“If His Honor wishes a silver dagger from Turkey or some trinkets for the village girls, then pray let him come here. I cannot carry my entire shop around on my back.”
The regimental schoolteacher cast a hard gaze on me.
“He doesn’t wish to buy.”
“Then what does he want with me?” I asked.
In answer, the schoolteacher grabbed my elbow and hurried me out into the yard.
“I can’t tell you much for now, he only said to bring you.”
I yelled over my shoulder for the Nogay boy whose sun-browned face displayed the stolid features of his Mongol forebears. The youth had somehow attached himself to me in the last year and found ways to assist in my trading concern. In return, I fed him and taught him the business. But for right now, I wanted him out on the front steps with an eye on the goods. If anyone came to buy, he should tell them to come back in the late afternoon after the Cossack girls drove the cattle through the main gate and into the yards of their owners. I should return by then and have everything ready for sale.
The schoolteacher led me up the wide dirt street, past the wattle fences that enclosed every Cossack yard, with its hut set up on posts a few feet above the ground. A dirt embankment then surrounded each hut. Few people were about the village at this time of day. Most of the Cossack men were out on expeditions against the Chechens or stood guard at one of the cordons along the brown waters of the Terek River sweeping down from the snowy Caucasus. As for the women, they worked in the vineyards with the ripening black grapes or else kept an eye on the cattle in the fields.
Along our way, the schoolteacher spoke very little other than to say that something of importance had happened during the night, something upon which the Russian staff captain wished to consult with me. Further than that he wouldn’t explain, even though I tried to draw him out with small talk.
“Where are we going?”
“To my second house.”
“The one that you rented to the staff captain after he and his orderly were quartered on you by the army?”
The schoolteacher glanced at me, then seemed to ignore my presence as much as possible under the circumstances. We passed two more huts before coming to his yard and entering through the arched gate.
As we approached the house, I observed the staff captain sitting calmly in a wooden chair on the front porch. His right leg was crossed over his left at the knee, and his right foot, encased in a brightly polished black leather riding boot, swung lightly back and forth. He was young, with a stern look of self-importance and a reckless black mustache. From a lit pipe in his mouth drifted white tendrils of smoke.
We were all the way up the stairs before I noticed a body — it looked like the staff captain’s orderly — stretched out on the porch to the far side of the Russian officer. Judging by the knife protruding at a slant from the orderly’s chest, I was fairly sure the man was dead. And recently so. But what did this have to do with me?
The Russian spoke first.
“Is this the Armenian?”
The schoolteacher nodded.
“Good. Now listen to me, Armenian. It seems your reputation precedes you in your travels. I am told that you are good at finding things that have been lost.”
I had trouble taking my eyes off the dead orderly, but the Russian officer had fixed his attention on me and I had to answer.
“I’ve had some luck in the past. Yes, sir.”
“Very well.” He reached into the pocket of his scarlet Circassian coat and brought out a small stack of gold coins. Selecting one off the top, he held the coin out toward me. “This is advance payment.”
Gingerly I took the coin.
“For what, Your Honor?”
“My favorite horse was stolen last night. He’s a Karbada horse, sixteen hands high, with dark color and a long, low stride. I named him Karagyoz, Turkish for ‘black eyes.’ Find where he is and more of these coins will be yours. You would be wise not to fail me.”
My gaze kept drifting back to the dead man on the porch.
The staff captain deigned to look at the limp heap lying at his doorstep.
“Whoever stole my horse also killed my orderly with his own knife. The serf I can replace, but Karagyoz is one of a kind.”
“Chechens,” spoke up the schoolteacher. “It was those Abreks from the Tartar side of the river. I’ll tighten the cordons and see if we can catch them before they cross back.”
“Not so,” replied the staff captain in a dry voice. “I think it was one of your local Cossacks, and when I find him out, I will whip him, then hang him.”
The schoolteacher turned away in the direction of the Caucasus Mountains off in the distance, south across the river. From the little I knew of the man, he appeared to be engaged in some inner turmoil.
To break the silence, I inquired, “What has been done so far?”
It was the Russian that answered. “My Moscow soldiers have searched every hut, shed, and yard, one at a time. Not a trace was found. But they can’t hide him for long. See if you can find my Karagyoz.”
I wasn’t sure where to begin.
After some parting words with the Russian officer, the schoolteacher grabbed my elbow again and led me off the porch. We were through the gate and back onto the broad dirt street before I ventured a question in his direction.
“The Russian disturbs you?”
“He is a noble and is closely related to the tsar. We must be especially careful around him.”
“And beyond that?”
“We Cossacks were a free people once. That’s the meaning of the word cossack from the old kazak. At one time or another we successfully fought off the separate armies of Poland and of Russia and of the Turkish sultan. In the end, we allied ourselves with Russia because they are of the same faith, Old Believers, like us. Even so, they squeezed us tight. But after we Cossacks lost the rebellion, Moscow took away many of our freedoms. Now we have Russian troops quartered in every village. They pollute our homes with pipe smoke and treat us like underlings.”
I pondered his statements and wondered.
“You dislike the Russians, but they are your allies. And your Cossacks dress like Chechen braves, yet you fight these same Chechens across the river.”
“In the beginning, our Cossacks intermarried with the hill tribes. We respected the Chechens and adopted their dress, but today’s politics demand that we fight against them.”
These machinations of governments were not my concern, except as possible pieces to the puzzle of a crime. Personally, I wanted nothing more than to trade with both the Cossacks on this side of the river and the hill tribes on the far bank of the Terek. Now I found myself dragged into the middle. And I had the feeling that neither the Russian nor the schoolteacher had told me everything.
At the next intersection of dirt streets, the schoolteacher left me alone with my thoughts, not even a farewell, just a meaningful glance that I couldn’t interpret.
I stood in the dusty road, wanting to return to my unpacked trade goods, but the gold coin in my pocket said I had to look for a stolen horse. The best person I knew for information in this village was Daddy Eroshka, a giant Cossack with a long white mane and full beard. Most of his time was spent hunting and fishing, the rest in drinking parties with the Cossack girls where he heard all the latest gossip. He’d be the one.