Eric Flint: Grantville Gazette.Volume IX

Bernie sighed. "Dude, when is this sh… ah… stuff going to be done with. Let me get to work, will you?"

"Soon, Bernie, soon." Boris waved at the stairs. "We have the audience today. Natasha will be down soon and we will leave."

"The makeup again?" Bernie giggled.

Boris glared at Bernie, remembering the silly business about Boris and Natasha. "I trust you will be able to control your sense of humor."

"Wish she'd hurry up." Bernie's complaint brought Boris back to the present. Then Natasha arrived, walked to Boris and said in a deep sultry voice-not her own-but which Bernie claimed was a fairly good imitation of the cartoon Natasha, "Welcome, my little Borisky. This time we will capture that naughty moose, yes?"

Bernie cracked up and Boris turned red.

Bernie tried to suppress his occasional giggles as Boris and Natasha coached him very carefully for his meeting with Mr. Big. Mr. Big, otherwise known as the Czar of all the Russias. Armed with Vladimir's gifts, as well as his own, Bernie followed their instructions carefully.

Boris whispered names and positions while they stood in the line of people waiting to be presented. "Patriarch Filaret, the czar's father, there to the left of Czar Mikhail. On the right, Fedor Ivanovich Shermentev, he is in charge of the bureau of records. It is an especially powerful post, because he can cause so much trouble for the other bureaus." The list of names went on an on and Bernie quit paying that much attention. Natasha had left them, and gone off to see the czar's wife. When they got a bit closer, Bernie started looking around a bit. Good thing he was farsighted, since the room seemed to be about eighty-feet long.

Mr. Big-no, that really didn't seem to fit-was a pretty ordinary guy when you got a look at him. The czar looked to be in his mid thirties. He also looked like he didn't want to be there. Sort of bored and sad. He seemed like the kind of guy who got stuffed in his locker in gym class. The patriarch guy, his father, was really old, but looked to be a tough old bird. And all these… boyars, they were called. There was some serious money tied up in their clothes. "Dimitry Mamstriukovich Cherakasky." Boris nodded toward another man. "Not a man to cross, that one." Well, Bernie wasn't going to cross anyone if he could help it.

Finally, they got up to the front of the line. Boris did all the talking, which was just as well. Bernie hadn't had much luck figuring out the lingo, not yet. Boris gave the agreed upon signal and Bernie bowed. "Your Majesty."

Mikhail Romanov smiled at the obvious awkwardness of the outlander's attempt to bow. He knew from Vladimir Yaroslavich's letters that the people brought back in time by God's hand had no custom of bowing.

"Welcome to Moscow." Mikhail had picked up a bit of English over the years. There were several English merchants and diplomats in Muscovy. He wanted to make the outlander feel at home. To have been touched by God in such a material way. It must be a blessing.

The outlander bowed again and Boris Petrovich made a gesture. The outlander presented his gifts. Not the usual gold or silver dishes and artwork. Jewelry, perhaps? Mikhail looked at the thing.

"It is an up-time 'watch.'" Boris Petrovich spoke softly. "If you will press that button there, it will light up."

Mikhail, with some trepidation, pressed the button. This had been made, would be made, almost four hundred years in the future. More, God had seen fit to send it back in time to him. "Very interesting," was all he managed to say. He watched the numbers on the end change. They were a bit blurry, but that wasn't the numbers fault. Mikhail couldn't see very well, close up. The interesting thing was that they changed. Changed at regular intervals. It was a clock in a piece of jewelry worn about the wrist. He wondered for just a moment if it might be some sort of magic. Probably not, he decided. Probably the electric craft that Vladimir had written about. He had said that it often looked like magic at first acquaintance. He looked forward to showing it to Evdokia.

Evdokia gathered her ladies and signaled Natasha to walk with her. As usual, it was the younger of her ladies who accompanied her. They left the Palace of Facets to return to the Terem Palace. The Terem was the czar's private residence. She, he, the children and some cousins and servants all lived there. It was also often occupied by the wives and daughters of the great families of Muscovy.

"The outlander." Evdokia paused. "I wonder what the future was like to live in."

"I do, too," Natasha agreed. "Not the history so much. But what it was like to live in a world where they had so much… magic. In the future, Boris says, they had carriages that traveled without horses and others that would fly. Plays and music put in boxes and new clothes made in hours. And cartoons. Which sound like fun."

Evodkia refrained from running back to the terem section of the palace with some difficulty. She felt like a girl again, even if she was twenty-four with three living children. Evdokia hadn't been raised in Muscovy. She wasn't that fond of it, either. It was more restrictive than her home and required more subtlety. The cats in the capital could be nasty and had been when Mikhail had chosen her over them and their daughters. This new land of the future offered excitement. It offered new things to contemplate, which was essential. Moscow was not the den of iniquity that her mother had painted it as. At least not the parts of it that she got to see. As the mother of the next czar, her life was somewhat circumscribed. There were parties but they were formal affairs. There were the children and Mikhail, but truth be told, she was often bored. The palace was run by the palace staff, who rarely asked her opinion of anything.

One saving grace existed in all of this. Mikhail was a gentle man. He loved his family and treated them well. He spent more time with them than the cabinet would prefer. No. That wasn't true. The cabinet liked things just the way they were. In all honesty, Evdokia had to admit that the cabinet probably listened to Mikhail less than the palace staff listened to her.

Later that afternoon, Evodkia found her husband pouring over papers. Mikhail looked depressed, even from the rear. She put her hands on his temples and rubbed them. Mikhail often had headaches and said that helped. He began to relax.

"It's getting more dangerous now." He almost whispered. "The safe course is denied us by the histories from the future." That sent a chill down Evdokia's back. She had been aware that the basic policy of the patriarch had been one of social conservatism, while at the same time trying to upgrade the army and bring in advances of the west. She had also been aware that the reason for that policy was the instability of the situation.

"The cabinet will use any change." Evdokia worried. "As will the church." A pretender to the throne could be tonsured like Mikhail's father. For Mikhail-and for her and the children-a more drastic solution would be needed. Politics in Muscovy were very personal at times.

"God has told us. Given us a miracle. " Mikhail looked at her. "A miracle… but what does it mean?"

"How much longer?" It was the next afternoon and they were on their way to the dacha. Bernie's voice was plaintive.

Natasha looked out the open windows of the carriage she rode in and grinned. "We have been moving for only a few moments since the last time you asked that question, Berna. A bit longer, still."

Bernie sighed. "God, I wish I had my car. I wish I had some gas. I wish…" His voice trailed off and he stared into the distance.

Natasha had Vladimir's request that she keep Bernie as happy as she could, within certain limitations. "You wish you could go back? But we have only begun to become acquainted."