Tolbolsk, Russia
It was overcast and windless in Tobolsk, something much to be desired given the sheer, terrifying Siberian cold. The town was a mix of the rough-hewn and the sophisticated. There’d long been a lot of wealth to be extracted here, which explained a good deal of the sophistication. And rough-hewn, specifically in the form of log cabins, some of them more in the line of log palaces, was explained by the sheer amount of wood available. The roads would probably have been mud, in warmer weather, a misery to all who might travel them, but for now, amidst the usual Siberian cold, they were hard and fine.
Ahead, the town’s kremlin, or fortress, loomed steep and menacing. It was an old fort and, while its white-painted walls would not have stood a day against even the cannon of two centuries prior, none of the local threats had ever had even those.
We made it on time, thought Turgenev, with wonder. Despite the distractions, diversions, troubles… all that, we still made it on time.
Sarnof, the signaler, already had a message composed, for when they found the telegraph office. It read, in the original, “Arrived Tobolsk Stop looking for market.”
They passed by one rather large, two-story log structure. On the side facing Great Friday Ulitsa, it had eight windows per floor, each with a peaked pediment above it. There was a single gable on the roof facing the road. After they passed it, Turgenev turned around in his saddle to read a sign on the roof proclaiming “PHOTOGRAPHIA,” as well as one very large window—he estimated it at perhaps four arshini by about six—composed of some forty panes.
Hmmm… I wonder if we can get them to… think carefully, first. Vast potential for compromising ourselves.
“Sergeant Mokrenko?”
“Sir?”
“What would you think about getting that photography shop to get pictures of the town for the main force to study and plan with?”
“Good idea, sir, if we could do it without compromising anything?”
“Great minds, Sergeant, think alike.”
Next, on the same side of the road, they passed a large church or perhaps a cathedral. A sign outside proclaimed it to be The Cathedral of the Annunciation. It was set back from the street, slightly, but had a bell tower with cupola that towered over the surrounding buildings.
It wasn’t but a few minutes later that the horses brought them to a very large and quite ornate house, with guards posted on the doors.
“Sergeant? You do the talking if there’s any to be done.”
“Sir.”
Mokrenko asked one of the guards, “Comrade, can you direct us to a hotel? We’ve been on the road, looking to buy furs, for too long now, and could use a hot bath and some decent food.”
The guard addressed spat on the ground. “Decent food in Tobolsk is hard to come by. A hot bath? I seem to remember what those were, but it’s been so long. ‘Decent’? You want a decent place to sleep? We’re all sleeping in the basement of this place, if that gives you any idea. For that matter, this place has rented rooms in the past; there’s even one guest and her daughter here now. But we’re full. Even so, there’s a none-too-reputable place north of here and a bit to the east. This road doesn’t go all the way; you’ll have to take a left, a right, and then another right. If you find yourselves at the river turn around and go the other way.”
“Thanks, comrade,” Mokrenko replied.
On the left they passed a stockade in front of a smaller house, though it was still of respectable size. There were guards ringing it, not just posted on the doors.
I think, thought the lieutenant, that we’ve found the royal family.
From the vantage point of the horses, they could see a bit into the yard the stockade defined, and even to what looked, by the smoke coming from the chimney, to be a kitchen building to the west. There was a snow-covered hill—or just a hill of snow, it was impossible to be sure—standing in the yard.
Mokrenko glanced left from time to time, trying to see if there was any unambiguous sign of the royal family. He caught faint shadows and images, through the windows of the place, but these were not unambiguous. Two people, one of whom seemed vaguely feminine, cut wood in the yard, but that didn’t prove anything. Another, by his dress a young boy, chased some turkeys about the yard.
“Move on! Move on, you lot!” commanded one of the men ringing the place. “The former royal family is no fucking business of yours.”
Well, that answers that question, doesn’t it? I wonder if we could see into the compound from that cathedral back there. Mokrenko turned as far as he could to the right and determined, I think someone could. Have to check it out when I get the chance.
“Sorry, Comrade,” said Mokrenko. “We didn’t know. Just seemed odd to have so many guards. We’re in the fur-trading business, just in from the taiga, and, given the close guard, I wondered if maybe it was being used as a warehouse for especially valuable furs. Naturally, that would interest us.”
“Oh, they’re valuable, all right, but not for furs. Go look up around and behind the kremlin; there are a couple of traders there.”
“Thanks, Comrade.”
Heading farther north, and after taking those suggested turns, about as far from the royal family as the latter were from the photography studio, the half dozen passed by what the lieutenant said was the town’s electric plant. Not my call as to whether it’s a proper target for the main force, but they need to know about it so they can decide.
“There are a lot of churches here,” observed Natalya, riding beside the lieutenant.
“About one for every thousand people in the town, or maybe more,” said Turgenev, softly. “And none of them burnt and none of them, so far, appear to have any soldiers—presumably Reds—quartered in them. That might tell us something of the outlook of the townspeople. But then, too, I’ve heard that there are an enormous number of very rich people here, and that may be of use to us, as well.”
“I think we turn right here, sir,” said Mokrenko.
“The place feels unsettled to me,” Natalya said. “The way the people walk… the way they look over their shoulders. Something has changed here, and very recently. And I don’t think anyone is really in charge yet.”
“I think you’re right,” said Turgenev, adding, “you, my dear are a very clever girl. We’ve passed a lot of what look like discharged soldiers so far. How many do you think there are?”
I’d have been a good deal happier if he’d said, “clever woman” or even “clever young woman.” But then, by calling me a girl he also avoids having to think about the uses to which I was put, and maybe even helps me not to think about them.
“A couple of thousand, I suspect,” said Natalya. “They may not all be disorganized rabble, though.”
They came to a hotel soon, but it was anything but inviting. Said Turgenev, looking it over while hiding his disgust, “I’d like to set ourselves up a house where we can be secure from prying eyes and eager ears. But to do that without risk we’ll need to nose around a good bit. And that takes time, while time demands shelter. So, in the interim, this… hotel… I suppose.
“And from here on out we’re all on a first name and patronymic basis.”
In Tobolsk, virtually everything was dear. This was unsurprising in a place mostly cut off from the rest of the world by snow and ice for eight months out of the year. That applied, too, to the accommodations. Indeed, given the quality of the appointments—the section was fortunate to have their own bedding—the price demanded was nothing less than insulting.