by Jasper Kent
The tightness of my chest had lessened now, or perhaps I was just numb. Instead the pain was in my left arm – in the forearm, close to the wrist. It really had all been Dmitry’s idea, just as I’d told him. In The Rite of Spring, in the final part, the Chosen One danced and danced and danced until, exhausted, she collapsed and died. For an old soldier such as me it would be ungainly to dance myself to death, but a soldier can fight, and if he faces an enemy that he cannot defeat, then he must go on until he has no strength to continue. My heart was failing now. Soon it would be over. I only hoped they could drag Dmitry out in time for him to see it.
I reached to my pocket, knowing that it was where Danilov kept his pills, but my hand was cold and shaking and I could not make it do what I wanted. Danilov had kept his plan well hidden, and I’d walked right into it. I only hoped there would be time for me to walk out again before it closed.
‘What do you want, comrade?’ said one of the voices near me. ‘You need something?’
‘My pills,’ I said. My voice sounded weak and hoarse. ‘In a silver box.’
I felt a hand reach into my coat pocket and search, then in my jacket pocket.
‘Nothing there, comrade.’
‘Other side,’ I said, but I knew it was hopeless. Danilov always kept his pills on the right. They looked but found nothing.
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be all right.’
‘I’m dying,’ I said.
‘We’ve sent for a doctor.’
It was too late. Danilov understood his body better than I did; I could tell from his sense of elation that he was confident of death’s imminent arrival. Already I’d begun to lose sensation in my body, replaced simply by a dull ache that ran through every bone and muscle in me. I noticed that it was getting lighter. I wondered if that might be a part of the process of dying, though I had died before – twice before – and not experienced it. Then I realized; it was almost dawn. The sun’s rays were just hitting the buildings of Tobolsk over to the east. Soon they would be upon us.
I looked over at Dmitry. They had just about hauled him out now. I’d been here before: on the Berezina, when Lyosha had dunked my head beneath the water and tried to drown me; on the Neva, when he had shot me, and killed me, and I’d slipped through a hole in the ice much like the one Dmitry was now being pulled from. Lyosha had failed, both times, but his grandson had got me. The first time I’d managed to come back, but it wouldn’t happen again. It had turned out that the only way a Danilov could finally get me was by dying himself. I’d never played chess with either of them, neither Lyosha nor Mihail, but if I had, I was pretty sure this was how it would have ended. I was happy to call it a draw.
Dmitry was on his feet now, though I couldn’t really focus on him. The men were trying to help him but he was pushing them aside. Then he realized: it was seconds from dawn. He looked around, but there was nowhere for him to hide. He had only one option. He turned and dived neatly back through the hole in the ice from which he’d just been pulled. The end of the rope slithered after him, but one of the men got his hands on it, then a second. They began to haul him up once again. I couldn’t fathom why they were so keen to come to the aid of a man who so clearly did not want to be rescued. But human nature is a strange thing – I’d never understood it. And yet I’d always known perfectly how to exploit it.
I closed my eyes, hoping that death would come quickly. The aching of my limbs was agonizing now, but I could suffer it. I knew it would be over soon. I did not welcome my death, but I welcomed my freedom. And I welcomed Iuda’s death, just as I had welcomed it so long ago.
Perhaps Iuda was right to call it a draw, but I saw it as a victory; it was what I wanted and not what he wanted – that was enough. And he’d forgotten something about chess; it wasn’t always about winning the game, you also had to win the tournament. And to do that, sometimes a draw was enough.
I discovered that it was true what they said, that your life flashes before you. For me there were two lives, mine and Iuda’s. My own memories were to be expected: images of Mama and Nadya were the most prominent in my mind, but I recalled my father too, and my uncle, Aleksandr II – the only decent one among them.
Iuda had lived far longer. His memories flew past. England, Susanna, Oxford, the Crimea, Wallachia, Moscow – and then there was a familiar face, a memory that I grabbed on to. Iuda tried to pull it away from me, but he could not. He was too weak. I forced him to recall.
Dominique was sitting on her bed. She was dressed for her trade, but not yet undressed for it. She looked up as I opened the door and recognized me instantly.
‘Get out,’ she spat.
‘Is that any way to speak to a paying customer?’ I asked.
‘I get to choose my customers.’
‘That’s a privilege not afforded to many whores. Most only get to choose their lovers. Though in your case they’re one and the same.’
‘What do you want?’
I sat down in the chair opposite her, putting my hat on the dressing table. ‘I want to offer you another choice, concerning your lover, Lyosha. The choice of whether he lives or dies.’
‘What do you mean?’
I allowed myself a slight smile. ‘You know what I am, I take it? What my friends are?’
She nodded.
‘Then you will understand what they can do to Lyosha, now that he’s their prisoner.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Lying? You read the letter I sent, didn’t you? The one that had him galloping off to meet me in Kurilovo?’
‘Of course.’
‘And yet, as you can see, I am not in Kurilovo. I am here. And your beloved Lyosha is being held captive by my friends.’
It was a straightforward lie. Danilov had outwitted us at Kurilovo and if I knew him at all would already have killed those of them that were left and would be racing back here to save the lovely Dominique from me. But she did not need to know any of that.
‘At my word he can either be killed or set free. And my word depends on yours.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All I desire, my dear Dominique, is a single night spent enjoying the indubitable pleasures of your body. You’ve done it a hundred times before for money; how much nobler do you think you’ll feel about doing it to save your lover’s life?’
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s all. You may find some of my tastes a little unusual, but you’ll come to no harm if you play along.’
‘And afterwards I suppose you’ll go and brag about it to Lyosha.’
‘He will never hear of it from my lips, I give you my word. And I think we can be confident that you will never tell.’
‘You’re a bastard, you know that, Iuda?’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you work out exactly where a person’s weakness lies, and then you twist the knife in it to get what you want.’
‘And your weakness is?’
‘You know what it is. I’d do anything for Lyosha. Anything.’
‘Then I take it we’re agreed.’
Perhaps there was a God. Of all my memories, that was the one that I’d tried hardest to keep hidden from Danilov. I’d shown him what came after, shown him time and time again until he was sick to the stomach, and yet he’d never questioned how Dominique and I ended up in that situation. There was a delightful elegance to it, that an evening I had used to destroy Lyosha’s faith in Dominique had been of use to the same effect with her grandson a century later. But now, sadly, he knew the truth. Even though it was knowledge that – like all his knowledge – he would only possess for a few moments more, it would make him happy.
I opened my eyes. The sun was clear in the sky now, above the rooftops of Tobolsk. I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. The three men were still playing tug-of-war with Dmitry, trying to bring him back to the surface. From the effort they were putting into it, he clearly hadn’t broken free of the rope. Even with his enormous strength there would
be little he could do to resist them, nowhere that he could find purchase. He was a strong swimmer, but not stronger than three men standing on solid, if slippery ground.
A fourth man was peering into the gap in the ice. He held up his hand and gave a shout. The others started to pull harder, while he knelt down to look more closely. He was a big man, and reached into the water, grabbing Dmitry as he came close to the surface. With one final heave he dragged Dmitry clean out of the river and left him lying on his side on the ice. Those around them began to applaud.
Dmitry’s eyes met mine. I doubt he could tell that I was dying. He pushed himself up, trying to stand, trying to get back into the water and below the ice, but it was too late. The sun was already on him. His face vanished into a halo of gleaming light. His wet clothes began to steam. The three men who had been on the rope ran, but the fourth stayed where he was. He was caught by the explosion as Dmitry’s body burst into flames and his heavy garments were ripped apart, knocking the man on to his back. More ice melted, and he was in the water. I fell back as the two men beside me rushed to help. I lay there, gazing up at the blue of the morning sky.
Iuda was mistaken. It brought me little happiness to know that Domnikiia had acted only out of love for my grandfather; not because it wasn’t a good thing, but because I should have known it from the start. Aleksei had not been fooled by Iuda’s trickery. He had ignored it and trusted his heart. He was a better man than I.
I could see nothing now, not even the blue above me. I felt no pain, because in truth I could not feel my limbs or my body. I felt the cold, hard ice where my head rested against it, but nothing more. I had only my thoughts, and with them, Iuda’s thoughts. Many fear the idea of dying alone, but for me it sounded blissful; better that than to have to breathe one’s last in the company of a creature that had done so much to destroy everyone I loved, and everyone who loved me. I prayed that, if there was a God and He could find in His heart any reason to be merciful to a sinner like me, then He would bless me with just a moment’s solitude at the end.
I breathed out, and knew that I would never breathe in again. My body grew suddenly cold and I prepared for the end. But even in that moment, an overwhelming sense of joy overcame me. It was too wonderful to believe. I searched every crevice of my mind, but it was true. He was gone. Iuda was gone. He had died before me, if only by an instant. I was free.
It would only be for a moment, but I knew I must relish it. I tried to cling on to the seconds I had, tried to recall every happy memory, every true friend I had ever known, but I had no time. I filled my mind with the things that I loved. I saw Nadya, and Mama, both of them smiling at me, both of them proud of me. I pictured my father, my grandfather, even Polkan.
And then …
EPILOGUE
My Darling Beloved Nadya,
As I write these words I am sitting on the train from Petrograd to Moscow. When I look up from the paper I see you. I look up often. I have never hidden my family’s history from you, and that makes it easier now for you to understand what I must do.
I face two dreadful dangers. One is a threat to the whole of Russia, to the whole of the world. The other is more personal. In the case of the first, you will know by now, I think, how matters have been resolved. If the Whites have marched into Moscow and Petrograd, led by a strong and invigorated Tsar Nikolai, then you alone will understand the truth. Zmyeevich will have achieved his wish and our country will at last be his. If that is so, then I beg you to flee. Leave Russia, leave Europe, get as far away as possible. Nowhere will be safe for ever, but Europe will be in danger sooner. Zmyeevich will not stop at Russia. Nation by nation he will take the world. Nation by nation he will subject his people to misery.
On the other hand, if Nikolai remains imprisoned in Tobolsk, remains the proud, pathetic fool who lost his country to its people, then all will be well. If he is dead, then all will be well too, for I cannot escape the fact that I may have to carry out such a dreadful act, if there is no other way.
As to that second threat, if I have not returned now then I never shall. There may be some mechanism whereby I can break free of Iuda, or he of me, but I have no inkling of what it might be. Even if I could discover it, I would be afraid that Iuda would find a way to exploit it more to his benefit than mine. In a sense I am lucky that I have some control over him. It is better that he is bound to me, constrained by me, than free to wreak his vile havoc. But if I find that it is in my power to destroy him completely, then I will do so, whatever the cost to me.
I have considered every other option, but none of them is good enough. I have tried prison, but he found a way to set us free. I could mimic Aleksandr I and force exile upon myself under a new name, but he would find a way to return. I still hold out some little hope, but it seems that death may be my only escape. Iuda has experienced death and I know that he fears it, but I know too that there is nothing in it for me to be afraid of.
And so farewell, my dearest Nadya, and farewell world. Be happy, my darling. I would not ask you to forget me, but when you remember me, try to remember me in more pleasant times. When Polkan hears a sound and looks up expectantly at the door, pretend for a moment that it is I who is about to come through, and that all will be as it once was.
And if I have done what I set out to do, if I have stopped Susanna and destroyed Ascalon, then go out into the world with some hope. Russia has many dangers to face, but she has faced them before and thrived. There will be a civil war, I am sure, but can one really believe that the nation which routed Bonaparte might destroy itself? Can one believe that a people who have had the sense to overthrow tyranny will be unable to govern themselves in a way that benefits everyone? From all the great minds that have led this revolution, can we not find a few who will be wise enough and beneficent enough to guide us to a better future?
I know that such men exist and that they will take the reins of power and that you, and all the people of Russia, will enjoy the happiness and prosperity you deserve.
I am only sorry that I will not be with you.
Goodbye, my darling.
Yours for eternity,
Misha.
Nadya had read the letter a hundred times. By now she could remember it by heart. But she had known its contents from the very beginning, when she had held it, and felt the hard, rectangular shape within the envelope, and understood that it was the silver box in which Mihail kept his pills. Even so she had not opened it. She had obeyed Mihail’s instructions and waited a month for him to return, and then another, and another.
She told her father, Vadim Rodionovich, nothing of what Mihail had written, but he seemed to understand. He asked no questions. In July the news had come of the former tsar’s execution. There was no real pleasure to be taken from that, but it proved one thing – that he could die. And that meant Mihail had succeeded. Even though Nikolai had not transformed himself into the leader of the Whites, Nadya had never been sure. But now she was. Just as sure as she was that Mihail was dead.
Nadya Vadimovna walked down the stone steps from her father’s house and on to the pavement. Polkan followed more slowly. He was getting older, and steps were an increasing problem for him. But he’d still rather walk by her side than stay at home when she went to the shops.
It was the height of summer now and Moscow was warm, too warm to tell the truth. Nadya preferred the cold. But she liked the sunlight, and today the sun shone brightly across Moscow. She walked down to the river and looked up to see it gleaming on the domes of the Kremlin. She went over Mihail’s letter again in her mind. There was little in it to give her solace, but there was something – his sense of optimism. He had lived his whole life with that optimism. That was why he had joined the army. That was why he had been a member of the Duma. That was why he had fought Iuda, and defeated him. And if Mihail’s final thoughts had been that Russia could be a country that bestowed happiness on all who lived in her, then who was Nadya to disagree?
There would be peace. There would
be prosperity. There would be freedom. If not, then what had Mihail’s death been for? She gazed upwards and felt the sun on her face, then quickened her step and walked across the bridge towards the market, towards the future, and towards the worst horror of all.
CHARACTERS OF THE DANILOV QUINTET
Aleksei Ivanovich Danilov Russian soldier and spy who defeated the oprichniki in 1812 and saved Tsar Aleksandr I from Zmyeevich in 1825 by helping to fake his death. Sent into exile after the Decembrist Uprising.
Dmitry Alekseevich Danilov Only son of Aleksei Ivanovich Danilov, by Marfa Mihailovna. Became a vampire in 1856.
Marfa Mihailovna Danilova Wife of Aleksei and mother of Dmitry.
Domnikiia Semyonovna Beketova Aleksei’s mistress who accompanied him into exile in Siberia in 1826.
Margarita Kirillovna Colleague of Domnikiia Semyonovna who worked with her in a brothel in Moscow in 1812.
Tamara Alekseevna Danilova also known as Tamara Valentinovna Komarova Illegitimate daughter of Aleksei and Domnikiia. Mother of Mihail Konstantinovich
Mihail Konstantinovich Danilov Illegitimate child of Tamara Alekseevna and Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolayevich, Tsar Aleksandr II’s brother.