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Interlude

The Tobolsk Soviet: Dashing through the snow . . . 

Alexander Avdeev came back first, leading a two-horse team, themselves pulling a sleigh.

“Hide it in back,” Pavel Khokhryakov ordered. “Quickly, now, before we’re seen with it. I’ve assembled enough food for two weeks and enough blankets for bitter cold. Plus two pistols and three rifles. Start loading the sleigh, but keep the pistols and rifles where we can get at them.”

“Where’s Zaslavski?” Avdeev asked.

“Semyon’s not back yet and, yes, that has me worried.”

“No need to worry, or, at least, not about me,” said Zaslavski, suddenly appearing at the corner of the house. “Not that my little foray didn’t have its moments.”

“What the hell went on this morning?” demanded Khokhryakov. “Did the Omsk crowd try to take control of Citizen Romanov and his family?”

“Much worse than that,” replied Zaslavski. “Apparently a group of Imperial Guards has rescued them, or some of them. The details are fuzzy, though. I don’t know how many survived the experience.”

“We’ll need to stick around then,” said Avdeev. “At least until we find out more.”


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Framed