by Henry Morgan
‘Then we must endeavour to help in any way. After all, we are ambassadors for our countries.’ He paused, then added, ‘We should combine forces, like in the war.’
‘That would be nice,’ Sabrina smiled. ‘Entente cordial.’
The car began to climb. ‘Almost there,’ said Vasili, and a few moments later the headlights reached out over a dark, frozen expanse of water. ‘Lake Semyonovskaya.’
‘It’s incredible,’ she said in awe. ‘It looks like a huge black hole in the earth.’
‘It may well be,’ he answered. ‘The locals say it is bottomless. Fishermen who have drowned in it are never found. Others say that a monster lives there.’
‘And what do you say?’
‘I say there is much in the world to surprise us. I prefer the monster. We all need monsters; they keep children out of mischief and create order.’
The car continued to climb and the lake melted into the darkness behind them. A few miles further on the vehicle levelled off and Sabrina noticed that Vasili was moving in his seat. ‘Almost there,’ he informed her, a tinge of excitement to his voice.
The headlights appeared to be cutting further into the night because Sabrina noticed the car was becoming lighter. She looked to the front and saw that the snow was falling as heavily now as it had been earlier. Still the light increased, and then she saw why – the beams from the headlights were being reflected from a huge wall of ice. It looked like a massive iceberg floating on a black cloud, and again Sabrina gasped in genuine awe.
‘That is so beautiful,’ she whispered to Vasili. ‘Now I know why you brought me here.’
He smiled and the car continued onwards until Sabrina noticed that the frozen sheet in front of them was more than a simple wall of ice. There were shapes carved on it and into it; a doorway, windows, steps, balustrades. It was a palace, an ice palace, and it was magnificent. She didn’t feel the car come to a halt or see the two men get out. Only when Vasili spoke did she realise he was standing by the opened door beside her.
‘Shall we enter?’ he asked.
She alighted from the car, and as her foot touched the snow everything went black and the palace disappeared.
‘No,’ she moaned in honest disappointment. ‘I can’t see it.’ Vasili took her arm to reassure her that all would be all right, and the two stood in the deathly silence and overpowering blackness of a polar night.
Behind them a faint glow revealed that the soldier had opened the boot of the car. He collected some things and joined them, and with the boot closed they were once again cloaked in darkness, but it was broken a moment later by Vasili striking up a flame from a silver lighter. To look at it hurt the eyes, but Sabrina watched as he lit five candles on a huge silver candelabra. The combined flames produced an umbrella of light and the two walked under its glow to the palace, followed by the soldier carrying a large hamper.
They climbed the steps and made their way slowly through the doorway and along a corridor. The whole building formed a giant chandelier reflecting light in every direction, and where the light fell on translucent statues it broke into a kaleidoscope of colour.
‘I have never seen anything like this,’ whispered Sabrina, in a reverential voice. ‘Who? Why? When?’
Vasili never attempted to answer her questions, but led her into the main hall, a cavernous room with walls that looked to be encrusted with light-giving jewels. Along both sides ran statues of Russian Tsars, and the two columns came together either side of a massive window that looked out over the bleak Barents Sea.
Silently, the soldier placed the hamper on the frozen floor and took out a huge sable fur, which he shook out to make a carpet in front of the window. He then laid out a silver bucket containing two bottles of champagne, some silver dishes containing a mound of black caviar, and some fine crystal glasses. When he was done Vasili waved him away. The soldier saluted his captain, turned briskly on his heels and departed, leaving them to gaze out of the window.
‘Are you cold?’ asked Vasili.
‘No, I’m not. Why is that? You’d think with all this ice it would be freezing.’
‘Ha,’ he laughed. ‘Maybe there is some Russian in you.’
Sabrina smiled. ‘Not yet,’ she answered naughtily, and then walked across to the sable and caressed the warm fur.
Vasili joined her there. He smeared a spoonful of caviar onto a dried biscuit and offered it to her mouth. ‘Ice and snow are Russia’s friend. They protect us from our enemies and provide us with the source of our wealth.’ He lifted the edge of the fur to indicate its importance, and Sabrina ran her fingers through it. The tiny balls of caviar exploded onto Sabrina’s tongue and she lay back to enjoy the flavour. The taste was powerful, earthy and full of suggestion, reminding her of a man’s sperm.
Vasili interrupted her thoughts by popping the cork on the champagne. The noise reverberated around the palace, then faded back in respect for the moment. He filled the crystal flutes and passed her one, and she sipped it tentatively, allowing the two flavours to interact and produce another.
‘They compliment each other well, do you think so?’
‘Perfectly,’ she answered.
‘Like a man and a woman.’ He moved closer and placed a hand behind her. ‘When they come together they produce something more than themselves.’ His lips pressed upon hers and they fell backwards onto the fur.
Vasili slowly undressed her before the frozen stares of the long dead tsars. He was patient and meticulous, intent on enjoying the sight enfolding in front of him. Here and there he planted kisses on the girl’s body, tasting her skin and swimming in the aroma of her arousal. When she stood alongside one of the statues he stared in awe, for her body was a testament to the creator’s own unsurpassable skill as a sculptor.
‘You are beautiful,’ whispered the Russian captain. ‘Truly beautiful.’
Sabrina graciously accepted the compliment by brushing her hand over Vasili’s cock. It was as hard as the frozen palace columns. She released the straining member and felt the heat it generated, felt the blood pounding through the thick vein that ran the length of it’s shaft, and felt the need to control it. Tipping forward she puckered her lips and caressed the large domed cockhead, and Vasili stabbed in an uncontrollable instinct to penetrate the female. She allowed it by opening her mouth and lowering herself further. Again he thrust, this time so forceful that Sabrina was forced to move back. Lost now in unstoppable lust, Vasili continued thrusting into Sabrina’s luscious mouth, pushing until she was stopped from moving by the frozen blade of Ivan IV’s sword, the shock of the cold sending an immediate tingle along her spine.
Another thrust and then another resulted in the sword becoming embedded ever deeper in the girl’s sheath. The sensation of heat and cold at either end of her body alarmed and excited her. She began moving in motion with Vasili’s thrusts, first sucking on his cock and then sliding along Ivan’s sword. The ice on the tsar’s weapon had initially gripped her sex, but her heat and lubricant melted its surface and it slipped easily into her body, impaling her as surely as the terrible tsar had impaled many of his subjects all those years ago. When she felt there was no sensation left to experience she sensed the rise of her orgasm. It had begun on the cupola of Vasili’s cock and was to end on the sword of Ivan the Terrible. Sweat lifted from her in constant streams of sexual vapour and that which remained was thrown from her flailing body as her orgasm ripped through her like a glacier cracking asunder.
Vasili had not missed the impending climax. He pulled Sabrina off the frozen phallus, forced her to her knees, and there, in front of that huge window, watched by the silent faces, he impaled her upon his own fiery sword, and sent her emotions crashing down in an almighty sexual avalanche.
Justin was amazed at Catherine’s lack of concern about the cold. He had watched her and the others unload the truck on the top of the car park and set up a sound
system that would do justice to a heavy metal rock band, all with apparent contempt for the constant falling snow. Unlike them, he found himself seeking warmth alongside one of the blazing oil drums that encircled the revellers. His earlier unintentional trip into the realm of the dragon had all but worn off, and he felt strangely alone. Catherine and her fellow dancers were still partying, they had simply changed venue, taking him along with them.
The car park was devoid of vehicles apart from the truck they came in, and Justin had no idea who drove it let alone owned it. He made his way over to a long makeshift table laid out with drinks. He took a bottle of polar vodka and knocked off it’s crown top on the edge of the table, then walked away, leaving the Russians dancing.
At the edge of the car park he stopped and looked out over the nearby harbour. An icebreaker was in port for supplies, and an electric arc from a welding jig indicated it was also having some sort of repairs. Beneath the sodium glare of the dockside lamps Justin could make out the night workers huddled inside their storm coats. He envied them their ordinary lives. Somehow, just now anyway, the snow wasn’t beautiful, the sea had lost its allure and the chill wasn’t exhilarating; it was just cold.
‘Why so sad, English?’
He turned to see Catherine swigging from a bottle. She was still moving in time to the music and her smile was as welcoming as ever. Almost immediately his spirits lifted, and she lifted them further by kissing him lightly on the cheek.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking.’
‘About home?’
‘About home,’ he confirmed. ‘And other things.’
The pair leant against the parapet and Justin returned to his thoughts.
‘Do not worry if you are sad,’ she reassured him. ‘The dragon has a poisonous bite. You must keep away from the dragon until your wounds have healed.’
That amused Justin, and he let out a short but loud laugh.
‘Are you making funny with me?’
He laughed again. ‘No, I’m not making funny with you. Although I do think you’re fun. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.’ He turned towards her. ‘I don’t know if I’ve made the right decision.’
Catherine stepped back. ‘What do you mean? Do you think you have something to do with me? Have I asked you for anything?’
‘Yes, money for that dragon powder shit in your pocket.’ He waved a finger at her, then promptly dropped his hand.
‘I ask you for nothing. I want nothing.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s not about you… not about you at all.’
‘Well then,’ Catherine put in. ‘Do not make me sad too, because you are sad.’
Justin’s frustration almost boiled over. ‘I said it is not about you. You’re a free spirit, or at least you seem to be. It’s about me. I’ve done a few things I’m not proud of.’
Catherine took a long slug on her drink and laughed. ‘Tell me about it,’ she grinned. ‘I suck cocks to get my fix.’
Justin took a long drink to give him time to think. ‘Well,’ he said eventually, ‘that doesn’t sound so bad, considering.’ He paused there to watch a trawler land some of its catch and the dockers doing ordinary work.
‘Considering?’
‘Sorry?’ said Justin. He was trying to remember when he once had an ordinary job.
‘Considering what?’ Catherine repeated. ‘You say sucking cocks in return for drugs is not so bad, considering.’
Justin walked away into the darkness and Catherine followed.
‘I had a friend once, you see,’ he went on, without looking to see if she was still with him. ‘A good friend.’
‘He is not a friend now?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Well, I’m still sort of his friend. But I don’t suppose he’s mine any more.’
Catherine draped a hand around his neck. ‘Lot’s of friends have fights. You will be friends again.’
‘Not us; we can’t go back. Not after what I’ve done.’
‘Then you must have been very bad. But I don’t think you are a bad person.’
‘I’m not… not really.’
She kissed him again and tugged at his arm. ‘Well then,’ she said. ‘All will be okay. Let’s go back and dance, or drink some more. You like to drink.’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘You don’t understand. I betrayed him. He offered me a job and we were going to run a business together, but I tricked him and took the business over with someone else. Now he’s disappeared and that’s why we’re here – to find him.’
‘That is good. To make friends again?’
‘To take him back,’ said Justin. ‘Or to kill him.’
Catherine seemed unperturbed by his words. ‘Why kill him? You are in England, he is in Russia. You are not friends, yet you travel this far to find him. I don’t understand, you are right.’
‘It was that business. It was sort of unusual, different…’
Just then a friend of Catherine’s came over and tried to drag her away to dance, but she managed to reject his pleas after first pinching a bottle of vodka from him. ‘Come with me,’ she said to Justin. ‘I know where we can talk.’ She guided him to the edge of the car park and pointed to a ledge on the other side of the parapet. It reached out about three feet and went around a corner and out of sight. ‘Come on,’ she said, and then climbed over before Justin could decline.
There were four or five inches of snow on the ledge, which they kicked off as they made their way. Justin edged himself along in the darkness and hoped there would be somewhere safe to sit, but the ledge remained just that – three feet of concrete, and ominously, forty feet below them was more concrete.
Catherine sat down upon the snow and motioned for him to do likewise. ‘I come here sometimes, when I want to think or be alone,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry,’ she reassured him, ‘the snow will not melt when the sky is so cold. You will not get wet.’
Justin sat next to her and peered over the ledge, only slightly grateful it was too dark to see the pavement.
‘Here,’ she said, offering him a shot of vodka, which he accepted.
‘Just what I need,’ he said to himself sarcastically. ‘To get pissed forty foot up in the air in the middle of a snow storm.’
Catherine took a drink then rested her head on his shoulder and pulled his arm into hers. ‘I will look after you,’ she smiled quite sincerely. ‘Now you must tell me. I want to know everything.’
Justin took a moment to compose himself, pulled his knees up to his chest and huddled into his coat. ‘My friend.’ He stopped and rephrased. ‘My ex-friend, he was a doctor. I was training to be one too but I had to leave university. I had to live or study, I couldn’t afford to do both. Anyway, we went our separate ways and then, years later, we met, just by chance. He had this beautiful woman with him. We chatted for a while about old times and then I asked him what he was doing now. He told me he ran a training school and the woman with him was one of his students.’
‘He was no longer a doctor?’
‘No.’
‘Why did he change? A doctor is a good job.’
‘He had been to Pakistan to do some voluntary work when some Afghan rebels raided the camp and forced him to go with them over the border. They wanted him to work for them during the war, the one with your country. The problem was, some Russian soldiers caught them and he was accused of helping the rebels. He was given a choice; he could work for the Russian military hospital in Herat, or be shot.’
‘In Russia this is a fair choice,’ interrupted Catherine. ‘Is that why he is in Russia now?’
‘No,’ Justin continued. ‘He escaped back to Britain.’
‘To his school?’
‘He hadn’t set that up then. Anyway, it wasn’t a school like you’re thinking. It was for adults.’
‘Like a night school.’
&
nbsp; ‘Not quite. When he was with the KGB he learned all about torture techniques; how to get people to do what you want, that sort of thing. Mostly he worked with women.’ Justin took the bottle from Catherine. While he was drinking a snowflake landed on his open eye. For that split second, before an involuntary blink wiped the flake away, he saw a kaleidoscope of colour through the icy crystal. It reminded him that life, like the story he was recounting, was truly colourful. It made telling the rest of the tale easier, though it didn’t ease his guilt.
‘So you were going to work in this school?’
‘Sort of. But like I say, it wasn’t the type of school you’re thinking of. It was a training school for women… well, it was for wives.’
‘Wives? What, cooking and cleaning?’
‘Sex. We trained them for sex.’
‘Why do you have to train women to have sex? Are English women strange in some way?’
‘No more than anywhere else. But David, that’s my friend, he travelled all over the East and he noticed how their women were more subservient than westerners. He just put two and two together. When he came back to Britain he found other like-minded men; men who wanted their wives to be subservient like those in the East. He set up this school and he was taking on clients when I met him. That’s why that beautiful woman was with him. He could do whatever he liked with her, all with her husband’s approval. He even had a fucking contract, literally. I couldn’t believe it. I thought: wow, that’s incredible, I wouldn’t mind a bit of that. Everything should have been perfect. But I blew it.’
The snow was falling heavily now, covering their footsteps on the ledge. Out on the ocean a foghorn signalled that conditions were deteriorating everywhere.
‘Do you want to go back to the party?’
Justin shook his head. ‘Not yet. Look, I appreciate you listening to me.’
Catherine gave a nonchalant shrug and recaptured the bottle.
‘David told me all about his studies in training and asked if I wanted to help with his next client,’ Justin continued. ‘The trouble was, I fell in love with her.’