Darker Jewels (29 page)

“Master is mistaken,” said Yuri with passion. “I am not—”

“You are not the first we have discovered in this household,” said Rakoczy, his voice tinged with weariness. “And probably you are not the last. Foreigners attract spies.”

“No. No, I am not a spy,” Yuri protested.

Rakoczy held up his small, elegant hand. “No more mendacities, please. I haven’t an appetite for them.” He leaned back a little. “You are an unexpected difficulty. What are we going to do with you?”

Yuri went pale as whey. “Master—”

“I would like to make a bargain with you, Yuri.” He broke off and motioned to Rothger to bring his box of writing implements and vellum. “Let us abandon this pretense of common servitude. ■What is your patronymic?”

“I—” Yuri gave in. “Piotrovich.”

“Very good,” said Rakoczy. “Yuri Piotrovich, you know that you could be condemned for spying. You would be killed.”

“On the word of a foreigner,” said Yuri with patent disbelief mixed with bravado. “How could it happen?”

“On the word of this foreigner, it most certainly could.” There was repugnance in what he said next. “One of the spies discovered in this household was knouted to death on the order of Nikita Romanovich Romanov.” Rakoczy did not add that he suspected Nikita had done it because the spy had been Romanov’s own and in need of silencing. “Ask the other servants.”

Rothger set the writing-box down beside the alabaster jar and returned to his station near the door.

“Servants are always gossiping; it means nothing.” Yuri’s scoffing rang false. “Let a servant overhear a few words, and he will weave fables from them.”

“Gennadi was his name,” said Rothger. “He came from Vladimir where his father and brothers make saddles and harness. He was in the employ of the Metropolitan. We discovered three other spies before him.”

In the three and a half millennia of his life Rakoczy had been beaten many times, but the thought of the knout with the iron claw at the end of a heavy iron ring attached to a cable of tight-braided leather sickened him. The knout was designed to do maximum damage, to lacerate skin and muscles and break bones. “His death was appalling,” he said quietly, his dark eyes pained and distant.

“That is an empty threat,” said Yuri with what nerve he could muster. “You say it but you do not dare do it.”

“Because your father is a Nagoy?” inquired Rakoczy, once again smooth-mannered. “I have not met Piotr Nagoy and no one has mentioned him to me before now: an odd omission if he is ranked with the rest of his kin. But it is possible he keeps to his country estates, being rich in land instead of gold, or burdened with some disgrace. The son of such a father might learn to read, and would seek the patronage of more highly placed relatives, wouldn’t he.”

“What are you saying?” Yuri burst out, frustration and bluster combining to make him bold. “I cannot read. I did not read that letter. You know nothing. You can know nothing.”

Rakoczy shook his head. “When you have lived as long as I, perforce you learn.” He looked once at Rothger, then back at Yuri. “I mentioned a bargain, Yuri Piotrovich. If you are telling the truth I will honor it. If you lie to me, that is another matter. I will spell it out for you, this bargain, though you tell me you cannot read; I will write it down so that it cannot be questioned. Listen well and consider before you answer: if you are telling me the truth about reading you will remain here, in my employ. You will continue to report to Grigori Nagoy, or whichever of your relatives you work for, but you will serve in the same capacity for me. You will report the activities of your family to me as you report mine to them. In exchange, you will continue to be paid your servant’s wages and will not be turned over to Skuratov for judgment. If you acquit yourself well, you will be rewarded with gold. If you attempt to deceive me, then I will denounce you before the Court. And you may be certain that your relatives will not protect you then, not at the risk of exposing themselves.” He paused. “Foreigner that I am, I am still the safer course, Yuri Piotrovich.”

“You expea me to betray my family?” he asked in astonishment.

“Why not?” Rakoczy answered coolly. “You have betrayed me, haven’t you.”

Yuri’s denial was heated. “I am not a spy. You are mistaken. It was not betrayal.”

“Wasn’t it.” Rakoczy direaed his attention to the alabaster jar. “Perhaps I have not understood you.” He reached out for a sheet of vellum and drew his inkwell nearer. “I will put down our terms.” As he set out the vellum, he continued. “Do you think that your devotion to your family or your desire for advancement excuses what you have done here? Because I am a foreigner?” He selected a trimmed quill and set it in the ink.

“I have done nothing that was not—” Yuri began.

“Bear with me for a while longer, Yuri Piotrovich. You may protest later.” He wrote a few words on the vellum, then set the sheet aside to dry. “I will show you my good-will. Here.” He took two gold coins from the wallet hung from his belt and held them out to Yuri. “Take them. So you will have something to show for my good faith when I assure you that there is reason to believe what I say to you. As you are honest, I will be honest.”

Yuri took the coins eagerly, his wide, strong features turning vulpine. “What do you require of me?” he asked.

“That you deliver a message for me, as a gesture to show you accept our bargain and to demonstrate your veracity. It is no great task, to carry a message; you have done it often before. Surely this is little enough to ask of you.” He took a second sheet of vellum and wrote on it. “You are to take this to the palace of Boris Godunov within the Kremlin and wait for the answer. It is a simple message.” Rakoczy held the second sheet out almost negligently. “You may read it if you like.”

“I cannot read,” said Yuri again, after a brief pause. “You wish to believe that I can, but it is not true. I recognize a few words in Russian, but that is the extent of it, master.”

“Look at it in any case,” Rakoczy insisted.

Yuri shrugged and glanced at the vellum with studied indifference.

Take this faithless servant and imprison him at once,
Rakoczy had written in Polish.

With a sudden cry Yuri stepped back, letting the vellum drift to the floor. He crossed himself, then realized that Rakoczy was regarding him with composed attention. “May you be trampled to death by elephants!”

“It would surely destroy my spine,” murmured Rakoczy in the Latin of Imperial Rome. “And that is the true death.” From Yuri’s abrupt change of expression, it was apparent he had understood part of what Rakoczy said. “So, you are able to read. And understand a litde Latin.”

“God will punish you for this,” Yuri vowed in harsh tones.

“And the Court may punish you.” He let Yuri consider the implications. “Yuri Piotrovich, what is it to be?”

“You are a devil,” Yuri said sullenly.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Rakoczy answered easily. “An exile, yes, but hardly a devil.” He favored Yuri with a long, thoughtful stare. “You are not willing to serve me. That much is apparent. But your masters—your real masters—have set tasks for you. You have not oudived your usefulness to them if you can continue to inform them of the activities in foreign households. Your learning is your greatest asset to them, and they expect you to employ it on their behalf.” He cocked his head. “But clearly you cannot remain here.”

The fear was back in Yuri’s eyes. “I will sign your bargain,” he said grimly. “I will do as you order me. I will swear fealty to you. ”

“I think not,” said Rakoczy very gently. He reached for a third sheet of vellum and began to write on it. “Since you know some Latin, you may follow, if you wish.” He moved his arm so that Yuri could see his note.

“I—” Yuri had the good sense not to go on.

“Precisely,” said Rakoczy, as he continued his letter. “If you will deliver this, there is a good chance you will find work in that establishment. After all, a servant who can read is a treasure, particularly to an embassy. Doubdess you will find ways to make yourself useful to everyone. Your Nagoy relatives should be satisfied, for you will be able to tell them about the Poles, and you will not have to be openly disgraced or punished. And I will have one less spy under my roof.” He frowned before he wrote the next line. “You would do well not to speak directly with Father Pogner, not that he is likely to speak with a servant in any case. Deal with Father Krabbe; Father Pogner is as opposed to me as I must suppose your family is.” He signed the letter and reached for sealing wax. Rothger had already lit a taper and this he held out to Rakoczy. When there was a large drop of wax beneath his small, neat signature, Rakoczy fixed the impression of his signet ring on it. “There,” he said, offering it to Yuri.

But Yuri refused to touch it. “You want to trick me,” he said, moving two steps back. “You are playing games with me.”

Rakoczy handed the letter to Rothger. “See that Father Krabbe gets this when you escort Yuri to him. And tell him for me that

caution is required with this man. Speak to him privately, and candidly.” He intended this last for Yuri, not Rothger.

“You are wrong about me,” said Yuri a little wildly. “I am no spy. I serve you well, Master, I do not—”

“I will explain it to your kinsman,” Rakoczy said, his patience growing thin. “I will not blame you.”

Yuri’s angry laugh was eloquent. “And you think any Nagoy would believe you? You? You had that debauched Koshkinya woman wished upon you by the Shuiskys. What man would trust your judgment?”

Rakoczy did not move; when he spoke his voice was very soft and astuciously conversational, but there was something in his manner Yuri had not seen before which frightened him more than anything else about the elegant stranger, something ancient and dangerous, as contained as a banked fire. “Would you care to repeat that?”

Now Yuri faltered, wishing he could take back what he had said, or claim it was a joke. “It is nothing. Nothing. Only that . . . that there are rumors about . . . about the woman you married, about her father dying to save her. They say that she was ruined by the—”

“If,” Rakoczy said with great precision, his voice still low, “if there is any tale repeated about Xenya Evgeneivna, you will answer for it: you, and those of your blood who seek to compromise my wife.”

“But everyone has heard the story,” Yuri said, more in desperation than defense. “Her father was killed trying to save her.” He repeated himself vehemently, as if that would give him more credibility. “Everyone has heard the story! Everyone. The man was dead. The Mongols were in the house, and all the servants were gone but her maid, and they killed her. We know what Mongols are. The girl must have been used. And,” he went on, trying to bolster his argument in order to escape Rakoczy’s fierce attention, “she has given her life over to charity. Everyone knows what—”

“She seeks to honor the memory of her father,” said Rakoczy.

“Oh, yes. That is what the Shuiskys claim, and the Koshkins,” jeered Yuri, too much afraid of Rakoczy to measure his words carefully. His dread made him reckless. “They would have to claim she never—” Then he realized how great his transgression was and fell silent.

For well over a minute no one spoke. At last Rakoczy turned his compelling dark eyes on Yuri. “You had better go. At once.”

Rothger moved to stand beside Yuri, who was fidgeting with the hem of his rubashka. “I will arrange for his things to be carried to the Polish embassy house.”

“Excellent,” said Rakoczy, who regarded Yuri one more time. “Keep the coins I gave you, and remember how you came by them, that they are true coin for false.” With that, he turned away and did not move again until Rothger and the servant had left the laboratory.

Bells were ringing for sunset Mass by the time Rothger returned from his errand. “Father Krabbe sends you greetings,” he told his master as he made sure the door was securely closed.

“Thank you, old friend,” said Rakoczy distantly; he was occupied with a handful of small topazes, examining them for flaws and discolorations. He set two aside, dissatisfied with their quality. He continued his critical examination of the rest. “I trust you gave him mine?”

“Most certainly,” said Rothger. “And I informed him of the reason for our actions, privately of course.”

“And what did Father Krabbe say?” Rakoczy asked, his face looking drawn.

“He would be very careful.” Rothger’s austere features shifted into a faint smile. “There are already spies in the embassy, of course. They have come to expect subterfuge from their servants, but Father Krabbe is a sensible man. He is aware that a literate footman is a valuable addition to their household, familial loyalties aside. And knowing that Yuri is already suborned makes his position easier, for none of the embassy need spend time trying to guess where his allegiance lies.”

“I suppose it is a blessing of a kind,” said Rakoczy. He held out three of the topazes so that the light from the oil lamps could touch them; little fingers of flame danced in the jewels. “Czar Feodor does not have his father’s obsession with rare stones, but Nikita Romanov knows their value, and will not disdain a few baubles like these. I am going to ask Boris for the opportunity to present them to the Czar.”

Rothger had no comment to make about those plans. He watched Rakoczy put the jewels into a small ivory box. “I am concerned, my master. Yuri is not one who will honor you for sparing him. He is more likely to seek vengeance for what you

have done. He considers himself shamed. If you will not act against him, you must be prepared for him to act against you.”

“I fear you’re right,” said Rakoc
2
y. “He will expect retaliation for his insults. It is what he would do. But it is not what I will do; I will not be made cruel to suit his notions of noble conduct.” He strode across the room to the athanors, both of which were mo
ling
now. The oil lamps cast puddles of light that threw his face into half-shadow.

“My master,” said Rothger, hearing the note of finality in Ra- koczy’s words.

“And you do not approve,” said Rakoc
2
y with irony flavoring his amusement.