Historical fiction; Peter I, Emperor of Russia, 1672-1725 -- Fiction; Russia -- History -- Sofia Alekseevna, 1682-1689 -- Fiction
He was terribly frightened; having no idea how I came by my accurate
information, he evidently imagined that I was acquainted with the black
arts. He made no further effort to resist me, but after a little search
in his pockets, produced the packet and handed it to me. I released his
throat to take it, but kept my pistol at his head until I could examine
the seals, and was satisfied that it was the identical packet, and
strange to relate, not a seal was broken.
“Knave,” I said, “where were you taking this?”
A gleam of malicious satisfaction shone in Homyak’s eyes, and yet I
was satisfied that he told the truth when he replied, only enjoying
the thought of my probable discomfiture when I heard who was arrayed
against me.
“I was to take it to the patriarch,” he said.
I started. The patriarch! Yes, it might be so, for he was a member
of the Sabelief family, and a strong adherent of the Naryshkins; but
what a complication! Sophia’s secret intrigues to be laid bare before
Joachim.
I released the dwarf with a hearty kick. “Go,” I exclaimed; “and if I
ever find you meddling with my affairs again, I will cut off your head
just behind your ears!”
Homyak did not wait for further admonition, but scurried away like a
rabbit, only too thankful to get my fingers off his throat.
CHAPTER XIII.
PRINCE BASIL GALITSYN.
ALTHOUGH the packet was again safe in my possession, I was in some
perplexity. The czarevna’s directions were emphatic. I was to have
delivered it into Prince Galitsyn’s hands on the previous evening,
and he was then temporarily at the house of the Boyar Urusof. Where
the prince was now, and what the czarevna’s present wishes in regard
to the ill-fated packet, I was at loss to conjecture. Yet it did not
occur to me to go back to the Kremlin, and restore her missive with
only the plain story of my defeat. While I was casting about in my
mind for a ready solution of my difficult problem, I heard the sound
of a horse’s hoofs, and a rider entered the farther end of the lane;
as he approached, I recognized Pierrot. He uttered an exclamation, and
slipping from the saddle, stood before me, as stoical as ever, save for
a gleam of relief in his eyes. I was more glad to see the knave than I
let him know.
“How came you to seek me here?” I exclaimed, feigning ignorance of his
search for me.
“I went back to the doctor’s,” he replied calmly, “and he told me that
you had gone in this direction. You had better take my horse, M. le
Vicomte,” he added, “and I will return on foot.”
“Have you heard anything at the Kremlin to-day?” I asked, after a
moment’s thought.
“Only of the excitement over the granting of the petitions of the
Streltsi,” he replied.
“Is Prince Basil Galitsyn there?” I asked, hoping he might have some
information.
“No, monsieur,” he said; “the prince has not gone to the Kremlin,
but has just arrived at his own palace, for I passed there but three
quarters of an hour since, and he had just come.”
My mind was made up at once.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account