Special Assignments

by Boris Akunin

  Erast Petrovich went to the Loskutnaya Hotel on his own, dressed up in his uniform, to see the royal prince. He was gone for a long time and returned with a face darker than a thunder cloud. At the hotel he had been told that His Highness had left the previous day to take the Warsaw train, but the tall passenger had failed to show up at the Bryansk Station.

  That evening the Court Counsellor held a consultation with Anisii, which he called an 'operational analysis', to sum up the results of the long day. This procedure was new to Tulipov. Later on, when he was already used to the idea that every day concluded with an 'analysis', he began to get a little bolder, but that first evening he said nothing for most of the time, afraid of blurting out something stupid.

  'Right, let's be rational about this,' the Court Counsellor began. 'The notary Mobius, who is not a notary at all, has gone, evaporated. That is one.' A jade bead on the rosary clicked loudly. 'The invalided philanthropist Speier, who is not a philanthropist at all, and unlikely to be an invalid, has also gone, disappeared without trace. That is two. (And once again - click!) What is especially intriguing is that the duke has also mysteriously disappeared, and unlike the "notary" and the "invalid", he would appear to have been genuine. Of course, Germany is just full of little crowned princes, far too many to keep track of, but this one was received in Moscow with full honours, the n-newspapers wrote about his arrival. And that is three (click!). On the way back from the station I dropped into the offices of The Week and the Russian Herald and asked how they had heard about the forthcoming visit by His Highness the Duke of Saxen-Limburg. It turned out that the newspapers had received the information in the usual manner, by telegraph from their St Petersburg correspondents. What do you make of that, Tulipov?'

  Anisii immediately broke into a nervous sweat and said uncertainly: 'Who knows, Your Honour, who it was that actually sent them - those telegrams.'

  'That's what I think too,' the State Counsellor said approvingly, and Tulipov instandy breathed a sigh of relief. Anyone at all who knew the names of the St Petersburg correspondents could have sent a telegram from anywhere at all... Oh, and by the way. Don't call me "Your Honour"; we're not in the army, after all. First name and patronymic will do, or ... or just call me "Chief" - it's shorter and easier.' Fandorin smiled grimly at something or other and continued with the 'analysis'. 'Look here - we're getting somewhere. A certain cunning individual, who has simply found out the names of a few correspondents (which requires no more than leafing through the newspapers), sends off telegrams to the newspaper offices about the arrival of a German prince, and after that everything simply follows its own course. Reporters meet "His Highness" at the station, Russian Thought prints an interview, in which the honoured guest expresses extremely bold opinions on the Baltic question, categorically distancing himself from Bismarck's political line, and there you have it. Moscow is conquered, our patriots accept the duke with open arms. Ah, the press - how few people in Russia realise how powerful it really is ... Right, then, Tulipov; now we move on to our conclusions.'

  When the Court Counsellor, or 'Chief, paused, Anisii felt afraid that he would have to draw the conclusions, and the poor courier's head was suddenly full of formless mist.

  But no, Mr Fandorin managed without Anisii's assistance. He strode energetically across the study, clattered his beads rapidly and then clasped his hands behind his back.

  'The membership of the Jack of Spades gang is unknown. There are at least three men involved: "Speier", the "Notary" and the "Duke". That is one. They are brazenly insolent, highly inventive and incredibly self-assured. That is t-two. There are no tracks to follow. That is three . . .' Erast Petrovich paused for a moment and concluded quietly, almost even stealthily: 'But there are certain clues, and that is four.'

  'Really?' Anisii asked eagerly. He had been feeling dejected, expecting a quite different conclusion: This is hopeless, Tulipov, so you can go back to your courier's job.

  'I think so. The "jacks" are firmly convinced that they have got away with it, and most likely that means they will want to play another prank or two. That is one. Even before this business with Lord Pitsbrook they managed to pull off two highly successful and extremely daring hoaxes. Both times they came away with plenty of money, both times they had the effrontery to leave their calling card, but they never even thought of gathering up their substantial trophies and leaving Moscow. So now ... Would you like a cigar?' The Court Counsellor clicked open the lid of an ebony casket standing on the desk.

  Although, for reasons of economy, Anisii did not use tobacco, he could not resist and took one - the slim, neat, chocolate-coloured cigars looked so very appetising, with their red and gold labels. Imitating Erast Petrovich, he smacked his lips as he kindled the flame into life and prepared to experience a heavenly bliss that was the exclusive prerogative of rich gentlemen. He had seen cigars like this on Kuznetsky Most, in the window of Sychov's Colonial Shop - at one and a half roubles apiece.

  'The next point,' Fandorin continued, 'is that the "jacks" use the same methods repeatedly. That is two. In both the business with the "Duke" and the episode with the "notary" they exploited the natural human propensity to trust the printed word. Well, all right, never mind His Lordship. The English are used to t-trusting everything that The Times p-prints. But look what fine informants our Moscow newspapers are ... First they inform the citizens of Moscow about "His Highness's" arrival, then they go on to create a ballyhoo and fill everyone's head with nonsense ... Tulipov, you don't inhale a cigar!'

  But it was too late. Having completed his thoroughgoing preparations Anisii breathed in and filled his chest with the astringent smoke that was prickling the roof of his mouth. The light dimmed and poor Tulipov felt as if his insides had been ripped open with a file. He doubled up, coughing and choking and feeling that he was about to die on the spot.

  Having revived him (with the help of water from the carafe and energetic slaps to Anisii's skinny back), Fandorin summed up briefly: 'Our job is to keep our eyes peeled.'

  And now Tulipov had been keeping his eyes peeled for a week. In the morning, on the way to his most enviable job, he bought a full set of Moscow's various newspapers. He marked everything that was remarkable or unusual in them and reported to his 'chief over lunch.

  Lunch deserves a special mention. When the Countess was in good spirits and came to the table, the food served was exquisite -dishes delivered from the Ertele French restaurant: some kind of chaud-froid with snipe and truffles, salat Romain, macedoine in melon and other culinary miracles that Anisii had never even heard of before. But if Addy had spent the morning feeling miserable in her boudoir or had gone out to unwind in the haberdashery and perfumery shops, then Masa seized power in the dining room, and things assumed a quite different complexion. Fandorin's valet went to the Japanese and Chinese shop on the Petrovsky Lanes and brought back unsalted rice, marinated radishes, crunchy seaweed that tasted like paper and sweet fried fish. The Court Counsellor ate all this poison with obvious relish, and Masa gave Anisii tea, a fresh bagel and sausage. To tell the truth, Tulipov greatly preferred this kind of meal, because in the presence of the lovely but capricious Countess, he was so completely overwhelmed that he was unable to appreciate the wonderful delicacies properly anyway.

  Erast Petrovich listened attentively to the results of Tulipov's morning research. He dismissed the greater part out of hand and agreed to bear the remainder in mind. In the afternoon they separated to verify the facts: Anisii checked the suspicious announcements and his chief checked the important individuals who had arrived in Moscow (on the pretext of bringing them greetings from the Governor-General; he took a close look to make sure they were not impostors).

  So far it had all come to nothing, but Anisii was not dispirited. He would gladly have carried on working like this for ever.

  That morning Sonya had a stomach ache - she must have been gnawing the lime from the stove again - and so Tulipov had no time for breakfast at home. He wasn't given any coffee
in the Chief's house either - it was a 'loud' day. Anisii sat quietly in the study, leafing through the newspapers and, as luck would have it, his eyes kept stumbling across advertisements for all kinds of food.

  'Safatov's shop on Sretenka Street has received a delivery of the exceptionally tender salted beef known as "Entrecote", he read, even though the information was of no use to him. At 16 kops a pound, all lean meat, it can replace ham of the very highest sort.'

  All in all, he barely survived until lunch, and he wolfed down his bagel as he reported on the day's catch to Erast Petrovich.

  On that day, 11 February 1886, the number of new arrivals was small: five military generals and seven counsellors of state. The Chief marked down two to be visited: the head of the naval quartermaster service, Rear-Admiral von Bombe, and the head of the state treasury, Privy Counsellor Svinin.

  Then Tulipov moved on to the more interesting subject of unusual announcements.

  'By decision of the Municipal Duma,' he read out, with significant pauses, 'two shop-owners from the Municipal Arcade on Red Square are to be invited to a consultation on the establishment of a joint-stock company for the purpose of rebuilding the Municipal Arcade and erecting on its current site an emporium with a glass dome.'

  'Well, what do you f-find suspicious about that?' asked Fandorin.

  'It doesn't make sense, does it - why does an emporium need a glass dome?' Anisii remarked reasonably. And anyway, Chief, you told me to point out to you any announcements that invite people to contribute money, and this is a joint-stock company. Perhaps it's a swindle?'

  'It isn't,' the Court Counsellor reassured him. 'The Duma really has decided to demolish the Municipal Arcade and build an enclosed three-storey gallery in the Russian style in its place. Go on.'

  Tulipov set aside the rejected article from the Moscow Municipal Gazette and picked up the Russian Word.

  'Chess Tournament. At two o'clock this afternoon in the premises of the Moscow Society of Chess Lovers, M. I. Chigorin will play a tournament against ten opponents. Mr Chigorin will play a I'aveugle, without looking at the board or writing down his moves. The stake for a game is 100 roubles. An entry ticket costs 2 roubles. All who wish to attend are welcome.'

  'Without looking at the board?' Erast Petrovich asked in surprise, and made a note in his little book. 'All right. I'll go along and play.'

  Cheered by this, Anisii went on to read an announcement from the Moscow Municipal Police Gazette.

  'Unprecedented real estate lottery. The international evangelical society "The Tears of Jesus" is holding its first monumental charitable lottery in Moscow to support the construction of the Chapel of the Shroud of the Lord in Jerusalem. Fantastically valuable prizes, donated by benefactors from all over Europe: apartment houses, villas in the finest European cities. Prizes are confirmed on the spot! One standard ticket for 25 roubles. Hurry, the lottery will only be in Moscow for one week, and then it will move on to St Petersburg.'

  Erast Petrovich was intrigued. A monumental lottery? A very creative idea. The public will take to it. No need to wait for the draw; you learn if you've won anything straight away. Interesting. And it doesn't look like a swindle. Using the Police Gazette f-for a hoax is too bold a move altogether. Although we can expect anything from the "jacks" ... I think you'd better go there, Tulipov. Here's twenty-five roubles. Buy a ticket for me. Go on.'

  'News! I have the honour to inform the respected public that in recent days my museum, located opposite Solodovnikov's Passage, has taken delivery from London of an extremely lively and cheerful chimpanzee with a baby. Entrance 3 roubles. F. Patek.'

  And what has the chimpanzee done to displease you?' the Chief asked with a shrug. 'What do you s-suspect her of?'

  'It's unusual,' Anisii mumbled. In all honesty, he had simply wanted to take a look at this great marvel, especially since it was so 'lively and cheerful'. And the entrance charge is too high.'

  'No, that's not ambitious enough for the Jack of Spades,' said Fandorin, shaking his head. And you can't disguise yourself as a chimpanzee. Especially a baby one. Go on.'

  'Missing dog. On 28 January this year a male dog, a large mongrel by the name of Hector, went missing. He is black, with a crooked rear left leg and a white patch on his chest. Anyone who returns him will receive 50 roubles. Bolshaya Ordynka

  Street, the house of Countess Tolstaya, ask for Privat-Docent Andreev.'

  The Chief sighed at this announcement too: 'You seem to be in the mood for fun this morning, Tulipov. What would we want with "large mongrel"?'

  'But it's fifty roubles, Erast Petrovich! For a common mongrel! That's really suspicious!'

  'Ah, Tulipov, people love that kind of beast, with crooked legs, more than the handsome ones. You don't understand a thing about love. Go on.'

  Anisii sniffed resentfully, thinking: And you know so much about love, don't you? That's why the doors slam in your house in the morning and they don't serve my coffee.

  He read out the next item of the day's harvest: 'Male impotence, weakness and the consequences of the sins of youth cured with electrical discharges and galvanic baths by Doctor of Medicine Emmanuel Straus.'

  An obvious charlatan,' Erast Petrovich agreed. Only it's rather petty for the "jacks", isn't it? But go and check anyway'

  Anisii returned from his expedition shortly after three in the afternoon, tired and with nothing to show for it, but in a good mood which, as a matter of fact, had been with him all through the preceding week. He was looking forward to the most enjoyable stage of the work: the analysis and discussion of the events of the day.

  'I see from the absence of any gleam in your eyes that your nets are empty' the perspicacious Erast Petrovich said in greeting. He had evidently only got back recently himself -he was still wearing his uniform and the crosses of his decorations.

  And what do you have, Chief?' Tulipov asked hopefully 'What about the generals? And the chess player?'

  'The generals are genuine. And so is the chess player. A truly phenomenal gift: he sat with his back to the boards and didn't take any notes. He won nine games out of ten and only lost one. Not bad business, as the traders say nowadays. Mr Chigorin took in nine hundred roubles and paid out a hundred. A net profit of eight hundred, and all in about an hour.'

  And who did he lose to?' Anisii asked curiously.

  'Me,' his chief replied. 'But that's not important; the time was wasted.'

  Wasted, was it? thought Tulipov. A hundred roubles' worth!

  He asked respectfully: 'Do you play chess well?'

  'Terribly badly. It was pure luck.' Looking in the mirror, Fandorin adjusted the already ideal wings of his starched collar. 'You see, Tulipov, in my own way I am also something of a phenomenon. The gambler's passion is unknown to me, I loathe all games, but I always have the most fantastic luck in them. I grew used to it a long time ago and it no longer surprises me. It even happens in chess. Mr Chigorin got his squares confused and ordered his queen to be moved to f5, instead of f6, right beside my rook, and he was so upset that he decided not to continue. Playing ten games without looking is really extremely difficult, after all. But what have you got to tell me?'

  Anisii gathered himself, because at these moments he felt as if he were taking an examination. But it was an enjoyable examination, not like a real one. Nobody gave him poor marks or failed him here, and quite often he won praise for his keen observation or quick-wittedness.

  Today, it was true, he had nothing special to boast about. Firstly Tulipov's conscience was not entirely clear: he had taken himself off to Patek's museum after all, spent three roubles of public money and gaped for half an hour at the chimpanzee and her baby (they really were both exceptionally lively and cheerful, the advertisement had not lied), although this was of absolutely no benefit to the job in hand whatsoever. He had also gone round to Bolshaya Ordynka Street, out of sheer professional zeal, had a word with the owner of the mongrel with the crooked leg and listened to his heart- breaking story, which had
concluded in restrained manly sobbing.

  Anisii did not really feel like telling the Chief all the details about the electrical doctor. He started, but then became embarrassed and broke off. In the line of duty he had had to submit to a shameful and rather painful procedure, and even now it still felt as if he had needles pricking his crotch.

  'Straus, that doctor, is a repulsive character,' Anisii tattled to Erast Petrovich. "Very suspicious. Asks all sorts of foul questions.' And he concluded spitefully: 'There's someone the police ought to look into.'

  Erast Petrovich, a man of delicate sensibilities, did not inquire into the details. He said with a serious air: 'It was praiseworthy of you to subject yourself to the electrical procedure, especially since in your case any "consequences of the sins of youth" are scarcely possible. Self-sacrifice for the sake of the cause deserves every encouragement, but it would have been quite enough to restrict yourself to a few questions. For instance, how much this doctor charges for a session.'

  'Five roubles. Here, I even have a receipt,' said Anisii, reaching into the pocket where he kept all his financial records.

  'No need,' said the Court Counsellor, waving the paper aside. 'The "jacks" would hardly bother getting their hands dirty for the sake of five roubles.'

  Anisii wilted. That accursed pricking had begun spreading so fast across his electrically tormented body that he actually squirmed on his chair and, in order to undo the unfavourable impression created by his foolishness, he began telling Erast Petrovich about the monumental lottery.