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

by Boris Akunin

  Erast Petrovich took off his white shirt and performed some complicated gymnastic movements. Then suddenly he leapt up and hung from the lowest branch of a spreading maple tree. First he swung to and fro and then he started doing something completely fantastic, flying from branch to branch with deft, confident movements of his arms and hands. He made a complete circuit round the maple tree in this way, and then repeated the procedure.

  I could not tear my eyes away from his lean, well-muscled body, and I felt a quite untypical feeling of burning hatred seething helplessly inside me. Oh, if only I were a magician, I would have turned that man into some kind of monkey, then he could gambol around in the trees as much as he liked.

  Turning away with an effort, I sawthe curtainwas drawn back at one of the windows on the ground floor – I thought it was Mr Carr’s room. Then I saw the Englishman himself. He was following Fandorin’s gymnastic routine with a fixed stare: his lower lip was gripped between his teeth, his fingers were gently stroking the window pane and there was a dreamy expression on his face.

  The day that had started so late dragged on at an agonising, leisurely pace. I tried to occupy myself with work around the house and preparations for the imminent receptions, routs and ceremonies, but very soon abandoned all important matters, because they needed to be tackled seriously, with total concentration, and my thoughts were infinitely far removed from discussing a menu, polishing silver tableware and airing ceremonial uniforms and dresses.

  I did not even have a chance to exchange a few words with Mademoiselle, because Karnovich was with her all the time. He kept on trying to get her to understand something about the next meeting with the kidnappers until at two o’clock the governess was put into a carriage and driven away – I only saw her from behind as she walked down the steps of the porch with her head held high. She was carrying a handbag which, I presumed, contained the Lesser Diamond Bouquet, that beautiful creation of the court jeweller Pfister.

  After Mademoiselle left, I sat on a bench in the company of Mr Freyby. Only a little earlier, I had come out consumed by anxiety to walk round the palace and had spotted the English butler on the lawn. On this occasion he was without his book, simply sitting there with his eyes closed, luxuriating in the sunshine. Mr Freyby looked so calm and peaceful that I stopped, overcome by a sudden envy. There is the only person in this entire insane house who radiates normality and common sense, I thought. And I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire simply to enjoy the fine day with the same appetite for it as he had, to sit for a while on a bench warmed by the sun, turn my face to catch the light breeze, and not think about anything at all.

  In some mysterious way the Briton must have guessed my desire. He opened his eyes, raised his bowler hat politely and gestured to me, as if to say: ‘Would you care to join me?’ And why not? I thought to myself. At least it will calm my nerves.

  I thanked him (‘Tenk yoo’) and sat down. It was really wonderful there on the bench. Mr Freyby nodded to me, I nodded to him, and this ritual made a perfect substitute for conversation, which in my exhausted state would probably have been beyond my powers.

  After the carriage took Mademoiselle Declique away to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour on Volkhonka Street, I became agitated again and began squirming about on the bench, but the butler took a flat leather-bound flask out of his voluminous pocket, unscrewed its silver top, poured some amber liquid into it and held it out to me. He himself made ready to drink directly from the mouth of the flask.

  ‘Whisky,’ he exclaimed, noticing my indecision.

  I had heard a lot about this British beverage, but I had never had occasion to sample it. I should tell you that I never take strong spirits, and only use less-strong drink – a glass of Malvasen – twice a year, at Easter and on Georgii Alexandrovich’s name day.

  However, Freyby sipped his drink with such evident enjoyment that I decided to try it. I threw my head back and drank it down, in the way that Lieutenant Endlung deals with his rum.

  My throat felt as if it had been stripped raw by a file, tears sprang to my eyes and I was completely unable to breathe. I looked round in horror at the perfidious Englishman, and he winked approvingly at me, as if he were delighted with his cruel trick. Why on earth do people drink horrid things like that?

  But on the inside I began to feel a warm, sweet sensation, my anxiety disappeared and was replaced by a quiet sadness – not for myself but for people who turned their lives into an absurd confusion and then suffered torment as a result.

  We enjoyed a glorious silence. Here is the personwho can give me some advice about Xenia Georgievna, I suddenly thought. It is obvious that he is a level-headed individual who is never at a loss in any situation. No one would envy him the master that he has, and yet he maintains such an air of dignity. However, it was absolutely impossible for me to talk to the Englishman about such a ticklish subject. I heaved a sigh.

  And then Freyby turned his head slightly towards me, opened one eye and said: ‘Live your own life.’ He took out the dictionary and translated: ‘Zhit’ . . . svoy . . . sobstvenniy . . . zhizn’.’

  After that he leaned back contentedly, as if the subject were exhausted, and closed his eyes again.

  These strangewordswere spoken in the tone of voice in which good advice is given. I started wondering what living one’s own life might mean. ‘Live your own life.’ In what sense?

  But then my gaze fell on the flower clock and I saw it was already three, and I shuddered.

  May the Lord Almighty preserve Mademoiselle Declique.

  An hour passed, then two, three. And still the governess did not return. Karnovich stayed by the telephone the whole time, but none of the calls was the one he wanted.

  There were three telephone calls from the Alexandriisky Palace on behalf of the tsar and two from Kirill Alexandrovich. And then shortly after six Simeon Alexandrovich arrived with his adjutant. He declined to enter the house and ordered cold fruit punch in the arbour. Cornet Glinsky, who was accompanying the governor general, was about to join His Highness, but the grand duke told him rather sharply that he wished to be alone, and the young man was left waiting outside the railings with the air of a beaten dog.

  ‘Howare your Englishmen getting on?’ Simeon Alexandrovich asked when I served the fruit punch. ‘They probably feel completely abandoned because of . . .’ He gestured vaguely with one hand. ‘Because of all this. How is Mr Carr?’

  I did not reply immediately to this question. Only a little earlier I had heard the sounds of a rather noisy argument between Lord Banville and his friend as I was walking down the corridor.

  ‘I expect, Your Highness, that His Lordship and Mr Carr are upset by what has happened.’

  ‘Mmm, well, that is not hospitable.’ The grand duke flicked a cherry-red drop off his pampered moustache and drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I tell you what, brother, invite Mr Carr to join me here. There is something I wish to discuss with him.’

  I bowed and set off to carry out his instructions. I was struck by the tragic expression on the face of Prince Glinsky – drooping eyebrows, pale lips, a despairing look in the eyes. Ah, sir, if I only had your problems, I thought.

  Mr Carr was sitting in front of the mirror in his room. He had a lacy net over his remarkable yellowhair, and his scarlet dressing gown with dragons was wide open across his white hairless chest. When I conveyed His Highness’s invitation in French, the Englishman turned pink and asked me to say that he would be there immediately. ‘Tout de suite’4 extended in practice to a good quarter of an hour, but Simeon Alexandrovich, well known for his impatience and irritability, waited without a murmur.

  When Mr Carr came out to go to the arbour, he looked a real picture. The rays of the sun glittered and sparkled on his impeccable coiffure, the collar of his blue shirt supported his rouged cheeks exquisitely, and the snow-white dinner jacket with a green forget-me-not in the buttonhole was simply dazzling.

  I do not knowwhat His Highness and the beautiful g
entleman spoke about, but I was shocked when Mr Carr responded to some comment from Simeon Alexandrovich by laughing and striking him across the wrist with two fingers.

  I heard convulsive sobbing and on turning round saw Prince Glinsky dashing away, kicking out his long legs in uhlan breeches just like a little girl.

  My God, my God.

  Mademoiselle returned at six minutes to eight. As soon as Karnovich, who had been waiting together with me on the porch, saw the long-awaited carriage at the end of the drive, he immediately sent me to get Fandorin, so that I only had a brief glimpse of the familiar white hat behind the broad figure of the driver.

  I trudged along the corridor to Erast Petrovich’s door and was about to knock on it, but the sounds coming from inside literally paralysed me.

  It was the same kind of sobbing that I had heard the night before.

  I could not believe my ears. Could Xenia Georgievna possibly have taken leave of her senses so far that she was visiting here during the day? I recalled that I had not seen Her Highness even once that morning – she had not come to either breakfast or lunch. What on earth was going on?

  After glancing around, I pressed my ear to the keyhole with which I was already so familiar.

  ‘Enough of that n-now, enough,’ I heard Fandorin say with his distinctive stammer. ‘Later you will be sorry for speaking to me so frankly.’

  A thin, faltering voice replied: ‘No, no, I can see from your face that you are a noble man. Why does he torment me so? I shall shoot this detestable British flirt and then shoot myself! In front of his very eyes!’

  No, it was not Xenia Georgievna.

  Reassured, I knocked loudly.

  Fandorin opened the door to me. Simeon Alexandrovich’s adjutant was standing at the window with his back to me.

  ‘Please come to the drawing room,’ I said in a calm voice, looking into those hateful blue eyes. ‘Mademoiselle Declique has returned.’

  ‘I waited for at least forty minutes in that big half-empty church, and no one approached me. Then an altar boy came up and handed me a note with the words: “I was told to give you this.”’ Mademoiselle pronounced the last phrase in Russian.

  ‘Who told him, did he say?’ Karnovich interrupted.

  ‘Where is the note?’ said Simeon Alexandrovich, holding out his hand imperiously.

  The governess looked in confusion from the colonel to the governor general, as if she did not know who to answer first.

  ‘Don’t interrupt!’ Georgii Alexandrovich roared menacingly.

  Pavel Georgievich and Fandorin were also present in the drawing room, but they did not utter a single word.

  ‘Yes, I asked who the note was from. He said: “From a man” and walked away.’

  I saw Karnovich write something down in a little notebook and I guessed that the choirboy would be found and questioned.

  ‘They took the note away from me later, but I rememberwhat it said word for word: “Go out into the square, walk along the boulevard and round the small church.” The text was in French, and it was written in cursive handwriting, not printed. The writing was fine and it slanted to the left.’

  Mademoiselle looked at Fandorin, and he gave her a nod of approval. My heart was wrung.

  ‘I did what it said. I stood beside the church for about ten minutes. Then a tall broad-shouldered man with a black beard and a hat pulled down over his eyes nudged me with his shoulder as he was walking by, and when I glanced round, he gestured inconspicuously for me to follow him, and I did. We walked up to the top of the side street. There was a carriage waiting there, but not the same one as yesterday, although it was black too, with its blinds tightly closed. The man opened the door and helped me in, feeling my dress as he did so. He was obviously looking for weapons.’ She shuddered in disgust. ‘I said to him: “Where is the boy? I won’t go anywhere until I have seen him.” But he seemed not to have heard me. He shoved me in the back and locked the door from the outside, and then he climbed onto the coach box – I could tell that from the way the carriage leaned over – and we set off. I discovered that the windows were not only covered with blinds but also boarded up on the inside so that there was not a single chink. We drove for a long time. In the darkness I could not check my watch, but I think that more than an hour went by. Then the carriage stopped. The driver got in, closed the door behind him and tied a piece of cloth tight over my eyes. “There’s no need; I won’t peep,” I told him in Russian, but once again he took no notice of what I said. He took me by the waist and set me down on the ground, and after that I was led by the hand, but not very far – only eight steps. Rusty hinges squeaked and I suddenly felt cold, as if I had entered a house with thick stone walls.’

  ‘Now as much detail as possible,’ Karnovich ordered sternly.

  ‘Yes, yes. They made me go down a steep stairway, which was quite short. I counted twelve steps. There were several people there, all men – I caught the smell of tobacco, boots and a male perfume. An English eau de cologne. I can’t remember what it’s called, but you could ask Lord Banville and Mr Carr; they use the very same one.’

  ‘The Earl of Essex,’ said Fandorin. ‘The most fashionable fragrance of the season.’

  ‘Mademoiselle, did you see Mika?’ Pavel Georgievich asked.

  ‘No, Your Highness.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Georgii Alexandrovich exclaimed. ‘They didn’t show you my son, but you gave them the bouquet anyway?’

  This reproach seemed outrageously unjust to me. As if Mademoiselle could have defied an entire gang ofmurderers! But then I could sympathise with the feelings of a father too.

  ‘I did not see Mika, but I heard him,’ Mademoiselle said quietly. ‘I heard his voice. The boywas very close to me. Hewas sleeping and rambling in his sleep – he kept repeating: “Laissez-moi, laissez-moi,5 Iwon’tevereverdoitagain. . .”.’

  She quickly took out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly, seeming to take an awfully long time over this simple procedure. The room began dissolving in front of my eyes, and I did not immediately realise that this was caused by my tears.

  ‘Well then,’ Mademoiselle continued in a flat voice, as if she had a cold. ‘Since itwas definitely Michel, I decided the condition had been met and gave them the bag. One of the men said to me in a loud whisper: “It didn’t hurt him, the finger was amputated under an injection of opium. If the game is played fairly, there will be no more need for such extreme measures. Tomorrow be at the same place at the same time. Bring the Empress Anna’s diamond clasp. Repeat that.” I repeated it: “The Empress Anna’s diamond clasp.” That was all. Then they led me back to the carriage, drove me around for a long time and put me out beside some bridge or other. I caught a cab and drove to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, and the carriage was waiting for me there.’

  ‘Have you told us everything?’ Georgii Alexandrovich asked after a pause. ‘Perhaps you missed out a fewsmall details. Think.’

  ‘No, Your Highness . . . Except perhaps . . .’ Mademoiselle screwed up her eyes. ‘Michel never used to talk in his sleep. I suspect that yesterday they gave the child a very strong dose of opium and he has still not woken up.’

  Pavel Georgievich groaned, and I involuntarily clenched my fists. We had to free Mikhail Georgievich as soon as possible, before that diabolical Lind ruined his health completely.

  ‘The Empress Anna’s diamond clasp! This villain has refined taste. And what has the perspicacious Mr Fandorin to say to all of this?’ Simeon Alexandrovich enquired sarcastically, addressing the retired deputy for special assignments directly for the first time that I could recall.

  ‘I shall be ready to present my reasoning following Mademoiselle Declique’s trip tomorrow,’ Erast Petrovich replied, without even turning his head towards His Highness. And then he added in a low voice, as if he were speaking to himself: ‘A whisper? That is interesting. I beg Your Highnesses’ permission to withdraw . . .’ He clicked open the lid of his Breguet. ‘It is already nine o’clo
ck, and I have certain pressing business this evening.’

  Yes, yes, I remembered. The gathering of the one-handed bandit’s gang.

  Pretending that I wished to empty an overflowing ashtray, I overtook Fandorin in the corridor.

  ‘Your Honour,’ I said, forcing myself to smile beseechingly, ‘take me with you. I won’t be a burden to you, and I might even come in useful.’

  I found this popinjay profoundly repulsive, but such minor inconveniences had no importance just at that moment. I knew that I would not get to sleep that night – I would be hearing the pitiful voice of Mikhail Georgievich tossing and turning in his delirium. It was quite possible that Karnovich was right, and Fandorin’s planwas absolute nonsense, but itwas certainly better than doing nothing.

  Erast Petrovich looked searchingly into my eyes.

  ‘Well now, Ziukin. I realised yesterday that you are no coward. Come with us if you like. I hope you understand what a dangerous business you are getting involved in.’

  The Japanese and Iwaited round the cornerwhile Fandorinwent on ahead alone.

  Peeping cautiously round, I saw Erast Petrovich, once again dressed as a ‘toff’, strolling down the middle of the road with that bouncy stride. There was a crescent moon shining in the sky, as sharp and crooked as a Turkish yataghan, and the nighttime Khitrovka street was lit up as brightly as if the street lamps were burning.

  Fandorin went down to the basement doors, and I heard him ask: ‘Code, are you there?’

  I could not make out the answer.

  ‘I’m Striy, from theWarsaw mob,’ Erast Petrovich declared in a cheerful voice as he approached the sentry, who was invisible from where I was standing. ‘Me and Code are close mates, as tight as tight. Are all your lot here? And has Stump rolled up? Sure, I know the scrip, I know it. Just a moment . . .’

  There was an abrupt sound like someone chopping a log of firewood with an axe and Masa pushed me forward: time to go.