Free The Winter Palace by Eva Stachniak Page A

paper. Tied with a black ribbon freshly ironed. Placed in secret so the charms could work their way.
    The Empress drew a sharp breath. I didn’t know then how much she feared witchcraft, but I wouldn’t have stopped talking if I’d known. Her eyes widened, her hand gripped mine, pulling me closer. No one has ever listened to me like that before.
    “Where is it?” she demanded.
    I pointed at her bed, hoping I had heard it right. Hoping Madame Kluge had done what she was told to do.
    “Show me,” the Empress said.
    I walked to the bed and lifted the mattress. I should not have doubted the force of desperation. It was there, a small bundle of paper, tied with a black ribbon.
    The Empress ordered me to open it.
    I did. It smelled of dust and herbs. Inside, beside nail clippings stained pink, there was a bone, a ball of hair, a wilted carrot, and a bunch of dried flowers.
    The Empress crossed herself, again and again.
    “Put that thing there,” she commanded. I could hear the tremor of fear in her voice. “Careful. Don’t drop it.”
    I placed my finding on a table by the window.
    “Cover it.”
    I placed a silk kerchief over the package.
    “Now go,” she said.
    I made a step toward the secret door. But to my surprise, she stopped me and motioned for me to approach.
    “You did well, Varvara. The Chancellor was right about you. You did very well.”
    I felt her fingers touch my hair.
    I didn’t think much of the Chancellor or Madame Kluge that night, when I reached my spartan room. I didn’t ask myself what would happen. I fell asleep with the memory of that touch.
    A sable pelisse covered Her Majesty’s shining gown, the edge of her green velvet hood revealing a black feather in her hair. From the balcony where she stood, the Empress watched as two guards brought Madame Kluge to the palace yard, freshly cleared from the first November snowfall.
    The Grand Duke was absent. The Empress forbade her nephew to leave his room, for he had awakened with a sore throat. When I came to ask if he wished me to read to him, he was straddling his dog, teasing it with a bone. “Leave me alone,” he snapped gruffly.
    The crowd had been gathering since dawn. People huddled by the walls of the Winter Palace, stomping their feet, pounding their chests to make the blood flow faster.
    Madame Kluge’s fat face was pale and clenched, her eyes downcast.
German traitor
 … I heard the shouts … 
wishing misfortune on our heads
.
    Feet shuffled on the frozen ground. Rumors flew, dark and menacing.
Worshipping the Dark One … biting the merciful hand that fed her
.
    Someone threw a rotten cabbage. It splashed into a slimy puddle on the snow. Madame Kluge’s eyes shrank with fear.
    Caught red-handed
, I heard.
Exposed when she least expected. Serves her right. Spying for the Prussians. Her hands greased with German gold
.
    Wasn’t she always sneaky and underhanded? Always asking questions when she should’ve been quiet?
    A dog snarled. I heard a single beat of the drum.
    All eyes turned to the balcony, its railings covered with a flag on which the double-headed Russian eagle was spreading its wings. The Empress did not move.
    When the drum sounded again, the Empress turned toward the Captain of the Guards. Her gloved hand rose and, for an instant, I thought that the plea in Madame Kluge’s eyes would soften my mistress’s heart. But the Empress of All the Russias nodded and lowered her hand.
    The guards pushed Madame Kluge onto the makeshift scaffold, hastily assembled from a few pieces of timber and a plank. I felt drops of falling snow melt on my cheeks and lips. Behind me a man complained that he could not see anything.
    How meager the trifles one clings to, to keep guilt at bay: the memories of an unkind word, a face distorted with anger, the lash of a whip. How welcoming the thought of punishment deserved, of justice meted out. How easy the contempt for those who fall from grace.
    “No one will be put to death under my