Our goodbyes to the people of Dunaivtsi were short, but we were genuinely thankful for their hospitality, just as much as they were grateful that I had saved their town. The regrets of the night before were softened by the smiling faces and happy kisses that bade us farewell.

After another three days on the road, we began to see signs of prosperity and stimulated economic activity. We crossed paths with horse-drawn wagons laden with goods of all sorts, couriers riding hard to points unknown, and troop wagons transporting soldiers clad in white coats. It was my first time to ever see that particular uniform.

“Andrei, where do these soldiers hail from?”

“Ah, the kaiser’s men. We are now entering the lands claimed by Austria. You did not know it, but you have actually met Kaiser Joseph II of Austria himself — he was one of the men accompanying Her Majesty back when you were first summoned to her. In fact, we should be entering a city that the kaiser has had his eye on for quite some time.”

“Why so?”

“The Austrians call this city Lemberg, much to the chagrin of her Polish inhabitants, who prefer to call it Lwow. You and I would know it as Lvov. It is a city that the kaiser has been trying to convert from a wild border town to a bastion of civilization in the ‘savage’ eastern lands. And it is here where my job begins.”

“What do you mean by ‘your job?’ Have you not been by my side since we left the Crimea?”

“Yes, but my true purpose here is to transform your perception of propriety, your style, and your conduct; much like the Austrian kaiser is transforming this city.”

“From ‘wild’ to ‘civilized,’ as you put it?”

“Those are your words, monsieur. I stand clear of any offense.”

Ahead of us, I saw the tall red walls of Lvov, built with the triangular parapets and guard towers whose shapes would not be out of place surrounding Cossack forts if they were constructed of wooden logs instead of stones and bricks. Off in the distance, well behind the walls, loomed a magnificent stone tower with the most ornate decorative columns. It was capped with a copper dome thick with dark green verdigris, at the very top of which stood a Latin cross. We were well away from the Orthodox lands now.

The Austrian soldiers who stood watch at the main gate gave us polite nods as we entered. Even with the uniforms of my companions and the weapons we so openly carried on our hips and saddles, they seemed to have no cause for concern.

As we cleared the gates, I bore witness to a new, marvelous place. The ground beneath us was not mere dirt but solid paved cobblestone. No building stood lower than two stories, and all the windows had their drapes spread open to let in the noonday sun. Children weaved in and out between the busy feet of the throng of people going about their daily tasks; porters carried their goods around with wheelbarrows, gaudy aristocrats in their extravagant dresses and waistcoats paraded themselves about to attract the attention of us common folk; thieves and pickpockets darted in between passers-by to relieve them of their riches; and merchants hawking their wares let out their long, echoing shouts in different tongues for everything from “fresh fruit and vegetables” to “corns scraped off your foot for only three Kreuzer!” We had gone so far west that even the currency of the land had changed.

“Welcome, monsieur, to Lemberg,” Andrei said with pride. “This is the city where east dances with west in a grand harmony rarely found anywhere else. Here you will find Poles, Russians, Austrians, Jews, and even others like Englishmen and Scots all at peace and civility within these walls; and now, you, a Cossack might know civilization as well. Perhaps the rest of the world could learn from that, n'est ce pas?”

Brushing aside his comment on my apparent lack of civility, I asked, “Where are we going first?”

“Why, monsieur, we must attack the shops!”

I had never seen a man’s eyes light up the way Andrei’s did. Even the lieutenant — whom I had expected to be ecstatic for the chance to spend on womanly fineries — rolled her eyes at him.

I cast a glance at her and shook my head, “I am quite certain that this is the only attack Andrei Vasilyevich can lead.”

She rolled her eyes at me as well.

“As you are aware, Her Majesty has charged me with the task of refashioning you into a modern European gentleman,” said Andrei as he rode up ahead of us. “While your skills in French are a work in progress, today we shall focus on your outward appearance. Your clothes, your hair, and your actions must be shaped into something that everyone from the lowliest fishmonger to the kaiser himself will regard with the utmost respect.”

“Andrei Vasilyevich, this sword dangling on my belt begets all the respect I need or deserve.”

“I beg to argue, monsieur. A sword is but one detail of a proper gentleman’s ensemble. That relic you wear is not even in fashion.”

“This ‘relic’ has drank enough blood that it has a soul of its own. I would take great care about insulting it, or offending its wielder.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Andrei cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, first we must journey to the appropriate professional to see to your care.”

As if by providence’s grace, we found ourselves at a quaint two-storey building adorned with burgundy walls and yellow ochre drapes. Through the large glass windows, we could see all manner of clothing, wigs, and various bottles of what I presumed to be perfumes and cosmetics. Above the entrance hung a sign labeled “Fabians Parfümerie.”

Andrei giggled with childlike glee as he dismounted his horse and tied it up on a nearby hitching post.

“Is this it, then?” I said.

“I’m afraid to say, my good monsieur, that this is merely the beginning!” Andrei could barely contain his excitement as he strode into the front door.

Lieutenant Morozova likewise hitched up her horse and followed Andrei inside. Just before she entered, she gave me the smallest smile and said, “This will be slow and painful for you, like the drawing of blood. Have patience, and know that no suffering can endure forever.”

Indeed, I entered the boutique as a wolf and therein was transformed into a dog. After much bickering, and a few choice words with the tailor spiced with accusations of his mother’s sexual appetites, I finally relented and allowed the man to dress me in what he termed was his “finest attire” fit for the “modern adventuring gentleman.”

Parting with no small sum of the czarina’s money, I traded my Cossack simple linen shirt and baggy sharovary trousers for a scarlet coat and clean, white riding breeches. The hems of the coat reached well below my knees, and it was decorated with gold epaulettes, black facings, and gold piping decorating the lapels and cuffs. The buttons were all made of what I assumed to be ivory, with white stitching bars marking the button holes.

Topped off with a matching scarlet hat adorned with a fluffy ostrich feather, I made it clear that I felt more than a little strange.

However, as I was in the fitting room trying on my new garments, Andrei and the coiffeur decided that I should remove my “wild man hair” and have it replaced with a wig, I made my intent quite clear.

“The forelock stays, as does the beard. The man who takes a knife to any part of my head will find that same knife in his throat.”

Andrei looked upon me pensively, “Well perhaps we could simply color it so that it could match…”

“Gott bewahre, nein!”

The coiffeur, a portly Austrian by the name of Fabian Winkler, entered my fitting room with a handful of white wig selections. His jowls quivered as he spoke out against this apparent blasphemy to fashion. “Sir, be reasonable! Colored wigs have been out of fashion for years! It would be…”

“Misye Winkler,” I said, trying to be as polite as I could. “I could not care less about the state of this wig. All I know is that, according to you, polite society sees it as a requirement. I shall therefore purchase the wig as it is.”

“Excellent choice, you will find that it is…”

“And perhaps colorize it myself, with mud or dirt or…”

“Nein! Hast du keine Schande, du Tier?! I submit! As you wish, I shall ruin my creation so that you may not ruin it further!”

“Much obliged, misye. I thank you.”

Once I had emerged from Fabian’s fitting room wearing all the accoutrements of Fabian’s costume, I gazed at my reflection in a nearby mirror and thought to myself,

I am no noble.

I looked like a moskal that had suckled on the czarina’s teat since I was a child. The uniform was regal, but it was not who I was. Nevertheless, it was far warmer than what I had before, and the fit was exceptional. Fabian met me in the parlor of his shop together with my two companions as he presented my new wig.

“What do you think?”

“It is necessary.”

“I will take that as a compliment to my skill.”

With that, we concluded our business. Lieutenant Morozova had joked that she had expected more bloodshed, but she did not know how correct she was.

No sooner had we stepped outside Fabian’s shop door than a small boy approached me. He was covered in dirt and his clothes were in rags, but he looked at me with what could only be childlike awe.

“O rany!” he said as he grinned at me with a buck toothed smile. “Proszę pana, I have never seen such a beautiful wig!”

“And what would your name be, my little man?” I said as I knelt down to his level.

“M...Michaś,” he said with a slight stutter.

I rustled the boy’s hair and smiled back at him.

“Would you like to try it on?”

A sparkle of joy lit up in the child’s eyes as he jumped on his heels in glee. The lieutenant chuckled at his reaction, but Andrei looked on with concern as I doffed my hat and placed my new hairpiece on his head.

As soon as I did so, the boy took off like a shot into the crowded street. It took me moments to realize that he was not playing a game, and that I had just been robbed.

“Stop, thief!” Andrei yelled. The crowd merely stared in the direction of the boy as he kept running.

Lieutenant Morozova drew her musket and aimed down the thoroughfare. Her argument was far more convincing, as porters and townsfolk dove for cover and escaped into alleyways. I could see that there were a good ten strides between herself and the boy. She could not miss. But I heard no click of her hammer nor did I see a flash of her flint.

“You have a clear shot! What are you doing?”

Further the boy went; twelve strides, fifteen strides…

I could not wait for a response. I took the weapon from her hands and aimed down the barrel at the tiny target shrinking in the distance. With a pull of the trigger, a flash of smoke filled the air.

Before me the boy lay sprawled on the ground, convulsing with his last gasps of air.

The crowd around me was silent as I walked up to retrieve my property off of the dying child’s head. Indeed, it was a pity that the thief was a child, but alas, a thief was a thief. I picked up the wig and dusted it off, enduring the stares and whispers of the crowd around me.

Then, out of the crowd, a woman ran towards the boy’s near lifeless body. She was dressed in a silk vest over a long flowing gown and wore a fez with a veil. My eyes narrowed — what was a Tatar doing this far west?

Before I could say anything, she scooped the boy up in her arms and looked at me with eyes full of sorrow.

“I deeply apologize, efendi. I hope this will not happen again.”

I narrowed my eyes, as I was slightly confused.

“Is this your son?” I said. I thought it was highly unlikely, since the boy was clearly Polish.

“No, efendi, but we all come from Allah, subhanahu wa ta'ala, and I believe that as such he must be buried with respect and not preyed upon by animals.”

I paused to reflect on what she said for a moment before snatching my wig off of the boy’s head. I did not think such compassion could come from a Tatar to a Christian. As she carried the dying boy away, I turned towards my companions, who looked at me with wide eyes and slacked jaws.

“You… you killed a child,” said Andrei.

“I killed a thief.”