So the plot bunnies haven't really been helping me out on this one, but what can you do. I'll find them and get them working in my favor.
As always, Reggie is the property of Harry Turtledove and any Highlander references belong to the Highlander people. They're being used without permission and I'm making no profit on them. Karolek belongs to me, but not much else.
Any dialogue encased in hyphens is in Russian.
Moscow
January 10th, 1937
Karolek breathed deeply as he climbed out of the car that they'd ridden in up to the…well, to call it anything other than a palace would have been understating. The air practically crackled with the cold, and inhaled the pureness as deep as he possibly could. He hadn't been home in far too long. He'd almost forgotten what it smelled like. He'd needed this trip. Probably he should have come home as soon as the war as over, but he'd put it off and stayed in the USA. Certainly he should have come home after he'd fought Jacob Book. But he'd gone to visit Connor. 'Nevermind all that, idiot.' Karolek mentally chided himself. 'This is a homecoming. You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.'
"So this frozen piece of tundra is home?" Reggie's incongruous southern drawl floated behind him as the young Confederate unfolded himself from the car. He looked around at the tall pines and the large house, but his critical side took in the deep snowdrifts and icicles. He'd been born and raised in Virginia, and while it did snow from time to time, it rarely got THIS bitterly cold. He had on several sweaters under his long coat along with heavy wool trousers and a muffler, but he was still freezing. "I'll bet it looks nicer from the inside." He shook his head at his teacher, thinking that the centuries had finally started to catch up to the prince. How anyone could prefer this stretch of frozen snow and woods to the much warmer comforts of Kai's estate on Lyskos was beyond him.
"It was." Karolek conceded. The smile that had been on his face disappeared as his dark gray gaze shifted to the wooded lot beyond the stables. "My brother accidentally killed me, out in those woods. We were hunting." He sighed, and tucked a wisp of blond hair behind his ear with a gloved hand. "When I woke up again…it was a different time. Much more superstitious. He thought I was aligned with the devil, and he had just enough rage to throw me out. Had me banished. I walked away that night with what little my youngest brother could sneak out to me, and my sword. I never saw my mother or my sister or Ondrezj again." He offered Reggie a sad smile. "I was 21 years old."
"Your own brother threw you out when you were 21?" Reggie asked, incredulous. "How could they do that?"
"They had no answers." Karolek said softly, sadness in his face. "To believe that I was in league with the devil, it wasn't such a stretch. It was an answer, an explanation to the unexplainable." His gaze turned back to the woods. "I don't blame Ondrezj. We were always edgy with one another. He thought he was doing the right thing. I can't fault him that."
"Man, and I thought I'd heard just about everything about this Immortal business." Reggie replied. "You don't even blame your own brother for killing you."
Karolek regarded Reggie with his penetrating gray eyes. "Do you blame the Freedom Party man who killed you?"
Reggie shifted uneasily under his teacher's stare. He'd never given much thought to the man who'd killed him, starting him on this strange and heretofore unimaginable path. For so long, he hadn't had any answers about why he was still alive. Then when he did have them, he'd started training and learning and hadn't had much time to really think on what had happened to him. "I don't know." He confessed. "I never really thought about it."
Karolek nodded, appreciating the honesty. "Judge not, lest ye be judged." He recited, remembering one of the lessons of his mother's long ago religious teachings. "Unless you're in a position where you have concrete opinions of your own life, it is usually unwise to start commenting on the lives of others."
"Right." Reggie agreed, again wondering if that look in those gunmetal orbs meant that Karolek was going to let the subject go or draw his sword. "Do y'all think we might go inside now? It's mighty cold out here."
Karolek laughed, willing the ghosts back to the recesses of his mind. "Rebel wuss." He grinned at Reggie's indignant look, before pulling the Confederate's bag out of the trunk and tossing it at him. "Get yourself into the house, then." He pulled his own out and shut the trunk, falling into step with his student as they made their way up the stairs to the building. Reggie's limp was far less noticeable than it had been when they'd first started training. All the running on the beach had been good to strengthen the muscles. While Reggie would never be strong (or for that matter, fight with his right arm), perhaps he wouldn't be quite the easy prey Karolek had been concerned he would be.
"You call this a house?" Reggie asked incredulously as they finished walking up the steps.
"Well sure." Karolek sized up the large stone building as the door opened at their approach. "I grew up here. What would you call it?"
"Palace. Castle. Mansion." Reggie joked back, only half in jest.
"Nyet." Karolek joked back. "You should see Peterhoff, in St. Petersburg. That's much bigger. Or the Imperial Palace."
"Right, I'll just go visit the imperial palace." Reggie shook his head. 'Strange man.'
The two Immortals filed in past the house manager, who nodded politely at Reggie before addressing Karolek. "-Welcome home, your highness.-"
"-Thank you.-" Karolek nodded back at the man. Setting down his bag, he cast some quick glances about the foyer. It had been improved some from his childhood, adding modern conveniences as they became available. The heating system was vastly improved from the fireplaces and braziers of his youth, and the electric lighting gave the palace a much brighter glow than candles and torches. He motioned to Reggie, introducing him as, "Mr. Reginald Martin, a guest of mine. He has no Russian."
"Very good sir." The butler nodded, before addressing Reggie in halting English. "Mr. Martin. I am Sergei. If I can do for you, please say to me. I am only one with English."
"Right." Reggie smiled hesitantly at the man he assumed was the butler. "Sergei. I'll remember that." He'd never been around white servants, so he had no real idea how to treat the man, or any others he might encounter. All his life the servants he'd been around were black…not that he really knew how to treat them anymore, either. His time in the US Army hospital, talking to Rehoboam, hadn't done much to straighten out his views. This uncomfortableness with being one of the 'elite' would take some time to get over. That, and the language. Only two people in his immediate acquaintance spoke English. He supposed he'd have to start studying Russian if they were planning to stay there long. Another question to ask Karolek when they were alone.
Reggie had been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't heard the continued conversation between Karolek and Sergei. Sergei was explaining what rooms had been prepared for the two visitors, since most of the palace was closed to conserve heat and preserve the rooms and their contents. Karolek was listening carefully to his manager's accounting of the estate and its status, and had explained that whomever answered the door was not to worry about taking his or Reggie's coats.
"Come on, Reggie." Karolek said to his student as Sergei motioned for a young girl to take their bags upstairs. "Sergei is going to have Anna show us where we're staying."
Reggie nodded, watching the young Anna reach for his bag. His inbred Southern manners kicked in automatically. "No, miss. I can take that myself."
Anna stopped, looking first at Reggie, and then at Karolek, who had removed his overcoat and was standing in his suit. She had no idea what the older, darker haired man had said. The blond young man was the master of the house, he wore the coat of arms of the Romanov family on his suit lapel. He was in charge. "Your highness?"
"-It's all right, Anna. Lead the way.-" Anna nodded, taking Reggie's bag and moving to the stairs. "Reggie, I know she's just a girl, but carrying the bags is her job." Reggie moved to protest. "I know. She's a girl, you weren't raised to have a girl do your work. However, people here take their jobs very seriously. And her job is to do what Sergei tells her. She's one of the maids."
Reggie shook his head. "Right." As Anna led the way up the stairs, Reggie slid up closer to Karolek. "How do you do that? Let a girl carry your bags for you?"
Karolek looked over at Reggie. "That's what she's paid for." He repeated. "I realize that it's not a race based system, but it's not exactly like you haven't been in a position where you had others doing your hard work for you."
Reggie flushed bright red. "But they weren't one of us." He protested. Even in his own ears, his protest sounded feeble.
"White, you mean." Karolek countered, something between despair and pity in his eyes. "They were meant to be servants because they were black. And what if I told you that Anna was meant to be a servant because she was poor?" He sighed and shook his head. "The difference is, if Anna wanted to leave tomorrow and go to St. Petersburg and be a waitress or work in a bar or a hotel or be whatever, she could. I'd even tell Sergei to write her a good reference and pay her in full before she went, if that's what she really wanted. Your blacks couldn't go anywhere without permission from a half a dozen different people and plenty of grief, and even then they'd have to have a job lined up before they'd be allowed. I'm not even remotely surprised that they rose up in rebellion. Hopeless situation, I've done it myself."
"You were in a rebellion?" Reggie raised his eyebrows. "Where?"
"Prague, against the Hungarians." Karolek replied. "1800's or somewhere there abouts. Here's the thing, Reggie. When people don't have anything to look to for tomorrow, when there's no hope left that any good is going to come of your life, it makes revolution seem like an awfully sensible answer."
"Can't say as I see that revolution's ever a sensible answer." Reggie reasoned. "All that fighting, shooting, it didn't get them anywhere. Whole lotta blacks hanged. Harsher penalties for any attacks on white folks, people like Jake Featherston in charge. Seems to me it made their life worse, not better." He chanced a glance at his teacher. "Where did your revolt against the Hungarians get you?"
"Me? Quite dead, as a matter of fact. Shot, more than once" He smiled lightly. "You're right in the long term, you know. Most revolutions and rebellions don't come off successfully, and seem to bring much in the way of success. The Czechs didn't get much out of their rebellion, any more than the Confederate blacks got out of theirs. But what about the ones that did succeed, Reggie? What about the French Third Estate? What about the Americans, against the British? Thirteen colonies against the most powerful military on the planet. No one gave them a chance." He watched Reggie nod absently, still not convinced.
"What about your rebellion, Reggie?" Reggie's brown eyes widened, and he whipped around to defend…what? His nation? He didn't have one, not anymore.
"I…" He stopped. "It wasn't a rebellion. We weren't trying to change a way of life, just protect our own."
Karolek nodded. "And so you pulled away from a government that you thought did not represent you. You formed your own government to watch out for your interests. And then you fought to protect it, against an enemy much larger and better supplied than you."
"And we won." Reggie nodded proudly.
"Thank you. Having been alive for four hundred years, I had no way of knowing that information." Reggie flushed, realizing how childish he'd sounded in his outburst. "You were fortunate to have someone like Lee, who was as gifted a military commander as one could hope to find during the times." He pursed his lips. "Had Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia lost at Gettysburg, I dare say that the war might have ended quite differently. Perhaps even with the Confederacy restored to the Union."
"Bah." Reggie waved a hand. "Never happen. The CSA would have kept on fighting, rather than going back to the Yanks, hat in hand. Never would have happened."
Karolek just rolled his eyes and followed Anna into the bedroom set aside for him. Some arguments were better avoiding, if you could get away with it. Reggie might have had a USA passport – much more accepted in Russia than any Entente alliance one – but he was still a Confederate at heart. He supposed he understood. Even after 400 years, Russia was still home, and a Romanov still his king. What he'd gained in 400 years, or so he hoped, was the ability to distinguish between the blind pride of nationalism and the more practical pride of a patriot.
"Wow." Reggie breathed softly, following his escorts into the room. Karolek's bedroom was large and open, with stone walls, ceilings, and wood floors. Rich curtains adorned the windows, and everything about the room basically screamed money. The paintings, mostly landscapes, were gilt edged, the bed had a high canopy decorated with the same heavy blue curtains that framed the windows. A larger version of the crest that Karolek was wearing on his lapel hung above the bed, the faded colors suggesting that it was probably as old as the palace it hung in. Several rugs were scattered about the beds, large table/desk, and dresser. Otherwise the room was basically empty, with a small door leading into what he assumed was a bathroom. Somewhere in the years since the invention of indoor plumbing, Karolek must have paid to have modern conveniences installed in his palace.
Anna set the bag belonging to Karolek down on the edge of the bed, bowing and saying something fast to the prince. Karolek nodded, replied in the same language, and Anna scurried out of the room.
"Anna says they've prepared the room across the hall for you. They'll unpack everything while we're at dinner and put it away for you."
"That's nice." Reggie continued to stare around the room, slowly walking to examine one of the landscapes.
"Dinner will probably be around 5 o'clock. It gets dark very early here."
"That's nice."
"I'm thinking of running away to join the circus."
"That's nice."
"REGGIE!" Karolek barked, startling his student out of the trance he seemed to have slipped into.
"What?" Reggie shook his head. "Hell, you didn't have to yell so damned loud. I'm right here."
"And your mind was a thousand miles away." Karolek corrected. "Did you hear ANYTHING I said?"
"Not really, no."
"You're across the hall. Dinner's at five." Reggie nodded. Karolek glanced at his wristwatch. About 2. They'd had lunch in Moscow before setting out to the house. "Go and get your sword."
The Confederate's face fell visibly. "My sword?" His southern accent managed to turn the question of disappointment into a whine with very little effort on Reggie's part.
"Your sword. Get changed into practice clothes and go and get it. I'll meet you down in the foyer and show you where the great hall is. That'll do for a practice area."
"Do we really have…" the rest of the sentence died on Reggie's lips as soon as he looked at his teacher's unamused gray eyes. "Going."
Karolek watched Reggie flee the room for his own across the hall. Shaking his head, Karolek drew his own sword from the confines of his overcoat and set it down on the desk. Yes, some payback was more than in order for Connor, for getting him into this one. He just had to decide what form the punishment would best take. Happy in the concept of a little personal revenge, the Prince of Moscow began to look for suitable clothing of his own. First things first, after all. A little practice for Reggie, his own workout, and dinner. Tomorrow he'd make his trip to the Imperial Palace to talk to Nikolai and his family.
Changed and ready, Karolek left his room behind, calling for his Southern student as he made his way to the stairs.
