Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I ask you because you are a foreigner,” Zhanna answered with a grave expression that made her look older than her eighteen years. “I dare not ask a Russian man because they have certain ideas about women that will never change. And as for Staff Captain Ivashov, he is completely loyal to my father and uncle and would repeat anything I say right back to them.”

“But surely, a girl like you will never find herself on the battlefield. Have your Voices told you otherwise?”

“Not exactly,” Zhanna answered after a moment’s hesitation. “But they have a mission in mind for me, and I don’t know yet what dangers it may bring.”

“What sort of a mission?”

“They want me to travel without delay to Omsk to deliver a message to Admiral Kolchak. My father told me you plan to go there soon. I want you to take me with you. I can pay…”

Here Zhanna stopped short and watched for Ned’s response. He had expected some small, frivolous request that he could fulfill at little cost. But this request was preposterous. Still, there was something compelling about her that made him want to help.

“Ivashov and I travel to Omsk under official orders, on an American military train,” he answered respectfully, rubbing his icy hands together. “I’m afraid no sum of money can buy civilian passage on it. But tell me this: does your father know of your plan?”

“Yes. Father forbids it,” Zhanna answered without blinking.

“And you would defy him?” Ned challenged. “By what right?”

“Not by right, but by authority. My Voices command it, and their commands must be obeyed, for they come from God.”

Zhanna’s demeanor appeared so sane that Ned struggled for a counter-argument that did not take her for a fool or a madwoman. After all, the Russians were a devoutly religious people and, in desperate times, religion and ancient folkways often tightened their grip on the devout.

“And you have no doubt of this?” he demanded.

“Not a whit.”

“Then, what would you do once you reached the capital? These days Omsk is thronged with soldiers and refugees and Bolshevik agitators. It’s not a safe place for a country girl all on her own. And how would you gain an audience with the Admiral? He is protected by British bodyguards at all times and rarely ventures from his quarters except to visit the front lines.”

“Perhaps you could arrange an introduction,” she ventured in a quiet voice.

Ned laughed, not in a mocking way, but with the easy confidence that arose from knowing he held the upper hand. For while God might have given Zhanna an order, He had not presented her with a plan, and the task was plainly impossible.

“Would that I could,” he answered amiably. “But I have never met Admiral Kolchak, and I am no more likely to gain an introduction than you are.”

“I see,” Zhanna replied, biting her lower lip and wringing her fur gloves in her hands. “But you would help me if you could, wouldn’t you? My Voices assured me of that much.”

Ned laughed.

“Well, in that respect, your Voices are quite right. For if I could help you without any harm to you, or disgrace to your father, or neglect to my duties, I would most gladly come to your aid.”

This was an exaggeration, of course, but he would have been genuinely delighted to help her if the request were not so evidently absurd.

“Then I shall take up your offer in due time,” the girl answered with renewed confidence. “For my Voices tell me that you will return here before the winter is over. So if I do not travel with you now, I shall surely do so on your return.”

“And I would be most happy for the chance to see you again,” Ned replied, meeting her gaze with a weak smile.

“Then go with God, captain,” Zhanna added in a clipped voice as she rose to her feet. “And may we meet again soon. For I have but a year and a little more to do my work. By this time next year, Russia’s die will be cast, and so will mine.”

* * *

Stepan Petrovich and his guests spent that afternoon shooting grouse and quail amid the stubble of the harvested croplands, returning at dusk for a light meal washed down with nothing stronger than beer. Zhanna assisted with the cooking and serving, as she had the night before, but declined to join the men in the dining room, eating in the kitchen instead. Nor did she serve them food or drink later that evening while they played skat and whist by the tile stove.

The next morning, Zhanna rose early to help the housekeeper prepare breakfast but left for church before the men rose. She failed to return before Ned and Ivashov took leave of their host and set off for the railroad station. Clearly, Ned thought, the girl was avoiding him. Perhaps she was embarrassed at revealing her visions. Or perhaps she had second thoughts about appearing to lead him on, given that he was much older than she and a man of the world.