“He fears everyone and everything these days, Father. Some say he is deranged. Myshkin, the Czar’s agent, is in the drawing room with him now; and their talk is full of threats and accusations.”
“In that case, Karl, you must make me a promise. You must swear on the health of your dear sister that if you have not seen me again by evening and ascertained my well-being, you will contrive to speak privately with this man, Myshkin. Then bring him to me here.”
“But if the Prince finds out…”
“Your master means to let me die here, Karl. Do you want that?”
Karl shook his head and fell to his knees before the priest. “Bless me, Father. I will do whatever you require.”
When Karl had gone, the Little Father tried the door but found that it had locked automatically on the other side. He shook it, but the stout timbers were unmoved even by his substantial strength. For a moment, he felt a sense of panic that required all his power and faith to control. The tiny low-ceilinged room was a cage, a deadly trap. But Karl had promised he would not be left there to die, and the Little Father knew he could rely on the word of the devout young man. ‘No,’ he thought, ‘I need not worry.’
The palace was quiet from his remote aerie. Stilling his impatience, he removed his coat and hat and put them on a chair. Then he lay on the narrow cot opposite the door and closed his eyes in meditation. When Oleg Romanov came, the Little Father’s powers would be ready for him.
After directing Karl to put the Little Father in the attic room, Oleg returned to his study to find Myshkin still ensconced before the fire, his patent leather boots resting familiarly on the broad marble and brass hearth. He had been interrogating him for over an hour, asking the same questions again and again.
“What did your servant want?” demanded the Czar’s inquisitive agent.
“Business affairs,” replied Oleg, aware that he sounded evasive, but unable to think of a lie that would satisfy Myshkin’s evil curiosity. Trying to appear nonchalant, he busied himself with some papers on the desk. His bandaged head throbbed and a lurid bruise extending beyond the tapes coloured his brow and cheeks a sickly yellow.
“You speak of business with a footman? The Czar’s business?” Myshkin still did not turn to confront Oleg directly. His voice alone was sufficiently threatening.
“Personal business.” He pressed hard against the bridge of his nose; as if the head wound were not bad enough, he felt one of his painful headaches blossoming between his eyes like a poisonous plant.
“I think I would like to know more about your personal business, Oleg Ivanovich. I have developed a great interest in your affairs.”
Exasperated, Oleg flung down the papers he held twisted in his hand. He was determined not to be intimidated by the Czar’s policeman for he knew a show of weakness now might prove fatal for him. Though his life was in chaos, Oleg believed he could still overcome the obstacles set in his way by Katia, Myshkin, Elizabeth, Alexei. By everyone. More and more it seemed to Oleg that everyone was against him, everyone from Elizabeth to the Czar himself was trying to ruin him. But—inwardly Oleg grinned smugly—he would have the final word.
“I am no longer sure you speak for Czar Nicholas,” he said to Myshkin, seizing the offensive. “I think in this matter you pursue your own interests while hiding behind the mantle of Imperial protection. I think you are afraid, Myshkin.”
Myshkin, supremely confident, shrugged and smiled, revealing twin rows of gold teeth. “I don’t care what you think, Prince Oleg. So, please, save us both valuable time by answering my questions directly and as honestly as possible. Without editorial comment. Who is this Katiana Danova?”
“You know already. She is my ward.”
Myshkin laughed without humour.
“Katiana’s aunt was lady-in-waiting to my mother. They were, in point of fact, friends despite the difference in their stations. Perhaps that means nothing to you, Myshkin; but among Romanovs, friendship is a powerful and long-lasting bond. I agreed to help the orphaned girl get a start socially here in St. Petersburg. She was well bred and decently educated, but she had little money and no friends to speak of. I need not tell a man of your social class how difficult life can be for such a young woman.”
Myshkin ignored Oleg’s insult. “How touching. And in return for this generous help, she tried to murder you.” Myshkin shook his head and feigned a look of sorrow and surprise. “The ingratitude of young girls is quite distressing. Is it not, Prince Oleg?”
“I told you a moment ago that it was Alexei Romanov who struck me as I was trying to revive my bodyguard. Do you think a slip of a girl could hurt me?”
Myshkin again shook his head. “One hears such curiously contradicting stories.”
“I can’t help what lies my wife has told you!” Damn Elizabeth. May her soul rot in hell! What had she revealed?
“You want me to believe that Alexei Romanov, en route to Western Europe on the Czar’s business, took time to come here, surprise you, and then tried to murder you and your bodyguard? Why would he do such a thing? What was his motive?”
The golden teeth gleamed in Myshkin’s red mouth; and Oleg hated him with a passion that, for an instant, threatened to overtake his good sense. In the pause that followed the question, Oleg imagined him dead by a dozen different bloody means.
“I’ve told you, it was the girl. He came here to get her. They were carrying on behind my back. I’ve told you all this dozens of times before, Myshkin. Have you nothing better to do than make me repeat myself all day?” Oleg was very cold. A chill from the cracks of the Pole seemed to have invaded the room. He backed away from Myshkin toward the fireplace as he spoke. Oleg didn’t care if it seemed as if he were retreating. He was too uncomfortable to care about anything except some way to get rid of Myshkin and restore his own good name before it was too late. He was exhausted from lack of sleep, and the wound beneath his head bandage sent knives of pain through his system whenever he moved. He felt himself dangerously near to losing control as he began to speak of Katia.
“She was a…whore. A strumpet. But she and that aunt of hers were cunning. Oh yes! They hid the truth so carefully. I was completely taken in from the beginning. I saved her life not once, but twice.” Oleg held up two long pale fingers. “Is it any wonder I become disturbed when speaking about a girl who took advantage of me, and brought shame on my whole family?”
Myshkin, holding his hand to his lips as if to suppress a small yawn, said, “Please, Highness. You are about to repeat yourself. Let us move on to something else. Tell me, why it is that Prince Alexei did not carry this Mademoiselle Katiana away with him if he was willing to murder for her? My spies tell me he crossed the provincial border alone but for his bodyguard, the yantchiki, and outriders.” Myshkin stood and continued to speak without giving Oleg a chance to answer. “Prince, I will be frank with you. There are many, too many, peculiar inconsistencies—evasions even—in your otherwise amusing story. These trouble me in light of the fact that Princess Elizabeth has spoken quite candidly to me. She shows none of your reluctance. She says that you and Katiana Danova were lovers. Ardent lovers. She has also intimated that Katiana might not be the only young woman…”
“If you’re interested in what goes on in bedrooms, Myshkin, you will find plenty to occupy you all over this city. Since when is it illegal…?”
“Princess Elizabeth has made me think that your tastes were quite specialized and demanding, Prince Oleg.”
“And you believe her? If you do, you are the fool in this game!” With the mention of Elizabeth’s name, Oleg felt himself growing more confident. “She hates me, Myshkin. She hates all men though she can disguise the fact when it suits her needs. She uses men; and she has become quite adept at pretending her womanliness. She even fooled you!” Oleg laughed and leaned against the mantle easily. The room seemed warmer now, and he knew everything was going to work out perfectly. He no longer doubted that he could put Myshkin off the track, even derail him permanently
.
“Look here, Myshkin,” he said confidentially, “I don’t know what lies my wife told you; and, frankly, I don’t wish to know. This is a dirty game she’s playing with you. And I think it only fair that I should tell you what you do not know about Princess Elizabeth. There are some things she would never reveal to you.” He lowered his voice. “The woman’s mind is gone, Myshkin. Syphilis. Look closely next time you are with her, and you will be able to see that her elegance is merely a facade to conceal what is rotten and putrid in her.” Myshkin raised his eyebrows doubtfully, but Oleg didn’t pause to let him voice his uncertainty. He knew he could convince the Czar’s agent of Elizabeth’s corruption. In a little while, everything would be alright. “You think I’m lying, slandering her. But on my honour as a Russian gentleman, I assure you that what I say is true. She dreams up filthy stories to entertain herself at our expense. To all the world I know she appears to be an exemplary wife, a woman of stature in the Court and so on. But I cannot tell you how I have struggled, to what lengths I have gone, to keep her madness a secret from the rest of St. Petersburg. Although she keeps her love affairs, her bits of nastiness with scullery maids and dressmaker’s assistants, very private, her perverse amours have caused me more pain than I can tell you. Why don’t you ask her about them? Ask her to tell you about the time I found three of them in her bed, all slathering between one another’s legs like…”
Myshkin raised his hand and said coolly, “Enough. Supposing that all you say is true, Prince Oleg, my original question still remains unanswered. Where is Katiana Danova now? It would appear that only she can shed light upon this situation.”
“Just because you didn’t see her with Alexei Romanov does not mean she was not with him. My cousin is cunning, Myshkin. Perhaps he hid her or even disguised her as a man.”
“And the aunt? Alexei could not have concealed her so easily. Where is the aunt, Natasha Filippovna Kalino?”
Oleg didn’t know for certain where Nikki was, but he had an idea. There was an old memory nagging at the back of his mind; and now, as if to verify his supposition, this Khlysty priest had appeared out of nowhere. “I don’t know where she is,” he told Myshkin. “She could be dead for all I know.”
Oleg glanced at the clock near the door. Its rococco face indicated the time was late afternoon. The Little Father had been waiting a long time in the attic room; but he was securely held by the heavy door and, impatient or not, he would have to await Oleg’s pleasure.
Pleasure! Oleg wondered if he would ever feel it again. The last few weeks with Katia had been increasingly difficult for him. Looking back, he thought she had been a kind of poison his system had taken months to reject. But he was sure he was free of her intoxicating spell now and could do what had to be done. But if Myshkin found her before he did, his career and good name were ruined forever. He thought again of the Little Father who awaited him at the top of the palace. How much did he know?
Damn Katia! Since she came into his life there had been nothing but trouble for him. The sooner she were disposed of, the more easily he would breathe. Oleg had supreme confidence in his ability to outwit Myshkin, his wife, even the Czar himself. But to do this, he must dispose of the evidence against him. Katia would have to be either dead or delivered into Annjanette’s hands before he would be safe from her.
“You are deep in thought, Oleg Romanov,” commented Myshkin, who had been watching him all the while these thoughts filled his mind. “Summon your servants for me. I wish to question them. In the meantime, you may go on about your business. I will not trouble you further with my questions. Not at the moment.” Myshkin strode across the room. At the far door, he turned. He was smiling again, and despite his confidence, the sight of his golden teeth sent a spasm of dread through Oleg. “I trust you will not exert yourself by leaving St. Petersburg, Your Highness. A blow to the head by one as strong as Alexei Romanov is no small matter. And I hope you will call a physician. Frankly, I am surprised you are not dead from such a blow. Whoever hit you did not mean for you to rise again. I find that interesting Oleg, very interesting.”
Chapter Thirty-four
Oleg waited until he was sure Myshkin had begun to question the servants. Then he locked the study door on the inside and went to the sideboard where he poured himself the large crystal tumbler of vodka he had been craving throughout the interrogation. He drank it quickly and then poured another.
‘Let Elizabeth see how she enjoys Myshkin’s company for a change,’ he thought bitterly. He had given the Czar’s agent enough lies and half-truths to keep him busy and Elizabeth in torment for the rest of the day. By the time he had finished with the servants and questioned her again, Oleg would be finished with the priest and Katia forever.
He drank a third vodka and wiped the back of his hand across his parched mouth. He reached behind the green velour drapes for a panel that concealed a stairway to the top of the palace. The narrow way was dusty from long disuse and many of the steps had fallen into disrepair making it dangerous going with only a single candle for light. The hidden way had been constructed in his father’s years, and from time to time Oleg had taken advantage of it and the high closet room to which it gave access. Up he climbed until the narrow steps dead-ended at what seemed to be a blank wall. He pressed a panel to the right, and the wall opened into the corridor directly outside the high garret room in which the Little Father had been made to wait.
Oleg brushed the dust and cobwebs from his clothing, then lifted the bolt that locked the room.
He expected to find the priest waiting in agitation and fear. Oleg’s temper immediately rose when he noted that the cot had been slept on. And, in spite of himself,' he was unnerved by the priest’s unexpected stature. The Little Father managed to make Oleg feel small and even vulnerable in his own home, his own death cell. He recovered his composure quickly, however.
“I am a busy man, Father. What did you come to tell me?”
The Little Father was distressed though he knew how to disguise his emotions well enough to mislead and disturb Oleg. He did not know how much time had passed since Karl had left him in the garret, but he had lain on the bed and watched the sky lose its midday brilliance. He had begun to wonder if Karl would keep his bargain to send Myshkin. And if he did not? The Little Father was not afraid of death, but the idea of dying slowly of starvation and thirst in the top of the Romanov Palace was not a pleasant thought. Finally, to still his worried mind, he had entered into a deep meditative trance. He became aware of Oleg only seconds before he opened the door to the room. In another few moments his perceptive gaze had taken in Oleg’s too-flushed cheeks, his bright eyes and trembling hands.
“I am most honoured to be received by you, Prince,” said the priest, bowing slightly. There was just the hint of insolence in his manner.
“Alright. What do you want?”
“I come with news of one we both care for.” The men were standing face to face, but Oleg would not meet the Little Father’s penetrating gaze. “Katiana is well and so is the child, Mary.”
“And so what is this to me? I repeat, man; I am busy and have not time for your games. Did you expect me to rejoice at your information, or have you come with hope of money? Are you a blackmailer, Little Father?” Oleg’s voice was barbed; his stance aggressive and confident. Nevertheless, he still could not look the Little Father directly in the eye, but let his gaze continually move about the small room restlessly. The Khlysty priest was curiously intimidating, not the greedy simpleton Oleg had expected.
The Prince’s agitation made the Little Father especially wary. Katia had called Oleg a madman, and at the time the priest had been inclined to disbelief; he thought she must be exaggerating. Now he realized that all she had said of his state of mind was true. Oleg Romanov was mad and dangerous as a bear cornered at the threshold of its lair.
“Since you ask me directly, Your Highness, I am not a blackmailer. I am a simple man of God with some knowledge of human frailty.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I have heard a rather sordid story from Mademoiselle Katiana, a story I would not believe except that she so clearly bears the scars of her experiences since leaving the convent. Please,” the Little Father raised his hand to stop Oleg’s interruption, “I know you think the worst of me, but I am too accustomed to being misunderstood to be disturbed by your attitude. Only hear me out, Prince Oleg. That is all I ask.”
“And you ask too much!” flared the Prince. For an instant their eyes did meet, then Oleg glanced away nervously. His palms were sweaty and the pulse over his eye was throbbing painfully beside the wound dealt him by Katia. “A Romanov is not a man to be played with, made a fool…” The priest’s eyes glowed unnervingly.
The Little Father interrupted. His voice was soft, caressing. Oleg looked back at him in surprise, and this time he did not look away but was held by the priest’s charismatic gaze. “I know many things, my son. I know how Myshkin has done his best to undercut your influence with the Czar. I know how Katia rejected your kindest offers and almost forced you to deal harshly with her. I know the pain you suffer now. I know all of this, and I have come to you today with the help that only God can bring. Through me you can put an end to Myshkin’s chicanery and ingratiate yourself with Nicholas.”
“You’re a heretic! A Khlysty priest! What good…?”
“Only present me to Nicholas and his family and I will change the reputation of the Khlysty priesthood for all time.” He stared deep into Oleg’s pale blue eyes, searching for the spark of soul he knew must be there. No man could be so evil, so coldly cruel and single-minded as Oleg seemed. “I have great powers, Oleg Romanov. Czar Nicholas will bless you and honor your name for sending me to him.”
The Frost And The Flame Page 31