Red Days, White Nights

by Valeriya Salt

Table of Contents

Table of Contents
parts: 1, 2, 3

part 1

Tobolsk, Russia, April 1918

‘The endless Siberian winter is almost over; the spring is coming.’ Nicholas smiled, coming to the opened window and inhaling still frosty air.

‘True, but there is no spring in my heart, my love.’ Alexandra leaned down closer to the embroidery she was working on, one of the few entertainments she had been allowed to have here, in exile. ‘Besides, Alyosha is still ill. He doesn’t feel any better. Since Rasputin has gone—’

‘Please... don’t even start.’ Nicholas frowned. ‘And please, stop being so pessimistic. Our life here is not as bad as it could be. In fact, we have more freedom here than we had in Petrograd. We’re allowed to have long walks, to go to church, the children can play and exercise, the locals are so kind to us; they keep on bringing sweets and treats. As for Alexei, he needs to get out of his bed and start to be involved in physical activities with others. He’s not your little baby anymore. He is a...’ The last words froze on his lips.

She raised her dark eyes to him. ‘Moscow has sent a new commissar. I’ve heard it from one of my maids, who found out from the officers. The Extraordinary Commissar. Now that Mr. Kerensky and his puppet government are long gone, we don’t have even the government’s protection.’

He wanted to reply, but a loud knock at the door interrupted him.

‘Your Ex-Majesties...’ An officer on duty opened the door, without even waiting for their reply, and froze on the spot.

‘Carry on. You’re here already!’ Nicholas snapped.

‘Comrade Yakovlev has arrived to greet your Ex-Majesties,’ the officer continued.

Nicholas and Alexandra exchanged worried looks.

‘Please invite Mr. Yakovlev to our small dining room.’ Nicholas turned back to the officer. ‘Our guest may enjoy a cup of tea with us.’

‘God challenges our fortitude, my love.’ Alexandra sighed when the officer disappeared behind the door. ‘I doubt the new commissar will bring us any good news, though.’

* * *

When the couple entered the small dining room, their guest had already been waiting for them. He stood up from his chair and bowed slightly.

‘Good afternoon, Mr. Yakovlev.’ Nicholas stretched his hand for a handshake.

The commissar rushed to shake it. Pale and soft, his palm didn’t belong to a workman.

‘Good afternoon, Your Ex-Majesties.’ The man’s black eyes looked at Nicholas and his wife without fear or contempt but with a challenge. ‘Vasily Yakovlev, Commissar of the Central Executive Committee at your service.’

‘May I ask what business has brought you here?’ Alexandra asked when the traditional greetings were finished, and a waiter served their tea and snacks.

‘As you probably know, Your Ex-Majesty, there was some misunderstanding between the local Ural government and Moscow. The soldiers are demanding a pay raise, constantly complaining about their officers, don’t want to follow orders, creating troubles so... I’ve been sent to investigate,’ Yakovlev replied, his voice quiet and polite.

Nicholas smirked. ‘That’s what the revolution is all about, isn’t it? Freedom to do whatever you want to whomever you want without taking responsibility, without thinking of consequences, without listening to your superiors. You call it freedom. I call it chaos.’

‘The revolution has nothing to do with anarchy,’ the commissar replied even more quietly, sipping his tea. ‘That’s why I’m here. To guide and protect.’

‘Guide whom?’ Alexandra frowned.

‘The new government requires your presence in Moscow. You have two days to get ready.’

‘What?’ Forgetting his manners, Nicholas almost jumped from his chair. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I know why they need you.’ Alexandra squeezed her cup. ‘I knew one day they would come. They need you to sign the humiliating treaty with Germany. They know that for the whole world they are nobody. They have no authority whatsoever to sign anything on behalf of the Russian people. I’m going with you, but Alexei—’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m not signing anything.’

‘I’m sorry, but I have my orders. You must cooperate,’ Yakovlev cut him off. ‘Don’t make my mission even harder, Your Ex-Majesty.’

‘For God’s sake, our son is ill. He needs our presence here, he needs our support.’ Alexandra almost cried, but Yakovlev just bowed his head low.

‘I’ll come back in the evening to discuss the details of our trip.’ With that said, he rose from the table and left the room without a goodbye.

* * *

The sleeping garden already lay under the thick quilt of twilight when Nicholas appeared in one of the dark alleys. He could see a lone figure casting a long shadow: the commissar had been waiting for him on a wooden bench under an ancient pine.

‘And the empress?’ Yakovlev demanded after a handshake.

‘She can’t join us. I must admit the news you’ve brought upset her deeply.’

‘I do apologise. I was too harsh today. I feel really sorry for Tsarevitch Alexei, but we need to act quickly. Any delay may cost dearly to all of us.’ His eyes stared at Nicholas, and the tsar realised he was challenged by them.

‘What’s going on?’ Nicholas sighed. ‘Where and why are you taking me?’

Yakovlev took a few steps off the path under the shadow of the pine and clicked his fingers.

Is he... What? Drunk?

A tall figure dressed in a long cloak with a wide hood loomed behind the wrinkled trunk. The next moment, it appeared in front of two men. Soundless, like a ghost, the stranger pulled his wide hood down, and Nicholas covered his mouth with his palm.

The same pale face, the same fair hair and short, neatly groomed beard, the same eyes. Nicholas could swear to God his exact copy stood in front of him.

‘Who are you?’ He exhaled finally. ‘Who do you work for?’ He shifted his eyes from the stranger to the commissar and back. ‘If it’s some kind of a Bolshevik joke or a trick of Kaiser Wilhelm, then—’

‘You asked for help, and it has arrived,’ Yakovlev said.

‘Of course! My dearest English cousin, George.’ Nicholas chuckled.

Yakovlev kept on staring at him without saying a word.

‘You’re not a commissar, and we’re not going to Moscow.’

‘No.’ Yakovlev nodded. ‘We’re going somewhere much farther, where the Bolsheviks’ bayonets won’t get us. However, we need to hurry. This man...’ He gestured to the stranger. ‘He’s ready to sacrifice his life for you. Don’t waste his gift because of your stubbornness and hesitation. You’ve lost the entire country due to that.’

Nicholas turned to the man. ‘Why are you doing it for me?’

‘He’s mute,’ Yakovlev said, ‘but he knows Russian well enough to play his role. When we finish here, he’ll go to the house and collapse on the floor in the presence of as many witnesses as possible. After a few hours, he’ll recover, but won’t be able to speak. Most likely, your family practitioner will diagnose stroke-related speech difficulties. By that time, we should be far away from Tobolsk, on our way to Tyumen, and—’

‘It’s pure madness! What about my family? What about my children?’ Nicholas almost yelled. ‘Do you realise the Bolsheviks will kill them the second they discover the truth?’

‘They aren’t interested in them.’ Yakovlev shook his head. ‘Murdering women and kids is not a good advertisement for the government, not when it’s pushing so hard to be recognised as legitimate. The whole world will condemn them. Nobody will sign the treaty if they do that.’ He took one step closer to Nicholas and whispered in his ear, ‘After the death of your doppelganger, the Bolsheviks will agree to exile Her Ex-Majesty and children abroad. Trust me.’

‘Trust you? I don’t even know who you are!’ Nicholas exploded. ‘A fake red commissar? A rogue Bolshevik? An English agent? A German spy?’

‘At least you know who you are now.’ Yakovlev handed him an envelope with documents and passports. ‘Now, your name is Anton Avdeyev. You’re my assistant and a telegraph operator from Moscow.’

‘You want me... What? To flee right now? Without saying a last goodbye? Without seeing my children?’

‘I’m afraid we have no time for goodbyes. The less your family knows, the greater our chances for success. Go into the bushes and change your clothes.’ He nodded to his silent companion.

Nicholas rooted to the ground, but the soft hand of his mute doppelganger touched his shoulder. He turned around, and his eyes met with the man’s eyes full of sadness and determination.

‘Why are you doing it for me? Why have you made all this long way to help me?’ Nicholas whispered.

‘He is dying... slowly, but it’s inevitable,’ Yakovlev said. ‘He dedicated his life to his passion and service to his master. Now, he wants to serve him the last final time, to dedicate his death to him. He doesn’t do it for you. He does it for himself, his family, and his master.’

Nicholas opened his mouth to ask something, but Yakovlev interrupted him, ‘It’s a good, long, sad story, but I’ll tell you the rest of it another time. The guards will change in ten minutes. This is the only path that leads to their posts around the house. Now, please give us a chance to help you, Your Ex-Majesty. Give us a chance to help all of Russia.’

* * *

The darkness had covered the sleeping garden completely when the two men reached the heavy gates of the governor’s house in complete silence. The guards saluted and let them out without questions, and the two continued their way down the almost deserted street to one of the town’s guest houses where the newly appointed commissar and his people resided.

A crowd of soldiers and workmen was growing in front of the guest house. They were talking loudly, swearing in a heated discussion.

Nicholas’s heart sank, he turned to Yakovlev, but the commissar looked calm and determined.

‘Comrades, comrades, let us pass through, please...’ He patted the shoulders of the men in front of him, trying to make his way to the wide porch.

‘What is going on here?’ The muscular figure of one of Yakovlev’s people appeared on the porch just in time to make a safe passage for his leader and his “assistant.”

‘Ah, Evsey.’ Yakovlev shook hands with his aide. ‘What do all these people want?’

Evsey didn’t have a chance to reply as one of the workmen put himself in charge.

‘We came for our money,’ he started.

‘Money?’ Yakovlev frowned. ‘I’ve been informed you had your salaries paid to you last week.’

‘Yes, the old ones. And what about our food allowance? We haven’t seen it for months,’ the man continued.

‘Yeah. Since this coward, Mr. Kerensky chickened out to France or... wherever. We haven’t had any of the money they promised to pay us.’ The younger man, dressed in a grey soldier’s coat, supported his peer.

The massive grey bee-hive of workmen started to buzz again.

‘Comrades, comrades, please...’ Evsey waved.

‘Mr. Kerensky promised to pay us ninety kopeks per day, plus the allowance. When he and his ministers ran, the comrades from Moscow promised to pay us three rubles. It seems to me they are not going to keep their promises, either.’ The workman squinted, ignoring Evsey’s appeals and staring at Yakovlev and Nicholas.

Nicholas pulled his wide hood lower and held his breath.

‘What do they think there, in Moscow? That we will be guarding Nicholashka, his madam, and his bastards for free?’ The soldier spat on the ground. ‘Send them back to Germany, these traitors!’

‘Yes, send them all to their best friend, Kaiser Whilhelm!’ The crowd yelled.

Nicholas clenched his fists, but Yakovlev stepped on his foot, putting himself forward and cutting him from the crowd.

‘Tovarishchi, I totally understand your frustration. I’ve been sent here to investigate this case. It’s late now, and I’m sure you all want to go home after your long shifts as much as my comrades and I do. Tomorrow morning, my assistant will distribute the back pay of the money for the last three months.’ He nodded to Evsey.

‘Do we have shift leaders here?’ Evsey demanded, observing the group. A couple of hands rose, and he nodded in satisfaction. ‘Tomorrow morning at seven, I’ll be waiting for you with your rotas here.’

The crowd seemed to calm down and started to disperse. The men grumbled and shook their heads, but Yakovlev and Evsey showed no hints of fear or hesitation. When the last grey silhouettes disappeared in the cold darkness of narrow streets, Yakovlev turned to Nicholas. ‘Told you, Your Ex-Majesty, they don’t want you and your family here.’

‘So much hatred, so much despair, so much anger...’ Nicholas shook his head. The words of the young soldier still sounded in his ears.

‘I’m glad your eyes have started to open,’ Yakovlev said, staring somewhere into space. ‘I’m afraid it’s too late, though.’

‘What are we going to do now?’

‘We need to depart earlier than I planned. Evsey and the rest of my people will join us on the way to Tyumen.’ Yakovlev shrugged. ‘We’re departing immediately.’ He proceeded straight to the back yard where a few people had already been preparing a carriage for them.

Evsey had been mounting a machine gun on the rooftop of their carriage when he noticed Nicholas and Yakovlev approaching. He jumped off the roof. His silent peers, dressed in all black, came closer as well.

‘Good luck tomorrow. And thank you for everything.’ Yakovlev gave Evsey a strong handshake.

‘Good luck to you. I pray for God’s mercy to see you and our tsar-batyushka again,’ he replied, kneeling in front of Nicholas. ‘For Russia and for our tsar-batyushka lyubo to die, Cossacks!’ He turned to his mates.

‘Lyubo, Cossacks! Lyubo, indeed!’ A few voices supported him.

‘The Cossacks? Here? In the stronghold of the Reds?’ Nicholas turned to Yakovlev.

‘Told you, Your Ex-Majesty, there are lots of people who hate you, but there are some who still believe in you. Please, don’t disappoint them.’

* * *

Proceed to part 2...