The Last Rite (Danilov Quintet 5)

by Jasper Kent

  ‘I don’t know. But when she was sitting here, waiting, it was almost as if she was toying with me. As if she knew how afraid I was, and the only reason she didn’t kill me was to prolong the pleasure she got from that.’

  It didn’t sound unlikely from what I knew of the behaviour of vampires. ‘You seem very certain of what she is,’ I said.

  ‘I was, when she was here. But it was just a feeling. You’re right; we have to be sure. It’s not your fault the power workers are on strike.’

  We went to bed. I locked the door and put a chair up against it. Then I locked the window shutters too, remembering how easily Dmitry and his friends had climbed the walls of the Singer building – how Anastasia might do the same. I held my cane in one hand and pulled Nadya close to me with the other. I tried not to fall asleep, but I did.

  I was awakened by a bright light. It took me a moment to realize what it was: the single bulb that hung from the centre of the ceiling. The power had come back on, and I’d deliberately left the light on so that I’d know when it did. I looked at the clock. It was almost half past three in the morning. The cane was still held loosely in my hand. I got up. Nadya was already half awake from the light and as I moved she raised her head to look at me.

  ‘I’m going down to deal with her,’ I said.

  ‘I’m coming with you.’

  There was no point in me trying to forbid her. I removed the chair from the door and unlocked it. I could have turned on the stair light, but that might have given Anastasia warning of our approach. Instead I lit a candle. Polkan tried to come with us, but I shut him in the room. As we went downstairs I felt Nadya close at my back. It wasn’t long before we reached the door of Anastasia’s room. I decided I wasn’t going to take any risks. I could have knocked on the door, or called to her, or simply turned on the regular light to see if she was there, but any of them would have given her the chance to escape, or worse, to counterattack. My plan was simply to move the switch and activate the Yablochkov Candles. And then we would know.

  I softly turned the door handle and pushed. There was the tiniest squeak of the hinges, but I doubted it could wake anyone. I only needed to open the door far enough to reach in and operate the switch. I could see it behind the chest of drawers, the brass glinting in the candlelight. I reached forward, at every moment expecting to feel the steely grip of her hand on my forearm, dragging me away from my goal and into the room to the horrible fate that awaited me. I had to turn my head away to extend my arm to its full length. I tried to picture the exact position of the switch, knowing that if I touched the wrong part of it I would feel the shock of the current flowing through my hand. At last my fingers felt the insulated rubber tip. I moved my thumb beneath the wooden base of the switch and squeezed, pulling the lever down against the contact.

  The pause as the arcs formed – a mere fraction of a second – was just perceptible and then the room was flooded with light. I stood and flung the door wide open, stepping inside the room, all fear lost now that it was filled with the brilliant illumination. All, that is, but the fear of embarrassment. If Anastasia were not a vampire, merely the unfortunate girl that she appeared to be, then this sudden interruption of her night’s sleep would require some explanation. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the new brightness, but when they did they brought only a sense of disappointment.

  The room was empty. Anastasia was not there. I maintained the briefest hope that the light might have destroyed her so quickly and so utterly that all remains of her had vanished, but it was an unconvincing idea. There would have been some noise. There would be marks of burning at the place she had been; on the bed or on the carpet. And that particular smell – unpleasant in its character but delightful in its association – would hang in the air. I could still remember from when I had killed Iuda, and the vampire we had experimented on before that.

  ‘It was never that likely she’d be here,’ I said. ‘At this time of night, she’ll have better things to do.’

  ‘It makes you wonder why she needs to come here at all,’ said Nadya. It was a question that had already occurred to me.

  We sat in the bright light until dawn, just in case she came back and we would somehow be able to trick her into the room, but there was no sign of her.

  I spent the first part of the Thursday morning rigging up a new set of lights in Anastasia’s room, just the same as I had done before. If I had time I’d be able to repair the ones we had used the previous night, so that they could be switched on again, but for now I still had enough in the box. I kept two back, just in case things went wrong again, but next time I promised myself I would be more certain that Anastasia was there before I threw the switch. We did one other thing. Together Nadya and I carried down the mirror from her dressing table and put it on the table in Anastasia’s room. It was hinged into three sections, like a triptych. We angled it so that from the door reflections of most of the room would be visible. It would be an additional way for us to determine her nature. Then there was nothing more to be done, not until nightfall – and neither was there any danger. I once again went to the Tavricheskiy Palace.

  ‘I never trusted Kerensky.’ Those were Nekrasov’s first words to me when I arrived. It seemed like the wisdom of hindsight – I’d never known him express any doubts about his colleague in the past.

  ‘What’s he done?’ I asked.

  Nekrasov glanced around then took me to a corner of the room. ‘He accepted a ministry – Ministry of Justice.’

  It was a simple enough statement, but there were half a dozen reasons why it made no sense whatsoever. ‘Nikolai’s appointing ministers?’ I asked.

  Nekrasov scowled and shook his head. ‘His Majesty’s in no position to appoint anyone. I’m talking about the government after he’s gone.’

  That only raised further questions. ‘With Kerensky as a minister. So the Soviet is trying to form a government?’

  ‘No, that’s the thing. The Soviet’s promised to give us its support – just as long as whatever we do “corresponds to the interests of the proletariat”, whatever that means.’

  I had a good idea what it meant – they’d support it until they felt strong enough to take power for themselves. ‘Kerensky’s just hedging his bets,’ I said.

  ‘That’s how I see it. He’s told the Soviet it’s the only way he can ensure the release of politicals, and they seem to have bought it.’

  ‘And who’s in charge? Milyukov?’

  Nekrasov shook his head. ‘He’s the real power broker, but he knows the Soviet would never stand for him being in command, and he had to make sure Kerensky didn’t get the job.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Our new Prime Minister is Georgy Yevgenyevich Lvov.’

  I clicked my tongue. It was a surprise, and a gamble. Lvov was a fair man and had more chance than anyone of doing what was right by all the people of Russia. But he was no politician – he was too honest. Men like Kerensky and Milyukov would run rings around him.

  But there was something else Nekrasov had said which concerned me. ‘“Is”?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘“Will be”, if you insist. But it won’t be long. Rodzianko has been on the Hughes Telegraph all night talking to General Ruzsky.’

  ‘Ruzsky’s with Nikolai?’

  ‘They’re stuck on the imperial train, somewhere near Pskov. It sounds as though Rodzianko’s convinced Ruzsky that Nikolai’s got to go, but it’s a question of whether Ruzsky can persuade the tsar himself.’

  ‘If everything that’s happened can’t persuade him I doubt a solitary general will be able to do much.’

  ‘From what I hear, everyone’s giving him the same message. There are telegrams arriving from generals all across the Front.’

  I breathed deeply. It was hard to take in. Nekrasov was younger than me, but even for him the idea would be difficult to get used to. I said it out loud. ‘And so soon Russia will have no tsar.’

  ‘Well, there’ll be a tsar – Aleksei
II – but he won’t have any power. Even so, not much fun for a boy of twelve.’

  ‘I can’t see the Soviet standing for a constitutional monarchy.’

  ‘They don’t think it’s worth the battle. It’s only a provisional government, until there can be elections. That’s when they’ll decide on a constitution.’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘Before the year’s out – though Christ knows if Aleksei will last that long.’

  It was an unnecessarily harsh thing to say about the boy, but that didn’t make it any less true. I’d never heard the specifics, but we’d all noticed how carefully the tsarevich was treated by his family, how they protected him from anything that might injure him. The tsarevich had some horrible disease whose details were kept hidden from his people. Many who knew more than I were surprised he’d lived as long as he had. But even if Aleksei did die, there would still be a tsar. He might not have any brothers, but there would always be someone, however distantly related. That was how dynasties worked.

  ‘What did you get, by the way?’ I asked. ‘In the cabinet?’

  Nekrasov’s lip curled slightly. ‘Transport.’

  I tried not to smirk.

  I spent the remainder of the day at the palace, talking to members of the Duma and to those members of the Soviet that I knew. The story was much the same as Nekrasov had told me. Few could take in the enormity of what was happening, or that it had all started just a week ago with the protests on International Women’s Day. But everyone knew that it had really begun long before that – before many of us were born. And yet still there was the sense of impotence – of waiting for events to unfold. Nikolai still reigned, even if he did not rule, and his last proclamation would change everything. Now at last, though, there was a palpable sense of anticipation.

  I went home in plenty of time for sunset. As I pushed through the crowds outside the Tavricheskiy Palace I picked up snatches of their conversations. From what I could make out, they were little aware of how quickly events had begun to move. But they understood enough to know that this was where they should be to be the first to hear any announcement that was made – not at the Winter Palace, nor the Mariinskiy Palace, where the State Council sat. No one bothered to ask me if I knew anything – I didn’t look important enough for that. I thanked God for it.

  ‘No sign of her, I suppose?’ I asked. Nadya was sitting in the kitchen when I arrived.

  ‘Of course n—No. No sign.’ I understood why she’d corrected herself. ‘Of course not’ meant that it was impossible to have seen Anastasia, because it was daylight and because she was a voordalak. That was a presumption we should not leap upon.

  ‘I won’t go out to see Dmitry tonight,’ I said. ‘Not any night, till this is finished.’

  She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. ‘What if she never comes back?’

  ‘She will,’ I said. The confidence in my voice was not without reason. She’d taken Iuda’s journals. Even if she hadn’t yet managed to read the English or have it translated, she would soon. And then she would have to come, to find out how much I knew about her and her kind.

  ‘I couldn’t stand it,’ said Nadya. ‘If we never knew.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside tonight,’ I said. ‘Across the street. That way I won’t miss her.’

  ‘And what do you expect me to do?’

  ‘Go upstairs. Lock the door. Wait.’

  ‘And if you’re dead in the morning?’

  ‘Then you’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you were right.’ It was a horrible thing for me to say. She stood up and then snapped her fingers to instruct Polkan to follow her. She’d got to the door before I could summon the good sense to call after her. ‘I’m sorry. That was a stupid thing to say.’

  ‘I didn’t leave you much choice, did I?’

  She left. I waited half an hour or so, then went upstairs to the living room. I touched her shoulder and felt her fingers squeeze mine, then I went to sit opposite. The sketch of Polkan was still there. I crumpled it and threw it on the fire. It uncurled in the heat and I watched the paper blacken, so that the drawing itself became black on black, before finally crumbling to nothing. Time passed slowly. Never before could I remember being so impatient for something of which I was so afraid. When I’d killed Iuda, I’d known little fear. It had been a confrontation that I had sought all my life. This new confrontation had been thrust upon me. It was unfair – and not just on me. When I’d known I was to face Iuda I’d been very careful to ensure I was not loved, that there was no one who could ask, ‘And if you’re dead in the morning?’ I should have left things that way.

  Even as the thought passed across my mind I rejected it. I looked up at Nadya and could feel the tear forming in my eye. There was no conceivable reason for me to regret the years I’d spent with her. Whatever misery I might bring her because of this, it was more than compensated by the joy I felt to be sitting in the same room with her for just a moment. It might be selfish for me to balance my joy against her misery, but love is selfish, whatever lovers might say.

  She saw that I was looking at her and raised a questioning eyebrow.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

  ‘Then come back.’

  At last the light outside began to dim. I flicked the switch on the wall and the light in our room came on. The generators were working for now – but who could say when that might change?

  ‘I’ll go down,’ I said. ‘Lock the door behind me.’

  She came over and kissed me goodbye. She had turned away before she spoke. ‘I love you too.’

  I went downstairs, pausing only to go to the kitchen and get hold of the electric torch. I checked that it was still working and slipped it into my coat pocket. If the power did fail again, I didn’t want to be completely without resources, though this diffuse light would only give me the ability to see a voordalak, not to kill one. I went out across the street. Looking up at the high window I saw Nadya gazing down. I gave her a cheery wave, then moved on. The only place to hide was inside the doorway of Saint Panteleimon’s. It was some way down the street, but I could see our door, and a long way in both directions. The priest would come to lock up sometime, but by then it would be darker, and I’d be able to hide in the shadow at the side of the church. In the morning it would be open again, and Nadya and I – and almost certainly no one else – would go in to attend Syeva’s funeral. With luck his death would have been avenged by then.

  It was almost ten o’clock when she came. As I’d expected, the priest had closed up and I’d been forced to move. The street wasn’t empty, but wasn’t busy, either. Thankfully, the lamps above my head continued to glow, showing that we still had electricity. The downside was that it might make it easier for her to see me, but then if she was a vampire she’d do just as well with only the light of the stars.

  She came from the direction of the Fontanka, but I couldn’t tell whether she had crossed the bridge or come along the embankment. Like most in the city she was dressed for the cold – a heavy overcoat and a fur hat – a hat Nadya had lent her. It might have been hard to recognize her, but her diminutive figure betrayed her age, and the glint of golden hair emerging from beneath the hat was unmistakable. I shouldn’t have been surprised that she was not alone.

  It was a man – a soldier, though not an officer. In the gloom I could not see enough of his uniform to make out his regiment. He had his arm around her. Evidently she was posing as a prostitute to lure victims. Perhaps she did not even have to go that far. With the collapse of civilized normality over the last few days, there were plenty of women giving it away in the streets for nothing. But of course Anastasia didn’t have to do it in the streets. We’d given her a room. It would have been bad enough if she had been using it as a place to take clients; but she had no clients, only victims. That would end soon.

  They paused at the door and the soldier turned into her, rubbing her face and neck as if about to kiss her. She giggled and pushed him away, but with lit
tle conviction. She unlocked the door and they went in.

  I raced down the street. Little respect though I had for a man who would pick up a girl like that, with only the basest of thoughts on his mind, he did not deserve the fate that awaited him. If I was quick I could save him. But at that moment I heard shouts and laughter and a crowd of men appeared from around the corner. There were more than twenty of them – some soldiers, others workers. They were no different from any others I’d seen over the last few nights – no more and no less drunk – though they appeared in higher spirits. I tried to get in front of them to get to the house, but they cut me off. I pushed my way through, but felt a shove to my chest and found myself sitting on the snowy road.

  ‘How do you like it then, burzhooi?’ shouted one of them. ‘You have to let us pass, now.’

  I’d heard the word ‘burzhooi’ before. It was a bad pronunciation of ‘bourgeois’ – hardly a term that applied to me, but outside of the writings of intellectuals like Lenin and Trotsky it was simply an expression of animosity for anyone they thought had once had a better status than they. I lay still. I was lucky they were in such a merry mood, or I might have got a beating. As they passed one of them unshouldered his rifle and aimed it at me. I’d scarcely even taken in what he was doing before the moment had passed. He made the sound of an explosion with his mouth and jerked the gun as if it were recoiling, then laughed and continued on his way. If he had fired I would not have been the only man to die so trivially over the last few days.

  Once they’d passed I was back on my feet and over at the door. Anastasia had locked it behind her, but I had my own key and it took only moments to get through. The light on the stairs was switched on – a final confirmation that we had the electricity we needed. I slipped off my shoes so as to make no sound, then silently climbed the stairs up to Anastasia’s room.

  A figure stood on the landing above me. For a dreadful moment I thought it was Anastasia, aware of the trap that awaited her and now preparing to turn the tables on me. But it was Nadya. I signalled at her to go back upstairs, but she shook her head. I made another gesture for her to stay where she was and she seemed prepared to comply. Just as I had done in the early hours of that morning, I took hold of the door handle. I could see the glow of the regular light at the bottom of the door. That was to the good – it would make it easier to see the switch.