by Boris Akunin
The lady gave Anisii a disappointed look from her huge black eyes, wrinkled up her classic nose slightly and called out: 'Erast, it's for you. From the office.'
For some reason Anisii felt surprised that the Court Counsellor was married, although in principle there was nothing surprising in such a man having a lovely spouse, with a regal bearing and haughty gaze.
Madame Fandorin yawned aristocratically, without parting her lips, and disappeared back through the door, and a moment later Mr Fandorin himself came out into the hallway.
He was also wearing a dressing gown, not red, but black, with tassels and a silk belt.
'Hello, T-Tulipov,' said the Court Counsellor, fingering a string of green jade beads, and Anisii was simply overwhelmed with delight; he had never have expected Erast Petrovich to remember him, especially by name - there must be plenty of petty minions who delivered packages to him - but there it was.
'What's that you have there? Give it to me. And go through into the drawing room, sit down for a while. Masa, take M-Mr Tulipov's coat.'
Anisii walked timidly into the drawing room, not daring to gape all around, and sat down modestly on the edge of a chair upholstered with blue velvet. It was only a little while later that he started gazing stealthily around him.
It was an interesting room: all the walls were hung with coloured Japanese prints, which Anisii knew were very fashionable nowadays. He also spotted some scrolls with hieroglyphs and two curved sabres, one longer and one shorter, on a lacquered wooden stand.
The Court Counsellor rustled the documents, occasionally marking something in them with a little gold pencil. His wife paid no attention to the men and stood at the window, looking out into the garden with a bored air.
'My dear,' she said in French, 'why don't we ever go anywhere? It really is quite intolerable. I want society, I want to go to the theatre, I want to go to a ball.'
'Addy you yourself s-said that it's inappropriate,' replied Fandorin, looking up from his documents. "We might meet acquaintances of yours from Petersburg. It would be awkward. For me, personally it's all the same.'
He glanced at Tulipov, and the courier blushed. Well, he wasn't to blame - was he? - if he understood French, even with some difficulty.
So it turned out that the beautiful lady was not Madame Fandorin at all.
'Ah, forgive me, Addy' Erast Petrovich said in Russian. 'I haven't introduced Mr Tulipov to you; he works in the Department of Gendarmes. And this is Countess Ariadna Arkadievna Opraksina, my g-good friend.'
Anisii had the impression that the Court Counsellor hesitated slightly, as if he weren't quite sure how to describe the beautiful woman. Or perhaps it was simply the stammer that made it seem that way.
'Oh, God,' Countess Addy sighed in a long-suffering voice, and walked rapidly out of the room.
Almost immediately her voice rang out again: 'Masa, get away from my Natalya immediately! Off to your room with you right now, you vile girl! No, this is simply unbearable!'
Erast Petrovich also sighed and went back to reading the documents.
At that point Tulipov heard the tinkling of the doorbell, muffled by the noise of voices from the hallway, and the oriental he had seen earlier came tumbling into the drawing room like a rubber ball. He started jabbering away in some foreign mumbo-jumbo, but Fandorin gestured for him to be quiet.
'Masa, I've told you: when we have visitors, speak to me in Russian, not Japanese.'
Promoted to the rank of visitor, Anisii assumed a dignified air and peered curiously at the servant.
'From Vedisev-san,' Masa declared curtly.
'From Vedishchev? From Frol Grigorievich? Show him in.'
Anisii knew who Frol Grigorievich Vedishchev was all right. He was a well-known character, nicknamed 'the Grey Cardinal'. He had been with Prince Dolgorukoi since his childhood, first as an errand boy, then as an orderly, then as a manservant, and for the last twenty years as his personal valet - since Vladimir Andreevich had taken the ancient city into the tight grip of his firm hands. The valet might seem to be small fry but it was well known that the clever and cautious Dolgorukoi never took any important decisions without first consulting his faithful Frol. If you wanted to approach His Excellency with an important request, first you had to cajole and convince Vedishchev, and then you could consider the job already half-done.
An energetic fellow in the Governor's livery walked or, rather, ran into the drawing room and started jabbering from the doorway.
'Your Honour, Frol Grigorievich wants you to come. He insists you must come to see him as a matter of great urgency! It's a real rumpus, Erast Petrovich, a real rumpus! Frol Grigorievich says we can't manage without you! I'm in the Prince's sleigh; we'll be there in an instant.'
'What kind of "rumpus" is this?' the Court Counsellor asked with a frown, but he stood up and took off his dressing gown to reveal a white shirt and black tie. All right, let's go and t-take a look. Masa, my waistcoat and frock coat, and look lively!' called Fandorin, stuffing the documents into the folder. And you, Tulipov, will have to ride along with me. I'll finish reading these on the way'
Anisii was quite willing to follow His Honour anywhere at all, as he demonstrated by hastily leaping up off his chair.
This was something the courier Tulipov had never imagined -that one day he would take a ride in the Governor-General's closed sleigh.
It was a noble sleigh, a genuine carriage on runners. Inside it was upholstered in satin, the seats were Russian leather, and in the corner there was a little stove with a bronze flue, though it wasn't lit. The servant sat on the coachbox and Dolgorukoi's foursome of dashing trotters set off at a spanking pace.
As Anisii was swayed smoothly, almost gently, to and fro on the soft seat intended for far more noble buttocks, he thought to himself: Ah, no one will ever believe this.
Mr Fandorin cracked the sealing wax as he opened some despatch. He wrinkled his high, clear forehead. How very handsome he is, Tulipov thought with no envy, in genuine admiration, glancing sideways to observe the Court Counsellor tugging on his slim moustache.
After rushing them to the big house on Tverskaya Street in five minutes, the sleigh did not turn to the left, towards the office, but to the right, towards the formal entrance and the personal chambers of Vladimir Andreevich Dolgorukoi, 'the Great Prince of Moscow' (which was by no means the only nickname the all-powerful Governor had acquired).
'I beg your pardon, Tulipov,' Fandorin said hurriedly as he opened the little carriage door, 'but I can't let you go just yet. I'll jot down a couple of lines for the c-colonel later. But first I must sort out this little rumpus.'
Anisii followed Erast Petrovich out of the sleigh and into the grand marble palace, but then immediately dropped behind, intimidated by the sight of the imposing doorman with the gilded mace. Tulipov suddenly felt terribly afraid of being humiliated, concerned that Mr Fandorin would leave him to cool his heels below stairs, like some little puppy dog. But he overcame his pride and prepared to forgive the Court Counsellor: after all, how could you take a man into the Governor's apartments in a coat like this and a cap with a cracked peak?
"What are you doing stuck back there?' Erast Petrovich asked impatiently, turning round. He was already halfway up the stairs.
'Don't fall behind. You can see what a devil of a mess we have here.'
It was only then that Anisii finally realised that there really was something quite extraordinary going on in the Governor's house. If you looked closely, even the exalted doorman had an air that was not so much grand as confused. There were some brisk, rough-looking fellows carrying trunks, boxes and crates with foreign lettering on them into the hallway from the street. Was someone moving then?
Tulipov hopped and skipped up the stairs to the Court Counsellor and tried to keep within two paces of him, which meant that at times he had to trot in an undignified manner, because His Honour walked with a long and rapid stride.
Oh, how beautiful it was in the Governor's residen
ce! Almost like in a church: variegated columns (perhaps they were porphyry?), brocade door curtains, statues of Greek goddesses. And the chandeliers! And the pictures in gold frames! And the parquet gleaming like a mirror, with those inlaid patterns!
Looking round at the parquet, Anisii suddenly noticed that his disgraceful shoes were leaving a dirty, wet trail on the wonderful floor. Oh Lord, don't let anyone notice that, he thought.
In a spacious hall that was completely deserted but had armchairs standing along the walls, the Court Counsellor said: 'Sit here. And hold the folder.'
He set off towards the tall, gilded doors, but they suddenly swung open to meet him. First there was a confused hubbub of voices in heated conversation, and then four men came out into the hall: a stately general, a lanky individual who did not look Russian wearing a check coat with a cape, a bald, skinny old man with absolutely immense sideburns and a civil functionary in uniform, wearing spectacles.
Recognising the general as Prince Dolgorukoi himself, Anisii quivered and drew himself up to attention.
From close up His Excellency did not look as fresh and sprightly as he appeared when viewed from a crowd: his face was covered with immensely deep wrinkles, his curls were unnaturally luxuriant, and the chestnut-brown of his long moustache and sideburns was too rich for a man of seventy-five.
'Erast Petrovich, just in time!' exclaimed the Governor. 'He mangles his French so badly you can't understand a thing, and he hasn't got a single word of Russian. You know English. So please explain what he wants from me! And how he was ever admitted! I've been trying to make sense of him for the best part of an hour, but it's a waste of time!'
'Your Excellency, how could we not have admitted him, when he's a lord and he visits the house,' the functionary in spectacles whined plaintively, clearly not for the first time. 'How could I have known ...'
At this point the Englishman also started speaking, addressing the new man and indignantly waving some piece of paper covered with seals in the air.
Erast Petrovich began translating dispassionately: 'This is a dishonest game; they don't do things like this in civilised countries. I was with this old gentleman yesterday; he signed a bill of sale for the house and we sealed the agreement with a handshake. And now, you see, he has decided not to move out. His grandson, Mr Speier, told me that the old gentleman was moving to a home for veterans of the Napoleonic Wars; he will be more comfortable there, because the care is good, and this mansion was for sale. This kind of dithering does him no credit, especially when the money has already been paid. And a large sum, too - a hundred thousand roubles. Here is the bill of sale!'
'He's been waving yon piece of paper around for ages, but he won't let us have it,' remarked the bald old man, who had so far remained silent. Obviously he must be Frol Grigorievich Vedishchev.
I'm Speier's grandfather?' the Prince babbled. 'They're putting me in an almshouse?'
The functionary stole up to the Englishman from behind, stood on tiptoe and managed to sneak a glimpse at the mysterious sheet of paper.
'It really does say a hundred thousand, and it's been witnessed by a notary' he confirmed. And it's our address: the house of Prince Dolgorukoi, Tverskaya Street.'
Fandorin asked: 'Vladimir Andreevich, who is this Speier?'
Prince Dolgorukoi mopped his scarlet brow with a handkerchief and shrugged. 'Speier is a very pleasant young man with excellent references. He was presented to me at the Christmas ball by ... mmm ... who was it now? Ah, no, now I remember. It wasn't at the ball. He was recommended to me in a special letter by His Highness the Duke of Saxen-Limburg. Speier is a very fine, courteous young fellow, with a heart of gold, and very unfortunate. He was in the Kushka campaign, wounded in the back, and since then he can't move his legs. He gets around in a wheelchair, but he hasn't let it get him down. He does charitable work, collects contributions for orphans and contributes huge sums himself. He was here yesterday morning with this mad Englishman, who he said was the well-known British philanthropist Lord Pitsbrook. He asked me to allow him to show the Englishman round the mansion, because His Lordship is a connoisseur and lover of architecture. How could I refuse poor Speier such a trifling request? Innokenty here accompanied them.' Dolgorukoi jabbed his finger angrily towards the functionary, who threw his hands up in the air despairingly.
'Your Excellency, how could I have ... You told me yourself to be as helpful as I possibly could
'Did you shake Lord Pitsbrook's hand?' asked Fandorin, and Anisii thought he caught the glint of a spark in the Court Counsellor's eyes.
'Why, naturally,' the Prince said with a shrug. 'First Speier told him something about me in English, then the lanky fellow beamed and reached for my hand to shake it.'
'And d-did you sign some kind of document before that?'
The Governor knitted his brows as he tried to remember. 'Yes, Speier asked me to sign the speech of welcome for the newly re-opened Catherine the Great Girls' Home. Such sacred work - re-educating juvenile harlots. But I didn't sign any bill of sale! You know me, dear fellow: I always read everything I sign very carefully'
And then what did he do with the address?'
'I think he showed it to the Englishman, said something and put it in a folder. The folder was lying in his wheelchair.' Dolgorukoi's face, already menacing, turned as dark as a storm cloud. Ah, merde! Could he really ...'
Erast Petrovich addressed the lord in English, apparently succeeding in winning the son of Albion's complete confidence, because he was given the mysterious sheet of paper to study.
All drawn up in due form,' the Court Counsellor muttered, running his glance over the bill of sale. "With an official seal and a stamp from the "Mobius" notary's office and the signature ... What on earth!' An expression of extreme perplexity appeared on Fandorin's face. 'Vladimir Andreevich, look here! Look at the signature!'
The Prince took hold of the piece of paper disdainfully, as if it were a toad, and held it as far away as he could from his longsighted eyes. He read out loud: '"Jack of Spades" ... I beg your pardon, what does this "Jack" mean?'
'Well, well, well...' Vedishchev drawled. 'That's clear then. The Jack of Spades again. Well, well. Our Lady in Heaven, what a turn-up this is.'
'The Jack of Spades?' said His Excellency, still unable to make any sense of anything. 'But that's the name of a band of swindlers - the ones who sold the banker Polyakov his own trotters last month, and helped the merchant Vinogradov pan for gold dust in the River Setuni at Christmas. Barabanov reported to me about them. We're looking for them, he said, the villains. I laughed at the time. But have they really dared try to swindle me - me, Dolgorukoi?' The Governor-General tore open his gold-embroidered collar and his face took on such a terrible expression that Anisii pulled his head back down into his shoulders.
Vedishchev fluttered across to the furious Prince like a startled hen and started clucking: 'Vladim Andreich, everyone makes mistakes sometimes; why distress yourself so? I'll get your valerian drops and call the doctor to let your blood! Innokenty give me a chair!'
However, Anisii was first to reach the Governor with a chair.
They sat the overwrought Prince down on the soft seat, but he kept struggling to stand up and pushing away his valet.
'Like some petty merchant or other! Do they take me for a boy? I'll give them the almshouse!' he cried incoherently. Vedishchev made all sorts of reassuring sounds and once even stroked His Excellency's dyed - or perhaps false - curls.
The Governor turned to Fandorin and said plaintively: 'Erast Petrovich, my friend, what is going on here? They've got completely out of hand, these bandits. In my person they have insulted, abased and mocked the whole of Moscow. Call out all the police and the gendarmes, but find the villains. I want them tried! Sent to Siberia! You can do anything, my dear fellow. From now on, regard this as your most important job, a personal request from me. Baranov won't be able to manage on his own; he can assist you.'
'We can't possibly use the police,' the Co
urt Counsellor replied thoughtfully. There were no sparks glittering in Fandorin's eyes now; his face expressed nothing except concern for the reputation of the authorities. 'If the word spreads, the entire c-city will split its sides laughing. We can't allow that to happen.'
'I beg your pardon,' said Dolgorukoi, growing furious again. 'Then what are we supposed to do - just let these "Jacks" get away with it?'
'Under no circumstances. I shall handle this m-matter. But confidentially, with no publicity.' Fandorin thought for a while and continued: 'Lord Pitsbrook's money will have to be repaid out of the municipal t-treasury and we shall have to apologise to him, but not explain anything about the "Jack". We'll say it was all a misunderstanding. Your grandson took too much upon himself.'
On hearing his name mentioned, the Englishman agitatedly asked the Court Counsellor about something.
Fandorin replied briefly and turned back to the Governor: 'Vedishchev will think of something that will satisfy the servants' curiosity. And I'll start searching.'
'But how can you find such a set of rogues all on your own?' the valet asked doubtfully.
'Yes, it will not be easy. But it is not desirable to extend the circle of people who know about this.' Fandorin glanced at the secretary in spectacles, whom the Prince had called Innokenty and shook his head. Innokenty was obviously not suitable as an assistant. Then he turned towards Anisii, and Anisii's blood ran cold at the sudden keen awareness of how unpresentable he appeared: young and skinny with ears that jutted out, and covered in pimples as well.
'I won't ... I won't say a word,' he babbled. 'My word of honour.'
And who is this?' roared His Excellency the Governor, who had apparently only just noticed the pitiful figure of the courier. 'Why is he here?'
'This is Tulipov,' explained Fandorin, 'from the Department of Gendarmes. An experienced agent. It is he who is going to assist me.'