by Jasper Kent
What the Bolsheviks really hoped for was a socialist revolution in Germany – across the whole world. Then, so they saw it, there’d be no need for war at all. I didn’t know much about German politics, but from what I’d heard it didn’t seem likely. Russia’s best chance was if the rest of the Entente powers could defeat Germany quickly, and give us an opportunity to put together a stable government. But they hadn’t managed it in three years. There were the Americans in there too now, but it would still take time. Time was something we didn’t have, and Trotsky, Lenin and the rest knew it.
I went home and ate with Nadya, then waited till late into the evening. Then I went out again to make a rendezvous in which I might be the only participant. Even so, I had to try it. It seemed like a better hope of saving the revolution than the Women’s Battalion of Death could ever be. I got there early, around nine o’clock, and stood beneath the Bronze Horseman. Dmitry had said he would return to Petrograd if the revolution came under threat. We’d not said explicitly that we’d maintain our previous meeting place and time, but it was a chance worth taking.
The biggest question was whose side he would be on. He’d said he’d come back to fight counter-revolution, but that certainly wasn’t the Bolsheviks’ aim. They wanted to go further than most of us had ever dreamed, and their propaganda was that it was Kerensky and the Provisional Government who wanted to turn the clock back. I couldn’t entirely disagree, but even that would be better than life under men like Trotsky. ‘We must put an end once and for all to the Papist-Quaker babble about the sanctity of human life.’ I’d heard him say it in the corridors of the Tavricheskiy Palace. I was neither a Papist nor a Quaker, but I didn’t much like the kind of religion he seemed to preach.
But as to Dmitry’s view, I simply didn’t know. He might regard me as an enemy of the revolution, in which case I had little hope of surviving our meeting. But his beliefs had been forged a century before. I could see very little that the Decembrists and the Bolsheviks had in common.
‘I thought I might find you here.’
Dmitry stood at the edge of Senate Square, his back to the Neva, the lights of Vasilievskiy Island forming a backdrop. He was flanked by two figures. I recognized one of them from our first encounter in the Novodyevichye Cemetery. I had no doubt they were both voordalaki. Dmitry walked towards me, leaving them where they were. They hung their heads and muttered to each other, then one giggled childishly. The other quickly followed suit. I couldn’t help but remember what Anastasia had been doing and the effect it could have on the mind of a vampire.
I led Dmitry further away from them, along the embankment, until I was confident we were out of earshot. ‘Are you sure you can trust them?’ I asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Ilya wasn’t the only one I saw with Anastasia, remember.’
‘But neither of these two?’
‘Of course not.’ The only other vampire I’d seen her with was dead.
‘I think I’d know if they were disloyal to me.’
I could hardly argue with him. ‘What have you done about Ilya?’
‘We’ve parted company.’
‘Is he in Petrograd?’
‘Not if he’s got any sense. And it’s not only him that’s left me. That’s one reason I trust these two. They’ve stuck with me.’
‘And why are you here?’ I asked.
‘You know why. Because the revolution is under threat.’ I still found it hard to believe that that was his real interest, but I could not deny the passion in his voice.
‘And who’s threatening it?’
He’d been stooping slightly, down to my level, so that we wouldn’t be overheard, but now he stood upright with a smile on his lips. ‘I was rather hoping you could tell me.’
I paused. If I was to win Dmitry as an ally, I’d do well to choose my words carefully. On the other hand, Dmitry was too wily to be fooled by anything less than absolute candour. ‘The Bolsheviks are a threat to everything we’ve achieved,’ I said.
‘That rather depends on what you think you’ve achieved. As far as I’m concerned you’ve got rid of Nikolai. I don’t see that the Bolsheviks are going to bring him back.’
‘Lenin won’t call himself tsar, but he won’t be much different.’
‘And Kerensky will? He already seems very comfortable in the Winter Palace.’
‘He’s an ambitious man,’ I said, ‘and a vain one. But he doesn’t have the strength to be a dictator.’
‘Then he’s bound to be replaced by a stronger one. Why should I try to prevent the inevitable?’ The question wasn’t rhetorical.
‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Remember when you told me about The Rite of Spring; about how those great Russians – Stravinsky and the rest – couldn’t stomach actually living in Russia?’
He nodded warily.
‘Well do you think they’re more likely to come back under Kerensky, or under Lenin?’
He gave a slight smile. ‘I’d come to much the same conclusion myself.’
‘Do you have a plan?’
‘Until we know exactly what their plan is, it’s hard to counter it. The best option may simply be to scare them – and that’s easy.’
I didn’t like the way he said it, nor the images it brought to my mind. And anyway, I wasn’t convinced it would be the most effective tactic. If they shied away from acting now, they’d only try again later. As Konovalov had suggested, if we could defeat them, we might be rid of them for ever.
‘Hardly noble, though,’ I said.
‘What would be?’
‘To defeat them in open battle.’
‘Where?’
There was only one place. ‘The Winter Palace – that’s the last stronghold the Provisional Government has.’
‘And that’s where the Bolsheviks will attack?’
‘Where else?’
‘Soon?’
‘It has to be.’
‘And what if it happens during the day? We can be no help to you then.’
I shrugged. I knew as well as he did, there was no answer I could give him.
He looked out across the Neva. ‘I bet that’s got something to do with it.’ He pointed as he spoke.
‘The Avrora,’ I said.
‘You’re sure?’
I nodded. I wasn’t a naval man, but I’d learned enough fighting the Japanese. The silhouette – three funnels and two masts – was unmistakably a Pallada class cruiser. There’d only been three built. One had been sunk and the other captured. That only left the Avrora. Since the revolution she’d been under the control, like many other ships, of her own revolutionary committee. And that meant she belonged to the Bolsheviks.
‘She’s in a good position to fire on the Winter Palace,’ I said. It was stating the obvious.
‘I’ll see if I can find out how they plan to use her. We’ll meet here same time tomorrow – unless it’s already kicked off.’
‘Very well,’ I replied.
He seemed to be waiting for me to leave, but I remained still, looking out across the river at the ship. He turned and went back to his two comrades. The three spoke for a few moments in soft voices, occasionally glancing in my direction. Then they departed. One of them headed in the direction of the Admiralty, while Dmitry and the other went across the square towards Saint Isaac’s. I waited until they had disappeared from view, then set off myself.
The easiest route home was the way I had come, walking along the bank of the Neva until I could turn in and follow the Moika. It would allow me to take another look at what was happening at the Winter Palace. But I had a more immediate concern. I was not alone. It wasn’t easy to pick them out amongst the hundreds that were walking through the city, but I’d acquired an instinct for it.
There were four of them – two groups of two – perhaps with others that I hadn’t spotted. One pair was behind me, the other to one side. Those two must have picked me up somewhere around Palace Square. The last thing I wanted to do was lead t
hem to my house, so I turned on to Nevsky Prospekt. I didn’t make any attempt to lose them, not at first. It would be easier if they thought I had no suspicions, so I would let them stay with me, if only for a little while.
The immediate question was who they were. It could have been Dmitry, or the voordalaki that followed him, but it seemed unlikely. For a start, there had only been three of them, not four, and although I couldn’t see the faces of my pursuers, none of them had Dmitry’s unmistakable build. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have sent others to follow me, but I couldn’t see what reason he might have for it.
Another possibility seemed more likely – Yelena Dmitrievna had warned me of it. I was on some sort of Bolshevik arrest list. I’d not expected them to make any move until their coup began, but perhaps this was the first sign that that was precisely what was happening. The four men weren’t wearing the distinctive leather coats of Bolshevik thugs, but even they understood that there were times when it was better to be covert.
It’s not difficult to follow someone down Nevsky Prospekt. It runs in a dead straight line for almost three versts. It was busy tonight, with both traffic and pedestrians. The city felt very different from how it had in February. People were going about their business. The rich could still afford to eat out and to go to the theatre. The poor were still obliged to serve them. In February not a soul in the city – not even a cat or a dog – could have been unaware that something momentous was about to take place. Today that knowledge was limited to a select few. The Bolsheviks knew it and the Provisional Government knew it, along with a few others such as myself. The government could change tonight – perhaps it already had – and no one would notice any immediate difference. The transfer of power from Kerensky to Lenin might raise as little interest from the people at large as had that from Lvov to Kerensky. As long as it wasn’t the tsar, nothing else mattered. I could only hope that would prove to be true.
The men following me had dropped back and spread out, two on either side of the prospekt. I’d left it long enough and now was the time to be doing something about them. I could have dodged down a side street, but if they knew the city they’d soon be able to find me. There was no chance that I’d be able to outrun any of them. My approach was much simpler.
As I approached the corner of Sadovaya Street I saw a tram waiting at the stop. I’d passed others along the way, but I had to get the timing just right, and this one was in the perfect position. There were two people waiting to get on – a man and a woman, together as far as I could judge. I stopped and stepped beneath one of the arches of the colonnade of Gostiny Dvor, pretending to light a cigarette, even though I’d never smoked. I made sure I didn’t vanish completely – that would have raised the alarm with them. I just needed a pause, to time my next move.
The couple were on the tram now and the bell rang. That was my signal to move. I ran from the colonnade and across the pavement. The tram was already in motion when I leapt on to it. I managed to grab a rail to steady myself. A few of the passengers looked up disapprovingly to see an old man being so foolhardy, but none of them stood to offer me a seat. I looked back in the direction I had come from and saw two figures break into a run, but they couldn’t catch the tram as it rolled smoothly away. I’d still need some luck; trams didn’t always outpace pedestrians. But as long as we weren’t held up at a checkpoint I should be all right.
We only stopped twice before reaching the Fontanka – once to pick up and once to set down. On the bridge stood the usual sentries. If we were detained for any length of time, I’d have to get off rather than give my pursuers the chance to catch up. But even that risked rousing the suspicion of the guards. As it was they scarcely gave us a second look. Their concern was with who was coming into the city centre, not who was leaving it. A pair of eyes peered in through the windows from under a peaked cap, but then we were waved through. I stayed on till we were at Znamenskaya Square, outside the Nikolaievsky Station. Even then I waited until the carriage had just begun to set off before stepping down on to the street. I went into the station and looked back up Nevsky Prospekt, but I saw no sign that they’d kept up with me.
I crossed back over the square, glancing at the hippopotamus statue that still stood there, and then made my way up Znamenskaya Street. At the first opportunity I turned off the thoroughfare and began to meander home. Finally I turned into Panteleimonovskaya Street, coming from the eastern end, away from the river as I had done for all those years when returning from the Duma. It was deserted now. The crowds of workers that had been here when I left had dispersed. As I got closer to the house I could see that ahead there was no longer a picket on the bridge, and so anyone coming this way would be able to get through to the centre of town. I couldn’t guess whether they’d been recalled, overwhelmed, or had simply abandoned their post.
It was only when I’d passed the church, and beside it the last side street before home, that they revealed themselves. Ahead two figures emerged, one coming around each corner and standing still. I kept going for a little while, wondering whether I would be able to make it to – and through – my door before they got to me. They made no move. I stopped and turned. The other two were there – not close to me, simply waiting at the junction I’d just passed. There was no escape for me. My only chance was my own front door. I wondered if they knew that. Had they been following me, and chosen this as the best place to trap me, or did they already know that I lived here?
I began to walk again, feeling in my pocket as I did for the key, so that I could get in as quickly as possible. Ahead of me two women turned to come down the street, but one of my pursuers sent them quietly on their way. Still I couldn’t be sure whether they were vampires or Bolsheviks. If the former, perhaps I could lure them into the house and then destroy them with the light that I had at my command, or use my cane against them. If the latter, at least I would be able to barricade myself in. If the coup failed, they might not be in a position to come for me again. If it succeeded I had little hope anyway.
My fingers settled on the cold hard metal of my keys. I sifted through them in my pocket, still walking at a gentle pace, until I found the correct one. I glanced towards my door, judging how far I would have to run, imagining inserting the key into the lock, so that when the time came I would not fumble.
It was a mistake. One of them must have realized what I was thinking. The two in front of me began to sprint forward. I broke into a run too, not bothering to check what the others behind me were doing. The two in front were smart; one was heading straight for me, the other for the door, to cut off my path. I had the slightest advantage, but it was my only hope.
I pushed on harder and reached the door. The key was already in my hand, stretched out in front of me, but it was too late. A fist came down on my forearm and the keys slipped from my fingers, hitting the pavement with a brief jangle. One of the men ran into me from behind, throwing me against the heavy wooden door. A pair of hands grabbed my coat and turned me around to face them. His strength was enormous. He lifted me off my feet and I felt my body hit the door once again, this time my back. I kicked and flailed my fists, but I knew there was little hope.
‘Get his wrists,’ one of them shouted. ‘Hold him.’
The two on either side obeyed and I found my arms pinned against the door. Another squatted and I felt him holding my feet. The one who had issued the orders did nothing. He looked into my face and I recognized him for the first time. The question of whether these were vampires or Bolsheviks was answered. It was Ilya. He bared his teeth, though he didn’t seem about to bite. Instead he raised his hand and put it to my throat, pressing hard against it with all his weight behind him, cutting off the flow of blood to my brain. My vision started to blur.
And then I felt the strangest sensation as I – as all of us – began to fall backwards.
CHAPTER XI
MY HEAD HIT the wooden floor behind me, dazing me even more than Ilya’s hand at my throat. Even so, one sensation was clear –
a bright, blinding light, directly above me. I heard screams – at least two different voices, maybe more – and the hands that had been holding my wrists and legs and throat suddenly let go their grip. The scent of the burning flesh of a voordalak reached my nostrils.
Then another pair of hands, smaller and weaker, gripped me under the arms and tried to drag me away.
‘For God’s sake, help!’ It was Nadya’s voice. I wondered who she was talking to, but realized that it could only be me. I pushed against the ground with my arms and legs, noticing that my feet still felt strangely constrained. It was more down to Nadya than me, but I managed to move a little way. That was enough. She let go of me and ran round to the door. She gazed outside for a few seconds, but I could not see at what. Then she slammed it, locked it and bolted it. She leaned against it, her hands behind her back, staring upwards, gasping for air. In the intense arc light she looked like an angel.
I lay still, as breathless as she was. I thought of reaching into my pocket for my pills, but realized I didn’t need them. My heart could be fickle in its weakness. I closed my eyes. For a minute I heard nothing but the sound of our harshly drawn breaths. Then I felt her beside me. I opened my eyes.