"Crimson Snow" by David Shone

[Crimson_Snow]

The Hospital



Protopopov sat in a warm, comfortable corner near the hospital’s front desk. Even after two hours, the image of Rasputin’s mangled corpse was burned into his frail mind. He no longer knew what was real and what was merely a hallucination. He had a strange feeling he had not seen the last of Rasputin.
He had had Captain Zubov and his men secure the entire basement, including the morgue. He was not taking any more chances. Looking at his watch, he knew that Vlad was assembling his army nearby. In a couple hours, it would all be over. But first, he would have a front row seat to all the action. In a few minutes, he was planning on heading up to the roof. He was not certain that he would be able to see anything from that vantage point, given the fog, but it would be better than sitting and waiting.
As he reached for the newspaper, a young man with a desperate look on his face stormed into the lobby, asking about his wife. Setting the paper down, the minister rose from his seat. Perhaps it was time to catch some fresh air. As he climbed the stairs, he looked out at the palace, ablaze in light. Soon, he thought. As Protopopov nearly reached the second floor, he saw the palace lights flitter. Then, all went black.
He heard the stranger climb the steps behind him. “May I help you search for your wife?” the minister asked.
The man said only: “The palace lights are out.”
“Really? Perhaps there’s a drill.”
“No. I would have known of it. I am an engineer at the power plant.” Misha said. “The generators are in perfect order.” He looked toward the soldier guarding the stairwell. “Private, do you see anything peculiar out there?”
“What do you mean?” He looked out, then blew his whistle. Misha and the guard ran out the door.
As Protopopov turned, a man he knew to be dead greeted him. It was Rasputin.
“It appears your plans are now known.”
“You’re not real.”
The Siberian laughed. “Just because my body lies three floors below doesn’t mean that I don’t exist.”
The minister closed his eyes, but he could still feel Grisha’s presence. Then he heard a harsh whisper: “Time to pay for past sins.”
He summoned his politician’s charm and declared to the room, “Sins? What sins? My dear priest, you forget that I am an atheist.”
Bursting into uncontrollable laughter, Protopopov knew then that he had he lost his battle for the possession of his own mind. He walked down the steps, searching for a door and mumbling to himself, “How can this be?”

[Crimson_Snow]

A Few Kilometers Away


Sitting high on his mount, Vlad would have held an excellent view of the battlefield if only a velvet cloud was not covering the woodland. Moments earlier, he had heard an explosion coming from within the palace grounds. But he could no longer wait. He would reach his destiny or cease to exist.
“Gentlemen,” he yelled, “IN LIFE, a soldier is asked only TWO TASKS. They are TO LIVE, and they are TO DIE. Tonight, we live so tomorrow, RUSSIA SHALL NOT DIE!”
In that moment, his entire regiment removed their sabers from their sheaths. As they cheered, they waved their weapons wildly in the air.
Removing his own saber, their commander added, “Let’s seize what is ours—GLORY!”
The men screamed in unison, “The GLORY shall be ours!”
Vlad spurred his heels deeply into the beast and steered him toward his new home. It was time to take back what was rightfully his.

[Crimson_Snow]

The Barracks



Stumbling into the woods, a Cossack cautiously set down his bottle of wine and tried to adjust his hat. A few minutes earlier, he thought he had heard an explosion coming from the woods, but it had to have been just a falling tree. Speaking of trees, he thought, it was time to relieve himself from some of the wine.
As he buttoned up, he heard steps crashing through the woods. He removed his rifle from his shoulder. Perhaps his friends sent him a woman? That would be too much to expect. Most likely, it was only a deer. He lifted his rifle and waited. It wasn’t a deer; it was a Russian duke.
“Halt!”
Dmitri stopped dead in his tracks. As he raised his hands, Serge bumped into the back of him.
“What are you doing in the woods at this hour?”
“Take us to your commander at once,” Serge said.
“First, I want to know why you’re here.” The guard knew better to allow two strangers to crash in unannounced.
“We don’t have time for this,” Dmitri said as he walked slowly toward him. The Cossack again raised his rifle.
“Move no closer,” he warned. He was starting to feel all the wine he drank. “Where are your papers?”
“Papers? I said we don’t have time for this. The tsar’s life is in danger. Take us to your captain.”
The soldier was thankful that these two would soon be his captain’s problem. Taking them to the captain also would let him return to the party. He thought of what he was missing.
“You idiot! The palace lights are out!” the duke declared, pointing.
The Cossack looked. He couldn’t believe it. He repeated, “The palace lights are out!” He stood still as the two men ran to the barracks. He could only repeat, over and over, “How can this be?”
***

As dancers danced and gypsies sang, the barrack’s guard led the pair to his captain, a lanky man with intense eyes.
“Captain, the palace is under siege,” Dmitri announced as the flamboyant kicks from the folk dancers ceased.
“Under siege? By whom?”
“If you don’t believe us,” the prince advised, “then look for yourself.”
“I shall. And for both of your sakes you better hope that—” He stopped in mid-sentence. The park lights were out.
As he rushed outside, he saw one of his men standing in the middle of yard.
Men poured out of the barracks. “Captain, what’s going on? Why are the palace’s lights out?”
“Captain, General Vladimir may have two to three regiments in those woods,” Dmitri warned.
“So?” he said, smiling. “They shall all be dead by morning.”
One of his men brought over three horses. Climbing one, he yelled out, “Guards and brothers! The Great Don needs us to ride. Tonight, we will drink a helmetful of glory for him! All guards to the palace and destroy all that lay in your path! Charge!”

[Crimson_Snow]

The Tsar's Study


Four men entered the tsar’s private study, holding large gas lamps. One was Chekhov. Another was Ernie.
“Your Majesty, are you all right?”
“Yes. What happened?”
“The power has been cut and there are reports of enemy forces within the palace gates,” a soldier tsar said.
“It’s Vlad,” Ernie said a little winded. “I saw his forces gathering to our north- near the tower, ten minutes ago.”
“Hell, of a walk Ernie.”
“Tell me about it. I nearly crabbed myself.”
The tsar wasn’t amused.
“A few of my men have already confronted a hostile force to the east of us,” the captain of the guards reported. “I believe they were just scouts. All of them bore the pure black uniforms of the Vladimir Regiment.”
“Anything else?” Sandro asked.
“Yes. The unknown soldiers my men engaged were wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guards, Preobrazhenski Regiment.”
“Captain Gogal have your men bar all the doors,” General Konstantin said calmly, removing a shotgun from a nearby cabinet. Colonel Zurin must have been discovered. “If they want us, they will have to come get us.”
“Platon, we have no idea what’s going on out there,” replied Sandro. “For all we know, it could be the entire Guard that turned.”
“Impossible,” he said, loading his weapon. “His Majesty’s Life-Guards would never turn.” He said it with more confidence than he actually felt. “It could only be a few platoons of the Preobrazhenski Regiment mixed with Vlad’s men. The Cossacks shall soon wipe them out.”
Then, an officer of the Guard entered the room.
He nervously barked, “I have sent riders to the Cossacks’ barracks, but no one has yet returned.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Their lights are still on.”
Like a closing fist, silence choked the room. That was until the emperor spoke.
“Well then,” he said pounding his fist down upon the table, “if they want a fight, then that is what they’re going to get.”
He removed a revolver from his desk. As he checked to make certain it was loaded, he said, “Captain, get my horse!”
Sandro and Platon looked at one another. Perhaps there was a little bit of his father in Nicholas after all.
“Sire,” Sandro said, “we respect your bravery, but we mustn’t jeopardize the regime. And you are the regime.”
“Alexander,” the tsar said as he fastened his sword to him, “for two-and-a half years I have been forced to listen to these fools while millions of my subjects perished. You have seen firsthand the results. For once in my life, I feel empowered to do something about it. What is happening is God’s will. Tonight, a battle will be waged between the forces of good and evil.”
Another officer marched into the study, surrounded by sentries. “Your Majesty, there is a great force to our west near the Old Arsenal,” he said out of breath, “I saw it with my own eyes less than ten minutes ago.”
“How large?” Konstantin asked.
“Three, perhaps four, regiments, all on horseback.”
“Three to four thousand men,” muttered Sandro, “within the palace grounds?”
“Yes, general. When I saw them, they were preparing to mount.”
“What about His Majesty’s Cossacks?”
“I don’t know.”
“Very good,” the tsar responded, “Gather my family, commander. You will be in charge of their personal protection. Grab as many men as you need and take them to the cellar. See to it that nothing happens to them.”
“Your Majesty,” Platon said, walking towards the door,“with the entire palace guard, I believe we can make our escape to the east. We can penetrate this doom that is encircling us but we must act quickly. ”
Nicholas shook his head as he walked towards his horse. “Vlad is no fool. The roads leading to the east will be by now guarded just as well as those leading west. He knows that if I escape his trap, his head would be mine. No, our only hope is to confront his troops.”
The tsar looked at one of his waiters holding a rifle and smiled. “Let’s bring the fight to Vlad. For those who throw the seed of trouble shall reap it.”
“They are coming. I can feel it,” Platon said as they mounted their horses.
Sandro shook his head. “I don’t know. I hope we see the Cossacks soon, or this is going to be a short ride.”
As he rode into the darkness, the tsar prayed, “Lord, please give me the strength to do mighty things.”
At that point, they heard cannon fire resonating from the hills. Clusters of lightning materialized atop of a small hill, followed by the sound of thunder. It appeared the gods were angry.
“Ride with me tonight, O Lord. Ride with me,” the tsar prayed. “Like a good Shepard- he must sacrifice himself for his sheep.”

[Crimson_Snow]

The Heights Above the Palace


Smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves, Major Fedorov told himself that it would all be soon over. From his advantage point high above the palace, all looked in order. The combined ranks of Vladimir’s Regiment and the Preobrazhenski Guards should already be mounted. In thirty minutes, the palace would be theirs.
The fog was beginning to lift, ensuring his battery a splendid view of the field. By tomorrow, he would be a major general. Not bad for a thirty-four-year-old. Not bad at all.
Walking in front of his guns pointed toward the woods, he thought he heard something, a sort of sickly howl. His men nervously stared at one another, then moved toward the woods. The dark refuge revealed nothing but the swelling noise of men on horseback traveling quickly through the undergrowth. This wasn’t part of the evening’s plans. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Below, and across the frozen marsh, another cry came from the woods. It was a battle cry.
The major’s men quickly aligned their guns. They all knew that nothing good was coming from those woods. All the men loyal to Vlad were now at the steps of the old arsenal. Below them, the clambering continued. It had to be the tsar’s personal envoy Don Cossacks, whose barracks were located on the other side of the mound. The gunners made certain their weapon were loaded and ranged in. Hopefully, the guns would make a short order of them. Hopefully.
The Cossacks exploded through the woods. All their horses were in full gallop. Like black ants fleeing a trampled anthill, they emerged from the dark woods and devoured a white meadow. It was a ghostly image made real when the riders screamed out their fiery rallying cry: “Charge!”
The men atop the hill wasted no time. They all looked at their leader as he told them to commence firing at will. The artillery quickly reached the tree line as Cossacks began pouring out. Above their heads, timber began to explode and chucks of shrapnel scattered through the air. Several riders fell. But the majority moved on. The second salvo was better aimed. More men fell. The riders pushed on. Now the Cossacks separated into two groups. One rode in the direction of the palace, and the other headed directly toward the battery of guns.
The major could not believe his eyes. How could this be? He had at least two more chances to save himself.
Undaunted by the cannon fire, the riders approached as clouds of smoke filled the skies.
The third volley landed and the band of screaming Cossacks continued. As they charged the hill, they all lowered their lances.
“Steady men, steady,” the major warned, but men were already beginning to run off. “Fire!”
With a flash of light, the forth salvo barked as the first rider reached the hillcrest. There was a problem. He had no machine gunners to support his heavy guns, thanks to Zurin.
“Damn you, Zurin! I will see you in hell!”
As his men scattered down the hill, the almost-major ran for his horse. When he had nearly reached it, he turned back and saw the hilltop littered with men.
From their horses, the Cossacks with their long sabers chopped at anything that moved. Then, one of them lined him up with his lance and charged. He watched the one shot he got off miss the advancing rider.
Falling to his knees, he whispered, “Why?”
***

Vlad’s men stopped. Their prize lay ahead just of them. Then they heard the cannon fire coming from the direction of their flank.
Vlad knew what that meant—the Cossacks were coming, and soon.

[Crimson_Snow]

Within the Herd of Charging Cosacks

Serge and Dmitri eyed one another in a way that stated the obvious: how in the hell did they get here?
They had been under fire since breaking the tree line. The lancers were closing in on the heavy guns. At that moment, the field in front of them exploded into a dark dusty cloud.  Konstantin braced himself for the worst, but as he rode through the cloud of dirt, he saw Dmitri’s horse turn back toward him.
The duke, covered in wet snow and dirt, smiled. “You’re all right!”
“Never better!”
“Good,” the duke declared as he tightened his reins. “Tally-ho!” The duke’s “tally” was much more convincing than his “ho,” for as they reached the crest, he witnessed the size and strength of the enemy.
Aglow by a thousand torches, Vlad’s army was in motion. Below them came an opposing army two or three thousand strong of Russia’s elite soldiers, all on horseback. They appeared invincible. Nonetheless, the Cossack captain wasted no time. Like a moth to a hot flame, he led his six hundred men straight toward them.
In full gallop, Serge attempted to get Dmitri’s attention. But, the duke was as fixated as the captain on stopping the rebellion. Then Serge saw a man who nearly dwarfed his horse. It had to be Vlad. The prince hoped that Nicholas was no longer in the palace, for it would soon be overrun.
***

Looking over his shoulder, Vlad saw cavalry approaching from the north. It had to be the Cossacks. Damn!
“General, would you like to me to lead a charge against them?” one of his commanders asked.
“Why bother?” he shouted as he spurred his horse. “The prize is in front of us, not behind.” Then he muttered to himself, “Damn. Just a waste of perfectly good wine.”
The palace was getting closer. Then, Vlad noticed a small squadron of men riding toward him.
Belarus saw them too. “Palace guards. Not a threat.”
“Doing their duty to die for their emperor,” Vlad grinned. “See to it personally that we are accommodating.”
The fog was gone now, and the night had become crystal clear. There was a pale crescent moon. Now, the only uncertainty that lay before them was the outcome.
***

General Konstantin, with a shotgun still in his hand, shouted at the top of his lungs to Sandro: “The doctor said I had months to live. I am beginning to have my doubts.”
Sandro was too busy laughing to reply. Then, they noticed the tsar’s white charger bolting ahead of the pack of horses.
***


As the distance closed, Vlad knew. It was no ordinary squad approaching, it was the tsar himself. Good, he thought, rushing to the lead.
Belarus cleared his throat. “General, I believe—“
      “I already know. Nicholas is approaching. Your orders are the same. Finish him!”
***


Vlad’s men were within a hundred yards when the emperor brought his horse to a halt. His Majesty’s Life Guard slowed their horses and moved to surround him. Chekhov, pushing his horse closer to the sovereign, had his saber out as he eyed the traitors.
When Sandro and Platon reached Nicholas and his guard, the four of them and the rest of the palace guard were encircled by friend and foe.
“Gentlemen, you wanted to pay me a visit,” declared the tsar. “I am before you. What is it that you ask?”
Vlad and Belarus arrived shortly before the Cossacks, who were dumbfounded by this odd sight. All lowered their lances, and reached for their sabers.
Nicholas spoke again. “I say, what fool brought you all out on a night like this?” There were a few snickers. “Gentlemen, before we all freeze to death, I ask you once more—what you wish of me?”
“Just your death,” Vlad declared, moving his horse closer to the tsar’s mount.
“Yours first!” Platon said, pointing his shotgun at Vlad’s chest.
“General Konstantin, please lower your shotgun,” Nicholas ordered. Reluctantly, the soldier obeyed.
“And my glorious Cossacks, please lower your lancers and sabers. You too, Chekhov.”
“You don’t understand, Nicholas. You are no longer giving the orders,” Grand Duke Vlad said.
“Really? Is that true, my brave men? Am I no longer worthy of your trust?”
One of Vlad’s men spoke. “Your Majesty, the war has turned the world upside down. Grand Duke Vladimir would have a better chance of restoring our ranks to proper order.”
“I see.”
“Nicholas, you have two choices: live or die,” Vlad said tersely. “You decide.”
The ground began to shake. They looked to the west, where the combined regiments of the Horse Guards and the Dragoons from Palovski Palace were emerging.
The tsar spoke: “My dear cousin, there’s one more choice that you have not mentioned.” He unsheathed his sword. “And that is for you to get out of my way!”
“So be it,” Vlad said, freeing his own sword.
***

[Crimson_Snow]

What Remained


Vlad knew all was lost, at least for the moment. Most of his men had never seen the tsar appear so godly. It didn’t help matters that General Konstantin’s shotgun had decapitated the brave but foolish Captain Belarus as he pushed his commander out of the way.
When the other Cossacks started wielding their sabers, and their cry combined with the enormous cavalry charge from the west, he knew it was over. Two-thirds of his men scattered like thieves into the nearby woods.
“It’s over, Vlad,” General Konstantin said as he raised his saber. “You must realize it by now.”
“I feel that I lost a battle but not the war,” he replied as he turned his stallion toward Platon. “By tomorrow, I will have another army under me!”
“By tomorrow you will be dead!” Konstantin shouted as his sword fell upon Vlad’s saber.
As Vlad’s blows crashed down on him, Konstantin was barely able to protect himself. Sandro, from a distance, aimed his pistol at the giant attacking his friend. Vlad, through luck or misfortune, turned just in the nick of time. The bullet grazed his shoulder. That was when Serge first saw his father from the other end of field.
Weakened, Platon would not give up. The general knew that all he needed to do was to keep Vlad engaged until dragoons arrived. “Looks like you’re running out of options,” he shouted.
“So are you, old man!” Vlad sneered and, with lightning speed, his sword drew blood. The duke took out his frustrations on an old foe.
Seeing this, Serge crossed the field in full gallop. “No!”
With one last swing, Platon fell from his horse. I was shocked that he had not won.
“Father!” Serge cried as he dismounted.
Platon looked at his son. “Sergei,” he gasped, “I tried.” The old general smiled and closed his eyes. Sandro checked his pulse. “It’s weak, but steady.”
“Where’s Vlad headed?”
“Escaping to the east,” Sandro said as he placed pressure on Platon’s wounds, “He must be heading to his cottage across the woods. If you hurry, you can cut him off at the ruins. And if you catch him—finish him.”
Serge nodded. He knew the ruins well. He had played there often as a child. Serge brought his saber’s blade to his face in a final salute to his father. With that, the prince rode off in the direction of the ruins.
The tsar, seeing all of this, dismounted from his horse. “How is he?” Sandro’s eyes and his tunic covered with the general’s blood stated the obvious. Konstantin was going to die.
Nicholas moved closer and cradled the general’s head. “Platon, my most loyal one,” he said as tears filled his eyes. “You have always done what was asked of you,” with that Platon slipped into unconscious but the tsar kept speaking. Crying out, “I did not know, Platon. For God’s sake please believe me. The separate peace was all Alix’s doing!”

[Crimson_Snow]

The Way to the Ruins

Nikolai was right, Vlad thought as he fled the field. We should have waited and recruited more men. As cries of pain filled his ears, he looked down at his saber still in his hand and felt sorrow for only one. He believed General Konstantin deserved a better death.
He had one chance of escape, but he needed his pretty little ballerina as a bargaining chip for his safe passage to the south.
“Almost,” he said to his favorite as they headed toward the cottage.
“The battle is not over yet, general. Our men can still fight.”
The poor man was too much of an optimist. They had dared greatness and failed. As they traveled east, he wished for the return of the night’s earlier fog, but it had all lifted. No hiding anymore. They were being chased by a small group of Cossacks whose horses were closing in on them quickly.
“General, we must split up if we are to have any chance to survive.”
Vlad, covered in blood, nodded in agreement. “Michael, do what you can.”
He turned his horse. “I will hold them off as long as I can. See you in hell, General!”
Vlad smiled. “Save me a seat.”
Half of the men followed their commander to a certain death. The other half followed the duke. When Vladimir reached the security of the trees, he turned back and heard a familiar voice scream, “Long live Tsar Vladimir! Long live Russia!”
It was a gallant act, but a costly one. The rebels were cut down quickly. The Cossacks were taking no prisoners, and Vlad’s men felt their vengeance with every slicing blow.
Vlad did not look back. He could not afford to. He had underestimated his cousin. In the south, he could recruit more men. He could once again try to overthrow Nicholas. He thought of the new battles to come and smiled.
He was five minutes away from the cottage. With Kschessinska by his side, he could flee the capital and head south. Then, he heard a horse at the top of the ridge.
Vlad hurried down the hill, but his horse stumbled. He was lucky the horse did not roll over him in the fall. Grabbing his revolver and sword, he walked out of the woods as the brightness of the crescent moon blinded him. As he closed his eyes, he heard his pursuer slicing through the woods.
“Give me your horse! I will make certain you are saved.”
“Not tonight, General,” Serge said as he came into the light. “As far as I am concerned, you can rot in hell!”
Nearby were the ruins, an old fort made up of two towers connected by an arched bridge. What an ideal spot to finish it.
“You want me,” the general said, “come and get me.”
“You killed my father,” the prince said as he unsheathed his sword. “And now I am going to kill you.”
Vlad began testing his sword. “Do what you must boy. I need a horse.” He paused. “And yours will do.”
Serge looked at his horse. “Here she is. Your freedom. Now, all you must do is pass through me.”
Young Konstantin gave off a calm confidence. Vlad had seen this look before. The boy wanted to prove something to the world.
“Serge, let me pass,” he said in a charming tone, “and I will let you live.”
“Vlad,” he replied with a crazed look, “you can’t kill what is already dead.” With those words, the prince rushed across the narrow bridge.
The duke raised his sword in a salute, “Your last chance, son. Join me or die.”
Striking his first blow, “Never.”
From the distance, their silhouettes danced across the moon. It was a timeless struggle of pain and pride played against a Gothic backdrop of earth and stone.
Back and forth, creeping over the bridge, the two men exchanged blow after blow. It appeared to be a stalemate. Vlad was nearly twice as big, but Sergei was fierce and quick, and fighting for revenge.
“Your father taught you well,” Vlad shouted with a toothy grin. “It is a pity all that shall soon go to waste.”
“If you can, then do it,” Serge replied with one more powerful blow, one that drew blood.
Vlad was startled. Never before had he been cut in battle. He brought his sword up one last time, and saluted the younger man. “The day is yours,” he said, still wearing his grin. “But I am afraid your horse is mine.”
Serge rushed him. “Not quite.”
“Quite,” Vlad said, raising his revolver and pulling the trigger. He aimed low, at Serge’s leg; the shot took him off the bridge.
Serge fell hard, but he did not scream. He was too mad to scream. Vlad looked down at him. “You, my boy, are worthy of the Konstantin name. Remember that.”
The duke knew the shot would not go unnoticed. He quickly leaped onto the horse. “Young Konstantin, you’re a good fighter. But sometimes that is not enough.”
Holding his leg, Serge didn’t bother to pull out his own empty revolver. “You can’t escape, Vlad! Now, you can never escape.”
“We will see. Your new girlfriend will be my ticket out, and she is just over the ridge. Good-bye, Serge. I am certain our paths shall cross again.”
Just then, Dmitri emerged from the tree line, holding a lance. He raised it, then charged, yelling “Traitor!”
Vlad’s unceasing smile disappeared from his face.
“Long live Russia!” the general countered. “Long live the House of Vladimir!” Then, Dmitri’s lance found its mark. The giant fell in one pass. Serge recalled what Bimbo earlier said: with one swing, the dragon was cast down along with all his angels.
Dmitri reached Serge with a look of redemption on his face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m good.”
“The Lord offered me a second chance, Serge.”
“And you made the most of it, my friend. Let’s make sure this is finished.”
Returning to the spot where Vlad fell, Serge half-expected the duke’s body to be gone. But it wasn’t.
The dragon was not dead, but Serge had seen enough dying people to know he would be soon.
“You came close, Vlad,” Serge said. “But Nicholas is tsar.”
“Not for long.”
“For long enough.”
Vlad grew quite and still. He was gone.
Dmitri searched the dead man’s pockets to shed light on the names of those involved. But all he found was a map, and a letter addressed to Grisha. The duke recognized the handwriting. It was Alexandra’s.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t even want to know,” he said, setting the letter ablaze. “Serge, where were you a week ago?”
***

[Crimson_Snow]

Before the Steps of the Ruins

The tsar and a small army of men reached the field few minutes later. “Where is he?” the emperor shouted.
Serge pointed to the ground. “Here.”
The field became still. Then the tsar shouted, “Bring him back to the palace.”
“Wait. What about Mathilde?”
“Mathilde,” the emperor stopped dead in his tracks, “What has Vlad done?”
“He told me that she was just beyond the ridge.”
“The cottage?”
“Your Highness,” declared an officer on horseback, “I just came from there. We found the Grand Duke Andrei tied up in the cellar. The rest of the house was empty.”
“Major, take a few men to guard the duke’s body. The rest of us will search the imperial stables near the cottage.”
***

They found her in a stall, bound and gagged. The tsar told his men to wait outside. He slid open the door. “Marie!” his pet name for her when they were young. He was so thankful she was safe that he had some fun as he untied her. “How do you get yourself into these things?” Then he noticed her black eye. “Bastard!”
“I am all right. Is he dead?”
“I assure you he shall never harm any one again.”
Then it was her turn to tease. “Niki, finally. You came back to rescue me!”
“I thought it was the other way around.” He gently caressed her bruised face as the both rested upon a bale of hay. They quickly embraced. It was only a moment, but for the two of them it was a lifetime.
“Thanks for the note. I am sorry that I am a little late.”
She brushed the dirt off his face. “Don’t mention it. Is it over?”
“Yes, it’s over. Vlad’s dead and a lot of my men are dead or wounded, including my friend Konstantin.”
“Not Sergei!”
“No, his father, Platon. The fool saved my life. I pray he makes it.”
“But why did they do this?”
“I don’t know. But I plan to find out.”
***

Sandro stood alone on the porch aglow in torchlight. Hovering above him was the palace of yellow and white. There, within its walls, he had just laid his good friend down to an eternal sleep.
“Where’s Platon?” the tsar asked as he and Serge rode up. His men had taken Marie back to Boris’ cottage, where she would be safe.
Sandro looked at Serge. “He passed in my arms five minutes ago. His last words were, ‘Take care of my son.’”
Grief encircled Serge. He had meant to speak to his father all weekend. He remembered the missed appointment, then he felt his stomach tumble toward the dirt. Falling to his knees, he felt no pain from his wound, just a longing to speak to his father one last time.
“Sergei, like all great generals he left us in the mist of battle,” Sandro said. “I think he wanted it that way.”
Behind them, thousands of men with torches searched for Vladimir’s remaining men. Those hidden in the woods were doomed. There would be no mercy for the traitors. There could not be. An example needed to be set. Bursts of gunfire and cries of pain were muffled by the passing wind.
The tsar handed his horse’s reins to a servant, “Let’s go in.”
Ernie stood at the palace entrance along with the empress. He was covered in blood. He found bravely this evening. “What should we do with him?” Sandro asked. “He knows too much about tonight.”
“Niki,"he said trying to wipe blood from his own hands, "I don’t know what happened tonight but it is no concern of mine.”
“Ernie,” Niki said, “German or not, you’re my brother-in-law. May I ask a favor of you? Thank you for picking up a sword for me. I..” The tsar had trouble finding the words.
Ernest slowly nodded. "Anytime."
“Now will you swear to me that you will tell no one of this.”
He bowed. “I swear it, on my own sister’s precious head.”
“I guess that will have to do,” Sandro said. The comment brought laughter to the awkward moment. Alexandra turned and went inside.
“Ernie,” Niki said as he put his arm around him.
“I know. You’re going to refuse the kaiser’s terms?”
“Yes. Tell him come spring, the Russians will be ready for him, not basking in the sun.”
“But why the change of heart?”
“Tell him I enjoyed reading his mail. Especially Zimmerman’s telegraph to the sultan.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Willy was never planning on giving me Constantinople. Therefore, I must take it.”
With that, His Majesty entered the palace, with the others behind him. The lights that lined the palace’s long driveway came on, one by one.
“We have power,” a guard said.
“Yes, but for how long?” Sandro thought to himself. “Tonight was just the beginning.”

[Crimson_Snow]

A Father's Funeral

Surrounded by friends and loved ones, Serge looked down upon his father’s casket draped with the imperial flag. It appeared that his world was unraveling before his very eyes. Then, his attention was drawn to the large concrete box that bore his family’s name—KONSTANTIN. He had never felt so alone.
The prince found it difficult to believe that he would never see his father’s face again. Like a whirlwind, the events of the last few days displayed themselves in his head. As he looked to his left, he saw Marie holding hands with Andrei. It appeared that perhaps they were together again, which was good. To the right was Jones, deep in thought. Malachi had told Serge about the argument he and Platon had regarding the dishonor of signing a separate peace.
It seemed to Serge that everyone had an opportunity to speak with his father in the days before his death—everyone, that is, except him.
As an old priest continued his prayer, Serge and Sandro’s eyes met for a brief moment. From the prince’s perspective, the duke had aged a great deal this week. The creases around his eyes deepened and he lost his brisk bounce in his step. Still, he was managed to give Serge a half-hearted smile as the clergyman concluded with a verse from Isaiah, “Though your sins are like scarlet, I will make them white as snow, though as red as crimson, I will make them as white as wool. If you are willing and obedient, you will eat the best from the land. Oh Lord, open your gates and receive this righteous soldier back into your glorious fold. Amen.”
Mathilde and Andrei approached him. “It is a shame Niki could not be here …” she hesitated, allowing Andrei to finish: “But Rasputin’s burial is today.” In some way, it made sense to Serge, that the tsar made this decision, even though Platon had saved the ruler’s life. Andrei added: “I am deeply sorry, Sergei.”
“We both grieve, I for a father, you for a brother.”
“You would not be grieving if it weren’t for my brother.”
Sergei smiled,” Fate is fate, and a brother is a brother.” Andrei nodded his thanks, then left, giving Marie and Serge a minute alone.
“He is now besides his beloved,” she said.
“Somehow, that fact alone made it somewhat bearable.” He paused. “So, you are back together.”
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said halfheartedly.
“Do I detect a little jealousy, my young prince?” she teased.
“No. Maybe.” He was now completely alone. All his family was dead and buried.
She held his hands. “Remember that you have your entire life before you. So, no more looking back,” she smiled. “You see, I have wasted too much of the present retracing the days of my youth.”
“With Nicholas?”
“Yes. To the end of my days I shall love him, but I now know I relate that time we shared with the splendor and sheer innocence of youth. I am no longer that little girl. Finally, I am fine with that.”
“I’m so happy for you. You, if anyone, deserve happiness.”
She watched him return to his dark thoughts. “Don’t, Serge. Your life is ahead of you, full of promise.”
“Promise? But what should I do?”
“Everything,” she said as she gave him a peck on the cheek. “In ten years from now, I shall only be a fading but pleasant memory.”
“Never.”
“Trust me, dear one. You shall see that I am right.”
“I shall miss you.”
“You better,” she whispered in his ear.
Then she was gone. Only Sandro and Jones remained.
“Good sermon,” the duke offered. “Your father would have liked it.”
Serge stared at the draped coffin. “How so?”
“It was short.” All three burst out laughing. Sandro was the first one to collect himself. “Let’s get out of here.”
“What’s next, Sandro?” Sergei asked.
“I don’t know,” the duke said as he eyed Jones. Malachi took the hint and headed back toward the car. He had heard how much the duke despised all things British.
In the distance was Renko- alone as usual. Jones and the inspector shared a professional nod as they passed one another. Today, they were once again allies.
The duke and the prince walked through an area of head stones.
“Tuesday, the tsar severed communication with the Kaiser,” Sandro said when they were alone. “There will no longer be a separate peace. The French and British are pleased, but we have no idea how involved they both were in the coup.”
“And the rest?”
“The rest? Well, Ernest left empty-handed. The tsar has ordered Felix and the Vladimirs except Andrei to their country estates. He wants this all to be swept under the rug.”
“I have heard. But why did he send Dmitri all the way to Persia? Without his help, Vlad may have succeeded in his coup.”
“Nicholas gave me his word that it was only for the time being. I am sure it was a compromise he had to make with the empress.”
“What is Nicholas going to do with her?”
“The empress is the empress. I wish the tsar would just send her off to a nunnery and be done with it, but that will never happen. Her past sins have already been forgiven.”
“And Vlad?”
“He came close. Too close.”
“I haven’t heard a word of this on the Petersburg streets? Not in the papers, or anywhere else.”
“And you won’t. It never happened. It appeared real but it never happened. The papers fell in and reported that Vlad died in his sleep at his palace of an apparent heart attack. This weekend, his name is to be added to the honored dead.”
“Amazing.” He was afraid to ask, but was compelled to do so. “And Bimbo?”
“My brother was ordered to his country estate for the time being.”
“And will there be a constitution?”
“Nicholas sees the logic of it, but would rather wait until spring and declare it from a position of power. He says he will consider it after our first offensive victory.”
“The spring is a long time away.”
“I know. But he does not want it to appear that he’s being forced into it.” Sandro paused. “Well, I must be getting back to my men. Sergei, what are your plans?”
“Returning to the front.”
“When?”
“As soon as my father’s affairs are settled.”
“Good,” Sandro said as he patted him on the shoulder. “We definitely need you, now more than ever.” He paused, smiling. “Son, have you ever flown?”
“No.”
“I have a feeling deep in my bones that you would make a most excellent pilot.”
“Perhaps you can teach me after the war.”
“Why wait?”
“Why indeed.”
As it began to snow, Sandro began another story: “Serge, did I ever tell you about the time your father and I …” The rest was captured by a cold and wild wind.

[Crimson_Snow]

Days later, Serge was on a train headed toward Kiev. He was going there to see a man who planned on teaching him to fly. Sandro was right. He needed a new beginning- another chance. As he entered his compartment, he was surprised to find an envelope lying flat on his chair.
Mustering his courage, he went to his seat and grabbed the manila envelope. With one glance, he knew it was from Renko.
Breaching it, he could feel his palms begin to sweat. At that exact moment, a piece of paper freed itself and floated slowly to the floor.


Serge,
All the beautiful words are from others. I can offer you these: FAITH, HONOR, & LOYALTY. Your father was molded by these three words. What else is there to say?
On Saturday, he asked me to give this letter to you before you left the city. When you didn’t leave, I decided to hold on to it for safekeeping. I am thankful I did. I don’t know what he wrote. Regardless, never doubt the fact that he truly loved you. He did. So take care, and live your life.
Renko

Serge’s hands were now numb as he gazed upon his father’s handwriting. He read what his father wrote. It was more than he probably deserved.

Sergei-
What warmth and tender thoughts your name brings to my pleased heart as I write this- you are the legacy of the love your mother & I shared. Remember that always.
My dear son, you cannot imagine how many farewell letters I have written during my lifetime, far too many. In my youth, I was far too eager to shed my blood for the glory of others. I wasted so much precious moments in the outskirts of the empire when I should have been home with you and your mother. I can only blame myself for the distance between us. Since, I created it so long ago by the choosing to follow my father’s career. It is a decision I regret.
You see, I missed so many firsts in your life. The first time you ever laughed, the first time you lost a tooth, or for that matter the first time you attempted to walk. How can I call myself a father when I was never there?
Though, allow me this one moment, and I am not certain you remember it. Though, I do, as if it only occurred last night. I was between assignments and we just moved into our old house on Fontanka. It was May and you were so scared of your room. I think you thought you had monsters living under your bed.  Ha! Even then, you had such a splendid imagination. It is such a gift.
Though that night, a thunderstorm passed through, and got the best of you. To this day, I can hear you running through the darkness, your tiny feet scampering down the hall as you called out-        
                 ‘Papa, make’m stop.’
How easily I scooped you up to safety then, and within a few moments your weary head fell upon my shoulder in a deep sleep. There, at that moment in my life, I knew what it was to be a father. Someone you could run too.
Your mother just sat back and observed. I know now that she wanted to record that one moment to replay it over and over when I was gone.  And sadly, I always seemed to be gone. There is no forgiveness for neglecting those who you love. I realize that now but I always known that my darling Constance deserved a better man than me. But since she placed her beautifully stubborn eyes on me, she saw a man that needed to be loved. She was, and is my little Angel.
As you might already know, I am dying. The one thing that makes my passing bearable is that I will soon be returning to her. Connie was the one that somehow kept our family together, and strong. Always focused firmly on what mattered. I see so much of your mother in you son. Her goodness. You have the same pureness in nature, and that is a true blessing. I pray the war has not worked out all the good.
     I trust the Lord to keep you well. Please don’t return to Petersburg, I don’t want you to remember me like this.  Instead, keep this letter in memory of me, and at times, pull it out and recall a stormy night when you were scared, little, and running blindly through the dark and I was there. From now on, I always will be.
So, follow your heart, son. Lay down the heavy name that we both bear and chose your own path. Do what you love. I know you will make me proud Sergei- you always have.

Never doubt my love for you.
        Your devoted father in the dark,
P. Konstantin- Petersburg,                  
                      Winter of ‘16                                    


As he finished, the boy placed the letter on his lap and wept. As the train began to pull away from the station, he saw Renko standing at the end of the platform.
Waving at him, Serge mouthed, “Thank you.”
Waving back, Renko mouthed, “You’re welcome.”
Then, he was gone, replaced by the sight of weathered warehouses. A faded advertisement plastered to the side of one of the buildings caught the prince’s eye. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. It was an old war poster. It reminded him that he was now beginning his journey from who he was to who he wanted to be.
Dragging his eyes from it, he eased back in his seat and closed his borrowed eyes and remembered an honorable man wearing an easy smile. Right then and there, in that precious moment, he knew that his father truly loved him. And in the end, that’s all he really needed to know.

[Crimson_Snow]

Official Report on the Disappearance of
Grigory Efimovitch Rasputin


     Saturday, at about 2:30 in the morning the policeman who stands on guard at the house of the Home Office situated on the Morskaia heard a detonation from the palace of Prince Yusupov situated on the opposite side of the Moika. As this post is a special one and the policeman on duty is forbidden to leave it, he went into the Home Office premises and communicated by telephone with the police sergeant on duty at the adjoining station. Then the news of the shooting was passed on to the Kazan police district in which the palace is situated. The chief police officer, Colonel Rogov, with a detachment of men, proceeded to the spot. Examination of the doorman on duty at the adjoining house elicited the fact that the shot had been fired from the young Prince’s side of the palace. In order to ascertain the cause of the shooting in the palace, the assistant police officer, Captain Krylov, was ordered to enter the building and he was informed by the butler that a reception was proceeding inside, and that one of the guests, while practicing at a target, had missed his aim and fired into the window, in proof of which Captain Krylov was shown the broken window on the ground floor overlooking the forecourt of the adjoining house. The data obtained through the investigations were communicated by Colonel Rogov the same night to the Police Master of the Second Division, Major-General Grigoniev, and to M. Chaplygin, the official on duty at the Prefecture.
     Scarcely had the police left the palace when a motorcar drove up along the Moika Canal quay and stopped near a small footbridge almost facing the palace; four men were seen to alight from the car. The moment they left it the chauffeur extinguished the lights, and putting on full speed, made off along the canal. This scene was witnessed by a detective belonging to the Okhrana, named Tikmirov, who had been detailed by the police department to look over Rasputin. Tikhomirov- presuming that the men entered the palace, not by the main entrance but from a door situated on the side of the palace and opening into the forecourt of the adjoining house, were robbers- hurried across the canal to the police station, and thence telephoned a report of what he had observed to the Chief of the Secret Police.
     Colonel Rogov had no sooner returned to his house than he was notified from the Okhrana that information had been received relative to an attack on the palace of Prince Yusupov. A number of police officers were again dispatched there. The butler came out and explained to them that some very highly placed guests had just arrived from environs of Petrograd. A report about this was made during the course of the night to the Prefect, General Balk.
     Shortly after 6 am, at the police station beside the palace, while the police officers who had come off duty were being questioned in the ordinary course as to the events of the night, the sound of several police whistles were heard from the street. This drew the constables and police sergeants to the windows, whence they perceived that from the main entrance of the Prince’s palace two women were being helped out, and that they were offering resistance to their ejection, and refusing to enter a motorcar, and doing their best to force a way back into the palace. In response to their protestations the detectives stationed along the canal had sounded the alarm. By the time the police rushed out of the police station the motorcar was already whirling off along the quay. Hastening out after his men, the police inspector, Colonel Borozdin, hailed the motorcar belonging to the secret police, which was permanently on duty at the Home Office, and started off in pursuit. At the same time his men were hurried to the palace. It was impossible to overtake the fugitive car on account of its superior speed; moreover, it carried neither numbers nor lights. To the police who came to inquire at the palace the explanation was offered that two ladies belonging to the demi monde had been misconducting themselves and had been invited to leave the palace.
     On the nocturnal adventures on the Moika a joint personal report was made to the Prefect in the morning by Colonel Rogov and Captain Borozdin. The whole affair seemed to be at an end when suddenly from the forecourt alongside the palace four shots were heard in rapid succession. Once more the alarm was sounded in both police stations and again detachments of the police appeared at the palace. This time an official wearing a colonel’s uniform came out to them and announced categorically that within the palace there was present a Grand Duke and that H.I.H. would make in person to the proper quarters any explanations that might be necessary. After such declaration, the police inspector, unable to obtain any enlightenment whatsoever, returned to his office, leaving a patrol on the opposite side of the Moika by the way of precaution. About an hour had passed when suddenly from the direction of the Blue Bridge a motorcar drove up to the palace. The servants, assisted by the chauffeur, in the presence of an officer wearing a long fur cloak, carried what looked like a human body and placed it in the car. The chauffeur jumped in and, putting on the full speed, made off the same time, General Grigoryev was informed from the Prefecture that Rasputin had been killed in the Yusupov Palace.
     The police officials on arriving at the palace were met this time by Prince Felix Yusupov, who told them that it would be necessary to draw up a report as to the killing of Rasputin. At first this announcement was not accepted seriously in view of all the strange occurrences of the night. But the police officials were invited to come to the dining room in the basement and there were shown the spot where the body had been lying.
They saw on the floor a pool of congealed blood, and traces of blood were also visible on the snow in the forecourt of the adjoining house. In answer to the question where the body was, the Prince replied that the body was where it should be, declining to give any further explanation.
     Soon afterwards the palace was visited by the Director of the Police Department, the Chief of the Secret Police, and the whole of the Generals of the Gendarmes. The police patrols were relegated to their various stations, and at the subsequent investigation sent over to the officials of the police department. All this was brought to a close on Tuesday, December 20th, upon the tsar’s official order to stop the police investigation- CASE OFFICIALLY CLOSED.

[Crimson_Snow]

Well, that's it. It needs to be tightened quite a bit and the characters don't come alive yet but it is a start.

If you made it this far- tell me what you think.

D. Shone
Cincinnati, OH
June 2nd, 2005

[ferngully]

its a very good start i think its very good for a story, i know would lose patience with it after a while if i wrote it
selina              xxxxxxx

[grandduchess_sofia]

its good, your talented