Kairys stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, he spoke, still looking outside.
“Quite a captivating story, my dear. You are a crafty story-teller indeed. But please forgive me for not taking it in fully. You see, I only had four years at school. Could you maybe simplify it for me?”
“Vilnius will burn,” Suslov got right to the point this time. “And smart people will get a chance to warm their hands on the flames. And maybe even throw one or two logs on the fire. Help the poor fight for what is right. There must be some people with whom you are fed up to the back teeth. They interfere with trading. They have no idea why they have come here in the first place. Let’s visit them. You and I. And let’s enlighten them as to what proper behaviour should look like.”
“And what...” Kairys opened his mouth but Suslov pitched in without waiting for him to finish.
“Vilnius Legion will be busy as a whore at Christmas looking after ambassadors and crown princes. Their minds will be preoccupied with other things. While you will get a good chance to teach someone a lesson. To explain how important it is for things to be right. To your own people as well as foreigners.”
“Fires and bloodletting?” stammered Kairys, still facing the window.
“Disciplinary measures,” Suslov retorted. “Bold and imperative. When everything calms down and the dust settles, everyone will know better than to get in the way of smart people.”
“True,” Kairys agreed. “Your train of thought deserves a compliment. If I declined your offer, you would be telling this tale of the city to Gierke tonight, wouldn’t you?” Having mentioned his rival’s name he turned away from the window and returned to the table. He took no notice of the envelope, as if it hadn’t caught his eye.
“Possibly,” Suslov didn’t contradict his opponent. “But I always turn to the smartest ones. And I very rarely go to those occupying a lower step. I hope we understand each other.”
Kairys closed his eyes. Yes, he understood him. But he also understood something else. By not baring his teeth in good time he was risking the cherished title of the king of criminals blowing up in his face like a bubble of soap. On the other hand, the abundance of deadwood in Vilnius was becoming a real problem, and Kairys very well knew that good opportunities only came once in a blue moon. It was probably a good idea to take advantage of them.
“We will start with the warehouses and shops in Paplauja, then move to the Blots,” he stated, his eyes still closed. “There we’ll begin our fight for justice. Tell your men to be ready. I won’t allocate great numbers, let’s just have one of my men and two of yours. That should be enough. Everyone will know who is in charge of this operation. My people will point the spots out and...” He made a deliberate pause, “... the most troublesome deadwood.”
“And what did I say?” Suslov tweeted happily. “Smart people will always reach an accord, isn’t that so?”
Kairys still sat there with his eyes closed, and only opened them after Suslov left with a bang of the door. He then picked up the envelope and stuffed it inside the front of his jacket.
Chapter XXXI
Vilnius, Late evening
25 04 1905
Like any other place in Vilnius, The Ryks Inn, set up on the edge of Mirth City, abounded with people. It was a tight squeeze inside. Since time immemorial this inn had been favoured by visiting foreigners. Not Jews, Karaites or Chinese, Turks or Armenians, whose favourite hang-outs were in the Blots, but English, Russians, Germans, a few Dutch or French. A melting pot of businessmen, manufacturers, hired labour, educators, University Dominium lecturers, resident physicians, confectioners, mechanics and representatives from other fields and professions, who were away from home and had permanently or temporarily put down roots in the city of the Alliance Vilnius –The Ryks Inn was their second home.
The long and narrow bar was besieged by three rows of people, howling like a train engine at full speed, forcing the innkeeper and his assistants to thrust themselves over the bar and place their ears close to the client’s lips, every time they wanted to take an order. The sweating waitresses swooped around the guests displaying skills in no way inferior to the Navigator aces, squeezing through the tiniest of gaps with their arms in the air, juggling the plates of stewed peas and pork knuckles – the most popular dishes of the place. However, most clients did not come here for the peas or pork knuckles, and alongside their beer preferred to get some news and gossip, delivered to them in Lithuanian, German, English and a number of other languages. This place was never short of bigmouths: the impending strikes and the Summit, Adam Gaber-Volynskiy’s upcoming flight under Green Bridge and the fury of the Knights of the Cathedral at Truzzi’s fire eaters and half-naked women in Cathedral Square, then the flying fortress The Parsifal and, of course, the latest news from the gossipmongers – the bloodshed outside the Town Hall.
The innkeeper – hunched, elderly German Hans Ryks – had just rolled in a new barrel of wheat beer. While taking out the wooden bung, from the corner of his eye he curiously watched one of his guests in a remote corner of the inn – the star of the latest Vilnius gossip. Standing next to his table was the only vacant chair in the inn that night, but no one dared to claim it and use it to stretch out their tired feet. The party at the next table did not have enough guts to borrow the chair either, although only two out of the five men were sitting comfortably, while the rest were on their feet around a table scattered with pints of beer, constantly bending like reeds, trying to make out what their drinking companions were saying. So the empty chair just stood there in the absence of bold enough candidates who could put it to a good use. Now and then someone would cast a glance in that direction – either a longing one at the chair, or an inquisitive one at the gloomy, heavyset man.
Legate Antanas Sidabras would have been really surprised to see that the vacant chair next to him was causing such a stir. But he sat there lost in thought, only looking up to wave to the waitress, requesting another shot of whiskey. The waitresses soon got the hang of his drinking rhythm and Sidabras would find a new glass filled with golden liquid arriving beside him just in time.
Today Sidabras was determined to get as drunk as a lord, drowning the worries he had unsuccessfully been trying to get out of his head, even if only for a short while. Truth be told, he hardly had any official worries anymore as following the Red Mist Show in Town Hall Square, the Burgomaster had came down on him like a ton of bricks, telling him to surrender the Legate’s badge and get out of his sight until the end of the Summit. In order words: until they decided what further action to take.
Sidabras surrendered the badge to Lt. Vielholskiy in silence. As if this wasn’t enough, on the Town Hall stairs he ran into the Elder of the Vilnius Vitamancers, who superciliously threw a stinging remark at him. “The Lodge runs an anger management course for difficult children. Maybe the dear Legate should consider enrolling?” The vigilant Vielholskiy rushed to press down on Sidabras’ shoulder with his heavy hand, but his anger was already gone. He looked the Elder over from head to toe, contempt oozing from his eyes, then shook off Vielholskiy’s hand, before making his way to his favourite place in Mirth City – The Ryks Inn.
Another shot of whiskey was placed on the table. Sidabras was about to take it in his hand, but the glass slid away from him across the table. Delicate feminine fingers had taken the glass and moved it away from the man.
“I thought I would find you here,” said Margarita Berg and, forgoing all niceties, flung herself into the empty chair, as if she was the one Sidabras had been expecting.
The clients of the inn, who a moment ago had held the attractive woman in a brazen stare as she walked through the door and across the hall, now knowingly nodded their heads and went back to their own business.
“Watch out. Today I am angry and up for a fight,” warned Sidabras, reaching for his whiskey.
“It’s all right,” replied Margarita. “I am used to it. It’s your work,” she smiled but released the glass nevertheless, all
owing it to travel to the other side of the table.
“You must think I am an idiot,” Sidabras remarked gloomily, trying to avoid the lady’s eyes.
“My dear Antanas, what woman would call an idiot the man who rushes to defend her honour, even if he is failing to think or see himself falling headlong into a wicked trap.” The guardian angel of the orphanage tossed her hair. “Of course, he is a fool, but he is not an idiot.”
“I don’t see any difference between the two,” Sidabras took another sip of his drink. He could never understand why speaking to Margarita always made him feel awkward.
“There is a difference, and quite a significant one.” Margarita’s intense gaze on Sidabras made him look up. He was not just feeling awkward anymore, he was drowning. The woman sensed this and, not wishing to cause him any more discomfort, turned her eyes away, pretending to be very interested in a group that had just tumbled into the inn. Still looking away she said: “I will be on my way. I only wanted to see if you were all right. Don’t take it to heart too much,” she traced her finger over the glass. “It will be a long day tomorrow.”
“I was suspended. Did you forget about that?” Sidabras mumbled.
“I doubt it will prevent you from protecting the city,” retorted Margarita. “However, I am pleased that the Legate of Vilnius, whose ferocity has become the stuff of legend, will not be taking a stand against women in tomorrow’s Mothers’ demonstration. Otherwise quite a few mothers would come up with some urgent matters to attend to.”
With a smile Margarita touched his hand and flew out of the Ryks Inn like a night bird. Sidabras swore under his breath. He nearly had his hand in the air waving to the waitress, but suddenly changed his mind. All of a sudden he did not feel like drinking anymore. He swore again, got a few coins out of his pocket and tossed them on the table, before setting off for home.
But fate had a different plan for that evening.
“Look at all the pox-faced lice,” a husky voice bellowed out of a sudden. “The city is bursting at its seams!”
Legate of Vilnius looked over at the loudmouth and took a deep breath: it seemed that wherever he went that night, he was to expect trouble.
Chapter XXXII
Vilnius, late afternoon and evening
25 04 1905
Mila was rapturously happy. The dinner at her uncle’s house had been a success, and now both adjutants from The Star of St George were going out of their way trying to please her. They tried to outdo each other in wit and flattery and even made the steam trolley stop in the middle of the Avenue, as they had decided to buy Mila some treats from a street vendor, while the fuming driver cursed. The treats were sickly sweet and sticky but Mila felt really happy for the first time in many long months. A touch of Charles’ hand with a sweet startled her out of her deep thoughts. She caught herself thinking that she didn’t miss her three best friends, Columbina, Pierrot and Scaramuccia, today at all, although it wasn’t often that she left them alone. She also almost forgot about Pierrot’s strange escapade. A thin needle of anxiety touched her heart for a moment, but that was all.
The first part of the three friends’ plan was to go to Viscigavas to have a look at the landing Parsifal. But as this was also the plan of several thousand Vilnius residents and its guests, the carriage got hopelessly stuck in gridlock on Vilkmerge Highway, together with masses of other people, heading towards Viscigavas. In street trolleys and in the single-track freight train, which was now also carrying people between Steam City and Viscigavas, passengers were packed like sardines.
And then Mila, to whom a few days in Vilnius had brought back childhood memories, was struck with a brilliant idea. Bending over to the driver she whispered something in his ear. He swiftly turned the carriage round and sped towards Vilnele, then along the river and past Bernardine Gardens as far as Bekesas Hill.
The carriage pulled over to release the three friends. Both adjutants, amazement reflected on their faces, began to inspect the steep slopes of the hill, overgrown with prickly shrubbery, before subconsciously diverting their eyes to their impeccably clean uniforms. Deciding that it wasn’t that important after all, they both laughed and raced up the hill, each trying to beat the other to the top. Not scared of prickly burdock, Mila decided to climb the hill off the beaten path, taking the shortest way. Indeed, she was the first to reach the top.
And the young men did not fall far behind either, Charles reaching the destination second after Mila. When only half way up, Edward realised he had no hope of outrunning his comrade anyway, so he decided to refreshed himself with a swig of cognac from his soldier’s canteen instead. That was the moment when Charles gave a light squeeze to Mila’s hand and received one in return from her. Having reached the summit, Edward shared his drinking bottle with the others. A swig of cognac made Mila cough and the lads burst out laughing.
Some other people had also chosen to climb Bekesas Hill, but there weren’t as many people there as near Viscigavas. Besides, the view that opened up from this place was no doubt superior. When Mila set her eyes on the mighty Parsifal, manoeuvring over Vilnius, she gasped and shouted in amazement, as did most other spectators standing nearby. Edward, however, eyed the German colossus tight-lipped and with distrust, thinking about the pathetic chances that The Star and even the air cruiser The Invincible would be left with in a sky fight against it, as well as about the gripping headache it must have caused all Europe’s military chiefs. Charles must have been the only one who couldn’t have cared less about the flying fortress. After giving it a fleeting glance, he turned his undivided attention to Mila.
The daring little group spent some more time admiring the bird’s eye view of Vilnius, an experience aided by the expert Mila, who pointed out with her finger the most prominent sights: the pride and joy of Viscigavas: the sculpture of the Iron Wolf, switched on for the special occasion of the Summit, albeit with its volume turned slightly down in order to save the church bells from drowning in its howl; The Navigators’ Tower; The Lower Castle – abode of the Knights of the Cathedral; the goblins – guards of the Dominium, frozen on the University roofs; and the dome of the Guild of Mechanics Tower with its green patina in Steam City.
With dusk slowly spreading its blanket over the city, people began to disperse. Mila and the young men went down the other, more forgiving slope, which lead them straight into Mirth City and the Ryks Inn – favoured by foreigners and recommended by uncle Tvardauskis.
It was packed full. Even the porch was filled with standing people with pints in their hands, loudly discussing the news of the day.
“It’s like London in here!” Feeling rather incredulous, Edward readied himself to storm the bar.
But that wasn’t necessary. The adjutants’ imposing red uniforms caused the crowd to separate and give way to the three friends, while the innkeeper set about chasing the waitresses, ordering them to find a free table for the highly esteemed guests in the cosiest part of the inn. Mila ordered a glass of white wine, while the men requested a jug of beer and a plate of the famous pork knuckles each.
“Vilnius is nothing like I imagined it to be,” Edward said. And he wasn’t lying one bit. Now he really thought that General Joffrey’s evil plan had failed. Who out of all the Sandhurst cadets could boast spending the third day of their service in a fight with air pirates, carrying out an assault on the dirigible and being among the first to set eyes on the flying German fortress?
“Vilnius isn’t out of bounds for the living after all,” Mila teased.
The two adjutants laughed. Actually they would have laughed at anything at all, just to make this vivacious girl happy.
The waitress brought in the knuckles. One look at his plate and Edward’ eyes widened with surprise. Now it was time for Mila to crack up. But Charles had no time to spare on thoughts about delicious food – just like a seasoned chess player, was already planning his next moves. Again, as if by accident, he looked into Mila’s eyes but then quickly lowered them as if overcome by
shyness. The key to the girl’s heart was falling into his hands.
People kept flocking to the inn. The brutes around the bar feasted their eyes on an attractive lady who had just come in through the door. She quickly scanned the room and marched over to the table where sat a tall man clad in a Legionnaire’s uniform across from a lonely vacant chair. At first Edward followed the lady with his eyes but a moment later forgot all about her and was polishing off his knuckles against the background of Mila’s sweet chirping.
“Look at all the pox-faced lice!” a husky voice bellowed all of a sudden. “The city is bursting at its seams!”
“Shit,” the innkeeper Ryks swore under his breath. Trouble was on its way.
The big-voiced man who had just tumbled in through the door was as long and thin as a piece of thread. Though still young, he had already lost the greater part of his hair. A vast bald patch was scarcely covered with a few combed-back strands, while clumps of grey hair stuck out above his ears. On his narrow shoulders he wore a uniform-type jacket, adorned with homemade epaulettes. The lapels were decorated with a number of gaudy badges, while over his elbow the beanpole had a wide red armband bearing a picture of the sun rising over Jogaila’s[35] double cross. He was Jonas Simaska – the hotshot of The Radiant Association. Sporting accessories of the same type, his companions tumbled in behind him.
Vilnius Legionnaires were well familiar with the Radiant ones. Over and over again the cells of Sluskai had served as their temporary accommodation, while every investigator’s request for information on them was executed in the form of thick files, their covers embellished with the photo pictures of their loutish faces.
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