Chapter 1179: Why Are You Here as Well?
Count Zubov’s hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, trembled slightly. Whether it was from the biting chill of the night wind or sheer nerves, he couldn't be certain.
He began to hesitate, but he was immediately jolted by a shove from General Bennigsen, whose breath reeked of alcohol. "What are you wavering for? We all need you. Come on!"
Zubov gritted his teeth and, bolstered by liquid courage, strode toward the palace.
His two brothers and over twenty officers followed closely behind.
None of them wore the Prussian-style pointed hats mandated by Paul I. Their sideburns had been shaved off, and the long Prussian braids at the back of their heads were gone. Had it been daylight, the Inspectors of Chivalric Etiquette would have arrested them on the spot.
But now, they couldn't care less. They were here to put an end to this absurdity once and for all.
Skaryatin looked around cautiously, muttering, "We won't run into Arakcheyev’s men, will we?"
Count Arakcheyev was the commander of the Imperial Guard Cavalry Regiment and fanatically loyal to Paul I. His troops were responsible for the outer perimeter of Gatchina Palace.
Duke Yashvili slurred his response, his tongue heavy with drink. "No... no need to worry. Count Pahlen already... on the pretext of colluding with the Austrian revolutionaries... had him, *hic*... suspended for the time being."
General Bennigsen gestured to their surroundings. "The Guard Cavalry is currently under Vorobyov's command. He'll ensure the path is clear."
Indeed, they encountered not a single patrol until they reached the side entrance of Gatchina Palace.
A few sentries atop the fortress-like walls noticed them and shouted, "Halt! This is a restricted area!"
Following his daughter's warning of an assassination plot, Paul I had indeed tightened the palace's security. Hundreds of Imperial Guards were on patrol inside and outside the palace at all times. At night, entry and exit were strictly forbidden without an order signed by his own hand.
A voice rang out from behind the sentries. "His Majesty has summoned them. Here is the pass."
The sentry turned to see Argamakov, the Tsar’s Chamberlain, waving a sheet of paper before his eyes. It listed a long string of names, including Count Zubov and General Bennigsen.
The pass was a forgery, of course, but no one dared question the Tsar’s Chamberlain.
The heavy gates slowly groaned open. Zubov and his party of twenty filed through immediately. Led by Argamakov, they hurried across the palace square and the parade grounds, entering the heart of Gatchina Palace.
To avoid drawing attention, they kept their lanterns dark throughout the walk. Combined with the significant amount of alcohol they had consumed beforehand, nearly half the group ended up wandering off and getting lost in the shadows.
Argamakov stepped forward and rapped on the door to the Tsar’s antechamber. "It’s me. Open up."
"General Argamakov?" a guard's voice came from within. "You know the rules. No one is permitted entry at this hour."
"It’s an urgent military matter!"
"But it’s so late..."
"You idiot, it’s already six in the morning!" Argamakov snapped, knowing these guards couldn't afford pocket watches.
Just as the guard began to waver, a low voice resonated from beside Argamakov. "What are you doing? It’s only three in the morning."
Zubov and the others jumped in alarm. They turned to see Count Bobrinsky approaching with seven or eight servants in tow.
After learning of Zubov's suspicious movements, Bobrinsky had taken to staying overnight at Gatchina Palace frequently. Paul I was fond of him and certainly wasn't going to turn him away.
"Something has happened with the Indian expedition! I must report it immediately!" General Bennigsen blurted out anxiously.
Count Bobrinsky looked them up and down, noting their attire. He suddenly stepped back several paces. "You are in violation of the knightly dress code. Guards!"
Zubov and Duke Yashvili instantly drew their pistols. Count Bobrinsky's servants followed suit, raising their own firearms.
Cold sweat beaded on General Bennigsen's forehead. He knew all too well that if they didn't get into the Tsar’s room immediately, the palace guard would surround them within ten minutes.
"Yevgeny! Bashlavinov! Open the door now!" Argamakov bellowed at those behind the door.
Count Bobrinsky shouted over him, "Anyone who opens that door will be hanged!"
In a suite on the southern side of Gatchina Palace, Alexander Pavlovich stood dressed in a sharp military uniform. It wasn't the Prussian style, but rather the uniform from Catherine the Great's era. He stared intently out the window into the pitch-black night.
Ten minutes ago, his aide had reported that Zubov and the others had entered the palace.
'They should be seeing the Emperor by now,' he mused silently. 'Forgive me, Father, but you have made far too many mistakes. Everyone from the nobility to the serfs is against you. I must do this.'
The door swung open, and his aide, Barkliev, hurried in. "Your Highness," he whispered, "they’ve been stopped."
"What?!" Alexander spun around. "How?"
"It’s Count Bobrinsky. He’s blocking the way to His Majesty’s room."
"That damned bastard!"
Alexander growled, but he regained his composure quickly. He tucked a pistol behind his back into his belt and waved to the dozen guards standing outside the door. "All of you, come in."
In short order, the guards—similarly dressed in old-style Russian uniforms and armed to the teeth—stood at stiff attention before the Crown Prince.
Alexander raised his voice. "Now, we must save the future of the Empire! And you shall receive supreme honor for it!"
"Who among you is willing to follow me?"
Two captains immediately drew their sabers and held them high. "We will follow you at all times, even if it costs us our lives!"
The other guards joined in the cry, "Our lives for yours!"
Indeed, as early as a month ago, Alexander had secretly begun replacing his guards with his most trusted confidants. Among the Imperial Guards stationed near the Tsar’s room, eleven of them were already his men.
He had never fully relied on Count Pahlen and his group from the beginning.
He even looked down on Pahlen and Zubov's methods. When his grandmother staged her coup, she had only a group of captains by her side. Pahlen and his ilk had recruited a massive number of high-ranking officials only to resort to brute force in the end.
Ultimately, only the Tsar needed to be dealt with, and a group of young soldiers was more than enough. Generals and counts weren't necessarily better in a fight than they were.
Alexander pointed toward the second floor, his voice trembling with suppressed excitement. "Let us go and make the Emperor abdicate!"
"Ura!"
By the time Alexander reached the Tsar’s quarters, Count Bobrinsky’s servants, assisted by seven or eight sentries, had already pinned Zubov and his cohorts to the floor.
Alexander looked at the pathetic failures and sneered. He signaled to the captain behind him. "Do it."
Steel flashed, and several Imperial Guards slumped to the ground in a spray of blood.
Count Bobrinsky stared at the Crown Prince in horror. "Your Highness... why are you here as well?"
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