The Ocean of Time

by David Wingrove

  Podnayin’s house is much like Katerina’s father’s, only smaller and somewhat shabbier. Podnayin welcomes me and, once a serf has cleaned our boots, leads me inside, into a room that’s set for a small feast. Kilik is there, and a man named Ilyushkin, but no women, and that surprises me, for I had assumed they would bring their wives to dinner, if only to provide company for Katerina. Yet they seem gracious enough, and when we have made a toast to friendship, servants bring food – fish and chicken and what tastes like venison, but turns out to be bear.

  For a time the talk is light. They ask me about my travels, and my suspicion is confirmed: no one here in Rzhev has heard of my fight with Krylenko on the river. No one here thinks me a sorcerer, no one apart from Lishka, that is. But instinct warns me against becoming too close with any of these men. Ilyushkin, particularly, seems a shifty sort, and I catch him ogling Katerina more than once. Not that it’s so surprising. I’ve not met a single woman on our travels to compare with her, and tonight she looks particularly splendid.

  It’s not that I feel uneasy with Ilyushkin, it’s just that I find him unpleasant: a grasping man with indifferent manners. But then, that too is of this age. They belch and fart and throw their chewed bones down like animals. And Katerina – my darling Katerina – accepts that this is how most men must act.

  It’s about an hour into our meal that, noticing a slight sourness to the red wine we are drinking, I lean closer to Podnayin and tactfully mention it. At once he insists on tasting mine and, theatrically spitting it out, bids a serf bring a new bottle – ‘the best wine’ he says, and nods decisively.

  Turning to me, he smiles and says, ‘I bought some from a Turkish merchant a year ago now. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion such as this. If you would have the first cup, Otto?’

  The others are watching me, smiling. Since I arrived I’ve been expecting them to come to the point and make their offer, only they seem in no hurry to do so. But then that too is very Russian, and no doubt they hope a drink or two and their good company will help them make a better deal in the end.

  The serf brings the wine, corked in a flagon, and Podnayin pulls the cork and flamboyantly pours me a fresh goblet of it. It’s good – surprisingly so for this age – and I take a long mouthful. Only …

  I grip the table. It’s like a wave has just washed over me. Or like a time-change, only …

  My vision swims. The wine. The bloody wine.

  I get up and stagger to the doorway, conscious of every eye on me. Katerina stands, concerned for me. ‘Otto?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, my voice seeming to echo in my own head. ‘I’ve just got to pee.’

  And make myself throw up. At once.

  I stagger out into the warm darkness, then fall to my knees beside the midden. They’ve drugged me; I know it now. Forcing my fingers down my throat, I make myself vomit, but whatever this is, it’s strong, and my head sways and pulses. It’s in my blood, I can feel it. Not poison, no. Something subtler. And then, from behind me, I hear a crash and shouts and a single sharp shriek. I can hardly stand, let alone walk, but somehow I drag myself back there, each step a gargantuan effort, until I’m stood there, swaying in the doorway, looking on.

  Katerina is on the far side of the room, her back to the wall, the three men surrounding her. One – Ilyushkin, is it? – is clutching his bloodied face while the other two snarl angrily and call her all manner of foul names.

  I find it hard to focus, to see exactly what she’s holding in her hand, but as Podnayin makes to grab her, I see something come up fast, a flash of silver, and he falls back, shrieking with pain.

  And now it’s like some stop-start film, as Katerina seems to lurch across the room and, grabbing my arm, turns me and drags me, step by limping step, from there.

  That journey, back through the dark and rain-washed streets of Rzhev, is a nightmare. Katerina half leads, half carries me along, and more than once I stumble and we fall, sprawling and slipping in that awful slime, until – somehow – we are back at Dmitri’s, Lishka – dragged from his carousing – staring down at me where I’m slumped against the wall, anger and fear in his eyes.

  ‘We must go from here,’ he says. ‘Now!’

  ‘Yes,’ I slur. ‘Go.’

  Or that’s what I try to say, only my tongue is too thick in my mouth and all that comes out is a kind of slurred moan, and anyway, Katerina won’t go. She won’t leave me. Not in this state.

  And there’s the small matter of her honour. It is no small thing in Russian law to insult a woman in the way they’ve insulted her and, though my head is in turmoil, I am very conscious of how angry she is. I have never seen her like this, seething, like a pot of water coming to the boil. I hate to think what she did to Podnayin and his friend.

  Dmitri brings me a kind of gruel, and after a few spoonfuls I begin to retch again. But it’s no good. Whatever drug they’ve given me is having a totally debilitating effect. It’s not just that I can’t think straight, I can’t do anything. My legs feel like they belong to a mannequin, and even my hands, though I can clench and unclench them, seem to be a long, long way away from me, at the far end of a dark and telescoping tunnel of vision.

  There is an answer, of course. I could jump. Back to Four-Oh. Back to safety and antidotes. Only what antidote will allow me to come back and rescue Katerina?

  Besides, the room is full. Curious locals peer at me, pushing past each other to stand and stare at the drunken Nemets.

  It gets worse. There’s a fresh commotion at the door to the inn, and then soldiers – dressed raggedly, but armed, their short swords drawn – push their way into the room and their leader, a cold-eyed man with bright red hair, has them seize Katerina. Lishka makes to fight them, but they knock him down and, seizing him too, bind him tightly with ropes.

  Katerina has gone very still. Though they hold her arms, she looks about her with contempt, her natural pride – her strength – triumphing over this setback.

  ‘It’s okay, Otto,’ she says. ‘I’ll be all right. Just come for me.’

  She knows I will. As soon as I get better; as soon as I can stand and walk and move my eyes without my head spinning. But in the meantime my heart breaks, seeing her led away. Seeing those savages tug the rope and almost pull her off her feet.

  Rzhev. If I had my way I’d raze this fucking place to the ground.

  192

  I wake, and for a moment think I’m in my room in Four-Oh. There’s such a silence, such a stillness. And then I hear a dog bark, and I sense the dampness of the floor beneath me and groan, remembering.

  ‘Otto? Are you awake?’

  I sit up slowly, resting my back against the cool, log wall, and try to peer through the gloom.

  ‘Lishka?’

  There’s a vague, looming shape just in front of me, and then I feel a hand grip my shoulder.

  ‘How are you?’

  I stretch my neck and try to flex my toes. Everything seems normal. Working, anyway. ‘I … think I’m all right.’

  ‘The bastards want to see you. They’ve summoned a special meeting of the veche. It seems Ilyushkin has lost an eye. As for Podnayin—’

  Lishka’s sudden silence frightens me. ‘What about Podnayin?’

  Lishka sighs. ‘He’s dead. Katerina stabbed him through the heart.’ He swallows. ‘She says they tried to rape her. That as soon as you left the room they made their move. The little one, Kilik, grabbed her arms and pulled them behind her while the other two …’

  ‘No!’

  I don’t want to know. I don’t want those pictures in my head. But now I’m glad. Glad that Podnayin is dead, and that Ilyushkin has lost an eye. Only that means that Katerina is now in serious trouble.

  I close my eyes, trying to think – trying to see a solution that doesn’t involve telling Hecht everything.

  ‘Well?’ Lishka says. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘To face the veche. They want to see you now.’
/>   ‘Ah …’

  Lishka crouches. I feel his breath on my cheek as he whispers to me. ‘Otto? Why don’t you use your guns?’

  193

  To get through this – to do the very best I can for her – I must be hard of heart and pretend she matters less to me than she really does, for these men feed upon weakness, and if they were to know how much I love her, they would use that as a weapon against me.

  I wait outside the gate to the compound as they search my pack.

  ‘What’s this?’ one of them asks, pulling out the staritskii.

  ‘It is a pepperpot,’ I say. ‘From far Cathay.’

  The guard makes a face, then shoves the gun back down into the pack before handing it back to me. ‘Go through,’ he says gruffly. ‘Master Talyzin awaits you.’

  ‘Master Talyzin? But I thought—’

  But the guard says nothing more, just gestures for me to cross the space between the gate and the council lodge.

  Talyzin is alone inside. He sits at the far end of that huge table, drumming his fingers on the surface as I approach. His face is hard, unkind. He never much liked me, and it seems he likes me even less now that Podnayin is dead. His small, bird-like eyes spit malice at me as I stop and bow my head.

  ‘We have a problem,’ he says.

  I say nothing. I want him to spell it out. But I’m also disappointed. I was expecting them all to be here, along with Katerina. Now I have no plan, if you could ever call shooting my way out of Rzhev a plan.

  He speaks quietly, but his dislike of me colours every word. ‘Were it a simple case of wounding we might come to an arrangement. But a man is dead. The law demands punishment.’

  ‘They drugged me. Tried to rape my wife.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘You think she would attack them without provocation?’

  ‘One would think it most unlikely. Only she did.’

  ‘You take Ilyushkin’s word?’

  ‘Over hers? Yes. You, I understand, were drunk.’

  ‘Drugged.’

  ‘So you say.’

  He interlaces his fingers, tries to stare me out. Only I’m angry now. Angry that liars and rapists should be believed before Katerina.

  ‘So when is the veche to meet?’ I ask.

  ‘The veche has met. We have already decided.’

  ‘You can’t. You haven’t heard what happened.’

  ‘We’ve heard enough.’

  ‘I wish to make a counter-claim. For mestnichestvo.’

  The old man’s eyes narrow angrily. Mestnichestvo is an insult to honour, yet unlike its commoner form – beschest’e – it refers only to society’s elite. By claiming it, I am elevating Katerina beyond the status they have thus far given her as my wife.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ Talyzin says.

  ‘Her father is an important man. A boyar and a member of the veche in Novgorod. When word gets to him of what has happened here …’ I calm myself and say the words quietly but with great authority. ‘I am certain he’ll appeal to Prince Alexander himself.’

  Talyzin answers me angrily, almost coming up out of his seat. ‘It has been decided—’

  ‘Then I appeal against that decision.’

  Talyzin bangs the table with his fist. ‘You wish to join her?’

  I almost smile at that. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In a safe place.’

  ‘She is unharmed?’

  ‘Meister Behr. I do not have to answer your questions.’

  But I’ve had enough of talking. It’s time to act. Pulling my pack from my back, I dump it on the table and reach in.

  The staritskii feels good in my hand, and as I walk round the table towards Talyzin, I am aware of the trouble I am storing up for myself by doing this. If word gets out. If Talyzin or any of the others survive this.

  I hold the gun out, aimed at his head, as if threatening him with a piece of branch.

  ‘Take me to her.’

  Talyzin laughs, then goes to get up and call for help.

  ‘Sit down!’ I say, quiet but threatening, and to make my point, I aim the weapon at the desk beside his hand and burn a neat round hole through the wood.

  Talyzin’s eyes bulge. The smell of burnt wood is overpowering.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, reaching out and grasping his to pull him up. ‘The next one goes straight through your head unless you take me to her.’

  194

  I give Lishka the Kolbe and tell him not to squeeze the trigger unless he really wants to kill someone, then, thanking Dmitri, slip out into the darkness.

  No one knows anything, yet. But it won’t be long before they find them, and then …

  Katerina follows me, stooping low as we run across the space between the back of Dmitri’s inn and the palisade wall. She’s discarded her skirt and is dressed in men’s clothes. Lishka is last to come, wheezing a little, but happy now that we’re going.

  Ilyushkin is dead. Kilik I couldn’t find, else he too would be dead, but the rest – including Talyzin – are bound and gagged. I would have killed Talyzin, too, only his villainy was of a lesser order. Besides, the thought of travelling on to Moscow with the death of Rzhev’s posadnik attributable to me made little sense. We are in enough trouble as it is.

  Lishka wants to go back to get the cart, but I persuade him against the idea. But even though we’ve freed Katerina and got some vengeance on the bastards, he’s still unhappy that they’ve robbed us.

  Note that us. For Lishka has definitely become family. He would die to defend our honour or stop us being cheated. Like a brother he is. That is, if all brothers were half-crazed maniacs.

  Right now, however, getting away is the priority. We need an hour, maybe more, to make good our escape.

  We follow the palisade until we’re in the shadows, twenty feet from the gate. There’s only a single guard on duty, and he’s crouched beside a small fire, making soup. Seeing that, Lishka grins and moves past me silently, keen to despatch the man.

  As he draws out the Kolbe from his belt, I find myself wanting to shout out to him, to tell him not to use the weapon, when I note that he’s reversed it, to use as a club. The savagery of the blow makes me wince, but Katerina, beside me, is expressionless. After what she’s been through, she wouldn’t care if all the soldiery in Rzhev were burned alive.

  We drag the body behind a hut, then slip outside, following the north course of the palisade, keeping close to it to avoid being seen. But as we’re passing the northern compound, there’s a whinnying sound and Lishka turns to me. ‘It’s little Nepka,’ he whispers. ‘We have to get her.’

  Nepka is his horse. I’m about to say no, that we have to move on and how, anyway, are we to lift the horse over the fence, when he begins to climb the stout wooden barrier.

  ‘Lishka!’

  But it’s no good. He’s gone, and I hear him drop the other side and run off. A moment later he is back, the unmistakable sound of a horse’s hooves accompanying his voice.

  ‘Otto, help me breach this thing.’

  I curse him, then, trying to get my fingers between two of the poles, try to heave it towards me. Only it’s tightly wedged, and won’t budge even a fraction. It would take us hours to loosen enough of these massive poles to make a gap.

  Yes, but there is the staritskii.

  It’s mad, but it might just work. The forest, after all, is only two hundred yards away, to our north, and by the time they work out just what’s happened and who’s responsible, we’ll be deep inside the trees.

  ‘Lishka!’ I hiss urgently. ‘Stand well back!’ And I draw the gun.

  I count to ten, then aim at the bottom of one of the poles and squeeze the trigger. The result is a great flare of incandescence in the darkness and a thunderclap of sound. Lishka, vividly revealed through the sudden gap, is grinning in the brilliant light, one hand holding tight to Nepka’s reins as she bucks, her eyes terrified.

  I fire again, and then a third time, shattering the palisade, then turn to Katerina.
She’s looking on, no emotion in her face, but when I tell her to run towards the trees, she runs.

  Behind the burning palisade, in the town itself, there are now shouts and screams and a fearful moaning. People are running about and staring at the gap in the palisade and at the burning timbers and are wondering what in God’s name has happened. But we are busy running, Katerina, Lishka and I, and Nepka, who cannot get away from there fast enough.

  It’s two hours before we finally stop and make camp. I think we’re lost, but Lishka says he’ll know where we are when the morning comes, and anyway it doesn’t matter because we’ll hit the river at some point. And he’s so pleased to have his horse, that I don’t moan at him or tell him what a stupid thing he did back there.

  And besides, we’ll need a horse. To pull the cart.

  While Lishka builds a fire, I take the tracker from my pack and activate it. For a moment I stare at it in disbelief, and then I turn to Katerina and laugh. ‘It’s here. We’ve walked straight to it.’

  Lishka looks up, inquisitive. ‘What’s here?’

  ‘Come. Come and see.’

  I follow the tracker’s signal until we’re directly above it. We’ve walked barely thirty paces from where we stopped. When I turn to look, I can see our camp directly behind us, Nepka tethered to a tree.

  Bending down, I begin to clear away the branch and leaf cover, until I’ve revealed what looks like a massive wooden door in the ground. Lishka stares at it amazed, then crosses himself.

  Katerina, too, is puzzled.

  I look to Lishka. ‘Give me a hand.’

  The cover is heavy, but between us we lift it and throw it back, to reveal the pit, and in the pit …

  ‘God help us!’ Lishka exclaims. ‘What sorcery is this?’

  In the pit is the copy cart, fully loaded, the sled tied on the back.

  I grin, then reach down and press the switch to activate the platform. At once there’s the noise of hydraulics and the cart begins to rise up towards the surface.

  Lishka gives a little cry.

  ‘It’s okay, Lishka. This is friendly magic.’ And I look to Katerina and see the hint of a smile on her lips – the first since we left Rzhev – and thank Urd that she’s come to no great harm.