King Stakh's Wild Hunt

Chapter The Thirteenth

I felt that I would go mad if I did not occupy myself in searching for and finding the guilty ones, and didn't punish them. If there is no God, if there is no justice to be found among the authorities, I myself will be both God and Judge.

And by God, hell itself will tremble, if they fall into my hands: I shall pull out the sinews of the living.

Ryhor said that his friends were searching in the Reserve, that he himself had examined the place of the murder and found there a cigarette butt. He had also found it was a tall, slender man who had smoked the cigarette under the pines while awaiting Śvieciłovič.

Besides that, he had found a paper wad from the murderer's gun, and also the bullet that had killed my friend. When I unfolded the wad, I became convinced that the scrap of paper, too thick to be from a newspaper, was most likely a piece of a page from a journal.

I read:

“Each one of them is guilty of some offence when they are led to be executed. Forgive me, Your Highness, you've forgotten the crucifixion… Forgive me, God has deprived me of my reason…”

These words reminded me of something very familiar. Where could I have met something similar? And soon I recalled that I had read just these words in the journal “North-West Antiquity”! When I asked Janoŭskaja who subscribed there for it, she answered in an indifferent tone, that besides themselves — nobody. And here a blow awaited me: in the library I found out that in one of the numbers of the journal a few pages were missing, and specifically those that I needed.

I grew cold — things had taken a very serious turn: the instigator of the Wild Hunt was here in the castle. But who then was it? Not I nor Janoŭskaja, nor the foolish housekeeper, who every day now on seeing the mistress began to cry and moreover, it was apparent that she regretted her misdeeds. And this meant that only Bierman-Hacevič was left.

This was logical: he was a runaway criminal, and was well-informed of all events. It was possible that it was he who had shot at me, who had torn out a page from the journal and had killed Śvieciłovič. I couldn't understand one thing only: why had he tried to convince me that the greatest danger was the Wild Hunt and not the Little Man? And also the fact that he, Bierman, could not have killed Raman since it was not he who had invited Nadzieja to the Kulša's, and during the murder he was at home. However, hadn't Śvieciłovič that last day said that it was a man beyond suspicion? And how frightened he became, this Bierman, when I came into his room! And then couldn't he have been simply the one who inspired this abomination? But really, how then in that case explain the existence of the Lady-in-Blue? And this is the most inexplicable fact in the entire affair. And most important of all it was impossible to understand what Bierman had to gain. But such a fiend might think up anything at all.

I got from Janoŭskaja her father's personal archive and carefully examined the material of his last days. Nothing comforting besides notes that he no longer liked Bierman: he often disappeared from the house somewhere, was too much interested in the Janoŭski genealogy, in old plans of the castle. But this, too, was a significant fact. Why not suppose that he, Bierman, was responsible also for the appearance of the Little Man, more exactly speaking, for his steps? After all, perhaps he had been able to dig up old plans, to make use of some acoustic secret of the castle and frighten people every night with the sound of steps.

I told Ryhor about my findings and stated my views on the subject, and he said that it was quite possible that it was so, he even promised to help, since his uncle and grandfather had been stone-masons at the Janoŭski's before serfdom had been repealed.

“Somebody is hiding here somewhere, the scoundrel, but who he is, where the passages are, how he gets into those places, we don't know,” Ryhor sighed. “No matter, we'll find out. But take care. I've met in my lifetime only two worthy men among the living. It will be a pity if something should happen to you, too. Then all these rotten people will have no right to eat bread and breathe the air.”

We decided not to trouble Bierman as yet, so as not to frighten him prematurely.

Then I began to make a detailed study of the letter written by an unknown person to Śvieciłovič. I used many, many sheets of paper before I managed to restore the text of the letter at least approximately:

“Andrej! I learned that you are interested in the Wild Hunt of King Stach, and also that Nadzieja Ramanaŭna is in danger (further nothing understandable)…my da… (again much missing) Today I spoke with Mr. Biełarecki. He agrees with me and has left for town… Drygants — chief… When you receive this letter — go immediately to… plain where three pines stand by themselves. Biełarecki and I will wait… ly ma… what's going on in this world! Come without fail. Burn this letter, because it is very dangerous for me…Yo… fr… They are also in mortal danger which only you can ward of… (again much burnt)…me.

Your well-wisher, Likol…”

The devil knows what this is all about! This deciphering gave me almost nothing. Well, once again I became convinced that the crime had been a planned one. And in addition I learned that an unknown “Likol” (what a heathen name!) had cleverly made use of our being on friendly terms, of which only he could have guessed. And nothing, nothing more! Whereas in the meantime an enormous grey stone was laid on the grave of a person who could have been one hundred times more useful for our country than I. And if not today, then tomorrow, such a stone may be weighing down upon me too. And then what will happen to Nadzieja Janoŭskaja?

That day brought me yet another bit of news: I received a subpoena. On surprisingly bad grey paper in high-faluting words an invitation to appear at the court in the chief town of the district. It was necessary to leave. We arranged with Ryhor about a horse, I told him what I thought about the letter, and he informed me that Haraburda's house was being watched, but nothing suspicious had been noticed.

Again my thoughts turned to Bierman.

This quiet evening, not at all typical for autumn, I thought long over what was awaiting me in the district town, and I decided not on any account to remain there for long. I was already about to go to bed and have a good sleep before my trip, when suddenly, on making a turn in the lane, I saw Janoŭskaja on a bench covered with moss. A dark greenish light fell on her blue dress, on her hands with fingers interlaced her eyes wandering, an absent-minded look in them, such a look that one sees in a person lost in thought.

The word which I had given myself did not waver, the memory of my dead friend even strengthened this word, and nevertheless for a few minutes I felt a triumphant rapture at the thought that I could have held in my arms this dear slim figure and pressed her to my breast. But bitterly did my heart beat, for I knew that this would never be.

However, I went out to her from behind the trees almost quite calm.

Here she lifted her head, saw me, and how sweetly, how warmly did her radiant eyes begin to shine.

“It's you, Mr. Biełarecki. Sit down here beside me.”

She was silent for a while, then she said with surprising firmness:

“I'm not asking you why you beat a person so hard. I know that if you did do such a thing, it means it was impossible to have done otherwise. But I am very uneasy about you. You must know: there is no justice here. These pettifoggers, these liars, these — terrible and thoroughly corrupt people can condemn you. And although it isn't a crime for an aristocrat to beat a policeman, they can exile you from here. All of them together with the criminals form one large union. It will be in vain to beg justice of them: this noble and unfortunate people will perhaps never see it. But why didn't you control yourself?”

“I took the part of a woman, Miss Nadzieja. You know, there is such a custom with us.”

And she looked me in the eyes so piercingly that it made me feel cold. How could this child have learned to read hearts, what had given her such strength?

“This woman, believe me, could have endured it. If you are exiled this woman will pay too high a price for the pleasure you received in venting your feelings on some vulgar fool.”

“I'll return, don't worry. And Ryhor will guard your peace during my absence.”

Without saying a word, she closed her eyes. After a while she said:

“Ah! You haven't understood anything… As if it is this defence that matters. You should not go to the district town. Stay here for another day or two, and then leave Marsh Firs forever.”

Her hands, their fingers trembling, lay on my sleeve.

“Do you hear, I beg you, beg you very sincerely.”

I was too much taken up with my own thoughts and therefore didn't quite grasp the meaning of her words, and said:

“At the end of the letter to Śvieciłovič the signature is ‘Likol’. Is there any such gentleman here in this region whose given name or surname begins like that?”

Her face immediately darkened as the day darkens when the sun disappears.

“No,” she answered, her voice trembling as if offended. “Unless it's Likolovich… This is the second part of the surname of the Kulšas.”

“Well, it can hardly be that,” I answered indifferently.

And having looked at her attentively, only then did I realize what a brute I was. From under her palms with which she had covered her eyes, I saw a heavy, superhuman lonely tear rolling out and creeping down, a tear that would break down a man in despair, not to speak of a young girl, almost a child.

I am always at a loss and become a cry-baby on seeing women's or children's tears, while this tear was such a tear, God forbid anyone should see in his life, the tear in addition of a woman for whose sake I'd willingly be turned into ashes, be smashed into pieces, if that would help to stave off sadness from her.

“Miss Nadzieja, what's the matter?” I muttered, and involuntarily my lips formed into a smile, the like of which one can see on the face of an idiot attending a funeral.

“Nothing,” she answered almost calmly. “It's simply that I shall never be… a real person. I am crying for Śvieciłovič, for you, for myself. It's not even for him that I am crying, but for his ruined youth, — I understand that well! — for the happiness predestined for us, the sincerity we lack. The best, the most worthy are destroyed. Remember how once you said: ‘We have no princes, no leaders and prophets, and like leaves are we tossed about on this sinful earth.’ We must not hope for anything better, lonely are the heart and the soul, and nobody responds to their call. And life burns out.”

She stood up, with a convulsive movement broke a twig that she was holding in her hands.

“Farewell, my dear Mr. Biełarecki. Perhaps we shall not see each other any more. But to the end of my life I shall be grateful to you… And this is all.”

And here something broke within me. Without realizing it, I blurted out, repeating Śvieciłovič's words:

“Let them kill me — and as a dead man I shall drag myself here!”

She did not answer me, she only touched my hand, silently looked me in the eyes and left.