked and, for a moment, I thought Miroslava was going to get up, put her outer dress back on, and go seek out the maid right now. But she didn't. Instead she smiled at me, and waved for me to join her.

  And the rest of what happened that night is really no one else’s business.

  Location: Hotel Turkovich, Staff Rooms

  Date: May 12, 1637

  It didn't occur to Miroslava to take an escort. So she arrived at the hotel early in the morning, by herself, and asked the manager to let her speak with the maid for Nikola Vetrov's room. It was at that moment that Miroslava realized that bringing backup might have been a good idea.

  "What? No! The maid has other work. Go away."

  Miroslava started to turn away to go to police headquarters and collect Pavel and a couple of beat cops, when the manager reached across the counter and grabbed her arm. It was early, and only she and the manager were in the lobby. He was also desperate and at least as afraid as Miroslava was. She could tell that readily. That didn't make her feel safe. In her life, Miroslava had seen a number of people killed and the killer was almost always as frightened as the victim.

  "You said to go away," Miroslava said. "Let go of my arm and I will go away." This man wasn't the killer. He was too tall. Five eleven and thin, with long arms and surprisingly strong hands.

  "What are you going to do? This is none of your business. I heard the cops. You're nothing but a dancer at the Happy Bottom."

  "I am a resident of the Dacha and a consulting detective for the police." Miroslava knew perfectly well that a dancer at the Happy Bottom was someone who could be killed and buried in a ditch without anyone important paying any attention. But a resident of the Dacha and Consulting Detective? That was the sort of person whose disappearance brought down heat.