Berezovo: A Revolutionary Russian Epic

“Why not lodge them in the hotel? It is only for a couple of days and Fyodor Gregorivich has plenty of empty rooms at this time of year,” Skyralenko suggested hopefully. “A couple of armed guards on the landing would suffice to guarantee their security.”

Colonel Izorov’s eyes narrowed as he considered the prison director’s suggestion. When at last he gave his answer, there was less of the abruptness in his manner than he had shown towards the Mayor.

“No, Dimitri Borisovich, although I see your point. The hotel is not as safe as you think. It has too many exits and entrances; too many rooms to hide in. Nevertheless, knowing your prison would be overcrowded, I have already thought of an alternative. The new arrivals shall stay in the cells, as I have said. The prisoners you already have there will be evicted.”

“Evicted?” echoed the gaoler, puzzled.

“Yes. They will be given parole and told to get lost. Of course, as soon as the convoy has left, they will be ordered to report back to prison.”

There was a stunned silence. Pobednyev, still smarting from his treatment by the colonel, was the first to find his voice.

“You can’t do that, Colonel,” he protested loudly. “I doubt that even siege law gives you that authority to free convicted criminals already in gaol.”

“Rather the reverse, in fact,” said Captain Steklov.

“Quite!” agreed The Mayor, gathering steam. “You have some of the town’s biggest rogues in there. What of Ratapov, or the Gubernyn brothers? And that idiot Bambayev? What is Elizaveta Dresnyakova going to say when she hears that the man who waggled himself at her through her bedroom window is at liberty to do it again?”

“And what guarantee do we have that the prisoners will return to their cells when this convoy has gone?” Skyralenko wanted to know.

Again Izorov spread his hands out wide.

“Where else is there for them to go?” he countered. “With the weather as it is they wouldn’t survive one night out in the open. And if they try to hide in the town, I shall make things too hot for them. Five blows of the knout for every day overdue; the same for those that harbour them. That should make them think.”

But Skyralenko was not convinced.

“It is still a hell of a risk, Colonel,” he said. “I can’t accept the responsibility.”

“It is quite unacceptable!” declared Pobednyev hotly.

“Yes, it is a risk,” agreed Izorov. “I don’t like letting them go any more than you do. But is there an alternative? After all, the crimes they have committed pale into insignificance beside these swine from Petersburg. These so-called deputies of the people are guilty not of common assault or robbery or lewd behaviour, but of high treason. Let me remind you, gentlemen, they plotted to overthrow the Tsar himself, and came damn near succeeding.”

The silence that followed this timely reminder was broken by Captain Steklov.

“Apropos these people,” he wondered aloud, “might I ask the colonel what measures he intends to take to increase the security of the prison? As Skyralenko here has already told us, he has only six wardens under his command. Hardly sufficient, I suggest, for the task in hand.”

“I was coming to that,” replied Izorov. “As I see it, we are all understaffed, but I think I have found a way to impress upon our visitors the impossibility of their position if we all pull together. Immediately upon their arrival, these exiles should be marched into the prison yard, where they will be met by a reception committee. This should consist of the combined forces of the police, the prison warders and the full military garrison. Give or take one or two, that should number about fifty men in uniform, armed and drawn up in ranks. If any of them have any doubts about our preparedness, then that should change their minds.”

“A parade of strength,” muttered Skyralenko appreciatively. “That’s a good idea.”

“I agree,” said Mayor Pobednyev. “It’s an excellent idea. As Mayor, I think a parade of strength is exactly what this situation calls for. I assume you will require my presence there as the representative of the civil powers?”

“But of course,” the Chief of Police assured him. “And I thought, perhaps, if you wouldn’t mind that is, you could make a short speech…”

“Of welcome?” suggested Captain Steklov mischievously.

“No,” said Colonel Izorov with a pained expression, “not of welcome exactly.”

“No! Goodness gracious, not of welcome!” expostulated the Mayor. “But, since this is something of an historical occasion, however grim, I think that a short address might be in order. A few words, just to show them what sort of people we are, so that the new arrivals can see that we won’t tolerate any of their monkey tricks here.”

The colonel beamed benignly, pleased with the progress he had made.