by Jasper Kent
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I put my hand on her arm to try to help her upright, but she shook it off. There was a downside to my pretending to be Iuda.
‘I’m fine.’ She addressed her words to Dmitry. It was absurd for me to feel jealous of him, but that didn’t lessen the emotion. I felt the urge to tell him she had just as much vampire blood on her hands as I did.
‘How did Sandor find you?’ I asked.
‘He didn’t.’ She still looked at Dmitry as she spoke. ‘I found him. He was at the parcel office giving instructions for a crate to be loaded on to a train.’
‘A crate?’ I asked. ‘How big?’
‘Big enough.’ Now she looked at me, then back to Dmitry. It was clear that we all understood what she meant. Dmitry himself had travelled that way in the past.
As had I. And yet neither Dmitry nor Danilov thought to ask the obvious question. On Dmitry’s part it might have been down to stupidity, but the reason that Danilov remained silent became suddenly clear to me. However much he wanted to speak he did not have the power to part his own lips. I, on the other hand, did.
‘Did you see where the train was going?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Tyumen.’
‘Tyumen?’ I knew of it, though I’d never been there. It was a large enough city – for Siberia – lying far to the east, hundreds of versts beyond even the Urals. ‘What can she want there?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ snarled Dmitry. ‘It’s not Tyumen she’s interested in. It just happens to be the nearest railway station to the place she really wants to go.’
‘And where, pray, would that be?’
‘Tobolsk.’ Dmitry spoke the word as if it carried great portent. Nadya seemed to pale a little. To me it meant nothing – just another provincial town, no more interesting than Tyumen.
Dmitry spoke clearly and deliberately. ‘Nikolai Romanov and his family are currently under house arrest in Tobolsk.’
‘The tsar?’ It must have seemed a stupid question to ask, but I had not come into this world until months after His Majesty’s downfall.
‘The former tsar,’ Dmitry corrected me, alert to the politics of the day.
‘What does she want with him?’ asked Nadya.
‘Can’t you guess?’ said Dmitry.
She looked at me expectantly. For all that she despised me, it was still me she turned to on a question like this. It was a matter of pride that I should give an answer. I rubbed my hand across my face. There was nothing clear to it. Even Susanna must have been guessing. ‘Zmyeevich always believed that Ascalon was precious to him, yes? When Pyotr stole it from him, that was half the reason that Zmyeevich wanted vengeance on the Romanovs. There were always rumours about its power.’
‘What rumours?’
‘A lot of it was about what would happen if Ascalon was destroyed. There were those who said that it would bring about Zmyeevich’s death, others that it would make him more powerful than ever. That’s why no one ever dared – not Zmyeevich’s friends nor his enemies – in case they got the result they didn’t want.’
‘But Susanna wouldn’t take it to Tobolsk just to destroy it,’ said Nadya.
‘Obviously not. She must know something more. It must be to do with Romanov blood. That’s why she needs Nikolai.’
‘You have Romanov blood. Why not try with you, like she did before?’
‘I don’t know,’ I snapped. ‘Perhaps because she’d tried it on me – on Danilov – before. And look what she ended up with. She wouldn’t want three of us in here.’
‘Three of you? You, Danilov and Zmyeevich?’
‘That must be what she’s planning to do – to resurrect Zmyeevich in some way.’
‘Like you?’ said Nadya. ‘In His Majesty’s body?’
‘I’m guessing. Perhaps it won’t work like that at all. Perhaps it will just transform Nikolai into a vampire. I doubt Susanna knows for sure.’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Nadya. It was a strangely cold-hearted thing for a human to say.
‘Does it matter?’ Dmitry had seemed uninterested in our discussion, as if none of it were new to him. Now he was as appalled at Nadya’s indifference as I was amused by it. ‘You may think we’re at threat from the Germans, but the real terror that faces Russia is civil war. It’s already started in the east. They don’t all want to bring back the tsar, but they hate the Bolsheviks enough to unite under his banner. Of course, Nikolai’s too weak for that, too weak to even lead his own people. That’s why he lost Russia in the first place. But Zmyeevich in Nikolai’s body? That’s better than he ever dreamed of. And he’d be the leader to defeat Lenin and Trotsky and all of them.’
‘For once, Dmitry, I agree with you.’
‘Really?’ Understandably Dmitry was less than convinced.
‘Not about Lenin or the Bolsheviks or any of that. They won’t be around for long, anyway. But Zmyeevich was dangerous enough before. If he had a following – a real, human following – he could take over the world, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. I know I tried to help him before, to put Aleksandr I under his power, but that was a different era; a different world. Russia was weak then and he could have her. Not now.’
‘So you want to stop Susanna?’
‘I’ll do anything I can.’
‘Bullshit!’
‘What?’ asked Dmitry.
‘He’s lying to you,’ I replied.
‘He?’
‘Iuda. He knows more than he’s telling you.’
‘About Ascalon?’
I nodded. Dmitry appeared to have immediately accepted who was now speaking, but I could see that Nadya was more wary. ‘I don’t know what he’s planning – he’s hiding that from me – but he understands more about Ascalon than he’s letting on. He just wants to get his hands on it and Nikolai before Susanna does.’ There was more to it than that, but it was a sensation rather than a palpable thought. I was unable to express it in words; I needed more time to understand.
‘That doesn’t make him wrong,’ said Nadya.
I thought for a moment. ‘No. No, it doesn’t.’
‘We must go after Susanna,’ insisted Dmitry.
I turned to Nadya. ‘When did the train to Tyumen leave?’
‘About half an hour ago.’
‘There won’t be another till tomorrow,’ said Dmitry.
‘We may be able to beat her,’ said Nadya. ‘I’ve already got tickets to Moscow. From there we can take the Great Siberian Way straight to Tyumen.’
‘If it’s running.’
‘It’s still better than waiting here,’ I said. Getting to Moscow certainly seemed like a good idea, but not for quite the reason Nadya suggested. For one thing I could think of a faster way to get from there to Tobolsk. For another, I didn’t like the way Nadya had said ‘we’ when describing the pursuit of Susanna.
‘Will the train get to Moscow before dawn?’ Dmitry asked.
‘It’s scheduled to,’ said Nadya, ‘but who can tell these days?’
‘I’ll have to risk it. Let’s go.’
We went back to the station concourse. It was heaving even more than when we left. There were crowds around the ticket offices and at the entrances to the platforms. Railway officials shouted at the people to calm them, telling them that there would be room for them all, if not on these trains then on the next, that the trains would keep running until everyone who wanted to leave Petrograd had done so. I didn’t see how they could be so confident – the Germans might well have different plans. The people were smart enough to understand that, and pushed all the harder to get through. Even though we already had tickets, I didn’t see how we had any chance of getting on a train.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Nadya. She pointed towards the station exit, where I could see Dmitry striding away from us. ‘What’s he up to?’ I asked.
‘He said he was going to get help.’
‘Help? From who?’
She shrugged. We could do no
thing but stand and wait. I slipped my hand into Nadya’s and squeezed it through her glove. She reciprocated. I looked down at her. ‘It’s still me,’ I said. ‘When it is me.’
‘We’ll get you back,’ she replied. ‘Just you. We’ll find a way.’
Dmitry returned quickly, and he was not alone. The two men beside him could almost have been his twins – both were dressed in dark leather coats identical to the one he was wearing. But neither of them had the same stature, or presence. They were clearly Bolsheviks, possibly even Chekists. As they passed us I noticed that one of them had a pistol in his hand. Dmitry led them directly to the crowd that thronged against the gate to the platforms. He shouted a few orders, which were met with little response, then repeated them more loudly. This time his two lieutenants began shoving people aside. The crowd soon got the message and began to part.
When there was a gap wide enough to walk through, Dmitry beckoned to us. I let Nadya go ahead, but kept close behind her, my eyes fixed ahead of me, not daring to look at the people on either side whose places on the train we were usurping.
All around there were mutterings – no one had the guts to shout – of dissent. I managed to make out one of them. ‘Even a fucking dog gets treated better than us these days.’ I heard Polkan yelp as one of them kicked at him, but he managed to scamper off ahead to safety. Soon we were on the platform. One of the Bolsheviks called over the train guard and spoke to him. There was a debate between them, with which Dmitry joined in. Then he beckoned us over.
‘He wants to see the tickets.’
Nadya showed him. The guard inspected them in detail, then shrugged. ‘This way.’ We followed him to a first-class carriage in the middle of the train. He opened a door to reveal a crammed compartment. There were a few seated, but most of them were standing to make more room. There must have been twenty in a compartment designed for six.
‘Come on,’ said the guard. ‘Get out. These seats have been requisitioned.’ There were moans from within, but they soon quietened at the sight of the three leather-clad figures outside. ‘There’s still room towards the front,’ the guard explained. The passengers began to spill out on to the platform, carrying their meagre possessions with them. The guard pointed up towards the locomotive. A few of those inside left by the far door, into the corridor that ran the length of the carriage.
Soon we were inside – Nadya, Polkan, Dmitry and myself. I was glad to see that Dmitry’s new friends would not be coming with us. The guard closed the door. Dmitry opened the window and leaned out, addressing the two Bolsheviks. ‘Many thanks, comrades. You have done great work for the party. I’ll see that you’re rewarded.’ He closed the window and sat down. The two of them remained standing outside.
‘You have some useful friends,’ I said.
He scowled at me. ‘I’m sorry, I should have let you stab them in the back, now they’ve served their purpose.’ I wasn’t sure whether he’d forgotten who he was speaking to, or had realized who it was killed Sandor. Either way it was a telling point. However much I despised Bolsheviks, they were human, and I would do all that I could to save their lives. I made a distinction between them and vampires, not on the basis of their character or behaviour, but simply upon their nature. Most vampires would make a similar distinction, differing only in the fact that they favoured the other side. But it was a difference that Dmitry could not see.
The other passengers of the packed train pressed against the windows that divided our compartment from the corridor. Mostly they were turned away, but a child’s face peered in, his nose pressed against the glass, bearing a look of fascination as though he were staring into a sweetshop. Nadya stood and opened the door. The two people closest – an elderly man and woman – turned to face her.
‘Please,’ she said, ‘there’s plenty of room. Come and join us.’
The man looked around the compartment for a moment and then took half a step forward, but his wife put her hand on his arm to hold him back. She tilted her head towards Dmitry and muttered the word ‘oprichnik’; the term had survived since the time of Ivan the Terrible as an expression of contempt for agents of state oppression. The man stepped back and slid the door closed.
‘More fool them,’ said Dmitry. He stood and went over to the door. The old couple saw him and tried to retreat, but had nowhere to go. Dmitry raised his hands above his head and posed there dramatically for a few moments. Then he simply pulled the curtains across the windows, so that we could no longer see the other passengers and they could not see us. I had no objections; it would make the journey less uncomfortable for everyone concerned.
I sat next to the outside window. A stream of evacuees processed along the platform, eager to find the last few places on the train. Occasionally one would come to the door of our compartment, but the two Chekists saw them off. After about twenty minutes I heard the brakes release beneath us. The couplings tightened and the train began to roll slowly out of the station. A few of those still on the platform made a dash for the nearest door, but I didn’t see if any of them made it. None came to ours.
Moments later we emerged from under the station roof and began to gather speed. Outside I saw Petrograd at its least inspiring – tracts of warehouses, located close to the railway for easy loading and unloading. We passed over the Obvodny Canal and soon we were out in the countryside. This was the same route by which I had first come to what was then Saint Petersburg, aged just twenty-three. I leaned out of the window to look back at the city, but there was nothing to be seen. I’d hoped I might catch a glimpse of the spire of Saint Peter and Saint Paul’s, or the dome of Saint Isaac’s, but the darkness was impenetrable and, anyway, they were both too far away. I recalled what Mama had told me about Aleksei Ivanovich’s final departure from the capital, taken from the Peter and Paul Fortress in a boat that would begin his journey to a Siberian exile.
I was leaving with greater dignity than he had, but I too was travelling to Siberia. I wasn’t going into exile, but I was on a journey to face my destiny just the same. And although I could not predict the future, I felt certain, just as certain as Aleksei must have felt all those years before, that I would not be coming back.
CHAPTER XXIII
DANILOV WAS QUITE correct. I had my eye on any possibility for drawing advantage out of the situation with Nikolai, Susanna and Ascalon. But to a great extent, our interests in that regard coincided. What both Danilov and I yearned for most was to be separated from one another. True we’d each be satisfied simply to see the death of the other, allowing the survivor to take full control of our mutual body, but we’d both be happy to find a solution whereby each could take a body of his own – and I had a most illustrious body in mind for myself. Or was I being too logical? An amicable separation might be the most rational outcome for us both, but Danilov had a pathological loathing for me, born out of a hatred passed through his family from generation to generation. I could feel it seething within him whenever his mind came to the fore. He had dedicated his youth to killing me once; I could see no reason for doubting that he would happily set himself to the same task again, in whatever form I found new life. And therefore, for my own protection, I would be forced to kill him at the earliest opportunity.
And therein lay one great difference between us. For him that earliest opportunity might present itself a good deal earlier than it did for me. Danilov would be happy to lay down his own life if it entailed me losing mine. He had tried once, but I had managed to prevent it. I couldn’t be sure that would always be the case. Since that time he’d never had the chance. For a few weeks my blood had run in our veins and so our death would have meant rebirth as a vampire. By then we had been in a gaol cell and he’d thought I was no danger to anyone. And besides, what means of suicide had there been? Now he had more important matters to attend to: saving the former tsar from Susanna – and from me.
There was no point in trying to hide anything from him. I could mutter the words, ‘Dive thoughts, down to my soul: here Danilov c
omes,’ but if my deliberations were concealed from him they would be concealed from me, and I knew that careful preparation would be required. And thus any plans I laid would have to be quite out in the open, their consequences inevitable, however broadly they were known. It was Danilov himself who had pointed it out: there could be no secrets between us – ours was a game of chess, not of whist. I smiled to myself as I recalled the occasion on which that comparison had first crossed our mind.
I looked at Nadya, reflected in the carriage window that was acting as an almost perfect mirror thanks to the darkness outside. She caught my gaze and smiled at me. I returned the expression, but evidently I got it wrong in some way, for she scowled and turned away. She was getting better at telling us apart, even by the slightest nuance of our face. Did she look back, I wondered, to that last time that we had made love, and try to decide just who it was had kissed her, caressed her and entered her? Just which of us had made her gasp with pleasure? Whether she had chosen the correct name to shout out loud at the moment of her ecstasy? Had she compared us in her memory as she now compared our smiles and was able to differentiate one from the other?
But perhaps it was unfair to ask her to decide between us on the basis of so little information. She and Danilov would soon be taking leave of one another – for ever as far as either of them knew. That, surely, would be the occasion when they would each desire one final taste of the other’s flesh. Danilov would resist, but I, if I got the chance, would not. Was that even necessary? It seemed like a lot of effort for so little gain. Why not just tell her about that first time, just before we were arrested, tell her that it had been me and not her beloved? But no, that would be too much. Better to let her be unsure, to know it could have been me, but never to be certain that it was, just as I’d made Lyosha unsure about his whore Dominique, though his grandson now knew better. I had no idea precisely what Susanna had told Nadya. Most importantly, had she revealed the exact date on which I had taken up residence in Danilov’s body? And if so had Nadya considered what that implied for the last night they had spent together? If not I would happily clarify the matter – when the time was right.