The Coronation

10 May

‘Roll up when them bells is clattering,’ said Code, jerking his head in the direction of the church. ‘Stump ordered the meet for midnight sharp. Righty-ho, Polack, be seeing you.’

Fandorin waddled away, and the Japanese jabbed me in the back and gestured to indicate that it was time to get down off the roof.

I will not tell you how I climbed down the drainpipe in the total darkness. It is best not to remember such things. I skinned my hands, ripped my long-suffering culottes wide open and finally jumped down straight into a puddle, but the important thing is that I did not break my arms or legs, for which, O Lord, I thank Thee.

We were unable to hire a cab for a long time, even after we left Khitrovka. Once they got a good look at the three of us, the night-time cabbies simply lashed on their horses without saying a word and disappeared into the night. Moreover, I got the impression that the drivers’ doubts were aroused, not so much by Fandorin and Masa, as by my own tattered and spattered personage.

Finally we got a cab – when we had already reached the KitaigorodWall. All the way back I was worried that Erast Petrovich would refuse to pay again, and I didn’t have a kopeck on me. But no, this time he did pay, and in fact more generously than he need have done, as if he were paying for both journeys at once.

In my condition it seemed inappropriate to go in through the gates and I suggested, with some embarrassment, that we should climb over the fence again, although, God knows, in the day just past I had done more than enough climbing over fences and roofs. However, Fandorin glanced at the brightly lit windows of the Hermitage glimmering through the trees and shook his head.

‘No, Ziukin, we’d better go in through the gates. Otherwise we’ll probably get shot as well.’

It was only then I realised that light in the windows at such a late hour was a strange and alarming sign. There were two men in civilian clothes standing beside the usual gatekeeper. And, on looking more closely, I noticed that there were indistinct figures in the gardenonthe other side of the railings. Gentlemen from the court police, there was nobody else they could possibly be. And that could only mean one thing: for some reason the sovereign had come to visit the Hermitage in the middle of the night.

After long explanations at the entrance which concluded with Somov being sent for and the humiliating confirmation of my identity (the expression on my Moscow assistant’s face was a sight to behold when I appeared before him in such a state) we were admitted, and as we walked along the drive to the house I saw several carriages. Something out of the ordinary was clearly going on.

In the hallway there was another ordeal in store for me: I came face to face with the governess.

‘Mon Dieu!’ she exclaimed, fluttering her eyelashes, and in her agitation forgetting our agreement to speak to each other only in Russian. ‘Monsieur Ziukin, qu’est-ce qui s’est passé? Et qui sont ces hommes? C’est le domestique japonais?’¹

‘It is I, Mademoiselle,’ Fandorin said with a bow. ‘Afanasii Stepanovich and I have been taking a brief tour of the sights of Moscow. But that is of no importance. Please tell me how your meeting went. Did you see the boy?’

That was when I learned the circumstances under which Her Majesty had lost her sapphire collar.

‘It’s very bad that the gendarmes went off in pursuit,’ Erast Petrovich said anxiously. ‘They should not have done that under any circumstances. Describe the c-carriage for me.’

Mademoiselle wrinkled up her forehead and said: ‘Black, dusty, a window with a rideau . . . The wheel had eight rais . . . Spikes?’

‘Spokes,’ I prompted.

‘Yes, yes, eight spokes. On the door – a brass handle.’

‘That’s right!’ I exclaimed. ‘The handle on the door of the carriage that I saw was in the form of a brass ring!’

Fandorin nodded. ‘Well then, they have used the same carriage twice. Lind is too sure of himself and has too low an opinion of the Russian police. And that’s not a bad thing. Describe the man who took the reticule from you.’

‘Tall, brown eyes. His nose a little crooked. His moustache and beard ginger, but I think they were not real, glued on. Outre cela. ² . . .’ Mademoiselle thought. ‘Ah, oui! A mole on the left cheek, just here.’ And she touched my cheek with her finger, making me start.

‘Thank you, that is something at least,’ Fandorin told her. ‘But what is going on here? I saw the carriages of the tsar and the grand dukes in front of the house.’

‘I don’t know,’ Mademoiselle said plaintively, switching completely into French. ‘They don’t tell me anything. And they all look at me as I were to blame for everything.’ She took her elbows in her hands, gulped and said in a more restrained voice, ‘I think something terrible has happened. An hour ago a package was delivered to the house, a small one, and everyone started running around, and the phones started ringing. Half an hour ago His Majesty arrived, and Grand Dukes Kirill and Simeon have just arrived too . . .’

At that moment Colonel Karnovich glanced out into the hallway with his brows knitted and his lips tightly compressed.

‘Fandorin, is that you?’ he asked. ‘I was informed you had arrived. What sort of idiotic masquerade is that? Still playing the gentleman detective? They’re waiting for you. Please be so good as to make yourself decent and and get up to the large drawing room immediately. And you too, madam.’

Erast Petrovich and Mademoiselle walked away, but Karnovich looked me over from head to foot and shook his head fastidiously.

‘What do you look like, Ziukin? Where have you been? What was Fandorin up to? It’s most opportune that he should have taken you into his confidence. Come on, tell me; you and I are from the same department.’

‘It was all pointless, Your Honour,’ I said, without knowing why. ‘We just wasted our time. Who is serving His Majesty and Their Highnesses?’

‘The sovereign’s valet and Simeon Alexandrovich’s butler.’

Oh, how shameful!

Never before had I washed and changed with such speed. Just ten minutes later, after putting myself in order, I quietly entered the drawing room and thanked Foma Anikeevich and Dormidont with a bow.

There were no drinks or hors d’œuvres on the table – only ashtrays and a rather small brown paper package that had already been opened. Just to be on the safe side I took a tray from the side table and started setting out glasses on it, and in the meantime I stole a quick glance at the faces of those present, trying to guess what had happened.

The sovereign was nervously smoking a papyrosa. Kirill Alexandrovich was wearily rubbing his eyelids. The governor general was drumming his fingers on the table. Georgii Alexandrovich was gazing fixedly at the package. Pavel Georgievich looked unwell – his lips were trembling and there were tears in his eyes. But I found Mademoiselle Declique’s appearance most frightening of all. She was sitting with her face in her hands, her shoulders were trembling, and there were convulsive sobs escaping through her fingers. I had never seen her cry before, in fact I had never even imagined that it was possible.

The high police master was sitting apart from the other men, beside the impassive Karnovich, and constantly mopping his forehead and bald temples with a handkerchief. He suddenly hiccuped, flushed bright crimson and muttered: ‘I beg your pardon.’

Then he immediately hiccuped again. In the total silence the indecorous sound was distinctly audible.

I suddenly felt very afraid. So afraid that I swayed on my feet. Oh Lord, surely not?

‘May I take a look?’ Fandorin asked, breaking the silence.

Erast Petrovich had evidently entered the drawing room a minute or two before me. He had changed into a severe English frock coat and even found time to put on a tie.

What was it that he wanted to look at? The latest letter from Lind?

‘Yes,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said morosely. He had evidently taken on the role of chairman out of force of habit. ‘Feast your eyes on it.’

Fandorin took a small bundle, about the size of a fruit drop, out of the package. He unwrapped it, and I saw some small object, pink andwhite, inside it. Erast Petrovich quickly extracted a magnifying glass from his inside pocket and bent down over the table. The expression on his face was as sour as if he had bitten a lemon.

‘Is this d-definitely His Highness’s finger?’

The silver tray slipped out of my hands, the glasses were smashed to smithereens. Everybody started and looked round at me, but I didn’t even apologise – I barely managed to grab hold of the corner of the table in order to stop myself falling.

‘What kind of stupid question is that?’ Simeon Alexandrovich growled angrily. ‘Of course it’s Mika’s little finger! Who else’s could it be?’

Foma Anikeevich walked silently across to me and supported me by the elbow. I nodded to him gratefully, trying to indicate that it would soon pass.

‘Listen to what it says in the letter,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, and I noticed that there was a sheet of paper lying in front of him.

The grand duke put on his pince-nez and read out the message which, like the previous ones, was written in French.

Gentlemen, you still do not seem to have realised that I am not joking.

I hope that this little parcel will convince you of the seriousness of my intentions. The severed finger is the punishment for your people’s repeated violation of our agreement. The next time there is any foul play, the boy’s ear will be cut off.

Now concerning our business. For the next payment I am expecting you to deliver the diamond bouquet with a spinel from the collection of the empress. The governess must be at mass in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour from three o’clock in the afternoon. Alone, naturally.

If she is shadowed, you have only yourselves to blame for the consequences.

Yours sincerely,

Doctor Lind

What astounded me most of all was how well-informed the villain was about Her Majesty’s coffret. The small diamond bouquet with a spinel was one of the genuine masterpieces of the imperial collection. It had become the property of the crown as part of the dowry of the bride of Pavel Petrovich, the future Emperor Paul I. This great masterpiece of eighteenth-century jewellery work was valued not so much for the size and purity of the stones of which it was composed as for its sheer elegance. To my mind there was no more beautiful jewel in the entire Diamond Room collection.

‘Oh Lord, poor Alice,’ the emperor said miserably. ‘She is suffering so badly over the loss of the neckband—’

One ought perhaps to have sympathised with His Majesty, especially bearing in mind the the temperament of the tsarina, but at that moment I was quite unable to feel pity for anyone apart from poor little Mikhail Georgievich.

‘We have all had our say, Fandorin,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich, rather brusquely interrupting the sovereign. ‘What do you think? It’s clear now that you were right. Lind is an absolute monster: he will not stop at anything. What are we to do?’

‘Ah, poor little Mika,’ said the tsar, hanging his head disconsolately.

‘We all feel sorry for Mika, of course,’ said Simeon Alexandrovich, striking his fist on the table, ‘but you, Nicky, ought to be feeling sorry for yourself. If the world finds out that some crook has kidnapped your nephew during the coronation of the Russian tsar and is slicing him up like salami—’

‘Sam, for heaven’s sake!’ Georgii Alexandrovich roared in a voice like thunder. ‘You’re talking about the fate of my son!’

‘I’m talking about the fate of our dynasty!’ the governor general answered in kind.

‘Uncle Sam! Uncle Georgie!’ His Majesty cried, raising his hands to heaven in a gesture of conciliation. ‘Let us listen towhat Mr Fandorin has to say.’

Erast Petrovich picked the package up off the table and turned it this way and that.

‘How was it delivered?’

‘Like the previous messages,’ said Kirill Alexandrovich. ‘By ordinary post.’

‘And again there is no stamp,’ Fandorin said pensively. ‘Has the postman been questioned?’

Colonel Karnovich replied: ‘Not only has he been questioned, but all three postmen who deliver the municipal mail to the Hermitage by turns have been under surveillance since yesterday afternoon. They have not been seen doing anything suspicious. Furthermore, the mailbags with the post sent from the Central PostOffice to this postal district are constantly under observation by plain-clothes police. Nooutsiders came close to the bag during the journey from Myasnitskaya Street to Kaluzhskaya Street or later, after the postman set out on his round. We don’t know where Lind’s messages come from. It’s a real mystery.’

‘Well then, until we can solve it, this is what we must do,’ Erast Petrovich said morosely. ‘Give him the bouquet. That is one. No attempts to follow Lind’s people. That is two. Our only hope lies in Mademoiselle Declique’s powers of observation – fortunately, they are very keen. That is three. I have no other recommendations to make. The slightest indiscretion by the police now, and you will not receive the boy’s ear but a corpse and an international scandal. Lind is furious, that much is obvious.’

As one man, everybody turned to look at the governess. She had stopped crying and was no longer hiding her face in her hands. Her features seemed frozen to me, as if they were carved out of white marble.

She said quietly, ‘Je ferai tout mon possible.’³

‘Yes, yes,’ the sovereign pleaded. ‘Please, do try. And Alice and I will pray to the Almighty. And we will start a fast immediately. According to ancient ritual that is the right thing to do before a coronation . . .’

‘Excellent, everyone will make the best contributions they can.’ Kirill Alexandrovich laughed dismally. ‘Colonel Lasovsky must be removed from command of the search.’ (At these words the high police master hiccuped even more loudly than previously, but he did not apologise any more.) ‘The responsibility will be returned to you, Karnovich, but this time no rash moves.

Let everything be as Fandorin said. You will move into the Hermitage temporarily and run the search from here. There are too many visitors at the Alexandriisky Palace. Ziukin, find the colonel some sort of room and run a phone line to it. That’s all. Let’s go home. We all have a hard day tomorrow and you, Nicky, have to receive the ambassadors. Your bearing must be absolutely irreproachable.’

After the exalted guests had left, I continued serving tea to Their Highnesses for a long time, and many tears were shed – mostly by Pavel Georgievich, but Georgii Alexandrovich also wiped his fleshy cheeks with his cuff more than once, and as for me, I went completely to pieces. On two occasions I was obliged to hurry out of the drawing room in order not to upset the grand dukes even more with the sight of my crooked, tear-stained face.

Some time after three in the morning I was plodding along the corridor in the direction of my room when I came across Mr Masa in a very strange pose outside Fandorin’s door. He was sitting on the floor with his legs folded under him and his head nodding drowsily.

When I stopped in amazement, I heard muffled sobs coming from inside the room.

‘Why are you here and not inside?’ I asked. ‘Who is in there with Mr Fandorin?’

A terrible suspicion made me forget all the other shocks of the day.

‘Pardon me, but there is something I must tell Mr Fandorin,’ I declared resolutely, taking hold of the door handle, but the Japanese rose nimbly to his feet and blocked my way.

‘Not arrowed,’ he said, fixing me with his little black eyes. ‘Genterman cry. Suffering much for ritter boy. Cannot rook. Is shamefur.’

He was lying. I realised immediately that he was lying! Without saying another word, I ran up to the first floor and knocked at Xenia Georgievna’s door. There was no answer. I cautiously opened the lock with my master key. The room was empty. And the bed had not been disturbed.

Everything went hazy in front of my eyes. She was down there, alone with that heartbreaker!

Oh Lord, I prayed, guide me and show me what I must do. Why have you visited such trials on the house of Romanov?

I hurried to the doorkeepers’ room, where I had installed Colonel Karnovich only an hour earlier after laying a telephone line from the hallway.

The head of the court police opened the door to me wearing nothing but his nightshirt and without his usual tinted spectacles. His eyes proved to be small and piercing, with red eyelids.

‘What is it, Ziukin?’ he asked, screwing up his eyes. ‘Have you decided to tell me what your friend is up to after all?’

‘Her Highness is spending the night in Mr Fandorin’s room,’ I announced in a whisper. ‘I heard her crying. And I am afraid . . . that she went there of her own accord.’

Karnovich yawned in disappointment.

‘That is all very racy of course, and as head of the court police it is my business to know with whom the young ladies of the imperial family spend the night. However, you could have told me about it in the morning. Believe it or not, Ziukin, I had gone to bed to get a bit of sleep.’

‘But Her Highness has a fiancé, Prince Olaf! And, apart from that, she is a virgin! Colonel, it may still not be too late to prevent this!’

‘Oh no,’ he said, yawning again. ‘Interfering in grand princesses’ affairs of the heart is more than my life’s worth. They don’t forgive my kind for that sort of indiscretion. And as for being a virgin, I expect she was, but she’s got over that now,’ Karnovich said with a crooked smile. ‘Everyone knows it’s a short step from weeping to consolation, and that Fandorin of yours has a considerable reputation as a ladykiller. But don’t you worry, the prince won’t lose a thing. He’s marrying the House of Romanov, not the girl. Virginity is a load of bunk. But what is not a load of bunk are these sly tricks of Fandorin’s. I’m very concerned about our very own Pinkerton’s maverick activities. If you want to help me and help the sovereign at the same time, tell me everything you know.’

And so I told him – about Khitrovka and about Stump, and about the bandits’ gathering the next day.

‘Bosh,’ Karnovich commented succinctly when he had heard me out. ‘A load of bosh. Which was just what I expected.’

Sleep was entirely out of the question. I walked up and down the corridor of the first floor, wringing my hands. I was afraid that I mightwake Georgii Alexandrovich with my tramping, but at the same time in my heart that was what I wanted. Then His Highness would have asked what I was doing there and I could have told him everything.

But this was a petty and unworthy hope. After what the grand duke had been through that day, I could not add this to his burdens. And so I stopped walking about and sat down on the landing.

At dawn, when the newborn sun timidly extended its first rays across the gleaming parquet, I heard light steps on the stairs, and I saw Xenia Georgievna walking up, wrapped in a light lace shawl.

‘Afanasii, what are you doing here?’ she asked, not so much in surprise, more as if she didn’t think our meeting like this at such an unusual hour was of any great importance.

Her Highness’s face was strange. I had never seen it look like that before – as if it were completely new.

‘How incredible all this is,’ Xenia Georgievna said, sitting down on one of the steps. ‘Life is so strange. The horrible and the beautiful side by side. I’ve never felt so unhappy or so happy before. I’m a monster, aren’t I?’

Her Highness’s eyes and lips were swollen. The eyes – that was from her tears. But the lips?

I simply bowed without saying anything, although I understood the meaning of her words very well. If I had dared, I would have said: ‘No, Your Highness, it’s not you who is the monster, but Erast Petrovich Fandorin. You are only a young, inexperienced girl.’

‘Good night, Your Highness,’ I said eventually, although the night was already over, and went to my room.

I slumped down in an armchair without getting undressed and sat there blankly for awhile, listening to the dawn chorus of birds whose names I did not know. Perhaps they were nightingales or some kind of thrushes? I had never known much about such things. I went on listening and fell asleep without realising it.

I dreamed that I was an electric light bulb and I had to illuminate a hall full of waltzing couples. From my position up on high I had an excellent view of the gleaming epaulettes, glittering diamond coronets and sparkling gold embroidery on the uniforms. There was music playing, and the echoes of many voices washing about under the high vaulted ceiling, merging into a single, indistinct rumbling. Suddenly I saw two dancing couples collide. Then another two. And another two. Some people fell over, and some of them were taken by the arms and helped up, but the orchestra kept playing faster and faster, and the dancers never stopped circling even for a second. Suddenly I realisedwhat the problem was. I was not coping with my job – my light was too dim, that was what was causing the turmoil. Panic-stricken, I strained as hard as I could to burn brighter, but I failed. In fact the twilight in the hall was growing thicker and thicker with every second that passed. Two resplendent couples flew straight towards each other, spinning as they went, and they could not see that a collisionwas inevitable. I did not know who theywere, but the respectful way in which the other couples moved aside to make way for them suggested that they were no ordinary guests but members of the royal family. I made an absolutely incredible effort that set my thin glass shell tinkling, strained with all my might and a miracle happened: I and the world around me were suddenly flooded with a blinding light that illuminated everything. The intense bliss I experienced in that magical moment set me trembling, I cried out in rapture – and woke up.

I opened my eyes and immediately squeezed them shut again to keep out the brilliant sunlight thatmust have reached my face at just that second.

The final peals of my chimerical rapture slowly gave way to fright: the bright disc was so high in the sky that the hour had to be late. In any case, breakfast time must certainly be over.

I jumped to my feet with a gasp, then remembered that I had been excused from all domestic duties – Somov was performing them for the time being. Then I listened and realised how quiet the house was.

Well, naturally. Everyone had gone to bed so late that probably no one had got up yet.

I took awash and freshened up my clothes, thenwalked round all the places where work should be going on to make sure that the servants at least were not sleeping and the table had already been laid for breakfast.

I went out into the yard to see if the carriages were ready for driving out and then turned into the garden to pick some tulips for Xenia Georgievna and pansies for Mademoiselle Declique.

I ran into Mr Fandorin on the lawn. Or rather, I saw him first and instinctively ducked behind a tree.

Erast Petrovich took off his white shirt and performed some complicated gymnastic movements. Then suddenly he leapt up and hung from the lowest branch of a spreading maple tree. First he swung to and fro and then he started doing something completely fantastic, flying from branch to branch with deft, confident movements of his arms and hands. He made a complete circuit round the maple tree in this way, and then repeated the procedure.

I could not tear my eyes away from his lean, well-muscled body, and I felt a quite untypical feeling of burning hatred seething helplessly inside me. Oh, if only I were a magician, I would have turned that man into some kind of monkey, then he could gambol around in the trees as much as he liked.

Turning away with an effort, I sawthe curtainwas drawn back at one of the windows on the ground floor – I thought it was Mr Carr’s room. Then I saw the Englishman himself. He was following Fandorin’s gymnastic routine with a fixed stare: his lower lip was gripped between his teeth, his fingers were gently stroking the window pane and there was a dreamy expression on his face.

The day that had started so late dragged on at an agonising, leisurely pace. I tried to occupy myself with work around the house and preparations for the imminent receptions, routs and ceremonies, but very soon abandoned all important matters, because they needed to be tackled seriously, with total concentration, and my thoughts were infinitely far removed from discussing a menu, polishing silver tableware and airing ceremonial uniforms and dresses.

I did not even have a chance to exchange a few words with Mademoiselle, because Karnovich was with her all the time. He kept on trying to get her to understand something about the next meeting with the kidnappers until at two o’clock the governess was put into a carriage and driven away – I only saw her from behind as she walked down the steps of the porch with her head held high. She was carrying a handbag which, I presumed, contained the Lesser Diamond Bouquet, that beautiful creation of the court jeweller Pfister.

After Mademoiselle left, I sat on a bench in the company of Mr Freyby. Only a little earlier, I had come out consumed by anxiety to walk round the palace and had spotted the English butler on the lawn. On this occasion he was without his book, simply sitting there with his eyes closed, luxuriating in the sunshine. Mr Freyby looked so calm and peaceful that I stopped, overcome by a sudden envy. There is the only person in this entire insane house who radiates normality and common sense, I thought. And I suddenly felt an overwhelming desire simply to enjoy the fine day with the same appetite for it as he had, to sit for a while on a bench warmed by the sun, turn my face to catch the light breeze, and not think about anything at all.

In some mysterious way the Briton must have guessed my desire. He opened his eyes, raised his bowler hat politely and gestured to me, as if to say: ‘Would you care to join me?’ And why not? I thought to myself. At least it will calm my nerves.

I thanked him (‘Tenk yoo’) and sat down. It was really wonderful there on the bench. Mr Freyby nodded to me, I nodded to him, and this ritual made a perfect substitute for conversation, which in my exhausted state would probably have been beyond my powers.

After the carriage took Mademoiselle Declique away to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour on Volkhonka Street, I became agitated again and began squirming about on the bench, but the butler took a flat leather-bound flask out of his voluminous pocket, unscrewed its silver top, poured some amber liquid into it and held it out to me. He himself made ready to drink directly from the mouth of the flask.

‘Whisky,’ he exclaimed, noticing my indecision.

I had heard a lot about this British beverage, but I had never had occasion to sample it. I should tell you that I never take strong spirits, and only use less-strong drink – a glass of Malvasen – twice a year, at Easter and on Georgii Alexandrovich’s name day.

However, Freyby sipped his drink with such evident enjoyment that I decided to try it. I threw my head back and drank it down, in the way that Lieutenant Endlung deals with his rum.

My throat felt as if it had been stripped raw by a file, tears sprang to my eyes and I was completely unable to breathe. I looked round in horror at the perfidious Englishman, and he winked approvingly at me, as if he were delighted with his cruel trick. Why on earth do people drink horrid things like that?

But on the inside I began to feel a warm, sweet sensation, my anxiety disappeared and was replaced by a quiet sadness – not for myself but for people who turned their lives into an absurd confusion and then suffered torment as a result.

We enjoyed a glorious silence. Here is the personwho can give me some advice about Xenia Georgievna, I suddenly thought. It is obvious that he is a level-headed individual who is never at a loss in any situation. No one would envy him the master that he has, and yet he maintains such an air of dignity. However, it was absolutely impossible for me to talk to the Englishman about such a ticklish subject. I heaved a sigh.

And then Freyby turned his head slightly towards me, opened one eye and said: ‘Live your own life.’ He took out the dictionary and translated: ‘Zhit’ . . . svoy . . . sobstvenniy . . . zhizn’.’

After that he leaned back contentedly, as if the subject were exhausted, and closed his eyes again.

These strangewordswere spoken in the tone of voice in which good advice is given. I started wondering what living one’s own life might mean. ‘Live your own life.’ In what sense?

But then my gaze fell on the flower clock and I saw it was already three, and I shuddered.

May the Lord Almighty preserve Mademoiselle Declique.

An hour passed, then two, three. And still the governess did not return. Karnovich stayed by the telephone the whole time, but none of the calls was the one he wanted.

There were three telephone calls from the Alexandriisky Palace on behalf of the tsar and two from Kirill Alexandrovich. And then shortly after six Simeon Alexandrovich arrived with his adjutant. He declined to enter the house and ordered cold fruit punch in the arbour. Cornet Glinsky, who was accompanying the governor general, was about to join His Highness, but the grand duke told him rather sharply that he wished to be alone, and the young man was left waiting outside the railings with the air of a beaten dog.

‘Howare your Englishmen getting on?’ Simeon Alexandrovich asked when I served the fruit punch. ‘They probably feel completely abandoned because of . . .’ He gestured vaguely with one hand. ‘Because of all this. How is Mr Carr?’

I did not reply immediately to this question. Only a little earlier I had heard the sounds of a rather noisy argument between Lord Banville and his friend as I was walking down the corridor.

‘I expect, Your Highness, that His Lordship and Mr Carr are upset by what has happened.’

‘Mmm, well, that is not hospitable.’ The grand duke flicked a cherry-red drop off his pampered moustache and drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I tell you what, brother, invite Mr Carr to join me here. There is something I wish to discuss with him.’

I bowed and set off to carry out his instructions. I was struck by the tragic expression on the face of Prince Glinsky – drooping eyebrows, pale lips, a despairing look in the eyes. Ah, sir, if I only had your problems, I thought.

Mr Carr was sitting in front of the mirror in his room. He had a lacy net over his remarkable yellowhair, and his scarlet dressing gown with dragons was wide open across his white hairless chest. When I conveyed His Highness’s invitation in French, the Englishman turned pink and asked me to say that he would be there immediately. ‘Tout de suite’⁴ extended in practice to a good quarter of an hour, but Simeon Alexandrovich, well known for his impatience and irritability, waited without a murmur.

When Mr Carr came out to go to the arbour, he looked a real picture. The rays of the sun glittered and sparkled on his impeccable coiffure, the collar of his blue shirt supported his rouged cheeks exquisitely, and the snow-white dinner jacket with a green forget-me-not in the buttonhole was simply dazzling.

I do not knowwhat His Highness and the beautiful gentleman spoke about, but I was shocked when Mr Carr responded to some comment from Simeon Alexandrovich by laughing and striking him across the wrist with two fingers.

I heard convulsive sobbing and on turning round saw Prince Glinsky dashing away, kicking out his long legs in uhlan breeches just like a little girl.

My God, my God.

Mademoiselle returned at six minutes to eight. As soon as Karnovich, who had been waiting together with me on the porch, saw the long-awaited carriage at the end of the drive, he immediately sent me to get Fandorin, so that I only had a brief glimpse of the familiar white hat behind the broad figure of the driver.

I trudged along the corridor to Erast Petrovich’s door and was about to knock on it, but the sounds coming from inside literally paralysed me.

It was the same kind of sobbing that I had heard the night before.

I could not believe my ears. Could Xenia Georgievna possibly have taken leave of her senses so far that she was visiting here during the day? I recalled that I had not seen Her Highness even once that morning – she had not come to either breakfast or lunch. What on earth was going on?

After glancing around, I pressed my ear to the keyhole with which I was already so familiar.

‘Enough of that n-now, enough,’ I heard Fandorin say with his distinctive stammer. ‘Later you will be sorry for speaking to me so frankly.’

A thin, faltering voice replied: ‘No, no, I can see from your face that you are a noble man. Why does he torment me so? I shall shoot this detestable British flirt and then shoot myself! In front of his very eyes!’

No, it was not Xenia Georgievna.

Reassured, I knocked loudly.

Fandorin opened the door to me. Simeon Alexandrovich’s adjutant was standing at the window with his back to me.

‘Please come to the drawing room,’ I said in a calm voice, looking into those hateful blue eyes. ‘Mademoiselle Declique has returned.’

‘I waited for at least forty minutes in that big half-empty church, and no one approached me. Then an altar boy came up and handed me a note with the words: “I was told to give you this.”’ Mademoiselle pronounced the last phrase in Russian.

‘Who told him, did he say?’ Karnovich interrupted.

‘Where is the note?’ said Simeon Alexandrovich, holding out his hand imperiously.

The governess looked in confusion from the colonel to the governor general, as if she did not know who to answer first.

‘Don’t interrupt!’ Georgii Alexandrovich roared menacingly.

Pavel Georgievich and Fandorin were also present in the drawing room, but they did not utter a single word.

‘Yes, I asked who the note was from. He said: “From a man” and walked away.’

I saw Karnovich write something down in a little notebook and I guessed that the choirboy would be found and questioned.

‘They took the note away from me later, but I rememberwhat it said word for word: “Go out into the square, walk along the boulevard and round the small church.” The text was in French, and it was written in cursive handwriting, not printed. The writing was fine and it slanted to the left.’

Mademoiselle looked at Fandorin, and he gave her a nod of approval. My heart was wrung.

‘I did what it said. I stood beside the church for about ten minutes. Then a tall broad-shouldered man with a black beard and a hat pulled down over his eyes nudged me with his shoulder as he was walking by, and when I glanced round, he gestured inconspicuously for me to follow him, and I did. We walked up to the top of the side street. There was a carriage waiting there, but not the same one as yesterday, although it was black too, with its blinds tightly closed. The man opened the door and helped me in, feeling my dress as he did so. He was obviously looking for weapons.’ She shuddered in disgust. ‘I said to him: “Where is the boy? I won’t go anywhere until I have seen him.” But he seemed not to have heard me. He shoved me in the back and locked the door from the outside, and then he climbed onto the coach box – I could tell that from the way the carriage leaned over – and we set off. I discovered that the windows were not only covered with blinds but also boarded up on the inside so that there was not a single chink. We drove for a long time. In the darkness I could not check my watch, but I think that more than an hour went by. Then the carriage stopped. The driver got in, closed the door behind him and tied a piece of cloth tight over my eyes. “There’s no need; I won’t peep,” I told him in Russian, but once again he took no notice of what I said. He took me by the waist and set me down on the ground, and after that I was led by the hand, but not very far – only eight steps. Rusty hinges squeaked and I suddenly felt cold, as if I had entered a house with thick stone walls.’

‘Now as much detail as possible,’ Karnovich ordered sternly.

‘Yes, yes. They made me go down a steep stairway, which was quite short. I counted twelve steps. There were several people there, all men – I caught the smell of tobacco, boots and a male perfume. An English eau de cologne. I can’t remember what it’s called, but you could ask Lord Banville and Mr Carr; they use the very same one.’

‘The Earl of Essex,’ said Fandorin. ‘The most fashionable fragrance of the season.’

‘Mademoiselle, did you see Mika?’ Pavel Georgievich asked.

‘No, Your Highness.’

‘What do you mean?’ Georgii Alexandrovich exclaimed. ‘They didn’t show you my son, but you gave them the bouquet anyway?’

This reproach seemed outrageously unjust to me. As if Mademoiselle could have defied an entire gang ofmurderers! But then I could sympathise with the feelings of a father too.

‘I did not see Mika, but I heard him,’ Mademoiselle said quietly. ‘I heard his voice. The boywas very close to me. Hewas sleeping and rambling in his sleep – he kept repeating: “Laissez-moi, laissez-moi,⁵ Iwon’tevereverdoitagain. . .”.’

She quickly took out her handkerchief and blew her nose loudly, seeming to take an awfully long time over this simple procedure. The room began dissolving in front of my eyes, and I did not immediately realise that this was caused by my tears.

‘Well then,’ Mademoiselle continued in a flat voice, as if she had a cold. ‘Since itwas definitely Michel, I decided the condition had been met and gave them the bag. One of the men said to me in a loud whisper: “It didn’t hurt him, the finger was amputated under an injection of opium. If the game is played fairly, there will be no more need for such extreme measures. Tomorrow be at the same place at the same time. Bring the Empress Anna’s diamond clasp. Repeat that.” I repeated it: “The Empress Anna’s diamond clasp.” That was all. Then they led me back to the carriage, drove me around for a long time and put me out beside some bridge or other. I caught a cab and drove to the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, and the carriage was waiting for me there.’

‘Have you told us everything?’ Georgii Alexandrovich asked after a pause. ‘Perhaps you missed out a fewsmall details. Think.’

‘No, Your Highness . . . Except perhaps . . .’ Mademoiselle screwed up her eyes. ‘Michel never used to talk in his sleep. I suspect that yesterday they gave the child a very strong dose of opium and he has still not woken up.’

Pavel Georgievich groaned, and I involuntarily clenched my fists. We had to free Mikhail Georgievich as soon as possible, before that diabolical Lind ruined his health completely.

‘The Empress Anna’s diamond clasp! This villain has refined taste. And what has the perspicacious Mr Fandorin to say to all of this?’ Simeon Alexandrovich enquired sarcastically, addressing the retired deputy for special assignments directly for the first time that I could recall.

‘I shall be ready to present my reasoning following Mademoiselle Declique’s trip tomorrow,’ Erast Petrovich replied, without even turning his head towards His Highness. And then he added in a low voice, as if he were speaking to himself: ‘A whisper? That is interesting. I beg Your Highnesses’ permission to withdraw . . .’ He clicked open the lid of his Breguet. ‘It is already nine o’clock, and I have certain pressing business this evening.’

Yes, yes, I remembered. The gathering of the one-handed bandit’s gang.

Pretending that I wished to empty an overflowing ashtray, I overtook Fandorin in the corridor.

‘Your Honour,’ I said, forcing myself to smile beseechingly, ‘take me with you. I won’t be a burden to you, and I might even come in useful.’

I found this popinjay profoundly repulsive, but such minor inconveniences had no importance just at that moment. I knew that I would not get to sleep that night – I would be hearing the pitiful voice of Mikhail Georgievich tossing and turning in his delirium. It was quite possible that Karnovich was right, and Fandorin’s planwas absolute nonsense, but itwas certainly better than doing nothing.

Erast Petrovich looked searchingly into my eyes.

‘Well now, Ziukin. I realised yesterday that you are no coward. Come with us if you like. I hope you understand what a dangerous business you are getting involved in.’

The Japanese and Iwaited round the cornerwhile Fandorinwent on ahead alone.

Peeping cautiously round, I saw Erast Petrovich, once again dressed as a ‘toff’, strolling down the middle of the road with that bouncy stride. There was a crescent moon shining in the sky, as sharp and crooked as a Turkish yataghan, and the nighttime Khitrovka street was lit up as brightly as if the street lamps were burning.

Fandorin went down to the basement doors, and I heard him ask: ‘Code, are you there?’

I could not make out the answer.

‘I’m Striy, from theWarsaw mob,’ Erast Petrovich declared in a cheerful voice as he approached the sentry, who was invisible from where I was standing. ‘Me and Code are close mates, as tight as tight. Are all your lot here? And has Stump rolled up? Sure, I know the scrip, I know it. Just a moment . . .’

There was an abrupt sound like someone chopping a log of firewood with an axe and Masa pushed me forward: time to go.

We hurried across the empty space and ran down the slope. Fandorin was bending over, examining the door in the gates. A tousle-headed young man was sitting beside him with his back to the wall and his eyes rolled up, opening and closing his mouth like a fish that has been lifted out of the water.

‘A cunning d-door,’ Erast Petrovich said apprehensively. ‘You see that wire? It’s just like in a good shop – when you walk in, the bell rings. But we are modest unassuming individuals, arewe not? We’ll just cut the wire with a knife, like so. Why distract people from their conversation? Especially since it appears that Mr Stump has already arrived or, as they like to say in this beau monde, “rolled up”.’

I could not understandwhy Fandorinwas so very cheerful. My teethwere chattering in excitement (I hope that itwas excitement and not fear), but he was almost rubbing his hands in glee and in general behaving as if we were engaged in some enjoyable, if not entirely decent, form of recreation. I recalled that Endlung had behaved in the same way before he took Pavel Georgievich to some disreputable spot. I have heard that there are people for whom danger is what wine is to a drunkard or opium to the hopeless addict. Evidently the former state counsellor belonged to this class of people. In any case, that would explain a lot about the way he behaved and the things that he did.

Fandorin pushed the door gently, and it opened without a squeak – the hinges must have been well oiled.

I saw a sloping floor illuminated by the crimson reflections of flames. Somewhere down below there was a fire or torches were burning.

We walked down a rather narrow passage for about twenty steps and then Fandorin, who was at the front, flung out his hand. We heard voices echoing hollowly under stone vaults. My eyes grew slightly accustomed to the gloom, and I saw that the passage was formed by two rows of old oak barrels that were half-rotten from age and the damp air.

Erast Petrovich suddenly crouched over and slipped into a gap between the barrels. We followed him.

It turned out that the hugewooden containerswere not standing right up against each other, and the gaps between them formed a kind of a maze. We crept soundlessly along this winding path, maintaining our direction from the flickers of light on the ceiling and the sound of voices that became ever more audible, so that I could already make out individual words, although I did not always understand their meaning.

‘. . . Tomorrow I’ll drill a hole in your bonce if you yap. When I whistle, that’s when you can start crowing.’

Erast Petrovich turned into a narrow opening and stopped moving. Peeping over his shoulder I saw a bizarre and sinister scene.

There was a planking table standing in the middle of a rather wide space, surrounded on all sides by rows of dark barrels. Standing around itwere several iron tripods with burning torches thrust into them. The flames fluttered and crackled and thin plumes of black smoke rose up to the vaulted ceiling.

There were six men sitting at the table, one at the head and five along the other three sides. I could make out the leader better than the others because he was facing in our direction. I saw a coarse, powerful face with a prominent forehead, sharp folds alongside the mouth and a lower jaw that broadened towards the bottom, but it was not the face that caught my attention, itwas the leader’s right arm, lying on the table. Instead of a hand it had a three-pronged fork!

Stump – for there could be be no doubt it was he – thrust his incredible hand into a dish standing in front of him, pulled out a piece of meat and dispatched it into his mouth.

‘No one’s doing no crowing,’ said one of the men siting with his back to us. ‘Are we dumb clucks or what? But at least give us something to be getting on with. What’s the deal? What are we dossing about like this for? I’ve done enough polishing the seat of my pants. Don’t drink any wine, don’t deal any cards. We’re bored to death.’

The others began fidgeting and muttering, demonstrating their clear agreement with the speaker.

Stump carried on chewing unhurriedly, looking at them with his deep-set eyes drowned in the shadows under his heavy brow– I could only see the sparks glittering in them. He allowed his comrades to make their din for a while, then suddenly swung his hand and struck the dish hard with his fork. There was a crack, and the stout clay vessel split in two. Immediately it all went quiet.

‘I’ll give you wine and cards,’ the leader drawled in a low, quiet voice and spat out his half-chewed scrap of meat to one side. ‘The deal here is the once-in-a-lifetime kind, and not in every life either. A big man has put his trust in us. And if any louse here messes it up for me, I’ll hook his chitterlings out with this here fork and make him eat them.’

He paused, and from the motionless figures of the bandits I realised that the threat he had just made was no mere figure of speech but a perfectly literal promise. I felt the goose pimples rising all over my body.

‘No need to frighten us, Stump,’ said the same bandit, obviously the most reckless desperado in the gang. ‘You lay it out straight and clear. Why treat us like lousy mongrels? We’ve hung around on look-out a couple of times and tailed a couple of gulls. What kind of deal is that? We’re wolves, not miserable dogs.’

‘That’s for me to know,’ the head bandit snapped. ‘And you’ll chirp the way I tell you to.’ He leaned forward. ‘This shindy’s the kind it’s best for you not to know about, Axe, you’ll sleep better for it. And what they called us in for is still to come. We’ll show what we can do. And I tell you what, brothers. Once the job’s done, we’ll cut and run.’

‘Out of Khitrovka?’ someone asked. ‘Or out of town?’

‘Eejit! Out of Roossia!’ Stump snapped impressively.

‘What d’you mean, out of Roossia?’ objected the one he had called Axe. ‘Where are we gonna live? Turkishland, is it? I don’t speak their lingo.’

Stump grinned, baring a mouthful of jagged, chipped teeth.

‘That’s all right. Axe, with the loot you’ll have, the Muslims’ll start chatting your lingo. Believe me, brothers, Stump doesn’t make idle talk. We’ll all get so well greased up from this job, every one of you will stay greased all the way to the grave.’

‘But won’t this big man of yours spin us off?’ the same sceptic asked doubtfully.

‘He’s not that kind. The most honest top man in the whole wide world. Compared to him our King is a louse.’

‘What sort of man is he then? A real eagle, I suppose?’

I noticed that Fandorin tensed up as he waited for the bandit boss’s answer.

Stump clearly found the question rather embarrassing. He picked his teeth with his fork as if he was wondering whether to say anything or not. But eventually he decided to answer.

‘I won’t try to bamboozle you. I don’t know. He’s the kind of man who’s not that easy to get close to. His toffs rolled up with him – real eagles they are, you’re no match for them . . . This man doesn’t speak our lingo. I’ve seen him once. In a basement like ours, only smaller and with no light. I tell you, he’s a serious man and what he says, he means. He sat there in the dark, so I couldn’t see his face. Whispered to his interpreter, and he told me everything in our lingo. Our King likes to bawl and shout, but this here is Europe. You can hear a whisper better than a shout.’

Even though this remark came from the lips of an out-andout criminal, I was struck by its psychological precision. It really is true that the less a person raises his voice, the more he is listened to and the better he is heard. The late sovereign never shouted at anyone. And the procurator of the Holy Synod, the all-powerful Konstantin Petrovich, speaks in a quiet murmur too. Why, take even Fandorin – so very quiet, but when he starts to speak, the members of the royal family hang on every word.

‘Oh-ho, that’s mighty. And where was your meet with this man?’

Fandorin half-rose to his feet, and I held my breath. Would he really say?

At that very moment therewas a deafening crash that rumbled and echoed through the stone vaults of the basement and crumbs of stone fell from the ceiling onto the table.

‘Don’t move, you blackguards,’ said a deafening voice, amplified many times over by a speaking trumpet. ‘This is Colonel Karnovich. You are all in our sights. The next bullet is for anyone who even twitches.’

‘Mmmmm,’ I heard Fandorin groan in a pained voice.

The colonel really had made his appearance at a very bad moment, but on the other hand the arrest of the entire gang, especially of Stump himself, was surely bound to open some door leading to Doctor Lind. Why, good for Karnovich. How cunningly he had pretended that the information he received from me was of no interest!

The bandits all turned round, but I had no chance to get a good look at them because Stump shouted: ‘Douse the lights!’ and the robbers all scattered, overturning the tripods as they went.

The cellar went dark, but not for very long at all. A second later, long vicious streaks of fire started hurtling through the air from all sides, and the din that ensued was so loud that I was deafened.

Fandorin pulled on my arm, andwe both tumbled to the floor.

‘Lie still, Ziukin!’ he shouted. ‘There’s nothing to be done now.’

It seemed to me that the firing went on for a long time, occasionally punctuated by howls of pain and Karnovich’s commands.

‘Korneev, where are you? Take your lads to the right! Miller, ten men to the left! Torches, get those torches here!’

Soon rays of light started probing the basement – running over the barrels, the overturned table, two motionless bodies on the floor. The shooting had stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

‘Come out with your hands up!’ Karnovich shouted. ‘You’ve got nowhere to go anyway. The building is surrounded. Stump first!’

‘That’s for you from Stump!’

A tongue of flame spurted out from the far corner and the rays of light instantly darted to that spot. I saw an overturned barrel and above it the silhouette of a head and shoulders.

‘They’ll kill him, the b-blockheads,’ Fandorin hissed in fury.

There was a deafening salvo, and chips of wood went flying off the barrel in all directions, then again and again. No one fired back from the corner any longer.

‘We surrender!’ someone shouted out of the darkness. ‘Don’t fire, chief.’

One at a time, three men came out into the open, holding their hands up high. Two of them could barely stay on their feet. Stump was not among them.

Erast Petrovich stood up and walked out of our hiding place. Masa and I followed him.

‘Good evening,’ Karnovich greeted Fandorin ironically. The colonel was completely surrounded by stalwart young men in civilian dress. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

Without even glancing at the head of the court police, Fandorin walked across to the overturned barrel from behind which a lifeless arm could be seen projecting. He squatted down on his haunches and then immediately got up again.

A large number of men appeared out of nowhere on every side. Some put handcuffs on the bandits who had surrendered, some darted around between the barrels and for some reason some even felt the floor with their hands. The rays of electric light, dozens of them, glided over everything. There was a harsh smell of gunpowder and smoke. For some reason I glanced at my watch. It was seven minutes to twelve, which meant that only sixteen minutes had elapsed sincewe entered the basement.

‘You have ruined everything, Karnovich,’ said Fandorin, halting in front of the colonel. ‘Stump is riddled with bullets, and he was the only one who knew where to find Lind. Where the devil did you spring from, damn you? Have you been spying on me?’

Karnovich looked somewhat embarrassed. He squinted sideways at me and gave no answer, but Fandorin understood anyway.

‘You, Ziukin?’ he said quietly, looking at me, and shook his head. ‘How stupid . . .’

‘Kare da!’ squealed Mr Masa, who was standing some distance away from me. ‘Uragirimono!’

As if it were a dream, I saw him gather speed as he came running towards me, jump high in the air and thrust one foot out in front of him. My vision was obviously working much more rapidly than my thoughts, because I managed to get a very good look at the Japanese shoe (small, made of yellow leather, with a patched sole) as it approached my forehead.

And that was the end of 10 May for me.

¹My God! Mr Ziukin, what has happened? And who are these men? Is this the Japanese servant?

²appart from that.

³I will try my best.

⁴Immediately.

⁵Let me go, let me go.