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Authors: Chelsea Quinn Yarbro
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plans to have his Admiralty. A beam fell, crushing them. They were blessed and sent off to the other side of the river. There's a grave-pit over there."
Saint-Germain had heard about the incident, but said only, "How heavy are the losses among the common laborers?"
"Oh, quite heavy. With the long days, they're worked sixteen hours a day. They have poor food and bad water, and they sleep in tents on damp ground. The summer will be worse: Swamp Fever is everywhere in the summer, and not just the workers die from it." Van Hoek went back across the room, calling out in Russian as he went, "Kyril, if you would, bring me some bandages, the wide ones, if you please."
"I'll get them," came the answer from the other room, but in Ludmilla Borisevna's voice. "Kyril Yureivich is out buying pork for the evening meal."
The man lying in the sixth bed moaned and turned over, watching the two men with mild interest now that he could understand what they were saying.
"In that case, you may find this useful," said Saint-Germain, also in Russian, pulling out nine golden guineas from his purse hanging on his hip.
"Oh, Hercegek, this is too much," van Hoek exclaimed.
"It seems to me you have need of it," said Saint-Germain, looking at the men in the beds. "It would be my honor to help with the expenses of this care-house."
Ludmilla came into the main room, her poppy-colored European clothes protected by an engulfing apron. She carried a tray of supplies, which she set down on the table near the stove. "Hercegek," she said with a slight curtsy.
"Ludmilla Borisevna," he answered with a bow.
Van Hoek took a pair of scissors from the tray. "If you will put your heel on this stool, Hercegek, knee straight?"
Saint-Germain did as he was told; he no longer had trouble keeping his balance, but he was careful to remain still as the point of the scissors slid along his shin, cutting the splint away. He watched as the bandages were unwound, and the skin revealed. "Some bruising still, but otherwise nothing alarming." He had seen far worse on his body, but he still felt a sense of self-condemnation for allowing the assault to happen at all.
"What would you expect, given the severity of your injuries?" Van Hoek inspected the exposed flesh with meticulous attention. "There is very little puffiness remaining and the texture is good. I believe you are making an acceptable recovery. In a few days--shall we say three or four?--you may wear high boots if you like, but not quite yet."
"I look forward to that," said Saint-Germain with feeling.
Van Hoek achieved a smile. "If only all our patients recovered as well as you're doing, Hercegek, we would have no need of your guineas."
"All the more reason you should accept them," said Saint-Germain.
"Guineas? What do you mean, guineas?" Ludmilla asked, staring from van Hoek to Saint-Germain and back.
"The Hercegek has made the very generous offer of covering some of our expenses." He cocked his head. "I haven't accepted: this is your house."
Ludmilla regarded Saint-Germain intently. "Why do you wish to help us?" She was more curious than challenging, but there was a light in her eyes that showed she was alert to interference in her tasks.
"Because your care-house is much needed and no one else appears to be willing to help you. You are short on supplies--as is almost everyone in Sankt Piterburkh, and that is more than an inconvenience: it hampers your effectiveness. You need another dozen beds and additional staff, but you have not got either, and it is all you can do to deal with what you have, let alone any more patients; you work to exhaustion, which benefits no one. If you could afford these expansions, you would do more good, not only for the city, but for yourself. Since the Czar has not settled funds on your care-house, you're left to your own monies and the donations of others, which will suffice only so long; when you have no funds, you
Saint-Germain had heard about the incident, but said only, "How heavy are the losses among the common laborers?"
"Oh, quite heavy. With the long days, they're worked sixteen hours a day. They have poor food and bad water, and they sleep in tents on damp ground. The summer will be worse: Swamp Fever is everywhere in the summer, and not just the workers die from it." Van Hoek went back across the room, calling out in Russian as he went, "Kyril, if you would, bring me some bandages, the wide ones, if you please."
"I'll get them," came the answer from the other room, but in Ludmilla Borisevna's voice. "Kyril Yureivich is out buying pork for the evening meal."
The man lying in the sixth bed moaned and turned over, watching the two men with mild interest now that he could understand what they were saying.
"In that case, you may find this useful," said Saint-Germain, also in Russian, pulling out nine golden guineas from his purse hanging on his hip.
"Oh, Hercegek, this is too much," van Hoek exclaimed.
"It seems to me you have need of it," said Saint-Germain, looking at the men in the beds. "It would be my honor to help with the expenses of this care-house."
Ludmilla came into the main room, her poppy-colored European clothes protected by an engulfing apron. She carried a tray of supplies, which she set down on the table near the stove. "Hercegek," she said with a slight curtsy.
"Ludmilla Borisevna," he answered with a bow.
Van Hoek took a pair of scissors from the tray. "If you will put your heel on this stool, Hercegek, knee straight?"
Saint-Germain did as he was told; he no longer had trouble keeping his balance, but he was careful to remain still as the point of the scissors slid along his shin, cutting the splint away. He watched as the bandages were unwound, and the skin revealed. "Some bruising still, but otherwise nothing alarming." He had seen far worse on his body, but he still felt a sense of self-condemnation for allowing the assault to happen at all.
"What would you expect, given the severity of your injuries?" Van Hoek inspected the exposed flesh with meticulous attention. "There is very little puffiness remaining and the texture is good. I believe you are making an acceptable recovery. In a few days--shall we say three or four?--you may wear high boots if you like, but not quite yet."
"I look forward to that," said Saint-Germain with feeling.
Van Hoek achieved a smile. "If only all our patients recovered as well as you're doing, Hercegek, we would have no need of your guineas."
"All the more reason you should accept them," said Saint-Germain.
"Guineas? What do you mean, guineas?" Ludmilla asked, staring from van Hoek to Saint-Germain and back.
"The Hercegek has made the very generous offer of covering some of our expenses." He cocked his head. "I haven't accepted: this is your house."
Ludmilla regarded Saint-Germain intently. "Why do you wish to help us?" She was more curious than challenging, but there was a light in her eyes that showed she was alert to interference in her tasks.
"Because your care-house is much needed and no one else appears to be willing to help you. You are short on supplies--as is almost everyone in Sankt Piterburkh, and that is more than an inconvenience: it hampers your effectiveness. You need another dozen beds and additional staff, but you have not got either, and it is all you can do to deal with what you have, let alone any more patients; you work to exhaustion, which benefits no one. If you could afford these expansions, you would do more good, not only for the city, but for yourself. Since the Czar has not settled funds on your care-house, you're left to your own monies and the donations of others, which will suffice only so long; when you have no funds, you
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