Ken Follett - Fall of Giants

Spirya said in a frightened voice: “Who are these people?”

Lev said: “Short, muscular men with hard faces and clean hands-I’d say they are coal miners on strike.”

“They look as if they want to kill us. What the hell is going on?”

“We’re strikebreakers,” Lev said grimly.

“God save us.”

Kowal the Pole shouted: “Follow me!” in several languages, and they all marched up the main street. The crowd continued to shout, and men shook their fists, but no one broke the line. Lev had never before felt grateful to policemen. “This is awful,” he said.

Yakov said: “Now you know what it’s like to be a Jew.”

They left the shouting miners behind and walked uphill through streets of row houses. Lev noticed that many of the houses appeared empty. People still stared as they went by, but the insults stopped. Kowal started to allocate houses to the men. Lev and Spirya were astonished to be given a house to themselves. Before leaving, Kowal pointed out the pithead-the tower with twin wheels-and told them to be there tomorrow morning at six. Those who were miners would be digging coal, the others would be maintaining tunnels and equipment or, in Lev’s case, looking after ponies.

Lev looked around his new home. It was no palace, but it was clean and dry. It had one big room downstairs and two up-a bedroom for each of them! Lev had never had a room to himself. There was no furniture, but they were used to sleeping on the floor, and in June they did not even need blankets.

Lev had no wish to leave, but eventually they became hungry. There was no food in the house so, reluctantly, they went out to get their dinner. With trepidation they entered the first pub they came to, but the dozen or so customers glared angrily at them, and when Lev said in English: “Two pints of half-and-half, please,” the bartender ignored him.

They walked downhill into the town center and found a café. Here at least the clientele did not appear to be spoiling for a fight. But they sat at a table for half an hour and watched the waitress serve everyone who came in after them. Then they left.

It was going to be difficult living here, Lev suspected. But it would not be for long. As soon as he had enough money he would go to America. Nevertheless, while he was here he had to eat.

They went into a bakery. This time Lev was determined to get what he wanted. He pointed to a rack of loaves and said in English: “One bread, please.”

The baker pretended not to understand.

Lev reached across the counter and grabbed the loaf he wanted. Now, he thought, let him try to take it back.

“Hey!” cried the baker, but he stayed his side of the counter.

Lev smiled and said: “How much, please?”

“Penny farthing,” the baker said sulkily.

Lev put the coins on the counter. “Thank you very much,” he said.

He broke the loaf and gave half to Spirya, then they walked down the street eating. They came to the railway station, but the crowd had dispersed. On the forecourt, a news vendor was calling his wares. His papers were selling fast, and Lev wondered if something important had happened.

A large car came along the road, going fast, and they had to jump out of the way. Looking at the passenger in the back, Lev was astonished to recognize Princess Bea.

“Good God!” he said. In a flash, he was transported back to Bulovnir, and the nightmare sight of his father dying on the gallows while this woman looked on. The terror he had felt then was unlike anything he had ever known. Nothing would ever scare him like that, not street fights nor policemen’s nightsticks nor guns pointed at him.

The car pulled up at the station entrance. Hatred, disgust, and nausea overwhelmed Lev as Princess Bea got out. The bread in his mouth seemed like gravel and he spat it out.

Spirya said: “What’s the matter?”

Lev pulled himself together. “That woman is a Russian princess,” he said. “She had my father hanged fourteen years ago.”

“Bitch. What on earth is she doing here?”

“She married an English lord. They must live nearby. Perhaps it’s his coal mine.”

The chauffeur and a maid busied themselves with luggage. Lev heard Bea speak to the maid in Russian, and the maid replied in the same tongue. They all went into the station, then the maid came back out and bought a newspaper.

Lev approached her. Taking off his cap, he gave a deep bow and said in Russian: “You must be the princess Bea.”

She laughed merrily. “Don’t be a fool. I’m her maid, Nina. Who are you?”

Lev introduced himself and Spirya and explained how they came to be there, and why they could not buy dinner.

“I’ll be back tonight,” Nina said. “We’re only going to Cardiff. Come to the kitchen door of Tŷ Gwyn, and I’ll give you some cold meat. Just follow the road north out of town until you come to a palace.”

“Thank you, beautiful lady.”

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” she said, but she simpered just the same. “I’d better take the princess her paper.”

“What’s the big story?”

“Oh, foreign news,” she said dismissively. “There’s been an assassination. The princess is terribly upset. The archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria was killed at a place called Sarajevo.”

“That’s frightening, to a princess.”

“Yes,” Nina said. “Still, I don’t suppose it will make any difference to the likes of you and me.”

“No,” said Lev. “I don’t suppose it will.”

The Church of St. James in Piccadilly had the most expensively dressed congregation in the world. It was the favorite place of worship for London’s elite. In theory, ostentation was frowned upon; but a woman had to wear a hat, and these days it was almost impossible to buy one that did not have ostrich feathers, ribbons, bows, and silk flowers. From the back of the nave Walter von Ulrich looked at a jungle of extravagant shapes and colors. The men, by contrast, all looked the same, with their black coats and white stand-up collars, holding their top hats in their laps.

Most of these people did not understand what had happened in Sarajevo seven days ago, he thought sourly; some of them did not even know where Bosnia was. They were shocked by the murder of the archduke, but they could not work out what it meant for the rest of the world. They were vaguely bewildered.

Walter was not bewildered. He knew exactly what the assassination portended. It created a serious threat to the security of Germany, and it was up to people such as Walter to protect and defend their country in this moment of danger.

Today his first task was to find out what the Russian tsar was thinking. This was what everyone wanted to know: the German ambassador, Walter’s father, the foreign minister in Berlin, and the kaiser himself. And Walter, like the good intelligence officer he was, had a source of information.

He scanned the congregation, trying to identify his man among the backs of heads, fearing he might not be there. Anton was a clerk at the Russian embassy. They met in Anglican churches because Anton could be sure there would be no one from his embassy there: most Russians belonged to the Orthodox Church, and those who did not were never employed in the diplomatic service.

Anton was in charge of the cable office at the Russian embassy, so he saw every incoming and outgoing telegram. His information was priceless. But he was difficult to manage, and caused Walter much anxiety. Espionage frightened Anton, and when he got scared he would fail to show up-often at moments of international tension, like this one, when Walter needed him most.

Walter was distracted by spotting Maud. He recognized the long, graceful neck rising out of a fashionable man-style wing collar, and his heart missed a beat. He kissed that neck whenever he got the chance.