Dancing With Bears - Michael Swanwick [82]
“Lubyanka Square? Are you sure you don’t have that wrong?”
“No, sir. Lubyanka, sir. Immediately, sir.”
“Very well.” Yevgeny handed the fellow a coin for his trouble. “Are you free to carry further messages?”
“Sir!”
“Go to the barracks and rouse everybody connected to the Third Gun you find there. Give them the same orders you gave me. Then tell Cosmodromovitch that he can count on us. Got that? Don’t bother saluting, you idiot, just go.”
As soon as the door had closed on the private, Yevgeny swore sulfurously. Lubyanka? Tonight? It made no sense whatsoever. However, even as he was cursing out everybody in his chain of command from Major Cosmodromovitch all the way up to the Duke of Muscovy, he was flinging aside his jacket and dress shirt, kicking free of his boots, and struggling out of his trousers. It took only minutes to don his uniform and assemble his gear. Then he was racing down the stairs, bellowing for the hotel staff to bring around his carriage.
Everybody of any rank higher than his own might be a complete and total ass—in his experience, there was no doubt about that whatsoever—but Yevgeny was an officer and a soldier of Muscovy and he knew his duty.
Lubyanka Square was dark and deserted when a team of six galloped in, towing Gun Three on a caisson. The crew dismounted and the gunnery sergeant saluted Yevgeny. “Reporting for duty, Lieutenant. What are our orders?”
“Damned if I know, Sergeant. But let’s look sharp anyway. Set up the gun so it’s trained up the street.” Yevgeny squinted at the shadowy figures of his men, who were briskly unshipping the cannon. “Where are Pavel and Mukhtar?”
“Under the weather, sir.” The gunnery-sergeant’s face was so absolutely without guile that Yevgeny knew immediately he was lying.
“In the brothels, you mean.”
“I was lucky to find as many as I did, sir, on such short notice. It’s that new drug that’s going around. Everybody wants to try it out. The strumpets have doubled their rates, and the good ones are charging triple, and still the lines are out the door and down the street. If I weren’t broke, I’d be there myself.” The gunnery-sergeant spat and grinned. “Luckily, I noticed a couple of girls from Gun Six were still at the barracks and, as I happened to know that their lieutenant was under the weather herself, I requisitioned them.” He gestured toward two sullen-looking gunners who were, nonetheless, setting up the gun with commendable efficiency. “So we’ve got a full crew.”
“Good work, Sergeant. They seem to be doing well enough.”
“Yes, sir. Incidentally, Lieutenant, by ‘up the street,’ did you mean I should aim the gun up Bolshaya Lubyanka ulitsa, Teatralny proezd, Nikolskaya ulitsa, or Novaya ploschad’?”
“All ways are equally imbecilic. Point it west. We can always wheel it around, if need be.”
“Sir.” The gunnery-sergeant turned to the crew and started shouting orders. In no time, the cannon was ready, the slow-match lit and stuck upright in a bucket of sand, and the powder and shot ready to load.
Artillery men did not smoke, for obvious reasons. But when all was done and in order, Yevgeny got out his snuff box and passed it around, letting everybody take a large pinch. “Don’t think I’m unappreciative of the sacrifices you’ve made to be here.” He pulled a wry face. “I was on my way to a party myself.”
“Oh?” one of the men said carefully. “Was it a good one, sir?”
“I think I can safely say that it was exactly the sort of party you think it was. Moreover, I had certain hopes that the company would be good.”
Knowing looks blossomed on his crew’s coarse faces. “Somebody special, eh?” one soldier chanced. “Getting anywhere?”
“Well, you know what they say. First time’s luck, second time’s bad judgment, third time’s love. I got lucky and tonight I was hoping to move the relationship a step closer to the real thing.