The Dream Begins Read online

  ‘It’s the theatre.’ Alexei gave him a cigar.

  Richard took it, not wanting to tell Alexei he’d never smoked a cigar in his life. ‘That one?’

  ‘A school, but there are several mansions here because many wealthy men live in Taganrog, government officials as well as businessmen who own shipping companies.’ Alexei struck a Lucifer.

  Richard drew in cigar smoke and coughed. ‘That mansion to the left is huge even though it’s only one storey. It looks bigger than Cyfarthfa Castle – that’s where Mr Crawshay who owns the ironworks in Merthyr lives,’ he spluttered.

  ‘That is a palace. Tsar Alexander died there in 1825, that’s why we have so many monuments to him in the town. He’s Taganrog’s most famous resident. Didn’t Mr Hughes and Mr Edwards tell you Taganrog was a town?’

  Richard rested the hand that was holding the cigar outside the carriage window so he wouldn’t have to breathe in smoke. He was tempted to drop it but he didn’t want to hurt Alexei’s feeling by appearing ungrateful. ‘Mr Edwards told me we were going to an empty plain. He called it a step …’

  ‘You spell it with two p’s and an e,’ Alexei broke in. ‘S-t-e-p-p-e.’

  Richard suddenly realised that Alexei had learned English as a second language – and not only learned it, but mastered its spelling. Awed and envious, he said, ‘You’ve been well educated.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you saw the military academy I attended. Two hours every morning and two every evening were wasted in useless drills and weapon training.’

  ‘You obviously learned a great deal there.’

  ‘I’d have expanded my knowledge to include more of the things I’m interested in, like engineering, if I’d been allowed to read what I wanted to instead of wasting time on drills. As for where Mr Hughes intends to build his town, Mr Edwards is right, it’s a plain. There’s very little there. A Cossack village of wooden houses, my father’s house and estate, my grandmother’s house, and a Jewish shtetl – what you call a hamlet because it’s smaller than a village. I’ve been working for Mr Thomas since Mr Hughes and Mr Edwards visited my grandmother last year. Mr Hughes left him to oversee the construction. Considering the trouble he’s had with the builders, he’s made good progress. The foundations for the furnaces are laid and there’s a wooden office he uses as headquarters for Mr Hughes’s company. When I left three weeks ago the hotel was finished and they were beginning to put a roof on the hospital.’ Alexei glanced out of the window. ‘Here we are. Petrovskaya Street. The Cossacks always stay at the Hotel Bristol.’

  ‘Cossacks, real Cossacks?’

  ‘Unlike fairies, they exist.’ Alexei reached for the door handle. ‘The regiment will escort Mr Hughes’s convoy to the new town, garrison, and police it.’

  ‘That’s a hotel?’ Richard admired a white-colonnaded building that resembled sketches of the Parthenon.

  ‘That’s Gairabetov’s mansion. Beautiful, isn’t it. One day I will make enough money to build one like it, but not here, in St Petersburg. Now that’s a wonderful city. People call it the Venice of the North. The hotel is higher up the street. The red-brick building.’ Alexei knocked the roof of the carriage but the driver was already slowing the horses.

  Dozens of men dressed in dark blue jackets and trousers with red stripes down the sides filled the street. They were cheering two men who were standing to attention on the saddles of cantering horses. One was smoking, the other drinking from a tankard. Both waved, as calm and confident as if their booted feet were on firm ground.

  ‘They say Cossacks are born in the saddle. Those two haven’t begun to show off. A few more pails of vodka they’ll be riding two horses apiece with a foot on the back of each. Come, I’ll introduce you.’ Alexei opened the door. Before he could step out, a tall, dark haired officer with a moustache, dressed in a startling white uniform and cap, picked Alexei off the step as if he were a child.

  The two men started talking. Richard couldn’t understand a word either was saying. He doubted they could, as they were speaking at speed and over one another. After a few minutes Alexei stepped back.

  ‘Richard Parry, meet my very good friend, almost brother, and Cossack lieutenant, Mikhail Razin. Misha, Richard is English.’

  ‘It’s not lieutenant, it’s captain,’ Misha corrected Alexei in strongly accented English, ‘but as you are a friend of Alexei, it’s Misha, Richard.’

  Richard braced himself as Misha favoured him with the same strength bear hug he’d given Alexei.

  ‘I’m Welsh, not English,’ Richard protested when Misha released his iron grip.

  ‘You’ll have to get used to people saying you’re English, no one understands Welsh in Russia.’ Alexei turned to Misha. ‘When did you learn to speak English, Captain Razin?’

  ‘The officers were sent to classes when orders came through posting the regiment to the new town Mr John Hughes is building.’

  ‘You were posted? You didn’t volunteer?’

  Misha fingered the insignia on his officer’s jacket. ‘They offered me promotion. I wasn’t going to turn it down, or the chance of eating my mother’s cooking again. Come.’ He hooked his arms around Alexei and Richard’s shoulders. ‘I have a fresh pail of vodka, and the scrambled eggs and ham in this hotel have to be tasted to be believed. We’ll eat a few slices of heaven while catching up on one another’s news.’

  Hotel Bristol, Taganrog

  Late evening, September 1870

  The vodka pail was a metal cylinder with a cap that could be used as a measure. It reminded Richard of his mother’s milk can but the contents couldn’t have been more different. Drinking the strong spirit was worse than smoking a cigar. Gasping, he struggled for breath as soon as he took a sip.

  ‘There are a few things you need to learn about Russia, Richard.’ Alexei’s eyes were already glazed by alcohol. ‘First, never try to ride like a Cossack.’

  ‘I’ve never ridden a horse,’ Richard whispered. When he found his voice it was faint and squeaky.

  ‘You have no horses in England?’ Misha was horrified.

  ‘Rich people have horses in Britain,’ Richard croaked. ‘Poor people use their legs.’

  ‘I couldn’t live without my horses.’ Misha refilled his own and Alexei’s glasses. ‘Drink up.’

  Richard manfully lifted his glass to his lips and pretended to sip the fiery liquor.

  ‘The Cossack nations have to breed horses. Without them we couldn’t fulfil our obligation to the Tsar.’ Misha raised his glass at the mention of Tsar and drained the contents.

  ‘Every male Cossack has to serve in the military for twenty years,’ Alexei explained.

  ‘We have to supply our own horse and uniform. But the Tsar gives us our weapons,’ Misha added.

  ‘Twenty years! That’s a lifetime.’ Richard was shocked.

  ‘It’s not so bad. The last five are served in the reserves. Then we leave our station, return to our villages, marry, and breed children.’ Misha winked at a pretty blonde waitress.

  ‘To continue your Russian education, Richard,’ Alexei’s speech as well as his eyes was now affected by vodka. ‘Never try to outdrink a Cossack if you have plans for the following day. The Cossack will rise with the sun. You’ll be lucky to see the sunset.’

  Misha shouted at the waitress he’d winked at. ‘Elise?’

  She left the lap of an officer and joined them. Misha lifted her on to his knee. ‘Elise, say hello to Alexei and Richard.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Her English was heavily accented. The sultry look she sent Richard’s way set his pulse rating.

  ‘We would like ham and eggs.’

  ‘You mean you would like me to get them.’ She nibbled Misha’s ear.

  ‘Thank you for offering. Are Marie and Colette free tonight?’

  She wriggled from his lap. ‘What do you think? A whole regiment and only three girls. No chance.’

  ‘Pity,’ Misha slipped his arm around her waist, ‘my friends are fine strap
ping men who know how to give a girl a good time.’

  ‘The regiment’s full of fine strapping men; as for giving a girl a good time, none of you have a clue.’ She removed Misha’s cap and ran her fingers through his hair.

  Misha slapped her thigh. ‘Ham and eggs for three, woman.’

  ‘On your bill, Misha?’

  ‘On me,’ Alexei slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a banknote.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Elise snatched it from Alexei’s fingers.

  ‘He’ll want change,’ Misha warned.

  ‘Or personal service?’ Elise leaned over Alexei.

  He grabbed her hand before her lips could touch his. ‘Thank you for the offer, but the love of my life would object.’ He kissed her fingertips.

  ‘But it’s worth paying a few kopeks for good waitress service. No?’ Elise cooed.

  ‘No more than five.’ Misha watched her hips sway as she walked away. ‘She’s an expert between the sheets, Alexei; you should have taken her up on her offer, if not tonight then tomorrow. It will take us days to get to Alexandrovka.’

  ‘I’m spoken for.’

  ‘My sister’s a woman of the world. She’ll forgive a passing encounter after all the rutting she did with Ivan Kalmykov before he was killed.’

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Igor.’

  ‘Yulia’s brother? He’s wrong.’

  ‘You’re not courting Praskovia?’ Misha reached for the pail again, and slopped more vodka into his glass. ‘If it’s not Praskovia then …’ his features hardened along with his suspicions. ‘Surely you’ve grown out of your boyish infatuation.’

  ‘It’s not an infatuation. I will marry her when I come of age.’

  ‘You’ll be an idiot if you do.’

  ‘Misha, you know her …’

  ‘I know what she is.’ Misha slammed his glass on the table so hard the vodka shot out. ‘Decent people will be sickened by the pair of you. Damn Praskovia for allowing you to use her.’

  ‘She offered after Kalmykov was killed.’

  ‘Stupid girl. If your father discovers the race of your intended,’ Misha drew a line across his throat with his forefinger, ‘neither you nor your bride will live long enough to enter the church. That’s if Father Grigor is crazy enough to allow a Christ killer inside the holy walls.’

  Alexei glared at Misha. ‘When did you begin to call the Jews “Christ killers?”’

  ‘When the regiment taught me to see sense.’

  ‘You grew up alongside Jews …’

  ‘I grew up alongside you, Alexei. Marry the bitch and you’ll be likened to the horned goat in the fairy tale that wanted to fuck a duck to sire an egg.’

  Lightheaded, dizzy, unable to focus for more than a few seconds, Richard didn’t see Alexei throw the punch that floored Misha.

  He was aware of people around them. Of a cacophony of noise. Men cheering. Skin splitting. Blood spattering and spraying the walls. A thud when Alexei crumpled to the ground. Misha and Alexei hammering at one another as they rolled on the floor. The slap of fists connecting with flesh. The crunch of bone connecting with bone.

  A middle-aged man, in a uniform adorned with more gold braid and medals than any other officer, pushed his way through. He shouted in Russian, succeeded in taking control, and separated the protagonists.

  The men began to disperse. The middle-aged officer continued to bark orders. He gripped Misha’s shoulder with one hand, Alexei’s with the other and shouted until they reluctantly extended their hands. After they shook hands he returned to his table and Misha and Alexei sat, still glowering at one another.

  ‘Colonel Zonov reminded Misha that a gentleman doesn’t insult his guest, and me, that a guest has no business attacking his host. But this isn’t finished.’ Alexei clenched his teeth to contain his anger.

  Hoping he looked more alert than he felt, Richard nodded. When he felt it was safe to move without colliding with anyone, he abandoned his glass and rose to his feet. The room swung alarmingly around him. He gripped the table to steady himself.

  Misha snapped. ‘Where are you going?’

  Richard felt as though his lips were made of India rubber and his mouth stuffed with cotton wool. ‘I shhhould returnsh to the Conshulate.’

  ‘There’s no need to hurry. I told you it will take the drivers all morning to harness the bullock carts.’ Alexei emptied his glass.

  Misha refilled it with bad grace but only because his colonel was watching him. ‘We’re moving out early. Mr Hughes ordered the drivers to begin getting the carts ready hours ago.’

  ‘Your ham and eggs.’ Elise set three plates on their table. Misha held out his hand. She dropped a few coins into his palm. He glanced at them but didn’t attempt to hand them to Alexei. Elise added two more. Misha still didn’t move.

  ‘That’s enough, Misha,’ Alexei ordered.

  ‘Five kopeks is generous. She’s kept fifteen. Ten buys an hour of her company, be sure to claim it.’

  ‘I give you ten kopeks’ worth of Elise’s time and five kopeks to her. My gift.’ Alexei pocketed the coins Misha dropped on the table.

  ‘I don’t want your cursed gift,’ Misha retorted.

  ‘You want your colonel to come back over here?’ Alexei goaded. ‘Raise your voice again and he will. He’s looking our way.’

  Taking advantage of Misha and Alexei’s taunting, Elise dropped the coins she’d kept down the front of her gown. ‘Don’t expect me to serve you ham and eggs during that hour, Misha.’ She walked away.

  ‘Colonel Zonov’s watching every move we make,’ Misha hissed.

  ‘I know,’ Alexei snapped.

  ‘Truce?’

  ‘You expect me to forget what you said?’

  ‘For tonight. But you should know, Alexei, everyone in the regiment holds the same opinion about Jews.’

  ‘Then you’re all fools.

  ‘John Hughes and your father will be the fools if they leave the shtetl standing once the regiment occupies the barracks. But,’ Misha picked up his fork. ‘A truce is a truce.’

  ‘Only until morning,’ Alexei pushed his plate away.

  When Alexei’s untouched plate and Richard’s and Misha’s half full ones had been cleared, Richard rose again.

  ‘I wantsh to pay for the vodkash, but I have no Russhiansh money. I will get some from Mr Edwardsh …’

  Misha fastened his hand on Richard’s shoulders and pressed him back on to his chair. ‘I invited you and Alexei to join me. I pay for the vodka.’

  ‘Rule number three; never refuse a Cossack’s hospitality. He’ll kill you if you do.’ Alexei pushed his chair away from the table.

  Turning his back to his colonel, Misha clamped his right hand on the hilt of his sword. ‘Drink up, Richard, you’re falling behind.’ He refilled his own and Alexei’s glasses with his left hand, without relinquishing his grip.

  The atmosphere darkened, spawning fear. It even percolated through Richard’s addled brain. He picked up his vodka and lifted it, intending to toast Mr Hughes in an attempt to reconcile Alexei and Misha, but before he could speak he fell forward out of his chair.

  He landed face down in a welter of splintering glass; his last thoughts were confused. He simply couldn’t understand why the floor felt so soft.

  The Tsar’s Dragons series

  by

  Catrin Collier

  For more information on Accent Press

  titles, please visit

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  CATRIN COLLIER

  The Dream Begins

  ISBN 9781783754359

  Published by Accent Press 2014

  Copyright © Catrin Collier 2014

  The right of Catrin Collier to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by means, electronic, m
echanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, The Old School, Upper High St, Bedlinog, Mid Glamorgan, CF46 6RY.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.