Chapter VII
"I think I got it," said Tony Miles, looking at the ceiling of his hotel room. He was lying on his back on the carpet and contemplating the affairs of the world. An excited 19 year old Jon Speelman misunderstood:
"You figured out how to beat Tal today?"
"What? No! I mean the thing with Powell. The speech to the papers about how the Tories are lost."
The room grew quiet, and worried glances between men with very thick glasses were exchanged. As always, Najdorf took charge, despite not being technically in charge.
"Is it not all a gambit to get his name in the papers?"
"That is what I thought at first. But there is more to it. He wants to stick it to Teddy."
"'Teddy'?"
"Edward Heath, the Leader of Her Majesty's Most Loyal Opposition. Looks and talks like an undercooked and overweight Christmas ham. That is..."
"I am aware of what is a Christmas ham, even if I do not partake."
"Ah, splendid. Well, Teddy and the Tories haven't done much to make their case on why they should be let back into Downing Street and the Liberals have not screwed up like they did in the Winter of '47. Odds are the Tories will once more lose. And they are not used to losing. And they will be confused and hurt. And they shall turn to the man who predicted their downfall for guidance."
"A strange stratagem."
"Yes, well, Powell is a very strange man. But not as strange as Tal. And probably half as smart. So let's stop pretending I stand a chance today. Especially as he will be playing to impress that exotic dancer."
"What exotic dancer?"
"The redhead who only shows up when he plays."
"I had not noticed."
"Well, I have. The bastard. Zero points today, gentlemen, but tomorrow I shall draw with the American, then draw with Keres and beat the Servian to earn the points to advance to the knockout stage."
Silence filled the room once more. Tony Miles smiled and settled in on the carpet to take a nap.
| Player | | Wins | Ties | Loses | Points | |
| Anatoly Karpov | Zlatoust, Orenburg Governorate, Russian Empire | 10 | 2 | 0 | 11 | 3 games left to play |
| Vladimir Alekhine | St. Petersburg, St. Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire | 7 | 5 | 0 | 9 1/2 | 3 games left to play |
| Viktor Korchnoi | St. Petersburg, St. Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire | 7 | 4 | 1 | 9 | 3 games left to play |
| Mikhail Tal | Riga, Livonian Governorate, Russian Empire | 6 | 5 | 0 | 8 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Elisei Alekhine | St. Petersburg, St. Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire | 7 | 5 | 1 | 8 1/2 | 3 games left to play |
| Pavel Keres | Narva, St. Petersburg Governorate, Russian Empire | 6 | 4 | 1 | 8 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Robert Byrne | Brooklyn, New York, United States of America | 3 | 5 | 3 | 5 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Vlastimil Hort | Kladen, Bohemia, Austro-Hungarian Empire | 2 | 6 | 3 | 5 | 4 games left to play |
| Samuel Rzeszewski | Ozorkov, Kingdom of Poland, Russian Empire | 3 | 4 | 5 | 5 | 3 games left to play |
| Svetozar Gligorich | Belgrade, Kingdom of Servia | 3 | 4 | 5 | 5 | 3 games left to play |
| Anthony Miles | Edgbaston, Birmingham, England, British Empire | 2 | 5 | 4 | 4 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Pal Benko | Stuhlweißenburg, Hungary, Austro-Hungarian Empire | 1 | 6 | 4 | 4 | 4 games left to play |
| Robert Hübner | Cologne, Westphalia, Kingdom of Prussia | 1 | 3 | 7 | 2 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Heinrich Paoli | Imperial Free City of Trieste, Austro-Hungarian Empire | 0 | 4 | 8 | 2 | 3 games left to play |
| Henrique Mecking | Santa Cruz do Sul, Empire of Brazil | 1 | 1 | 9 | 1 1/2 | 4 games left to play |
| Daniel Silverstein | St. John's, Dominion of Newfoundland, British Empire | 0 | 3 | 9 | 1 1/2 | 3 games left to play |
Kitty arrived to Tehran without much incident, though the London to Crete to Cairo to Tehran journey was not for the faint of heart. In Iran, she was allowed to pass out for five whole hours. She chose to stay awake and relax in a different way. Now though, she was feeling the long flight and regretting her method of relaxation, slightly. Thorne watched her get dressed from the hotel room bed.
"Shallow legend, shallow grave."
"Oh you really do know how to make a girl relaxed."
"Do you really want me to simper and act concerned?"
"No, I suppose not. Tell me, is the new Shah as bad as the last?"
"Oh much worse, I should say. But he does have some interesting quirks. For instance, he wants to start up a motor manufacturing concern to make a stylish auto for the discerning Iranian. Just hired a grip of people from Cosworth, Lotus and McLaren."
"Ah, then some British engineers will make a good living for a bit. Provided they don't get executed."
"I am working on the last part."
"Good show. Right, see you in a few."
"Days, weeks, months, or years?"
"Weeks, I hope. But, uh, you know."
Grand-Princess Khionya Nikolaevna was in the study when her butler stepped inside, bowed and announced the Land Marshal of Voronezh Count Alexander Alekhine was in the waiting room.
"Bring him into the study," commanded the daughter of Tsar Nicholas III.
In comparison with the other great empires, Russia had a very limited variety of awards. Outside of the occasional medal minted to commemorate an anniversary or milestone, and the odd bravery distinction, there were only six. Granted, they were given out in a variety of classes, but compared to the vast array the Austro- or the British Empires issued, it looked rather paltry. To compensate, Russian societies, benevolent and otherwise, began to give out their own distinctions at the end of the previous century. And to give themselves a veneer of respectability, they frequently invited various royals to attend their award ceremonies. For instance, Prince Pavel Pavlovich was frequently the keynote speaker at the annual St. Petersburg gathering of Loyal and True Patriots of Russia, a Caucasus based organization of hardline Union of Patriotic Russians businessmen who did their best to Russify the natives living between the Black and the Caspian Seas.
Many of the faithful were already in St. Petersburg for the ceremony when the Tsar was trampled and the meeting was adjourned indefinitely "due to unforeseen circumstances." Most flew back home right away, but some hung about, to take in the sights and sounds of the capital of the Russian Empire, and a few brave souls decided to drive down to the most happening place in the Russian Empire, the college town of Ermolino, next to Novgorod, to sneak a peek at the libertines. Lavrentiy Maximovich Pankov was among the latter. A brewer, patriot, and ladies' man back in Baku, he wanted to see if it was true what they said about the college girls in Ermolino. It was, and it wasn't. Some free-ish love was to be had, but Pankov did not get to enjoy any and drove off disappointed. He caught a long flight to Baku, which encountered delays, and arrived almost in the dead night, hungry and annoyed. Most places were naturally closed, but he risked a trip up to the Beau Monde Tavern, hoping he'd be able to at least cadge a cold cut sandwich there and expecting the place to be half-shuttered, but found the joint to be almost as jumping as before the Tsar's death.
The valet went to park Pankov's Renault, and he walked in to find a friendly hostess, and was immediately taken to his usual table. The first thing which struck him was the music. It was playing from the speakers mounted in the corners of the main room. Sokolov appeared, wreathed in smiles.
"How was the trip, Lavrentiy Maximovich?"
"Miserable, but you have made out like a bandit, Stanislav Avseyevich."
Sokolov demurred, with the false humbleness of a man who knew he did indeed make out like a bandit.
Back in the kitchens, the hostess quickly popped in to warn:
"Pankov is here."
Nearly all the women got long faces. One muttered a curse. For his part, Vovka Podlesniy went to make Pankov's favorite meal. The brewer might have been a wrong 'un when it came to the gals, but he tipped well and Vovka could certainly use the money.
Grand-Princess Khioniya Nikolaevna stood on the balcony and watched the wind shake the pines. She picked up a silver bell and summoned a servant.
"Have the driver prepare the car, I am going out for a drive."
The poor man had no idea how to react, and was not sure if he heard right. He had been on the estate for five years, and in that time the Grand-Princess never left the house, much less asked to be motored somewhere. Still, he politely inclined his head, and perfunctorily muttered a logical question.
"May I tell the driver where Her Grand Highness is planning on going?"
"Certainly. I want to take a drive up to St. Petersburg."
The servant forced himself to bow and left, in acute distress.
"Permission to report, Colonel."
"Granted, First-Lieutenant," said untitled hereditary nobleman Colonel Dolgorukiy.
"You asked to monitor Subject Ajax 11. She has unexpectedly travelled to Runo Island."
"I do not suppose we have anyone there among the remaining locals?"
"Actually, we do, sir. Recruited during the Expulsion. Agent Minerva 57. Here is their CV."
"A hotel worker. Good. Direct Minerva to observe Ajax and report. Lord save the Tsar."
Her Serene Highness Natalia Kropotkina looked out at the Baltic Sea from the balcony of the only hotel on the tiny island of Runo in the Gulf of Riga. The local population never numbered above 200, and were the descendants of the original Swedish settlers from before the Crusades. No Livonian much cared to sail out here, and so the islanders lived, intermarried and passed their own laws. When Peter the Great conquered the Baltics, he did not even bother to send anyone out to Runo, and so the locals lived in peace until well into the 1880s, when someone in the court of Tsar Alexander III took notice of them and realized they were all Lutherans. There was a hasty attempt to convert them to a proper sort of Russian Christianity, but after the Tsar's sudden death, the island was quickly forgotten until the reign of Tsar Nicholas III, who with all the subtlety of a pork farmer selling his wares in front of a synagogue, told the locals they must convert or leave. Most left, for Sweden, ending 600 years of a unique culture. Attempts to resettle the island with ethnic Russians were abandoned upon the death of Tsar Nicholas III, and now the isle stood mostly empty, with about 45 settlers left, who once more began to worship as Protestants in the open, in the new church constructed by a foundation funded by Her Serenity.
"Your guest is here, Serenity," said a young naval officer, who brought Kropotkina out here by a boat.
Kropotkina murmured her thanks and went inside. Her guest was a tanned, athletically built middle aged man in a three piece suit, with slicked back dirty blonde hair, green eyes and dazzling white teeth.
"Good Morning, Mr. Nieuwoudt, I am glad you accepted my invitation. Please sit."
The Afrikaner did as bidden.
"I must begin by congratulating you, Mr. Nieuwoudt, on perpetuating the greatest lie I have as yet seen, the alleged rarity of diamonds."
The blonde blinked, but his smile stayed in place. Kropotkina was impressed, but continued.
"We both know there is nothing rare about diamonds. Rubies are far rarer. But thanks to your role in perpetuating the great lie, the South African Colony of Transvaal is seen as an important part of the British Empire and you and the Cullinan Diamond Corporation continue to prosper. Now, my Siberian operation pales in comparison to yours, but I am blessed to have influence among the other diamond mine owners in Russia. And in the last decade I did my best to copy you, telling them over and over again to hoard their output and sell only a fraction of what they extract. And it is a most difficult thing, Mr. Nieuwoudt, to get a bunch of men to exercise self-restraint. They all want to sell as much as possible as quickly possible, flooding the market, and thereby driving the worldwide prices of diamonds down for at least a decade."
"How may I be of service, Serenity," said the blonde at last.
"I would like a pair of articles written in newspapers of note. The first, an opinion piece in a left leaning paper in England, decrying Prince Mikhail Nikolaevich as a doddering old man, and describing his oldest son Mikhail Mikhailovich as a most contemptible sort of false liberal. The second article is to be in a well-known liberal Austrian paper. It should be a puff piece on Prince Gavril Ioannovich, proclaiming him to be brilliant, liberal and pliable."
"For the English paper, would the Echo be acceptable?"
"I was hoping for the Globe."
"That may take some time and the thrust of the article would be watered down. But if you allow me to plant the story in the Echo, it will get picked up by other papers, commenting positively on the article."
"Ah, that would be acceptable."
"For the Austrian paper, how would you feel about
Arbeiter-Zeitung, the more or less official paper of the Austrian German-speaking Social Democratic Party?"
"Oh that would be quite lovely, Mr. Nieuwoudt."
Pavel Pavlovich poured more water on the hot rocks, a fresh batch of steam rose from them and filled the sauna. He drooped a towel over his head. A door opened and someone walked inside the room.
"I did not ask for the birch besom until after ten," said Pavel without looking up.
"Highness, forgive the disturbance, but Grand-Princess Khioniya Nikolaevna is here."
Pavel Pavlovich looked up to find his terrified butler wringing hands. He pondered for a moment.
"Send for my valet and get my parade uniform, and ensure Her Grand Highness's needs are met."
