Sample

Chapter 1: Arrival in Ryazan

Everything is familiar yet strange. The postal coach, dirty and rickety; the road, rutted and dusty; and the city of Ryazan we are approaching now, drab and ordinary. The buildings seem smaller and poorer. But that must be me and not the city. When I left this place ten years ago as a boy, the buildings seemed more impressive. Some things haven’t changed at all; the city is the same 100 miles southeast of Moscow, though even that distance seems shorter now. And it feels strange, too, to be back. I thought I would never see this place again. For so long I tried not to think about the estate. And I had succeeded on the whole, guarding only the vague memory I shall always carry, of a dark night and the outline of a woman’s face over my crib. That was all I took with me. Well, at least until the summons from my father came. 

Such were the thoughts of the young man who was approaching the city of Ryazan on a warm spring day in the year 182*. He appeared to his fellow travelers to be as ordinary as the postal coach that carried them, or the bad road, or the view of the outskirts of the provincial city. While there was something vaguely military about him—perhaps it was his cropped head, straight back, or the quietly watchful gaze—the young man gave the impression that he was someone of no importance. His attire was modest, his mien was humble, and he kept to himself as much as possible. When asked a direct question, he answered in a low, polite voice, using all the properly respectful forms of address, and which the other travelers accepted as their due. Minor country landowners, traveling back to their estates from Moscow or St. Petersburg, where their family affairs required them to visit and be seen with important courtiers, treated the postal coach and the presence of the young man (so obviously of an inferior social standing), as a necessary evil. They would not trust their own carriages to Russian roads for anything but local trips, which was why they were using the postal coach, but it was important for them that everyone knew that, however necessary or convenient, the forced mingling with their inferiors was only tolerated under protest. The small compartment for six passengers was equipped with two hard benches facing each other. The period travel advice for ladies stressed the need to bring pillows with them to protect their tender parts, as well as copious supplies of eau-de-cologne to protect their sensitive noses. These traveling conditions, coupled with the long Russian distances, were more conducive to feelings of enmity towards one’s fellow travelers than camaraderie.

On the other hand, if the young man traveled by coach by necessity, he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. At least, so it appeared to the other passengers. If they wondered about him, of which they gave no sign, they would agree that, judging by his clothes, he wasn’t on commercial business and, judging by his age, he was too young to be retired from the military. He would most probably be a noncommissioned army officer on temporary leave from his army unit to take care of the affairs of his family. What kind of people his family were, they could easily imagine. Impoverished nobility who were living on slivers of land, which was all that had remained of their estates. Their life was better than the lives of the few serfs they still possessed, though they could hardly afford them, but it was not much better. Or maybe they had given up owning serfs at all and the young man’s relations worked as stewards or overseers on the estates of more affluent nobles. It was also possible, but less likely, that the young man was not on leave but was cashiered out, forced to leave his regiment because of some scandal, like brawling, excessive drunkenness, cheating at cards, or thievery. People like that, with a scandal in their past, preferred to seek anonymity in big cities like St. Petersburg or Moscow and not in the countryside or provincial cities like Ryazan, where neighbors always sought to learn everything about each other.

Entering the main street of Ryazan, the postal coach slowed. It wasn’t because of heavy traffic, of which there were few signs, but rather because the ruts in the streets got even deeper. The young traveler saw some new houses and residences but then reminded himself that their newness could have been just his memory playing tricks.

The postal station hadn’t changed at all. Even the postmaster looked the same. He had the same red face, black beard, loud voice, and a bearing of permanent belligerence towards everyone who might ask him for a bug-free place to rest or a decent horse. But the moment that a traveler’s hand moved in the direction of his purse, indicating that a coin might change its ownership, the post master’s belligerence would be replaced by equally loud obsequiousness.

The passengers reclaimed their travel cases, transferred them to the care of their servants, and disappeared into the carriages which had been waiting for them in front of the postal station. It was only then that the young traveler picked up his own travel case, a modest canvas affair that had seen much use, and politely asked the station master whether he could direct him to a hotel. The station master, sensing no prospects of any coins changing ownership, brusquely pointed further up the street. 

Hotel Europa, in spite of its name, did not significantly further the claims of this part of Russia, well to the east of the Ural Mountains, to be recognized as part of Europe. Its German owner was a heavy-set, full-bearded man with a paper cap on his head who brandished a flyswatter like a king might wield a scepter. As a business owner, he was a spiritual brother of the postmaster, at least in regard to his constant lookout for any coins that might change ownership. Speaking in a heavily accented Russian, he peremptorily addressed the modestly attired young visitor the moment he approached the reception desk holding his shabby travel case close to his body. The owner advised him that there were other boarding establishments in Ryazan that would be more to his liking. The visitor was not offended. He calmly took from his pocket a small gold coin, and in a quiet voice requested a single room away from any noise. The owner in turn reached for the coin, looked at it carefully, weighted in his hand and with a skeptical expression on his face, transferred it to his pocket. Then he nodded his head to indicate his change of mind and a willingness to accept the traveler and his gold. He called a servant to lead the traveler to his room. Before the traveler disappeared, the hotel owner asked, “And what name shall I enter in the police registry?” 

“Yes, the police registry, we mustn’t neglect our duties. Why don’t you put Ivanov. Sergey Ivanovich. Sergeant of His Imperial Majesty’s Army,” replied the visitor with a touch of whimsy, well aware that, having pocketed the cold coin, the German owner would not care in the least that his name was not, in fact, either Ivanov, or Sergey Ivanovich, and that he was not a Sergeant in His Imperial Majesty’s Army. And, besides, the police never bothered to read these registries anyway. 

He followed the servant, holding on closely to his travel case, which wasn’t difficult as the servant made no effort to try to assist him with it any way. Arriving in front of his room, he was handed a key by the servant who quickly made himself scarce. Since the gold coin was seen by the owner only, the servant had no reason to expect a tip from the modest traveler. Inside his room, the visitor ignored the bed, which promised little in terms of comfort or the absence of bedbugs, but approached the window and checked carefully its frame. Afterwards, he did the same with the door. These actions would be difficult to account for, if the visitor carried nothing valuable on his person, or was so insignificant himself as not to merit even the possible existence of any enemies.