Secondhand Sorcery

The room was incommodiously small, its institutional cinderblock walls lit by harsh fluorescent light. Its occupants were gathered around a single table of battered plastic, half of whom smoked in spite of its poor ventilation. A seemlier site could surely have been arranged for the inquiry, even on short notice, with all the facilities of Volgograd at the government’s disposal. But seemliness was not, evidently, a priority for the men who made such decisions. Sergei took comfort that his position allowed him to view and listen to all from behind a two-way glass, unseen, unheard, and unknown.

“No, no, do not stop, sir! This story you tell is most interesting. Do, please, go on. What happened next? What was the next chapter in this ongoing disaster? We are all dying to know, Mr. Alliluyev.”

The irony was perhaps too pointed and heavy for good taste, but such concerns had never been a notable priority for the new men of the Russian aristocracy. Certainly it was not lost on the unfortunate Mr. Alliluyev. As the appointed Boyar of Krasnodar he was not accountable for matters of paraphysical security, more properly the domain of the oprichnik; however, this was, under the circumstances, a matter of little comfort. He licked his lips before saying, “The roots of this misfortune are very deep, and I must ask you to be patient while I explain them.”

“We are all ears,” said Privy Councillor Baranovsky.

“Very well, Your Excellency. Yes. First I must explain to you that the Lamprey was always something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, his valence had an obviously tremendous potential to intimidate; on the other, it bred equally tremendous resentment. It was, I think, no coincidence that this oblast was so persistently plagued with insurgencies and conspiracies. The phenomenon was something of a paradox.”

“How very intriguing,” put in Baranovsky’s aide, drumming his fingers on the table. “Why, then, was he left at this post as oprichnik, and not transferred to a more offensive capacity?”

“I have no expertise in this matter, Your Well Born.” This was true enough; boyars were civil appointees, responsible for taxes, public works, and similar functions when they were not putting on meaningless airs in the Duma. Alliluyev only happened to be the most prominent individual from Kuban oblast’s government who was still alive and not (as yet) under arrest. Which was to say, he was the tallest stalk remaining in the field, and ripe for the scythe. “However, I am given to understand that the Lamprey was posted in Kuban not for the sake of its own populace, but because of its proximity to other, more restive districts. Chechnya, in particular. The hope was that he might avoid inflaming separatist sentiments still further by his continuous presence, while still remaining close enough to discourage insurrection.”

“So much for that,” said the Privy Councillor. “Well, what happened?”

“We are still in the process of determining the precise timeline,” Alliluyev stressed, “but the rough sequence is as follows: the four children disappeared after destroying the bridge on the ninth, in the wake of multiple acts of terror around the oblast, which we believe were perpetrated to mask their retreat. The Lamprey interrupted several of these, killing the perpetrators, but the children themselves escaped.”

“Irrelevant,” growled Baranovsky.

“Pardon me, but we do not know yet what is or is not relevant, Your Excellency,” said the Boyar, in a surprising display of courage. Surprising, but perhaps wise; Baranovsky’s report would surely be read by the Knyazya themselves, and carefully. “The provocations fell silent by the evening of the ninth, and the oblast was quiescent overnight, though security forces continued their search for the children and arrested or terminated many of the other criminals responsible.

“On the morning of the tenth we detected a substantial … paraphysical event, I do not know the correct term. In or around Temryuk. It did not correspond to any act of violence or sabotage, and we have not yet determined its function or purpose, but it was sufficient for Ms. Goncharova to deploy a substantial field team to find the Marshalls.”

“When was this initial event?” asked Colonel Dubynin from the Okhrana.

“I do not have that information, Your High Well Born, but I believe it would have been before ten in the morning. The security team was on the ground, with dogs, well before noon. At approximately twelve-thirty the familiar known as Shum-Shum activated, presumably in response to this state activity, and began devastating the northwestern end of the town.”

“Which Ms. Goncharova attempted to contain with her Lamprey,” said the Privy Councillor.

“Correct, Your Excellency. From here the timeline is obscure, as she was unable to maintain contact from within her own halo. We have recovered several ryumki from the area, two of them empty, and she did have a full-time staff of support operatives, several of whom were trained to produce ectoplasm. It seems to follow that both empty ryumki were depleted that afternoon.”

“And how many of the little shits did she kill with them?” demanded the aide. Evidently he had been instructed to behave as aggressively as possible, though to what purpose Sergei could not tell. There would seem to be no profit in bullying any figure so insignificant as a boyar.

“Very probably none, Your Well Born, but we cannot tell at this stage. We have recovered no bodies matching the descriptions of any of the children—although, to be fair, Shum-Shum left many of them impossible to identify.”

“Would he have lost control of the beast to such an extent?” A woman this time, the only woman in the room. Sergei did not recall her name, and turned to Lyudmila for help.

“Valentina Zhuk,” she supplied, as the debate continued on the other side of the glass. “Marko’s representative.”

“Thank you. How fares Mr. Hushchyn?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. Still alive, as of this morning.”

Inside the smoky little room, the inquiry had become mired in a minor argument, and Baranovsky was vexed. “This is all, again, irrelevant. We must assume all four of them are alive until we receive sure proof to the contrary. Mr. Alliluyev, continue.”

“Within ten minutes of Shum-Shum’s emergence, another familiar—reports suggest it was Ézarine—briefly appeared to the south. This was again unrelated to any constructive activity, and the entity’s entire period of manifestation lasted perhaps two minutes, likely less.”

“A ruse?” suggested Zhuk.

“Possibly. I am not a soldier, madam. My sources suggest, conjecturally, that Ms. Goncharova was alerted to this new threat and, being of a cautious mentality, disengaged—“

“’A cautious mentality,’” Dubynin the Okhrana man quoted with a smile. “I like that. Very diplomatic, Mr. Alliluyev.”

“I am told such people have temperaments matching their emissants, Your High Well Born,” said the Boyar.

“You are told correctly,” Dubynin said. “Tatiana was paranoid. It was her job to be paranoid. There is no need to tiptoe around it.”

“May we continue?” said the Privy Councillor. Dubynin shrugged.

“Ms. Goncharova apparently moved south, either to engage with the new threat or to escape from between them. Shum-Shum does not seem to have pursued. It may be that the second ryumka was employed at this time. I believe the manifestation she had responded to was already gone by the time she responded; she may have been planning a change in strategy when the familiar reappeared within her own halo, fueled by a ryumka.”

“Appeared, and immediately killed her,” said Zhuk.

“Yes, you could argue that,” said Alliluyev. “But … not directly.”

This won him considerable interest from around the table; Baranovsky was the first to express it. “Explain yourself.”

“We did not recover her body until late last night, Your Excellency, by which point it was in very poor condition. The medical examiner had to be awakened and compelled to work in haste on short notice. I received her report this morning. Tatiana Goncharova was shot at least eighteen times by nine-millimeter rounds, almost certainly at short range. These wounds were inflicted before death; other blunt-force injuries appear to have been inflicted postmortem, though it was difficult to say with confidence given the combined damage.”

“Eighteen times?” said the aide.

“We are certain of this?” said his master, over him.

“The doctor was, certainly,” Alliluyev averred. “It would be difficult for even the most hasty and inept autopsy to mistake embedded fragments of lead for something else. Our oprichnik was shot many times at close range.”

Dubynin leaned forward. “And you have a theory about this.”

“I did not, initially. But the three surviving members of her support staff, when presented with this evidence, have between them proposed what seems to me to be a plausible explanation.”

“You allowed them to speak with each other?” Dubynin was outraged.

“Of course not, Your High Well Born. But each had their own parts to contribute, which largely agreed, and which when synthesized formed a coherent whole. The explanation depends on a phenomenon known as the ‘Holcombe Effect.’ It seems that, if individuals are under the influence of a halo whose … emotional effect is similar to what they were disposed to feel anyway, its power is dramatically increased.”

Baranovsky’s face was now quite red. “Get to the point, damn you!”

“I believe, based on the testimony of her support staff and various civilians we have interrogated, that the oprichnik was shot to death by her own security detail.”

None of the interrogators spoke or moved for several seconds, until Colonel Dubynin began to laugh, very loudly. “Of course! I should have known,” he said.

Privy Councillor Baranovsky turned his ire on the Okhrana chief. “Oh? Is it so obvious?”

“None of you knew Tatiana, except perhaps Ms. Zhuk? No? Well, I did. Her way with subordinates was not particularly pleasant. Frankly, she was a horrible bitch. Add on that, being close to her on a regular basis, they were continuously exposed to her valence—helpless fear, perhaps the most humiliating and degrading sensation it is possible for a man to experience. So, after being immersed in this feeling for some time, these men, these armed men, were abruptly exposed to an equally intense sensation of frustration and rage—with, if we are told correctly, a strong flavor of misogyny.”

“But Ézarine is controlled by a woman now,” protested Zhuk. “A girl.”

“I do not believe that makes any difference,” said Dubynin. “At any rate, the story tells itself. Her security team, already disposed to be resentful, completely lost their heads and murdered their own employer. Have we taken any of them into custody?”

“No,” said Alliluyev. “They all seem to have died in the general uprising which followed.”

“Naturally,” said Dubynin with another laugh. “The great mass of civilians would have felt much the same. The bodyguards waste all their ammunition on their salt bitch of a boss, making a hell of a noise in the process. This attracts the enraged and vengeful populace, who … what? Batter them with sticks, bricks, ordinary tools?”

“Yes, I believe so. All three men were found at some distance from her body, leading us to believe they fled the scene. We have found several civilian bodies shot near each. Part of the reason for the delay in the autopsy was that one of these bore a superficial resemblance in dress and appearance to Ms. Goncharova. Also there was much difficulty in acquiring her records to confirm.”

“You can stop making excuses now,” Dubynin told him. “I, at least, believe you. The tale is too beautiful in its irony to doubt.” More laughter. “What a god-damned mess. This world we live in, brothers.”

“I am glad you are so happy to hear the news,” said the aide.

“Piss off, little man. This fellow is guiltless, and we don’t need to waste any more time with him. He can go back to his busy schedule presiding over the openings of grocery stores.”

“I am not so ready to say for certain,” said the Privy Councillor. “The account seems plausible and consistent—if obviously unpleasant—but I will need to see documentation, including interrogation records.”

“But, until such papers are supplied?” suggested Dubynin.

“Very well. You may go, Mr. Alliluyev. But remain in Volgograd and in contact until you are given our express permission to leave.” The boyar removed himself in some haste. Baranovsky waited for the door to shut behind the man before continuing: “I take it the Okhrana does not have anything interesting on him?”

“He is unfaithful to his wife, possibly with other men, but that is practically a prerequisite for his job, and she may even know about it. No hint of real ambition, financial irregularities, or suspicious contacts with foreigners. Absurd as it sounds, his story is convincing, and likely to be true. Tatiana has given us problems before, and we would be fortunate to be rid of her if it had happened without all these complications.”

Baranovsky glanced at the mirrored glass, as if hoping to gauge Sergei’s reaction to such callousness concerning his colleagues. As it happened, he largely agreed with the Okhrana colonel, and in any case the Privy Councillor could not see through the mirror. “Very well. I will tell the Knyazya that it appears Tatiana Goncharova was a victim of catastrophic mischance, assuming his story checks out. As for the state of the oblast?”

“Awful,” pronounced his aide. “She did at least do us the favor of killing many of the area’s insurgents on Saturday. But there were multiple incidents today, including the destruction of three military facilities. The bastards still have a couple of pipers, and nothing left to fear.”

Mikhail Isayev, the border security man, spoke for the first time. “The neighboring oprichniki are trying to provide some measure of order, but they cannot stray far from their own responsibilities. Under the circumstances, we cannot guarantee that further foreign assets will not leak in from the south until she is replaced.”

“Noted,” snapped the Privy Councillor. “Do any of you believe these rodents do not have substantial Western backing?” Nobody spoke. “And I agree. Measures were already underway to explain to them that incidents like Saturday’s are unacceptable. I believe this will accelerate our timetable. There will be swift and terrible consequences. Be sure of that. Now, this has taken up enough of our time. You may go—excepting Ms. Zhuk. Stay a moment, if you would.”

He did not move from his seat until the others had cleared the room, including his aide, who demonstrated a certain reluctance. When this was done he stood, bowed to the mirror, and said: “Great One. Forgive me for taking up so much of your time. Do you concur with our assessment?”

Sergei looked to Lyudmila and nodded. She pushed the button for the intercom and said, “It seems reasonable enough.”

Baranovsky appeared to be disconcerted by the sound of a woman’s voice, but only for a moment. “I am honored by your confidence. Please receive the orders confided in me by my betters.” He removed a manila envelope from his suit jacket, opened it, and took out a sheet of paper, which he read: “’You have served Holy Rus’ most nobly, and have Our thanks. In response to the recent outrages against Our peace in the oblasts of Crimea and Kuban, you are withdrawn from your current duties, effective immediately. Snowdrop is hereby assigned to execute the prompt extirpation of the Marshall family and any or all of their accomplices, foreign or domestic.’”

The Privy Councillor gave a smaller bow to Valentina Zhuk before continuing, “’To assist you in this endeavor you shall have the help of Our faithful servant Ardent, who has already struck a mighty blow against this foreign pestilence, and sustained a grievous injury in consequence. He shall assist you as soon as his health permits; you shall proceed with the utmost haste regardless, not sparing any who defy Our might to threaten the peace of Holy Rus’. You shall both have our greatest confidence, and have only to ask to receive any further help you may require.’”

“My master will not be in any shape to do anything for some time,” Zhuk remarked as Baranovsky put the orders away. “He depends on machines just to live.”

The Privy Councillor opened the door and checked the hallway carefully in both directions; seeing no loiterers or eavesdroppers, he shut it, and replied, “That shall be seen to. Melkisedek is being withdrawn from Constantinople to govern the Crimea. He will have your master on his feet shortly.”

“Leaving only two to guard the city?”

Baranovsky raised an eyebrow, but she did not apologize for her impertinence, and after a moment he shrugged and said, “I am told a replacement is on hand. Or rather, Melkhisedek was the replacement, and he is no longer needed. Kostroma was adopted the same night her mistress fell. It was kept quiet until the new, young oprichnik could be better trained and accustomed to their duties. Less than a month is not much time for a child, but our needs dictate. You did not, of course, hear any such thing from me.”

“Of course, Your Excellency. Thank the Knyazya for their consideration towards my master.”

“And thank him—when he can understand—for responding swiftly and … as effectively as could be hoped, to an unprecedented and difficult situation. He, too, has Their confidence. He would do well not to squander it.”

“Understood, Your Excellency.”

The Privy Councillor bowed once more to the mirror, and left. Ms. Zhuk remained where she was, her hands clasped before her. At a sign from Sergei, Lyudmila pressed the button again and said, “You might as well come over so we can talk face-to-face, Valechka. We have a lot of work to do.”