Spies in St. Petersburg

by Katherine Woodfine

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes: she must have fallen fast asleep. And really, that wasn’t so surprising. After all, the last few months of travelling across Europe, and her undercover existence in St Petersburg, had been exhausting. But now, at last, the end was in sight. The precious notebook was locked away in the safe at Rivière’s. The spyglass was almost ready: Boris had told her only that morning that he was putting the finishing touches to it, he’d managed to make it in a matter of days, ready to deliver to her mysterious ‘customer’. Very soon, it would be time for her to go home.

  The night-time house was still. She could hear the faint plashing of the canal outside, and from the next room, the low hum of voices. It must be Mitya and his friends having one of their late-night meetings. He was talking now, his voice raised, as though he was arguing with someone:

  ‘Surely this is a step too far! There are plenty of other ways we can take action,’ she heard him say.

  ‘What – printing more leaflets, you mean? Painting slogans on walls? We’ve done all that a hundred times. You know it won’t get us anywhere!’ she heard Viktor’s familiar, more forceful voice reply. ‘We ought to be honoured that our group has been chosen for a task of such importance. These orders come from a very important man – someone at the highest levels of the revolutionary movement.’

  ‘Who is he, Viktor?’ interrupted Nikolai eagerly.

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that. But he’s at the centre of everything – and now he wants us to help him. He’s noticed us and this is our chance to prove ourselves. We must show him that we’ll do whatever it takes to make real change – more than just posturing and empty words.’

  ‘Whatever it takes?’ Mitya repeated, his voice troubled. ‘Even if that means danger and violence?’

  ‘And what about the risk . . . if something went wrong . . .’ piped up another voice, one that Sophie didn’t recognise.

  ‘But that’s what working for the cause means,’ argued Viktor. ‘It means action. It means danger – and yes, it means risk. But it’s our duty to take risks, isn’t it? Revolution will not happen without them! We can’t afford to be weak any longer; we must make a show of strength. A grand gesture. Something that will make everyone see that change is coming.’

  There were murmurs of assent, as though the others in the room liked the sound of this very much indeed. But then Mitya cut in again. ‘A show of strength is all very well – but we can’t put innocent people in danger.’

  ‘Aristocrats and rich factory owners? They’re not so very innocent, if you ask me,’ snorted someone else. ‘They’re the ones living in luxury, while the workers toil all day for only a few coins – not even enough to feed their families.’

  ‘But there will be children there!’ Mitya protested. ‘That cannot be right!’

  There was another murmur, but this time the voices sounded more doubtful. Much as they liked Viktor’s stirring words, it seemed that some of the students also saw sense in what Mitya had said. But Viktor calmed them down at once. ‘You’re making too much of this, Mitya, old friend. You’re being too dramatic. There’s no intention for anyone to come to harm. This operation is simply about frightening our target – showing that we mean business, you see? He must understand he cannot continue to simply do just as he likes, without thought for the people, without consequence. He must understand that he is not safe.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Nikolai excitedly. ‘We won’t hurt anyone. But we will make them sit up and take notice of us. Come on, Mitya. You must see we have to take action.’

  ‘I have no objection to taking action,’ said Mitya gravely. ‘As long as you are certain that no one will get hurt.’

  ‘We’ll make sure of that,’ said Viktor. ‘Don’t worry. Now let’s put it to the vote.’

  There was silence for a moment, and then she heard him say in a pleased voice: ‘That’s settled then. We’ll follow our orders.’

  There was a buzz of excited discussion, and Sophie took advantage of the sudden burst of noise to get up from her chair, and creep out of the room and up the stairs. She had a feeling that Mitya and the others did not want to be overheard, not by her and certainly not by Vera and Boris – who after the run-in with the police would no doubt disapprove of this latest scheme, whatever it might be. For a moment, she wondered if she ought to say something to them – or perhaps she should talk to Mitya about it? But then she reminded herself that she was a stranger in this house, and in St Petersburg. What did she know of Russian politics? Besides, she knew Mitya was an intelligent, good-hearted fellow: she could trust him to do the right thing.

  But back in her bedroom, she found herself suddenly wakeful. Even once she’d undressed and clambered into bed she was unable to fall back to sleep. She felt suddenly wary, though she didn’t quite understand why. She was so close to doing what she’d intended all this time – taking the notebook and spyglass safely back to the Bureau. And yet lying awake in her bedroom, she felt plagued with superstitious anxiety – as though something was about to go terribly wrong.

  She found herself staring up into the darkness, thinking about the Fraternitas. Why hadn’t they come after the Count? Was it simply because they knew there was no chance of getting the notebook while it was locked away? Or could it be possible that they had already got the information it contained in some other way and that they were even now on the trail of the paintings, with a spyglass of their own? Or then again, might they be waiting for her to return home, and be poised to intercept her on the journey back across Europe – lying in wait to seize the notebook and spyglass from her, in some train carriage or hotel room?

  She rolled over and buried her head in the pillow. She was overthinking things and being silly. She’d been lucky, that was all – and now she must take advantage of it.

  She tried to lie still and listen to the sounds of the canal outside, a bird hooting in the night. She made herself think of Taylor & Rose, imagining that she was back in the office, pacing up and down, talking everything over with Lil as she always used to do. As she did so, her anxiety began to drift away, but it was very late before she at last fell into a troubled sleep.

  The Ciniselli Circus, St Petersburg

  Lil stared around her, dazzled by bright lights and the sweeping richness of velvet, giddy with the magnificent gleaming of gilt.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ said Hanna, stretching out her arms with as much pride as if she’d built the place herself.

  St Petersburg’s Ciniselli Circus was full of splendour. Immense crystal chandeliers hung from a high-domed ceiling and rings of comfortable seats, upholstered in rich crimson plush, sloped steeply upwards. At one end, high above everything else, was the Imperial box, draped extravagantly with deep-red curtains, the Imperial Eagle watching over it from above. Hanna had already pointed this out as the place the Tsar and his family would sit, when they attended the grand gala performance.

  For now though the circus was empty of spectators. There was no one here but the team of men hard at work covering the central ring with a thick layer of sawdust, raking it smooth and even. From above, they could hear the sound of hammering, and an occasional yell of ‘Up to your right!’ or ‘Try it now, Tommy!’ Lil caught glimpses of silhouetted figures high up in the rafters like shadow puppets, busily setting up ropes and pulleys, whilst a woman watched them critically from the top row of seats, her arms folded, occasionally shouting out a curt instruction in French.

  ‘That’s Madame Fleurette. The Queen of the Air herself. She always supervises the men when they’re putting up the rigging.’

  ‘I would have thought she’d leave all that to the circus hands,’ Carruthers observed.

  ‘Oh no, she must see to it herself,’ said Ravi seriously. ‘If one of those ropes was to snap – poof! She would fall and break her neck.’

  ‘But surely she isn’t going to be on the flying trapeze all the way up there – not without a safety net?’

  Ravi laughed at his astonished f
ace. ‘A safety net? This is the Circus of Marvels! We do not have safety nets here.’

  Outside, they saw that the exterior of the circus building was quite as grand as the interior, with its statues and balustrades, its arched windows and lamps. At night, Hanna said it would look even grander, all lit up with electric lights. To one side lay the sweeping blue-grey water of the Fontanka River, and here they stood for a moment, looking out at the bridges and the elegant butter-yellow mansions on the opposite bank.

  ‘St Petersburg looks almost like Paris,’ said Lil in surprise, looking at the graceful buildings with their tall, narrow windows and slate-grey roofs.

  ‘It does,’ said Carruthers, leaning on the railing. ‘But then, it’s meant to. Peter the Great designed St Petersburg to look like a European city, you know. He wanted it to be just like Paris – or Venice, or London, or Rome. People called St Petersburg his “window on Europe”.’

  Hanna was listening intently. ‘How do you know all that?’ she asked.

  Carruthers shrugged casually. ‘I’m interested in that sort of thing. History, architecture.’

  ‘You are clever,’ said Hanna. ‘I wish I knew about history.’ She pulled her coat more closely around her, her cheeks very pink in the brisk air. ‘Brr! It’s cold, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s not so surprising either,’ Carruthers informed her, with the manner of a learned professor. ‘We’re on about the same latitude as Greenland here, after all. A mere five hundred miles from the Arctic Circle.’

  Lil rolled her eyes, but Hanna only looked even more admiring. Behind Carruthers, Ravi snorted. ‘It’s too cold to stand about here talking of miles and latitudes,’ he interrupted, before Carruthers could recite any more facts. ‘Come on. I must make sure my snakes have arrived safely.’

  The others followed Ravi around to the big yard at the back of the circus building. The tall gates stood open, and a whole parade of carts and motor-lorries were crowding in, laden with the boxes and crates that had come from the train. Lil had never considered how many people would be needed to set up a travelling circus, but now she found herself watching, fascinated, as gangs of people worked busily, unloading the boxes on to trolleys and shifting them rapidly inside, like the cogs of some enormous machine.

  Across the yard, Cecil was bossily directing several circus hands carrying dress baskets, whilst a string of beautiful horses were being led carefully out of a horsebox by a team of grooms. From the largest van of all, Lil could see the elephant slowly emerging, swinging its great trunk to and fro, as it lumbered towards the large bun that its trainer was holding out to it. Max hurried past with a stack of papers, looking harried and important. Close to him, Lil caught a quick glimpse of Charlie Walters the photographer, busy setting up a big camera. At his side was a young woman who was pointing over at the horses and then to the elephant, obviously giving him directions on the pictures she wanted. It was Miss Russell: Lil ducked quickly behind Carruthers as they crossed the yard, keen to stay out of sight.

  Just ahead of them, one of the circus hands was pushing a trolley loaded with a large wooden crate. He was a broad-shouldered, hard-faced fellow, red and puffing with the effort. As he passed them, he stumbled a little, and the big crate slid forward as though it was about to slip off the trolley. But Hanna was there in an instant – catching the crate before it fell and pushing it back into position as though it contained nothing more than feathers. Lil marvelled at her strength, but the circus hand didn’t look so impressed. ‘Leave that!’ he demanded roughly.

  ‘Well, what a charming fellow,’ said Carruthers sarcastically.

  Hanna brushed off her hands on her skirt, as if she was brushing off his rudeness, as he went away with his crate, without looking at any of them. ‘Rogers, I think his name is. One of the new circus hands – not very friendly.’

  ‘Some of these men don’t like the idea that a girl could be stronger than they are,’ observed Ravi. ‘But they are nincompoops.’ Seeing the surprise on Lil’s face, he added: ‘That is the right word, isn’t it? Nincompoop? It is a very good word to say.’

  ‘Well, it’s one word for them,’ said Lil, chuckling to herself. ‘But there are lots of others I can think of.’

  ‘You’ll have to teach me some more then,’ said Ravi decidedly. ‘But now hurry up, please! I need to see my snakes. I will introduce them to you.’

  Carruthers turned a little pale at this idea, and Ravi flashed Lil another mischievous grin. She grinned back at once, although her thoughts were elsewhere. Rogers – wasn’t that the name of the man who had come into the luggage car, when she and Carruthers had been hiding in the train? She thought that crate he’d been pushing had been the one they’d hidden behind – the crate he’d opened, and that she knew was full of guns . . .

  ‘Lil! Hurry – you do not wish to miss Sam making the acquaintance of my snakes!’ Ravi called out.

  Lil hastened to catch up with the others. Ravi had led the way into one of a number of outbuildings adjoining the stables: here were an assortment of large baskets and cages, some of which were emitting a distinct hissing sound.

  ‘So . . . Lil and Sam, this is Shesha, my python,’ Ravi announced proudly, unbuckling a large basket and lifting out a simply huge snake, beautifully patterned in rich brown and black. He draped the enormous creature around his narrow shoulders as though it was one of Cecil’s feather boas. ‘He’s very clever, and he loves to perform.’

  Carruthers stared at the snake, curling itself lovingly around Ravi’s shoulders, with an expression of horrified fascination. ‘Surely a creature like that can’t possibly enjoy performing,’ he said, with a shudder. ‘Isn’t it cruel to take it into the circus ring? Shouldn’t it be free to – you know – slither off?’

  Ravi looked highly insulted. ‘My snakes are treated very well! I would never be cruel to them. They are my friends and they would choose to stay with me even if I set them free.’

  Lil thought this sounded rather unlikely, but Hanna nodded at once. ‘It’s true. The snakes do love Ravi. They do whatever he asks them.’ She stroked a hand gently over the snake’s scaly skin. ‘Besides, Fanshawe is awfully particular about how the animals are looked after. The Circus of Marvels isn’t a bit like some circuses, where they have awful things like bear fights, or tigers jumping through flaming hoops – poor things.’

  Ravi beckoned them forward and pointed to another cage, where Lil could see a dark-coloured snake, striped vivid yellow. ‘This is one of my king cobras, Vasuki. And beside him is Manasa. The king cobra is the world’s longest poisonous snake. Each can grow to as long as nineteen feet.’

  Carruthers shuddered again, and Ravi shook his head. ‘You shouldn’t make this face,’ he said, imitating Carruthers’ disgusted expression. ‘Snakes are to be admired and respected. If you don’t see that then I think you too are a nincompoop. The snake is a sacred creature: these two cobras are named for the king and queen of the snakes themselves.’

  He whispered something through the cage bars to the cobras and they hissed back, just as though they were answering him.

  Lil took advantage of Carruthers backing away from the cobras’ cage to whisper in his ear. ‘Look, I’m going to slip off and do some investigating.’

  ‘Well, make sure you’re back here in time to meet Cecil, like we agreed,’ Carruthers instructed her.

  Lil rolled her eyes. ‘That’s not important. Have you forgotten why I’m here? I’m looking for Sophie, remember.’

  ‘That may be so, but you can’t just abandon your commitments,’ said Carruthers primly. ‘Anyway, I don’t know how you think you’re going to find Miss Taylor. We don’t have the first idea where she is – if she’s still here at all. It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’ Before Lil could argue, he went on: ‘I’m going to find a post office and send the Chief a telegram to let him know where we are, and ask for his orders. He may authorise us to search for Miss Taylor since we are here, but I’m not going to do anything without his
say-so.’

  Lil glared at him. She knew quite well that there was a post office only a minute or two away from the circus: she’d been there herself already, to send a telegram back to Taylor & Rose. She knew that if Carruthers sent a telegram to the Chief then they would probably be ordered straight back to Hamburg – or even London. ‘Can’t you at least give me some time to start looking for Sophie first? The Chief won’t even have missed us yet,’ she asked him. ‘Give me another day – or two days – and then send your telegram and tell the Chief whatever you like. But you might at least give me a chance to find her!’

  Carruthers hesitated, but just then Sasha came running up – rather pink and out of breath. ‘Sam, will you come quickly, please? Max has need of you.’

  Carruthers nodded. But as he turned to follow Sasha, he glanced back at Lil. ‘You must see I can’t possibly wait,’ he said in a low voice. ‘It’s not just about what you want. Any more delay could compromise our assignment – it might even put our man in Hamburg at risk. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. I have to send the telegram, whether you like it or not.’

  Lil stared angrily after him. If the Chief sent word that they must leave at once, would she be able to disobey his direct order again? Would Carruthers let her? But there was no sense worrying about it now. There was one thing and one thing only for her to do – and that was to find Sophie.

  The House on the Ulitsa Zelenaya, St Petersburg

  At that precise moment, not far from the Ciniselli Circus, on the busy Nevksy Prospekt, Sophie was in the workshop at Rivière’s, where Boris had presented her with a small blue velvet box.

  ‘Go on – look,’ he said, his voice rumbling with pride. ‘I must admit, it wasn’t easy, especially at short notice. Those designs you gave me – most unusual! But I believe your mysterious customer will be well satisfied with this.’