by Jasper Kent
‘They’ve arrested Zhelyabov.’ Sofia Lvovna blurted out the words quickly, as though it might make them less true.
Mihail eyed the room, judging the reaction of each person in there. Kibalchich, as ever, seemed distant. He would be thinking about the implications of the news, but would not show it on his face. Frolenko threw his hands up to the sides of his head and turned away, as if covering his ears to prevent Sofia’s words from penetrating. Rysakov opened and closed his lips rapidly but silently. A few others emitted groans. Not everyone was there. Some were at the cheese shop, others had not been able to make the meeting. He was not surprised by Dusya’s absence. Last time he had seen her she had looked pale and cold, a scarf wrapped around her neck even indoors. She would have been wise to stay in bed. There had been no urgent reason for any of them to be here. This was no emergency response to events, simply a regular status report. But events had overtaken it.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Rysakov.
Sofia’s eyes flared at him. ‘Of course I’m all right,’ she spat.
‘Where’s Shklovskiy?’ asked Frolenko.
‘I wish I knew,’ said Sofia.
‘So what happened?’ It was Kibalchich who asked this most obvious of questions.
Sofia shrugged. ‘We left our apartment together and took a droshky. We got off at the Imperial Library. He noticed another cab pull up and three men got out. It was obvious they were ohraniki. We weren’t too worried, once we knew they were there. We’d been planning to split up anyway, so he kissed me goodbye and I went on my way. One of them stuck with me and I presume the other two tailed him. I was meant to be going to the shop, but I changed my route completely; headed out towards the Haymarket and then doubled back along the canal. By the time I got to Nevsky Prospekt I’d lost him. I’ve no doubt Andrei managed to lose his two as well.’
‘They wouldn’t have stood a chance,’ interjected Frolenko.
Sofia nodded and gave the tiniest of smiles. Whatever she might claim, the arrest of her lover had affected her deeply. She managed to continue. ‘From what I heard later, that must be how it was; I knew he was planning to visit Trigoni and he would never have gone there with an ohranik on his heels.’
‘Trigoni?’ exclaimed Kibalchich. ‘He’s supposed to be in Odessa.’
‘He was,’ said Sofia, ‘but we’ve been calling everyone back to the capital. We need every pair of hands we can find. Trigoni’s been here for a few weeks. I knew Andrei was going to see him, so when he didn’t come back I went down to Trigoni’s apartment. It was obvious from the buzz that there’d been arrests even before I got there. I asked a few of the neighbours I knew. It wasn’t Andrei’s fault; it was Trigoni’s. The place was under surveillance – ohraniki disguised as workmen. Seeing the two of them together was too good an opportunity for the bastards to miss. They took them both.’
‘Will he talk?’ asked Mihailov.
‘Not quickly,’ replied Sofia. She looked up, sensing the scepticism in the room. ‘I truly believe that,’ she said.
‘Me too,’ said Kibalchich. ‘He’s a strong man.’
‘What about Trigoni?’ asked Mihail.
‘He doesn’t know much,’ explained Sofia. ‘Certainly not about the shop.’
‘But they’ll put two and two together,’ Kibalchich continued. ‘They’ve seen Zhelyabov with you and you with me and the rest of it. They’ll soon link one of us to the cheese shop.’
‘They must know already,’ said Frolenko.
‘They’d have made a move,’ Sofia replied.
‘Just because they know we use it, doesn’t mean they know what for,’ suggested Mihail. ‘They can’t guess what we have down there.’
‘Maybe someone’s told them to hold back,’ said Rysakov, ‘wait till they can catch us red-handed.’
‘Someone?’ asked Mihail.
‘If they think that, they’re fools,’ said Sofia.
‘Why?’ asked Mihailov.
‘Because the tsar will die on Sunday.’
‘This Sunday?’
‘The day after tomorrow,’ said Sofia. ‘1 March.’
‘We’re sure where he’ll be?’ asked Mihail.
Sofia explained. ‘Every Sunday, when he’s at home, Aleksandr leaves the Winter Palace and goes by coach to watch the changing of the guard at the Manège. The ceremony begins at one in the afternoon and lasts approximately forty minutes. He then returns. On his return journey he travels along Italyanskaya Street and then turns into Malaya Sadovaya in order to cut across to Nevsky Prospekt. His carriage won’t have picked up much speed when it passes over the mine.’
‘That’s certain?’ Mihail pressed.
‘We didn’t choose the place by accident. We’ve been watching his movements for months.’
‘Are we ready?’ asked Frolenko.
Sofia turned her head towards Kibalchich. ‘Nikolai?’ she asked.
Kibalchich shrugged and forwarded the question. ‘Mihail?’
‘I’d say so,’ replied Mihail. ‘The tunnel’s complete. We just need to place the dynamite.’
‘I can work overnight to get the rest of the explosives ready,’ said Kibalchich.
‘We’ve got more than enough,’ replied Mihail.
Kibalchich winked. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
‘That’s settled then,’ said Sofia. ‘Mihail, you go—’
‘What does Chairman Shklovskiy have to say on this?’ interrupted Rysakov.
Sofia glared at him. ‘If he were here we could ask him. In the meantime, I’m in charge.’ Rysakov said no more. Sofia resumed what she had been saying. ‘Lukin! Frolenko! Go to the shop and start laying what explosives you have. Kibalchich, take Rysakov to Telezhnaya Street and finish your work.’
‘I don’t need help,’ snapped Kibalchich.
‘I don’t care. From now till Sunday everyone remains in the company of at least one other comrade. That way we can be sure what’s going on.’
There was no further protest and Mihail set off with Frolenko to begin their work. Sofia’s message was clear but unspoken. From now on they could trust no one – not even each other. Mihail couldn’t help but fear her suspicion was directed at him.
Iuda had fed again and felt all the better for it – better in that his body was now strong, but better also to know that he was no longer reliant on the help of Dusya. He’d also procured a change of clothes. It was odd to choose a victim on the basis not of the quality of the blood, nor of the pain he might inflict on them and their loved ones, but merely because of the skill of the man’s tailor and his proximity in build to Iuda.
Now, though, he was at a turning point. Zmyeevich had defeated him – almost killed him – and all because of a failing in what Iuda regarded as his greatest asset: his knowledge. He had never carried out an experiment which demonstrated that a vampire could withstand light, never heard tell of it, and yet now he had seen it with his own eyes. What else might Zmyeevich be capable of that made him greater than the common voordalak – greater than Iuda? Iuda was not fool enough to do anything but fear Zmyeevich more for what he had discovered, but to what would that fear lead? Would he make himself safe from Zmyeevich by putting as much distance between them as possible? Or would he make himself safe by destroying Zmyeevich once and for all?
However powerful he might be – whatever further abilities he had acquired that Iuda could not even guess at – here in Russia Zmyeevich was at his weakest. He was far away from his Carpathian homeland, with only one ally at his side. He was in a city run by a family sworn his enemy for a hundred and seventy years. If Zmyeevich could be defeated then surely it was here and now in Saint Petersburg.
But that one word nagged at him. If.
A cool breeze blew past, ruffling his hair. He was familiar with it – the opening of the manhole leading up to Saint Isaac’s Square made the cold winter air blow down into the sewer. It meant that Dusya was returning. Would she have something to tell him, or was she just here because she wa
nted to be near him? She was quickly becoming tiresome.
He heard the cover close and the sound of her feet on the iron staircase. It was only when the footsteps began to move across the flat stonework that he realized they belonged to an individual far heavier than Dusya, and with a longer stride. Simply from what he could hear, Iuda took a guess at who it might be that had come to pay him a visit. When he turned to look, he was proved right.
It was Dmitry.
CHAPTER XXIII
‘NO ARMY TO assist you this time, mitka?’
‘An army couldn’t help me,’ Dmitry replied. He looked Iuda up and down. He had been anticipating this moment for weeks, ever since he had understood that it was Iuda who had caused Raisa’s death. There had been one opportunity for Dmitry to be avenged, but some part of his mind had held him back – he knew now it was Zmyeevich’s power over him. One part of Dmitry’s mind, that fragment of Raisa that still lingered, wanted Iuda dead – craved it like he sometimes craved blood. That part hated Iuda, but Dmitry did not. A greater part, Zmyeevich, needed him alive – or at least had done for a while. Now Zmyeevich was at best indifferent. At Saint Isaac’s he had been toying with Iuda. He would kill him if the opportunity arose, but he did not require Dmitry to do it. The worst of it was that Dmitry’s own mind was an irrelevance. The desire for vengeance was the more noble cause – if nobility had any meaning for a vampire – but it still made Dmitry the proxy for another’s wishes. To be ruled by Raisa was no better than being ruled by Zmyeevich. Dmitry needed to be free, to act from his own desires, and only one man could advise him how. Vengeance would have to wait.
Dmitry’s former mentor appeared his usual self; calm and strong. His surroundings were not the most salubrious, but a voordalak did not always have the choice. ‘You look well,’ Dmitry continued. ‘Zmyeevich told me you were dead. He lied to me.’ It was not the only lie his master had told.
‘Not a lie, I think,’ said Iuda. ‘An exaggeration born of his optimistic nature. It was a very close thing. How did you find me?’ He moved to the new topic without pause for breath.
‘Sofia Lvovna is suspicious of everyone and has them followed. She reported that Dusya was spending her time here. Only I could guess why.’
‘You knew about Dusya and me?’
‘I had my suspicions. She and Luka – you and Luka. One only had to complete the triangle.’
‘You came alone?’ asked Iuda.
‘Zmyeevich doesn’t know I’m here.’ It was probably true. Dmitry was making a great effort to exclude any intrusion into his mind.
‘Why should I believe that?’
‘Believe what you will.’
‘So why have you come?’
Dmitry leaned back against the hard brick wall of the sewer and slid down to the ground, his hands covering his face. He breathed deeply and tried to work out what he had come to say. It was hard to know how to begin. The best he could come up with was ‘I miss you, Vasya.’ It had always been true, even while he had hated him.
Iuda laughed. ‘Don’t be an ass, Mitka. You’re not capable of it.’
Dmitry looked up. ‘I miss having someone who seemed to know the answers. I miss having someone I trusted.’
‘You have Zmyeevich.’
‘I can’t trust him. As you say, we’re incapable of it. Now I know that it’s a wise state to be in. It saves us from being tricked – being treated like a prostak.’
‘Can I take it that the great Count Dracula has duped you in some way?’ Iuda sounded delighted, as well he might.
‘That’s what I’ve come to you to find out.’
‘And you trust me.’
‘I trust that you know more about vampires than anyone on the planet.’
‘Tell me what you want to know then.’
Dmitry breathed deeply and then began. ‘A few nights ago a man came to speak to me. His name’s Lukin.’
‘Mihail Konstantinovich?’
Dmitry nodded. ‘You remember him. He was at Geok Tepe. A remarkable man.’
‘Really? How so?’
‘Anyone who can steal from you must have a certain distinction. He’s seen your journals – or says he has.’
‘Says he has?’ asked Iuda cautiously.
‘That’s what I want you to confirm – or, please God, deny if you can.’
‘What?’
‘I know what happens when a vampire and a human exchange blood – obviously I do.’ Dmitry paused, hardly able to bring himself to speak of what he had done. ‘But what if two vampires were to do the same – to exchange their moribund blood?’
Iuda smirked. ‘But what vampires would do such a thing? The very concept would be repugnant to them.’
‘Not so repugnant to deter you from carrying out experiments on it,’ shouted Dmitry, deflecting attention from his own foul behaviour on to the fouler things that Iuda had done to dozens of their brethren.
‘Knowledge must be advanced.’
‘Just tell me what would happen.’
‘To begin with,’ Iuda explained, ‘the effect would be much the same as between human and voordalak: a sharing of minds. The difference of course is that there would be no bodily change of one – the human – into the form of the other. Instead a mental transformation takes place. The mind of one would be subject to the will of the other and those parts of it that were no longer used – replaced by the other’s mind – would wither, like an unused limb.’
It was much as Mihail had said. Dmitry had not doubted it. ‘Which mind would wither?’
‘The weaker, of course. The most notable case I have seen in vivo is with Zmyeevich and his Wallachian cohorts. Through exchanging blood with him they became little more than animals, useful only to do his bidding. Those that he sent to Russia with me were typical specimens. I’m sure Lyosha described them to you.’
He knew – or at least he guessed. And why shouldn’t he? Why would Dmitry be asking if the circumstances did not apply to him.
‘Is this what Lukin told you?’ Iuda asked.
‘Pretty much.’
‘Then the man is a genius – or he has read the work of a genius, which is more likely.’
‘Can the process be reversed?’ asked Dmitry.
Iuda shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. But it can be halted. Complete separation of the two vampires involved – if it has not gone too far.’
‘Too far?’
‘There comes a point where the weaker voordalak has lost his will sufficiently that he is beyond hope. However much he resists, the stronger can put into his mind the desire to return and exchange blood once again. It’s a vicious circle. I’ve known vampires so far gone that they attempt to claw their way through rock to get back to their master.’
‘I see.’
There was a long pause. Dmitry stared at the ground, but he could feel Iuda’s eyes bearing down upon him.
‘For what it’s worth, Mitka, I think you still have a chance.’
It was worth nothing, but why would Iuda lie about it? Did he even need a reason?
‘Now tell me about this Lukin,’ said Iuda briskly. ‘What’s he after?’
Dmitry swallowed. He did not want to tell Iuda the whole truth – that Lukin was his nephew, Aleksei’s grandson. Iuda might discover it soon enough for himself, but it gave Dmitry some last vestige of defiance to keep the secret for now. Besides, the boy had far more illustrious antecedents than that. He laughed weakly before replying. ‘You’ll never guess it, Vasya, but he’s a Romanov – the bastard son of Konstantin Nikolayevich.’ Iuda’s laughter was more hearty. ‘You’re sure?’
Dmitry could not help but smile. ‘Zmyeevich is – he can tell, of course.’
‘He can?’
‘In this case at least. Lukin drank some of Zmyeevich’s own blood, right in front of us. So Aleksandr Aleksandrovich is safe from Zmyeevich, and he couldn’t do anything – if he killed Lukin, the whole lot of them would be free.’
Iuda seemed intrigued. ‘Indeed they
would. When did this happen?’
‘Wednesday,’ said Dmitry.
‘Two days ago,’ mused Iuda. ‘I take it you’re not going back to Zmyeevich.’
‘No.’ Why not, just for a little longer? ‘No,’ he added more firmly.
‘And what about Zmyeevich himself, will he stay in Petersburg?’
‘Why should he? There’s nothing he can do to the Romanovs now until Aleksandr Aleksandrovich dies and Nikolai Aleksandrovich becomes Nikolai II.’
‘You speak as though the current tsar were already dead.’
Dmitry managed a laugh. ‘He’s as good as. You know what’s going on.’
Iuda nodded. ‘That though was not the only thing that brought Zmyeevich to the capital.’
‘Ascalon, you mean?’
Iuda said nothing.
‘It’s gone,’ said Dmitry. ‘If it was ever there.’
‘It was there.’ Iuda seemed confident.
‘You found it?’
‘Long ago.’
‘And where is it now?’
Iuda emitted a mournful sigh and then began to speak in English:
‘This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this …’
Iuda came to a halt, gazing wistfully into nothingness, but Dmitry completed his words.
‘England?’ he said. He might have guessed simply from the language that Iuda had spoken, but he had taught himself English over the years, and what better way to learn it than by reading Shakespeare? ‘That’s where you’ve taken it?’