by Jasper Kent
‘I went into the next room off the landing. We’d removed all the paintings and boarded up the windows. There’d been a large mirror in a gilded frame hanging on one wall. We’d taken it down, but not removed it; it was leaning beside the window. The nail that had supported it still jutted out several inches from the wall. Next to that was a folding silk screen, with an oriental motif. There was a single wingback chair, facing away from the door. I could just see someone’s arm. I walked around and discovered it was who I had expected: my comrade Andrei. I’d told him to be here.
‘ “You got one?” Andrei asked.
‘I nodded. “He’s right behind me.”
‘Andrei moved quickly and stood against the wall, his head hiding the long nail from view. I took his place in the chair. In the mirror I could see the doorway, and anyone coming in would see me.
‘The door opened and in the reflection Vadim locked eyes with me. He stood still for a moment, one hand on the doorknob, a look of surprise on his face – as well there might be. His other hand clutched his sabre. After a moment he spoke.
‘ “So Aleksei was wrong then. You’re not voordalaki.”
‘ “Does that make you feel safe – to know that you are facing mere humans, no different from yourself?”
‘ “It makes me concerned that one of my best officers has gone mad.”
‘I gave a slight chuckle, but I don’t think he had meant it as a joke. “I’m sure Lyosha had the best of reasons.”
‘Vadim walked further into the room, his sword still raised. He glanced over at Andrei. “Just the two of you here?”
‘ “It will be enough,” I said. Andrei stepped away from the wall and walked towards the mirror, before turning again to face Vadim. Instinctively Vadim adjusted his stance so that his back was to the wall, protected by it.
‘ “Enough for what?” he asked.
‘I glanced over at Andrei and noticed that he was licking his lips. I would have liked to prolong the moment, but I knew I must cater to the whims of Andrei and his kind if I was to keep a hold over them. “Enough to show you the error of your logic.”
‘Vadim glanced over at Andrei and realized his mistake. It was the same failure of reasoning that Lyosha had committed, but in reverse. Lyosha had seen that the others were vampires and assumed I was. Vadim had seen that I was not and assumed that Andrei was not. But now that Andrei stood in front of the mirror, it was clear that there was no reflection of him. Vadim made the wise move and headed for the door, but I was closer and went to intercept him.
‘It was unnecessary. Andrei crossed the room swiftly and already had Vadim in his hands. He held him up by his lapels. Vadim kicked in the air and against Andrei’s shins, but to no avail. I’d like to be able to tell you that he screamed, but in truth he remained quite silent. Andrei shifted his grip, now holding Vadim under his chin. He walked forward briskly towards the wall, as if taking a run-up to hurl Vadim some great distance. And hurl him he did, but there was no distance to travel. Vadim slammed into the wall. His head banged against it, his arms splayed out sideways. Andrei stepped back, letting his hand drop to his side. But Vadim was motionless. He did not walk away, but neither did he collapse to the floor. He remained there against the wall, his body hanging limply, his feet not quite touching the ground.
‘I went over. Andrei’s aim had been perfect – we’d discussed it in advance, of course. The head of the nail protruded just a little, to one side of Vadim’s Adam’s apple. It was enough to take his weight. What was down to pure luck was that the injury to his neck had paralysed him, but not killed him. I lifted his arm and it fell back lifelessly. But when I looked into his face his eyes flickered desperately across me and across the room behind, as if simply by seeing something he might discover a way to save himself. He tried to speak, but it must have been agony even to move his jaw. I hoped that the rest of his body had been merely immobilized and not deprived of its senses, but it didn’t really matter – his imagination remained intact, and that would be enough.
‘I stepped back and allowed Andrei to come closer. He looked at me in just the way a dog seeks permission from its master before eating, but I did not delay the moment. I was as eager to watch as he was to feed. I nodded my acquiescence. Andrei stepped forward, his teeth bared, and crooked his neck to the best angle on Vadim’s throat, but I didn’t need to see what he was doing. Instead I kept my eyes fixed on Vadim’s face. He could make no noise as Andrei’s fangs sank into his flesh, could utter no shout. And yet the human soul must find some means to express its agony. Vadim had only one way to do so, and it meant that I could watch in pleasure and fascination as his eyes began to scream.’
CHAPTER XXIV
I RAN TO the door, along the passageway and out of the house. I lost my footing on the steps and found myself splayed on my back in the snow. I breathed rapidly, staring up at the cloudy sky. The worst of it was that I had been too late. I had guessed what Iuda was planning from the moment he mentioned Vadim following him. From then on I’d been trying to do something, to say something, or to flee the room. That I had finally been able to do so only in the instant at which it became too late indicated a strengthening of Iuda’s power. The timing could not be coincidence; Iuda had gained some control over it, however slight. He had been able to resist me. Perhaps he was now in complete control, and had merely chosen that moment to yield, having determined it was the best way to cause me suffering.
A hand reached down to help me to my feet. It was Nadya.
‘You see now why I can’t be with you,’ I screamed at her. ‘He can’t be trusted. I can’t be trusted.’
She said nothing.
‘How’s your father?’ I asked more calmly.
‘I didn’t stop to find out. He’s just sitting there, gazing into nothing. I’m sure he took it all in.’
‘Why didn’t you stop me – stop Iuda?’
‘How did I know what he was going to say?’ Her voice betrayed her anger.
‘Couldn’t you have guessed?’
‘And then done what?’
I hugged her. I feared for a moment that she might resist it, but she did not. ‘Forget about it,’ I said. ‘I’m going to go now.’
‘To Tobolsk? To save the tsar?’
‘And to find a way out.’
‘A way out?’
‘A way to be rid of Iuda.’
‘You think it’s possible?’
‘It must be. And the good thing is that Iuda wants it as much as I do. Ascalon is the key.’ I was guessing. Somewhere in my head I could hear Iuda laughing.
She pulled away and looked up at me. I expected her to suggest something that would mean I should stay for just a few more minutes. I would gladly have accepted, even if it meant facing her father after what I’d said. But Nadya was more practical than I could be.
‘I’ll get your things.’
She went back inside. I looked up at the house, up at the window of what I knew had been my mother’s room, from where she had stood as a child to watch her father leave, not knowing then that he would never return. Domnikiia had been standing beside her, apparently as concerned as Tamara. What had really been in her mind? Had she been thinking of Iuda – of the evening they spent together? Mama never suspected a thing; it was no small blessing.
Nadya came back out with my coat and hat and scarf. Polkan was at her side. I put the clothes on and squatted down beside him. He seemed entirely to have forgotten his misgivings about me. I stroked his muzzle and whispered a goodbye. Then I stood again. I held Nadya’s hands and we kissed. It was a long, deep, passionate kiss. We had exchanged nothing like it since … since it had been Iuda who kissed her. I successfully fought the urge to pull away. I would not allow Iuda to spoil this moment – this memory – for either of us. At last we stepped apart. Nadya glanced downwards and broke into a smile. I followed her gaze to see Polkan staring up at us adoringly, his tongue hanging from one side of his mouth.
I let go of Nadya’s hands and r
eached under my coat, into my jacket pocket. I took out the letter I had written, feeling the firm lump within. I gave it to her. She read the words on the envelope silently, but I knew them well enough.
To Nadya.
To be opened only if I do not return within a month.
With all my love,
Misha.
She looked up at me, her eyebrows raised in concern.
‘You won’t have to open it,’ I said. Again I heard laughter.
She nodded contemplatively. ‘Go now,’ she said.
I tried to turn away, but found myself unable. For a moment I thought that Iuda was in control once more, but it was something simpler, more natural than that.
‘I can’t,’ I said. I felt a quaver in my voice. My eyes were wet. ‘Not while you’re here.’
She smiled at me, but soon turned away. Polkan gave me a confused glance, but followed her. They climbed the stone steps and she closed the door behind them without turning her head in my direction again. I walked away. At the end of the street I took one last look behind me. She was standing there, at the window of what had once been my mother’s room, watching me go. She did not wave.
At Arbat Square I boarded another tram – a number 13 this time, though I found it difficult to see how the bad luck associated with the number could make my life any worse. We set off north along the Boulevard Ring. The journey would take about half an hour, and after that it would only be a short walk to—
I pulled myself up, realizing the mistake I was making. It was I who had boarded the tram, but it might be Iuda who had to disembark. He needed to know what my plan was – certainly this first part of it.
‘Iuda,’ I thought, almost as if speaking. ‘Iuda, I need to explain where we’re going.’
I paused instinctively, waiting for a response, but I knew he was incapable of giving one. It was unnerving, but I had little doubt he was paying attention.
‘You need to know where we’re going,’ I continued. ‘It’s the Khodynka Field. You must know where that is – it was around in your day, though it’s changed a bit since. Get off the tram at Petrovsky Park and then go left, to the southwest. It’s only a verst or so – you can’t miss it. Once you get there, just wait until I come back. Trust me – it’s the quickest way we’ll get to Tobolsk.’
That was enough to tell him for now. He wouldn’t even be able to guess at what that vast open space was currently used for. He would have known it as the location of the hippodrome. A lot had happened there since then – awful things. In a sense Khodynka was where the whole revolution began. It was 18 May 1896, just four days after Tsar Nikolai’s coronation. The field was to be a place of public celebration. Around half a million people turned up – stayed up celebrating through the night. Nikolai had promised gifts for all: bread, sausage, pretzels, beer – and a cup decorated with the monogram of Their Imperial Majesties. But in the early morning gossip started spreading through the crowd. It was nothing terrible – just the rumour that there wouldn’t be enough free pretzels to go round. But it was enough.
They pushed forwards towards the wooden stalls, each person trying to get his share before supplies ran out. The police tried to keep order, but they were ridiculously outnumbered. People fell into the ditches that had been dug for army training and were crushed under the others who landed on top. Some were just trampled by the surging crowd.
In the end there were about 1400 dead. You could hardly blame Nikolai for that. He’d just said the people should have a party, and he expected his underlings to organize it properly. But you could blame him for what happened next. After he heard about the tragedy, he went to a ball held by the French ambassador. They say he was influenced by his uncles, and that may be true, but it set the trend. Throughout his reign he never killed his subjects, he just did nothing about it when they died.
It was the same on Bloody Sunday – he didn’t order the troops to fire, but he never did enough to make up for it afterwards. And in February he just did nothing. That’s what lost him his throne.
If Danilov was continuing to ramble on, I could no longer hear him. It was a shame. The forty-year gap in my knowledge of history made me uncomfortable. It was amusing as well as fascinating to learn that it was the bumbling incompetence of Tsar Nikolai which had brought about the downfall of the Romanovs. I’d met a few of them in my time, and it sounded as though Nikolai had the worst combination of the characteristics that they all shared in some measure. Some were strong, others weak. Some were conservative, others progressive. Some were autocratic, others took advice. But to be conservative took strength. Nikolai, from what I had learned, believed in the God-given authority of the tsar, but did not have the personal conviction to carry it through. He took the wrong advice, and then stuck to it with a degree of arrogance found only in a genius or a fool.
But Danilov had also managed to intrigue me. How could a journey to this wide, flat, empty space on the outskirts of the city help to speed our passage to Tobolsk? I might have imagined it to be the site of a new railway station, but that did not seem likely – especially since I’d already learned that the Yaroslavsky Terminus was the best starting point. I could not imagine how the distance could be covered any more quickly than by train. Even these new motor cars seemed slow and unreliable in comparison, although I’d only seen them operate in the restrictive environment of the city.
I felt confident, though, that this was no trap. I could sense in Danilov’s mind no hint that he had discovered a means to rid himself of me, however much he lied to his mistress about it. Even if he had found a way, I was sure that saving the tsar from whatever Susanna had planned was a higher priority. But I knew I must be wary.
Ahead I saw the golden dome of the Petrovsky Palace, surrounded by parkland. I stood to get off, but hesitated for a moment. It would be an elegant plan on Danilov’s part if he had persuaded me to walk willingly to my own execution. That, though, was to project my own emotions on to him. Where I would always want to exhibit my genius to the world, he would be happy merely to achieve his goal. But in the time we had been together, how much of my personality had infiltrated his? How much of his mine?
I really had no option. I stepped down from the tram. I knew the way to the Khodynka Field well enough, though I’d never been closer than I was now. It didn’t take me long to get there, but it was a vast expanse and Danilov had given no indication as to which part of it he wanted to visit. After a quarter of an hour I’d come to a point where I could survey the whole area. What I saw made little sense to me, but had clearly been designed with a purpose. The area was wide and flat, and largely barren but for a few large huts, big enough to be warehouses, and one squat brick building. Most of the field was made over to short grass, but cutting through that were two straight roadways. I was standing at the eastern extreme of one of them; it must have been over a verst to the other end. From above the two would have formed the shape of a cross. They were of a dark grey, verging on black, and seemed to have been macadamized in some way, though by a process more advanced than any I’d seen.
The strangest thing about the place was the vehicles – I could only presume that was what they were – which were stationed near the huts. My instinct was that there would be more of them inside. From a distance it was difficult to make them out, but they were not like the motor cars I had seen on the roads. They sat higher on their wheels, more like traditional horse-drawn carriages, except that they had only one axle, not two – more like a Stanhope. On each of them one end, the thinner end, drooped and rested against the ground, as if waiting for a team of horses to be put into harness and raise it up. But that was only the view I had from the side.
From the front – or the rear – I could see that these machines were preposterously wide. Sticking out from either side of them were long, flat planes of, presumably, wood, though possibly some other material. Each had two of these, one above the other. Clearly they had a purpose, and my mind began to formulate what it might be.
My thoughts were shattered by a horrendous noise coming from behind me. It was the same as the sound made by the engine of a motor car, but far louder. I turned, afraid that it would knock me down, but for a moment could see nothing. Then my eyes fixed more accurately on the source of the sound. It was in the air. My embryonic theories as to the nature of these vehicles was confirmed. It was a flying machine – not some kind of navigable balloon, but a vehicle that actually supported itself on the air, as a bird does. When the German bombs had fallen on Petrograd I’d been unable to see where they came from. Danilov had used the word ‘biplane’, but it had made little sense to me. Now I realized what these machines were, and how they had managed to travel so far and drop their explosives so precisely.
I didn’t have much time to consider this wondrous feat of engineering. It passed just a few feet over my head, the wind of it throwing me on to my back. I quickly rolled on to my stomach and watched its descent. The wheels touched down on the straight roadway in front of me, and it gradually slowed from the speed it had required to maintain its suspension in the air to one more suited to travelling over the surface of the Earth. Soon it turned and headed slowly towards one of the huts.
From somewhere near there two men emerged, running. It took only a moment to realize that they were coming in my direction. I managed to get to my feet, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to outrun them – nor was I certain that I wanted to. Was this what Danilov had been planning? Now they were close enough for one of them to shout to me.
‘What the hell are you doing? You’ll get yourself killed.’
I said nothing, but waited for them to approach. I slipped my hand into my pocket and fingered my double-bladed knife. That would not have been part of Danilov’s plan, but it might prove useful. The younger man of the two continued to speak.