Spies in St. Petersburg

by Katherine Woodfine

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Vera at once. ‘The war is long since over, and Captain Nakamura is our guest.’

  ‘Besides, you can’t lay the blame at Japan’s door,’ Mitya argued, pushing his spectacles up his nose and leaning forward over the table. ‘Everyone knows that the war with Japan was waged by the Tsar and his generals, in an effort to distract attention from problems at home in Russia! They thought they would have an easy victory and win the public’s approval, but the Japanese proved them wrong. Isn’t that right, Captain Nakamura?’

  ‘It is certainly one way to look at it,’ said Nakamura in his usual measured tone, wiping his hands carefully on a napkin. ‘And I also know that my government were willing to negotiate peace early in the war, but the Tsar would not consent to it. But war is rarely a simple business. There is always blame on both sides.’

  Viktor opened his mouth as though he was about to say something else, but before he could speak, Boris intervened. ‘Let’s change the subject. That’s quite enough politics for one evening – eh, Luka? Now, did you see that the Circus of Marvels is to come to St Petersburg? It looks like it will be quite a show.’

  After supper, Mitya, Nikolai and Viktor went out to attend one of their political gatherings. ‘Take care!’ Vera instructed anxiously, as they left.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Mama,’ said Mitya, giving her a quick absent-minded kiss, before winding his muffler around his throat and pulling on his green cap.

  But Vera stayed where she was, looking after him, as he went out into the street and over the bridge with Viktor and Nikolai. She shook her head as though she disapproved, though in fact she shared many of Mitya’s views. But Sophie understood her worried expression. Not everywhere in St Petersburg was like the pink house by the canal. Here, anyone could say what they thought: out there, you never knew who might be listening.

  Vera turned and saw that Sophie was watching her sympathetically. ‘Ah, Alice, lapochka! You are a good girl – you would never worry your poor old mama in such a way, would you?’ she said, touching Sophie’s cheek gently, as she passed by on her way back to the kitchen.

  Sophie just smiled. She didn’t know quite how to say that her own mama was long gone – and that she thought Mitya impossibly lucky to have a mother like Vera to worry about him.

  Truth be told, she felt rather lucky herself, to have met Boris at Rivière’s, and through him to find such a safe and friendly home in the city. Boris and Vera were relaxed and broad-minded: they had welcomed a Japanese man and a young English girl who were travelling together, without even turning a hair. Sophie had felt fond of them both at once. She liked the way Vera offered lodgings to so many waifs and strays, who were always given a warm and kindly welcome. At present, as well as their younger son, Mitya, their two grandchildren, Luka and Elena, and of course, Sophie and Nakamura, the pink house was home to Alina, a shy Ukrainian girl, and two busy medical students who came and went at all times of the day and night. Really, the only problem was that in such a busy house, there was little room to spare – and it was rather difficult to find anywhere to have a private conversation.

  ‘Come down to the cellar,’ Sophie said to Nakamura now. ‘I want to tell you what happened today.’

  ‘The Count?’ asked Nakamura, in a low voice, and she nodded.

  Fortunately, like many St Petersburg houses, Boris and Vera’s home had a large cellar, and it was here that Sophie and Nakamura usually had their private conversations. Much of the cellar was used for storing wood and coal, but Vera allowed Nakamura to use one of the empty storerooms as a kind of study, where he could work on the designs for aeroplanes that currently occupied much of his time. It was rather a dingy place, with a dirty line around the wall which showed where the waters had reached in one of the city’s many floods; but there was a big window high up in the wall overlooking the canal, an old armchair in a corner, and a wooden table where Nakamura could work. The cellar room next door was frequently used by Mitya and his student friends for their reading and discussion groups – and sometimes, Sophie suspected, for secret political meetings.

  Now, Nakamura lit the lamp, and slid a pile of aeroplane plans out of the way, to make room for them both to sit down at the table. It didn’t take Sophie long to tell him all about her conversation with the Count.

  ‘Now that he’s told me about the café he goes to, I can meet him there, as if by chance,’ she finished excitedly. ‘It will give me a proper opportunity to talk to him.’

  ‘I still don’t really understand why you want more opportunity to talk to him,’ said Nakamura. ‘Isn’t the Count your enemy?’

  ‘Of course – but this may be the best way for me to get the notebook. Perhaps the only way. If he had it in his hotel room, I could sneak in and steal it. Or if he kept it with him, I could pick his pocket. But in a bank vault, there’s simply no way I can get to it.’

  ‘But how will going to this café help you to get the notebook?’ Nakamura frowned.

  ‘I’ve been talking to the Count at Rivière’s to try and get to know him. To befriend him. I know he’s isolated here, and lonely,’ Sophie explained. ‘Now that he knows me a little, when I see him at the café, I can get him to talk to me. Perhaps even to trust me. And then – well, perhaps I can persuade him to give me the notebook of his own free will.’

  Nakamura’s face creased into a sudden smile. ‘However would you get him to do that?’ he asked, with a laugh.

  Sophie’s eyes gleamed. ‘By making him believe I’m the person he’s waiting for,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I’m going to make him think that I am an agent of the Fraternitas Draconum.’

  The Summer Gardens, St Petersburg

  Sophie didn’t wait long before putting her plan into action. She didn’t want to risk a real agent of the Fraternitas appearing on the scene. She’d become increasingly certain that this plan was the best – perhaps the only – way she could get her hands on the notebook. And yet, as she walked through the leafy Summer Gardens the next afternoon, she found that her heart was bumping nervously. Although she might have talked confidently to Nakamura about her plan, the truth was she’d never done anything quite like this before.

  More than ever, she found herself wishing that Lil was here, walking by her side beneath the trees, down the long avenue of glittering fountains. Lil always made her feel capable of anything. What was more, she’d have known exactly how to trick the Count into believing that they really were Fraternitas agents. With her gift for acting, Lil would have put on a wonderful performance: but Sophie knew she did not have the same skills of charming and convincing. If she got this wrong, all the weeks she’d spent working at Rivière’s to befriend the Count would have been for nothing – and the notebook would be even further out of reach than before.

  She’d had to fall back on her own way of doing things, thinking her plan through methodically. She’d prepared carefully, taking a sizeable sum of money from the attaché case hidden under her bed, and putting it into an envelope – wondering even as she did so if it was the right sort of amount that a real Fraternitas agent would give, in return for something as important as the notebook.

  She wished she knew a little more about the organisation. When she’d been facing the Baron, she’d understood what mattered to him, and the way his mind worked. But now the Baron was dead and there was only the Fraternitas – shadowy and faceless. All she really had to go on was the meeting of its London branch she’d once spied on, which had taken place in the room above a gentleman’s club: a gathering of wealthy men, sitting around a long, polished table, talking over the crimes they were carrying out as though they were quite ordinary business matters. She didn’t know who its leaders were: all she knew was that they planned to start a war in Europe and that they would use the secret weapon to help them. That was why she had to do whatever she could to get hold of the notebook and prevent the weapon falling into their hands, she reminded herself, walking a little faster, her feet scrunching over the gravel, as she ca
me towards the Count’s favourite café.

  By now she knew the Count’s movements so well that it was easy to guess when he would be likely to visit. She’d made sure she arrived before him, and now she settled herself down at a table large enough for two. The menu offered all kinds of delectable treats – honey cake served with blackberries, cherry dumplings with sour cream, raspberry and almond cake, and even a chocolate and meringue confection which had the intriguing name of Ruins of a Count’s Castle – strangely appropriate, Sophie thought. But she ordered only tea, plus two of the pastries described on the menu as Specialities of Arnovia. The waitress looked rather astonished by the size of her appetite but brought them over just the same – two large pastries, filled with cream, chocolate and nuts, and dusted with icing sugar. While she waited for the Count, she began to nibble one of them, savouring the sweet, rich flavours. It was warm and delicious, and the perfume of chocolate reminded her suddenly of faraway Sinclair’s.

  The jangle of the bell above the door made her glance upwards. She saw that the Count had entered the café and was already shuffling towards his usual table in the darkest corner.

  ‘Hello!’ she called out, waving to him cheerfully, in spite of her heart pounding in her chest.

  The Count blinked at her in anxious astonishment for a moment – but then recognition dawned. ‘Good afternoon, mademoiselle,’ he said, rather awkwardly.

  ‘After you told me about the wonderful cakes here, I couldn’t resist coming to try them for myself,’ said Sophie, in her best conversational manner. ‘And you were quite right – they’re absolutely delicious!’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ said the Count, with a little bow. She sensed he was about to move away, but before he could do so she gestured quickly to the seat opposite her. ‘Won’t you sit with me and help me to finish them? I’m afraid I’ve ordered far too much, and it would be a terrible shame to let them go to waste.’

  The Count looked at the tempting pastries, and then at her innocent, smiling face. ‘Well . . . er . . . yes, I suppose it would,’ he acknowledged and just as she had hoped, he sat down at her table.

  The waitress brought some more tea, giving them a curious glance as she did so, no doubt thinking that the smart young shopgirl and the hunched, shabby old man made a peculiar pair. But the Count didn’t seem to notice her puzzled glance: he was too busy tucking into one of the pastries, which Sophie had pushed at once in his direction.

  She began to talk, making a few general remarks, before cautiously turning the conversation towards Arnovia, and telling him how much she missed her own home. It was easy enough – after all, it was true that she felt horribly far away from London and her friends, and here in the café, she felt it more strongly than ever. Perhaps it was because this place made her think of tea and buns at Lyons Corner House with Lil. How Lil would have enjoyed tasting honeycake with blackberries, or raspberry and almond cake!

  Gradually the Count began to talk a little more, answering her questions about Arnovia. He didn’t give much away about himself, but it was obvious to Sophie that he was lonely. He told her that he missed his dog, and took out a crumpled photograph from his pocket – a picture of a dachshund in a garden, with a girl and a boy.

  ‘Who are they?’ asked Sophie, pointing to the children – knowing very well that they were Crown Prince Alex and Princess Anna.

  ‘Oh, just some young relations,’ he said, hurriedly pocketing the photograph again.

  Sophie glanced curiously at the Count’s face. For a fleeting moment, he wore an expression of deep and endless sadness – and in spite of everything, she felt a stir of pity for him. How could she reconcile the sad and lonely old man sitting opposite her in the café with the sinister villain that she knew had conspired with the Fraternitas Draconum, plotting to kidnap the children in the photograph? She shook herself. She must not get thrown off course. She must remember who he was – and what he was capable of.

  The Count’s plate was empty now – he was looking around, as though to catch the waitress’s eye and ask for the bill.

  ‘Thank you for your company, mademoiselle. It has been most pleasant talking to you,’ he said.

  Sophie knew it was now or never. She felt a wild flutter of nerves, but forced herself to sit still in her chair.

  ‘Before you go, I must tell you that there is another reason I came here today,’ she said in a low voice. Her heart was thumping fiercely, but she kept her expression cool and calm, fixing her eyes on the Count’s face. ‘I have something I want to show you.’

  ‘Do you, my dear?’ asked the Count, looking a little confused, as if he couldn’t imagine what such a thing might be.

  Sophie took a deep breath. Then she turned up the collar of her jacket and displayed – pinned carefully underneath it – a small gold brooch in the shape of a twisting dragon.

  St Petersburg

  The effect on the Count was electric. He stared at the dragon pin as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Sophie watched him intently, her heart in her mouth.

  She’d been pleased with the idea of the pin. She’d asked Boris to make it for her, telling him it was a request from a customer – an eccentric fellow, who wished to remain anonymous, but who would pay generously in cash. She’d made sure it resembled as closely as possible the sinuous, curving shape of the dragon that was the symbol of the Fraternitas Draconum.

  Now, the Count stared and stared at it. All the colour seemed to have drained from his face. ‘No . . .’ he murmured, in a low, stunned voice. ‘You can’t be one of them. It’s not possible.’

  ‘I’m here for the notebook,’ said Sophie – trying to speak gently, but firmly. An agent of the Fraternitas would be firm, she felt sure.

  ‘I knew this day would come,’ the Count whispered, as pale and sickly as a ghost. ‘I just never thought they’d send someone like you.’

  There was a split-second pause, and then, moving faster than she had thought possible, the Count was on his feet – sending their tea glasses rattling, his chair crashing backwards on to the floor. He reached wildly for the door. He was making a run for it, Sophie realised in astonishment: but why? Had he misunderstood what she’d been trying to tell him? She was so close – she couldn’t let him get away now. Tossing a few coins on to the table to cover the bill, she leaped up and gave chase.

  Outside, the Summer Gardens were full of people taking their afternoon promenade. Sophie dodged two girls taking photographs of one another with a Box Brownie camera, darting after the Count as he ran full tilt, down the avenue of fountains. He swerved right, past a tall hedge, running desperately, but Sophie could see he was already tiring. She put on an extra burst of speed, to try and catch him up. ‘Wait!’ she called after him. ‘Where are you going? What’s the matter?’

  But her words only seemed to frighten him further. He turned blindly right – and then left – and then came to a sudden stop. He’d hit a dead end: he was standing in a small enclosed garden, surrounded by tall hedges. He turned to face her, his eyes full of fear.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked him again.

  The Count was breathless and wheezing. ‘You can have the notebook if you want it. I’ll get it for you,’ he pleaded. ‘Take it, but I beg of you – please don’t hurt me.’

  ‘Hurt you?’ Sophie stared at him incredulously. ‘But . . . why would I do that?’

  The Count gave a pained little laugh, which turned into an unpleasant cough. ‘Do you really want me to list the reasons?’ he puffed out. ‘Very well . . . Because the plan was a failure. Because I betrayed your masters. Because I didn’t go to the rendezvous I was given. Instead I ran – and hid. But you must understand, I never meant to get involved in any of this. I know nothing about your organisation – nothing at all! It was all my wife’s doing.’

  Sophie gazed back at him in disbelief. All this time she’d believed the Count was here in St Petersburg, hiding from the Arnovian authorities, waiting for his Fraternitas contact
to arrive and collect the notebook. But the truth was, he’d been hiding from the Fraternitas all along.

  ‘I have no wish to start a war,’ the Count gasped out frantically. ‘I don’t want any part of this. Take the notebook if you must, mademoiselle – whoever you really are – but I beg of you, have pity on an old man who has already lost almost everything he has.’

  The Count was shaking. He was afraid of her – terribly afraid, she realised. And no wonder: if he really had disregarded the orders of the Fraternitas and run off with their precious notebook, it wasn’t surprising he was frightened for his life.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ she said, but the Count didn’t seem to hear. He’d buried his face in his hands.

  For a moment, Sophie was at a loss. What she’d thought was a clever plan had backfired entirely. She thought quickly, seeing at once that there was nothing else for it. She’d have to do absolutely the last thing she’d planned – tell the Count the truth.

  ‘I lied to you,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m not an agent of the Fraternitas Draconum. In fact, quite the opposite. I work for the British government. I came here to St Petersburg to track you down and to get hold of the notebook, in order to prevent the Fraternitas getting the information it contains. I thought you were on their side, and I wanted to trick you into thinking I was one of their agents. But I see now I was wrong.’

  The Count lifted his head, his eyes wide. ‘How can I believe that?’ he demanded in a shaking voice.

  ‘I can prove it to you. I’ve got papers – and there’s someone who can vouch for me. Come with me, please, and I’ll show you. I promise I won’t give you away to the authorities – and perhaps I can help.’ But still the Count did not move.

  ‘You must believe me. I’m telling the truth this time,’ Sophie went on. Her voice was stronger as she realised something. ‘And I think you know it. Because if I was really from the Fraternitas . . .’