the treasury! Go, I will not forget about you…
– Thank you, Lev Kirillovich, – said the delighted Silin.
– Whatever else we find out, we will report right away, boyar, – added Elizariev and bowed.
Lev Naryshkin looked at the informers leaving, looked at the engraving depicting the late Peter Alekseevich. The Tsar on the sheet of thick paper was cheerful, and before the boyar’s eyes stood the dead face of Peter, lying on the bed. It was impossible to forget such a thing… The owner of the house sat down at a walnut table of Venetian work, poured himself a glass of wine from a glass decanter, admiring the work of the Italian master. – What a color, and how it shimmers in the light… – the boyar whispered quietly, – In bright light it’s one thing, by burning candles – quite another… And people are like that, the majority… In the rays of the sun one thing, in the darkness of darkness – another… And then…After all, choosing the strong side does not mean betraying, but only making the right choice…
Fight at the coffin
Frol Ignatiev was waiting for his comrades, and hid a pair of double-barreled pistols in his bosom. He received such things among the trophies in Azov. And he had a dagger with him, as well as a saber at his side. Two riflemen from his company were standing there, with a folding stretcher covered with matting. The sergeant was not going to put off the matter, like Tsykler, but decided to decide everything at once.
– Well, Frol, and others have arrived, from the regiments of Sukharev, Vorontsov and Baturin. There will be no one else.
– Let’s go…
Only the riflemen gathered not at the Church of St. Anna, but at the Pokrovsky Gate, and not on the seventh day, but on the sixth. Ignatiev didn’t trust people, that was his habit… And he told those he suspected of treason about three more places – near the church on Kulishki, near the church of St. Elijah on Ilyinka, and near the Church of the Assumption on Nikolskaya.
– Everyone put on masks, to be on the safe side, – the policeman ordered, – light the lanterns. Torches are not needed yet. Vasily, check everyone.
– We’ll do it, Frol Fomich, don’t doubt it! – the foreman Ustyanov agreed, – after all, we’re going for such a thing…
– We mustn’t spoil it… I’m counting on you… So that they walk quietly.
– Everyone in soft boots without horseshoes. We are experienced people, we will not let you down…
– We do everything quickly… – Ignatiev reminded again, – We open the door of the crypt, check the coffin, and if everything is as Tsikler said, we take the body away, and then as we agreed – run to the Streltsy settlements, raise the people. We will not wait for the first people, they will betray us.
– We will be ready, Frol Fomich! We will carry out what we have planned!
– Arseny, Timofey, you go first. Open the doors to the underground passage. Go quietly, if one, immediately back. Take the smallest lantern. Well, with God…
Two young riflemen, only a year ago enlisted in the service, went down the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. The scraping of iron was heard and a breath of dampness was felt.
– Well, let’s go… Time is precious, – Frol said quietly.
Ignatiev himself carried a lantern in his hand, and in order to occupy his mind, to distract himself, he counted the steps. He counted twenty-two, and then, bending down, entered the black opening of the underground passage. The riflemen knew how and where to go, they were all doing their military service. True, a couple of finds, so, slightly excited.
– Frol Fomich, look, – whispered Pyotr Shadrov, – a dead man…
And indeed, there was a decomposed corpse in old clothes. A skull covered with skin, and a tuft of red hair on the crown.
– Scary… – Petka muttered again.
– Why are they afraid of the dead? You should be afraid of the living, my dear man… Let’s go, it’s not far from here…
There were also noticeable signs, and they couldn’t get lost. Well, it’s like a wolf getting lost in its own forest.. They walked quickly, having figured out the direction, and so as not to get lost later. There was only one gallery leading to the crypt of the Archangel Cathedral.
But here is the long-awaited door…
Arseny and Timofey quickly returned to Ignatiev. Both were worried, but they held on.
– Things are bad, Uncle Frol… Two Preobrazhensky at the door. With fusils, with lanterns.
– It’s okay… We need to scare them. Petka! Bring the skull, and quickly!
– Whose is it?
– Not mine. I don’t need yours. And the one we noticed at the turn. Move quickly. Arseny, help him!
– I can handle it myself, – grumbled Shadrov, – I wasn’t scared!
He returned quickly, though. But he carried the dead head as if it were a mortar bomb, weighing at least a pood. Pyotr twisted all over, as if the head could bite him.
– Arseny, thread the rope through the skull’s nose…
The work was going quickly, Ignatyev admired the young man’s fortitude. He did well… Ignatyev noticed a bracket ten steps from the door. A plan was hatched…
And so, ten minutes or more later, the Preobrazhensky soldiers rushed into the Cathedral crypt with screams.
– The dead! Ghosts!
There were no dead, but Arseny adapted the rope, threading it through the bracket. Well, and he hung the skull with a lantern on the rope. And the frightened Preobrazhensky soldiers left their post with a scream.
– Quickly! There is no time! – Ignatyev shouted.
The squad of riflemen noisily flew into the dungeon, and the constable, checking the drawing, began to look for the necessary burial. It turned out that everything was not so simple. Frol was already sweating and despairing when he noticed a sarcophagus without an inscription.
– Over here, help! – the sergeant shouted to the strelets.
The three of them lifted the lid, Arseny held the lantern. Ignatyev impatiently pulled the shroud off the dead man.
– It’s him! Peter! – Ignatyev informed everyone.
The strelets saw the tsar both in Preobrazhenskoye and near Azov. That’s how it all happened… But then a crash was heard on the stairs leading from the cathedral to the crypt, something fell with a noise. And shouts were heard:
– The thieves are here! Hold the villains!
And the Preobrazhenskys ran down with torches and lanterns and swords.
– Quickly, with a crowbar, Timokha! – Frol almost whispered in despair.
But it didn’t work, and the stone lid fell back into place, covering the body. And a fight began among the ancient coffins. The archers greeted the mockers hotly, raining blows of their sharp sabers on them. The constable rushed ahead of everyone, hoping to drive away the mockers and have time to carry out the body. But it didn’t work… The points rang, the cries of the wounded and the groans of the dying were heard. The archers fought skillfully and desperately, and about ten Preobrazhenskys flooded the ancient crypt with their blood. It seemed that they would falter a little more, but then help came running to them. And Ignatyev was surrounded by three, and the constable fell wounded. A fight began to rage around him. Timofey grabbed Frol by the arms and began to drag him to the iron door of the underground passage.
– The pistol… Take the pistol, – the wounded man