by Boris Akunin
At that moment Colonel Karnovich glanced out into the hallway with his brows knitted and his lips tightly compressed.
‘Fandorin, is that you?’ he asked. ‘I was informed you had arrived. What sort of idiotic masquerade is that? Still playing the gentleman detective? They’re waiting for you. Please be so good as to make yourself decent and and get up to the large drawing room immediately. And you too, madam.’
Erast Petrovich and Mademoiselle walked away, but Karnovich looked me over from head to foot and shook his head fastidiously.
‘What do you look like, Ziukin? Where have you been? What was Fandorin up to? It’s most opportune that he should have taken you into his confidence. Come on, tell me; you and I are from the same department.’
‘It was all pointless, Your Honour,’ I said, without knowing why. ‘We just wasted our time. Who is serving His Majesty and Their Highnesses?’
‘The sovereign’s valet and Simeon Alexandrovich’s butler.’
Oh, how shameful!
Never before had I washed and changed with such speed. Just ten minutes later, after putting myself in order, I quietly entered the drawing room and thanked Foma Anikeevich and Dormidont with a bow.
There were no drinks or hors d’œuvres on the table – only ashtrays and a rather small brown paper package that had already been opened. Just to be on the safe side I took a tray from the side table and started setting out glasses on it, and in the meantime I stole a quick glance at the faces of those present, trying to guess what had happened.
The sovereign was nervously smoking a papyrosa. Kirill Alexandrovich was wearily rubbing his eyelids. The governor general was drumming his fingers on the table. Georgii Alexandrovich was gazing fixedly at the package. Pavel Georgievich looked unwell – his lips were trembling and there were tears in his eyes. But I found Mademoiselle Declique’s appearance most frightening of all. She was sitting with her face in her hands, her shoulders were trembling, and there were convulsive sobs escaping through her fingers. I had never seen her cry before, in fact I had never even imagined that it was possible.
The high police master was sitting apart from the other men, beside the impassive Karnovich, and constantly mopping his forehead and bald temples with a handkerchief. He suddenly hiccuped, flushed bright crimson and muttered: ‘I beg your pardon.’
Then he immediately hiccuped again. In the total silence the indecorous sound was distinctly audible.
I suddenly felt very afraid. So afraid that I swayed on my feet. Oh Lord, surely not?
‘May I take a look?’ Fandorin asked, breaking the silence.
Erast Petrovich had evidently entered the drawing room a minute or two before me. He had changed into a severe English frock coat and even found time to put on a tie.
What was it that he wanted to look at? The latest letter from Lind?
‘Yes,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said morosely. He had evidently taken on the role of chairman out of force of habit. ‘Feast your eyes on it.’
Fandorin took a small bundle, about the size of a fruit drop, out of the package. He unwrapped it, and I saw some small object, pink andwhite, inside it. Erast Petrovich quickly extracted a magnifying glass from his inside pocket and bent down over the table. The expression on his face was as sour as if he had bitten a lemon.
‘Is this d-definitely His Highness’s finger?’
The silver tray slipped out of my hands, the glasses were smashed to smithereens. Everybody started and looked round at me, but I didn’t even apologise – I barely managed to grab hold of the corner of the table in order to stop myself falling.
‘What kind of stupid question is that?’ Simeon Alexandrovich growled angrily. ‘Of course it’s Mika’s little finger! Who else’s could it be?’
Foma Anikeevich walked silently across to me and supported me by the elbow. I nodded to him gratefully, trying to indicate that it would soon pass.
‘Listen to what it says in the letter,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, and I noticed that there was a sheet of paper lying in front of him.
The grand duke put on his pince-nez and read out the message which, like the previous ones, was written in French.
Gentlemen, you still do not seem to have realised that I am not joking.
I hope that this little parcel will convince you of the seriousness of my intentions. The severed finger is the punishment for your people’s repeated violation of our agreement. The next time there is any foul play, the boy’s ear will be cut off.
Now concerning our business. For the next payment I am expecting you to deliver the diamond bouquet with a spinel from the collection of the empress. The governess must be at mass in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour from three o’clock in the afternoon. Alone, naturally.
If she is shadowed, you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences.
Yours sincerely,
Doctor Lind
What astounded me most of all was how well-informed the villain was about Her Majesty’s coffret. The small diamond bouquet with a spinel was one of the genuine masterpieces of the imperial collection. It had become the property of the crown as part of the dowry of the bride of Pavel Petrovich, the future Emperor Paul I. This great masterpiece of eighteenth-century jewellery work was valued not so much for the size and purity of the stones of which it was composed as for its sheer elegance. To my mind there was no more beautiful jewel in the entire Diamond Room collection.
‘Oh Lord, poor Alice,’ the emperor said miserably. ‘She is suffering so badly over the loss of the neckband—’
One ought perhaps to have sympathised with His Majesty, especially bearing in mind the the temperament of the tsarina, but at that moment I was quite unable to feel pity for anyone apart from poor little Mikhail Georgievich.
‘We have all had our say, Fandorin,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, rather brusquely interrupting the sovereign. ‘What do you think? It’s clear now that you were right. Lind is an absolute monster: he will not stop at anything. What are we to do?’
‘Ah, poor little Mika,’ said the tsar, hanging his head disconsolately.
‘We all feel sorry for Mika, of course,’ said Simeon Alexandrovich, striking his fist on the table, ‘but you, Nicky, ought to be feeling sorry for yourself. If the world finds out that some crook has kidnapped your nephew during the coronation of the Russian tsar and is slicing him up like salami—’
‘Sam, for heaven’s sake!’ Georgii Alexandrovich roared in a voice like thunder. ‘You’re talking about the fate of my son!’
‘I’m talking about the fate of our dynasty!’ the governor general answered in kind.
‘Uncle Sam! Uncle Georgie!’ His Majesty cried, raising his hands to heaven in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Let us listen towhat Mr Fandorin has to say.’
Erast Petrovich picked the package up off the table and turned it this way and that.
‘How was it delivered?’
‘Like the previous messages,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich. ‘By ordinary post.’
‘And again there is no stamp,’ Fandorin said pensively. ‘Has the postman been questioned?’
Colonel Karnovich replied: ‘Not only has he been questioned, but all three postmen who deliver the municipal mail to the Hermitage by turns have been under surveillance since yesterday afternoon. They have not been seen doing anything suspicious. Furthermore, the mailbags with the post sent from the Central PostOffice to this postal district are constantly under observation by plain-clothes police. Nooutsiders came close to the bag during the journey from Myasnitskaya Street to Kaluzhskaya Street or later, after the postman set out on his round. We don’t know where Lind’s messages come from. It’s a real mystery.’
‘Well then, until we can solve it, this is what we must do,’ Erast Petrovich said morosely. ‘Give him the bouquet. That is one. No attempts to follow Lind’s people. That is two. Our only hope lies in Mademoiselle Declique’s powers of observation – fortunately, they are very keen. That is three. I have no other recommendat
ions to make. The slightest indiscretion by the police now, and you will not receive the boy’s ear but a corpse and an international scandal. Lind is furious, that much is obvious.’
As one man, everybody turned to look at the governess. She had stopped crying and was no longer hiding her face in her hands. Her features seemed frozen to me, as if they were carved out of white marble.
She said quietly, ‘Je ferai tout mon possible.’3
‘Yes, yes,’ the sovereign pleaded. ‘Please, do try. And Alice and I will pray to the Almighty. And we will start a fast immediately. According to ancient ritual that is the right thing to do before a coronation . . .’
‘Excellent, everyone will make the best contributions they can.’ Kirill Alexandrovich laughed dismally. ‘Colonel Lasovsky must be removed from command of the search.’ (At these words the high police master hiccuped even more loudly than previously, but he did not apologise any more.) ‘The responsibility will be returned to you, Karnovich, but this time no rash moves.
Let everything be as Fandorin said. You will move into the Hermitage temporarily and run the search from here. There are too many visitors at the Alexandriisky Palace. Ziukin, find the colonel some sort of room and run a phone line to it. That’s all. Let’s go home. We all have a hard day tomorrow and you, Nicky, have to receive the ambassadors. Your bearing must be absolutely irreproachable.’
After the exalted guests had left, I continued serving tea to Their Highnesses for a long time, and many tears were shed – mostly by Pavel Georgievich, but Georgii Alexandrovich also wiped his fleshy cheeks with his cuff more than once, and as for me, I went completely to pieces. On two occasions I was obliged to hurry out of the drawing room in order not to upset the grand dukes even more with the sight of my crooked, tear-stained face.
Some time after three in the morning I was plodding along the corridor in the direction of my room when I came across Mr Masa in a very strange pose outside Fandorin’s door. He was sitting on the floor with his legs folded under him and his head nodding drowsily.
When I stopped in amazement, I heard muffled sobs coming from inside the room.
‘Why are you here and not inside?’ I asked. ‘Who is in there with Mr Fandorin?’
A terrible suspicion made me forget all the other shocks of the day.
‘Pardon me, but there is something I must tell Mr Fandorin,’ I declared resolutely, taking hold of the door handle, but the Japanese rose nimbly to his feet and blocked my way.
‘Not arrowed,’ he said, fixing me with his little black eyes. ‘Genterman cry. Suffering much for ritter boy. Cannot rook. Is shamefur.’
He was lying. I realised immediately that he was lying! Without saying another word, I ran up to the first floor and knocked at Xenia Georgievna’s door. There was no answer. I cautiously opened the lock with my master key. The room was empty. And the bed had not been disturbed.
Everything went hazy in front of my eyes. She was down there, alone with that heartbreaker!
Oh Lord, I prayed, guide me and show me what I must do. Why have you visited such trials on the house of Romanov?
I hurried to the doorkeepers’ room, where I had installed Colonel Karnovich only an hour earlier after laying a telephone line from the hallway.
The head of the court police opened the door to me wearing nothing but his nightshirt and without his usual tinted spectacles. His eyes proved to be small and piercing, with red eyelids.
‘What is it, Ziukin?’ he asked, screwing up his eyes. ‘Have you decided to tell me what your friend is up to after all?’
‘Her Highness is spending the night in Mr Fandorin’s room,’ I announced in a whisper. ‘I heard her crying. And I am afraid . . . that she went there of her own accord.’
Karnovich yawned in disappointment.
‘That is all very racy of course, and as head of the court police it is my business to know with whom the young ladies of the imperial family spend the night. However, you could have told me about it in the morning. Believe it or not, Ziukin, I had gone to bed to get a bit of sleep.’
‘But Her Highness has a fiancé, Prince Olaf! And, apart from that, she is a virgin! Colonel, it may still not be too late to prevent this!’
‘Oh no,’ he said, yawning again. ‘Interfering in grand princesses’ affairs of the heart is more than my life’s worth. They don’t forgive my kind for that sort of indiscretion. And as for being a virgin, I expect she was, but she’s got over that now,’ Karnovich said with a crooked smile. ‘Everyone knows it’s a short step from weeping to consolation, and that Fandorin of yours has a considerable reputation as a ladykiller. But don’t you worry, the prince won’t lose a thing. He’s marrying the House of Romanov, not the girl. Virginity is a load of bunk. But what is not a load of bunk are these sly tricks of Fandorin’s. I’m very concerned about our very own Pinkerton’s maverick activities. If you want to help me and help the sovereign at the same time, tell me everything you know.’
And so I told him – about Khitrovka and about Stump, and about the bandits’ gathering the next day.
‘Bosh,’ Karnovich commented succinctly when he had heard me out. ‘A load of bosh. Which was just what I expected.’
Sleep was entirely out of the question. I walked up and down the corridor of the first floor, wringing my hands. I was afraid that I mightwake Georgii Alexandrovich with my tramping, but at the same time in my heart that was what I wanted. Then His Highness would have asked what I was doing there and I could have told him everything.
But this was a petty and unworthy hope. After what the grand duke had been through that day, I could not add this to his burdens. And so I stopped walking about and sat down on the landing.
At dawn, when the newborn sun timidly extended its first rays across the gleaming parquet, I heard light steps on the stairs, and I saw Xenia Georgievna walking up, wrapped in a light lace shawl.
‘Afanasii, what are you doing here?’ she asked, not so much in surprise, more as if she didn’t think our meeting like this at such an unusual hour was of any great importance.
Her Highness’s face was strange. I had never seen it look like that before – as if it were completely new.
‘How incredible all this is,’ Xenia Georgievna said, sitting down on one of the steps. ‘Life is so strange. The horrible and the beautiful side by side. I’ve never felt so unhappy or so happy before. I’m a monster, aren’t I?’
Her Highness’s eyes and lips were swollen. The eyes – that was from her tears. But the lips?
I simply bowed without saying anything, although I understood the meaning of her words very well. If I had dared, I would have said: ‘No, Your Highness, it’s not you who is the monster, but Erast Petrovich Fandorin. You are only a young, inexperienced girl.’
‘Good night, Your Highness,’ I said eventually, although the night was already over, and went to my room.
I slumped down in an armchair without getting undressed and sat there blankly for awhile, listening to the dawn chorus of birds whose names I did not know. Perhaps they were nightingales or some kind of thrushes? I had never known much about such things. I went on listening and fell asleep without realising it.
I dreamed that I was an electric light bulb and I had to illuminate a hall full of waltzing couples. From my position up on high I had an excellent view of the gleaming epaulettes, glittering diamond coronets and sparkling gold embroidery on the uniforms. There was music playing, and the echoes of many voices washing about under the high vaulted ceiling, merging into a single, indistinct rumbling. Suddenly I saw two dancing couples collide. Then another two. And another two. Some people fell over, and some of them were taken by the arms and helped up, but the orchestra kept playing faster and faster, and the dancers never stopped circling even for a second. Suddenly I realisedwhat the problem was. I was not coping with my job – my light was too dim, that was what was causing the turmoil. Panic-stricken, I strained as hard as I could to burn brighter, but I failed. In fact the twilight in the
hall was growing thicker and thicker with every second that passed. Two resplendent couples flew straight towards each other, spinning as they went, and they could not see that a collisionwas inevitable. I did not know who theywere, but the respectful way in which the other couples moved aside to make way for them suggested that they were no ordinary guests but members of the royal family. I made an absolutely incredible effort that set my thin glass shell tinkling, strained with all my might and a miracle happened: I and the world around me were suddenly flooded with a blinding light that illuminated everything. The intense bliss I experienced in that magical moment set me trembling, I cried out in rapture – and woke up.
I opened my eyes and immediately squeezed them shut again to keep out the brilliant sunlight thatmust have reached my face at just that second.
The final peals of my chimerical rapture slowly gave way to fright: the bright disc was so high in the sky that the hour had to be late. In any case, breakfast time must certainly be over.
I jumped to my feet with a gasp, then remembered that I had been excused from all domestic duties – Somov was performing them for the time being. Then I listened and realised how quiet the house was.
Well, naturally. Everyone had gone to bed so late that probably no one had got up yet.
I took awash and freshened up my clothes, thenwalked round all the places where work should be going on to make sure that the servants at least were not sleeping and the table had already been laid for breakfast.
I went out into the yard to see if the carriages were ready for driving out and then turned into the garden to pick some tulips for Xenia Georgievna and pansies for Mademoiselle Declique.
I ran into Mr Fandorin on the lawn. Or rather, I saw him first and instinctively ducked behind a tree.