Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

The governor-general turned next to Kostrov and Ivashov, before his eyes settled on Ned.

“Regrettably, much of what the girl says has proven accurate,” he told them, his face pale and his hands trembling as he turned up his collar against the wind. “Before leaving my office, I received a cable with the unhappy news that Uralsk and Orenburg have indeed been lost. How Zhanna knows these things, I cannot begin to say, for I do not believe in angelic Voices. In any event, I feel the time has come to send her off to Admiral Kolchak.”

Zhanna’s face radiated joy.

“I thank you with all my heart, Your Excellency!” she exclaimed, grasping Volkov’s gloved hands and rising on tiptoes with excitement. “Will your Cossacks provide my escort?”

The edges of Volkov’s mouth turned up in a wry expression.

“Your escort stands before you. Staff Captain Ivashov and Captain du Pont will depart with you tomorrow.”

Zhanna acknowledged the officers with a demure smile.

“These men believe in you, Zhanna,” the governor-general continued in a solemn voice, “and I have entrusted your letter of introduction to their care. From this moment, I ask that you follow their instructions to the last detail so that you may return safely to your family when your business at Omsk is done. Do you promise me that?”

“Oh, sir, you have my solemn word on it!” the girl replied. “My angels bless you!”

“Are you ready to depart, then?” Volkov inquired.

“At once,” she replied. “Better today than tomorrow, and better tomorrow than the day after. My Voices tell me that I must reach Omsk by the beginning of Lent, if I have to wear my legs down to the knee to get there!”

“Very well, then,” he concluded. “Captain du Pont tells me that a passenger compartment has been set aside for him in an American munitions train departing Irkutsk station tomorrow. Now go with God and help Russia as best you can.”

The governor bowed low to Zhanna in parting and she curtseyed in return before Ivashov took her arm to lead her through the gate and up the stairs to Kostrov’s front door. Ned lingered a moment longer and was close enough to Volkov to overhear his final words to the banker.

“My dear Kirill Matveyich,” he said, linking arms as they walked together toward the carriage. “Your niece won my support because of her simple faith in God, Russia, and Admiral Kolchak. They say Christ sometimes comes as a simple child. Bless your family for raising such a one.”

“You are kind to say so, Vyacheslav Ivanovich,” the banker replied with a heartfelt smile rooted in their decades-long friendship. “But tell me this. Even if Zhanna reaches Omsk with your letter of introduction, how is she to get past the Admiral’s staff to speak with him?”

“I have no idea,” Volkov answered with a helpless look. “How did she get into my presence? If Kolchak can keep her away, he is a better man than I.”

Ned would have laughed at this, had he and Ivashov not been given responsibility for delivering her to the Admiral. And as difficult as Zhanna’s path had been until today, he had a mounting sense that her trials—and his—had scarcely begun.

* * *

Once Governor-General Volkov and his Cossacks rode off, Zhanna’s crowds of followers began to disperse, driven back toward Irkutsk’s working class neighborhoods by a bitter north wind. After a few minutes delay, Ned set off in pursuit of Zhanna and the others and found them seated in Kostrov’s parlor. Ivashov spoke to Zhanna quietly, apparently to prevent the servants from overhearing.

“Now that news of your travel to Omsk will soon be known to everyone in Irkutsk, we must take precautions for your safety. Rather than depart from Irkutsk station, where Bolshevik agents might discover us, we shall ride at dawn to Angarsk and board our train there. Once aboard, Captain du Pont and I will take turns keeping watch over you at all times.”

Ned then addressed their host.

“Kirill Matveyich, can you spare us three horses for the trip to Angarsk?”

“That I can,” the banker replied. “Leave them at the public stable there and I will send a man to retrieve them.”

“Better make it four horses,” Zhanna added. “We will be one more for the journey.”

“But I am needed here in Irkutsk, dear Zhanna,” Kostrov objected with a confused look. “And there is no time to summon your father from Verkhne-Udinsk, or any of your brothers.”

“I meant neither you nor them,” Zhanna replied with a half-smile. “Before we depart for Angarsk, a fourth rider will come. It will be my friend, Boris Viktorovich. Though he is no fighter, he will render good service to our cause.”

“But how could the boy know that you are leaving? Have you sent for him?” her uncle inquired.

“No, but he will come all the same,” Zhanna replied with the mature tone of voice that she sometimes took on when discussing her mission.