Maid of Baikal: A Novel of the Russian Civil War

Ned was delighted to meet Dieterichs, whom he considered one of the most experienced and capable generals in the Siberian Army. Though he was reputed to possess a severe temper, the man showed no sign of that today. In fact, Ned was surprised to see the sort of wrinkles around the general’s eyes that sprang from frequent laughter. Dieterichs caught Ned’s glance, returned it with a friendly nod, and then went back to his maps without speaking.

Archbishop Sylvester showed less interest, casting an indifferent glance at Ned and Ivashov before withdrawing back into his newspaper. Though a career cleric and thus ostensibly of charitable Christian temperament, the man’s flinty eyes bore no trace of warmth and his gaunt face remained inscrutable behind an unruly foot-long beard.

Guins chose this moment to announce that the sideboard had been laid with refreshments and that tea was served. He led his two guests to the sideboard and prepared a small plate for each with tasty zakuski and small almond cakes. Lebedev and Dieterichs followed close on Guins’s heels, with Admiral Kolchak and Archbishop Sylvester trailing behind.

To Ned’s surprise, Dieterichs opened the conversation about Zhanna with a blunt question to Guins, posed in a deeply resonant voice.

“Guins, exactly what do you know about this girl whom Volkov has sent us from Irkutsk?”

“Little more than what Governor Volkov has written us: that she comes as ‘an angel with the soul of a soldier,’ and that she bears ‘a message from God conveyed through the voices of saints,’” Guins replied. “How she persuaded the governor to send her here to address Admiral Kolchak remains shrouded in mystery.”

“Is it true that the girl made her way to us all the way from Irkutsk with only a pair of bodyguards to protect her?” Dieterichs broke in. “And suffered not a scratch from the Bolshevik agents who infest that route?”

“We can attest to that, general,” Ivashov replied.

Admiral Kolchak spoke up next from the opposite end of the sideboard, where he poured tea into an engraved crystal cup sheathed in a cage of fine silver filigree.

“So that devil Volkov sends us an angel with a message from the saints,” Kolchak remarked with an ironic smile on his lips. “Dare I receive it, bishop, without a blessing from the Holy Church?”

“My advice, Your Excellency, is not to see this mad wench at all,” Archbishop Sylvester asserted. Though he wore a plain black cassock, above the man’s heart hung a circular pendant encrusted with enough jewels to exalt a monarch.

“But as I am the Supreme Ruler, I believe I will,” the Admiral declared with a wink to Guins.

Here Chief of Staff Lebedev interrupted, his face flushed and his voice full of its usual bluster.

“Then, perhaps, Admiral, with all due respect, she should be prevented from seeing you,” Lebedev ventured.

“Now see here, general,” Kolchak replied, though appearing not to take offense at Lebedev’s brash remark. “The late tsarina had her crazy monk and I feel entitled to have my angel. Where is the harm in that?”

“I should think we can ascertain rather quickly whether the girl has angelic powers and might be worth listening to,” Dieterichs proposed. “Let us put her to the test: when she enters the room, I will claim to be Supreme Ruler and then let’s see if she finds me out.”

“A capital idea, General!” Kolchak agreed. “If she can’t identify the Supreme Ruler by means of her divine wisdom, I see no need to waste further time on her.”

Ned and Ivashov exchanged anxious looks. For Zhanna to come all the way from Irkutsk, only to be thwarted by a cheap trick like this, would be worse than disheartening. Surely, if God had sent her and her voices were divine, the girl ought to see through the ruse. But would she?

“By the way, did any of you read through to the end of Governor Volkov’s letter?” Guins broke in with a sardonic leer. “It says that the girl promises to take Samara and thrash the Red Army on the Volga. Perhaps she will share with us how she means to accomplish such a feat.”

Guins, having detected the tide flowing against the Maid, seemed to be paddling hard to send her ship out to sea.

“Hogwash, I say,” Lebedev proclaimed.

“You call it hogwash, general?” Kolchak challenged with an askance look at Lebedev. “So, when will you take Samara for us?”

“To be fair to the Chief of Staff, my dear Admiral, the burden of proof rests squarely upon the Maid,” Dieterichs joined in before biting into a tiny almond cake. “At present we have General Khanzin’s Western Army positioned some five hundred versts east of Samara and Tolstov’s Cossacks seven hundred versts to the south and east. Is it possible that this Maid of Baikal could do for us what they have not?”

“If our forces are so formidable, my wise generals, then why don’t they advance and take Samara at once?” Kolchak challenged.