It was worse for Anya, Bernie was pretty sure, because this was her first time at the nobility’s table. Her friendship with Natasha was still fairly new, after all.
“Yeah,” Cass was saying, “winding up back here before the world got civilized was sort of hard. It was a boon to the here-and-now, but God was playing a nasty trick on us up-timers. Wars all over the damn place, the food sucks, and there’s all this religious bullshit, too. Every time you turn around someone is in your face about religion. When the Ring of Fire made it clear that none of your religions had a clue what God had in mind.”
Father Kiril was having dinner with them. Kiril was a nice guy. Luckily, he spoke almost no English at all so he couldn’t follow what Cass was saying,
Natasha could, however. Her face was cold as she regarded Cass. “Indeed. And you did? Have a clue, I mean. Didn’t you say that back up-time you could have avoided all the difficulty by simply moving? Could you not?”
“No. The big guy didn’t tell us either, but then if he had you would have gotten a ghost town.”
Cass managed to leer and look superior at the same time, and Bernie was more and more sure he was going to have to hit him. The problem was that what Cass was saying was close enough to what a lot of up-timers, and more than a few down-timers, believed to hurt. Certainly if Bernie’s family had known the Ring of Fire was coming, they would have gotten his mom out of the Ring. Bernie would probably have opted to stay in the twentieth century, given the choice. He hadn’t joined the Peace Corps, had he? It was also true that the presence of the up-timers had turned out to be of considerable benefit to the down-timers, at least the large majority of those affected, one way or the other. Looked at one way it looked like God had drafted the up-timers to rescue the seventeenth century from itself. That the up-timers were God’s chosen representatives; whether they wanted to be chosen or not.
Then Cass laughed raucously and snorted beer up his nose.
When all the spewing and coughing was finally over, Bernie looked at Cass. He was pretty drunk. “I think I’ve had enough, Cass. I’m going to crash. You ready?”
Cass was a little bleary from the vodka he had consumed, but wasn’t ready for sleep, apparently. “No, dude. I don’t think so. You go on. I’ll just keep this lady company.” He was eyeballing Anya in a way that Bernie didn’t like at all.
Natasha’s already cold face froze. Anya looked scared. Bernie could see it happening.
“I, myself,” Natasha said, “am quite tired. You gentlemen feel free to enjoy… whatever it is that you enjoy. Until the morning, then. Come along, Anya, Aunt Sofia.” Natasha rose and swept from the room, casting a telling glance over her shoulder. Aunt Sofia’s glance was even more telling.
Bernie got the message. Cass had to learn to behave properly.
“That one will get himself killed,” Vladislav Vasl’yevich murmured. “Soon, I expect.”
“Not by us, though, and preferably not in Russia. Let some other nation do the world the service.” Natasha agreed with his assessment. Cass Lowry was a barbarian. “I know he’s already said things that would be reason for a duel. Certainly most would already have been punished for those remarks. But the czar will want to meet him, just as he met Bernie, and Russia needs what he knows. Vladislav Vasl’yevich, we need to avoid any incident. You’ll have to restrain yourself and your men.”
“At least Bernie did not intentionally insult. This one, though..” Vladislav shook his head. “He is a different type of man. He thinks himself a boyar’s son, protected by his father’s position. He seems to think that everyone in Russia is a peasant.”
Cass was a bit drunk. Not much, just enough to take the edge off. He was wondering what the fuck was Bernie’s problem. After all, Bernie got the fancy job here in Russia, with all the servants and lots of money. What did Bernie have to complain about? Had the idiot gone native? Could have happened, he figured. Bernie had been all alone with a bunch of down-time barbs for over a frigging year. “What is your problem, man? They’re just down-timers. They need us, we don’t need them. Ain’t you figured that out yet? Hell, even up-time kids are getting rich.”
“So what are you doing here, Cass? Since you’re so rich, I mean?”
Cass flushed. “Cheap shot, man. The breaks haven’t been going my way. It’s Stearns’ fault. Treating the down-timers like they’re real Americans and selling us out to the Swedes like he done.”
“Cass, we’re not in high school anymore.” Bernie stared at him intently. “Some breaks are coming your way, sure enough. Broken arms, broken legs and a busted head. One of the ladies you were hitting on is a frigging knyazhna, Cass. That’s Russian for princess. Don’t think for a minute that her guards won’t cut off your dick and feed it and the rest of you to the pigs.”
“What the hell is your problem, Bernie boy? Afraid of the competition?” Cass pulled his new Peacemaker and pointed it casually in Bernie’s direction. He liked the gun and how it made him feel strong and dangerous. It was modeled loosely on the Colt Peacemaker but made in a down-time gun shop. “Anyone wants to cut me, they had better bring a whole lot more firepower than these candy-asses have.”
Bernie froze.
At first Cass thought he had made his point, but Bernie wasn’t really looking scared. Mostly he was looking pissed off.
It occurred to Cass that pointing a loaded gun at Bernie might be pushing it a bit. He really hadn’t meant to piss Bernie off, not till he got the lay of the land, anyway. Especially, he hadn’t meant to let Bernie-boy know that he was competition.
“Hey man, it’s no big deal,” he said, putting away the gun. “If you got dibs on her, I’ll back off.”
Cass knew he was smarter than Bernie. He hadn’t done well in school, but that was because school just bored him. Besides, he was a football star. He didn’t need to bust his hump in English class. He knew he could pick up what Bernie was doing pretty quick. He could probably push Bernie out, if he wanted to. But he wasn’t going to put up with much crap from the dumb-ass down-timers. Not him. Not ever.
Chapter 42
Cass winced at the bright sunshine when he walked out the door three mornings later. “Oh, man, that hurts.”
“Think you might want to be a little more careful with the booze?” Bernie’s smirk was irritating. “Sun shining off snow can really dazzle you, but the biggest part of your problem is your hangover. Three days and three hangovers. No wonder it hurts.”
“Maybe,” Cass muttered. Drinking was about the only thing he was enjoying. Well, that and the girls. Every place they stayed had servant girls. Even staying away from Bernie’s boss-and wasn’t it a laugh that a girl was the boss in Russia-wasn’t hard, not when you had all those other girls around.
Bernie put on his heavy coat. “You ready? Let’s get a move on. This trip is taking forever. I wish the car was running, I really do. Steering and braking with no power while being towed behind a team of horses is a real pain.”
“What did you expect? The thing sat on blocks for years, man.” Cass snorted. “Let’s go. Get to this Dacha place and see if you can get it running.”
Hours in the carriage with only a couple of troops who didn’t speak English was a real bore. But Cass didn’t want to ride on one of the carts out in the open and especially didn’t want to be on horseback. Too cold for that, by half. It was the usual order today. Out ahead of everyone, a double column of ten guards on horseback spread out. Then came the rolling stock. First came the fancy-ass sleigh that the women were in. Cass hated to admit it, but it was actually kind of neat. Boxy, but still sort of streamlined and buffed to a high gloss. Then Bernie was freezing his ass off in that old junker of his. Cass was behind Bernie’s car in his carriage. Then all the carts with all the stuff the Gorchakov dude had sent. At the end of the line there were six more guards. Plus guards in some of the rolling stock.