Let me advise you to stay away for at least another year, not that I would want to postpone the joy of seeing you, but there is so much of this city that is unfinished, I cannot help but think that in spite of the vast amount of building going on, it is not yet in a state where a visit would be more than a trial. For all the building and grand plans, this place is hardly more than an army camp, and one that is unpleasant to live in, given its marshy setting and the harshness of the climate. By the spring after next, there will be amenities here that will make it a livable place, but for now it is unpleasant, demanding, and plagued by weather, bad water, and shortages. It is the sort of place that most sensible persons would avoid; you would find it inconvenient in many, many ways. If all goes as the Czar plans, by the spring after next, there should be a lessening of these problems, and fewer difficulties in living here. If it is the Czar's desire to continue to build this city, we must do all we can to bring that about for him.
Do not worry for me: I have become very comfortable with our cousins; their three older children are proving to be apt pupils, for just now there is little to do but study and play chess. There are few children in Sankt Piterburkh to offer them companionship or the
opportunity for amusement, and so lessons have become a substitute for their entertainment. Spring will most certainly change this, but for now, I have their undivided attention.
Until I see you again, may Heaven bless you, and your wife and children, may you have good fortune and good crops, and may no misfortune befall you, my treasured brother.
With devotion and love,
Evdoxia Sergeievna Urusova
10
Nikolai Dmitreivich Urusov, rigged out in a fur-trimmed coat of mulberry wool and britches of dark-gray, presented a very correct appearance as he tended to his duties; his waistcoat was simple dull-red wool, his shirt was heavy ecru cotton, and his neckcloth was lace-edged muslin, all ways to compensate for the cold in the room as well as to distinguish him as a conscientious assistant to Alexander Menshikov and not simply a household servant. Just now, at half past two in the afternoon, he was occupied with the reports from the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter, detailing progress on new buildings and deaths among the work-gangs; he did not immediately notice that the door to his partitioned section of Alexander Menshikov's office had been opened, for he had not been expecting any kind of interruption to his work. Only the firm tread of the new-comer gained his attention, and he looked up, trying to make out the person in the dusk.
The man who approached him with a firm stride was of slightly more than average height, broad-shouldered but trimly built, unusually handsome, and with an aristocratic bearing; olive-complected and dark-eyed, he presented a vigorous demeanor as well as courtly manners. He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, or perhaps a little
more. He was in traveling clothes that were both practical and elegant, his tall leather riding boots and tooled-leather britches as black as his long, skirted coat of heavy silk twill over a silver-embroidered black silk waistcoat. His shirt and cuff ruffles were lustrous white silk, his neck-cloth of Bamberg cut-work lace, his gloves were black Florentine leather, and his wig was black, set in proper angled rows of Bohemian-fashion curls; he carried his ermine hat under his arm. He stopped three paces from Urusov's desk and bowed.
"Yes?" said Urusov, sounding a bit annoyed at the interruption in his afternoon tasks. "What is it?" He disliked having to admit he had not learned the names and faces of all the residents of Sankt Piterburkh; he scrutinized the man, trying to put a name to his face. "Have you an appointment with Poteshnye Menshikov?"
"Not yet, but I hope to secure one: I am Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain," said Niklos Aulirios, his Russian accented with fourth-century Greek. "I am here to show that I am very much alive, since from what I have been told, that seems to be in question." He stood still, waiting for a response; when none was forthcoming, he said, "I was given to understand that Alexander Menshikov is the man I should speak to in regard to certain claims on my lands and fortune, and that means beginning with you."
Urusov stared at the stranger. "I--"
"You are the man, I understand, whom I need to address in order to secure an appointment with Alexander Menshikov."
Urusov tried to summon up something impressive to say, but could only stammer out, "Wh-why are you here?"
This was a question Niklos was prepared to answer. "Word reached me as I was preparing to leave ... the city hardly matters, save that it is a European one. It came from my comrade, Arpad Arco-Tolvay, Hercegek Gyor, whom you know, that someone has claimed my estates and fortune as my heir, and was presently here in Sankt Piterburkh. I have already dispatched notifications to Bucharest, Buda-Pest, and Vienna, and I now present myself here to resolve this misapprehension." He took another step forward. "I have been traveling for many hard weeks to get here, and I would like to be able to set
the matter to rights as soon as it may be convenient. As I have already said, I have been told that I should ask you for an appointment with Alexander Menshikov."
Urusov blinked, attempting to decide what would be the proper thing to do. "If you will wait for a ... I will see if something can be arranged." He got up from his chair and hurried toward the door leading to the inner partition of the office portion of Menshikov's house, trying to work out how he would explain the newly arrived foreigner. He tapped on the door. "Poteshnye Menshikov," he called out.
"Enter," said Menshikov, sounding more brusque than Urusov would have liked.
"There is a gentleman ... waiting," Urusov began as he closed the door between the two sections of the room, uncertain how to go on. "He is eager to speak with you."
"Russian or foreign?"
"Foreign," said Urusov. "He must have arrived earlier today, for I haven't been told of any new-comer in Sankt Piterburkh, and all new arrivals must be recorded by six in the evening."
"Arrived today, did he? Unusual to come in January." Menshikov put down the map he had been studying. "Did he come alone? And from what place?"
"From Europe or so he claims. I have no idea if he came alone."
Menshikov was musing, his clever black eyes distant. "He had to come overland, and at this time of year: impressive. Where in Europe has he come from?"
"He hasn't told me." Urusov cleared his throat. "He says he's Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain."
Menshikov gave Urusov a sharp look. "He says he is Grofok Saint-Germain, does he? How interesting."
"So he identified himself," said Urusov. "Do you wish to see him, or would you like me to put him off?"
Menshikov tapped the top of his desk, mulling over the possibilities. Finally he slapped his palm down as if settling a dispute within himself. "I'll have to see him eventually, so why not send him in now? He should be able to tell me what I need to know before rumors can
spread too wildly. And don't doubt that the rumors have already begun, for anyone new to the Foreign Quarter must be the object of speculation for everyone in the Foreign Quarter. By tomorrow morning, there will be more hearsay in this city than in all of the army." He waved Urusov back toward the door. "Send him in." He began to roll up the map.
Urusov hesitated, trying to think of some reason to delay the introduction; at a second sign from Menshikov, he let himself back into his own part of the room, still perplexed by Menshikov's concession to receive the stranger so quickly. "Grofok Saint-Germain?"
Niklos nodded. "What have you to tell me?"
"Poteshnye Menshikov will see you now. If you will go in?" He hesitated. "Are you armed?"
"No. My swords and pistols are with Hercegek Gyor. I have a small knife in my boot; it is sheathed. You may search me, if you like." He smiled enough to be polite, knowing the most dangerous weapon he carried was unlikely to be found. "Thank you for your efforts in arranging this meeting so very quickly. May I know your name?"
"Nikolai Dmitreivich Urusov. I am Menshikov's record-keeper." He bowed slightly, not adding that he did most of Menshikov's writing for him as well. "Searches aren't required of nobles."
"A good name, Nikolai Dmitreivich--a very good name," Niklos remarked as he strode to the door and opened it, pausing to say, "Ferenz Ragoczy, Grofok Saint-Germain, at your service, Poteshnye Menshikov."
Menshikov had half-risen, wariness in his eyes as he studied the foreigner, taking in the signs of obvious wealth as well as his remarkable good looks, which Menshikov, who was known for his vanity, could not help but begrudge him. "Be welcome, Grofok. I thank you for coming to me so promptly." He indicated the only other chair in the room. "If you will?"
"As you like," said Niklos, drawing the chair close to Menshikov's desk before sitting down. "And I thank you for seeing me so speedily."
"Well, I did consider making you wait," Menshikov admitted with
a calculatedly graceful wave of dismissal. "But given the circumstances, I decided now was strategically better than waiting would be."
"Then I gather that what Hercegek Gyor has told me is true: someone in Sankt Piterburkh has claimed my title and my estates as my cousin and heir--which assertion might prevail if I had cousins named as my heirs." He conveyed indignation without raising his voice. "Yes, I have been traveling for a long time, but that is hardly reason to assume I have died. The manager of my Hungarian estates receives regular reports from me, and would know how to reach me if he needed to do so."
"Then it was fortunate chance that Hercegek Gyor was here, and knew how to inform you." He smiled with his teeth but not his eyes. "I understand you have Russian estates as well as Hungarian ones."
"I do. And others as well. The man could have garnered a great deal of land and money if his claims remained unchallenged."
"So it appears," said Menshikov, a measuring shine in his eyes. "I have to admit, I was skeptical about the Hercegek's assertion regarding you, but I realized that circumspection was a wiser course than out-of-hand dismissal."
"I thank you for that," said Niklos, reaching inside his impeccably tailored coat for a large envelope. "If you wish to examine them, here are my bona fides. I have my signet-ring under my glove, which I'll remove if you like." He was already pulling at the ends of his right-hand glove-fingers. "If you want to peruse the patents and my ring, to satisfy yourself that I am the man I claim to be?"
"You mean because of the man who has declared himself your heir, entitled to your estates and fortune?" Menshikov asked with a note of skepticism in his question. "You are asserting your right to your titles and lands."
"I do wish to regain my titles and holdings, it's true," Niklos allowed. "But I wish to give you reason to endorse my proofs. I believe it is as well to be forthright in these matters." He handed over the envelope. "I will arrange for perfect copies if you wish, with signatures from witnesses as to their authenticity."
Menshikov was not literate enough to read what the various parchment documents disclosed, even if they had been written in Russian. "I'll have Urusov examine them, and Jeremye Kristostomovich Belayov, the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter, who has more experience of foreign languages as well as patents of title and arms than I do."
"As you wish. They will be available to you whenever you like." Niklos held up his right hand, revealing his sigil-ring on his little finger; he studied Menshikov, trying to anticipate what he might next tell him.
"Have you a place to stay? We are lamentably short of room just now. Everyone is crowded, and we have yet to provide actual hostelries for travelers. In a year or two, it will be otherwise, but now--" Menshikov made a gesture to indicate the whole of the city. "We're building as rapidly as the work-gangs can manage, and the climate allows."
"Thank you for your concern; I will be staying with Hercegek Gyor at the care-house in his quarters there. I've one servant with me, a man I engaged at Pskov, and four horses, which my countryman, Hercegek Gyor, has found accommodation for--the Ksiezna Nisko will give space in her stable to all."
"A prudent arrangement; the Poles have bunks in their stable, and a stove to keep the horses warm. Your man and your horses could do much worse." Little as he was inclined to inquire, Menshikov said, "You must have had a difficult journey coming here from--?"
"The message reached me in Transylvania. I had planned to go on to France, where I have some holdings"--that was essentially true; among his inheritance from Olivia was a horse-farm near Orleans--"but when I saw the urgency of the problem here, I came north instead. Wounds of this sort cannot be permitted to fester." He chuckled, the sound more like pebbles underfoot than merry amusement. "I would have rather waited until March or April, but Hercegek Gyor advised me to come at once."
"How very punctilious of the Hercegek." Menshikov frowned at the parchments he held as if staring at them would turn them legible, then abruptly thrust them toward Niklos. "Here; take them. You had
best keep these with you until you're ready to present them to the Clerk of the Foreign Quarter."
Niklos took the sheets, folded them again, and returned them to the envelope. "I will try to arrange a time to present them tomorrow."
"Don't delay too long, or the people will ask why." Menshikov regarded Niklos. "I would have thought you would be older."
"I'm not as young as you suppose," he countered. "It is probably fortunate that I have kept a certain youthfulness, for in my travels I would prefer to be thought vigorous."
