The Coronation: The Further Adventures Of Erast Fandorin (Erast Fandorin 7)

by Boris Akunin

  I was astounded, not by the fact that Foma Anikeevich spoke so freely about His Majesty (that is perfectly normal in our circle, and it is a good thing for the work) but that he was not in the least bit wary of an outsider – the Japanese. Obviously in my absence Fandorin’s servant must have done something to win Foma Anikeevich’s special trust. He is a perspicacious man who sees right through people and understands perfectly what can be said in front of them and what cannot.

  The Oriental’s smooth, impassive features gave no clue as to whether he understood what the conversation was about or was simply filling himself up with tea.

  ‘And what is your opinion about this, Afanasii Stepanovich?’ Foma Anikeevich asked me, and I realised from his quizzical glance that the question actually meant something quite different: did I think we could discuss the most important subject, or should we limit ourselves to conversation on abstract themes?

  ‘Time will tell,’ I replied, sitting down and ringing the bell for Lipps to pour me some tea. ‘There have been cases in history when extremely weak-willed successors to the throne have proved to be most worthy rulers in time. Take Alexander the Blessed, for instance, or even Franz-Josef.’

  We spoke about one thing and thought about another: did I have any right to mention the decision that had been taken upstairs?

  The Japanesewould learn about it from his master in any case. Mademoiselle could not be kept in ignorance either – thatwould be too cruel. Foma Anikeevich and Luka Emelyanovich could give useful advice. The only awkwardnesswas occasioned by the presence of Mr Freyby.

  Catching my glance, the Briton raised his eyes from his book and mumbled something incomprehensible, with his pipe swaying up and down.

  ‘I know everything,’ Mademoiselle translated into Russian, pronouncing the word ‘efrything’. ‘My lord has told me.’

  The butler stuck his nose back in his book to let us know that we need not take any notice of him.

  Well then, so in England gentlemen had no secrets from their butlers. So much the better.

  I briefly told my comrades about the letter, the sinister doctor and the decision that had been taken at the secret council. They heard me out in silence. It was only when I told them that Doctor Lind never returned his captives alive that Mademoiselle broke downand gasped, clenching her firmlittle fists above the table. To assist her in mastering her understandable agitation, I digressed briefly to talk about the remarkable self-control shown by Georgii Alexandrovich. But, as was often the case, Mademoiselle’s comment took me by surprise.

  ‘Georgii Alexandrovich has six sons from Heh Highness and two from a young ballehina. If Doctor Lind had abducted His Highness’s only daughteh – O, he would have behaved quite diffehently.’

  I must confess that I was flabbergasted – both by the judgement itself (which might not have been entirely unjustified, since Xenia Georgievna really was Georgii Alexandrovich’s favourite) and by the tactless reference to Miss Snezhnevskaya.

  Foma Anikeevich changed the subject and smoothed over the awkward moment.

  ‘Is there not anything that we servants can do, for our part?’

  There you have a genuine butler – with only a fewscantwords he swept away the dross and defined the most important point. Compared to him we are all of us mere dwarves.

  ‘Pardon me for saying this, Afanasii,’ Foma Anikeevich continued with his unfailing politeness, ‘but we are not talking here just about the life of Mikhail Georgievich, but about even more significant matters – the fate of the monarchy and of Russian statehood itself. If you take all our internal upheavals, disorder and vacillation, as well as the sovereign’s obvious weakness and lack of experience, then add a blow like this, with the whole of society, the whole world looking on . . . The consequences are quite unimaginable. We, the servants of the Romanovs, must not allow it to happen.’

  The Japanese banged his saucer down on the table and bowed his forehead down to the tablecloth so abruptly that I was afraid he was having an apoplectic fit. But no, it turned out to be a bow. With his forehead still touching the tablecloth, the Oriental addressed Foma Anikeevich, speaking with passion.

  ‘These words of genuine samurai, Foma-sensei, you nobur man.’

  I had read that a samurai is a kind of Japanese knight, but I did not know the meaning of sensei. I can only assume it is some kind of respectful oriental formof address, similar in kind to cher maître.

  Foma Anikeevich replied with a polite bow and the Japanese straightened up.

  ‘We have to hewp my masta,’ he declared in his outlandish but perfectly comprehensible Russian. ‘Onry my masta can save ritter odzi and honow of the empia.’

  ‘I have heard a lot about Erast Petrovich, Mr Masa,’ said Foma Anikeevich. ‘I believe that during the governorship of Prince Dolgorukoi here in Moscow he performed no small number of remarkable deeds.’

  I had not known that Foma Anikeevich was informed about Fandorin, but was not in the least surprised.

  The Japanese replied staidly: ‘Yes, ver’, ver’ many. But that no’ importan’. Importan’ that my master will not wive if Dokutor Rind wive.’

  It was not said in the most elegant fashion, but I understood the meaning.

  Mademoiselle spoke in a different accent, far more pleasing to the ear: ‘But what can he do, your master?’

  ‘Evewyfin’,’ Masa said laconically. ‘Master can do anyfin’. Dokutor Rind will not wive.’

  ‘Lady, gentlemen, I propose the following . . .’

  It immediately went quiet, and even Mr Freyby looked up from his book, peering curiously at Foma Anikeevich over the top of his spectacles.

  ‘Our gentlemen, unfortunately, are not on good terms with each other. That could be bad for the cause. Let us therefore agree that at least we servants will act together. We shall keep each other informed and protect His Majesty and Their Highnesses against making mistakes. Insofar as it lies in our power.’

  That was how he spoke – simply and wisely.

  At this point my assistant Somov stuck his head into the servants’ parlour and pressed his hand to his heart as he apologised: ‘Afanasii Stepanovich, gentlemen, I beg your pardon, but Her Highness is asking for Mademoiselle Declique.’

  Then he bowed and withdrew.

  ‘Ah, yes, Monsieur Ziukin,’ the governess said to me. ‘Poor Xenia does not know. What can I tell her?’

  ‘Do not tell Her Imperial Highness about Lind’s threats,’ I said sternly, somewhat annoyed by such familiarity in speaking of Xenia Georgievna. ‘Simply tell Her Imperial Highness that the kidnappers are demanding a ransom and the money will be paid.’

  I believe that she left the room feeling duly chastened.

  A few minutes later I had reason to regret Mademoiselle’s absence, because Mr Freyby suddenly parted his lips to utter a brief phrase.

  ‘What was that you were so good as to say?’ Foma Anikeevich asked.

  ‘He say “A spy”,’ Masa translated – apparently he understood English.

  ‘A “spy” in what sense?’ I asked, puzzled.

  The Briton looked hopefully at Foma Anikeevich, who suddenly frowned pensively.

  ‘Mr Freyby is quite right. Theremust have been a spy at work. The kidnappers were too well informed about your movements yesterday. I do not wish to upset you, Afanasii Stepanovich, but it is very probable that Doctor Lind’s spy is one of your staff. Can you vouch for your servants?’

  I felt the colour drain from my face.

  ‘Not completely. I can vouch for those from St Petersburg. All of them apart from Lipps – the one who is serving us – are old and well-tried colleagues. But I have a temporary staff of nine here and I don’t know the local staff at all; Somov is in charge of them.’

  ‘Then extreme caution is required,’ Luka Emelyanovich declared solemnly.

  Foma Anikeevich spoke to the Englishman: ‘Thank you, Mr Freyby, for a most pertinent comment.’

  The English butler shrugged in incomprehension, and
I remembered that I had the lexicon he had givenmeinmypocket.

  I looked up the words and said: ‘Tenk yoo, Meester Freebee.’

  He nodded and stuck his nose back into his Trollope (I had looked in the library and now knew that this was the name of an English novelist).

  For a while we carried on discussing the means by which we could maintain confidential contact with each other, and then the meeting was interrupted by Somov sticking his head in at the door again. From the expression on his face I realised that something out of the ordinary had happened.

  I excused myself and went out into the corridor.

  ‘Look here,’ Somov said, whispering for some reason, and held out a white envelope. ‘This has been found. The doorman picked it up. No one knows where it came from.’

  I took the envelope and read the message in capital letters that was written on it in pencil:AVEC LES COMPLIMENTS DE DR LAND.

  It cost me an incredible effort of will to maintain my composure.

  ‘Where was it found?’

  ‘On the porch, right outside the doors. The doorman went out to see if the rain had stopped, and it was lying there.’

  That means it could have been left from the outside, I thought. They climbed over the fence and left it, very simple. That made me feel better, but only a little.

  Of course, I did not open the envelope, although it was not sealed – I took it up to the first floor. If Somov had not been watching me, I would have run.

  Before entering the small drawing room, I stopped and listened at the door. I always do this, but not in order to eavesdrop, only to avoid interrupting any important conversations or intimate moments by knocking.

  I heard Kirill Alexandrovich’s thick, angry voice speaking in the room: ‘Nicky, howcan you be such a blockhead! Youmustn’t say anything about concessions during the audience with Li Hunchan! Under no circumstances! You’ll ruin everything!’

  I could not help shaking my head and thinking that things could not go on like this for much longer. The sovereign was by no means as weak-willed as Their Highnesses imagined. And he had a vindictive streak.

  I knocked loudly, handed over the message and immediately went back out into the corridor.

  I had to wait no more than five minutes. Georgii Alexandrovich looked out and beckoned to me with his finger. His expression seemed rather strange to me.

  The sovereign and the other grand dukes also looked at me in the same way – as if they were seeing me for the first time or, perhaps, as if they had only just noticed that there was a man by the name of Afanasii Stepanovich Ziukin living in the world. I did not like it at all.

  ‘You know French, don’t you?’ Kirill Alexandrovich asked. ‘Here, read this.’

  I took the unfolded sheet of paper with a certain degree of trepidation and read:

  Your terms are accepted, but the payment for each day of deferment is one million. Tomorrow at three in the afternoon your intermediary must drive along the Garden Ring Road alone, in an open carriage, from Kaluga Square in the direction of Zhitnaya Street. The money must be in a suitcase, in twenty-five-rouble treasury notes. I shall regard the slightest sign of foul play from your side as releasing me from all commitments and shall return the prince to you as promised – in pieces.

  One final thing. The intermediary must be the servant who was in the park: with a wart on his cheek and the doggy sideburns.

  Yours sincerely,

  Doctor Lind

  The first response I felt was resentment. Favoris de chien?1 How dare he call my well-groomed whiskers that?

  It was only afterwards that the full, frightening meaning of the message struck me.

  1 Doggy sideburns.

  8 May

  Following long telephone conversations between the Petrovsky Palace, the governor general’s residence and the Hermitage, control of the operation was entrusted to Colonel Karnovich. The high police master of Moscow was instructed to provide every possible assistance, while Fandorinwas assigned the rather indefinite role of adviser, and even then only at the stubborn insistence of Georgii Alexandrovich who, following the rescue of his daughter, believed fervently in the exceptional qualities of the retired deputy for special assignments.

  Like everyone else, I knew very little aboutKarnovich, because this mysterious man had only made his appearance at the foot of the throne very recently. He was not obviously fitted for this responsible, indeed one might say crucially important, post either by age, or rank or social connection, especially since before this exalted appointment Karnovich had performed the modest duties of head of one of the provincial offices of gendarmes. However, following the sensational exposure of an anarchist terrorist organisation, people had begun speaking of the colonel as the rising star in the field of political detective work, and soon this quiet, unprepossessing gentleman, who always kept his eyes hidden behind blue-tinted spectacles, was the head of His Majesty’s bodyguard – a truly prodigious advancement which did not endear Karnovich to the members of the court. But then, when had the head of the court police, who, by the very nature of his job, is exceptionally well informed about the weaknesses and secrets of individuals who stand close to the throne, ever enjoyed the sympathy of the court? Such is the nature of the job.

  In contrast, High Police Master Lasovsky was very well known, a figure of almost legendary status in both capital cities. The St Petersburg newspapers loved to describe the eccentric and despotic behaviour of this modern-day Ivan the Terrible (the Moscowpapers did not dare): his love of driving round the streets in the famous police master’s carriage with the finest horses in the entire city, his particular enthusiasm for the fire brigade, his exceptional strictness with yard keepers and his famous orders, printed every day in the Moscow Municipal Police Gazette. That very morning, on the front page of this remarkable newspaper, I myself had read the following order:

  While driving out on 7 May I observed the following: on Voskresenskaya Square opposite the Bolshaya Moskva hotel I detected the foul odour of rotting herrings that had not been cleared away by the yard keepers; at 5.45 a.m. two nightwatchmen standing by the Triumphal Gateswere making idle conversation; at 1.20 in the afternoon the constable was not at his post on the corner of Bolshay tverskaya-yamskaya street and the Triumphal Gates Square: at 10 p.m. on the corner of Tverskaya Street and Voskresenskaya Square, the constable stepped up on to the pavement and began arguing with a cab driver.

  I hereby order all the guilty con-stables, watchmen and yard keepers to be arrested and fined.

  Acting High Police Master of

  Moscow, Colonel Lasovsky

  Of course, the head of police in a city of a million people ought not to concern himself with such petty matters, but in my view we could well introduce some of Moscow’s innovations in St Petersburg. For instance, we could station constables at crossroads in order to direct the movement of carriages – on Nevsky Prospect and the embankments the crush is so thick that you cannot pass either on foot or in a vehicle. And it would also be a good idea to followthe example of Moscowand forbid cab drivers to swear and drive unwashed carriages on pain of a fine.

  But Colonel Lasovsky’s temperamentwas genuinely gruff and whimsical, as I had the opportunity to observe during the briefing meeting before the beginning of the operation.

  Although my main supervisor was Karnovich, the high police master constantly interrupted with his own remarks, and his entire manner suggested that he, Lasovsky, and not the upstart from out of town was the true master in the old city. Arguments flared up repeatedly between the two colonels as to whether one ought to arrest the doctor’s messenger when he came for the money: the Moscow colonel was emphatically in favour of an immediate arrest and swore he would shake the son of a bitch’s very soul out of him, together with the rest of his innards, while the colonel from Tsarskoe Selo spoke no less emphatically in support of caution and emphasised the threat to Mikhail Georgievich’s life. Fandorin was present in the drawing room, but he did not get involved in the
argument.

  Karnovich took a number of measures that appeared very sensible to me. Three disguised carriages with police agents in civilian dress were to drive ahead of my carriage. The agents would all be from the court police – fine strapping young men. Their task would not be to seize Lind’s messenger, but to ‘sit on his tail’ (as the colonel put it) and ‘tail’ him to the kidnappers’ lair. In addition, since the previous evening a special group of treasury officials had been engaged in copying out the numbers of all the banknotes to be handed over to Lind, each of these would then leave its own trail to be followed.

  My task appeared simple: to drive without hurrying along the Garden Ring Road and wait for the villains to show themselves, then demand that their man take me to His Highness, and until I saw Mikhail Georgievich alive and well, not to let them have the suitcase under any circumstances. If the bandit or bandits used force, the disguised agents would intervene.

  ‘You should grab the fellow by the scruff of the neck straight away,’ the stubborn police master repeated for probably the tenth time already. ‘And hand him over to me. After I’ve had a talk with him, there’ll be no need to sit on his tail. He’ll tell you everything you want to know and show you everything you want to see. But you, Mr Colonel, are trying to be too clever by half and making a mess of things.’

  Karnovich nervously adjusted his spectacles, but he vented his irritation on Fandorin instead of his Moscow colleague.

  ‘Listen here, sir, what use to me is an adviser who never opens his mouth? Do you have any thoughts?’

  Fandorin sceptically raised one eyebrow, as elegant as if itwere painted on.

  ‘Lind is very cunning and inventive. He can guess all the actions that you might take in advance. And copying out the numbers of the banknotes is simply a joke. Are you really going to hang up lists of forty thousand seven-digit numbers in all the shops and bureaux de change?’ He turned to address me. ‘The most important thing depends on you, Ziukin. Acute observation, attention to the most minute details – that is what is required. Remember that today is only the first meeting; there are at least six more to come. All you need to do now is get a good look at things. And as for a tail,’ he said, speaking to Karnovich now, ‘it can be tried, but don’t push too hard, otherwise we’ll be handed a corpse.’