by Jasper Kent
‘You didn’t resist for long,’ I said.
‘Once you were in prison my need for him – for Zmyeevich – became stronger than ever. I knew there must still be hope, so I sought out Susanna in the tunnels beneath the cathedral. She didn’t trust me at first, but it was easy to convince her of my love for him. We spent those months looking through all the works she’d gathered on the subject, until finally we knew there was a way – but we needed Ascalon.’
‘And you were the last person to have it,’ Susanna explained.
‘If I’d guessed it was with the Cheka, this would all have been a lot easier.’
‘Once we knew where Nadya lived we had you. We made sure she never saw Dmitry. And then we sent him to get you so that you could discover she’d gone. How do you think he knew where she lived?’
‘How did you think I knew you were lying about Ascalon being at Panteleimonovskaya Street?’ he added. ‘I’d already ripped the place apart.’
‘And you did exactly what we expected and told us where it was,’ said Susanna.
‘And then things went wrong, didn’t they?’ I said. ‘I don’t imagine that it was part of the plan that she should keep you down there with us while she rushed off to Tobolsk.’
Dmitry gave her a sideways look. She smirked.
‘I just didn’t want to share the moment,’ she said. ‘No hard feelings?’
‘I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same. But we’re both here now. We’ll greet him together.’
‘And discover which of you he remembers more fondly?’ I asked.
‘We know which of the three of us he regards with least affection, though, don’t we?’ said Susanna. ‘He’ll be delighted you made it here, so that he can take his share of our revenge.’
‘Revenge? Revenge for what?’
‘For what you did to us,’ said Susanna.
‘For turning you into vampires?’
‘Don’t pretend you did that,’ she hissed.
I could not say I had done so directly, but in both cases it was ultimately down to me. I had thrust Susanna into that crypt with Honoré. I had tricked Dmitry into falling in love with Raisa.
‘Your crime is that you killed those who did,’ said Dmitry, with similar venom.
‘I didn’t kill Raisa,’ I said.
‘So you admit you killed Honoré.’
‘You know I did.’
‘And you drove Raisa mad,’ said Dmitry. ‘That was the reason for her death.’
‘So what have you got planned for me?’
‘We have no plans,’ explained Susanna. ‘We’ll leave that to Zmyeevich. He has such an imagination. But I’m sure it will be very, very slow.’
‘And what about Danilov? Anything you do to me, he’ll feel too.’
‘So?’ replied Susanna. I noticed Dmitry glancing uneasily at her as she spoke. He was the weaker of the two and I would have to find a way to exploit it. She waited a moment, but I had nothing more to say. She turned her attention back to Nikolai.
‘No,’ said Dmitry. ‘Let me speak to him first.’
Susanna let her hand fall to her side as Ascalon grasped at it. She took a step back. Dmitry moved forward, standing squarely in front of the man, who looked up at him wearily.
‘Do you know what I am?’ Dmitry asked.
‘I take it you’re a vampire, just like her.’
‘And do you know who I am?’
The former tsar shook his head.
‘My name is Dmitry Alekseevich Danilov.’
Nikolai snorted. ‘Another Danilov – though in this case, not one that I’ve ever heard of.’
‘You should have heard of me, Romanov, not because of my family, nor because I’m a voordalak. You should have heard of me because I am a Russian. One of your people. And yet you know none of us. And because you didn’t know us, we destroyed you; me and thousands like me – millions. I was there in February, we stood against your troops, when we took Petrograd, when we finally caused your downfall. But I’ve always been there. The people have always been there.
‘In 1881, I was there. I was one of those who carried out the people’s will in executing your grandfather, Aleksandr II, blowing his weak body apart and letting his little grandson watch as he bled to death. And I was there even before that. I was there on the fourteenth of December 1825, when we stood and faced the cannons of your namesake, Nikolai I. We failed then, but it was then, as my comrades fell beside me, that I knew one day your family would fall. Even then, a century ago, I was there.’
The room was silent, but for the sound of Dmitry’s breathing. He stood, bending forward towards the former tsar, waiting for some reaction. But it was not Nikolai who replied.
‘No you weren’t!’ All eyes turned to me the instant I spoke. ‘You weren’t there, and you know you weren’t. And I know it too, because I was there.’
Dmitry looked at me bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’
It was as though he genuinely believed it. Perhaps he did, after so many years; so many years of repeating the story, telling people how he wished it had been instead of how it was. Each time he would have filled in a little more detail, and begun to remember the story better than he remembered the event, until the truth was lost amongst his own make-believe.
‘I mean I remember. I remember the truth. You were there with your father. The Governor General had just been shot, and I came and joined you. I begged you to leave. Told you that your mama was afraid for you. Told you that if you stayed you’d die alongside your comrades. Told you it would be safer to run away. Even your papa joined in. And you did run away, across Senate Square and to safety.’
‘No!’
‘Try to remember, Dmitry. It’s what happened.’
‘I stood there, beside you both, and faced the guns.’
‘Then why weren’t you arrested? Why weren’t you sent into exile with your papa?’
‘I … I …’
‘Give it up, Dmitry. Who are you trying to impress? Her? She doesn’t care. Nikolai? He knows already – knows you’re a coward just by looking at you.’
Dmitry spun round to face the wall, his fists clenched tightly in front of his eyes. He bent forward slightly, as if in pain. ‘Just do it, Susanna!’ he shouted. ‘Do it now!’
Susanna began to approach Nikolai. She raised Ascalon above her head, ready to bring it down upon his breast. And for the first time since we’d arrived, Nikolai seemed to show some interest in his own existence. He leapt to his feet and grappled her, grasping her wrists one in either hand. He’d already had a taste of how strong she was, but with luck he might hold her off for a few seconds.
I turned round. Behind me was the blazing fireplace and above it the two crossed sabres. I ran forwards, launching myself off a footstool beside the hearth and then grabbing the mantelpiece with my hand. I reached up and just managed to grasp the foible of one of the blades. As I fell back down it came with me, as did the other sword and no small amount of the plaster to which they’d been fixed. I let everything drop to the floor, except for the sword I’d been after, which I now held properly by the grip.
I ran across the room to where Susanna and Nikolai were still locked in combat. Their arms were down now, close to their chests, with Ascalon pressed between them. To my left I could see that Dmitry had begun to recover his composure. Within seconds he would be able to help. I didn’t have much time. I swung the sabre back over my shoulder, then brought it down hard. I didn’t have a clear shot at her neck, which would have been the only possible fatal blow. Instead the blade connected with the small of her back. It must have shattered a couple of vertebrae. The pain would have been all-consuming.
She arched her spine backwards and put her hands behind her, letting out a shriek of agony. Her head was flung back, exposing the whiteness of her neck. With luck I would be able to do it in a single stroke, and her head would be off.
And yet I hesitated. The sight of her like that, her face, her pale skin, her vulnerability
, brought back to me memories of the girl I had once known. The girl I had loved. The girl I had betrayed. I knew she had to die, and yet I could not bring myself to do it. I cursed the body that contained me, cursed the sentimentality that had seeped out of Danilov and into me. It was he that was preventing her death. And time was precious.
Every fibre of my will was intent on bringing that blade down on to Susanna’s sweet, delicate neck, but it was Iuda, not I, who had command of our muscles. However much he might try to convince himself otherwise, he was as deluded as he had revealed Dmitry to be. It was he who was being sentimental. It was he who could not kill the girl he had once loved. His hesitation might have cost us dear, but instead it gave Nikolai the moment he needed.
Susanna was still bent back, vulnerable and in agony. Nikolai reached out to her with his left hand and placed it on her shoulder, pulling her towards him. His right hand thrust forward and in it I could see that he held Ascalon. I felt my lips beginning to form a shout of ‘No!’ but there was not enough time for it to become a word. I perceived Iuda’s horror at the same moment that I worked out the danger for myself. Whatever effect the dragon’s blood that stained Ascalon would have had on the former tsar, might it not have the same effect on Susanna? I could only guess that, when they knew one another, she and Zmyeevich had exchanged blood.
But it was too late. Ascalon’s tip pressed against her belly, just below her navel, causing it to dent inwards. The cotton of her dress yielded, as did her flesh, and the short length of wood slid smoothly into her. A croaking noise emanated from her throat. Dark blood began to seep from the wound, increasing to a waterfall as Nikolai mercilessly pushed the blade further into her. There was a look of twisted hatred on his face as he swivelled the shaft around inside her, forcing it deeper, until finally there was no further he could go.
At the same moment, I felt suddenly cold. A ripple seemed to run through the atmosphere, like the blast of a high explosive, but with no sound to accompany it. I couldn’t see him, but I heard Dmitry gasp, as though it had affected him too. Nikolai snatched his hand, stained with Susanna’s blood, away from the lance and cradled it against his chest.
Only Susanna remained unmoved. The three of us stared at her, each frozen in action: Nikolai caressing his own hand; Dmitry taking a pace towards us; I with my sword held high. She looked down at where the wooden spike protruded from her stomach, and then began to giggle.
‘Well, that’s not going to do anything, is it?’ she said.
She reached down with one hand and tried to pull the shaft out of her, but it was stuck fast. She used both hands, and gave it a little twist as she did to loosen it. There was a squelching sound and it began to move, causing more blood to issue forth as it did. Eventually it was out of her. She held it upright in her hand, as though it were a candle, lighting her to bed. Her own blood now hid the ancient stains. The hole in her belly was already shrinking, healing. In less than a minute it was gone, but the rent in her dress remained, revealing no scar – only smooth, white skin, smeared with crimson.
She smiled. ‘Well then – where were we?’
As she spoke, I noticed that her face was still not symmetrical after the injury I’d inflicted earlier. The right-hand side was perhaps a quarter of an inch lower than the left. There was no noticeable seam between the two halves. The effect was disconcerting, but it was not enough to put me off. I’d realized some seconds before that I was once again in control of my body. I would not waste the opportunity.
I swung the sabre, at the same moment taking a step to the left; Nikolai was a little too close to us and I did not want to catch him. It missed him by only inches. As I began to move, so did both Dmitry and Susanna. He charged towards me, but I knew he would not make it in time. She began deliberately to fall to her right, to escape the attack, but I was already going too fast. She had scarcely moved when the blade hit her on the left side of her neck. It was a stroke I’d practised again and again as a child, on a straw dummy, while Mama urged me on, and corrected me, and told me to repeat it until I’d perfected it. That had been a long time ago, but I hadn’t lost the knack.
The blow lost most of its momentum as it hit her spine, but it got through, severing it, if I’d done what I intended, between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebrae. That would not be enough, though. I knew that her head must be completely detached from her body. Now I applied my full weight to the sword, relying on force rather than momentum; at the same time I pulled the sabre back towards me, so that the motion became a slicing action rather than a simple direct cut. It meant that I got through the flesh quicker, but also that I was running out of blade. If the tip came free before I’d got through the last inch of skin that connected her body to her skull then I would have to try again – and I didn’t think I’d get the opportunity.
I felt the pressure resisting the sword suddenly vanish and the tip of the blade flicked upwards as I briefly lost control of it. Susanna’s head was in the air, but still close to the bloody stump of her neck. A few tendrils of flesh stretched from one to the other, but as her head began to fall, they snapped. It was as though that were the signal for the rest of her body to collapse. The head fell to the floor, but was dust long before it hit. A tail of grey powder hung in the air behind it, like a comet’s, marking its path of descent. The blonde hair lasted longer, indeed its transformation was scarcely perceptible, except for the slightest change in its colour. She would have been lucky had she lived to old age – a few greys amongst the gold would not have been easily noticed. But when they reached the ground, the strands that had once been soft, supple and yielding proved themselves brittle. They shattered silently to nothing, as though they were strands of glass.
I heard two sounds, a fraction of a second apart: one a heavy thud and the other a lighter click. I looked. The cause of the deeper sound was obvious. Ascalon had fallen from Susanna’s crumbling hand and bounced on the floor. It lay there, not quite still, rocking from side to side. I had to scan the parquet floor to see what had caused the other sound. It was Zmyeevich’s ring – the golden dragon with emerald eyes and a forked red tongue. It had fallen from Susanna’s finger; fallen through her finger.
The desiccation of her body was mostly hidden from view. Her dress crumpled, slowed by the necessity for the air to escape through the narrow egresses of her collar and sleeves. The atmosphere around it became hazy with the particles that were expelled, but finally the material lay in a pile on the wooden floor, not quite flat, thanks to her boots and whatever other fragments of undecayed matter lay beneath it.
I took a step back and to one side, twisting to face Dmitry, my sword at the ready, though I doubted he would make so easy a target. Moreover, I still wasn’t convinced that he was my enemy.
He sighed. His eyes gazed down at Susanna’s dress. Then he looked at me. ‘She always wondered if there might still be some vestige of affection for her lingering in you. Seems she was wrong.’
‘It’s me. Mihail.’
He nodded. ‘That explains it.’
‘Your Majesty,’ I said, without turning to look at him, ‘could you pick up Ascalon and give it to me.’
I held out my hand behind me and moments later felt the solid shaft of the ancient lance placed there. It was sticky with Susanna’s blood; blood that had left her body before her death, and which therefore survived her. Perhaps one day it might be used to resurrect her, just as Iuda had been resurrected. It was not a fate I would wish upon anybody, and it would not come to pass.
I glanced briefly at the fireplace on the far side of the room, not wanting to take my eyes off Dmitry for a moment more than was necessary. In it logs glowed hot and red; I could see occasional flames flickering between them. It wasn’t a difficult throw, but Ascalon was in my left hand. I carefully swapped it with my sword, always with my eyes on Dmitry, not giving him a chance to attack. I had to look away from him in order to throw it, but even then he did not move. My aim was true. The lance bounced a little from one
side of the grate to the other, then settled down. It would take a minute or two to catch. Dmitry could easily have plucked it out; any burns he received would heal in moments. But he would have had to turn his back on me.
‘Aren’t you going to rescue it?’ I asked, tempting him.
‘I think not.’
‘You’d let your last hope of raising Zmyeevich burn to ashes while you stand and do nothing?’
‘I need no hope. I have certainty.’
‘What?’
‘Zmyeevich lives. You felt it; so did he.’ He nodded towards Nikolai, behind me. ‘We all share his blood. We sense him. Tell me you don’t.’
I said nothing. He was right; there was something, something that I couldn’t quite place. Something that had left me as I sat in that tea shop on Tverskaya Street and experienced Zmyeevich’s death. It had been there since the moment Nikolai had stabbed Susanna with Ascalon.
‘What about you, Romanov?’ Dmitry continued. ‘You know he’s alive, don’t you?’
‘Something’s alive.’
There was a cold terror in Nikolai’s voice that made me turn as soon as he spoke, forgetting the need to keep my guard up against Dmitry. The former tsar’s eyes bulged wide, staring down at the floor, down at the pile of clothes that were all that remained of Susanna. I followed his gaze.
Beneath the crumpled dress something was moving.
It was a twitching motion, a rising and falling, but with each undulation causing a little forward progress of just a few inches. I could only see the movement of the cloth of her white dress, not the creature that pulsated beneath it. A rat would not have moved like that, and anyway it was too big for a rat. I pictured a severed hand, pulling itself along by its fingers, rising up as its nails gripped the floor beneath, and then falling as they stretched out to find new purchase. But I knew it was not a hand. I knew exactly what it was – I simply could not bring myself to believe it.