Major Igor looked again at Petrovich. "Nikola, do you want me to have my father find a way to keep you in Saint Petersburg?" The latter set down his wineglass and waved a hand. "I'm afraid it'll be difficult. I heard this transfer order came directly from His Majesty the Emperor."
As he spoke, his voice dropped a notch. "Besides, I don't have enough money on hand either."
Pulling strings definitely required money. Although they were childhood friends who had grown up together, Igor would at most waive his "handling fee." Dossayev had already had a bit too much to drink, and hearing this, he shouted, "Blame those damn Poles! If it hadn't been for them causing trouble twice in Crimea and Vyazma, we wouldn't be..."
Petrovich hurriedly covered his mouth, looking around nervously.
Fortunately, the others were all engrossed in their own conversations and no one paid any attention to the commotion here.
"Sergei, have you lost your mind? There are at least thirty gendarmes in this hall!"
The massive destruction caused by Poland in Russia was a taboo. People usually only talked about how many reckless Poles the Russian Army had killed in those two wars, and how the Poles had subsequently begged for mercy with trembling hearts.
Spreading "rumors" about Russian losses without authorization was punishable by imprisonment.
Igor instructed his attendants to help Dossayev to a guest room to rest, then raised his wineglass to Petrovich. "It's fortunate that we're only dealing with rebellious peasants. Perhaps you'll be back before the end of the year. By then, I'll introduce a wealthy widow to you."
The latter clinked his glass against Igor's and wryly smiled. "Pretty doesn't matter, it's best if she has money. The General Commissariat already owes me eight months' pay..."
Two months later...
Captain