Romanov(72)

I tied off the bandage on Zash’s arm. “Thank you,” he said softly. I nodded and smoothed out a wrinkle. Then I sat on the floor next to him.

Alexei questioned the men. He had a way with words and a way of making them feel comfortable sharing. I’d never seen this side of him. From all the times he joined Papa with the soldiers, I had pictured him sitting and watching. But not actually being a soldier. Not actually leading. I never thought he’d get the opportunity. Yet here it was. He guided these men and their conversation as though he were already their tsar.

“We have been hiding in this boxcar for days,” Kostya said. “Trying to get to Perm. The Red Army is hunting spell masters and killing most of them. Our mission is to find them. To convince them to join us.”

“You place a lot of stock in a handful of people,” Alexei said. “What if they don’t join you? What is the White Army’s plan? Who is your officer?”

Kostya shrugged. “We don’t really have an officer.”

“You must,” I broke in. “You come from Ekaterinburg, do you not?” Kostya nodded. “So then who was your officer? He sent a plan of rescue to us. It was intercepted by the Bolsheviks, but this officer was in communication with the convent sisters.”

Kostya glanced from Alexei to me and back again. “If the Bolsheviks intercepted his letter, they likely killed him. We did not spend enough time in Ekaterinburg to know this officer.”

“So . . . where is the White Army?”

“A division of us was sent to Ekaterinburg. We feigned an assault to disperse the Red Army, but then we split to search for spell masters.”

So they were never here to rescue us.

“The bulk of the White Army is in the west,” Kostya said. “But there is no one man in charge of the Whites.” He gestured to his friends. “We have come to find the remaining spell masters and encourage them to fight with us—against the Bolsheviks.”

Zash squirmed under the gaze the other two men gave him.

“We are going west, too,” Alexei shared. “To find Vasily Dochkin, Russia’s most skilled spell master.”

Kostya laughed in disbelief. “How can you find such a man? He is as untouchable as royalty.”

Alexei pushed himself to his feet and rested a hand on Kostya’s shoulder. “I am royalty, yet you are touching me.”

Kostya clamped his mouth shut and a sense of awe permeated his features.

“I am the tsarevich. I have a way to find Dochkin, and when I do, I will bring either him or his power back to the White Army and join the fight.”

“As our leader?” one man scoffed.

“As our tsar?” the third man asked with hope in his gaze.

“As your fellow soldier,” Alexei replied. “The throne has been abdicated. I will fight beside those who wish to restore traditional Russia—who wish to oppose the actions of Lenin and the Red Army. The people will decide upon their monarch.”

Steel hung in his gaze and admiration in the gazes of the three Whites. I swelled with pride for my little Alexei, but a shadow of concern blossomed in the back of my mind. What would happen when his numbing spell wore off? We needed to get him to Dochkin, and we couldn’t let these men know why.

“What will we do at the next station?” I asked. It was clear Kostya and his men hadn’t allowed Zash or Alexei to bribe the conductor—or even get to him. “Yurovsky could be waiting for us there. It puts all of us in danger.”

Zash grew rigid. “We can’t let this train stop. If Yurovsky found a horse or an automobile, he will be at the station. Even if he’s not there, he will have sent a telegram. There would be no escaping him this time, Nastya.”

I nodded. And though my brain spun for solutions, I did not speak them. I waited for Alexei. His mind spun as fast as mine—despite his head wound that turned his thoughts sluggish. He needed every opportunity to lead while he was still conscious enough to do so.

The three Whites awaited Alexei’s response. Zash opened his mouth, then caught my eye and closed it again.

“We must deal with the conductor directly,” Alexei finally said.

Kostya snapped his fingers. “We have four pistols—that’s plenty to threaten him and the other workers in the engine.”

“First, we will ask him.” Alexei folded his arms. “If that doesn’t work, we will offer him compensation. Nastya?”

“Of course.” I discreetly withdrew a necklace of pearls and handed them to him. Zash also passed over the two pieces I’d given him.

“If he will not be swayed even then, we will resort to force and threats. But we will not kill the man unless in self-defense. He is a citizen of Russia.”

“What of the other passengers?” Zash asked. “They will notice if we blow through a station—especially if some of them wish to disembark.”

Alexei didn’t hesitate. “I’m glad you asked, Zash.”

*

“Everyone disembark!” Zash’s shout blasted through the closed doors of the stopped train. Alexei and two Whites had caused the conductor to stop the locomotive one mile from our first stop. And Zash had reentered the train in full-on Bolshevik mode. Head high, coat buttoned, and commands echoing like a relentless battering ram against everyone’s ears.