An Evil Eye

130

Yashim felt the savage yank on his foot. Rather than tumble to the ground, he used his outward-falling momentum to spin in the air. Akunin had stepped back, face raised. He received the full weight of Yashim’s knee on the bridge of his nose.

The crack! of the cartilage breaking loose was lost in the sound of both men crashing to the ground.

Wrestling training at the palace school had saved Yashim’s life before. Leaving Akunin on his back instinctively cradling his broken nose, Yashim rolled with the fall and came up about six feet short of the running man. Shishkin eased back, but not fast enough. His last faltering step halved the distance between the two men: Yashim closed the gap with his lowered head.

As Shishkin doubled up, Yashim sidestepped and chopped his neck with the side of his hand. The Russian fell to his knees, coughing.

Akunin had got to his feet, but he was in no mood for fighting-one hand was clamped to his face, the other flailing drunkenly in the air.

Yashim placed a knee on Shishkin’s back and took hold of his chin in both hands.

“Why were you following me?”

Akunin began to back away.

“Stop. Tell me, and you can take your friend.”

Akunin hesitated. “The Fox,” he said thickly. “He thinks Fevzi Pasha is back-and he wants to talk to you.”

“Fevzi Pasha back?”

Akunin tilted his head. The blood was black under his hand. “I saw him, at the Polish residency.”

Shishkin groaned. Yashim said: “Go on.”

“He went in, about an hour before you came. Galytsin guessed you were meeting him there. He told us to pick you up.”

Yashim released his hold on Shishkin, who sputtered and sank to his hands and knees. “Where’s Galytsin now?”

“At the embassy, efendi.”

“Tell him I’ll meet him there for breakfast.”