by Boris Akunin
The next day he went to the theatre with Masa. According to the rules established by Stern, rehearsals of the current production had to take place every day. Noah Noaevich’s credo stated that the premiere was only the beginning of the real work and every new performance of a play had to be more perfect than the one before it.
Master and servant ate their breakfast in a graveyard silence and remained silent all the way to the theatre. Masa actually gazed demonstratively out of the window. The Japanese was still offended because Erast Petrovich had not informed him about how the investigation was going. And that was very good, thought Fandorin, who did not yet feel any desire to make peace.
At the beginning of the rehearsal Erast Petrovich waited until the individual he was interested in was free and then did what he had come here for.
Fandorin was interested in the actor Konstantin Shiftsky, who played the part of a petty thief.
‘Are you an “informant”?’ Erast Petrovich asked without any preliminaries, after first leading the actor out into the corridor.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Do you work for the Tsar? Don’t t-try to deny it. Ten days before the premiere I saw the folder containing your role in Mr Whistle’s briefcase. The colour for your roles is yellow, isn’t it?’
The prankster’s mobile features face started twitching and his eyes blinked rapidly. Kostya didn’t answer.
‘If you start getting stubborn, I’ll tell Stern about your earnings on the side,’ Fandorin threatened.
‘Don’t,’ Kostya said quickly, and looked round to make sure that there was no one near by. ‘I’m not doing anything bad, after all … Well, I answer a few questions about how things are going, what’s happening … I tell him about changes in the repertoire. When the new play appeared, the Tsar was interested, of course. He liked it a lot, by the way, and predicted it would be a great success.’
‘Merci beaucoup. So, are you constantly in contact with the Tsar?’
‘No, I deal more with Whistle. Only occasionally with the Tsar. The last time we talked about you. He was very curious …’
‘Was he really?’
‘Yes. He asked my opinion about whether he could give you a valuable gift on the occasion of the premiere. I advised him against it. I said: Mr Fandorin is a reserved kind of man, not very sociable. He might not like it …’
‘Why, you’re a psy-psychologist.’
‘The Tsar wasn’t surprised. I think he knows more about you than I do …’
Erast Petrovich remembered his confrontation with Whistle. Everything was clear now. The Tsar had taken an interest in the new playwright, made enquiries about him and learned all sorts of interesting things. Well now, that was most opportune.
‘Where did you meet the Tsar? In his Office?’
‘Yes. They took me somewhere out past Ostankino.’
‘Do you remember the place?’
‘I remember it. But Whistle said they were moving out of there the next day. And that was almost two weeks ago …’
‘Do you know where the Tsar is staying now?’
‘How could I?’
Fandorin thought for a moment and said:
‘Then I tell you what. You go and give Whistle a n-note to deliver to the Tsar. He’s loitering in front of the theatre right now. Write: “Fandorin was asking questions about you. We need to meet.” They’ll take you straight to the Office.’
Shiftsky immediately wrote down everything as dictated, although he pursed his thick lips sceptically.
‘But why would they do that? What’s the big deal if a dramatist is asking a few questions? You don’t know what kind of man the Tsar is. Oho, he’s a big kind of man.’
‘Whistle will take you straight to the Tsar,’ Erast Petrovich repeated. ‘They’ll be nervous. And you’ll tell them that when I talked to you I mentioned my suspicions. Say that Fandorin thinks Emeraldov was killed by the Tsar’s people.’
‘What do you mean, killed? He committed suicide,’ said Kostya, starting to get flustered. ‘If I were you, I wouldn’t rub these people up the wrong way. They might take offence.’
‘When I come round to your hotel this evening, you can tell me if they’ve taken offence or not. But the most important thing you have to do is remember exactly where they take you.’
Fandorin watched through the window of the foyer as his prediction came true.
Shiftsky walked out and went over to Mr Whistle. He said something, with his head pulled into his shoulders ingratiatingly, and handed Whistle the folded sheet of paper. Whistle unfolded it and frowned. Then he waved his hand – and after that, everything happened exactly as it had the previous day. Two ‘pinschers’ ran over, the Ford drove up, the second car blocked off the street and the actor was taken away to have a talk with the autocrat of the Moscow scalpers.
Before evening arrived Erast Petrovich took action on another front and had a meeting with Mr Shustrov, after first telephoning the Theatrical and Cinematographic Company. The entrepreneur said that he would receive the dramatist immediately.
‘Well, have you changed your mind?’ Andrei Gordeevich asked as he shook his visitor’s hand. ‘Are you going to write scenarios for me?’
The style of his office was strangely non-Russian. Fine-boned furniture, constructed out of sticks and metal poles; huge windows stretching from the floor to the ceiling, with a view of the River Moscow and the factory chimneys towering up beyond it; strange pictures on the walls – nothing but cubes, squares and zigzag lines. Erast Petrovich did not understand modern art, but he attributed that to his advanced age. Every new era had its own eyes and ears – people wanted to see and hear something different. At one time even the snug, cosy Impressionists had seemed like hooligans, and now this respectable capitalist had an appalling purple woman with three legs hanging above his desk, and that was just fine.
‘The game you are getting involved in is a serious one,’ Fandorin said gravely, letting his eyes linger on posters for the latest films from Europe (Dante’s Inferno, Ancient Roman Orgy, Sherlock Holmes versus Professor Moriarty). ‘And I am a serious man. I have to know the rules and understand them.’
‘Naturally,’ the young millionaire said with a nod. ‘What is it that concerns you? I’ll answer any questions you have. I am extremely interested in collaborating with someone like you. Why do you hide from the reporters? Why have you only put your initials on the posters, and not your full name? That’s not right, it’s a mistake. I’d like to make you a star.’
This was a gentleman who had to be spoken to bluntly, so Fandorin asked his question without beating about the bush.
‘How do you get along with Tsarkov? As far as I can understand, if one is not on good terms with this wheeler-dealer, it is rather d-difficult, if not impossible, to establish a theatrical and cinematographic industry in Moscow.’
Shustrov was not embarrassed by this direct question.
‘I get along excellently with the Tsar.’
‘Oh, indeed? But you are a protagonist of civilised entrepreneurial activity, and he is a gentleman who likes to fish in murky waters, a semi-bandit.’
‘First and foremost, I am a realist. I have to take into account the specific features of Russian business. In this country the success of any large-scale initiative requires support from above and from below. From the clouds up above …’ – Andrei Gordeevich pointed to the towers of the Kremlin, visible through the window at the end of the room – ‘… and from underground …’ – he jabbed his finger down towards the floor. ‘The powers that be permit you to do business. And nothing more than that. But if you want that business to make progress, you have to turn to the unofficial power. In our state, which is so clumsy and inconvenient for business, the unofficial power helps to lubricate the rusty gearwheels and trim the rough edges.’
‘You are t-talking about figures such as Tsarkov?’
‘Of course. Cooperation with this underground magnate is absolutely essential in my field of work
. Working without his help would be like trying to get things done with one arm missing. And if he were hostile, our enterprise would be entirely impossible.’
‘What does his help consist of?’
‘Many things. For instance, are you aware that pickpockets don’t ply their trade at Noah’s Ark productions? One newspaper article attributed this phenomenon to the beneficial influence of high art on callous criminal hearts. But in fact the pickpockets have been frightened off by Tsarkov’s people. That was done as a favour to me. He also stirs up the ballyhoo around touring performances – if he regards them as promising. It’s useful for him as concerns speculation in the tickets and for me in that it increases the value of the theatre that I have backed. But the Tsar will be at his most useful to us when we develop the cinematographic side of our activity. Then his underground enterprise will expand to cover the whole of Russia. We shall have to control the distributors, maintain order in the electric theatres, curtail the production of illegal copies. The police will not be able to do this work and will not wish to. And so the Tsar and I have great plans for each other.’
Shustrov explained enthusiastically and at length how the empire of performance and spectacle that he was in the process of creating would function. Everyone in it would do the job that he had the talent for. Brilliant writers like Mr Fandorin thinking up plots and storylines. Brilliant directors like Mr Stern making films and staging inventive theatrical productions, with the former sharing a thematic connection with the latter: that is, if the current emphasis is on orientalism, a play on Japanese life is followed by two or three films on the same subject matter. This develops demand, while at the same time providing a saving on scenery and costumes. The company’s own newspapers and magazines inflate the cult of its own actors and actresses. Its own electric theatres mean that takings do not have to be shared with anyone. The entire system is safe and secure from top to bottom in all its branching ramifications. Good relations with the authorities provide protection against any difficulties with the law, and good relations with the Tsar guarantee protection against criminals and sticky-fingered employees.
As Erast Petrovich listened, he wondered why, here in Russia, in all ages, the most important requirement for the success of any venture was ‘good relations’. It must be because the Russians regarded laws as irritating, arbitrary obstructions invented by a certain hostile power in its own interests. And that hostile power was called ‘the state’. There was never anything rational or benevolent in the actions of the state. It was an immense, sprawling, vicious monster. The only salvation was that it was also half-blind and rather stupid, and every one of its greedy gullets could be fed. Without that, it would be absolutely impossible to live in Russia. Establish good relations with the gaping, toothy maw closest to you and do whatever you like. Only don’t forget to fling chunks of meat into it on time. That was the way things had been under the Rurikoviches, that was how things were under the Romanovs, and that was how things would remain until relations between the general population and the state changed fundamentally.
Having promised to give the millionaire’s proposal serious thought, Erast Petrovich walked out of the Theatrical and Cinematographic Company pondering the situation seriously. The opponent he had challenged had proved to be more serious than originally thought.
The technological spirit of the twentieth century was already making inroads into the dense thickets of the criminal world of Moscow. This Tsar had American bookkeeping, a sound business structure, automobiles, and professionally organised protection. It was probably not really wise to go up against an organisation like that on his own. Like it or not, he would have to make peace with Masa …
A TRUE FRIEND
The Japanese did not come home to spend the night, but Erast Petrovich did not attach any importance to that. Out chasing after skirts again, he thought. Well, that’s all right, the plan for a little visit to Sokolniki can be discussed tomorrow.
That evening Shiftsky had reported on his visit to the Tsar. The actor was frightened and intrigued, because the news of Fandorin’s suspicions had seriously alarmed the lord of the speculators.
‘But who are you? I mean, really?’ Kostya asked Erast Petrovich fearfully. ‘They ordered me to report every word you say immediately … Why are they so frightened of you?’
‘I have no idea,’ Fandorin replied, fixing the actor with an unblinking gaze. ‘But I advise you very seriously not to inform Mr Whistle about every word I s-say.’
Shiftsky gulped.
‘I g-get it …’ And then he panicked. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to make fun of you! It just happened!’
‘I believe you. So, a two-storey detached house in Sokolniki, at the end of Deer Grove Street? I tell you what, sit down and draw the area as accurately as you can. I’m curious about the surroundings …’
At home on Cricket Lane, with the help of a detailed police map of the Meshchansky district, which included Deer Grove Street, along with all the rest of Sokolniki, Erast Petrovich identified Mr Tsarkov’s present address. The building to which Shiftsky had been taken was once a country house outside the city, but now it stood on the grounds of the park. On the map it was actually marked as ‘Deer Grove’. Under cover of night Fandorin paid a visit to the north-eastern sector of Sokolniki in order to take a look at the objective and, if the opportunity arose, carry out his plan there and then.
He was obliged to abandon the idea of a full-frontal cavalry charge. At first glance the house appeared to be located conveniently. Dense bushes ran almost right up to it from three sides. However, this apparent ease of access was deceptive. The Office was well protected. There was one ‘pinscher’ on guard all the time on the porch, keeping his eyes fixed on the alley leading to the isolated house. When Fandorin trained his binoculars on the windows, he counted another four of them on watch inside. All the curtains were tightly closed, but even so there were little gaps left at the top, just below the cornice. In order to get some idea of how the ground floor was arranged, Erast Petrovich had to climb trees on three sides of the house. It was an undignified kind of activity, but refreshing – it made Fandorin feel a bit younger. And at the same time he gained a fairly accurate impression of the layout of the Office.
The upper floor contained the Tsar’s chambers and Mr Whistle’s room. Down below there were two large spaces. One of these, to judge from the furnishings, was the dining room. The other – where guards loitered constantly – was the working office. Fandorin even managed to examine two large, lacquered cabinets of unusual design which glinted in the orange light of the kerosene lamps. Without a doubt, they were the personal archive of His Speculative Majesty.
It was no Plevna fortress, of course, but it couldn’t be taken by storm, especially by one man acting alone. But two men – himself and Masa – now that was a different matter.
After his successful reconnaissance, feeling restored for the first time in an entire month, he went back home and slept for four hours, and then it was time to go to the theatre. Erast Petrovich had to catch Masa before the rehearsal began, so at half past ten he was already sitting in the auditorium, concealed behind a newspaper – an excellent way to avoid the idle chatter of which actors were so fond. He had observed long ago that reading a newspaper, especially if one assumed an air of concentration, inspired respect in others and warded off any superfluous contact. But Fandorin did not even have to act out any pretence. Today’s Morning of Russia carried an extremely interesting interview with the minister of trade and industry, Timashev, about the excellent fiscal situation in the empire: liquidity reserves of more than 300 million roubles had been accumulated from budget surpluses, the Russian currency’s exchange rate was strenghtening day by day and the government’s energetic policy was quite certain to set Russia on the road to a bright future. Erast Petrovich’s own prognoses concerning the future of Russia were not optimistic, but how glorious it would be to be mistaken!
From time to time he glanced at the doors. The
theatre company was gradually gathering. Everyone was in their normal clothes – the established rules called for rehearsals to be conducted with scenery, but without make-up or costumes. The brilliant Noah Noaevich believed that this laid bare an actor’s technique, rendering the errors and miscalculations more obvious
Aphrodisina came in. Erast Petrovich did not lower his eyes back to the newspaper, expecting that Masa would appear after her, but he was mistaken – the ‘coquette’ had arrived alone.
He had to read another article, about the historical events in China. A revolt by a single battalion in the provincial city of Wuchang, which had begun a week earlier, had led to Chinese everywhere cutting off their pigtails, refusing to submit to the authority of the emperor and demanding a republic. It was incredible to think what an immense behemoth had been set in motion by such a little spark – 400 million people! And the Europeans were apparently not even aware that mighty, somnolent Asia had awoken. It could not be stopped now. As its oscillations slowly gathered amplitude, spreading wider and wider, it would submerge the entire planet under its waves. The world was ceasing to be white and – as the Japanese put it – ‘round-eyed’; now it would turn yellow and its eyes would inevitably grow narrower. How interesting all this was!
He looked up from Morning of Russia, trying to picture to himself newly awoken, black-haired Asia in alliance with enlightened, golden-haired Europe. And he froze. There was Eliza walking into the hall, arm-in-arm with Masa. They were smiling at each other and whispering about something.
The newspaper rustled as it slid down off Fandorin’s knees.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ said the vilest, loveliest woman in the world. Spotting Erast Petrovich, she glanced at him with obvious embarrassment, even timidity. She hadn’t been expecting to meet him.