Read Online The Ocean of Time by David Wingrove - Free Book Online
Authors: David Wingrove
Tags: Time travel, Alternative History
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Bakatin leans to one side and spits, showily, as if on Krylenko’s grave. ‘Krylenko,’ he continues, ‘is a liar and a bully and a coward and a sneak-thief and you, Otto, are my friend until the Day of Judgement itself for what you did today. Glorious, it was. Simply glorious!’
At that moment the girl arrives with two fresh jugs of wine, and Bakatin seizes one and pours the rich red liquid into our goblets, the wine splashing everywhere. Then, slamming the jug down and lifting his goblet, he stands and makes a toast.
‘To adventure! And to my dear new friends, Otto and Katerina!’
169
I would have happily left that night, travelling in the dark, only a sore head prevented it. Katerina alone of our little party was sober when we called it a night, and it is late morning before we finally set off, the cart nestled in the hold of Bakatin’s surprisingly large boat. It’s an
ushkui
, not unlike the one we travelled down from Lake Ilmen on, though smaller. Even so, it’s big enough to make me concerned whether Bakatin and his sons can row such a vessel, loaded as it is not only with us and our cart, but with all manner of goods Bakatin is transporting for other clients.
But Bakatin and his sons prove to be as strong as oxen when it comes to rowing, and whenever the wind blows in our favour – which it does often on that first day – he puts up a great sheet of a sail and, leaving it to the youngest, ships oars and rests, taking the chance to engage Katerina and me in conversation.
It is on one of those occasions that he raises the matter of Krylenko and what I intend to do about him.
‘I intend to do nothing. Why, do you think I should?’
Bakatin nods. ‘At the very least the man should be taught a lesson. But that’s not my point. He’ll be waiting for us, somewhere up ahead. You can be sure of it. He and his sons.’
‘So we take care.’
‘I think we should do more than that. I think we should ambush the rogue.’
‘But if he’s waiting for us, hiding somewhere in the trees, watching us sail past …’
‘You have spare clothes, Otto? You and Katerina?’
I nod.
‘Good. Then listen. I have a plan …’
170
But the ambush doesn’t happen – not that evening – and while Bakatin and his sons make camp and keep guard, Katerina and I take the opportunity to bathe.
It’s a long journey, and even when lazing about on the boat you can still begin to smell after a day or two. Which is why we try to wash every day and bathe every third day at the least. Katerina, new to such hygiene measures, has taken to the ritual in a big way and is as excited as a child. She likes her washing me, and I …
Well, how can I lie? I love the sight of her pale, beautifully formed limbs glistening wetly, the delight of her wonderfully curved body crouched above the river’s edge. How could I not be aroused by such a sight? And so we make each thing we do a sensual game, and if it usually ends with her in my arms, beneath me, where’s the harm in that? Only this time we are on our guard. Krylenko’s still a threat, and there’s nothing he’d like more, I’m certain, than to come upon us naked, in the act of lovemaking, so this once we simply wash, though, as ever towards the end of the ritual, Katerina squats before me, watching as I shave, endlessly fascinated by it.
‘You should grow a beard,’ she says, and when I laugh, she adds, ‘It would make you look more Russian.’
I smile and, tilting the small circular mirror, study my chin for tufts of hair, the razor-sharp blade in my left hand.
‘I am a
Nemets
. A German. This is how we look. Besides, I thought you liked the smoothness.’
‘I do, only …’
‘Only what?’
But she doesn’t say, merely reaches out and gently touches my face where I’ve missed a bit.
‘
There
…’
I lower the mirror and look directly at her. For a moment I almost – almost – tell her about Peter – Peter the Great, that is – and his amazing gesture
At that moment the girl arrives with two fresh jugs of wine, and Bakatin seizes one and pours the rich red liquid into our goblets, the wine splashing everywhere. Then, slamming the jug down and lifting his goblet, he stands and makes a toast.
‘To adventure! And to my dear new friends, Otto and Katerina!’
169
I would have happily left that night, travelling in the dark, only a sore head prevented it. Katerina alone of our little party was sober when we called it a night, and it is late morning before we finally set off, the cart nestled in the hold of Bakatin’s surprisingly large boat. It’s an
ushkui
, not unlike the one we travelled down from Lake Ilmen on, though smaller. Even so, it’s big enough to make me concerned whether Bakatin and his sons can row such a vessel, loaded as it is not only with us and our cart, but with all manner of goods Bakatin is transporting for other clients.
But Bakatin and his sons prove to be as strong as oxen when it comes to rowing, and whenever the wind blows in our favour – which it does often on that first day – he puts up a great sheet of a sail and, leaving it to the youngest, ships oars and rests, taking the chance to engage Katerina and me in conversation.
It is on one of those occasions that he raises the matter of Krylenko and what I intend to do about him.
‘I intend to do nothing. Why, do you think I should?’
Bakatin nods. ‘At the very least the man should be taught a lesson. But that’s not my point. He’ll be waiting for us, somewhere up ahead. You can be sure of it. He and his sons.’
‘So we take care.’
‘I think we should do more than that. I think we should ambush the rogue.’
‘But if he’s waiting for us, hiding somewhere in the trees, watching us sail past …’
‘You have spare clothes, Otto? You and Katerina?’
I nod.
‘Good. Then listen. I have a plan …’
170
But the ambush doesn’t happen – not that evening – and while Bakatin and his sons make camp and keep guard, Katerina and I take the opportunity to bathe.
It’s a long journey, and even when lazing about on the boat you can still begin to smell after a day or two. Which is why we try to wash every day and bathe every third day at the least. Katerina, new to such hygiene measures, has taken to the ritual in a big way and is as excited as a child. She likes her washing me, and I …
Well, how can I lie? I love the sight of her pale, beautifully formed limbs glistening wetly, the delight of her wonderfully curved body crouched above the river’s edge. How could I not be aroused by such a sight? And so we make each thing we do a sensual game, and if it usually ends with her in my arms, beneath me, where’s the harm in that? Only this time we are on our guard. Krylenko’s still a threat, and there’s nothing he’d like more, I’m certain, than to come upon us naked, in the act of lovemaking, so this once we simply wash, though, as ever towards the end of the ritual, Katerina squats before me, watching as I shave, endlessly fascinated by it.
‘You should grow a beard,’ she says, and when I laugh, she adds, ‘It would make you look more Russian.’
I smile and, tilting the small circular mirror, study my chin for tufts of hair, the razor-sharp blade in my left hand.
‘I am a
Nemets
. A German. This is how we look. Besides, I thought you liked the smoothness.’
‘I do, only …’
‘Only what?’
But she doesn’t say, merely reaches out and gently touches my face where I’ve missed a bit.
‘
There
…’
I lower the mirror and look directly at her. For a moment I almost – almost – tell her about Peter – Peter the Great, that is – and his amazing gesture
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