Part 9

Petrograd, Russia. Even covered in snow and ice, it had magic to its façade that always intrigued Nicholai. Although he was honest with himself and remembered hating it as much as he loved it, the hate was for the conditions of his living more than the city itself, for as a fatherless bastard, his upbringing was fraught with 24-hour days of backbreaking work and near-starvation in destitute surroundings. His beloved mother had worked her fingers to the bone in the textile shops to bring in what few rubles she could until her sickness and death. And that brought his master, Rasputin into the picture. For he had rescued Nicholai from starvation, sending him first to Saint Basil's then on to the Vatican in Italy.

Nicholai stood on the grounds of the Hermitage and sighed quietly; distant voices muttered as people passed by, and in the far distance he could hear the tramp of soldiers – the Tsar's personal guard preparing for his return. He had barely entered the grounds when a messenger ran up, royal livery worn, but pristine, and delivered a message from Veronica. He sighed as he read her scribbled note and his lips pressed close: the Godslayer had escaped and Lenny was dead. But arguing with his pique over the harmonixer's escape was the sure knowledge that Karin Koenig had also escaped.

She's alive then. Good, good. Pity it's with him, but that can be rectified as soon as I finish up with the Master.

That thought carried him through the rest of the morning and his meeting with the Japanese envoy, Kato, who took his time inspecting the Émigré Manuscript. But then Nicholai had to face his Master, Rasputin. Rasputin who had gained inroads to the Tsar and Tsarina and their family, who saved the young Tsarovich Alexie, and who, single-handedly, had destroyed the old Sapientes Gladio in favor of his own bid for power. Gregori Rasputin was his master, his benefactor and, as Nicholai well knew, his enemy. So as he entered the Lion Shrine that afternoon, he schooled his thoughts, his memories to contain only what Rasputin would expect – his loyalty, his blind obedience and his devotion.

Rasputin was sitting loosely on a divan, his back to the southern bank of windows and the light coming in thus shadowed his features. Nicholai knew his master's face well, its sharp beak of a nose, long dark hair, pointed chin and eyes like a devil's. He knelt in the center of the shrine, the sun playing hopscotch on the highly polished floor, squares of light followed by squares of shadow and Nicholai looked at one such square, letting it fill his mind while he gave his report.

Rasputin remained silent after Nicholai had finished, one arm resting on the divan's back, his hand raised as if inspecting his nails.

"I see," he said after a few minutes. "So Japan has accepted our conditions?"

"Yes, Master," Nicholai replied. Those conditions, as expressed to him by Kato, that Japan would be a loyal friend to Russia and her new Tsar – whoever that might be.

"You have done well. I am very pleased I entrusted the matter to you, my friend." Still Rasputin did not move from his seat and Nicholai turned his thoughts to the square of light by his bent left knee; his right arm was folded on his right knee and his head lowered fractionally, letting his long bangs almost cover his deep green eyes.

"Thank you, Master," Nicholai replied, trying not to cringe at the friend remark, trying not to think thoughts of treason and destruction.

Rasputin sighed and stretched his long length before rising from the divan, his hands clasped behind his back. He took a couple of long strides then turned back toward the humbled Nicholai, his mood suddenly changed.

"Russia is losing this war because the lack of food and arms has devastated the morale of our front-line troops," he said intensely, and waited, watching for Nicholai' reaction. When the young priest did not move, he continued. "We have the money, but unfortunately, we do not have the supplies."

He has such a firm grasp of the obvious, Nicholai thought and then bit his tongue, lest his master hear his very disloyal thoughts. "I know. But soon now, Japan is going to begin a major offensive against the German Empire," Nicholai offered up, schooling his voice to soft, childlike obedience.

"Yesterday's enemy is today's friend. Ishimura is not a fool. Has that special envoy left Petrograd yet?"

"No master. In fact, we have requested his presence at the banquet."

"Very well." Rasputin said with a clearing of his throat. He approached the still kneeling Nicholai, whose head now nearly touched his raised knee, and stared down at him for a long, silent minute. Nicholai twitched slightly, looking up through long hair and lashes to ponder his master's closeness. Does he suspect, he wondered.

"Now, what do you know about America?" Rasputin asked, still towering above his lackey.

"They are still officially maintaining their neutrality, but it's only a matter of time before they enter the war," he answered.

Rasputin's eyes bored into Nicholai's bent back. "How can you be so sure?"

Nicholai's heart began to pound in his chest, a bead of sweat threatening to slip down his forehead. Why is he so intense, he wondered. And why am I so nervous? Does he suspect something? Did I miss some detail? Nicholai took a calming breath, focusing his thoughts on Rasputin's question.

"England and France are both exhausted. The only reason that American has not yet entered the war is they needed a... proper pretense." He said it calmly, almost flippantly, as if the answer should have been obvious – it was, but Nicholai did not dare come out and say it. There was something else here; Rasputin was more intense than usual.

"And now they have such a pretence, Nicholai?"

"Next week a ship named the Lusitania is leaving New York bound for Liverpool. There's a rumor going around that it will be carrying a huge shipment of munitions."

"The German submariners will be forced to sink it, isn't that so?

"It will be England's 'sacrificial lamb'," Nicholai finished, his green eyes still peering out of his bangs at Rasputin's boots standing inches from him. What is he playing at, he thought. He knows all this.

"Clever," Rasputin replied at last and stood still, looking intently down at Nicholai before turning back to look out the windows. Nicholai could feel the master's eyes burning into him before he turned away and Nicholai took a quiet breath as the boots moved off, the bead of sweat making its slow way down his cheek to his chin.

"By the way, Nicholai, is it true that Lenny was killed on Saint Marguerite?" Rasputin asked his voice casual.

Nicholai's heart suddenly thrust its way up his throat and he coughed softly. He knows already?

"Yes master."

"I don't understand why you didn't stay and fight?"

The bead of sweat dripped from his chin and another formed on his brow, and Nicholai found his breathing growing difficult.

"Um," he muttered, "I thought Lenny could handle matters himself," he said finally, letting the words fall off his lips.

Rasputin's silence was nerve wracking. Does he believe me? Please God let him believe me, Nicholai silently prayed.

"I see," Rasputin finally replied and Nicholai looked up at him, nervousness in his eyes. "But you knew how powerful he was, right? How powerful the fusionist was? And yet sent Lenny alone to do battle with him?"

Nicholai licked suddenly dry lips, his chest tight, his heart pounding so hard he thought the whole palace could hear it.

"Yes."

There was silence from the window area and Nicholai looked up briefly before putting his vision back to the squares of light on the floor. The light had moved since he's entered the Lion Shrine, making its slow way westward. In a mere three hours time it would be dark, and the Tsar's banquet would begin. Rasputin's words startled him out of his contemplation.

"Well, I'm off to the celebration. I'm certain he'll show up again. Next time, Nicholai, you know what to do," he said and Nicholai's answering -

"Yes, Master," was filled with nervous trepidation. What was going on with Rasputin?

"Very well. You may leave."

Nicholai watched as Rasputin moved back toward the divan, turning to observe Nicholai as he rose to his feet, bowed and then turned to leave. He felt the hotly intense, dark eyes on his back all the way to the far doors and when those heavy doors swung silently closed, Nicholai finally breathed a heavy sigh, feeling the sweat trickling from his body. With a shake of his head, he made for his rooms at a brisk walk.

I'm ready for a bath.

The tub steamed invitingly as Nicholai tossed aside his robe, closing the door behind him. The servant had prepared the bath in record time once he'd returned to his rooms and Nicholai was both grateful and annoyed. Grateful for the steaming, lightly scented and oiled water, but annoyed at the feigned humility of the servant. She knew he was there by tolerance – the whole staff knew it. They let slip little movements and sounds whenever they saw Nicholai or Veronica around – it was only the Master, Rasputin, whom they tolerated, and that but barely. For while Rasputin had saved the Tsarovich, he had also gained a hold over the Tsarina, and they did not like that. But like most peasants in Russia, they didn't like much of anything to do with the Tsar or outsiders, and the war only made matters worse.

Setting the robe aside, Nicholai paused to inspect himself in the steamy glass; he was still in good shape, muscular, a few bruises here and there from his confrontations, but otherwise not too bad a shape and there was hope, yes, there was hope. He stepped into the tub, the hot water instantly causing him to hiss as it tingled over his skin, pinking it with warmth, and he reached for the bar of soap and the cloth, lathering himself before finally plunging into the water with a heartfelt sigh.

Yes, there is hope, he thought. Hope he could get Karin away from the Godslayer before too much longer. He had a plan now; Rasputin was going to kill the Tsar – tonight, at the banquet. And he would then declare himself Tsar. But Nicholai would not let that continue for long – just long enough for Rasputin to do the hard work of consolidating Russia's power, defeating the Austrian and German forces on her western borders, and then he, Nicholai, would deliver his homeland from the hands of the murdering despot, returning the Tsar to the throne of power: and as the bastard son, with all others dead, he would inherit all.

But first things first. Rasputin would take care of Tsar Nicholas, while he, Nicholai Conrad, would destroy the Godslayer. He would be here soon, if he wasn't already hiding somewhere in Petrograd. The Godslayer, Yuri Hyuga... he needed a way to discredit that boy, that mewling pipsqueak of a man – how dare he think he could ever give the lovely Karin what she wanted, what she needed... his thoughts grew heavy with the hot water and he slipped down in the tub, resting his head on the rim and dozed off.