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

by Boris Akunin

  However, I was prevented from concentrating effectively on this most important matter by entirely extraneous questions.

  Why had Mademoiselle taken hold of my wrist? I could still feel the dry heat of her hand.

  And what was the meaning of that giggling – if, of course, I had not imagined it?

  The windowpanes sudden quivered from a plangent blowand I heard a mighty rumbling – it was the cannon firing from the Kremlin towers to announce the commencement of the procession. And that meant itwas noon already. And almost that very same moment Iwas called to the hallway. The postman had delivered the daily correspondence, and among the usual envelopes containing all sorts of invitations, notifications and charity appeals, one envelope without a stamp had been discovered.

  We assembled round this rectangle of white paper lying in the centre of the small table under the mirror: myself, two police agents and Fandorin – looking unusually ruddy and with his collar distinctly lopsided.

  While he questioned the postman about which route he had followed and whether he might have left his bag anywhere, I opened the envelope with trembling fingers and took out, together with a sheet of paper folded into four, a lock of soft, golden hair.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ I exclaimed involuntarily, because there could be no doubt at all that the hair belonged to Mikhail Georgievich.

  Fandorin left the frightened postman and joined me. We read the message together.

  Gentlemen, you have violated the terms of our arrangement. Your intermediary attempted to reclaim the goods by force without having made the payment agreed. As a first warning I am sending you a strand of the prince’s hair. Following the next breach of faith on your side, you will receive one of his fingers.

  The gentleman with the doggy sideburns can no longer be trusted. I refuse to deal with him. Today the prince’s governess, whom I saw in the park, must come to the meeting. So that the lady will not be encumbered with the burden of a heavy suitcase, this time please be so good as to make the next payment to me in the form of the sapphire bow collar made by the court jeweller of the Tsarina Elisaveta – in the opinion of my specialist this bauble is worth precisely a million roubles, or perhaps slightly more, but you will not cavil at petty trifles, surely?

  Beginning from six o’clock this evening the governess, completely alone, must stroll along the Arbat and the streets around it, following any route that she wishes, but choosing the places that are less crowded. She will be approached.

  Yours sincerely,

  Doctor Lind

  ‘I am afraid that this is impossible,’ was the first thing I said.

  ‘B-but why?’ Fandorin asked.

  ‘The inventory of the crown jewels lists the neckband in the coffret2 of the ruling empress.’

  ‘And what of that?’

  I simply sighed. How was he to know that for Her Majesty, so jealously protective of her somewhat ethereal status, the crown jewels held a special, rather morbid importance?

  According to established ceremonial, the dowager empress was obliged to pass on the coffret to her successor immediately upon the new tsarina’s accession to the throne. However, Maria Feodorovna, being a connoisseur of the beautiful as well as a capricious and wilful individual – and also let us be quite frank, not overfond of her daughter-in-law – had not wished to be parted from the jewels and had forbidden her crowned son to pester her with conversations on the subject.

  A painful situation had resulted in which His Majesty, being on the one hand a dutiful son and, on the other, a loving husband, found himself, as they say, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, and did not know what to do. The confrontation had continued for many months and had only been ended very recently by an unexpectedly decisive move on the part of the young empress. When, following numerous hints and even direct demands, Maria Feodorovna sent her only a small part of the jewels, mostly emeralds, which she did not like, Alexandra Feodorovna announced to her husband that she regarded the wearing of jewellery as in bad taste and henceforth she would not wear any diamonds, sapphires, pearls, gold and other vain ornaments at any ceremonial occasions. And she referred to the Scriptures, where it is said: ‘A good name is better than great riches, and a good reputation is better than silver and gold.’ After this threat the empress-mother was obliged to part with her jewels after all and, as far as I was aware, Alexandra Feodorovna had brought the entire contents of the coffret to Moscow so that she could appear in all her splendour at the numerous balls, receptions and ceremonies.

  I had to reach Georgii Alexandrovich urgently.

  I had to delay a little while before running from Maria Feodorovna’s landau to the mounted group of grand dukes, for the procession had just entered the Triumphal Square and my manoeuvre would have been blatantly obvious. My watch already showed half past one. Time was running out.

  A convenient opportunity presented itself when rockets went soaring up into the sky from the roof of a large building on the corner of Tverskaya Street, leaving trails of coloured smoke behind them. As if by command, the assembled members of the public jerked up their heads and started buzzing in rapturous delight, and I quickly cut across the open space and hid among the horses. In accordance with ceremonial, each of the horses on which Their Highnesses were sitting was being led by the bridle by one of the companions of the court. I saw Pavel Georgievich, wearing a weary, anxious expression on his bluish-green face; Endlung, sprightly and rosy-cheeked, was striding out beside him.

  ‘Afanasii,’ His Highness called to me in a pitiful voice. ‘I can’t go on. Get me some pickle water. I swear to God, I’m going to be sick . . .’

  ‘Hold on, Your Highness,’ I said. ‘The Kremlin is coming up soon.’

  And I carried on squeezing my way through. A dignified gentleman squinted sideways at me in bewilderment. To judge from the red welts on his cuffs and the buttons with hunting horns on them, he must have been a master of hounds, but so many of those had appeared during the new reign that it was impossible to remember them all.

  His Majesty’s three uncles made up the front row of the procession of grand dukes. I worked my way through to Georgii Alexandrovich’s sorrel Turkmen, took hold of its bridle (so that there were now two of us leading it – myself and the stall-master Count Anton Apollonovich Opraksin) and passed the note from Lind to His Highness without speaking.

  When he saw the lock of hair, Georgii Alexandrovich’s face changed. He quickly ran his eye over the lines of writing, touched his spurs to the lean, muscular sides of his mount and began slowly overhauling the solitary figure of the sovereign. The count let go of the bridle in horror. And so did I.

  There could be no doubt at all that a genuine storm would blow up in international politics. It was a certainty that today the coded telegrams would go flying to foreign courts and delegations: Admiral-General Georgii Alexandrovich demonstrates his special relationship with the tsar, and from now on can probably be regarded as the most influential individual in the Russian empire. So be it. There were more important things to deal with.

  With his hands held proudly on his hips exactly like his nephew, His Highness approached the sovereign unhurriedly and rode on beside him, just half a length behind; the admiral-general’s portly figure made a far more majestic sight than the autocrat’s thin silhouette. From the twitching of His Highness’s magnificent moustache, I guessed that Georgii Alexandrovich was telling the emperor about the letter, without even turning his head. The tsar’s head quite clearly jerked to one side. Then his moustache, less magnificent than Georgii Alexandrovich’s, twitched in exactly the sameway, and the grand duke began gradually falling back, until he was level with his brothers again.

  Since I was so close, I could hear Kirill Alexandrovich hiss furiously: ‘Tu es fou, Georgie, ou quoi?’3

  I do not know if the people of Moscow noticed that when the procession entered Tverskaya Street the column began moving significantly more quickly, but in any case twenty minutes later the sovereign rode in through
the Spassky Gate of the Kremlin and a quarter of an hour after that closed carriages drove away one after another from the porch of the Large Kremlin Palace. The individuals who were privy to the secret were hurrying to the Hermitage for an emergency meeting.

  This time the visitors included our sovereign lady, whose decision would determine the outcome of the whole affair.

  Since I had to arrange in haste for light hors d’œuvres, coffee, seltzer water and orangeade for Her Majesty (nothing so inflames the thirst and the appetite as a prolonged ceremonial procession), I missed the beginning of the discussion and had to reconstruct its course in retrospect, from what I heard the participants say.

  For example, the delicate explanation to the tsarina concerning the sapphire neckband took place in my absence. When I came in, I found Her Majesty in an angry mood but already reconciled to the inevitable.

  ‘However, His Anointed Majesty has promised to me that this thing will quite definitely be returned to me entire and undamaged,’ our sovereign lady was saying to High Police Master Lasovsky just as I entered with the tray.

  From these words, and also from the fact that Colonel Karnovich was sitting there with a rather sulky air, I concluded that following the previous day’s failure control of the operation had been transferred to the Moscow police. Fandorin was also here – I assumed in his capacity as an adviser.

  Her Majesty had not had time to change, and she was still wearing her ceremonial dress of white brocade studded all over over with precious stones, and a heavy diamond necklace. The grand dukes had had no time to remove the stars of their various decorations, the watered silk ribbons of their medals and their chains of St Andrew, and all this iridescent shimmering made the room seem like a closet where the New Year’s tree decorations are kept.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ Lasovsky declared, ‘Iwarrant on my own head that the sapphires will remain perfectly safe, we will rescue Mikhail Georgievich, andwe will nab the entire gang.’ Herubbed his hands together eagerly and Alexandra Feodorovna wrinkled up her nose at this rather vulgar gesture. ‘Everything will go absolutely perfectly, because this time that villain Lind has laid the trap for himself. Allow me to explain – I have drawn up a plan.’

  He moved aside all the glasses and cups that I had arranged so carefully, grabbed a starched napkin and set it down at the centre of the table.

  ‘This is Arbat Street and the area around it, the Second Prechistensky District. The governess will get out of her carriage here, at Maly Afanasievsky Lane, hesitate for a while as if uncertain which way to go, then turn in here, on to Bolshoi Afanasievsky Lane, from there on to Sivtsev Vrazhek Lane, and then . . .’

  He carried on listing the turns for a quite a long time, checking them against a sheet of paper. Everyone listened attentively, although Her Majesty, if the disdainful set of her mouth was anything to go by, was thinking more about the odour of sweat that was clearly emanating from the overheated chief of police.

  ‘I have already calculated that she will pass twelve blocks in all, on which there are two hundred and thirty houses.’ Lasovky looked round triumphantly at the sovereign and rapped out: ‘And in every one of those houses there will be one of my men. In every one! My assistants are arranging it at this very moment. And so, although the governess’s route will appear random, she will actually be in our field of vision all the time, but the villains will never realise it, since the detectives, agents and constables in plain clothes will be located inside the residents’ houses and apartments. If she walks the entire route and no one approaches her, she will go round a second time, and then a third – as many times as necessary.’

  ‘Rather smart, isn’t it?’ Simeon Alexandrovich asked smugly, very proud of his chief of police.

  ‘P-permit me to ask, Colonel,’ Fandorin suddenly put in. ‘Are you certain that Mademoiselle Declique, who has never been to Moscow before, will not be confused by your complicated route?’

  Lasovsky frowned, knitting his brows.

  ‘I shall personally lock myself away in a room with her and make her learn off all the corners and turns by heart. We shall have an entire hour to do it.’

  Fandorin seemed to be satisfied with this answer and he did not ask any more questions.

  ‘We have to send for the neckband,’ the sovereign said with a sigh. ‘And may God be with us.’

  At half past four, as Mademoiselle, pale-faced and with clear bite marks on her lips, was on her way to the carriage, where two gendarmes officers in civilian clothes were waiting for her, Fandorin approached her in the corridor. I happened to be nearby and I heard every word.

  ‘There is only one thing required of you, My Lady,’ he said in a very serious voice. ‘Do not put the life of the boy at risk. Be observant, that is your onlyweapon. I do not knowwhat scheme Lind has in m-mind this time, but be guided by your own understanding, listen to no one and trust no one. The police are less interested in the life of your pupil than in avoiding publicity. And one more thing . . .’ He looked her straight in the eye and said what I had tried to say so recently, but had not known how. ‘Do not blame yourself for what happened. If you had not left the boy alone, your presence would still not have made any difference. Therewould only have been another unnecessary casualty, because Doctor Lind does not leave witnesses.’

  Mademoiselle fluttered her eyelashes rapidly, and I thought I saw a teardrop fall from them.

  ‘Merci, monsieur, merci. J’avais besoin de l’entendre.’4

  She put her hand on Fandorin’s wrist – exactly as she had done so recently with mine – and squeezed it. He squeezed her elbow in a highly familiar manner, nodded and walked rapidly away in the direction of his room, as if he were in a great hurry to get somewhere.

  I shall jump ahead of my story at this point – why will become clear later – and tell you what came of the Moscow police’s operation.

  Colonel Lasovsky’s plan was not bad at all, and no doubt it would have been crowned with success if Lind had complied with the conditions that he himself had set for the meeting. But that, unfortunately, is precisely what the guileful doctor did not do.

  And so the governess was driven to Arbat Street. She had a velvet reticule holding the priceless treasure in her hands, and there were two gendarmes with her: one sitting opposite her, the other on the coach box.

  Immediately after Krymsky Most Street, when the carriage turned into another street which, if I am not mistaken, is called Ostozhenka Street, Mademoiselle suddenly stood up, turned round to look after a carriage that had driven past in the opposite direction and shouted in a piercing voice: ‘Mika! Mika!’

  The officers also looked round, just in time to glimpse a little blue sailor’s cap between the swaying curtains of a rear window.

  They had no time to turn their carriage – just as I did not the day before, but fortunately therewas a cab driving towards them.

  The gendarmes told Mademoiselle to stay in the carriage, threw the cabby off his own rig and set off in pursuit of the carriage that had driven away with Mikhail Georgievich.

  They were unable to catch it, however, because the cab horse was no match for a fine four-in-hand. Meanwhile, as Mademoiselle Declique squirmed in confusion on her seat, a gentleman wearing a beard and moustache approached her, politely doffed hisOffice of Mines peaked cap and addressed her in broken French: ‘The terms have been met – you have seen the prince. And now, if you don’t mind, the payment.’

  What could Mademoiselle do? Especially since therewere two other men, whom she described as looking far less gallant than the polite gentleman, strolling about not very far away.

  She gave them the reticule and tried to follow Fandorin’s instructions by memorising the three men’s appearances.

  Well, she memorised them and later described them in the greatest possible detail, but what good would that do? There was no reason to think that Doctor Lind was short of men.

  I did not learn about the failure of the operation conceived by the high police master
until later, because I was not at the Hermitage that evening. When Mademoiselle returned, never having reached the cunning trap set around Arbat Street, I had already left the Neskuchny Park.

  After I had seen the governess off on her way to the risky undertaking in which she was obliged to participate because I had behaved stupidly and bungled my own assignment, I found the inactivity simply too painful. I paced backwards and forwards in my room, thinking what a monster Fandorin was. That guttapercha gentleman ought not to be allowed anywhere near young girls and respectable women. How shamelessly he had turned Her Highness’s head! How craftily he had won the good favour of Mademoiselle Declique! And after all, what for? What could this slick seducer and experienced man of the world want with a modest governess who was no great beauty and no grande dame? Why would he talk to her in that velvety voice and squeeze her elbow so tenderly? Oh this specimen never did anything without a reason.

  At this point my thoughts suddenly turned in a completely unexpected direction. I remembered that Simeon Alexandrovich, who had known Fandorin in his previous life, had called him ‘an adventurer of the very worst sort’ from whom you could expect absolutely anything at all. I had formed the very same impression.

  The suspicions came crowding into my mind one after another, and I attempted to make sense of them by setting them out in order, in Fandorin’s own manner.

  First. After a little reflection, the story about the finding of the newspaper boy appeared suspicious. If one supposed that Fandorin really had displayed quite uncommon resourcefulness and sought out the little rogue, then why would he have let him go? What if the boy had kept something back or quite simply lied, and then gone running to report to Lind?

  Second. Why had Fandorin tried to dissuade Mademoiselle from following the instructions of the police and recommended her to act as she thought best? A fine adviser Lasovsky had, no two ways about it!