When they had finished De Richleau drew the landlord into conversation. They were Germans, the Duke said; fur buyers, seeking new sources of supply. How were the markets in Sverdlovsk for such commodities?
“Bad,” said the landlord. “Bad; the trappers will not go out any more. Why should they?” he shrugged; “the Government will not pay them for their skins, and there are no longer the rich who will buy. They go out for a few weeks every season that they may catch enough to keep their families from starving by exchanging the skins for corn and oil. For the rest — they sleep!”
The Duke nodded. “You speak truly. Why should a man work more than he need if there is no prospect of his becoming rich? What of the north? Think you our chances would be better there?”
“I do not think so. Not if what one hears is true. Things may be better in the towns that lie to the east, perhaps, but I do not know.”
“To the eastward?” said the Duke softly. “You mean in Omsk?”
The landlord shrugged. “There, and at other places in Siberia, there are not so many Tchinovinks as here, trading is more free.”
“What of Tobolsk?”
“That would perhaps be the best place of all if you could get there, but Tobolsk is in the forbidden territory.”
“The forbidden territory? What is that?” asked the Duke with a frown.
The man shrugged again. “It is some madness of the Tchinovinks; a great area, where, without special papers, no man may go — but they are the lords, and it is useless to protest.”
“If we could get within reasonable distance of Tobolsk we could send messengers,” the Duke suggested, “and the traders could bring their furs for us to see.”
“That should be possible. There is a train which goes to Turinsk; farther than that you may not go; the railway to Tobolsk is finished, but it is for the officials and the military only.”
“And how often do the trains run?”
“It used to be only once weekly, but since the line is finished it is every other day. Many military and Tchinovinks go through.”
“Is there a train today?”
“What is today?” the man asked vaguely.
“It is Saturday.”
“Yes, there is a train — it leaves at midday.”
“Do you know how long it takes?”
“To Tobolsk, about eight hours — to Turinsk, some five hours, perhaps.”
“And are permissions necessary?” De Richleau asked casually.
“It depends,” said the landlord; “for Turinsk no special permission is necessary, but in the case of foreigners I should think your tickets would require endorsement; however, it is of no great moment; the Tchinovinks hate to be bothered. They sleep all day; if there is trouble, give a few roubles, and all will be well.”
“Thank you, my friend. In that case I think we will go to Turinsk on the midday train, and, if we may, we will remain under your hospitable roof until then. We shall require another meal before we go.”
“Welcome, and again welcome,” said the landlord, with all the inherent politeness of the peasant.
“All is well.” The Duke turned to Simon as he spoke, for the latter had not understood one word of this conversation. “There is a train at midday which will take us as far as Turinsk; after that the forbidden territory begins, and we shall have to use our wits.”
“How about tickets?” asked Simon, doubtfully.
“Bluff, my friend. I gather that the officials here are lazy and careless, and open to bribes, very different to those in Moscow.”
“Better say we left the other tickets in the train!”
“Yes, that is an excellent idea.”
“I’ve been wondering about that Shulimoff treasure,” said Simon, in a low voice. “Do you think Rex got it before they got him?”
“How can we say?” De Richleau raised his slanting eyebrows. “We know that Shulimoff had estates near Tobolsk. Evidently the treasure must be buried there, or Rex would never have ventured into this dangerous area.”
“Fun if we could take a few souvenirs out of this rotten country!” Simon chuckled into his hand.
“Let us not think of that. We shall have our work cut out to get Rex out of the clutch of these devils!”
At eleven o’clock the landlord produced two wooden bowls containing a kind of stew, mainly composed of skinny mutton and barley. With it was the inevitable rye bread and bitter tea.
In spite of the unappetizing nature of the fare they both ate heartily, since they realized that it might well be the last food they would touch for many hours.
When they had finished they paid the landlord handsomely, and crossed the road to the station. At the booking office there were difficulties. The Duke explained that through some misunderstanding their baggage, and with it their tickets, had been carried on that morning by the main-line train, and that they were merchants from the great fur market of Lemberg, anxious to trade. There was much argument, but De Richleau had been clever in that he had not allowed much time before the train was due to depart. It was too late for them to return into the town for an examination by senior officials — their passports were in order — only the tickets were missing.
At the sight of the Duke’s wallet stuffed with money, the man gave way. “It could be managed, perhaps,” he said. “It was irregular, of course — also the tickets were expensive! The fares, in fact, had more than doubled since the tickets were printed. They were old stock!”
So the affair was settled, and the Duke and Simon took their seats in the train for Turinsk. In this branch-line train there was none of the comfort they had found on the Trans-Continental. Hard seats, and a foul wash-place — a crowded compartment where the mingled odours of unwashed humanity fought with that of the smaller birds and beasts, which seemed to be the principal impedimenta of their travelling companions.
“Well, this is another stage on our journey as good as accomplished,” said De Richleau, as the train drew out of Sverdlovsk, only twenty minutes late in starting.
“Um,” said Simon. “But we’re going to be in a muddle when we get to Turinsk!”
“On the contrary —” De Richleau disagreed. “There we shall be able to show our tickets and get accommodation, which we could not do here.”
“You’ve forgotten one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“We were counting on a sleigh service to get us where we want to go, weren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Well — if you’re right about the railway line being finished, there won’t be any sleigh service — and it’s quite certain that the people at Turinsk won’t let us go on in the train.”
“That’s true,” said the Duke, thoughtfully. “Mon Dieu, how these people stink!”
“Pretty awful,” Simon agreed, and then both he and the Duke lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
The scenery was completely different from that which they had seen the day before; the train puffed and snorted excitedly as it wound its way, at a fair speed, in and out along the snow-covered valleys; they had passed the tops of the Urals during the night, and were now descending through the foothills on the eastern side.
The snow had ceased falling, and the sun came out at midday, but now, in the early afternoon, it was sinking rapidly, and dusk was upon them when they reached Turinsk just before five.
Turinsk seemed little more than a long, straggling village. The train actually ran through the high street, in the most populous part of which it came to a jerky halt.