Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

“I see,” she acknowledged. But he could see that she still wasn’t buying it, and this gave him an idea.

“Why, are you volunteering for the job?” he teased, seizing the opportunity to flirt with her.

“Oh, I couldn’t!” the girl answered, her face turning red. “And neither could you! Enough of such talk!” And without giving him another look, she reopened her Bible and made a show of reading it.

By now, Boris had laid down his playing cards and was listening to the exchange. Upon seeing Zhanna blush, he let out a boisterous laugh.

“It’s no use, captain,” he advised Ned, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Take it from me. Unless you’re a saint or an angel, she’s not interested.”

Though Zhanna didn’t look up at either man, a smile crept slowly across her face.

With their ill-starred engagement behind them, Boris and Zhanna soon settled into a comfortable friendship, much like that of siblings or cousins. Zhanna often referred to Boris in jest as her Paladin, or knight in shining armor. The nickname stuck, and before long, Paladin became Boris’s new nom de guerre, and one that Ned did not begrudge him despite its incongruity. Though large of stature, Paladin was a gentle soul who recoiled at even the idea of physical violence. He had come to Omsk only to support Zhanna, he often said, and never intended to make war on anyone. And while he had once taken a dim view of Admiral Kolchak and the Siberian Army, before long he became an unaccountably enthusiastic booster of the Admiral and of Siberia, which he called the “Land of Opportunity” and “Home of the Future.”

At the same time, Paladin never missed an opportunity to disparage life in Sovdepia, and passed along every derogatory rumor about Lenin, Trotsky, and the Bolsheviks, particularly those regarding the Red Terror and alleged Cheka atrocities. However tough things might be in Siberia, Boris would invariably say, they were many times worse in Sovdepia.

“People are eating cats in Moscow and tearing down altars for fuel!” he would say, and swear by every word.

* * *

The foursome reached Omsk Station at dusk and ate dinner in a simple tavern before hiring a carriage to Ned’s downtown lodgings. Along the way, the crude clatter of the droshky on the slush-covered cobbles kept them awake as the driver did his best to evade the streetcar tracks’ treacherous grooves. At their destination, Ned found Zhanna a bed with a family on the floor above his and cleared a spot in his bedroom for Paladin to sleep in a vacant corner. Ivashov returned to his own flat a few blocks away.

The next morning, at Zhanna’s insistence, Ned and the three Russians set off after breakfast to the Supreme Ruler’s offices at Liberty House. Because Ned and Ivashov had been there many times on official business, they had no difficulty escorting their guests through the outer perimeter of Russian troops and the guards from Colonel Ward’s Middlesex Regiment. Once inside the building, they went to the office of Admiral Kolchak’s assistant, George Konstantinovich Guins.

No sooner did the male receptionist ask the nature of the visitors’ business than Zhanna stepped forward and, despite being told to remain silent, spoke up in a loud clear voice.

“I am Zhanna Stepanovna Dorokhina, sometimes called the Maid of Baikal. I have come to see Admiral Kolchak on urgent business,” she told the receptionist, a young staff lieutenant. “Please show us in without delay.”

The staff lieutenant’s demeanor instantly changed from mild interest to scorn, as if he had been alerted to her coming.

“Today is not the Supreme Ruler’s day to hear stories from schoolchildren,” he replied. “Perhaps your keepers would deign to speak to the Admiral’s assistant, who sometimes sees to such things when he has nothing better to do.” He scowled at Ivashov, but the staff captain held his tongue.

Though Zhanna’s violet eyes sparked with anger, she also said nothing more, instead casting a frustrated glance toward Ned and Ivashov, who stood by her side.

“Yes, yes,” Ned responded to the receptionist, not having expected such a rude rebuff, for he had always been shown deference when visiting the same offices, whether alone or with other Allied officers. “Please tell Georgi Konstantinovich that Captain du Pont and Staff Captain Ivashov are here to see him,” he added, conspicuously omitting any reference to Zhanna. “He knows us well.”

“Very well, sir,” the Russian replied stiffly. “I will announce you.”

The staff lieutenant vanished into Guins’s office. While he was away, Ivashov persuaded Zhanna and Paladin to sit quietly in the reception area and allow him and Ned to ease the way for the Supreme Ruler to receive them. Zhanna, realizing she had little to gain from protesting the receptionist’s rudeness, agreed to wait outside. But from the moment she sat down, her slim fingers began drumming on the polished arm of her hardwood chair.