“My God, what happened to you?” he asked of his fellow Russian prisoner.
“Oh, you mean this? It’s a gift from that fat prick, Khozyain. He really seems to have it in for me. I don’t know why.”
“Have you complained to the warden?”
“In fact, I have. The warden says he’s powerless to do anything about it. The fat animal is well connected, and any attempt to remove him would bring the Okhrana down on the warden’s head. You see, Number Ten, I have no fear of fighting the Tsarist government, but this bastard may well kill me before I can get out of this place.”
“Maybe I can help you, Comrade Trotsky,” offered Morrison. “I’m a condemned man and will be executed shortly anyway. The s**t deserves to die. I’m getting a little sick of the way he treats me anyway.”
“Please, Number Ten, don’t do a
