The Coronation

16 May

I sat by the river gazing dully at the long rafts of rough brown logs floating past, trying to understand whether it was I who had gone insane or the world around me.

Afanasii Ziukin declared an outlaw? Being hunted by the police and gendarmes?

Then perhaps Afanasii Ziukin was not really me at all but someone else.

But no, the entire might of the of the empire’s forces of law and order had been mobilised precisely to find us – Mr Fandorin and myself. And the reason for that was not some monstrous misunderstanding but our own criminal behaviour. Yes indeed, our behaviour, because I had become Fandorin’s accomplice willingly.

I needed to assess everything clearly from the very beginning, to recall every last detail of the events of the previous night.

When we finally managed to break open the lock and enter the passage, any attempt to overtake Lind was already pointless. But in our extreme agitation we did not realise this immediately. Fandorin ran ahead, lighting the way with a lantern he had taken from a table, and I ran after him, hunching over in order not to bang my head against the low ceiling. The swaying beam of light picked tangles of cobwebs out of the darkness, exposed shards of some kind under our feet, lit up the clay walls with a damp gleam.

After about twenty paces the passage divided in two. Erast Petrovich squatted on the ground for a moment, shone his lantern down and confidently turned to the right. Thirty seconds later the tunnel divided again. After studying the tracks clearly visible in the thick layer of dust, we went to the left. Another seven or eight forks were negotiated with the same ease, and then the oil in the lantern ran out, and we were left in total darkness.

‘Wonderful,’ Fandorin muttered angrily. ‘Absolutely wonderful. Now not only can’t we pursue Lind, we can’t even find the way back either. Who would ever have believed there was such a maze down here? They must have been digging it for three hundred years, if not longer: the monks during the Time of Troubles and the rebel Streltsy, and the Old Believers hiding their ancient books and church silver from the Patriarch Nikon; and since there are stone galleries, theremust have been quarries here at some time . . . All right, Ziukin. Let’s go wherever our path leads.’

Making our way in total darkness was slow and difficult. I fell several times when I stumbled over obstacles on the floor. The first time I fell some live creature darted out from under me with a squeal and I grabbed at my heart. I have one shameful and unmanly weakness – I cannot stand rats and mice. I am instinctively repulsed by those creeping, darting, thieving vermin. On the next occasion I caught my foot on something shaped like a root, and when I felt it with my hand, it proved to be a human ribcage. When I stretched my length on the ground for the third time, I heard something jingle underneath me. I clutched at my pocket – and the Orlov was not there.

I shouted out in horror: ‘I’ve dropped the stone.’

Fandorin struck a match, and I saw a broken crock containing irregular round objects that glinted dully in the light. I picked one up – it was a silver coin, very old. But I had no interest at all in coins just then. I wondered if I could possibly have dropped the diamond earlier, during one of my other falls. In that case finding it would be very far from easy.

Thank God, with his third match Fandorin spotted the diamond, half-buried in the dust, and he kept it. After what had happened, I did not dare to object. I tipped two handfuls of coins from the treasure trove into my pockets and we wandered on.

I do not know how many hours it lasted. Sometimes we sat down on the ground to draw breath. This was the second night in succession I had spent underground and, Lord help me, I would be hard pressed to say which of them I liked less.

We could not even look to see what time it was, because our matches were soon soaked by the damp air and refused to strike. When I stumbled over those familiar bones for the second time, it became clear that we were wandering in circles.

Then Fandorin said: ‘You know, Ziukin, this will not do. Do you want rats to run over your naked ribs?’

I shuddered.

‘Well, nor do I. Sowemust stop simply strolling about, hoping for things to work out somehow or other. We need a system. From nowonwe followa strict alternation: one turn to the right, one turn to the left. Forward!’

But even after the introduction of the ‘system’ we walked for a very long time, until eventually we saw a feeble light glimmering in the distance. I was the first to go dashing towards it. The passage narrowed and shrank until we had to crawl on all fours, but that was all right, because the light kept growing brighter and brighter. At the very end I grabbed hold of a cold, rough root, and it suddenly tore itself out of my hand with an angry hiss. A snake! I gasped and jerked away, banging the back of my head against the stone ceiling. I saw yellow spots on the narrow head of the black band as it rippled away from me – a harmless grass snake – but my heart was still pounding insanely.

The burrow had led us out to the edge of the water on a riverbank. I saw a dark barge wreathed in morning mist, the roofs of warehouses on the far side of the river and the semicircular arches of a railway bridge in the distance.

‘We haven’t really travelled very far,’ said Fandorin, straightening up and dusting off his soiled coachman’s coat. I saw that he had already rid himself of the long black beard and I thought he had left the hat with the broad brim back in the vault. I followed the direction of his glance. Just a few hundred paces away the domes of the Novodevichy Convent were glinting gently in the first rays of sunlight.

‘Evidently the nuns used this passage as a secret way to reach the river,’ Fandorin surmised. ‘I wonder what for.’

I could not have cared less.

‘And there’s the bell tower,’ I said, pointing. ‘Quickly, let’s go. Mr Karnovich and Mr Lasovsky must be tired of looking for us. Or if not for us, for the Orlov. Won’t they be delighted!’

I smiled. At that moment the sense of open space, the light and the freshness of the morning filled me with the same feeling of life’s completeness that Lazarus must have felt when he rose from the dead.

‘Do you really want to give the Orlov back to Karnovich?’ Fandorin asked incredulously.

For a moment I thought I must have misheard, but then I realised that, like myself, Mr Fandorin was delighted by the successful outcome of our appalling night and was therefore in the mood for a joke. Well, there are circumstances in which even Ziukin is not averse to a joke, even if his companion is not the most pleasant.

‘No, I want to take the stone to Doctor Lind,’ I replied with a restrained smile intended to indicate that I had appreciated his joke and was replying in kind.

‘Well, that is just it,’ Erast Petrovich said, nodding seriously. ‘You understand that if we give the stone to the authorities, we shall never see it again. And then the boy and Emilie are doomed.’

Now I realised that he was not joking at all.

‘Do you really intend to enter into an independent bargain with Doctor Lind?’ I asked, just to make certain.

‘Yes. What else can we do?’

Neither of us spoke as we stared at each other in mutual perplexity. My mood of exaltation vanished without a trace. A terrible presentiment turned my mouth dry.

Fandorin looked me over from head to foot, as if seeing me for the first time and asked in a curious tone of voice: ‘Just a m-moment, Ziukin, don’t you love little Mika?’

‘Very much,’ I said, surprised at such a question.

‘And then . . . you are rather partial to Emilie, I believe?’

I was feeling very tired; we were both smeared with dust and clay; the air smelled of grass and the river; and all of this gave me the feeling that the ordinary conventions did not apply. That was the only reason why I answered this outrageously immodest question: ‘I am not indifferent to Mademoiselle Declique’s fate.’

‘So, the stake in this game is the lives of t-two people. People whom you . . . well, let us say, to whose fate you are “not indifferent”. And you are prepared to sacrifice those people for a piece of polished carbon?’

‘There are things that are more important than love,’ I said in a quiet voice and suddenly remembered that Fandorin had said the same thing to Xenia Georgievna quite recently.

I found this memory disturbing and felt it necessary to clarify my meaning: ‘For example, honour. Fidelity. The prestige of the monarchy. National holy relics.’

I felt rather foolish explaining such things, but what else was there for me to do?

Fandorin paused before he spoke: ‘You, Ziukin, have a choice. Do you see the police cordon around the chapel? Either you go across to it and tell them that Fandorin has absconded, t-taking the Orlov with him, or we try to save Emilie and the child together. Decide.’

So saying he took the black beard and shaggy wig out of his pocket – apparently he had kept them after all – and put on this hirsute disguise, transforming himself into a simple shaggy peasant of the kind who move into the large cities in search of work.

I do not know why I stayed with him. Upon my word of honour, I do not know. I did not say a word, but I did not move from the spot.

‘Well, are we off to hard labour in the same fetters?’ Fandorin asked with quite inappropriate merriment, holding out his hand.

His handshake was firm, mine was feeble.

‘Sit here for a while and don’t make yourself obvious. I’ll go and reconnoitre.’

He strode off in the direction of the convent and I knelt down beside the water. It was pure and transparent. I first drank my fill and then, when the ripples had dispersed, I contemplated the reflection of my face. Nothing in it seemed to have changed: a moustache, sideburns, a prominent forehead with a receding hairline. And yet it was not the face of Housemaster Ziukin, butler of the Green House and faithful servant of the throne, but that of a state criminal.

Erast Petrovich’s return roused me from my melancholy torpor but did nothing to improve my mood.

Apparently the police and soldiers had cordoned off not only the chapel but the entire convent. The search had already been going on for many hours in the underground labyrinth. The police constable with whom Fandorin spoke told him that all the police stations had been sent verbal portraits of two highly dangerous criminals who had committed some unknown crime that must be truly heinous. All routes out of Moscow were completely sealed off and it was only a matter of time before the two villains were caught. One of them was a lean youthful-looking man with dark hair and a slim moustache, special features, grey hair at the temples and a characteristic stammer. The other – and here Fandorin described my own modest person but in far greater detail. And so I learned that my nose was of the divided cartilage type, my wart was not merely on my neck but in its third left segment, and my eyes were of a marshy yellow hue with an almond-shaped outline.

‘How did you manage to get the constable to talk?’ I asked in amazement. ‘And did he not find your stammer suspicious?’

‘Getting a stranger to talk requires knowledge of psychology and physiognomical analysis,’ Erast Petrovich explained with a haughty air. ‘And as for the stammer, as you may have observed, when I assume a different identity, I change my voice and my way of speaking and all the other characteristics of speech. It is no longer me, or at least not entirely me. The stammer is the result of a concussion suffered very long ago by Fandorin, not by the grave little peasant who spoke so respectfully to the police constable.’

I gestured impatiently.

‘All your psychology is worth nothing in the present circumstances. We cannot save anyone. We need someone to save us. The police have our descriptions. We ought to give ourselves up. If we explain what happened, they will forgive us.’

Fandorin shrugged with outrageous flippancy. ‘Never mind those descriptions. We shall change our appearance. Dye your hair blond, dress you up as a civil servant, shave off your moustache and sideburns—’

‘Not for anything in the world!’ I exclaimed. ‘I have had them for more than twenty years!’

‘As you wish, but with your favoris de chien, as Lind puts it, you really are easy to identify. You are condemning yourself to remain inside, confined within four walls, while I shall move around the city quite freely.’

This threat did not frighten me in the least, and in any case I was already thinking about something else.

‘I can imagine how puzzled Their Highnesses are by my strange disappearance,’ I murmured dejectedly.

‘They are more likely indignant,’ Fandorin corrected me. ‘Viewed from the outside, the situation seems quite unambiguous. Naturally, everyone has decided that you and I conspired with Lind and have been working with him from the very beginning. Or else that we decided to take the opportunity to steal the Orlov. That is why the police are so very interested in us.’

I groaned. Why, of course, thatwas exactly howour behaviour appeared!

Fandorin also hung his head. Evidently he had finally realised the position in which we now found ourselves as a result of his inclination to irresponsible adventures. But no, it turned out to be something quite different that was saddening him.

‘Ah, Ziukin, what a magnificent operation, and it failed! Taking the place of the coachman was so simple, almost a stroke of genius. From what Emilie told me, I guessed that the driver was a deaf mute. That, plus the hat pulled so low over his eyes and the thick black beard, made the task easier. The police have the coachman now, but he will be no use to them. Not only is he mute, he is like a wild beast. That is why Lind was not afraid of exposing him to the danger of arrest. Everything should have gone so smoothly! We would have saved the boy and captured Lind.’ He gestured in annoyance and frustration. ‘Well, if we hadn’t taken him alive, we would have dropped him on the spot. It would be no loss to the human race. I ought to have gone down as well. Who could have imagined that the jeweller would not be afraid of a dagger? That was why everything went wrong. How devoted they are to Lind. What is his hold on them? No, it is simply quite incredible!’ Erast Petrovich jumped to his feet in agitation. ‘That damned Belgian was thinking about Lind, not himself. That is no mere bandit’s honour, it is absolutely genuine selfless love!’

‘How do you know that the jeweller was Belgian?’

‘What?’ he asked absent-mindedly. ‘Ah, from his accent. Belgian, from Antwerp. Absolutely no doubt about it. But that is not important. Something else, however, is. What d-do you make of what Emilie said? You remember, she shouted: “And Lind’s here. He’s—” What was to come next? I have the feeling that she was about to mention a name that we know or else some distinctive or unusual characteristic. If it was a name, then whose? If itwas a characteristic, thenwhat? “He is a hunchback”? “He is Chinese”? “He is a woman”?’ Fandorin narrowed his eyes. ‘As for being Chinese or a woman, I don’t know – anything is possible – but Lind is no hunchback. I know that for certain – I would have noticed . . . Never mind, we shall find out soon enough.’

These last words were spoken with such calm conviction that I felt a stirring of hope.

‘And so, Ziukin, let us d-discuss and assess the plusses and minuses of our situation.’ Erast Petrovich sat down on the sand beside me, picked up several small stones and drew a line across the sand. ‘The boy is still in Lind’s hands. That is bad.’ One stone, a black one, was set down on the left of the line. ‘Emilie has become a hostage too. That is also bad.’ A second black stone was added to the first.

‘And what is good?’ I burst out. ‘Add to this that all the police and secret police in the empire are hunting for you and me and not Doctor Lind. That His Highness is seriously ill as a result of the ordeals he has suffered, perhaps even at death’s door. That Lind, as you said yourself, does not leave witnesses alive!’

Fandorin nodded in agreement and put down three more stones on the same side.

‘And now let us look at things from the other side. It is good that you and I have the Orlov and are willing, as a last resort, to make an exchange. That is one. It is good that Lind has lost m-most of his gang. Almost all of them, in fact. Four on the day of the kidnapping, then all of Stump’s gang, and another five yesterday. Emilie shouted, “There are three of them.” So Lind has only two men left, and to start with he had almost twenty. That is two. Finally, yesterday I managed to tell Lind my name and specify the terms of a possible exchange. That is three.’

Looking at the five black stones and the three white ones, I did not feel my spirits suddenly rise.

‘But what is the point? We do not even know where to look for him now. And even if we did, our hands are tied. We can’t even take a step in Moscow without being arrested.’

‘You have advanced two theses, one of which is unsound and the other incorrect,’ Erast Petrovich objected with a professorial air. ‘Your last thesis, that our movements are restricted, is incorrect. As I have already had the honour of informing you, it is not at all difficult to change our appearance. Lind is the one whose movements are restricted. He has a burden on his hands – two prisoners, a sick child and a woman of extremely resolute character. The doctor will not dare to kill them because he has studied me enough to know that I will not allow myself to be deceived. That, by the way, is one more plus for us.’ He put down a fourth white stone. ‘And as for your first thesis, it is basically unsound, for a very simple reason: you and I are not going to look for Lind. The oats do not go to the horse. Lind will find us himself.’

Oh howexasperating I found that imperturbable manner, that didactic tone! But I tried to control myself.

‘Permit me to enquire why on earth Lind will seek us out. And, most importantly, how?’

‘Now instead of two theses you have asked two questions.’ Fandorin chuckled with insufferable self-assurance. ‘Let me answer the first one. We and the doctor are in a classic bargaining situation. There are goods and there is a buyer. The goods that I require and Lind has are as follows: firstly, little Mika; secondly, Emilie; thirdly, Doctor Lind’s own skin. Now for my goods, the ones that my trading partner covets. Firstly, a two-hundred-carat diamond, without which the doctor’s entire Moscow escapade will end as a shameful failure, and Lind is not used to that. And secondly, my life. I assure you that the doctor has as many counts to settle with me as I have with him. And so he and I will strike an excellent bargain.’

As he said this, Erast Petrovich looked as if hewere not talking about a battle with the most dangerous criminal in theworld but some amusing adventure or a game of whist. I have never liked people who show off, especially in serious matters, and Fandorin’s bravado seemed out of place to me.

‘Now for your second question,’ he continued, taking no notice of the frown on my face. ‘Howwill Lind seek us out? Well, that is very simple. This evening you and I will look through the advertisements and personal announcements in all the Moscow newspapers. We are certain to find something interesting. You don’t believe me? I am prepared to wager on it, although I do not usually gamble.’

‘A wager?’ I asked spitefully, finally losing patience with his bragging. ‘By all means. If you lose, we shall go and give ourselves up to the police today.’

He laughed light-heartedly. ‘And if I win, you will shave off your celebrated sideburns and moustache. Shall we shake on it?’

The bargain was sealed with a handshake.

‘We have to pay a visit to the Hermitage,’ said Fandorin, growing more serious. ‘To collect Masa. He will be very useful to us. And also to pick up a fewessentials. M-money, for example. I did not bring my wallet with me on this operation. I foresaw that the meeting with Lind was certain to involve jumping, brandishing fists, running and all kinds of similar activities, and any superfluous weight, even the slightest, is a hindrance to that. There you have one more proof of the old truth that money is never a superfluous burden. How much do you have with you?’

I put my hand into my pocket and discovered that in one of my numerous tumbles during the night I had dropped my purse. If I was not mistaken, it had contained eight roubles and some small change. I took out a handful of tarnished silver coins and gazed at them ruefully.

‘Is that all that you have?’ Erast Petrovich asked, taking one of the irregular round objects and twirling it in his fingers. ‘A Peter the Great altyn. We are not likely to be able to buy anything with that. Any antique shop would be glad to take your t-treasure, but it is too risky for us to appear in crowds with our present appearance. So, this is a strange situation: we have a diamond that is worth goodness knows how many millions but we can’t even buy a piece of bread. That makes a visit to the Hermitage all the more necessary.’

‘But how is that possible?’ I asked, raising my head above the grass growing on the riverbank. There was a line of soldiers and police standing right round the pond and the open field. ‘Everything here is cordoned off. And even if we broke out of the cordon, there is no way that we can walk right across the city in broad daylight!’

‘It’s easy to see that you know nothing of the geography of the old c-capital, Ziukin. What do you think that is?’ Fandorin jerked his chin towards the river.

‘What do you mean? The Moscow River.’

‘And what do you see every day from the windows of the Hermitage? That wet, g-greenish thing flowing slowly towards the Kremlin? We shall have to commit yet another crime, although not as serious as the theft of the Orlov.’

He walked over to a flimsy little boat moored to the bank, looked it over and nodded.

‘It will do. Of course there are no oars, but I think that p-plank over there will suit perfectly well. Get in, Ziukin. They won’t think of looking for us on the river, and we don’t have very far to sail. I feel sorry for the boat’s owner. The loss will probably be more ruinous for him than the loss of the Orlov would be for the Romanovs. Right then, let’s have your treasure trove.’

He delved into my pocket unceremoniously, clawed out the coins, put them beside the small stake to which the boat was moored and sprinkled a little sand over them.

‘Well, why are you just standing there? Get in. And be careful or this battleship will capsize.’

I got in, soaking my shoes in the water that had accumulated in the bottom of the boat. Fandorin pushed off with the plank, andwe drifted out very, very slowly. Heworked away desperately with his clumsy oar, delving alternately on the left and the right, but despite these Sisyphean labours our bark barely moved at all.

Ten minutes later, when we had still not even reached the middle of the river, I enquired: ‘But just how far do we have to sail to reach the Neskuchny Park?’

‘I th-think about . . . three v-versts,’ Fandorin replied with an effort, bright red from his exertions.

I could not resist a sarcastic comment: ‘At this speedwe should probably get there by tomorrow morning. The current is slow here.’

‘We don’t need the current,’ Erast Petrovich mumbled.

He started brandishing his plank even more vigorously, and the bow of our boat struck a log. A steam tug was passing by, towing a string of logs after it. Fandorin tied the mooring rope to a trimmed branch, dropped the plank in the bottom of the boat and stretched blissfully.

‘That’s it, Ziukin. We can take half an hour’s rest, and we’ll be at our destination.’

Grassy fields and market gardens drifted by slowly on the left; then came thewhitewalls of the Novodevichy Convent, the sight of which I was thoroughly sick by now. On the right there was a tall wooded bank. I saw a white church with a round dome, elegant arbours, a grotto.

‘You see before you Vorobyovsky Park, laid out in the English manner in imitation of a n-natural forest,’ Fandorin told me in the voice of a true guide. ‘Note the hanging bridge across that ravine. I saw a bridge exactly like it in the Himalayas, only it was woven out of shafts of bamboo. Of course, the drop below it was not twenty sazhens, it was a gulf of two versts. But then, for anyone who falls, the difference is immaterial . . . And what have we here?’

He leaned down and took a simple fishing rod out from under the bench. He examined it with interest, then turned his head this way and that and picked a green caterpillar off the side of the boat with an exclamation of joy.

‘Right, now, Ziukin, here’s to luck!’

He tossed the line into the water and almost immediately pulled out a silver carp the size of an open hand.

‘How about that, eh?’ Erast Petrovich exclaimed, thrusting his trembling prey under my nose. ‘Did you see that? It took l-less than a minute! A very good sign! That’s the way we’ll hook Lind!’

A perfect little boy! A boastful irresponsible boy. He put the wet fish in his pocket and it began moving as if his coat were alive.

A familiar bridge appeared ahead of us, the same one that could be seen from the windows of the Hermitage. Soon I spotted the green roof of the palace itself beyond the crowns of the trees.

Fandorin cast off from the log. When the rafts had drifted past us, we set a course for the right bank, and a quarter of an hour later we were at the railings of the Neskuchny Park.

This time I surmounted the obstacle without the slightest difficulty, thanks to the experience I had accumulated. We made ourway into the thickets, but Fandorinwaswary of approaching the Hermitage.

‘They certainly won’t be looking for us here,’ he declared, stretching out on the grass. ‘But it would still be best t-to wait until dark. Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, very. Do you have some provisions with you?’ I asked hopefully because, I must confess, my stomach had been aching from hunger for a long time.

‘Yes, this.’ He took his catch out of his pocket. ‘Have you never tried raw fish? In Japan everybody eats it.’

Naturally I declined such an incredible meal, and watched with some revulsion as Erast Petrovich gulped down the cold slippery carp, daintily extracting the fine bones and sucking them clean.

After completing this barbarous meal, he wiped his fingers on a handkerchief, took out a box of matches and then extracted a cigar from an inside pocket. He shook the matchbox and announced delightedly: ‘They have dried out. You don’t smoke, do you?’

He stretched contentedly and put one hand under his head.

‘What a picnic we are having, eh? Wonderful. Real heaven.’

‘Heaven?’ I half-sat up at that, I felt so indignant. ‘The world is falling apart before our very eyes, and you call it “heaven”?The very foundations of the monarchy are trembling; an innocent child has been tormented by fiends; the most worthy of women is being subjected, perhaps, at this very moment to . . .’ I did not finish the sentence because not all things can be said aloud. ‘Chaos, that is what it is. There is nothing in the world more terrible than chaos, because from chaos comes insanity, the destruction of standards and rules . . .’

I was overcome by a fit of coughing before I had fully expressed my thoughts, but Fandorin understood me and stopped smiling.

‘Do you know where your mistake lies, Afanasii Stepanovich?’ he said in a tired voice, closing his eyes. ‘You believe that theworld exists according to certain rules, that it possesses m-meaning and order. But I realised a long time ago that life is nothing but chaos. It possesses no order whatever, and no rules either.’

‘And yet you yourself give the impression of a man with firm rules,’ I said, unable to resist the jibe as I looked at his neat parting, which had remained immaculate despite all our alarming adventures.

‘Yes, I do have rules. But they are my own rules, invented by myself for myself and not for the wholeworld. Let theworld suit itself, and I shall suit myself. Insofar as that is possible. One’s own rules, Afanasii Stepanovich, are not the expression of a desire to arrange the whole of creation but an attempt to organise, to at least some degree, the space that lies in immediate proximity to oneself. And I do not manage even a trifle like that very well . . . All right, Ziukin. I think I’ll have a sleep.’

He turned over on to one side, cradled his head on one elbow and fell asleep immediately. What an incredible man!

I cannot say what I found more painful: my hunger, my anger or the awareness of my own helplessness. And yet I do know – it was the fear. Fear for the life of Mikhail Georgievich, for Emilie, for myself.

Yes, yes, for myself. And itwas the veryworst of all the varieties of fear known to me. I was desperately afraid, not of pain or even of death, but of disgrace. All my life the thing of which I had been most afraid was to find myself in a position of disgrace and thereby sacrifice the sense of my own dignity. Whatwould I have left if I were deprived of my dignity? Who would I be then? A lonely ageing man of no account with a lumpy forehead, a bulbous nose and ‘doggy sideburns’ who had wasted his life on something meaningless.

I had discovered the recipe for maintaining dignity a long time before, in my youth. The magical formula proved to be simple and brief: make every possible effort to avoid surprises. This meant that I had to foresee and make provision for everything in advance. To be forearmed, to performmy duties conscientiously and not to go chasing after chimerical illusions. That was how I had lived. And what was the outcome? Afanasii Ziukin was a thief and a deceiver, a scoundrel and a state criminal. At least, that was what the people whose opinion I valued thought of me.

The sun passed its highest point in the sky and began gradually declining towards the west. I grew weary of wandering around the small glade and sat down. An intangible breeze rustled the fresh foliage; a bumblebee buzzed with a bass note among the dandelions; lacy clouds slid slowly across the azure sky.

I won’t get to sleep anyway, I thought, leaning back against the trunk of an elm.

‘Wake up, Ziukin. It’s time to go.’

I opened my eyes. The clouds were moving as unhurriedly as before, but now they were pink instead of white, while the sky had darkened. The sun had already set, which meant that I had slept until about nine o’clock at least.

‘Stop batting your eyes like that,’ Fandorin said cheerfully. ‘We’re going to storm the Hermitage.’

Erast Petrovich took off his long-skirted driver’s coat, and was left wearing a sateen waistcoat and a light-blue shirt – he was almost invisible against the thickening twilight.

We walked quickly through the empty park to the palace. When I saw the brightly lit windows of the Hermitage, I was overcome by an unutterable melancholy. The house was like a white ocean-going yacht sailing calmly and confidently through the gloom, but I, who so recently had stood on its trim deck, had fallen overboard andwas floundering among the darkwaves, and I did not even dare to cry for help.

Fandorin interrupted my mournful thoughts: ‘Whose window is that – the third from the left on the ground floor? You’re not looking in the right place. The one that is open but with no light in it?’

‘That is Mr Freyby’s room.’

‘Will you be able to climb in? All right, forward!’

We ran across the lawn, pressed ourselves against thewall and crept up to the dark open window. Erast Petrovich formed his hands into a stirrup and hoisted me up so adroitly that I was easily able to climb over the window sill. Fandorin followed me.

‘Stay here for a while. I’ll be b-back soon,’ he said

‘But what if Mr Freyby comes in?’ I asked in panic. ‘How shall I explain my presence to him?’

Fandorin looked around and picked up a bottle with brown liquid splashing about in it off the table. I thought it must be the notoriouswhisky withwhich the English butler had once regaled me.

‘Here, take this. Hit him on the head, tie him up and put a gag in his mouth – that napkin over there. There’s nothing to be done about it, Ziukin, this is an emergency. You can apologise to him later. The last thing we need now is for the Englishman to shout and raise the alarm. And stop shaking like that; I’ll be back soon.’

And indeed he did return in no more than five minutes. He was holding a travelling bag in one hand.

‘I have all the most essential items here. They have searched my room but not touched anything. But Masa is not there. I’ll go to look for him.’

I was left alone again, but not for long – the door soon opened again.

This time, however, it was not Erast Petrovich but Mr Freyby. He reached out his hand, turned a small lever on the oil lamp, and the room was suddenly bright. I blinked in confusion.

Grasping the bottle firmly, I took an uncertain step forward. The poor butler, he was not to blame for anything.

‘Good evening,’ Freyby said politely in Russian, glancing curiously at the bottle, then he added something in English: ‘I didn’t realise that you liked my whisky that much.’ He took the dictionary out of his pocket and with impressive dexterity – he had clearly developed the knack – rustled the pages and said: ‘Ya . . . ne byl . . . soznavat . . . chto vi . . . lyubit . . . moi viski . . . tak . . . mnogo.’

This threw me into a state of total embarrassment. To hit someone over the head when he has started a conversation with you, that was absolutely unthinkable.

The Englishman looked at my confused expression, chuckled good-naturedly, slapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the bottle: ‘A present. Podarok.’

The butler noticed that I was holding the travelling bag in my other hand.

‘Going travelling? Coo-choo-choo?’ he asked, imitating the sound of a steam locomotive, and I realised that Freyby thought I was setting out on a journey and had decided to take the bottle of drink with me because I had taken such a liking to it.

‘Yes, yes,’ I muttered in Russian. ‘Voyage. Tenk yoo.’

Then I slipped out through the door into the corridor as quickly as I could. God only knew what Freyby thought about Russian butlers now. But this was no moment to be concerned about national prestige.

In the next room, Mr Carr’s, a bell jingled to summon a servant.

I barely had time to conceal myself behind a drape before the junior footman Lipps came trotting along the corridor. Oh, well done, Lipps. That meant therewas firmorder in the house. Iwas not on the spot, but everything was still working like clockwork.

‘What can I do for you, sir?’ Lipps asked as he opened the door.

Mr Carr said something in Russian in a lazy voice. I made out ‘ink’, spoken with a quite incredible accent, and the footman left at the same praiseworthy trot. I backed into the adjoining corridor that led to my room; I had decided to hide in there for the rest of my wait. I took a few short steps, clutching the travelling bag and the bottle tight against my chest, and then my back suddenly encountered something soft. I looked round. Oh Lord, Somov.

‘Hello, Afanasii Stepanovich,’ my assistant babbled. ‘Good evening. I have been moved into your room . . .’

I gulped and said nothing.

‘They said that you had run off . . . that you and Mr Fandorin would soon be found and arrested. They have already taken the gentleman’s Japanese servant. They say you are criminals,’ he concluded in a whisper.

‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘But it is not true, Kornei Selifanovich. You have not had much time to get to know me, but I swear to you that what I am doing is for the sake of Mikhail Georgievich.’

Somov looked at me without saying anything, and from the expression on his face I could not tell what he was thinking. Would he shout or not? That was the only thing that concerned me at that moment. Just in case, I took a firm grip on the neck of the bottle with my fingers.

‘Yes, I really have had very little time to get to know you well, but you can tell a great butler straight away,’ Somov said in a quiet voice. ‘Permit me to take the liberty of saying that I admire you, Afanasii Stepanovich, and have always dreamed of being like you. And . . . and if you require my help, simply let me know. I will do anything.’

I felt a sudden tightness in my throat and was afraid that if I tried to speak, I might burst into tears.

‘Thank you,’ I said eventually. ‘Thank you for deciding not to give me away.’

‘How can I give you away when I have not even seen you?’ he asked with a shrug, then turned and walked away.

As a result of this entirely remarkable conversation, I lowered my guard a little and turned the corner without bothering to look first and see if there was anyone in the corridor. But there was Her Highness’s maid, Liza Petrishcheva, turning this way and that in front of the mirror.

‘Ah!’ squealed Liza, the foolish empty-headed girl who had been caught in the embraces of Fandorin’s valet.

‘Sh-sh-sh!’ I said to her. ‘Quiet, Petrishcheva. Do not shout.’

She nodded in fright, then suddenly swung round and darted away, howling: ‘Help! Murder! He’s he-e-e-ere!’

I dashed in the opposite direction, towards the exit, but heard the sound of excited men’s voices coming from there. Which way could I go?

Up to the first floor, there was nowhere else.

I dashed up the stairs in the twinkling of an eye and saw a white figure in the dimly lit passage. Xenia Georgievna!

I froze on the spot.

‘Where is he?’ Her Highness asked hastily. ‘Where is Erast Petrovich?’

I heard the tramping of many feet downstairs.

‘Ziukin’s here! Find him!’ I heard an authoritative bass voice say.

The grand princess grabbed hold of my arm. ‘To my room!’

We slammed the door and thirty seconds later several people ran by along the corridor.

‘Search the rooms!’ the same bass voice commanded.

Suddenly there were shouts from downstairs and someone howled: ‘Stop! Stop, you filthy swine!’

There was a shot and then another.

Xenia Georgievna squealed and swayed on her feet, and I was obliged to grab hold of her arms. Her face was as white as chalk, and her dilated pupils had turned her eyes completely black.

There was the sound of breaking glass on the ground floor.

Her Highness pushed me away sharply and dashed to the window sill. I followed her. Down below we saw a dark figure that had obviously just jumped from a window.

It was Fandorin – I recognised the waistcoat.

The next second another two figures in civilian clothes leapt out of the same window and grabbed Erast Petrovich by the arms. Xenia Georgievna gave a piercing screech.

However, Fandorin demonstrated a quite remarkable flexibility. Without freeing his hands, he twisted round like a spring and struck one of his opponents in the groin with his knee, and then dealt with the other in exactly the same manner. Both police agents doubled over, and Erast Petrovich flitted across the lawn like a shadow and disappeared into the bushes.

‘Thank God!’ Her Highness whispered. ‘He is safe!’

People began running around outside the house, some in uniforms, some in civilian clothes. Some went dashing down the drive towards the gates, others rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive. But there were not very many pursuers, perhaps about ten. How could they catch the fleet-footed Mr Fandorin in the wide spaces of the dark park?

I had no need to feel concerned for Erast Petrovich, but what was going to happen to me?

There was a loud knock at the door.

‘Your Imperial Highness! There is a criminal in the house! Are you all right?’

Xenia Georgievna gestured for me to hide in the wardrobe. She opened the door of the room and said in a discontented voice: ‘I have a terrible migraine, and you are shouting and clattering. Catch your criminal but do not bother me again!’

‘Your Highness, at least lock yourself in.’

‘Very well.’

I heard the sound of a key turning in a lock and came out into the centre of the room.

‘I know,’ Xenia Georgievna said in a feverish whisper, clasping my shoulders in a tremulous embrace. ‘It is all lies. He could not have committed a robbery. And you, Afanasii Stepanovich, are not capable of such a thing either. I have guessed everything. You want to rescue Mika. I do not ask you to tell me exactly what you plan to do. Just tell me, am I right?’

And she really did not ask me any more questions. She went down on her knees in front of an icon and started bowing low to the floor. I had never seen Her Highness display such piety before, not even when she was a child. She seemed to be whispering something as well, probably a prayer, but I could not make out the words.

Xenia Georgievna prayed for an unbearably long time. I believe it must have been at least half an hour. And I stood there, waiting. All I did was put the bottle of whisky into the travelling bag. Quite clearly, I could not leave it in the grand princess’s room, could I?

Her Highness did not rise from her knees until everything was quiet in the house and the pursuers had returned, talking loudly among themselves. She walked over to the secretaire, touched something inside it that made a jingling sound and then called me over to her. ‘Take this, Afanasii. You will need money. I do not have any, you know that. But here is a pair of opal earrings and a diamond brooch. They are my own, not the family’s. These things can be sold. They are probably worth a lot.’

I tried to protest, but she would not listen to me. To avoid being drawn into a long argument, for which this was quite the wrong time, I took the jewels, promising myself firmly that I would return them to Her Highness safe and sound.

Then Xenia Georgievna took a long silk sash from a Chinese dressing gown out of the wardrobe.

‘Tie this to the window catch and climb down. It will not reach all the way to the ground – you will have to jump – but you are brave; you will not be afraid. May the Lord preserve you.’

She made the sign of the cross over me and then suddenly kissed me on the cheek. I was quite overcome. And it must have been my state of disorientation that made me ask: ‘Is there anything you would like me to tell Mr Fandorin?’

‘That I love him,’ Her Highness replied briefly and pushed me towards the window.

I reached the ground without injuring myself in any way, and also negotiated the park without any adventures. I halted at the railings beyond which lay Bolshaya Kaluga Street, almost empty at this hour of the evening. After waiting until there were no passers-by anywhere in sight, I clambered over to the other side very nimbly. I had definitely made great progress in the art of climbing fences.

However, what I ought to do now was not clear. I still had no money so I could not even hire a cab. Andwherewould I actually go?

I halted indecisively.

There was a newspaper boy wandering along the street. Still a little child, about nine years old. He was shouting with all his might, although there didn’t seem to be anyone there to buy his goods.

‘The latest Half-Kopeck News. Get your Half-Kopeck News. The newspaper for private ads! An admirer for some, a bride for others! An apartment for some, a good job for others!’

I started, recalling my wager with Fandorin. I rummaged in my pockets, hoping to find a copper half-kopeck or one-kopeck piece. There was something round and flat behind the lining. An old silver coin, a Peter the Great altyn.

Well, never mind. He probably would not notice in the dark.

I called the newspaper seller, tugged a folded paper out of his bag and tossed the silver coin into his mug – it jangled every bit as well as copper. The boy plodded on his way as if nothing at all had happened, bawling out his crude doggerel.

I walked over to a street lamp and unfolded the grey paper.

And I saw it – right there in the centre of the front page, with letters a full vershok in height:

My eagle! My diamond-precious love! I forgive you.

I love you. I am waiting for your message.

Your Linda

Write to the Central Post Office,

to the bearer of treasury note No. 137078859.

That was it! No doubt at all about it! And how cunningly it had been composed. No one who did not know about the diamond and the exchange would have the slightest idea!

But would Fandorin see this paper? How could I inform him? Where should I seek him now? What terrible luck!

‘Well then?’ a familiar voice asked out of the darkness. ‘That’s genuine love for you. This passionate declaration has been published in all the evening papers.’

I swung round, astonished at such a fortunate encounter.

‘Why do you look so surprised, Ziukin? After all, it was clear that if you managed to escape from the house, you would climb over the railings. I just d-did not know exactly where. I had to engage four newspaper boys to walk up and down the railings and shout about private advertisements at the tops of their voices. That’s it, Ziukin. You have lost the wager. So much for your remarkable drooping moustache and sideburns.’