XI: THE PLOT THICKENS
WITH the miniature in my possession again I had not a moment to lose. It was necessary to take it to Sophia at once, and I could not release the chamberlain Kourbsky until I had seen the czarevna. Indeed, I did not know how I could let him out at all, for he would surely stir up a great commotion. Yet it had been absolutely necessary to get rid of him, or to betray Daria. And as I sped toward the Red Place again, I made up my mind to think no more of the chamberlain until Sophia was satisfied with her picture, and then to find some way out of the other difficulty. That he was wild with rage in that little turret room I did not doubt, and thinking of him as I saw him last, sitting in a cloud of dust, I laughed aloud—but I laughed too soon.
Maluta had waited for me in the garden, and was at my heels now, and, having found him so useful, I suffered him to follow me still. It was fortunate that I did, for as I drew nearer to the palace it occurred to me that, without Chamberlain Kourbsky, I had no means of reaching the private audience chamber of theterem, and while casting about in my mind for an expedient that would help me, I bethought myself of the dwarf’s former place at court. Calling him tome, I told him that I wanted to enter theteremand see the czarevna, mentioning my former interview with her, an hour or more before, and explaining my anticipation of difficulty in obtaining admittance. Maluta listened attentively, looking up at me sideways, his forehead wrinkled and his great ears standing out. As I finished, he nodded knowingly.
“You cannot enter by the public way,” he said, at once, “but there is a way—follow me, excellency.”
We were at the foot of the Red Staircase; above us rose the palace. It was about two hours before sunset, and the shadows fell long across the court of the Kremlin. It was the 24th of May, and the aspect of the place was singularly peaceful; the bells of the Church of Saint Basil the Blessed began to ring sweetly and softly.
I looked down at the tiny creature at my side.
“You belong to the court no longer,” I said. “How can you obtain admittance?”
He laughed, malicious mischief peeping out of his sharp eyes.
“They do not know,” he said; “not one usher in fifty knows one of us from the other, and the dwarfs are always running the secret errands of their czarish majesties. Trust me, my master. I will take you there. Why, there is not a secret,” he held his finger up to his lips, “not a conspiracy up yonder, that we do not know; they cannot deceive us—not they!”
I believed him, looking at his sharp, malicious little face. How often do princes pay for spies upon themselves, and nourish vipers in their bosoms! I shrugged my shoulders.
“Go on, then,” I said, “and be quick!”
He led on past the Red Staircase, skirted the walls of the palace, came to the rear and there, at a little postern, stumbled upon a crowd of dwarfs. At the sight of their comrade they yelled shrilly and made strange gesticulations, but Maluta silenced them by signs, laying his finger on his lips, his forehead, and his heart, and then pointing at me. They fell away and let us enter, staring at me, and swarming in after us, as I have seen bees swarm into a hive. It annoyed me; I wanted more elbow room, but remembering the difficulties before me, I tried to endure these little creatures with patience. Once in the palace we began to ascend a narrow flight of stairs,—the back stairs of theterem,—where many a secret, whether of joy or sorrow or sin, had crept up and down for years; crept until the marble steps were worn and lustreless, and the very arches, fluted and dim above us, were darkened by an atmosphere of secrecy and fear. The pattering of many little feet behind began to grow more distant and ceased altogether when we left the swarm at a turn of the stairs, below a landing, where we came suddenly upon a sentry. He lowered his staff across the narrow spaceand would not let us pass, but Maluta threw out his little chest and strutted, as I have seen game-cocks in thehallesof Paris, and reaching up on tip-toes, he whispered to the soldier, two words that—for the next few days—were magic in their effect.
“Sophia Alexeievna.”
In an instant the staff was raised, the man saluted, and we passed safely on, through a dim gallery where, behind closed doors, I heard the murmur of subdued voices. There was something in the very air of this part of the palace that choked an honest man; it was a place for the toads that live upon the sovereign’s bounties and betray him. I was glad when the dwarf finally entered a wide corridor, lighted by windows that looked out upon the Red Place, and I saw the sun shining on the wall beside me, and felt the breeze from an open casement. Halfway down the corridor we found an usher on duty, and to him Maluta used the same password, and he opened the door and bowed me into the ante-room of the very chamber where Sophia and Maître le Bastien still awaited me. The dwarf’s cleverness had served me well indeed, but I had no time to thank him. Sophia sat in the carved chair, waiting for me with a face like a thunder-cloud; and the goldsmith had aged six months in two hours.
“You are long about your errands, sir,” snapped the czarevna as I advanced, her little eyes searchingme, as keen as two needles. “Where is Vasili Ivanovitch?”
“He will be here presently, your highness,” I replied evasively; “but I have brought the miniature,” and I presented it with a profound obeisance.
I think she was surprised, but she showed no sign of being pleased. She took it with much deliberation, and turning it over and over in her hands, examined it jealously, as if she feared either deception or some injury to the precious picture, but she failed to find even a scratch upon the ivory. Relieved by this turn of affairs, Maître le Bastien found his voice.
“If your highness will permit me to take the picture and the locket back to my shop,” he said, “I will replace the miniature in its former position with such care that it will not show its removal.”
She cast a strange glance at him over her picture.
“Do you suppose I wish to have it replaced?” she asked scornfully.
“I thought so, madame,” he replied, in evident perplexity.
“Well, I didn’t!” she said acidly, and she looked at the locket viciously. “Have I not evidence here?” she added.
Maître le Bastien caught my eye, and an expression of deep concern clouded his face. To both of us came terrible misgivings; the woman—jealous, powerful, and malicious—was hatching some mischief;what, we could not easily divine. We stood looking at her, both stricken dumb, and feeling the helplessness of our position in her hands, and she eyed us fiercely and keenly, a gleam of amusement on her face. No one spoke, and for a few moments there was profound silence and then—suddenly an uproar in the corridor. The czarevna turned her head sharply and listened, alert and eager, and Maître le Bastien and I listened, too, for we had an intuition of some impending catastrophe. We heard doors slam and feet skurrying across the ante-room, and then a puffing, gasping sound that smote my ear with singular familiarity.
The door burst open, and unannounced and without formality, the fat chamberlain, Kourbsky, my prisoner of the turret, rushed in, puffing and panting, his face scarlet, and behind him came two soldiers guarding two formidable prisoners; the apprentice, Michaud, and our fat cook, Advotia.