November 14, 1911. Kiev, Ukraine.
Kiev Palace of Justice, Prosecutor's Office.
Kiev was a city of golden churches and elongated shadows. And nowhere were the shadows darker than in Prosecutor Georgiy Chaplinsky's office.
Chaplinsky was a man who believed in Holy Russia's purity with the same intensity with which he believed in his own career. He sat behind his mahogany desk, reviewing the draft of the decade's most important indictment.
Before him, seated with great arrogance, Mr. Golubev, local leader of the Union of the Russian People, known as the Black Hundreds. Golubev had tattooed knuckles and a fanatic's gaze who had drunk too much vodka.
"The people are ready, Prosecutor," Golubev said, lighting a cigarette without asking permission. "People are furious. They've seen the boy. Andrei Yushchinsky. About thirteen years old. Cause of death, stabbing, approximately forty-seven times. Death by bleeding like a paschal lamb."
Chaplinsky nodded gravely. "It's a heinous crime."
"It's not a crime," Golubev corrected, leaning forward. "It was the Jews. They need Christian blood for their matzah. The holy book says so, as well as their great tradition. And we have the culprit. Mendel Beilis, the foreman of the brick factory near that longed-for cave."
"The evidence against Beilis is... circumstantial," Chaplinsky admitted, touching the papers. "Nobody saw him with the boy. His alibi is solid since he was working. The witnesses we have are two drunks and a woman known for selling stolen goods, Vera Cheberyak."
Golubev let out a dry laugh.
"Who cares about evidence, Chaplinsky? The narrative matters. Kiev is a powder keg, workers are discontented, prices rise. They need a culprit, if we give them a Jew, the anger will be directed against the Podil neighborhood, not against the Governor. There'll be a couple days of broken glass, maybe some purifying fires... and then, peace. The Tsar will be happy."
Chaplinsky hesitated. He knew very well what he said was a lie. He knew the local police suspected the boy had been murdered by a common criminal gang to silence him. But the pressure from Saint Petersburg, from the Minister of Justice, was immense. They wanted a trial to be a great spectacle with the grand idea of uniting the nation against the "internal enemy."
"We'll proceed with the accusation of murder of ethnic traditions," Chaplinsky decided, signing the document. "The trial will begin in January. Prepare your men, Golubev. If the defense brings lawyers from Moscow, I want the street to shout louder than them."
"We'll shout," the Black Hundreds leader promised. "And we'll bleed for the cause."
At that moment, the office door opened without anyone knocking.
The air in the room changed instantly. Something like a trembling secretary didn't enter. A young woman entered, dressed in an impeccably gray travel suit, followed by two men who didn't wear police uniforms but rather wore modern-cut long coats and leather briefcases.
Tatiana Nikolaevna Romanova, at fourteen, had her father's gaze but the steel characteristic of previous Tsars.
Chaplinsky jumped up, indignant and confused at the matter happening before his nose. "Who dares...?" He stopped his tantrum upon seeing the blue armband on the Grand Duchess's arm. This was none other than the ISD's.
"Sit down, Prosecutor," Tatiana said with a certain calm voice that froze Golubev's blood. "And you, the one with that tattoo... immediately put out that cigarette. It smells and tends to release that great odor of treason..."
. . . . . . .
The Grand Duchess walked toward the desk and took some papers from on top, among which stood out the indictment Chaplinsky had just signed. She read it quickly.
"'Ethnic murder with the purpose of extracting Christian blood,'" Tatiana read aloud. She let out a short laugh, devoid of humor. "It's fascinating, Prosecutor. We find ourselves in the year 1911. My little brother is convincing one of our century's most important physicists to come to Saint Petersburg to study the gravity the Almighty has given us, and you're writing fantasy scripts that weren't even seen in medieval times."
"Your Highness... this is a local judicial matter," Chaplinsky stammered. "We have evidence that leads us to..."
"You have garbage," interrupted one of the men accompanying Tatiana. He stepped forward. It was Chief Inspector Arkady Koshko, Moscow's best detective, now recruited by the ISD.
Koshko put his briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside he didn't pull out weapons, rather they were test tubes, photographs with a wide range of astonishing sharpness for the era, and a typed report.
"The Imperial Security Directorate has reviewed the case, Prosecutor," Koshko said. "We're not interested in the politics you say you protect; we're only interested in this being really as it claims to be."
Koshko pulled out a photo of the boy's body.
"Forty-seven puncture wounds impacted on the minor's body. Caused directly with a shoemaker's awl, not with a knife frequently used in ethnic sacrifice. Analysis of the wounds shows they were inflicted with aggression and fury, not in the way you've placed in your report. Are you falsifying evidence by any chance? If so... under what conditions or charges?"
He pulled out another photo. It was of a piece of fabric.
"We found this in the cave where they found the body. It's a piece of the vest the aggressor who did the damage to the victim possessed. This piece of vest is composed of cheap wool. Chemical analysis determined the existence of traces of blue clay and... this is important... traces of bismuth."
"Bismuth?" Chaplinsky asked.
"It's one of the most used components in cheap French cosmetics," Tatiana explained. "Vera Cheberyak, your 'star witness,' uses that brand, since nobody else in the area uses that type of cosmetics. We found it in her vanity when my agents searched her house this morning."
"You can't search without a warrant!" Golubev protested.
"The Imperial Security Department (ISD/DSI) is the highest security order in the entire Empire," Tatiana responded without looking at him. "Vera Cheberyak runs a gang of thieves. While her son, Zhenya, was a friend of the murdered boy. Zhenya, her son threatened to tell the police about the robberies the gang of thieves openly committed in the population. So the mother, in retaliation along with her partners killed little Andrei to silence him. It's a sadistic, vulgar, and common crime."
Tatiana struck the table with her palm.
"And you knew it... The local police knew it since March. But you decided to ignore the truth to fabricate this... blood opera."
"Your Highness, you don't understand the political situation," Chaplinsky tried to make his imperial highness reason, while his body continued sweating. "The Jews..."
"The Jews are my father's subjects," Tatiana cut. "They pay their taxes, work adequately like all the workers in the factories we need to not lose the next war that may come. They are loyal citizens of the Crown!"
Tatiana approached the window, looking toward the square where, according to reports, the Black Hundreds were beginning to gather.
"Listen well, Prosecutor. My brother, the Tsarevich, has a very clear vision. Russia can't be an industrial power and a circus of superstitious clowns at the same time. If we allow this trial, the international press will destroy us. London and Paris banks will cut off our credit. Many bankers are praying for a pogrom in Kiev. They want us to look like barbarians to the world."
She turned, and her gray eyes shone with threat.
"You're about to give our economic enemies exactly what they want. You're about to set Kiev on fire over a lie. And the ISD won't tolerate traitors."
"What... what do you suggest I do?" Chaplinsky asked, seeing his career crumble before his eyes.
"We at the ISD aren't going to suggest."
Tatiana pointed to Golubev.
"Arrest this man and his lieutenants for inciting disturbance, obstruction of justice, high imperial treason, and concealment of critical information."
"I'm a patriot!" Golubev shouted, standing up.
Koshko was faster. With a quick Jujutsu movement (a novelty taught at the ISD academy), he immobilized the Black Hundreds leader against the table and handcuffed him.
"Arrest Vera Cheberyak and her accomplices for the murder of Andrei Yushchinsky," Tatiana continued. "Present the forensic evidence to the grand body. Try them as state criminals. And regarding Mendel Beilis..."
Chaplinsky held his breath.
"Release him tonight," Tatiana ordered. "Without fanfare, no lack of evidence, and also, issue an official statement denying the theory of ethnic crime perpetrated by our Jewish community. Say it was an incompetent investigation by local police and that Saint Petersburg has restored order in the area."
"The Black Hundreds will rebel," Chaplinsky warned. "They'll burn the Jewish quarter."
"They won't," Tatiana said coldly. "Because I've brought the Kiev Hussar Regiment. They're deployed in Podil right now, with machine guns. If someone throws a stone, they'll be tried for treason in military court."
Tatiana approached Golubev, who was struggling.
"The time of thugs is over, Golubev. Russia is no longer governed by fear. Take the traitor to the homeland away."
The agents dragged the anti-Semitic leader out of the office.
Chaplinsky remained alone with the Grand Duchess and the detective. He felt very small. The old world, the world of dark conspiracies and hatred, had just been run over by a train of modernity driven by a girl.
"You have one hour, Prosecutor," Tatiana said, adjusting her gloves. "Draft the statement. If you do it well, perhaps you'll keep your lifetime pension. If not... Siberia is very large and we always need people to chip ice and serve in the mines."
. . . . . . .
That same night in the Detention Cell, Lukyanivska Prison.
Mendel Beilis sat on his cot, praying. He had been locked up for four months; he had already lost hope. He knew very well they were going to convict him, not for what he had done, but for what he was.
The iron door opened with a screech.
Beilis cringed, expecting the guards who came to beat him, or the priest who came to try to convert him.
Instead, a man in an elegant coat and round glasses entered. This was Inspector Koshko.
"Collect your things, Gospodín Beilis," Koshko said.
"Will you... take me to Siberia?" Beilis asked, trembling.
"They'll take you to your home, sir," Koshko said. "The charges have been dropped. The true murderers of the crime you were unjustly accused of have been found."
Beilis couldn't believe it. "True murderers, what do you mean? In the Russian Empire? Has the police sought the truth?"
Koshko smiled slightly. He extended his hand to help him stand.
"Let's say Russia is changing, Mr. Mendel. Slowly, painfully, but still changing. The new chief in Saint Petersburg has a quite solid rule: 'Zero Tolerance.' And that applies from industry to defective accusations created by local police."
Beilis left the cell like a sleepwalker.
Outside, on the street, there were no mobs shouting 'death to the Jews.' There were cavalry patrols maintaining strict order. Meanwhile snow fell softly, covering the dirt of Kiev's wide streets.
Beilis looked at the sky.
"Thank God," he murmured.
"Thank the Forensic Sciences Division," Koshko murmured, lighting a cigarette. "And the ISD. Go with your family, Beilis. And don't talk to the press."
. . . . . . .
The next day.
Alexei's Office, Saint Petersburg.
Tatiana entered her brother's study. Alexei was surrounded by blueprints of new hangars for airships.
"It's done," Tatiana said, dropping into an armchair, exhausted from the express train trip. "Beilis is free. Cheberyak confessed after seeing the evidence. Chaplinsky has resigned 'for health reasons.'"
"And the Black Hundreds?" Alexei asked without looking up.
"They tried to organize a march. The Hussars detained fifty ringleaders and they were detained and soon we may have news of them in Siberia. That organization is headless in Kiev."
Alexei nodded. He put down the pencil.
"Good. You've avoided a disaster, Tanya. If that trial had gone ahead, the Rothschilds in London and the Schiffs in New York would have blocked any future loans. And worse still... Einstein would have found out... nothing would have been good for us."
Alexei looked at his sister.
"How do you feel?"
"Dirty," Tatiana admitted. "I had to threaten, extort, and use brute force. It wasn't justice as I thought, Alyosha. If Beilis had been guilty, we would have hanged him just as quickly."
"That's the crown's weight, sister," Alexei said. "Justice is a luxury we'll allow ourselves when we win the next battles God gives us. For now, we settle for order."
Alexei took a telegram from his desk.
"By the way, those bankers have reacted. They've lowered Russia's debt rating this morning. They're upset because there was probably no blood in Kiev."
"Let them be upset," Tatiana said, closing her eyes.
Alexei smiled.
"Rest, Tanya. Tomorrow we have to deal with someone. He says Rutherford's atomic model is a disaster and wants more blackboards."
The Beilis Case, which in another timeline would have been an indelible stain on Russia's history and a prelude to the Holocaust. Anti-Semitism didn't completely disappear, but the State stopped feeding it. And that, in 1911, was as big a revolution as the atom in science.
. . . . . . . . . . .
A/N: If you've enjoyed this story and want to read ahead, I have more chapters available on my patreon.com/Nemryz. Your support helps me continue writing this novel and AU. Thank you for reading!