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

by Boris Akunin

  ‘Carr, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it’s Carr,’ the grand duke declared confidently. ‘Banville is a man from high society, after all. There’s no way to fake those manners and that way of talking.’

  ‘And just who, Paulie, told you Doctor Lind is not a man from high society?’ the lieutenant objected.

  They were both right, and in general it all sounded very far from stupid. This was something I had not expected.

  ‘Should you not inform Colonel Karnovich of your suspicions?’ I suggested.

  ‘No, no,’ said Pavel Georgievich, shaking his head. ‘He or that blockhead Lasovsky will only ruin everything again. And in any case they both have plenty to worry about with the coronation tomorrow.’

  ‘Mr Fandorin, then?’ I asked reluctantly.

  Endlung and His Highness looked at each other.

  ‘You know, Afanasii,’ the grand duke said slowly, ‘Fandorin is a clever chap, of course, but he seems to be preparing some cunning kind of operation. So let him get on with it.’

  ‘We’ll manage on our own,’ the lieutenant snapped. ‘Andwe’ll see whose operation is more cunning. But we need someone to help us. Tell me, Ziukin, are you with us or not?’

  I agreed immediately, without even the slightest hesitation. I found the idea of doing something useful again, and without Mr Fandorin being involved, immensely inspiring.

  ‘What do we have to do?’ I asked.

  ‘First, tail them,’ Endlung announced briskly. ‘Both of them. Paulie can’t do it – he’s too conspicuous and also he has heaps of responsibilities. The royal family has an all-night vigil today, and in general he’s going to be like a little pug dog on a tight lead. That’s why we’ve brought you in. So I’m going to follow Carr and you, Ziukin, are going to follow Banville.’

  I noted that he had kept the most promising suspect for himself, but I did not object – itwas Endlung not Iwho had come up with the idea.

  ‘Ah, how I envy you!’ His Highness exclaimed ruefully.

  In accordance with our agreement, I installed myself with the Moscow Gazette on the bench beside the stairs, from where I had a view of His Lordship’s door. Endlung sat down to lay out a game of patience in the small drawing room, because he could see Mr Carr’s room from there.

  In anticipation of our surveillance work I had changed my livery for a good suit of dark-grey English wool, a present from the grand princess the previous year. Endlung had also changed into civilian clothes – a sandy-coloured two-piece suit and dandified shoes with white gaiters.

  To while away the time, I read the text of the solemn announcement to the people of the next day’s coronation:

  His most Serene, Sovereign and Great Highness, the Emperor Nikolai Alexandrovich, having ascended the ancestral throne of the Russian Empire and the Kingdom of Poland and Grand Dukedom of Finland incorporated therein, has deigned, in the fashion of those devout sovereigns, his ancestors, to decree as follows:

  The most sacred coronation of His Imperial Majesty and his anointment from the spiritual world shall take place, with the help of Almighty God, on the fourteenth day of this month of May. His Imperial Majesty has decreed that his consort, Her Majesty the Empress Alexandra Feodorovna, shall also be privy to these most sacred proceedings. This triumphant festivity is hereby proclaimed to all loyal subjects so that on this long-awaited day they might redouble their prayers to the King of Kings to illumine His Majesty’s kingdom with all the power of His grace and strengthen it in peace and quietude, to His own most sacred glory and the unshakeable prosperity of the state.

  The sublime dignity of these majestic words filled my heart with a calm certitude. Reading official documents had always had a most salutary effect on me, and especially now, when the inviolability of the edifice of the Russian monarchy had suddenly come under threat.

  I also studied with pleasure the composition of the company of heralds that was reading out this message every day on the Senate Square of the Kremlin: ‘An adjutant general with the rank of full general, two adjutant generals of adjutant-general rank, two high masters of coronation ceremonies, two heralds, four masters of ceremony, two Senate secretaries, two divisions in mounted formation – one of Her Majesty the Empress Maria Feodorovna’s cavalry guards and the other of the mounted lifeguards, with kettledrums and full choruses of trumpets, each division to have two trumpeters with trumpets decorated with cloth of gold displaying the state crest and twelve lead mounts in richly decorated horsecloths.’ How beautiful! Such music in every word, in the sound of every rank and title!

  The previous year, on the initiative of the new empress, who wished to be more Russian than the Russians themselves, a genuine revolution had almost taken place in the names of court rankingswhen a projectwas conceived to replace all the German titles with old ones from Muscovy. According to Endlung the unrest among the servants at court had been reminiscent of the picture The Last Day of Pompeii by the artist Briullov, but, thank God, it had come to nothing. When the High House Marshal Prince Alten-Coburg-Svyatopolk-Bobruisky learned that under the new (or rather, old) order he would simply be called a butler, there was a great scandal, and the project was consigned to oblivion.

  Through a hole I had made in a page of the newspaper, I saw Mr Freyby approaching along the corridor and pretended to be absorbed in reading, but even so the Englishman stopped and greeted me.

  The butler’s company usually had a calming effect on me, but on this occasion his appearance was most inopportune, for the door of Lord Banville’s room might open at any moment.

  ‘Good news?’ Freyby asked, nodding at the newspaper and fishing his dictionary out of his pocket. ‘Khoroshii . . . novost?’

  I did not have my dictionary with me – it was in my livery – and so I limited myself to a simple nod.

  After looking me over carefully, the Englishman pronounced a phrase of four words: ‘You look better today.’ Then he rustled the pages of his lexicon again and translated it into Russian: ‘Ty . . . smotret . . . luchshe . . .sevodnya.’

  I started and looked up at his ruddy features. Why would he advise me to look better? How did he know about our plan? What did he know in general?

  The butler smiled benignly, bowed and proceeded on his way.

  Five minutes later Mr Carr came out into the corridor, looking rather strange: despite the clear warm weather, he was wrapped in a long cloak reaching right down to his heels; his broad hat with a drooping brim was pulled down almost as far as his nose; and I also noticed that his shoes had heels that were high and extremely thin. On pressing my eye right up against the hole in the page, I sawthat the English gentlemanwas even more thickly painted and rouged than usual.

  Stepping gracefully, Mr Carrwalked through to the exit. Then Endlung strode past me, whistling light-heartedly. He looked round and winked, and I remained at my post. But I did not have to wait for long. Literally half a minute later His Lordship’s door squeaked and Banville followed them out, walking on tiptoe. He was also wearing a cloak, but not such a long one as Mr Carr’s.

  There was something mysterious going on. I waited for as brief a moment as possible, put on my bowler hat and joined this strange procession, bringing up the rear. Onthat day the emperor and empress had moved from the Alexandriisky Palace to the Kremlin, and so all the police agents had disappeared from the park, which was most opportune as to any observer our manoeuvres would certainly have seemed suspicious. I could not signal to Endlung because I was afraid of startling Lord Banville, and the lieutenant himself did not look round. However, he was strolling along casually, and I soon realised that His Lordshipwas not interested in Endlung at all, but in Mr Carr.

  Outside the gates the latter took a cab and drove off in the direction of Kaluga Square. As he was getting into the carriage, the flap of his cloak fell open and something bright and pearly, like the hem of a brocade or satin dress, glinted in the light of the setting sun.

  Endlung walked a bit further along the pavement, tapping his cane, stoppe
d a cab coming towards him and, after exchanging a few words with the cabby, drove off in the same direction. But Banville was unlucky – there were no more cabs on the street. The Briton ran out into the roadway, looking after the carriages as they drove away. I concealed myself in the bushes, just to be on the safe side.

  Five minuteswent by, or perhaps even ten, before His Lordship managed to get a cab. Banville obviously knew, or had guessed, where Mr Carr had gone to, because he shouted something very brief to the driver, and the carriage rattled off over the cobblestones.

  Now it was my turn to feel nervous. But I did not wait for an empty cab to come along – I stopped a little man driving a water wagon, offered him two roubles and took a seat beside a barrel at the front. The man lashed his dray horse with his whip; it shook its tangled mane, snorted and set off along the broad street at a pace every bit as good as a cabman’s mare. No doubt in my respectable attire I must have looked very strange on that rough wooden cart, but at the time that was of absolutely no importance whatever – the important thing was to keep Lord Banville in my field of vision.

  We drove across Krimsky Most Street, already familiar to me, and turned into a side street. Leaving the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour behind on our right, we found ourselves on a rich and beautiful street lined with nothing but palaces and mansions on both sides. Carriages were drawing up one after another outside the brightly illuminated front entrance of one of the houses. Banville also got out there and paid his driver. He walked past a haughty doorman covered in gold braid and went in through a pair of tall doors decorated with mouldings. I was left standing on the pavement as the water carter went rumbling on his way with my two roubles.

  As far as I could tell, therewas a masquerade about to begin in the mansion because everyone who arrived was wearing a mask. On looking more closely at the guests, I discovered that they were divided into two types: men in ordinary frock coats and suits, and individuals of indeterminate sex, like Mr Carr, swathed in extremely long cloaks. Many people arrived in pairs, armin arm, and I guessedwhat kind of gatheringwas taking place.

  Someone took hold of my elbow from behind. I looked round – it was Endlung.

  ‘This is the Elysium,’ he whispered, and his eyes sparkled. ‘A privileged club for Moscow queers. Mine’s in there as well.’

  ‘Mr Carr?’ I asked.

  The lieutenant nodded and twitched the curled ends of his wheat-coloured moustache thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s not that simple just towalk in. We need make-up. Eureka!’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Follow me, Ziukin! The Variety Theatre is only five minutes from here; I have lots of lady friends there.’

  He took me by the arm and led me across the rapidly darkening street.

  ‘Did you see that some of them have cloaks that reach right down to the ground? Those are the pansies – they’re wearing women’s dresses under their cloaks. There’s no way you would make a pansy, Ziukin; you’ll have to be the auntie. So be it, I shall perform a heroic feat for the sake of the royal family and dress up as a pansy.’

  ‘Who am I going to be?’ I asked, thinking that I must have misheard.

  ‘The auntie. That’s what the pansies’ patrons are called.’

  We turned into the stage entrance of the theatre. The attendant bowed low to Endlung and even doffed his peaked cap, for which he received a coin from the lieutenant.

  ‘Quick, quick,’ said the decisive gentleman of the bedchamber, urging me on as he ran up a steep and non-too-clean staircase. ‘Now, where would be best? Ah, Zizi’s dressing room would do. It’s five to nine now, almost time for the interval.’

  In the empty dressing room he took a seat in front of the mirror as if he belonged there, examined his own face critically and said with a sigh: ‘I shall have to shave the damn moustache off. The Russian navy hasn’t made such sacrifices since the Black Sea fleet was scuttled. Right, you English buggers, you’ll answer to me for this . . .’

  With a steadfast hand he picked up a pair of scissors from a small table and snipped off first one side of his moustache and then the other. Such willing self-sacrifice demonstrated yet again that I had underestimated Lieutenant Endlung, and that Georgii Alexandrovich had been quite right about him.

  When the courageous sailor had lathered up the remaining stubble and opened a razor, two rather pretty but quite incredibly over-painted young ladies came in, wearing dresses with spangles and necklines that were much too low.

  ‘Filya!’ one of them, light-haired and slim, exclaimed, and threw herself on Endlung from behind, giving him a loud kiss on the neck.

  ‘Filiusha!’ the other one, a plump brunette, squealed just as joyfully, and kissed the lathered lieutenant on the cheek.

  ‘Zizi, Lola, careful!’ he shouted at the young ladies. ‘I’ll cut myself.’

  Then there was a positive hail of questions and comments, so that I could no longer tell which of the girls had said what: ‘Why are you shaving off your moustache? You’ll look a real freak without it! Hey, you’ll blunt my Zolingen with that stubble of yours! Are we going anywhere after the show? And where’s Paulie? Who’s this with you? Phoo, he’s terribly stuffy, doesn’t look like much fun.’

  ‘Who’s not much fun – Afanasii?’ Endlung interceded for me. ‘If you only knew . . . He can give me a hundred points start. The moustache? That’s for a bet. Afanasii and I are going to a masquerade. Come on, girls, turn me into a lovably plump little lady, and make him something a bit more, you know, showy. What’s this?’

  He took a thick ginger beard off a hook on the wall and answered his own question.

  ‘Aha, from Nero. Little Lola’s simply delightful in that role. Turn this way, brother Ziukin . . .’

  The actresses set to work merrily, without stopping talking for a single moment. And five minutes later there was a most unsavoury-looking gentleman glaring out at me from the mirror, with a thick red beard and tangled eyebrows of the same colour, thick hair cut in a fringe and a monocle into the bargain.

  Endlung’s transformation took more time, but he became completely unrecognisable. After adjusting the folds of his sumptuous dress, which was completely covered in ruffles, the lieutenant put on a half-mask, stretched out his thickly painted lips into a smile and was suddenly transformed into a well-padded floozy. I noticed for the first time that he had coquettish little dimples in his cheeks.

  ‘Very chic!’ Endlung said approvingly. ‘Girls, you are absolute kittens! We’ll win this bet. Forward, Afanasii, time is precious!’

  As we approached the entrance flooded with electric light, I also put on a half-mask. I was very much afraid that they would not let us into the club, but obviously we looked entirely comme il faut, and the doorman opened the doors for us with a respectful bow.

  We entered a richly appointed hallway, where Endlung threw off the cloak he had put on over his ethereal dress. There was a wide white stairway leading up, and the flight of steps ended at a huge mirror in a bronze frame, with two couples like us standing in front of it, preening themselves.

  I was about to walk on by, but Endlung nudged me with his elbow, and I realised that it would have looked suspicious. For the sake of appearances, we loitered in front of the mirror, but I deliberately screwed up my eyes in order not to see the caricature created by Lola and Zizi’s deft hands. The lieutenant, however, regarded his reflection with quite evident enjoyment: he adjusted his little curls, extended his leg and stretched out his foot. Thank God, they had chosen him a dress with no décolleté and covered shoulders.

  The spacious hall was furnished with luxurious good taste in the very latest Venetian style – with gold and silver panels on the walls, cosy little alcoves and large grottoes created using tropical plants in tubs. There was a buffet with various wines and hors d’œuvres in the corner, and a bright-blue grand piano on a high platform. I had never seen one like that before. On all sides there was the sound of muted voices and laughter, and the smell of perfume and expensive tobacco.

/>   At first glance it looked like a perfectly ordinary high-society rout. On closer observation, however, one was struck by the excessively ruddy cheeks and dark eyebrows of some of the beaux, and the ladies looked very strange altogether: far too broad in the shoulder, with prominent Adam’s apples, and one actually had a slim moustache. Endlung also noticed her, and a shadow flitted across his animated face – apparently he had sacrificed his moustache in vain. Then again, there were some creatures with nothing at all to indicate that they were not men. For instance, one in the costume of Columbine, who seemed vaguely familiar to me, could probably have rivalled the slim waist and suppleness of Miss Zizi herself.

  Endlung and I walked arm-in-arm between the palm trees, trying to spot Banville and Carr. Almost immediately a gentleman wearing a steward’s ribbon in a bow on his chest came dashing up to us, pressed his hands to his heart and chanted reproachfully: ‘A breach, a breach of the rules. Those who arrive together must amuse themselves separately. You’ll have plenty of time for spooning later, my darlings.’

  He winked at me in a most brazen fashion and pinched Endlung gently on the cheek, for which the lieutenant immediately slapped him on the forehead with his fan.

  ‘A frisky one,’ the steward said to the gentleman of the bedchamber. ‘Permit me to introduce you to the Count of Monte Cristo.’

  He led a red-lipped old man in a black curly wig over to Endlung.

  ‘And you, Ginger, will discover ecstasy in the company of a delightful nymph.’

  I assumed that in this circle it was the custom to address everyone familiarly, and replied in the same tone: ‘Thank you, my considerate friend, but I would prefer—’

  However, a brash nymph in a Greek tunic with a gilded harp clasped under her arm was already hanging on my elbow.

  She immediately began talking some nonsense or other in an extremely unnatural falsetto, continually pursing her lips up into a tight heart shape.

  I dragged the companionwho had been imposed on me across the hall and suddenly saw Mr Carr. He was wearing a velvet mask, but I recognised him immediately from his blindingly bright yellowhair. The fortunate Englishmanwas sitting all alone by the wall, drinking champagne and gazing around. I saw that the lieutenant and his old man had occupied the next table. My eyes met Endlung’s, and he turned his head emphatically to one side.