Mad Mikolaj and the Austrian Infiltration part i

 

Chapter 7 1753

I

 

“Frydek, my pet!” Mikołaj flung his arms around the Prussian monarch, and kissed him heartily on both cheeks and on the lips. “I came to your majesty’s command, and I brought my jewel, my honeyed intoxicant to meet you at last, sire, because she needs a bit of cheering up,” said Mikołaj, turning to smile in total adoration at Gosia.

Friedrich the Great saw a short, somewhat plump, woman, with blonde hair, darker, greyer blue eyes than Mikołaj, and a pale face which was pleasant but not what he would consider beautiful.

She bowed to him, Polish fashion, and the twinkle in her eyes lit up her face for a moment to be sweet and gamine. She also hugged him and kissed him on each cheek, eyes dancing.

“Ah,” said Friedrich, softly. “Your wife is indeed a jewel beyond price. I didn’t see it, at first.”

“We had twins,” said Mikołaj, shortly. “Paweł and Dorota; they lived two days. It was not an easy birth nor pregnancy. Aunt Dorota is caring for Milena and Seweryn, and I thought a trip would be good for my beloved. We nearly brought Seweryn, but he’s old enough to be a real little tyke and into everything, and we didn’t want him putting on wings and collecting Brandenburg when we aren’t looking.”

Friedrich laughed.

“I don’t think I’d dare let him loose in Sans Souci. However, rules are made to be broken, and if I swear you to secrecy on the matter, just for once, I’ll break my rule and permit Towarzysz Gosia to visit, because anyone who can ride sixty miles a day is worthy of respect.”

“Sire! You’re adorable!” said Mikołaj.

“I confess, I have had an urge to see it, from Mikołaj’s descriptions,” said Gosia. “I have male garb with me if it makes things easier, and I will pay my way by playing for you.”

“Ahhh, I look forward to it,” said Friedrich. “I mourned Bach when he died.” He brightened. “I can pay you to play, and then you are an employee not a visitor.”

“Isn’t that sweet, he’s caught casuistry from Ravens,” said Mikołaj. “I didn’t hear of Bach’s death until he’d been gone nearly a year.”

“I was a little tied up producing our heir, and Mikołaj was then tied up with a small haidamak problem and the Harrogate dog-sheep,” said Gosia.

“Now that sounds like a story, if you are able to tell it,” said Friedrich.

Mikołaj chuckled.

“I don’t think it violates any secrecy oaths, though you must be charitable to our dear little friend, Paweł, who was nicely fooled, and I suspect he let himself be fooled, too, out of friendship,” said Mikołaj. “Now, what can we do for you?”

“It’s an internal problem,” said Friedrich, taking Gosia’s arm and leading her to a seat. She gave him a grateful smile, and Mikołaj touched his arm in that gesture that would be an impudence from most, but from Mikołaj was more profound than kneeling to the king. Friedrich gestured to Mikołaj to sit, and smiled that he did so without waiting for Friedrich, who rang the bell for a servant.  Friedrich covertly studied Gosia as the servant brought in refreshments, noting that as a girl, hardly out of school when Mikołaj had married her, she must have been a pocket Venus, with a sweet, pretty face, and he marvelled again at how deep Mikołaj was, to have seen in her a kindred spirit, more than choosing her on her looks.

Gosia caught him looking and obligingly presented profile, three-quarters, and lifted her head up, and dropped it forward. Friedrich laughed.

“How did you two meet again?” he asked.

They shared a look which was almost a kiss.

“I was sent to escort some Prussian wench to school, the daughter of the ambassador,” said Mikołaj. “I got to the house, and looked up into smoke-blue eyes. I fell in and drowned. And the naughty minx had sabotaged the coach she was travelling in, and so had to mount up on her horse, and led me a merry dance riding cross country until she caught me.”

“Oh ho, a very clever snare,” said Friedrich. “And the rest is history.”

“More or less,” said Mikołaj. “You said you had an internal problem. Gosia usually recommends either peppermint or ginger.”

“Mikołaj!”

It was a rebuke from both.

Freidrich turned, laughing, to Gosia.

“My lady, had you been a few years older, and had I seen you before I was married off, I might have been a father instead of a fugitive from my wife,” he said.

Gosia blushed.

“Considering I know what bad looks I am in, I am much flattered by the compliment,” she said.

“Oh, you are cleanly and do not smell as so many court women do, and you do not titter, nor.... well, in short, you are a towarzysz,” said Friedrich.

“I wish you had known a good towarzysz of the Raven Banner in your youth, sire,” said Gosia.

“Well, what is done, is done,” said Friedrich. “Mikołaj – and Gosia, I am sure you help him – I have a spy close to me, who is passing secrets to Austria.”

“Hasn’t Von Frettchen got any ideas?” asked Mikołaj, missnaming the king’s spymaster, Von Distelkamp, having nicknamed him ‘the Ferret’ when he had first met the man.

“Let me explain, here,” said Friedrich. “I suspect either one of two men. One is Eduard,  Graf Von Eschenhalz, who has an Austrian mother; and the other is Wilhelm, Graf Von Blommenlage, who has an Austrian wife.”

“And the ferret doesn’t agree?”

“He doesn’t. But he’s related to Von Blommenlage, and he does not feel that that he is qualified to investigate, as he has an interest.”

“And he thinks it a third party?” said Mikołaj.

“Yes, and he won’t say who,” said Friedrich, crossly.

“Ah.”

“Ah? What do you mean, ‘ah’ in that tone?”

“I mean he suspects someone you don’t want to suspect,” said Mikołaj.  “It wasn’t me, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Norbert. He has no interests in Austria. I have an Austrian title. I even have a Swedish title which I extracted as ransom for a warmongering little shit who tried to use your coastline to invade Poland. I sent you a report.”

“You should have let me intern him.”

“I wanted to safeguard my family by making sure of having lands and holdings in Sweden. You and I both know that our little Saxon triflers have led to a weakening of Poland such that Russia and Austria both feel comfortable that they can dictate terms along the lines of bend over and pretend to enjoy it.  I’m loyal to the throne, to you as far as I can be, depending on circumstance, and personally as a friend, but I’m loyal to my family too,” said Mikołaj, bitterly.

Friedrich nodded.

“I understand,” he said. “It was a pro-forma protest. And to be honest, it never occurred to me to suspect you or your steward. I asked you to come because... because I trust you. I trust you to find out without fear or favour, and to be honest.”

“And what if I find that it’s someone else?”

“I will have to believe you.”

“Thank you,” said Mikołaj. “I will do my best for you.” He frowned. “Can you invite them to a weekend at Sans Souci without it looking pointed, and we’ll make like I’m here as a secret representative of my king, in negotiations with you. If I make sure to let different people learn different things, and you close Sans Souci up tighter than a rat’s arse, intercepting all mail, checking for invisible ink, and so on, we might catch the rat.”

“What do you know about invisible ink?” asked Friedrich.

“Funny, Paweł was just as pained over the business,” said Mikołaj. “I learned as a schoolboy. And yes, I used it to write to Gosia when we believed all the bad stories about you and before I learned to love you. She was worried for me, so I kept her informed. Mind, I enjoyed writing ordinary sort of letters on top; I always like writing to Gosia and reading her letters to me.”

“You sex-mad young couple,” said  Friedrich.

“Oh, yes,” said Gosia. “It kept me warm.”

Friedrich sighed.

“I read the transcripts when I am lonely,” he confessed. “But there was invisible ink?”

“Lemon juice,” said Mikołaj. “I think the biggest secret I imparted was that I was afraid I was starting to like you. I told her about rescuing the unwilling bride in person in Wrocław.”

“Breslau,” said Friedrich.

“Wrocław,” said Gosia, firmly. “As I told that officious little idiot who wanted to count us. How can you have a name like Breslau, which is ugly, when you can call it Wrocław, which almost sounds like a dove cooing?”

“How can I argue, when you put it like that?” sighed Friedrich “No servants in or out without being searched, and their errand determined.”

“Rather, watch them, in case there is an agreed dropping place for messages,” said Mikołaj. “And if they go to their masters’ homes, those homes to be watched and any messenger or correspondence intercepted. You couldn’t do it in Poland without bleating about golden rights, but you have a right to avoid being infiltrated. Other than in a friendly sort of way.”

Friedrich flushed.

“I do have a lover,” he said, defensively. “A man has needs.”

“Understood,” said Mikołaj. “And a lover is also companionship.”

“Thank you for not judging.”

“It’s not my business. But your lover must be aware I have access to you at any time.”

“I will tell him.”

“He will doubtless be jealous of my perfect and lithe body, not knowing that I keep it for my honeyed intoxicant, my ruby beyond price, my treasure, my adored.”

“Your Jewel, the sun and moon of your existence, and she’s giggling at you,” said Friedrich.

“Oh, don’t stop him, any woman likes to feel so cherished,” said Gosia. “But he is outrageous. But of course, as you’re a comrade in this little investigation, you are also our love, our sweet, and our darling.”

Friedrich laughed.

“I enjoyed it last time,” he said. “But poor Hansel! He will be jealous, but he will have to put up with it. Johann Wurfel is his name. Nominally he’s a secretary. Uh, he’s a tall, blond man with blue eyes.”

“He won’t be as beautiful as me, though,” said Mikołaj. “Or as much fun.”

“Don’t rub it in, you irritating Pole,” said Friedrich.

“Sweetness,” said Mikołaj, seriously, taking the king’s hands, “Don’t tell him that I’m here as a ruse. Let him think, like everyone else, that he has cleverly ferreted out that I am in secret talks with you. You could even tell him that it’s diplomacy if he pouts. But a secret shared is no secret, and you don’t know if he might reveal something accidentally.”

Friedrich nodded.

“He’s an amusing companion, not a friend,” he said. “How did you know that he pouts?”

“Because he almost has to be the submissive, and some men who like that role are a bit... well, well, tarts.”

Friedrich sighed.

“I think that at least he’s faithful to me, but you do have a point. Hansel is fond of gossip. Though he has not been indiscreet about our relationship.”

 

Mad Mikolaj and the Submariners

 I've been working on the next name book, collating all the research so I may not have much to offer when I run out of Mikolaj; there's another 4 days, I think. I've been desultorily working on the Moorwick Chronicles [charity school spin off] and Falconburg 3 but I can't say I've been feeling too clever. On the other hand I've been managing a bit of gardening, and more fancy cooking.

5 The Submariners 1751

 

“Ah, how nice it is to snatch an afternoon off,” said Mikołaj to Jędrek. The two had been riding around the coastal parts of the land award from Freidrich of Prussia, seeing where sugar beets might be established, and where goats were already happy. “This would be a good place for a harbour, a nice haven, and we could ship sugar anywhere. A few fishermen supported by other peasants supporting the dock... Do you suppose we could give over some of these sandy lands to growing lavender? And what about sunflowers? Goats like sunflowers. And if we have some fishing, there’ll be fish guts for manure, as well as goat dung.”

“Miklosz,” said Jędrek, who was lying on the sand between clumps of marram grass, “Shut up. If we’re having an afternoon off, don’t spoil it with planning. Think on your own time.”

“Sorry,” said Mikołaj.

The two young men dozed in early spring’s balmy air, enjoying a rare lazy afternoon. Both had the capacity of stillness and contentment when free of duty, though inevitably Mikołaj was the first to stir. He enjoyed a rest, but he also liked to be up and doing.

“Jędrek,” said Mikołaj, “Is that a whale?”

“A whale? Inshore on this coast? Talk sense,” said Jędrek, sitting up. “It does look like a whale, though.”

“Well, that was why I asked,” said Mikołaj. “And it doesn’t make any sense to me either, why there should be a whale here.”

“And a damn funny whale to have oars,” said Jędrek. “As the wave went by, I swear I saw an oar.”

“It appears to be heading for us,” said Mikołaj. “Shall we go and say hello?”

“You daft bugger, I suppose you haven’t considered that it might be unfriendly?” said Jędrek.

“Yes, I should imagine it probably is,” said Mikołaj. “In which case, it’s our duty to kill the whale before it decides that either Poland or our pet Frydek is its Jonah.” He squinted. “Definitely oars. Fascinating. I wonder how they keep the water out?”

“Wouldn’t we do better to get the hell out of here to make someone aware of it?” said Jędrek.

“It’s not a bad idea. I order you to go back and tell Norbert.”

“But....”

“I don’t often order you, Jędrek.”

“No, my lord.” The big man dithered for a moment, then flung his arms around his lord. Mikołaj embraced him back.

“I’m too beautiful to die, remember?” said Mikołaj, giving him a gentle push.

Jędrek fled, tears pouring from his eyes. He was soon out of sight behind a dune, and heading for where they had left their horses. He had never left Mikołaj in danger before; but Mikołaj had never given him a direct order like that, before. Not when intelligence was more important than one life.

Mikołaj waited on the beach as the vessel drew closer. A window might be perceived at the front of it, and the leather-surrounded hatch in front of a raised hump with windows in.

The monstrosity rowed in until its prow beached on the sand. The hatch opened.

“Vem är du?” said the head that poked out.

“Swedish, are you?” muttered Mikołaj to himself. He smiled, and waved. “Guten tag?” he said.

The man speaking pulled out a package which unfolded to be a light weight boat, made, Mikołaj thought, after the fashion of a folding cover some carriages now had.  It was dropped into the water and the spokesman descended on a rope ladder he dropped, accompanied by two other men, who looked, Mikołaj thought, as if eating babies was only for breakfast, with tigers as a dessert. Less friendly yet was the musket trained on him from the fourth person to exit.

When this small craft made its way through the waves, Mikołaj could see that the hard men were fully as tall as he was, and the one who appeared to be in charge hardly any shorter.

“Welcome to my lands, gentlemen!” said Mikołaj, fatuously. “You and your magnificent craft! I am the Graf von und zu Dornquast, and my lands are honoured to be visited by merfolk from the realms of the deep!”

Mikołaj’s Swedish was rudimentary, and mostly coloured by the scatological side of the language his father knew, but he hid a smile as one of them muttered, ‘Merfolk? Realms of the deep? Is this idiot for real?” to be answered, sharply by the leader, ‘Just because he appears wealthy does not mean he is not superstitious. Good, it would not be a good thing to kill someone of his importance out of hand; better that he disappear.”

The leader smiled.

“Herr Graf! I am Anders Rundqvist. I had no idea anyone lived so close to the coast here.”

“But yes, we will have a harbour shortly, and fishing, and I think a little resort for sea bathing,” said Mikołaj.

“Indeed? Now, I would have taken you as a Pole by your dress,” said Rundqvist.

“I like Polish garb,” said Mikołaj. “We are Pomeranian, here, which is neither one thing nor another.”

“Yes, that’s why we came here to make trials on our ship,” said Rundqvist. “Would you like to see over it?”

“Oh, rather,” said Mikołaj. “Um... is it only lady merfolk who have tails?” He climbed willingly into the boat.

“Er... yes,” said Rundqvist. “Men have to be able to move about on land. And, er, it has to do with impregnating.”

“Of course.  I always worried about that,” said Mikołaj, giving Rundqvist full marks for thinking on his feet. “I say, I shan’t have to breathe water or anything, will I?”

“No, no, our ship is full of air,” said Rundqvist.

“I’ve been wondering how you have oars without water coming in every time you row,” said Mikołaj.

“Oh, it is like scupper drains, made of leather,” said Rundqvist. “The oars pass through them, and there is a flap of leather which only allows water one way, which is out. We also place ox guts on the oars, at the point where they go through the leather holes, and they are rolled on each side, to make a stop, and to minimise water coming in.”

“Clever, two forms of safety,” said Mikołaj. “And how do you go up and down?”

“Oh there is a little cabin at the rear,” said Rundqvist, “and in it, an Archimedes screw. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, you use it to pump water out of mines,” said Mikołaj, beaming fatuously like a small boy adding two and two to make four.

“Even so,” said Rundquist. “And we pump water in when we want to go down, and when we want it to go up, we pump it out again. We cannot stay down too long, or the air gets bad, but we will not be going far.” He ushered Mikołaj up the rope ladder, which Mikołaj climbed willingly, and then down a more permanent ladder into what appeared to be two ship hulls put together. . Or rather, it was designed as if it were two ship hulls put together, but was plainly crafted as a whole, not cobbled together. Purpose built, then, thought Mikołaj.[1]  A bit stark, but then, who needed a war machine to be decorated.

Rundqvist was giving rapid orders in Swedish, which basically were to the effect of getting ready to beat a hasty retreat. Mikołaj continued gawking as if he had no clue.

“Well, I never,” said  Mikołaj. “What’s he doing?” he pointed to a youth with a bucket.

“Oh, that is the latrine bucket. It’s worth emptying and rinsing out every time we stop,” said Rundqvist. “Close the hatch!” he added in Swedish.

“Are we going on a journey?” asked Mikołaj, innocently, as the oars backed and they slid off the sand. They appeared to be turning, and the gurgling plash of a pump showed water was being pumped in.

“Yes, we’re going on a journey,” said Rundqvist. “I can’t let you talk about this. You’ve spoiled our plans enough as that was to be our forward base, being unoccupied, from where to strike along the coast and upriver to Warszawa, and finally beat those blasted Poles. But your king will want a part of it, and we can’t afford that.”

“How many of these do you have?” asked Mikołaj.

“Two so far, but we will have more,” said Rundqvist.

“And if your mission here was to fail?”

“I doubt we’d get any more funding. But it is just a question of finding another spot as good.”

Mikolai absently picked up the empty latrine bucket with his left hand, his right hand going into his kontusz belt.

“I can’t allow you to succeed,” he said, pulling his 6-barrelled pistol, and emptying all of them at the window, now well below water.

“You fool! We shall all drown!” screamed Rundqvist, as the glass, thick as it was, crazed, and then failed with a roar as water shot in.

“Yes, exhilarating, isn’t it?” said Mikołaj.

The musket which had been initially trained on him was somewhere under water now as the torrent gushed in. It was cold. Sailors ran up the ladder to the hatch, but it was under water, and the water pressure held it shut. Frantically they battered at it, fighting each other, as the water level rose, and the ship headed down. Mikołaj clung to the ladder, letting the water lift him. Red rivulets joined the sea water as some of the sailors fought with knives to be the ones by the hatch; a couple were swimming frantically for the hole where once the window had been, Rundqvist amongst them.

And Mikołaj rose towards the hatch as the ship filled, bucket held inverted, holding air, as he kept it above the surface of the water. Many of the men had fallen back; the ship’s boy, who had carried the bucket, had squirmed into a gap.

“Remember to breathe out as you go up to equalise the pressure,” said Mikołaj. “I’ll look after you, son.”

The boy gulped, and nodded, reassured by an adult seeming to know what he was doing. Mikołaj stuffed everything he kept in his kontusz sash inside his żupan, undid his sash, and tied it round the boy and himself.

And finally, the water was a head’s height from the hatch. Mikołaj popped his head into the bucket, indicating to the boy to do likewise, as it was a large bucket, almost the size of a wash tub. It was less noisome for having been swilled out if not scoured. Mikolaj opened the hatch by feel, and breathed out as he found himself shot up in the bubble of air escaping. He cautiously breathed in, and found the air in the bucket palatable.  It did work like science lessons at school. He breathed in and out, and the air bubbled frantically out of the bucket. Mikołaj smiled beatifically. It was equalising the pressure. He was not sure how deep they had gone, but not more than two atmospheres. He wondered if those who had gone out of the window had remembered to breathe out on the way up. If not, they’d be in a lot of pain, as their lungs tried to expand. The boy was panting in panic, but the air pressure of the bucket should equalise.

And then they were in the air. Mikolaj lifted the bucket off his head and used it to trap air to hang on to it, to float. The boy gave him a shaky grin and did so too. Mikołaj took stock of where they were. If he had to swim ashore, he would have to shuck his clothing, not something he wanted to do in cold seas. He was already cold but at least his clothes kept some of his body warmth against him. The boy was shivering, but  he might yet need Mikołaj’s strength.

The submarine had not gone far; the coast was perhaps half a staja away.  And there was activity on the shore, someone had been roused from down the coast with a skiff of some sort, and there were horses and men.

Mikołaj waved, and saw a slighter figure hold back a large one from crashing out into the waves.

“Think you can kick, son?” said Mikołaj. The boy nodded, and Mikołaj reversed the bucket so it was floating. “We can move it more easily like this and it will still hold us up,” he said.

The skiff was soon beside them, and Mikołaj handed up the lad, before letting the fisherfolk pull him inboard.

“Save my latrine bucket, lads, that’s going in my memory hall of things which have saved my life,” said Mikołaj. “Son, what’s your name?”

“Tuomas, sir. I’m Finnish.”

“We’ll find you somewhere. I don’t blame you for Rundqvist’s plans.”

 

oOoOo

 

Back on shore, Jędrek caught Mikołaj to him in a rough embrace.

“Miklosz, oh, Miklosz!” he sobbed.

“Steady on, you big bear, or you’ll squeeze all the stuffing out,” said Mikołaj. “Did anyone else come ashore?”

“Yes, we got a fellow called Rundqvist and a couple of others, all in pain and half drowned for screaming on the way up and then breathing in after screaming,” said Jędrek. “And one fellow who has lungs like iron who followed the bottom up, breathing out all the time.”

“What, all the way from where it sank?”

“No, sorry, I wasn’t clear, he made for the surface swimming in the direction the bottom shoaled. He swam ashore without needing to be rescued.”

“I was worried there that we really had caught one of King Neptune’s sons,” laughed Mikołaj. “Well, now I need to get warm and dry, though you did a half good job of drying me on you, if you weren’t drowning me with more salt water.”

“Stuff yourself with straw,” said Jędrek. “I worried.”

“I’d worry if it was you,” said Mikołaj.

“Probably with more cause; I’d have let them spirit me away and made a fight of it if it looked as if they were going to kill me. Rundqvist says you shot out their window, porthole, he called it.”

“I couldn’t leave you and Gosia without my remarkable presence,” said Mikołaj. “And both Milena and Seweryn would have been snippy about Papa being away too long.”

“You’re insane.”

“I understand pressure and things like that,” said Mikołaj. “It’s all about keeping your head, and staying calm. Nothing to it.”

“You know,” said Jędrek, “I’d hate to come up against anything which made you panic.”

“I don’t think it’s Armageddon o’clock yet,” said Mikołaj.

 

---

[1] Based on the one demonstrated to James I of England by Cornelis Drebbel early in the 17^th century.

Mad Mikolaj in the Harrogate Dog-sheep, not exactly a bonus

 part 2 of what should have posted yesterday, so two chapters today instead, sorry

 

 

 

Chapter 4 The Harrogate dog-sheep; 1750 haidamak rebellion

 

Mikołaj inspected his men on their return to camp, having been promoted to captain when their own captain fell in battle.

“It would have been a nice little scrap, had we not been fighting those who should be our brothers,” he grumbled to Jurko, who was with him. “Blasted Cossacks, why do they have to rebel from time to time?”

“Because the magnates are shits to them,” said Jurko.

“That, and the rest,” sighed Mikołaj. “Hello, it looks as if the Pegasus has finished with the little shit-for-brains kiss-my-arse-my-man we heaved out of being the principal guest at an impaling. He doesn’t look grateful in the least.”

“Krasiński!” called Aleksander Sączek, of the Pegaz banner, colonel of Mikołaj’s regiment. “Get in my office, now!”

“But I didn’t do it!” said Mikołaj, injured. “It wasn’t consonant with my position as captain, I only thought of it. Besides, there hasn’t been time.”

“Why do I believe that last excuse more than the others?” said the Pegasus.

 

“You’d better tell me about it,” said Sączek.

“It was only wishful thinking, and what I might have done as a wild towarzysz,” said Mikołaj, indignantly. “If anyone drugged the little shit and put him in the sort of frillies only prostitutes wear and left a goat in his bed with him for comfort,  it was someone who overheard me expressing a not unnatural desire to show what we thought of a man more demanding and shrill than a magnate’s mother-in-law.”

“I see,” said Sączek. “I acknowledge the temptation, and by the time I’d finished with him, I might have wished someone had overheard you. You’re not here for that, though.”

“I’m not? I thought you were cross with me.”

“I’m cross, but not with you. And the little shit didn’t help.  I told him if he was so fond of his every whimsies being catered to, I could arrange to get him back on the spike you rescued him from in the nick of time and he could bleat about acceptable food as the stake tore through his guts. He doesn’t like us, but when have we ever been popular with the high ups?”

“Never, I hope,” said Mikołaj.

“Exactly, that’s the spirit,” said Sączek.

“So, if I’m not in trouble....” said Mikołaj, cautiously.

“It seems that the Cossacks are not merely rebelling against Poland, there’s a small group of dissidents making an attempt on Russia. And your father’s old friend, Hryhor Sokołowski got involved...”

“Why am I not surprised!” groaned Mikołaj.

“The problem is, that he and his friends have been arrested by that unwholesomely clever secret policeman, Paweł Skobelew.”

Mikołaj opened his mouth and shut it again.

“I was going to say that Paweł wouldn’t hurt friends of mine, but he has no choice if they were in open armed rebellion,” he said. “How did you find out?”

“Funnily enough, a Cossack got away, and came to us to tell all,” said Sączek. “Says he’s a friend of yours.”

Mikołaj groaned. “Yevheny Lipichenko, my sheep herder.”

“I knew you’d know who he was to sort him out,” said Sączek, cheerfully. “Now, listen, the king values Sokołowski; so it’s up to you to get him out.”

“Of course it is,” sighed Mikołaj. “And here I am without my Gosia, my honeyed intoxicant, being busy with being regulation rations for Seweryn to enjoy a good campaign.”

Sączek opened an inner door of his office and the laughing Yevheny walked out.

Mikolai glowered at him.

“Laugh it up,” he said. “Just remember, without my Gosia with me for good luck, you almost begin to look attractive as a catamite. And certainly as lamb chops.”

Yevheny laughed.

“If I did not know you, you would be frightening,” he said.

“My towarzysze know me and they are frightened of me,” said Mikołaj.

“Maybe they do not observe you well enough.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not one of them,” said Mikołaj. “Where are they being kept?”

“In the remains of Oryol castle,” said Yevheny.

“I thought it was pulled down fifty odd years ago,” said Mikołaj.

“Mostly,” said Yevheny. “There are still a couple of dungeon rooms, which flood in the wet.”

“Good job for the prisoners that it’s dry weather, then,” said Mikołaj. “Though I suppose threat of flooding might make them move them.”

“Not likely,” said Yevheny. “They’re all due for execution anyway.”

“What a cheerful bugger you are,” said Mikołaj.  “How many are there?”

“A dozen or so,” said Yevheny.

“Well, I want you to get me... two dozen sheepskins,” said Mikołaj.

He had a more esoteric job for Jędrek; but he also trusted his oldest friend to manage his commission.

“You want what? A dozen dogs?” barked Jędrek.

“Well-trained dogs. Sled dogs for preference,” said Mikołaj. “Trained not to bark except on command.”

“What lunacy are you up to now?” groaned Jędrek.

“Deadly lunacy,” said Mikołaj. “If they catch us, torture and death.”

“I’m inclined to leave Sokołowski to it,” grumbled Jędrek. “He’s a dour bugger at the best of times.”

“Papa owes him,” said Mikołaj.

Jędrek sighed.

That was sufficient to tell him that Mikołaj would not be swayed from his purpose.

“Jurko,” said Mikołaj, “I need you to be a prosperous Russian. And I want you on the road to somewhere between Oryol and Moskwa. There, when Paweł Skobelew stops on the road, I want his carriage sabotaged sufficiently well to hold him up for several days.”

“Yes, Mikołaj,” said Jurko. “Do I want to know why?”

“A prank on my dear friend,” said Mikołaj. “And Walenty, Adam, a fireworks celebration; nice and noisy.”

The two young men nodded, and Mikołaj chortled.

“It’ll either be glorious or we’ll all be dead,” he said.

“I’m voting for the glorious,” said Adam.

“Me too,” said Walenty.”

“We’ll be dead,” said Jędrek. “What on earth is that a diversion for?”

“Explosives, of course,” said Mikołaj.

“Sokołowski hates explosives,” said Adam.

“Well, then, saving his life with them gives him another good reason to do so,” said Mikołaj. “I may feel we owe Sokołowski, but I don’t have to like him.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

Hryhor Sokołowski looked up when a shadow occluded the moon in his partly underground cell on the river bank. The damned Moskale were keeping them awake again, this time with fireworks.

He saw a grinning face with blond moustaches and beard. He opened his voice to comment, and shut it again.

“Hello,” said the face. Something shaped like a quarter of a cheese box was placed against each bar.

In point of fact, it was a quarter of a cheese box, reinforced with lead. Sandbags tamped the charge, and the face drew on a clay pipe and lit slow match.

The head disappeared.

Someone was humming Bach’s little fugue.

Then the night split open in a torrent of fire and noise.

 

Things quietened down and it might be seen that not only were the bars cut and mangled, but a large hole had appeared below them.

“Well that went with a bit more of a bang than I expected,” said Mikołaj. “Substandard walls, obviously; may be due to being flooded from time to time.”

“Mikołaj Krasiński! I might have guessed! Did you have to blow us all to kingdom come?” said Sokołowski, exasperated.

“Be damned! I tamped it carefully so the blast was mostly outwards and down,” said Mikołaj, injured. “Unless you want me to leave you here?”

“You blond brat! Always so cock-sure!  Well, from now on, I’m in charge,” spat Sokołowski.

“Really? You know how to use the resources I provided?” said Mikołaj, with heavy sarcasm. “Go ahead, I have four barges, a team of dogs, and two dozen sheepskins, but if you’re in charge, I’m taking my people out on my own. I don’t trust you.”

“I... I suppose I am under your orders,” said Sokołowski, sulkily.

“Praise the Queen of Poland! Now shift instead of yapping, we have to find some reeds downstream.”

 

Four barges grounded against some reed beds some mile or so out of town.

“Right, cut reeds and bundle them to look like a dozen men sitting in the barges, and then we push them off down river,” said Mikołaj.

“Why aren’t we going downriver?” said Sokołowski.

“Because we’re going to be where we aren’t looked for,” said Mikołaj, with patience. “We’re heading north, through Oryol.”

“Boy, have you lost your mind?” barked Sokołowski.

Mikołaj regarded him with disfavour.

“Are you going to continue to question my genius or would you like to go back to wait for Paweł Skobelew, who will be regretful, for my sake, as he breaks your body to tell him every detail of your fool plot, or are you going to acknowledge that I’m as brilliant as my father?” he said, coldly. “My father still owes you one, or I’d have left you to rot. I don’t like you, Sokołowski, I think you’re a cruel and unnatural father, and you’re an inept plotter. But our families have ties which go back time immemorial, and it behoves me to rescue you. But not at the risk of your men and mine, do I make myself absolutely, paradigmatically, pellucidly clear?”

“You do,” growled Sokołowski.

“Good,” said Mikołaj. “I hope the rest of you can bleat. You’re about to put on fur jackets and sheepskins, and lurk inside my pack of hounds carefully clad in sheepskins, giving the impression of being a herd of Harrogate silky-haired dog-sheep, trained to herd themselves.”

“I never heard such insanity,” said Sokołowski.

“Trust me,” said Mikołaj.

“I hate it when a Krasiński says that.”

 

oOoOo

 

Jędrek had surpassed himself, and had managed to get hold of fur leggings and long gloves for the escapees to wear under their sheepskins; and the sheepskins were tied securely onto the hounds and combed to look natural.

Jędrek went ahead to allow the escapees to walk fairly naturally in less inhabited regions, and signalled to get down as several Cossack police officers thundered along the banks of the river.

“Hey! You!” said one of them.

“Are you addressing me, my man?” said Mikołaj, who was resplendent in red brocade.

The policeman goggled.

“My apologies, my lord, I’m looking for escaped prisoners. On a barge.”

Mikołaj scratched the back of his neck.

“There were some barges which went downstream overnight,” he said. “Would they be them?”

“Very likely; thank you, my lord,” said the Cossack. “I... what have you there?”

“A new thing out of England,” said  Mikołaj, enthusiastically. “Silky-haired dog-sheep, which can herd themselves.”

The Cossack crossed himself.

“Well, I call it unnatural,” he said.

“Well, the English priests said it was permitted, if you can cross a horse with a donkey and get a mule, stands to reason you can cross a sheep with a sheepdog and get a dog-sheep,”

The Cossack spat, nodded, and resumed his speedy ride.

 

oOoOo

 

Mikołaj put his herd in a pen in the centre of Oryol  in the late afternoon, whilst he stopped for a beer. They had all drunk deeply before entering the town.  He ran into Pavel Skobelev.

“Paweł, my dear little goldfish!” said Mikołaj, happily. “What are you doing here?” he embraced the secret policeman.

“Chasing fugitives,” said Pavel. “Now, I suppose you wouldn’t have anything to do with the blowing out of the wall of the gaol and the removal of sundry prisoners I was coming to question?”

“Me? How could I?” said Mikołaj. “I was bringing a herd north to add to my own lands. Amazing creatures! Bred in England, silky-haired dog-sheep, able to herd themselves and defend themselves against wolves. Damned slow pace, though, as you know.”

“Dog-sheep?”  said Pavel, helplessly.

“Come and see,” said Mikołaj, taking him out, and reaching to scratch sundry backs, caressing the silky muzzles of the dogs around the outside.

“God in Heaven!” said Pavel. “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. Where will all this selective breeding end?”

“Doubtless with people being gestated inside pigs, and farrowed en masse and bred to undertake particular jobs which they further train at as they grow up,” said Mikołaj.

“I hope not,” said Pavel. “Be on your way, you scoundrel!”

The herd of dog-sheep ambled off, with much shouting on the part of Mikołaj and his pyrotechnic cohorts, who had met up with him in the town. Jurko was waiting out of town, and as the crepuscular shadows stole across the road, the herd wandered off it into light woodlands.

“You’re on your own now,” said Mikołaj. “Make your way back home quietly and circumspectly, and don’t get caught.” 

“Thank you,” said Sokołowski, stiffly. “I did not think it would work.”

“It’s crazy enough to be so unbelievable it has to be true,” said Mikołaj. “Jędrek, do we have to give the dogs back?”

“No, I bought them,” said Jędrek.

Mikołaj was patting the leader of the pack.

“We’d better let them make their way home,” he said, regretfully.

“And where are we going?” asked Jędrek.

“We’re holing up for a week or so in the little mansion we built so that the hue and cry will thunder past us and utterly ignore us,” said Mikołaj. “Then we’re cutting across country through Lithuania. And whilst we’re there, we might as well patch the shelter up. I had Jędrek bring stores there, so it’s available for emergencies. It may not be as large as the one we built last year, but it did us well enough.”

Mikołaj’s idea of patching up involved building a proper structure from logs, but as they were staying there several days, as he said, what else did they have to do?

His friends, as always, fell in with his wishes; it was easier.

“And we had the most extraordinary good fortune,” said Adam, laughing. “We fell in with some nobleman who was celebrating the marriage of his son and heir, and persuaded him that what he needed to make the occasion go with a real bang was fireworks. He gave us enough to buy fireworks to add to what we had, I don’t believe there was a silent moment for an hour and a half. Glorious!”

“Oh, that’s how you did it,” said Mikołaj. “I must say, I thought it had fallen to you and Walenty to fart for the last bit.”

He suffered being pummelled, still laughing.

 

A week later, they left their little hut, leaving provisions there, just in case, and a week after that, were back in camp, offering a report.

 

oOoOo

 

Pavel Skobelev’s report was less happy.

“I am sorry, my Tsarina, I lost them,” said Pavel. “As I reported, whilst I was on my way to where the insurgents had been imprisoned, their friends took advantage of the fireworks display put on, to celebrate a wedding, to blow a hole clean through the prison wall.”

“Could the fireworks display have been staged on purpose?” asked the Tsarina.

“No, the nobleman has been preparing for the wedding since before the uprising, and is, moreover, staunchly supportive of you,” said Pavel, who had no idea, and indeed, had not thought to ask, if the fireworks had been a last-minute, impromptu, addition. “But it worked out well for the friends of the insurgents, who blew a very neat hole in the wall, and got away with four barges. By the time our men were on their trail, the barges had long gone downstream. We don’t even know where they disembarked, or on which bank, as they sent the barges further on with dummies made of reeds, to pass as people at first glance. My men chased them further that needed because of this, and lost perhaps as much as a day. You know how these damned Cossacks are, they melt back into the population, and one can hardly, without absolute certainty round up a whole village.”

“No, quite. Still, it was not a large force. I think we mark the report closed. Nothing more happening?

“No, all quiet on the Western frontier.”