Spring, 1633

 

"Home," Boris sighed then waved at the white stone walls of the Kremlin which stood sixty feet tall and dominated the mostly wooden city of Moscow.

Bernie Zeppi, after the long trip, didn't care if it was home or not. Didn't care about the view. He just wanted in out of the wet. And, judging from what he'd seen so far, Muscovy just wasn't . . . well, wasn't much. Not that there wasn't a lot of it. Lots and lots of what amounted to log cabins, all crowded together. "Where do we go . . .

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- The Grantville Gazette Staff