Sitka

by Louis L'Amour

  From Tiumen to Ekaterinburg the road was bordered on either side by a double row of splendid birches nearly eighty feet tall, set so closely their branches arched over the road and shut out the sun with their green canopy. This was known, Helena told him, as "Catherine's Alley," for the trees had been planted by the order of Catherine II, and now, almost a hundred years later, they offered shade to the traveler.

  The peasants' huts were alike in their cheerlessness except for occasional flowers in the windows. Rarely was there a tree or blade of grass in any of the villages, but in the windows one saw geraniums, oleanders, tea roses, cinnamon pinks or fuchsias.

  Then came the night when they slept in a two-story brick house near the river where the owner advertised "rooms for arrivers." LaBarge was awakened in the first gray of dawn to find a rough hand on his shoulder and bending above him the thin, cadaverous face of an utter stranger. He sat up quickly and the man stepped back. LaBarge glanced toward the connecting door to Helena's room. "It's all right," the man said. "I tell you, mate, I've touched nothing, and as for the lady, I'd bother no lady, mate. Not I." "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

  The fellow stood with his feet apart, grinning. His nose was a great beak, his red, wrinkled neck like that of a buzzard, and his eyes, small and blue, twinkled with a cynical humor. "How did I get in, you ask? Through the door, mate, through that very door. Locks, you know, I've no time for them, and I'd no wish tg go knocking about on your door at this hour of the. morning. Start folks looking, you know, and maybe start them thinking." "What do you want?"

  "Now that's more like it. I like a man who comes to the point. But it ain't so much what I want, mate, as what you need. It's the police, mate, and they're hunting you. You, the lady, and the sailorman who's with you." "Sailor?"

  "Aye ... spotted him at once, I did. And you likewise, mate. I've seen a bit of the sea myself, seven year' aboard a lime-juicer out of Liverpool. It's where I learned my English. But if I were you I'd be getting myself up." Jean rolled out and dressed quickly. He had no idea who the man was, but a warning was a warning, and that the police were looking for him was more than likely.

  "What is it?" LaBarge asked. "What makes you think the police are looking for me?"

  "This is the way of it, mate. I've no love for the law, not to speak of, I ain't. Time to time they've given me a bit of trouble, so when I seen the man in the black coat, seen the wide jaws and bullethead of him, I says to myself, it's the law. So I listen...

  "Inquiring, he is, for people of your description. Now I'd seen you arrive, knew where you'd gone and, thinks I, this man and his lady would like to know, so I've come."

  "Where's the officer now?"

  "Eating, he is. Eating better than I've eaten these many weeks, stuffing his fat jowls in the town, and when he's finished that, had a bit of tea and picked his teeth, then most like, he'll be after you."

  "We'll need a team for our tarantas."

  "They'll be ready for you, mate. Leave it be. A boat's better, and I've spoke to a man for you. He's owner of a barge, and he's made room for us." "Us?"

  "Look, mate. I've nothing here I can't leave behind, and I'd best be leaving it, too. With a bit of cash I might make it, and if I come along with you, I might be helping you." He winked. "I'm one who says it will never go wrong with a man to help the gentry."

  Coolly, Jean checked his pistols. To be taken now was not part of his plan. He slid the pistols into his waistband.

  The man with the great nose and twinkling eyes glanced at the pistols and then looked up at Jean LaBarge. He had a sudden feeling that he would not like to face a pistol backed by those eyes and in those hands. "Gentry, you said?"

  "Did you think I'd not notice the lady? And a beauty too, if I may say so..."

  Helena came through the door, dressed for travel. She looked gay and excited.

  "Why, thank you! That was nicely said!"

  The ruffian bowed, his eyes twinkling. "A lady, I said, and you, sir, anybody can see you're a gent." He canted his head at him. "And maybe a soldier, too, but a fighting man in any course. Take that from me, as one who knows." When Boyar entered the room, LaBarge explained their situation hurriedly and the man led them out the back way, across the court and into one of the sheds that surrounded it. Here he lifted a board and they all emerged into an alleyway that ended in a field bordering the river. Walking along a path, half-concealed by a line of trees, they reached the stream and boarded the barge. A man seated on a bollard got to his feet, knocked out his pipe and came aboard.

  He cast off while the red-faced man hauled in the plank that served as gangway.

  "I'd go below," he told LaBarge. "You're dressed a bit well for barge folk."

  The cabin was cramped but clean, and there was a samovar with a fire under it. When they were well into the stream, their guide came below and took cups from the cupboard and began to make tea.

  "Murzin, they, call me," he said. "It's a good name, short and handy-like." He was a long, bony man, slightly stooped in the shoulders and his body was so lean that every rib must show, but his thin hands were dexterous and swift. "A thief, they call me, and they are right. I steal from travelers." "You have not stolen from us," Helena commented. Jean could see that she liked the man, and he did himself.

  Murzin chuckled and grinned wickedly. "Because the police are after you. I'm not one to foul my own nest, to rob my own kind.

  "Oh, I know! You two are gentry, although that one"--he pointed a finger at LaBarge--"would have made a fine thief. Maybe that's another reason I didn't steal from you. He would kill a man if he needed killing. He would kill a man very quickly, I think." He glanced sharply at LaBarge. "Is that why they want you?"

  He decided to be frank. "Madame and I have enemies who would like to prevent us from reaching St. Petersburg. That could be it, although I think we lost them, but it may be another thing. Back there"--he jerked his head toward the Siberia that lay behind--"we helped an escaped convict. Our driver might have informed on us."

  "That could be it ... they don't like that, not one bit do they like it."

  He gulped his tea. "St. Petersburg, is it? Aye, and I'm your man. I can help." He swallowed more tea. "We've ways of our own, you know. Ways of getting about that the police don't know."

  "How much?"

  "The bargeman will want fifty rubles, but you can give me what you like when we get there."

  He looked slyly from one to the other. "And when you are there, where will you go?"

  "We will have a place," Helena said.

  "Where then? I say--"

  Helena looked straight into Murzin's eyes. "There is a story that King Richard trusted a thief, and I shall. We go to the Peterhof." Murzin's eyes were bright. "I know that story. Robin Hood, wasn't it? So you go to the Peterhof? Yes ... yes, that would be it." His eyes lighted with savage, cynical amusement. "The Peterhof! What a place for a thief! What a place from which to steal!"

  Chapter 30

  Moonlight lay cold upon the Neva as their carriage rolled through the silent streets. Long ago they had left the barge behind, and since then had changed their means of travel several times. Now there was no sound but the clop-clop-clop of their horses' hoofs.

  Sitting back against the cushions of the carriage in which they now rode, Jean LaBarge looked about him at the wide avenues and stately buildings, wondering that he, born in the swamps of the Susquehanna, grown to a fur trader among the northwest islands, should have come to this place. He rode now in the streets of the city of Peter the Great, riding beside a niece of the Czar, and within a few days, a few weeks at most, he would see the Czar himself. At last they dismounted from their carriage before the palace of the Rotcheffs. A strange group: Shin Boyar, the Polish promyshleniki from Alaska, Murzin, the wandering thief, Jean LaBarge, merchant adventurer, and the Princess Gagarin, wife of Count Rotcheff and said by some to be the most beautiful woman in Russia.

  It was her hand that rang the bell. They waited,
saying nothing, and for a long time there was no sound within. Finally, after the third ring, the door opened slightly.

  "Alexis! Open the door! It is I!"

  The old man opened the door with fumbling haste, bowing and backing away, his face covered with a smile. Yet when he looked past her at the three men, he hesitated. "The Master? Is he all right?"

  "He is in Sitka, Alexis, and wounded. He sent me home to see His Imperial Majesty, and these men have brought me safely here. We will want food, Alexis, and beds for these men. Quickly now, for we are cold." The old man hurried away and somewhere in its vast depths the building began to stir and breathe as it came to life. When Boyar and Murzin had been shown to the Servants' quarters, Helena led Jean to a sitting room where a fire was blazing. Food was brought to them there, and tea. Jean watched the firelight playing on her face, finding lights in her dark hair. "I suppose I'll see little of you now," he said unhappily.

  "There will be time." He had walked to the fireplace with his brandy, and she followed, standing beside him. How tall he was! "Jean, we must work quickly. There is no telling what they will do, so I must arrange an audience with Uncle Alexander at once. Once that is done I shall try to arrange an interview for you. It will not be easy, Jean, for he is a busy man. I believe I can do it." "I'll need some clothes. Tomorrow I'll hunt up a tailor." She laughed. "You need not go to a tailor, Jean. We will have him come here. I will tell Alexis and the tailor will come at whatever hour you wish." She left the room and he was alone with the portraits on the walls and the fire that crackled cheerfully on the wide hearth. The ceiling was high, and the flickering light played upon the faces of the pictured men. The food had been excellent, slices of cold beef, cheese, and a bottle of claret. It was all strange and very different here.

  When she returned she joined him at the fireplace again. "So ... at last we are here."

  "Did you doubt we'd make it?"

  "Not really. Yet sometimes ... Jean, I shall keep Murzin with me. I like him."

  "He's a thief."

  "Of course. But somehow I do not believe he will steal while he works for me. He has his own pride, I think."

  "Yes, I've known men like that. They're rare though." "Jean." Helena hesitated. "I shall never forget what you have done for me ... for us. You have no idea how far Sitka seemed from here, even though it is part of Russia. It is like the end of the world. Without you we might both have failed, Alexander and I."

  "That makes it harder ... a man can't steal the wife of a friend. My kind of man can't."

  "You couldn't steal me, Jean. He is my husband." They were silent, watching the fire.

  "It's hard to believe that when I leave St. Petersburg I'll never see you again."

  "I shall return to Sitka. I must go back to Alexander." "Don't do it, Helena. You can't. Believe me, if you destroy Zinnovy, he'll end by destroying you. I know. The man I looked at that last night would stop at nothing. You can't put yourself in his hands again--you can't." "I must ... I must return to my husband."

  "Someday," LaBarge said slowly, "someday I think I'll kill Zinnovy ... or be killed by him."

  "Then kill him. I do not want you to die."

  "What use is it to live and not have the woman I love?" He spoke angrily. "I'm a fool, Helena. A double-dyed fool."

  They stood together, staring down into the fire. The flames were smaller now, the bed of coals glowing and red, shimmering with changing color. They turned to face each other, looking into each other's eyes, then Jean drew her close and they stood for a long time, held in a tight embrace. Finally she stepped back, out of his arms. "Good night, darling," she spoke softly. "Good night, I--" She turned quickly and walked from the room.

  A month passed. The Czar was in the Crimea and would soon return; until then there was nothing to do but wait. There were balls and parties and despite his restlessness Jean enjoyed St. Petersburg.

  Helena had started the wheels moving to bring about the return of Paul Zinnovy. There had been no word from Count Rotcheff but his friends were also active. It was soon obvious, however, that Baron Zinnovy had powerful friends, at least one of them highly placed in the Ministry. Her statement that Baron Zinnovy had attempted to murder her husband met with polite disbelief, even among her intimate acquaintances. Officials were courteous, but whatever might be done seemed to die somewhere in the chains of bureaux and offices that lay between an order and its execution. The powerful influence of the Russian American Company blocked every move she could make.

  No delays are more infuriating than the delays of officialdom. She knew that many officials regarded her as a pretty woman interfering in matters that did not concern her. The reports she brought back awaited the Czar's return; until then there was nothing to be done.

  "They know who you are, Jean," she warned him, "and they will do all they can to prevent you from seeing the Czar. Be careful, for the Baron's friends are shrewd and powerful. They will stop at nothing."

  Russia, under Czar Alexander II, was restless with impending change. The Czar was studying a plan to abolish corporal punishment in the armed services as well as in civilian life. He knew the time had come to institute social reforms and bring his country to the level of other western nations in that respect, yet it was necessary to move slowly. Many feared loss of prestige even more than income losses, others opposed change as they opposed anything that interfered with the status quo, with every stratagem at their command. The Russian American Company's stockholders were among the elements he must win over, and they were well aware of the bargaining position they held. They used this position to avoid any change in the situation in Russian America, and indicated that faraway Sitka could wait until much was done at home. Alexander II knew he must proceed with care. He had abolished many of the restrictions on the Jews, and had suggested the restoration of home rule for the Finns, but oddly enough, his greatest opposition came from the Liberals who demanded he do more and do it faster. Nothing would satisfy them but dramatic change and such a change was impossible under the circumstances. Of these facts Jean LaBarge had been only dimly aware when he arrived in Russia, but Helena soon acquainted him with the situation. Then they received their first break.

  Helena met him as he entered the palace one afternoon. "Jean! He's here! The Czar is back and he has permitted an audience!" "When?"

  "The night after tomorrow. It will be very late, and he will see us at the Peterhof, in a private audience." It was, he knew, a rare privilige, and without the help of Helena it could never have been managed. Now they could do something for Rotcheff and there was a chance he might have time to talk of Alaska itself.

  A half mile away a slim, erect man with iron-gray hair and cold eyes shielded by square-cut glasses sat behind a desk. He was tall; even seated he seemed tall. His desk was bare of all but one sheet of paper and from time to time he glanced at it. There was a knock at the door.

  "Come in!"

  A young man in a naval officer's uniform stepped into the room and closed the door carefully behind him, walked to a position before the desk, clicked his heels and saluted.

  "Lieutenant Kovalski"--the man behind the desk studied the officer as he spoke--"I am informed that you have killed three men in duels with a pistol, two with the saber."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Lieutenant, there is a man in this city who is very dangerous to Russia. He interferes in Russian affairs and he endangers the position of a naval officer who is very important to Russia. The man I refer to has arranged to have a private audience with the Czar. It is not wise that such an audience take place, yet the Czar has given his word. You understand?" Lieutenant Kovalski understood perfectly, just as he had understood when a superior officer had suggested his coming to this address. There were enemies of the state who must be destroyed and it was often inconvenient to bring them to trial. He was also aware that the man before him controlled many avenues to power and prestige, and that a word from him... "The man to whom I refer is called Jean LaBarge. He is an Ameri
can and at present resides at the Rotcheff palace."

  Kovalski's eyes flickered. He knew the man in question by sight. A tall, dark men with a scar ... there was something about him ... for the first time he felt uneasy at the prospect of a duel, yet it was foolish to be disturbed. He was one of the finest pistol shots in all Russia. Before coming here he had been informed that he would be transferred to the Army and given the temporary rank of Colonel, and that might be only the beginning. "It must be done at once, you understand? The audience is for the night after tomorrow."

  "Thank you, sir. Is that all?"

  "Only this." The man behind the desk took a long envelope from a drawer and handed it to Kovalski. "Examine this in private when you are gone from here." The man removed his glasses and placed them on the sheet of paper, taking the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger for an instant. "One thing, Lieutenant. You must not fail. Do you understand?" "Of course." Kovalski snapped to attention, did an about-face and walked from the room. When he reached the street he paused briefly opposite a lighted window and drew the papers from the envelope. The first was a deed for a small estate in Poland, a place he knew well. He glanced at the date and saw it was for several days in advance, and below was a note to the effect that to be valid the deed must be presented at the estate by Colonel Kovalski, in person. He smiled wryly. "And if I'm dead ... ?" The answer was obvious. He shrugged. No matter. He would not be dead. It would not be the first time he killed a man on instructions.

  Chapter 31

  The place chosen for the duel was near a small castle outside of St. Petersburg. Jean stepped down from the carriage and strolled casually across the grass under the trees into the small open park that lay beyond. Beside him was Count Felix Novikoff, who had consented to act as his second. The challenge had been an obviously arranged affair. In company with Novikoff, who was a friend of Helena and the Rotcheff family, he had gone to a fashionable cafe. Several Russians in uniform had entered, and in passing, one of them deliberately bumped him. Then, turning, the officer looked LaBarge right in the eye and said, "Swine!"