The Coronation

7 May

I shall not describe the events of the evening and the night that followed His Highness’s disappearance, because in effect there were no events as such. The primary concern of those who were aware of what had happened was to keep the matter secret, and so from the outside everything appeared as if nothing had happened at all, except for the constant ringing of the telephones and the over-reckless pace at which horsemen raced round the triangle formed by the Hermitage, the Petrovsky Palace and the governor general’s residence.

All of this carefully concealed but extremely frenetic (not to say chaotic) activity produced absolutely no result, since the most important thing remained unclear: who could havewanted to kidnap His Majesty’s little cousin and why? And the mystery was not cleared up until the morning, when a letter without any stamp arrived at the Hermitage together with the ordinary municipal post – the postman himself was unable to say how it could have got into his bag in that condition.

As a result of this letter the sovereign himself, having received his grateful Asian subjects His Highness the Emir of Bukhara and His Grace the Khan of Khiva in the morning, postponed a parade at the Khodynsk Field at the last moment on the pretext of the cold and rainyweather and, accompanied only by the head of the court police, travelled in complete secret in an ordinary closed carriage with his personal valet, Seleznyov, on the coach box to join us at the Hermitage. That was when this palace in the park demonstrated the two great advantages forwhich it had received its name – its remoteness and privacy.

His Majesty’s uncle the Grand Duke Kirill Alexandrovich and the Grand Duke Simeon Alexandrovich arrived in the same conspiratorial manner: the former came alone (his butler Luka Emelianovich was on the coach box) and the latter brought his adjutant, Prince Glinsky – the horses driven by the most highly respected of all living butlers, you might call him the elder of our trade, Foma Anikeevich.

Those in our house who knew about the emergency, apart from the family, were Mademoiselle Declique and I, the Englishmen, because in any case it would have been impossible to keep it secret from them, and Lieutenant Endlung, for the same reason and also because Pavel Georgievich had no secrets from his raffish friend. I did not explain anything to the servants living in the house and merely forbade them to leave the Hermitage for any reasonwhatever. As born court servants, they did not ask any questions. And the Moscowservants lodged above the stables were told that His Highness had gone to stay at Ilinskoe, the country palace of his uncle the governor general.

Naturally, Ekaterina Ioannovna in St Petersburg was not told anything. Why alarmHer Highness unnecessarily? And until the ominous letter arrived, we all still cherished the hope that some sort of misunderstanding had occurred and Mikhail Georgievich would soon return to the Hermitage unharmed and in good health.

Need I say that I barely slept a wink that night? I had terrible visions, each one worse than the one before. I imagined that His Highness had fallen into some invisible fissure overgrown with grass, and long after midnight I drove the servants out with blazing torches to search the park once again, telling them that Xenia Georgievna had lost a diamond earring. Then when I got back to my room, I suddenly imagined that Mikhail Georgievich had fallen victim to some monster of depravity who preyed on little boys, and my teeth started chattering in fright, so that I had to take valerian drops. But of course the assumption that seemed most likelywas that the grand duke had been abducted by accomplices of the man with the false beard known as Blizna or Scar. While we were fighting some of the bandits for Xenia Georgievna, others had carried off the defenceless Mikhail Georgievich – and this was made all the more likely by the discovery of apparently fresh tracks from the wheels of another carriage not far from the fateful lawn.

But even though this thought was less horrific than the ones I have already mentioned, it was still agony to me. How was His Highness feeling now, surrounded by malicious strangers? Mika, the delicate, pampered little boy who had grown up in the firm belief that everyone around him loved him and they were all his friends. He did not even know what fear was, because nothing more frightening than a gentle slap on the hindquarters had ever happened to him. His Highness was so open, so trusting!

I was afraid even to approach Mademoiselle. All evening she sat as if she had been turned to stone and did not even attempt to offer any excuses. She merely wrung her hands and bit her lips, once so hard that they bled – I saw it and wanted to give her my handkerchief, because she had not even noticed the trickle of scarlet droplets, but I decided against it, in order not to place her in an awkward situation. That night she did not sleep either – I saw light coming from under her door and heard the sound of footsteps. As soon as the Moscow chief of police, Lasovsky, had finished questioning her, Mademoiselle Declique locked herself in her room. Twice, even three times during the night I walked up to her door and listened. The governess was still pacing to and fro, as regularly as clockwork. I wanted very much to knock at the door on some pretext and tell her that no one blamed her for what had happened, and I actually admired her courage. But knocking on a lady’s door in the middle of the night is absolutely inconceivable. And in any case I would not have known how to talk to her.

The secret conference with the participation of His Majesty was held upstairs, in the small drawing room, as far away as possible from the Englishmen, who, with the tact typical of that nation, went out to walk in the garden as soon as His Majesty arrived, although the rain was simply lashing down and the weather not at all conducive to walking.

I served at the gathering. Naturally, it was quite impossible to allowany of the servants into this secret meeting, and in any case I would have regarded it as my duty and an obligation of honour to serve such brilliant company in person.

It is hard for the uninitiated to imagine the full complexity of this high art. It requires meticulous attention, unfailing deftness and – most important of all – total invisibility. It is as if one were transformed into a kind of shadow, an invisible man whom everyone very soon ceases to notice. Under no circumstances should one distract the members of an important conference with a sudden movement or sound, or even the unintentional gliding of a shadow across the table. At such moments I like to imagine that I am the disembodied master of the enchanted castle in the fairy tale The Scarlet Flower, regaling my dear guests: the drinks pour themselves into the glasses and cups; the matches flare up and are carried to the cigars without assistance from anyone; every now and then the ash that has accumulated in the ashtrays mysteriously disappears. When Simeon Alexandrovich dropped a pencil on the floor (His Highness is in the habit of constantly drawing little imps and cupids), I was on the alert. I did not crawl under the table, which would have attracted attention, but immediately handed the governor general another pencil, exactly the same, from behind his back.

I must say with some pride that not one of the participants in this highly delicate conference, which was, in a manner of speaking, crucial to the fate of the dynasty, ever once lowered his voice – in my opinion, that is the mark of supreme distinction for a servant. Of course, the conversation occasionally veered into French, but that did not happen because of me, itwas simply that on the whole it was all the same to His Majesty and Their Highnesses whether they conversed in Russian or French. If they had wished to conceal the content of one part or another of the discussion from me, they would have started talking in English since, as I have already said, very few of the old generation of court servants know that language, while almost all of them speak French. Or, more precisely, they do not speak it, but they understand it, since it would be extremely strange if I, Afanasii Ziukin, were suddenly to address a member of the royal family or a noble at court in French. One must know one’s place and not make oneself out to be something that one is not – that is the golden rule that I would recommend everyone to follow, regardless of his origins and position.

The sovereign, well-known for his patriotism, was the only one out of all those present who spoke nothing but Russian the whole time. It turned out that His Majesty remembered me from the time when I served as a table layer in the dining room of the late sovereign. Down at the entrance, before he went upstairs, the emperor was kind enough to speak to me: ‘Hello, Afanasii Stepanovich. Was it you who had the canopy with my initial hung up? It’s very beautiful, thank you.’

His Majesty’s refined courtesy and astonishing memory for names and faces arewell known. In fact, from early childhood all the grand dukes are specially trained to develop their memories – there is a special method for it – but His Majesty’s abilities in this area are truly exceptional. Once he has seen someone, the sovereign remembers them forever, and this impresses many people tremendously. On the question of courtesy, the tsar and tsarina are the only members of the royal family who address their servants formally. Perhaps this is becausewe servants, while feeling an appropriate veneration for Their Majesties, are at the same time not very—However, hush. One does not talk of such things. Or even think of them.

The sovereign was sitting at the head of the table, gloomy and taciturn. Beside his tall, well-built uncles, His Majesty appeared quite small and insignificant, almost a stripling. And what can I say about our own Georgii Alexandrovich – a real mountain of a man: handsome, portly, with a dashingly curled moustache, and dressed in a blinding white admiral’s uniform, compared with which the emperor’s modest colonel’s uniform looked rather shabby. Simeon Alexandrovich, the tallest and slimmest of the deceased sovereign’s brothers, is like a medieval Spanish grandee, with his regular features that seem carved out of ice. And the eldest, Grand Duke Kirill Alexandrovich, the commander of the Imperial Guard, may not be as handsome as his brothers, but he is truly majestic and formidable, for he inherited the celebrated basilisk stare from his father the emperor. Officers who have committed some offence have been known to faint under that gaze.

In the presence of the doyens of the royal family, the youthful Pavel Georgievich was as quiet as a mouse and as meek as a lamb, and did not even dare to smoke. Also present was the head of the court police, Colonel Karnovich, a taciturn gentleman of huge resources and very meagre sentiment. He did not even sit at the table, but found himself a place in the corner.

Waiting outside on a chair in the corridor was our rescuer of the previous day, Mr Fandorin. I had been instructed to move him into the house, and for lack of any other accommodation I had put him in the nursery, judging that this gentleman would remain in the Hermitage only until Mikhail Georgievich returned to his own room. I had planned to lodge the Japanese in the stables, but he had wanted to stay with his master. He had spent the night on the floor with a plush teddy bear under his head and, to judge from his gleaming face, had slept excellently. Fandorin himself had not gone to bed at all, but spent the whole night until dawn prowling around the park with an electric torch. I did not know if he had found anything. He did not enter into any explanations with the chief of police, let alone with me, saying only that he would report everything he knew to His Majesty the emperor in person.

This same mysterious gentleman became the subject of discussion almost immediately the meeting began, although it did not begin with discussion as such, but with reading. Everyone sitting there took turns to read (or reread) the letter that had been received, the contents of which I did not know as yet. Then they all turned towards the sovereign. I held my breath in order to hear the precise words with which His Majesty would open this emergency meeting. The sovereign gave an embarrassed cough, glanced round from under his brows at the faces of all present and said quietly: ‘This is appalling. Simply appalling. Uncle Kir, what shall we do now?’

The emperor had said his word, etiquette had been observed and some how of its own accord the chairmanship of the meeting moved to Kirill Alexandrovich, who had been regarded as a covert joint ruler during the previous reign and had consolidated his position even further under the new sovereign.

His Highness spoke slowly, weighing his words: ‘Above all, Nicky, self-control. How you conduct yourself will determine the fate of the dynasty. Over the next few days thousands of eyes will be trained on you, including some very, very shrewd ones. Not the slightest sign of agitation, not a hint of anxiety – do you understand me?’

The sovereign nodded uncertainly.

‘We must all act as if nothing has happened. I understand, Georgie,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, turning to Georgii Alexandrovich, ‘how hard this is for you. You are the father. But you and Pauly and Xenia must remain cheerful and calm. If rumours spread that some crooks or other have abducted a cousin of the Russian tsar with the wholeworld looking on, the prestige of the Romanovs, which has already been damaged by the fiendish murder of your father, will be completely undermined. There are eight foreign crown princes, fourteen heads of government and thirty special legations arriving in Moscow—’

Simeon Alexandrovich threw his pencil down on the table and interrupted his elder brother.

‘This is all raving nonsense! Some doctor or other! What is this? Who is he? He’s simply insane! Give him the Orlov! What insolence!’

I didn’t understand anything that the governor general had said. A doctor? An Orlov? Which of the Orlovs – the arch-chamberlain or the deputy minister of the interior?

‘Yes, yes, indeed,’ His Majesty said with a nod. ‘Is anything known about this Doctor Lind?’

Kirill Alexandrovich turned to the head of the court police, whose duty it was to know about everything that presented even the very slightest threat to the royal family, and therefore perhaps about everything in the world.

‘What do you say, Karnovich?’

The colonel stood up, adjusted his spectacles with blue lenses and spoke in a voice that was almost a whisper but at the same time amazingly clear: ‘There has not previously been any criminal with that name within the borders of the Russian empire.’

He sat down again.

There was a pause, and I sensed that the moment had come for me to abandon my role as a disembodied shadow.

I cautiously cleared my throat, and since the drawing room was absolutely silent, the sound was distinctly audible. Kirill Alexandrovich and Simeon Alexandrovich looked round in amazement, as if they had only just noticed my presence (in fact, that could indeed have been the case) and Georgii Alexandrovich, knowing perfectly well that I would sooner choke on my own cough than dare to attract attention to my own person unnecessarily, asked: ‘Is there something you would like to tell us, Afanasii?’

At this point all of the other royal individuals directed their gazes at me, a state of affairs to which I was quite unused, so that I was unable to control the trembling of my voice.

‘It is about Mr Fandorin, the gentleman who . . . witnessed the outrage yesterday.’ I mastered my agitation and continued in a steadier voice. ‘This morning when, for obvious reasons, the house was in something of a commotion, Mr Fandorin was sitting on the terrace and smoking a cigar in the calmest manner one could imagine—’

Simeon Alexandrovich interrupted me irritably: ‘Do you really suppose it is so important for us and the sovereign emperor to know how Mr Fandorin spent the morning?’

I immediately fell silent and bowed to His Highness, not daring to continue.

‘Be quiet, Sam,’ Georgii Alexandrovich shouted abruptly at his younger brother.

Simeon Alexandrovich has an unfortunate peculiarity – no one likes him. Neither his relatives, nor his inner retinue, nor the Muscovites, nor even his own wife. It is hard to like such a man. They say that the late sovereign appointed him governor general of Moscow in order to see him less often. And also in order to rid the court of His Highness’s entourage – all those pretty little adjutants and secretaries with dyed hair. Alas, Simeon Alexandrovich’s habits are no secret to anyone – the whole of society gossips about them. On that very day, when he had just entered the hallway (having arrived last of all, even after the sovereign) His Highness had asked me in animated fashion: ‘Who was that handsome chap I met just now on the lawn? The slim fellow with the yellow hair?’ I politely explained to the grand duke that it must have been the Englishman, Mr Carr, but I felt a certain inward tremor: knowing the reason why the emergency conference had been convened, how was it possible to allow free rein to one’s personal inclinations? It was not even so much a matter of inclinations – His Highness simply has a very bad character.

‘Carry on, Afanasii,’ Georgii Alexandrovich told me. ‘We are all listening to you attentively.’

I could not help admiring my master’s emotional restraint and fortitude. Any ordinary man whose child had been kidnapped would have been in a terrible state, screaming and tearing his hair out, but His Highness did not lose his self-control even for an instant, except that he kept smoking one papyrosa after another. At such moments one feels especially keenly what a great honour and inexpressible responsibility it is to serve individuals of the imperial blood. They are special people, unlike all the rest.

‘Permit me to report,’ I continued, ‘that such imperturbability on the part of an individual aware of the disaster that has occurred struck me as strange. I approached Mr Fandorin and asked if he had discovered any more tracks in the park. He replied: “The second carriage, which was standing near the lawn and was used to abduct the boy, drove off in the direction of the Kaluga Highway. The attendant at the park gates saw a fast-moving carriage with the blinds tightly closed over the windows.” “Then why haven’t you told anyone?” I asked him. “You ought to inform the police immediately!” But he replied confidently: “But what for? There’s nothing to be done now.” And then he added this . . .’ At this point I deliberately made a brief pause and repeated Fandorin’s words exactly as I remembered them: ‘“We have to wait for a letter from Lind.” Yes, that was exactly what he said: “We have to wait for a letter from Lind.” I must admit that I had no idea what letter he was talking about, and I didn’t understand the last word at all. But now I remember quite clearly that he said “Lind”. Then I was called to the telephone, and our conversation was interrupted. However, the inference is that Mr Fandorin knew in advance about the letter and about Lind. Permit me also to draw your Imperial Majesty’s and your Imperial Highnesses’ attention to the circumstance that Mr Fandorin’s appearance at the scene of the kidnapping yesterday was clearly not fortuitous. He acted too resolutely for a chance passer-by, said some rather strange things and identified the leader of the bandits – he said his name was Penderetski.’

Colonel Karnovich spoke up from his corner.

‘I have managed to discover something about Lech Penderetski, also known as Blizna. He is one of the leaders of the criminal world in the Kingdom of Poland. A bandit, extortionist and murderer, but cautious and crafty – no one had ever managed to catch him red-handed. According to rumour, Blizna has links with the criminal communities of many countries in Europe. The body has been sent to Warsaw for identification, but the description and other information do suggest that it really is Penderetski.’

‘How did Fandorin come to know about this fellow?’ Kirill Alexandrovich asked thoughtfully.

Simeon Alexandrovich laughed spitefully: ‘Why, that’s easy to find out. We have to arrest Fandorin and interrogate him thoroughly. He’ll tell us everything. My Lasovsky knows how to loosen tongues. When he barks, even I get the shivers.’

And His Highness laughed, delighted with his joke, but no one else there shared his merriment.

‘Uncle Kir, Uncle Sam,’ His Majesty said in a quiet voice, ‘you pronounce the name of this Fandorin as if you knew him. Who is he?’

The head of the court police answered for the grand dukes. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and reported as follows.

‘Fandorin, Erast Petrovich. Forty years of age. Of the Orthodox confession. A hereditary noble. A knight of many orders, too many to mention. A retired state counsellor. For almost ten years he served as deputy for special assignments to the governor general of Moscow, Prince Dolgorukoi.’

‘Ah yes, Fandorin again,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said slowly, looking out through the window as if he were recalling some old story. ‘I wonder where he has been all these years.’

From these words I concluded that His Highness really was acquainted with the retired state counsellor.

Then it emerged that Simeon Alexandrovich knew this gentleman even better, and apparently not from his most flattering side.

‘Fandorin has not shown his face in Moscow for about five years,’ the governor general said, pulling a wry face. ‘The scoundrel knows there’s no place for him in my city. This man, Nicky, is an adventurer of the very worst kind. Sly and shifty, slippery and foul. The reports I have received say that after he left Moscow he prospered in all sorts of dirty business. He left his tracks behind him in Europe, in America and even in Asia. I must admit that I follow this gentleman’s movements because I have a score to settle with him . . . Well, anyway, reliable sources have informed me that Fandorin has fallen as low as it is possible to fall: he accepts commissions to carry out investigations for private individuals and is not squeamish about charging a fee – apparently a substantial one. The point is that his clients (Simeon Alexandrovich pronounced this word with emphatic disgust) include millionaires and even, unfortunately, some foreign monarchs. In five years of this infamous activity Fandorin has earned a certain reputation for himself. I have no doubt that he is privy to many dirty secrets, but we can manage our family business without his dubious services. My police are excellent at their job and my Lasovsky will run down this doctor in two shakes of a dog’s tail.’

‘I beg Your Highness’s pardon,’ Karnovich interjected with an imperturbable expression, ‘but the protection of the imperial family falls within the purview of my department and I assure you that we will deal with this mission perfectly well without the participation of the Moscow police, not to mention any amateur detectives.’ The colonel smiled gently and added in a quiet voice, as if he were talking to himself: ‘We don’t need any Sherlock Holmeses here.’

‘Oh, Colonel, Fandorin is very far from being an amateur,’ Kirill Alexandrovich objected. ‘He is a man of exceptional abilities. If anyone can help us in this difficult and delicate matter, he can. And, in addition, he knows something about this villain Lind. It is also of some importance that as a private individual Fandorin is not restricted in the methods he can employ. No, Nicky, we won’t be able to manage without this man. I am even inclined to think that he has been sent to us by God.’

‘Rubbish! Absolute rubbish!’ Simeon Alexandrovich cried, flinging his pencil into the corner. (I took another one out of my pocket.) ‘I categorically protest!’

Kirill Alexandrovich, who was not accustomed to being addressed in this manner and also, as far as I was aware, regarded his younger brother with unmitigated contempt, lowered his leonine head and fixed the governor general with his famous withering stare. In response, Simeon Alexandrovich stubbornly jutted out his chin, which made his well-groomed beard look like the bowsprit of a ship, and assumed an absolutely uncompromising air.

There was an oppressive silence.

‘But what are we going to do with this Fandorin?’ the emperor asked plaintively. ‘Call him in or not? Ask him to help or arrest him?’

Neither of Their Highnesses replied; they did not even change the direction of their gazes. This was an enmity of many years that had begun before the present sovereign was even born. Only, as the common folk put it, Simeon Alexandrovich was a bit ‘weedy’ in comparison with Kirill Alexandrovich. He had never been known to come off best against his elder brother.

By temperament Georgii Alexandrovich is much calmer and more easy-going than either of them, but if once he gets his temper up – then beware! And now he suddenly began flushing crimson, and seemed to swell up, making me afraid that the hooks on his collar would burst open, and it was clear that a storm was about to break.

His Majesty did not see this terrifying picture, since he was looking at Kirill Alexandrovich and Simeon Alexandrovich. If he had seen it, he would probably not have ventured to say anything, but as it was, he began in a conciliatory tone of voice: ‘Uncle Sam, Uncle Kir, listen to what I think—’

There was a thunderous crash as Georgii Alexandrovich swung his fist down and slammed it into the table so hard that two wineglasses fell over, a coffee cup cracked and an ashtray was overturned, and Simeon Alexandrovich bounced on his chair in surprise.

‘Shut up, Nicky!’ the head of the Green House roared. ‘And you two keep quiet as well! It’s my son who has been kidnapped; I’m the one who should decide. And don’t forget that it’s only thanks to this, what’s his name . . . damn it, beginning with F, that my daughter was saved! Let him tell us everything that he knows!’

And so the matter was decided.

I slipped out of the drawing room silently in order to call Fandorin. Immediately outside the door there was a plush curtain, and then the corridor where the ‘amateur detective’, as Karnovich had called him, had been ordered to wait.

‘Your lovely moustache – it’s absolutely charming. And you don’t shape it with tweezers? Or use fixative?’

On hearing these strange words, just to be on the safe side I peeped out from behind the curtain to see who could be speaking in such a manner.

Erast Fandorin was sitting where I had left him, with one leg crossed over the other, counting the jade beads on a rosary. The voice was not his, it belonged to the governor general’s adjutant Prince Glinsky, a dainty young man with a pretty face like a girl’s. The common folk have a saying about his kind: ‘’Tis a pity he’s not a wench, at least he could wed.’ The prince was standing in front of Fandorin, leaning down and carefully studying the retired official’s slim, tidy moustache. Glinsky’s own moustache was waxed – I could see that quite clearly now – and I think his lips were painted. But what was so surprising about that?

‘No, sir, I do not use f-fixative,’ Fandorin replied politely, looking up at the young man and not making the slightest attempt to move away.

‘My God, what eyelashes you have!’ the adjutant sighed. ‘I think I would give absolutely anything for long black eyelashes like that, curved at the end. Is that your natural colour?’

‘Absolutely natural,’ Erast Petrovich assured him no less amiably.

At this point I interrupted this outlandish conversation and invited the state counsellor to follow me.

It is amazing, but on finding himself face to face with such a large number of members of the royal family, Erast Petrovich Fandorin betrayed not the slightest sign of discomfiture. The light but perfectly respectful bow that seemed to be addressed to all present but at the same time primarily to His Majesty would have done credit to a plenipotentiary ambassador extraordinary from some great power.

Kirill Alexandrovich, who had only just been extolling Fandorin’s virtues, began abruptly, without any words of greeting, in what I thought was a rather hostile manner: ‘Tell us what you know about Doctor Lind and about this whole business in general.’

Fandorin inclined his head as if to indicate that he understood the request, but what he said was not at all what they were expecting. The gaze of his cold blue eyes slid across the faces of the men sitting there and halted on the sheet of paper lying in the middle of the table.

‘I see a l-letter has arrived. May I familiarise myself with its contents?’

‘I warned you what an impudent beggar he is!’ Simeon Alexandrovich exclaimed indignantly, but Fandorin did not even glance in his direction.

Kirill Alexandrovich took no notice of what he had said either.

‘Yes, Georgie, read the letter out loud. Every word is important here.’

‘Yes, yes,’ His Majesty put in. ‘I would like to hear it again too.’

With an air of disgust, Georgii Alexandrovich picked the sheet of paper up off the table and began reading out the message, which was written in French:

Messieurs Romanovs,

I offer you an advantageous arrangement: a little Romanov prince weighing ten kilograms for a little Count Orlov weighing 190 carats. The exchange will take place tomorrow, and do not take it into your heads to palm me off with a fake – I have my own jeweller. If you accept, give your reply at precisely noon from the semaphore apparatus at the Alexandriisky Palace. If you do not accept, the prince will be returned to you immediately. In pieces.

Yours sincerely,

Doctor Lind

PS I enclose the code for the light signal.

I had just begun to pour His Majesty’s coffee, and I froze with the coffee pot in my hand, in my shock even spilling a few drops on to the floor, which had never happened to me before. The monstrousness of the letter had exceeded my very worst fears. His Highness in pieces? Oh my God, my God!

‘What semaphore is this?’ That was the only thing that interested Fandorin in this nightmarish missive.

It is improper to ask questions in the presence of His Majesty, but not only did the sovereign react indulgently to such a flagrant violation of etiquette, he actually replied himself, with his distinctive unfailing courtesy: ‘An old light semaphore. Installed on the roof of the palace in my great-grandfather’s time, and during my grandfather’s reign it was fitted with electric lights for use in the dark and during overcast weather. Light signals sent from the semaphore can be seen from almost any point in the city.’

Instead of thanking His Majesty for his most gracious explanation, as a faithful subject ought to do, Fandorin merely nodded thoughtfully and asked: ‘“Orlov”. Presumably we must take that to mean the diamond that adorns the imperial sceptre?’

‘Yes,’ His Majesty confirmed laconically. ‘The diamond that Count Orlov bought in Amsterdam in 1773 on the instructions of Catherine the Great.’

‘Impossible, absolutely unthinkable,’ Simeon Alexandrovich snapped. ‘The solemn presentation of the state regalia takes place in five days’ time, and the coronation is two days after that. Without the sceptre the ceremony cannot go on. Let him have any amount of money but not the Orlov, under no circumstances.’

As one man they all turned towards Georgii Alexandrovich, whose opinion as the father was especially important in this matter.

And the grand duke proved worthy of his position and his rank. Tears sprang to his eyes, his hand tugged spontaneously at his tight collar, but His Highness’s voice was firm: ‘Impossible. The life of one of the grand dukes, even . . . of my own son (at this point Georgii Alexandrovich did tremble after all) cannot be set above the interests of the monarchy and the state.’

That is what I call royal nobility – the summit that only those who have been marked and chosen by God himself can scale. The socialists and liberals write in their paltry newspapers and leaflets that the imperial house is wallowing in luxury. This is not luxury, this is the radiant halo of Russian statehood, and every member of the imperial family is prepared to sacrifice his own life and the lives of his loved ones in the name of Russia.

The room began swaying before my eyes and shimmering with iridescent colours. I blinked, shaking the tears off my eyelashes.

‘And what if we replace the diamond with paste?’ Karnovich’s voice piped up from the corner. ‘We can make such a good copy that no one will be able to tell the difference.’

‘In such a short period of time it is not possible to produce a c-copy of such high quality,’ Fandorin replied. ‘And in any case Lind tells us that he has his own jeweller.’

Kirill Alexandrovich shrugged and said: ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why does he have to have the Orlov? The stone is priceless, and that means it has no market price. It’s known all over the world; you can’t sell it.’

‘But why not, Your Highness?’ Colonel Karnovich objected. ‘You could cut it into three or four large diamonds and a few dozen medium and small ones.’

‘And how much could you sell all that for?’

Karnovich shook his head, unable to answer the question.

‘I know a little about such things,’ said Fandorin. ‘Three large diamonds of fifty carats or so can be worth approximately half a million roubles in gold each. And the small ones – well, let’s say another half-million.’

‘Two million?’ said the emperor, and his face brightened. ‘But we will not grudge a sum like that for our dear Mika!’

Fandorin sighed: ‘Your Majesty, this is not at all a matter of two million. I know Lind’s style. This is blackmail, and on a far grander scale than is obvious at first glance. We are not simply talking about the life of one of Your Majesty’s eleven cousins. Lind’s target is the coronation. He knows perfectly well that without the Orlov, the ceremony cannot go ahead. And the boy’s life is only a means of applying p-pressure. The real threat is not that Lind will kill the young grand duke, but that he will disrupt the coronation and dishonour the name of Russia and the Romanov dynasty throughout the world by leaving parts of the boy’s body in the most crowded areas.’

Everyone present, including myself, gave a groan of horror, but Fandorin continued remorselessly: ‘You were saying, Your Majesty, that no buyer could be found for the Orlov anywhere in the world. But there already is a buyer, and one who cannot refuse to buy. That buyer is the house of Romanov. Essentially, what you have to buy from Lind is not the grand duke, but the Orlov diamond, for what is at stake here is not just the stone, but the c-coronation and the very prestige of the monarchy. I am afraid that it will cost more than two million. Very, very much more. And that is not the worst thing.’ Fandorin lowered his head sombrely and I saw his hands clench into fists. ‘You will pay for the safe keeping of the stone and the return of the grand duke, but Lind will not give the boy back alive. That is against the doctor’s principles . . .’

An ominous silence fell, but only for a few moments, because Pavel Georgievich, who had so far been sitting quietly at the far end of the table, suddenly covered his face with his hands and burst into sobs.

‘Pauly, get a grip,’ Kirill Alexandrovich told him sternly. ‘And you, Fandorin, stop trying to frighten us. You’d better tell us about Lind.’

‘He is the most dangerous criminal in the world,’ Fandorin began. ‘I don’t know why he is called Doctor, perhaps because he possesses knowledge in many surprising areas. For instance, he speaks numerous languages. Possibly even including Russian – I would not be surprised. Very little is known for certain about Lind. He is obviously relatively young, because ten years ago no one had heard of him. No one knows where he is from. Most likely he is American, because Lind committed the first crimes that brought him fame as a daring and ruthless villain in the United States of North America. He began by robbing banks and mail cars and moved on to become a true master of the arts of blackmail, extortion and kidnapping.’

Fandorin spoke with his eyes fixed on the table, as if he could see in its polished surface the reflection of pictures from the past that were visible only to him.

‘And so, what do I actually know about this man? He is a confirmed misogynist. There are never any women n-near him – no lovers, no girlfriends. Lind’s gang is an exclusively male preserve. A male brotherhood, if you like. The doctor seems to have none of the usual human weaknesses, and as a result no one has yet managed to follow his trail. Lind’s assistants are slavishly devoted to him, something that is very rarely found in criminal associations. I have captured the doctor’s men alive on two occasions, and both times I got nothing out of them. One was given hard labour for life, the other killed himself, but they did not betray their leader . . . Lind’s connections in international criminal circles are truly boundless and his authority is immense. When he requires a specialist in any field at all – safe crackers, hired killers, engravers, hypnotists, burglars – the greatest experts of the criminal sciences regard it as an honour to offer him their services. I assume that the doctor is f-fabulously rich. In the time since I have taken an interest in him – which is a little over a year and a half – only in the cases that I know about he has appropriated at least ten million.’

‘Francs?’ Georgii Alexandrovich asked, intrigued.

‘Imeantdollars. That is approximately twenty million roubles.’

‘Twenty million!’ His Highness actually gasped at the figure. ‘And the treasury gives me a pitiful two hundred thousand a year! Only a hundredth part of that! And the blackguard has the nerve to demand money from me!’

‘Not from you, Uncle Georgie,’ the sovereign commented dryly. ‘From me. The Orlov is crown property.’

‘Nicky, Georgie!’ Kirill Alexandrovich shouted at both of them. ‘Carry on, Fandorin.’

‘I have had two meetings with Doctor Lind . . .’ Fandorin said and then hesitated.

The room went very quiet. The only sound was the chair creaking under Colonel Karnovich as he leaned forward bodily in his eagerness.

‘Although I do not know if I can really say that I met him, because we did not see each other’s faces. I was wearing disguise and make-up, Lind was in a mask . . . We became acquainted with each other eighteen months ago, in New York. The Russian newspapers may perhaps have reported the kidnapping of the millionaire Berwood’s twelve-year-old son? In America the story was front-page news for a month . . . Mr Berwood asked me to assume the responsibilities of intermediary for the delivery of the ransom. I demanded that the kidnappers first show me their prisoner. Lind himself took me to the s-secret room. The doctor was wearing a black mask that covered almost all of his face, a long cloak and a hat. And so the only observations I was able to make were that he was of average height and had a moustache – but that could have been false. He did not utter a single word in my presence, and so I have never heard his voice.’ Fandorin compressed his lips, as if he were struggling to contain his agitation. ‘The boy was sitting there in the room, alive, with his mouth sealed. Lind allowed me to approach him, then led me out into the corridor, closed the door with three locks and handed me the keys. In accordance with our agreement, I handed him the ransom – a ring that belonged to Cleopatra, worth one and a half million dollars – and readied myself for a fight, since there were seven of them, and I was alone. But Lind studied the ring carefully through a magnifying glass, nodded and left, taking his men with him. I fiddled with the locks for a long time, since they proved a lot harder to open than to close, and when I finally managed to get into the room, Berwood junior was dead.’

Erast Petrovich pressed his lips together again, so hard that they turned white. Everybody waited patiently for him to recover his self-control – the members of the royal family are indulgent with those poor mortals who do not possess their supernatural self-control.

‘I did not immediately understand why the boy was sitting so still and I leaned my head down low to look. It was only when I got very close that I saw there was a slim stiletto stuck straight into his heart! I couldn’t believe my eyes. The day before, in anticipation of a trick, I had searched the room as thoroughly as possible, looking for a disguised hatch or a secret door, and I had not found anything suspicious. But later I recalled that as Lind let me pass him on the way out, he had lingered beside the chair – for a second, no more than that. But that second had been enough for him. What a precise blow, what cold-blooded calculation!’

It seemed to me that in addition to a bitterness and fury that time had not dulled, Fandorin’s tone of voice expressed an involuntary admiration for the deftness of this satanic doctor.

‘Ever since then I have set aside all other business until I settle scores with the doctor. I admit that a significant part in this decision was played by wounded vanity and the stain that the whole business left on my reputation. But there is more to it than mere vanity . . .’ Fandorin wrinkled his high forehead. ‘This man has to be stopped, because he is a true genius of evil, endowed with an incredibly fertile imagination and boundless ambition. Sometimes it seems to me that the goal he has set himself is to become famous as the greatest criminal in the whole of human history, and Lind certainly has more than enough rivals in that area. I had realised that sooner or later he would arrange some kind of catastrophe on a national or even international scale. And that is what has now happened . . .’

He paused again.

‘Sit down, Erast Petrovich,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said to him, and I realised that Fandorin’s speech had obviously made a good impression on His Highness – the retired state counsellor was no longer being questioned, they were talking to him. ‘Tell us how you hunted Doctor Lind.’

‘First of all I turned the whole of New York upside down, but only succeeded in forcing the doctor to move his headquarters from the New World to the Old. I will not weary Your Majesty and Your Highnesses with a description of my searches, but six months later I managed to locate Lind’s lair in London. And I saw the doctor for the second time – or rather I saw his shadow as he fled from his pursuers along one of the tunnels of the London Underground, shooting back with incredible accuracy. With two shots the doctor killed two constables from Scotland Yard outright, and he almost dispatched me to the next world.’ Fandorin raised a lock of black hair off his forehead and we saw a scar running in a narrow white line across his temple. ‘It’s nothing, merely a glancing blow, but I lost consciousness for a moment, and in that time Lind was able to escape pursuit . . . I followed close on his heels from one country to another, and every time I was just a little too late. And then in Rome, about six months ago, the doctor simply vanished into thin air. It was only two weeks ago that I learned from a reliable source that the famous Warsaw bandit known as Blizna had boasted in intimate company that the doctor himself had invited him to Moscow for some very big job. As a Russian subject, Penderetski was well acquainted with the criminal world of Moscow – the gangs in both Khitrovka and the Sukharevka. That must be what Lind, who had n-never operated in Russia before, needed him for. I had been racking my brains to understand what could have attracted the doctor’s interest in patriarchal Moscow. Now it is clear . . .’

‘Impossible, absolutely impossible!’ Simeon Alexandrovich exclaimed angrily, addressing His Majesty, not Fandorin. ‘My boys in Khitrovka and the Sukharevka would never take part in a fiendish plot directed against the royal family! They will steal and cut throats as much as you like. But loyalty to the throne is in these Apaches’ blood! On several occasions my Lasovsky has successfully used criminals to catch terrorists. Let me give you an example: for the duration of the coronation celebrations he has concluded a kind of gentlemen’s agreement with the leader of all the Khitrovka thieves, a certain King, that the police will not detain pickpockets, but in exchange they must immediately report any weapons and other suspicious items that they discover in the pockets of the public. The King was quite happy to agree to this condition – he declared that in a certain sense he himself is an absolute sovereign, and monarchs must support each other. I can’t vouch for the exact words that he used, but that was his meaning.’

This announcement lightened the gloomy mood of the company somewhat and Simeon Alexandrovich, encouraged by the smiles, added the following with a wily air: ‘His Khitrovkan Majesty validated his promise with the formula: “I’m a mongrel if I don’t!” Lasovsky tells me that this is the most cogent bandit oath of all.’

‘How’s that?’ asked the sovereign, intrigued. ‘A mongrel, as in a dog with no pedigree, eh? I’ll tell Alice; she’ll like that.’

‘Nicky, Sam,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said sternly. ‘Let’s listen to the rest of what Mr Fandorin has to say.’

‘The King is not the only leader in Khitrovka and in any case he is certainly not an autocratic s-sovereign.’ Although Erast Petrovich was replying to the governor general’s statement, he did not look at him, but at the emperor. ‘They are even saying that the King’s days are numbered, that any day now he will be written off, that is killed by the so-called breakaways – pushy young bandits who are beginning to set the style in Khitrovka and Sukharevka. There is Rennet’s gang, which operates in a new trade, dealing in opium, there is a certain Gristle – his speciality is “wet jobs”, or killings, and extortion. Acertain Stump has also appeared, with a gang in which the secrecy and discipline are tighter than in the Neapolitan Camorra.’

‘Stump?’ the emperor repeated in amazement. ‘What a strange name.’

‘Yes. A colourful character. His right hand was amputated and the stump ends in a plate ontowhich, according to requirements, he screws either a spoon or a hook or a knife or a chain with an iron apple on the end. They say it’s a terrible weapon and its blow is deadly. The breakaways, Your Majesty, have no fear of spilling blood, do not acknowledge the thieves’ laws, and the King is no authority for them. I suspect that Penderetski had connections with one of them. I followed the Marked One and his man from Warsaw, but very cautiously, in order not to frighten them off. He visited the Zerentui inn in Khitrovka twice, a place that is well known for not paying any tribute to the King. I was hoping that Blizna would lead me to the doctor, but nothing came of that. The Poles were in Moscow for ten days, and Penderetski went to the poste restante at the Central Post Office every day and spent a lot of time loitering near the Alexandriisky Palace and the Neskuchny Park. At least four times he climbed over thewall and strolled about in the park round the Hermitage. I realise now that he was looking for a convenient spot for an ambush. From noon yesterday he and his boys were hanging about in front of the exit from the park onto the Kaluga Highway, and there was a carriage waiting nearby. Some time after six a carriage with the grand duke’s crest drove out of the gates and theWarsaw gang set out to follow it. I realised that the business was coming to a head. My assistant and I followed on behind in two cabs. Then two ladies, a boy and a man in a green tunic (Fandorin glanced towards me) got out of the grand duke’s carriage. Penderetski, now wearing a false beard so that I did not recognise him immediately, walked after them. The carriage carrying the other bandits drove slowly behind him. Then my assistant and I entered the park from the other side, and I walked towards the strollers, watching out all the time in case Lind appeared . . .’

Erast Petrovich sighed dejectedly.

‘Howcould I have miscalculated so badly? It never entered my head that there were two carriages, and not just one. But of course Lind had prepared two carriages, because he intended to abduct the girl and the boy, and then take them to separate hiding places. That was why Blizna only seized the grand princess. The second carriage was intended for the grand duke. That is probably where Lind was all the time, which really makes my blood boil. The governess unwittingly made their task easier when she carried the child to the very spot where the second group of kidnappers was lying in wait. Their plan only half-succeeded, but that does not change very much. Lind has still taken Russia by the throat . . .’

At these words His Majesty began gazing around with an expression of extreme unease, for some reason peering into the corners of the drawing room. I took a slight step forward, trying to guess what the emperor wanted, but my imagination was inadequate to the task.

‘Tell me, Uncle Georgie, do you have an icon anywhere here?’ the monarch asked.

Georgii Alexandrovich gave his nephew a glance of amazement and shrugged.

‘Ah, Nicky, for God’s sake!’ Kirill Alexandrovich exclaimed with a frown. ‘Let’s manage without the anointed of God business. You haven’t been anointed yet in any case, and if the coronation is disrupted, you never will be.’

His Majesty replied with an air of profound sincerity: ‘I do not see what can help here apart from prayer. All of us are in the hands of the Almighty. He has decided to arrange this trial for me, a weak and unworthy monarch, and so there must be some great meaning to it. We must trust in His will, and He will grant us deliverance.’

I recalled that I had seen a smoky little old icon, dark from age, in His Highness’s study. Walking without making a sound, I went out for a minute and brought the sovereign the icon – after first having wiped it with a napkin.

While the emperor recited thewords of a prayer with genuine fervour and even with tears in his eyes, the grand dukes waited patiently, except for Simeon Alexandrovich, who yawned as he polished his already impeccable nails with a piece of velvet braid.

‘Canwe continue, Nicky?’ Kirill Alexandrovich enquiredwhen the sovereign crossed himself for the last time and handed the icon back to me. ‘Very well, let us sum up this lamentable situation. Mika has been abducted by a cruel and cunning criminal who threatens not only to kill the boy, but also to scupper the entire coronation. What else can we do apart from trust in the help of the Almighty?’

Karnovich rose to his feet and whispered from his corner: ‘Find His Highness and free him from captivity.’

‘Excellent,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, turning towards the chief of the court police. ‘Then look for him, Colonel. Lind has given you until midday. You have an hour and a half at your disposal.’

Karnovich sat back down on his chair.

At this point Pavel Georgievich spoke for the first time. With his face contorted and still wet from tears, he said in a trembling voice: ‘Perhaps we ought to give him it? After all, Mika is alive, and when all’s said and done, the Orlov is only a stone . . .’

The eternal enemies Kirill Alexandrovich and Simeon Alexandrovich cried in a single voice: ‘No! Never!’

The sovereign looked at his cousin with compassion and said gently: ‘Pauly, Mr Fandorin has explained quite convincingly that handing over the diamond still will not save our Mika . . .’

Pavel Georgievich sobbed and wiped his cheek with his sleeve in an awkward gesture.

‘Leave us, Pauly,’ his father said sternly. ‘Wait for me in your room. You make me feel ashamed.’

Pavel Georgievich jumped abruptly to his feet and ran out of the door. Even I had difficulty in maintaining an imperturbable expression, although of course no one even thought of looking at me.

Poor Pavel Georgievich, he found the burden of royal responsibility hard to bear. In the education of the grand dukes and princesses the greatest emphasis is placed on self-control, the ability to keep oneself in hand under any circumstances. Since early childhood Their Highnesses are taught to sit through long, exhausting gala dinners, and they are deliberately seated beside the least intelligent and most insufferable guests. They have to listen attentively to what the grown-ups say without showing that their company is boring or unpleasant and laugh at their jokes – the more stupid the witticism, the more sincere the laughter must be. And what about the Easter triple kiss for the officers and lower ranks of their affiliated regiments! Sometimes they have to perform the ritual kiss more than a thousand times in the course of two hours! And God forbid that they should show any signs of tiredness or revulsion. But Pavel Georgievich was always such a lively and spontaneous boy. He was not good at the exercises for developing self-control and even now, although His Highness has come of age, there is a lot that he still needs to learn.

After the door slammed shut behind the grand duke, there was a long, gloomy silence. Everyone started when the clock struck a quarter to eleven.

‘However, if we do not let this Lind have the Orlov,’ His Majesty said, ‘then he will kill Mika, and tomorrow he will leave the body on Red Square or at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. And that will put me, the tsar, to shame in front of the entire civilised world!’

‘And the entire house of Romanov with you,’ Simeon Alexandrovich remarked.

Kirill Alexandrovich added gloomily: ‘And the whole of Russia.’

‘As God is my witness,’ the sovereign sighed woefully, ‘I never wanted the crown, but clearly it is my cross. It was no accident that I appeared in this world on the day of St Job the Long-Suffering. O Lord, teach me, enlighten me. What am I to do?’

God’s answer was given by Fandorin, who enunciated a single brief phrase very clearly: ‘Rent the stone.’

‘What?’ asked His Majesty, raising his eyebrows in amazement.

I also thought that I had misheard.

‘We have to rent the stone from Lind until the end of the coronation.’

Simeon Alexandrovich shook his head.

‘He’s raving!’

However, the eldest of the grand dukes narrowed his eyes in thoughtful concentration, trying to penetrate the meaning of this bizarre suggestion. Having failed, he asked: ‘How do you mean, “rent” it?’

Fandorin explained dispassionately.

‘We have to tell Lind that his terms have been accepted, but for obvious reasons they cannot be met before the coronation. And therefore, for each day of delay he will receive a certain sum of money, amost substantialone – as ifwe are renting the Orlov from him. There is aweek still to go until the coronation, is there not?’

‘But what will that give us?’ asked Georgii Alexandrovich, clutching his magnificent moustache.

‘What do you mean, Georgie – time!’ explained Kirill Alexandrovich. ‘A whole week of time!’

‘And a better chance of saving the child,’ Fandorin added. ‘Our terms will be as follows: the payments are made daily, and at each handover we must have unequivocal proof that the boy is alive. That is seven extra d-days of life for His Highness. And seven chances to pick up a thread that will lead us to the doctor. Lind may be extremely cunning, but he can make a mistake. I shall be on the alert.’

Georgii Alexandrovich jumped to his feet and drew himself up to his full impressive height. ‘Yes, now I see that it is an excellent idea!’

The idea really did seem most felicitous – not even Simeon Alexandrovich could find any objections to make against it.

‘And I will assign my most capable agent as an intermediary,’ Karnovich suggested.

‘I have genuine lions in the Department of Security,’ the governor general of Moscow immediately retorted. ‘And they know the city very well, unlike your Tsarskoe Selo carpet scrapers.’

‘I b-believe it would be best if I were to take on the role of the intermediary,’ Erast Petrovich said quietly. ‘Naturally, in some kind of disguise. I know Moscow very well, and I know Lind’s habits too.’

Kirill Alexandrovich put an end to the argument by declaring firmly: ‘We will decide this later. The important thing is that now at least we have some kind of plan of action. Nicky, does it have your approval too?’

The questionwas clearly asked for form’s sake, for His Majesty had never been known to object to anything that had been approved by his eldest uncle.

‘Yes, yes, Uncle Kir, absolutely.’

‘Excellent. Sit down, Colonel, take the code and write this message . . .’ said His Highness, clasping his hands behind his back and striding across the room. ‘“Agreed. We need a respite of seven days. For each day we are willing to pay a hundred . . . no, two hundred thousand roubles. Payment by daily instalments, in any place at any time, but the prisonermust be produced.” Well, how’s that?’ he asked, not addressing the question to his royal relatives, but to Fandorin.

‘Not bad,’ Fandorin replied most impudently to the commander of the Imperial Guard. ‘But I would add: “Otherwise there will be no deal.” Lind must understand we acknowledge that he has a strong hand and are prepared to pay a high price, but are not prepared to jump to his every beck and call.’

Our exalted visitors did not go home even after taking this difficult decision, for Fandorin expressed the opinion that a reply from Lind would follow almost immediately, either by semaphore light signal, telegraph – there was an apparatus in the Alexandriisky Palace – telephone call or some other, entirely unusual means. He said that on one occasion in similar circumstances a message from the doctor had come flying in through the window, attached to an arrow fired from a great distance.

Just imagine it – the autocrat of all Russia, the admiral-general of the fleet, the commander of the royal guards and the governor general of Moscow waiting patiently for some adventurer to deign to reply to them! I’m sure that nothing of the sort had happened in Russian history since the negotiations with the Corsican at Tilsit – but at least Bonaparte was an emperor.

In order not to waste time, the grand dukes began instructing their nephew the emperor in how to receive the foreign ambassadors and monarchswho had arrived for the celebrations. These meetings constituted the main political significance of the coronation, since it is quite common for extremely delicate questions of interstate relations to be decided, highly responsible diplomatic initiatives to be launched and new alliances to be concluded under the guise of ceremonial audiences.

His Majesty definitely still lacked experience in such subtleties and was in need of guidance and instruction. Not to mention the fact that the late sovereign, not having a very high opinion of the tsarevich’s intellectual abilities, had not felt it necessary to initiate him into the secrets of higher diplomacy. For example, not until he had already ascended the throne, and even then not immediately, did the newemperor learn that in some mysterious fashion the direction of Russian foreign policy had been completely reversed: although to all appearances we remained a friend of His Majesty the Kaiser, we had concluded a secret defence pact with France, Germany’s most bitter enemy. And this was by no means the only surprise awaiting the young successor to the throne.

The briefing was extremely sensitive in nature and, having ascertained that everything necessarywas on the table, I thought it best to withdraw. The sensitivity arose not so much from the secrecy of the information as from the intimate family tone that the conversation assumed. His Imperial Majestywas actually not all that quick at absorbing what he was told, and his most august uncles began losing patience with their nephew, sometimes employing expressions that might perhaps be permissible between close relatives but are unthinkable in the presence of servants.

Well, I had my own guests, who might be less eminent but were far more demanding. Having installed Mr Fandorin, Colonel Karnovich and Prince Glinsky in the large drawing room, where my assistant Somov served them coffee and cigars, I went to the servants’ parlour, a small, cosy little room located beside the kitchen on the ground floor. The governor general’s butler Foma Anikeevich, the senior grand duke’s butler Luka Emelyanovich, His Majesty’s valet Dormidont Seleznyov and Fandorin’s Japanese servant Masa were taking tea there. I had asked Mademoiselle Declique to look in on my guests from time to time to make sure that they did not feel abandoned – and also to give the poor woman, who was crushed by the misfortune that had overtaken her, something to keep her occupied. I know only too well from my own experience that at moments of such moral suffering there is no better medicine than performing mundane duties. It helps one to keep control.

On entering the servants’ parlour, in addition to the pale but evidently quite calm governess, I also found Mr Freyby there, sitting a little apart from the general group with his interminable book in his hands. But there was not really anything to be surprised at in that. It was raining outside, the English gentlemen had gone for their enforced promenade, and Mr Freyby had no doubt grown bored of sitting in his room. Every butler knows that the servants’ parlour is something like a drawing room or, to put it in the British manner, a club for the senior servants.

For a brief moment I was perturbed by the Englishman’s presence, since I was intending to hold my own secret council meeting with my guests, but then I remembered that Mr Freyby did not understand a single word of Russian. Very well, let him sit there and read.

We were served by the new footman Lipps, whose experience and level of training I had not yet had time to ascertain. He himself understood perfectly well the importance of the examination to which he was being subjected, and he did everything immaculately. I observed him with as critical an eye as possible but failed to spot any blunders. I told Lipps to wait outside the door, for the conversation was not intended for his ears, and when something had to be brought in or taken away, I rang the bell. The man from the Baltic did what was required quickly but without hurrying – that is exactly as it should be done, and disappeared behind the door again.

You could probably not find judges of the servant’s art sterner and better informed than my guests anywhere in the world. And that applied in particular to the venerable Foma Anikeevich.

I ought to explain that we servants have our own hierarchy, which does not depend at all on the status of our masters, but exclusively on the experience and merits of each one of us. And in terms of this hierarchy beyond all doubt the most senior among us was Foma Anikeevich, butler to Simeon Alexandrovich, the youngest of His Majesty’s uncles. Luka Emelyanovich and I were approximately on the same level, while Dormidont, for all the brilliance of the position that he held, was regarded in our circle as still an apprentice. He knew his place and sat there modestly without leaning back in his chair, trying to listen to everything and not speak too much. The general opinion concerning him was that he was competent, observant, capable of learning and would go a long way. He came from a good court servant family, which was obvious from his given name and patronymic – Dormidont Kuzmich. At christening we hereditary servants are all given the simplest of the old names, so that the order of theworld will be preserved and every human will have a name to suit his calling. What kind of servant or waiter could be called Vsevolod Apollonovich or Evgenii Viktorovich? That would only cause hilarity and confusion.

In the year and a half of the new reign Dormidont had grown tremendously in the opinion of court connoisseurs. For instance, there was the important incident in Livadia, immediately after the death of the previous sovereign, when the new emperor, being in a rather distraught state, almost received the visitors who had come to pay their condolences in his shoulder straps and without his black armband. Seleznyov caught His Majesty by the elbow when the doors were already open, and in five seconds changed the straps for epaulettes and even managed to attach mourning crêpe to His Majesty’s shoulder knot. What an embarrassing faux pas that would have been!

But of course he still has a long way to go to reach the level of high-flying eagles like Foma Anikeevich or the late Prokop Sviridovich. Foma Anikeevich endures the heavy cross of being attached to an individual like Simeon Alexandrovich. In a word – his lot is not to be envied. The number of times that Foma Anikeevich has saved His Highness from shame and scandal! If the governor general’s rule still possesses any authority in Moscow, it is only thanks to the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Feodorovna and his butler.

And our circle tells legendary stories about Prokop Sviridovich, who served as a valet to Tsar Alexander the Liberator.

Once, during the Balkan campaign, in the middle of the third battle of Plevna, a stray Turkish grenade fell right in front of the sovereign, who happened at that moment to be taking his afternoon snack. Prokop Sviridovich was standing close by, just as he ought to have been, holding a tray on which there was a cup of broth, a bread roll and a napkin.

Suddenly this ball of fire appeared out of nowhere! It fell into a small hollow overgrown with grass, hissing, hopping up and down and spitting smoke, all set to go off bang at any moment. The entire entourage froze and the butler was the only one not to lose his head: without dropping his tray, he took two short steps towards the hollowand poured the broth onto the grenade! The fuse went out. The most remarkable thing is that His Majesty, engrossed in his snack, did not even notice this incident and was only surprised at how little broth there was in the cup that was served to him. Kommissarov was awarded a noble title for deflecting the would-be regicide Karakozov’s pistol, but Prokop Sviridovich ended up, as simple folk say, with twice nothing because none of the witnesses – the duty generals and aides-de-camp – bothered to explain anything to the tsar. They were ashamed that a butler had proved pluckier and more resolute than them, and Prokop Sviridovich was not one to boast of his achievements.

However, this outstanding servant demonstrated even greater bravery on the front of intimate relations. You might say that he saved the peace and tranquillity of the imperial family. On one of the empress’s saint’s days His Majesty committed a serious blunder: as he took her present out of his pocket – it was a ring with a large sapphire in the form of a heart and the empress’s initials – he dropped another ring that was absolutely identical except that it bore the initials of the Princess Tverskaya.

‘What’s that, Sandy?’ the empress asked, peering short-sightedly at the small round shape that had gone tumbling across the carpet and taking her lorgnette out of her handbag.

The sovereign was dumbstruck and had no idea what to say. But Prokop Sviridovich quickly bent down, picked up the ring and swallowed it on the spot, after which he politely explained: ‘I beg your pardon, Your Imperial Highness, I dropped one of my catarrh lozenges. I have been having terrible trouble with my stomach.’

That’s the sort of man he was. The surgeon Pirogov himself cut the ring out of his stomach later.

Itwas precisely Prokop Sviridovich’s example that inspired me last yearwhen, as I dare to think, I rescued Georgii Alexandrovich from an almost identical delicate situation involving a letter from the ballerina Snezhnevskaya. Thank God, paper is not sapphire, and so no surgical intervention was required.

When I joined the honourable company, they were discussing the imminent festivities. Dormidont, who was clearly excited, and no wonder – he did not often have an opportunity to speak in such company – was telling the others something interesting about the sovereign. Foma Anikeevich and Luka Emelyanovich were listening benignly. The Japanese was drinking his tea from the saucer, puffing out his cheeks and goggling wildly. Mademoiselle was nodding politely, but I could see from her eyes that her thoughts were far away – I believe I have already mentioned that, for all her self-restraint, she did not have much control over the expression of her eyes. Mr Freyby was puffing away comfortably on his pipe and leafing through the pages of his book.

‘. . . toughen their characters,’ Dormidont was saying just as I walked into the servants’ parlour. When he saw me he sat up respectfully and continued: ‘They themselves are very superstitious, but they want to get the better of destiny, at any price. They deliberately arranged the arrival in Moscowfor an unlucky day, the festival of St Job the Long-Suffering, and the move from the city to the Kremlin for the thirteenth, although it could easily have been earlier. I think it’s all wrong – what point is there in tempting fate? You’ve seen for yourselves how Saint Job’s day turned out yesterday.’ And he gave me an eloquent glance, evidently feeling it was inappropriate to comment in greater detail on the disaster that had overtaken the Green Court.

‘What do you say to that, Luka Emelyanovich?’ Foma Anikeevich asked.

Kirill Alexandrovich’s butler, a stolid and dignified man, thought for a moment and said: ‘Well now, strengthening the will is no bad thing for a monarch. His Majesty could do to have a firmer character.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Foma Anikeevich asked with a shake of his head. ‘I think it’s not good. Ruling is like living: it should be done naturally and joyfully. Fate is kind to people like that. But if someone calls down misfortune on his own head, Fate heaps the dark clouds up over him. Our state isn’t exactly a cheery place in any case, and if the sovereign himself starts prophesying gloom and doom . . . And then again, Her Majesty has a heavy and joyless character. When the tsar grows a bit older and stronger, he’ll choose ministerswho are just as gloomy and unlucky. Every one knows the tsar’s kennel man is just like the tsar.’

I was astounded, not by the fact that Foma Anikeevich spoke so freely about His Majesty (that is perfectly normal in our circle, and it is a good thing for the work) but that he was not in the least bit wary of an outsider – the Japanese. Obviously in my absence Fandorin’s servant must have done something to win Foma Anikeevich’s special trust. He is a perspicacious man who sees right through people and understands perfectly what can be said in front of them and what cannot.

The Oriental’s smooth, impassive features gave no clue as to whether he understood what the conversation was about or was simply filling himself up with tea.

‘And what is your opinion about this, Afanasii Stepanovich?’ Foma Anikeevich asked me, and I realised from his quizzical glance that the question actually meant something quite different: did I think we could discuss the most important subject, or should we limit ourselves to conversation on abstract themes?

‘Time will tell,’ I replied, sitting down and ringing the bell for Lipps to pour me some tea. ‘There have been cases in history when extremely weak-willed successors to the throne have proved to be most worthy rulers in time. Take Alexander the Blessed, for instance, or even Franz-Josef.’

We spoke about one thing and thought about another: did I have any right to mention the decision that had been taken upstairs?

The Japanesewould learn about it from his master in any case. Mademoiselle could not be kept in ignorance either – thatwould be too cruel. Foma Anikeevich and Luka Emelyanovich could give useful advice. The only awkwardnesswas occasioned by the presence of Mr Freyby.

Catching my glance, the Briton raised his eyes from his book and mumbled something incomprehensible, with his pipe swaying up and down.

‘I know everything,’ Mademoiselle translated into Russian, pronouncing the word ‘efrything’. ‘My lord has told me.’

The butler stuck his nose back in his book to let us know that we need not take any notice of him.

Well then, so in England gentlemen had no secrets from their butlers. So much the better.

I briefly told my comrades about the letter, the sinister doctor and the decision that had been taken at the secret council. They heard me out in silence. It was only when I told them that Doctor Lind never returned his captives alive that Mademoiselle broke downand gasped, clenching her firmlittle fists above the table. To assist her in mastering her understandable agitation, I digressed briefly to talk about the remarkable self-control shown by Georgii Alexandrovich. But, as was often the case, Mademoiselle’s comment took me by surprise.

‘Georgii Alexandrovich has six sons from Heh Highness and two from a young ballehina. If Doctor Lind had abducted His Highness’s only daughteh – O, he would have behaved quite diffehently.’

I must confess that I was flabbergasted – both by the judgement itself (which might not have been entirely unjustified, since Xenia Georgievna really was Georgii Alexandrovich’s favourite) and by the tactless reference to Miss Snezhnevskaya.

Foma Anikeevich changed the subject and smoothed over the awkward moment.

‘Is there not anything that we servants can do, for our part?’

There you have a genuine butler – with only a fewscantwords he swept away the dross and defined the most important point. Compared to him we are all of us mere dwarves.

‘Pardon me for saying this, Afanasii,’ Foma Anikeevich continued with his unfailing politeness, ‘but we are not talking here just about the life of Mikhail Georgievich, but about even more significant matters – the fate of the monarchy and of Russian statehood itself. If you take all our internal upheavals, disorder and vacillation, as well as the sovereign’s obvious weakness and lack of experience, then add a blow like this, with the whole of society, the whole world looking on . . . The consequences are quite unimaginable. We, the servants of the Romanovs, must not allow it to happen.’

The Japanese banged his saucer down on the table and bowed his forehead down to the tablecloth so abruptly that I was afraid he was having an apoplectic fit. But no, it turned out to be a bow. With his forehead still touching the tablecloth, the Oriental addressed Foma Anikeevich, speaking with passion.

‘These words of genuine samurai, Foma-sensei, you nobur man.’

I had read that a samurai is a kind of Japanese knight, but I did not know the meaning of sensei. I can only assume it is some kind of respectful oriental formof address, similar in kind to cher maître.

Foma Anikeevich replied with a polite bow and the Japanese straightened up.

‘We have to hewp my masta,’ he declared in his outlandish but perfectly comprehensible Russian. ‘Onry my masta can save ritter odzi and honow of the empia.’

‘I have heard a lot about Erast Petrovich, Mr Masa,’ said Foma Anikeevich. ‘I believe that during the governorship of Prince Dolgorukoi here in Moscow he performed no small number of remarkable deeds.’

I had not known that Foma Anikeevich was informed about Fandorin, but was not in the least surprised.

The Japanese replied staidly: ‘Yes, ver’, ver’ many. But that no’ importan’. Importan’ that my master will not wive if Dokutor Rind wive.’

It was not said in the most elegant fashion, but I understood the meaning.

Mademoiselle spoke in a different accent, far more pleasing to the ear: ‘But what can he do, your master?’

‘Evewyfin’,’ Masa said laconically. ‘Master can do anyfin’. Dokutor Rind will not wive.’

‘Lady, gentlemen, I propose the following . . .’

It immediately went quiet, and even Mr Freyby looked up from his book, peering curiously at Foma Anikeevich over the top of his spectacles.

‘Our gentlemen, unfortunately, are not on good terms with each other. That could be bad for the cause. Let us therefore agree that at least we servants will act together. We shall keep each other informed and protect His Majesty and Their Highnesses against making mistakes. Insofar as it lies in our power.’

That was how he spoke – simply and wisely.

At this point my assistant Somov stuck his head into the servants’ parlour and pressed his hand to his heart as he apologised: ‘Afanasii Stepanovich, gentlemen, I beg your pardon, but Her Highness is asking for Mademoiselle Declique.’

Then he bowed and withdrew.

‘Ah, yes, Monsieur Ziukin,’ the governess said to me. ‘Poor Xenia does not know. What can I tell her?’

‘Do not tell Her Imperial Highness about Lind’s threats,’ I said sternly, somewhat annoyed by such familiarity in speaking of Xenia Georgievna. ‘Simply tell Her Imperial Highness that the kidnappers are demanding a ransom and the money will be paid.’

I believe that she left the room feeling duly chastened.

A few minutes later I had reason to regret Mademoiselle’s absence, because Mr Freyby suddenly parted his lips to utter a brief phrase.

‘What was that you were so good as to say?’ Foma Anikeevich asked.

‘He say “A spy”,’ Masa translated – apparently he understood English.

‘A “spy” in what sense?’ I asked, puzzled.

The Briton looked hopefully at Foma Anikeevich, who suddenly frowned pensively.

‘Mr Freyby is quite right. Theremust have been a spy at work. The kidnappers were too well informed about your movements yesterday. I do not wish to upset you, Afanasii Stepanovich, but it is very probable that Doctor Lind’s spy is one of your staff. Can you vouch for your servants?’

I felt the colour drain from my face.

‘Not completely. I can vouch for those from St Petersburg. All of them apart from Lipps – the one who is serving us – are old and well-tried colleagues. But I have a temporary staff of nine here and I don’t know the local staff at all; Somov is in charge of them.’

‘Then extreme caution is required,’ Luka Emelyanovich declared solemnly.

Foma Anikeevich spoke to the Englishman: ‘Thank you, Mr Freyby, for a most pertinent comment.’

The English butler shrugged in incomprehension, and I remembered that I had the lexicon he had givenmeinmypocket.

I looked up the words and said: ‘Tenk yoo, Meester Freebee.’

He nodded and stuck his nose back into his Trollope (I had looked in the library and now knew that this was the name of an English novelist).

For a while we carried on discussing the means by which we could maintain confidential contact with each other, and then the meeting was interrupted by Somov sticking his head in at the door again. From the expression on his face I realised that something out of the ordinary had happened.

I excused myself and went out into the corridor.

‘Look here,’ Somov said, whispering for some reason, and held out a white envelope. ‘This has been found. The doorman picked it up. No one knows where it came from.’

I took the envelope and read the message in capital letters that was written on it in pencil:AVEC LES COMPLIMENTS DE DR LAND.

It cost me an incredible effort of will to maintain my composure.

‘Where was it found?’

‘On the porch, right outside the doors. The doorman went out to see if the rain had stopped, and it was lying there.’

That means it could have been left from the outside, I thought. They climbed over the fence and left it, very simple. That made me feel better, but only a little.

Of course, I did not open the envelope, although it was not sealed – I took it up to the first floor. If Somov had not been watching me, I would have run.

Before entering the small drawing room, I stopped and listened at the door. I always do this, but not in order to eavesdrop, only to avoid interrupting any important conversations or intimate moments by knocking.

I heard Kirill Alexandrovich’s thick, angry voice speaking in the room: ‘Nicky, howcan you be such a blockhead! Youmustn’t say anything about concessions during the audience with Li Hunchan! Under no circumstances! You’ll ruin everything!’

I could not help shaking my head and thinking that things could not go on like this for much longer. The sovereign was by no means as weak-willed as Their Highnesses imagined. And he had a vindictive streak.

I knocked loudly, handed over the message and immediately went back out into the corridor.

I had to wait no more than five minutes. Georgii Alexandrovich looked out and beckoned to me with his finger. His expression seemed rather strange to me.

The sovereign and the other grand dukes also looked at me in the same way – as if they were seeing me for the first time or, perhaps, as if they had only just noticed that there was a man by the name of Afanasii Stepanovich Ziukin living in the world. I did not like it at all.

‘You know French, don’t you?’ Kirill Alexandrovich asked. ‘Here, read this.’

I took the unfolded sheet of paper with a certain degree of trepidation and read:

Your terms are accepted, but the payment for each day of deferment is one million. Tomorrow at three in the afternoon your intermediary must drive along the Garden Ring Road alone, in an open carriage, from Kaluga Square in the direction of Zhitnaya Street. The money must be in a suitcase, in twenty-five-rouble treasury notes. I shall regard the slightest sign of foul play from your side as releasing me from all commitments and shall return the prince to you as promised – in pieces.

One final thing. The intermediary must be the servant who was in the park: with a wart on his cheek and the doggy sideburns.

Yours sincerely,

Doctor Lind

The first response I felt was resentment. Favoris de chien?¹ How dare he call my well-groomed whiskers that?

It was only afterwards that the full, frightening meaning of the message struck me.

¹Doggy sideburns.