by Boris Akunin
A respectable institution. Only one word for it: Europe. They're renting the first floor in the building of the Tutelary Council for the Care of Orphans. The queue goes all the way down the stairs, people of every rank and class, even quite a few from the nobility. I stood there for forty minutes, Erast Petrovich, before I reached the counter. Russian people are certainly responsive to an appeal for charity.'
Fandorin twitched one sable eyebrow vaguely. 'So you think it's all above board? Not a whiff of any swindle?'
'Oh no, not at all! There's a constable at the door, with a shoulder belt and sword. He salutes everyone respectfully. When you go in, there's a counter, and behind it there's a very modest, pretty young lady with a pince-nez, all in black, with a white headscarf and a cross hanging round her neck. A nun or a lay sister, or perhaps just a volunteer - you can't tell with those foreigners. She takes the money and lets you spin the drum. She speaks fluent Russian, only with an accent. You spin it yourself and take the ticket out yourself - it's all fair and square. The drum's made of glass, with little folded pieces of cardboard in it - blue for twenty-five roubles and pink for fifty roubles - that's for those who want to contribute more. No one took any pink ones while I was there, though. You open up the ticket right there, in front of everyone. If you haven't won, it says: "May the Lord save you." Here, look.' Anisii took out a handsome piece of blue cardboard with Gothic lettering on it. And anyone who's won anything goes in behind the counter. There's a desk in there, with the chairman of the lottery sitting at it, a very impressive, elderly clerical gentleman. He confirms the prizes and does the paperwork. And the young lady thanks the people who don't win most cordially and pins a beautiful paper rose on their chests as a sign of their charity'
Anisii took out the paper rose that he had carefully tucked away in his pocket. He was thinking of taking it to Sonya; she would be delighted.
Erast Petrovich inspected the rose and even sniffed it. 'It smells of "Parma Violets",' he observed. An expensive perfume. You say the young lady is modest?'
'She's a really nice girl,' Tulipov confirmed. And she has such a shy smile.'
'Well, well. And do people sometimes win?'
'I should say so!' Anisii exclaimed! When I was still standing in the queue on the stairs one fortunate gentleman came out who looked like a professor. All flushed, he was, waving a piece of paper with seals on it - he'd won an estate in Bohemia. Five hundred acres! And this morning, they say some official's wife drew a tenement house actually in Paris. Six storeys! Just imagine that kind of luck! They say she had quite a turn; they had to give her smelling salts. And after that professor who won the estate, lots of people started taking two or three tickets at once. Who minds paying twenty-five roubles a time for prizes like that? Ah,
I didn't have any money of my own with me, or I'd have tried my luck too.'
Anisii squinted up dreamily at the ceiling, imagining himself unfolding a piece of cardboard and finding ... What would it be? Well, for instance, a chateau on the shores of Lake Geneva (he had seen the famous lake in a picture - oh, it was so beautiful).
'Six storeys?' the Court Counsellor asked, off the subject. 'In Paris? And an estate in B-Bohemia? I see. You know what, Tulipov: you come with me, and I'll play this lottery of yours. Can we get there before it closes?'
So that was his cool, god-like self-control - and he said the gambler's passion was unknown to him.
They barely got there in time. The queue on the stairs had not grown any shorter; the lottery was open until half past five, and it had already struck five o'clock. The clients were feeling nervous.
Fandorin walked slowly up the steps until he reached the door and then said politely: 'Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I'd just like to take a look - out of curiosity'
And - would you believe it! - he was allowed through without a murmur. They'd have thrown me out, for sure, thought Anisii, but they'd never think of doing that to someone like him.
The constable on duty at the door, a fine, upstanding young fellow with a dashing curl to his ginger moustaches, raised his hand to his grey astrakhan cap in salute. Erast Petrovich strolled across the spacious room divided into two by a counter. Anisii had taken a look round the lottery office the last time, and so he immediately fixed his envious gaze on the spinning drum. But he also kept glancing at the pretty young lady, who was just pinning a paper flower on the lapel of a distraught student and murmuring something consoling.
The Court Counsellor inspected the drum in the most attentive manner possible and then turned his attention to the chairman, a fine-looking, clean-shaven gentleman in a single-breasted jacket with an upright collar. The chairman was clearly bored and he even yawned briefly once, delicately placing his open hand over his mouth.
For some reason Erast Petrovich pressed a single white-gloved finger to the plaque bearing the legend 'Ladies and gentlemen who buy a pink ticket are allowed through ahead of the queue' and asked: 'Mademoiselle, could I please have one pink ticket?'
'Oh, yes, of course; you are a real Christian,' the young lady said in agreeably accented Russian, at the same time bestowing a radiant smile on this benefactor and tucking away a lock of golden hair that escaped from under her headscarf as she gladly accepted the fifty-rouble note proffered by Fandorin.
Anisii held his breath as he watched his chief casually reach into the drum, take hold of the first pink ticket he came across between his finger and thumb, pull it out and unfold it.
'It's not empty, surely?' the young lady asked in dismay. Ah, I was quite certain that you were sure to win! The last gentleman who took a pink ticket won a genuine palazzo in Venice! With its own mooring for gondolas and a front porch for carriages! Perhaps you would like to try again, sir?'
With a porch for carriages. My, my' said Fandorin, clicking his tongue as he examined the little picture on the ticket: a winged angel with its hands folded in prayer and covered with a piece of cloth that was obviously intended to symbolise a shroud.
Erast Petrovich turned to face the queue of customers, doffed his top hat respectfully and declared in a loud, resolute voice: 'Ladies and gentlemen, I am Erast Petrovich Fandorin, His Excellency the Governor-General's Deputy for Special Assignments. This lottery is hereby declared under arrest on suspicion of fraud. Constable, clear the premises immediately and do not admit anyone else!'
'Yes, Your Honour!' the constable with the ginger moustaches barked, without the slightest thought of doubting the resolute gentleman's authority.
The constable proved to be an efficient fellow. He flapped his arms as if he were herding geese and drove the agitated, clamouring customers out through the door with great alacrity. No sooner had he rumbled 'If you please, if you please, you can see what's happened for yourselves' than the room cleared and the guardian of order drew himself erect at the entrance, ready to carry out the next order.
The Court Counsellor nodded in satisfaction and turned towards Anisii, who was standing there with his mouth hanging open at this unexpected turn of events.
The elderly gentleman - the pastor or whoever he was - also seemed to be quite perturbed. He stood up, leaned over the counter and froze, blinking goggle-eyed.
But the modest young lady reacted in an absolutely amazing manner. She suddenly winked one blue eye at Anisii from behind her pince-nez, ran across the room and leapt up on to the broad window sill with a cry of 'Hup-la!' Then she clicked open the catch and pushed the window open, letting in the fresh, frosty smell from the street outside.
'Hold her!' Erast Petrovich shouted in a despairing voice.
With a sudden start, Anisii went dashing after the agile maiden. He reached out a hand to grab her skirt, but his fingers simply slid across the smooth, resilient silk. The young lady jumped out of the window and Tulipov slumped across the window sill, just in time to see her skirts expand gracefully as she glided downwards.
The first floor was high above the ground, but the dare-devil jumper landed in the snow with the agility of a
cat, without even falling. She turned round and waved to Anisii, then lifted her skirt high to reveal a pair of shapely legs in high galoshes and black stockings, and went dashing off along the pavement. A moment later, and the fugitive had slipped out of the circle of light cast by the street lamp and disappeared into the rapidly gathering twilight.
'Oh, my gosh!' said Anisii, crossing himself as he scrambled up on to the window sill. He knew as a matter of absolute certainty that he was about to hurt himself, and he would be lucky just to break a leg, but it could easily be his back. He and Sonya would make a fine pair then: the paralysed brother and the idiot sister - a wonderful couple.
He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing to jump, but the Chief's firm hand grabbed hold of him by the coat-tails.
'Let her go,' saidFandorin, watching the young lady's receding figure with amused bewilderment. 'We have the main culprit here.'
The Court Counsellor walked unhurriedly across to the chairman of the lottery, who threw up his arms as if in surrender and without waiting for any questions, started jabbering: 'Your, Your Excell— I just accepted a small emolument ... I have no idea what is going on, I just do what they tell me ... There's the gentleman over there - ask him ... the one pretending to be a constable.'
Erast Petrovich and Tulipov turned in the direction indicated by the trembling hand, but the constable was not there. There was just his uniform cap, swaying gently to and fro on a hook.
The Chief dashed towards the door, with Anisii following him. Once they saw the dense, agitated crowd on the stairs, they knew there was no way they could force their way through it. Fandorin grimaced violently, rapped himself on the forehead with his knuckles and slammed the door shut.
Meanwhile Anisii was examining the astrakhan cap that the fake constable had left behind. It was just an ordinary cap, except that that there was a playing card attached to its lining: a coyly smiling page-boy wearing a plumed hat, under the sign of the suit of spades.
'But how on earth -? How did you -?' Anisii babbled, gazing in amazement at his infuriated chief. 'How did you guess? Chief, you're an absolute genius!'
'I'm not a genius, I'm a blockhead!' Erast Petrovich retorted angrily. 'I fell for it, hook, line and sinker! I went for the puppet and let the leader get away. He's cunning, the rogue, oh, he's cunning ... You ask me how I guessed? I didn't have to guess. I told you I never lose at any game, especially if it's a matter of luck. When the ticket didn't win, I knew straight away it was a swindle.' He paused for a moment and added: And anyway, who ever heard of a Venetian palazzo with a porch for carriages? There aren't any carriages in Venice, only boats ...'
Anisii was about to ask how the Chief had known that the
Jack of Spades was behind everything, but before he could, the Court Counsellor roared in fury: 'Why are you still examining that damned cap? What's so interesting about it?'
CHAPTER 4
One Good Turn Deserves Another
If there was one thing he simply could not stand, it was the mysterious and inexplicable. Every event, even the sudden appearance of a pimple on your nose, had its own prehistory and immediate cause. Nothing in the world ever happened just like that, entirely out of the blue. But suddenly here, by your leave, an excellently planned, elegant and - why indulge in false modesty? - brilliant operation had simply collapsed for no obvious reason whatever.
One half of the study door swung open slightly with a repulsive squeak and Mimi's cute little face appeared in the crack. Momos grabbed a leather slipper off one foot and flung it furiously, aiming at that golden fringe - keep out; don't interrupt when I'm thinking. The door hastily slammed shut. He ruffled up his hair furiously, sending curling papers flying in all directions, clamped his teeth on his chibouk and started scraping the copper nib of his pen across a sheet of paper.
The accounts looked abominable.
At an approximate calculation, the earnings from the lottery at the end of the first day came to seven or eight thousand. The till had been confiscated, so that was a complete loss.
Over the week, the lottery ought to have gathered speed at an increasing rate, bringing in sixty thousand at the most conservative estimate. It couldn't have been dragged out any longer than that - some impatient owner of a villa in Paris would have gone to admire his winnings and seen that the object concealed beneath the 'flaming heart' drawers - that is, under the shroud - was not at all what he had thought it was. But they could have gone on gathering honey for a week at least.
So their unearned profit came to sixty thousand, and that was the minimum minimorum.
And what about the non-recoverable expenditure on the preparations? It was a mere trifle, of course. Renting the first floor, printing the tickets, equipment. But this was a matter of principle - Momos had been left with a loss!
Then, they'd arrested the stooge. Admittedly he didn't know a thing, but that was bad; it was untidy. And he felt sorry for the old fool, an actor from the Maly Theatre who had taken to drink. He'd be feeding the fleas in the lock-up now for his miserable thirty roubles advance.
But he felt sorriest of all for his magnificent idea. A monumental lottery - it was so delightful! What was the worst thing about those overplayed swindles called lotteries? First the client paid his money, and then he had to wait for the draw. A draw, note, that he himself wouldn't see. Why should he take anyone's word that everything was honest and above board? And how many people actually liked to wait? People were impatient -everybody knew that.
This had been different, however: pick out your own beautiful, crisp little ticket to heaven with your own fair hand. The little angel entices you, seduces you: have no doubts, dear Mr Blockhead Idiotovich. What could there possibly be behind this alluring little picture but absolute delight for you? Unlucky? Well, never mind; why don't you try again?
The details had been important, of course - so that it wouldn't be just an ordinary charitable lottery but a European, evangelical lottery. The Orthodox believers weren't over-fond of members of other creeds, but where money was concerned they trusted them more than their own - that was a well-known fact. And organising it not just anywhere, but at the Tutelary Council for the Care of Orphans! And advertising it in the Police Gazette! In the first place, it was a paper the people of Moscow loved and enjoyed reading, and in the second, who would ever suspect anything crooked there? And then there was the constable at the entrance!
Momos tore off his curling papers and tugged a lock of hair down from his forehead to his eyes - the ginger colour was almost gone. He only had to wash it once more and it would be fine. It was a pity that the ends of his hair had faded and split -that was from dying it so often. There was nothing to be done about that; it was part of his profession.
The door squeaked again and Mimi said quickly: 'Pussy cat, don't throw anything. A man's brought what you told him to.'
Momos roused himself. 'Who? Sliunkov?'
'I don't know; he's repulsive, hair slicked over a bald patch. The one you cleaned out at whist at Christmas.'
'Send him in!'
The first thing Momos always did when he was preparing to conquer new territory was acquire a few useful people. It was like going hunting. When you came to a rich hunting ground, you took a look around, checked the forest paths, spied out convenient hidey-holes, studied the habits of the game; and in Moscow Momos had his own informants in various key positions. Take this Sliunkov, for instance: a man with a lowly position, a clerk from the secret section of the Governor's chancellery, but he could be so useful. He'd come in handy in that business with the Englishman, and he was just what was needed now. Reeling in the clerk couldn't possibly have been any easier: Sliunkov had lost three and a half thousand at cards and now he was bending over backwards to get his IOUs back.
The man who came in had sleeked-down hair and flat feet, with a document folder under his arm. He spoke in a half-whisper, constantly glancing round at the door: Antoine Bonifatievich' - he knew Momos as a French citizen - 'in the name of Ch
rist the Lord, this is a hard-labour offence. Be quick, don't ruin me. I'm shaking in my shoes.'
Momos pointed without speaking: Put the folder on the desk, his gesture said. Then he waved his hand, still without speaking: Now wait outside the door.
The folder bore the following heading:
Deputy for Special Assignments
ERAST PETROVICH FANDORIN
At the top left there was a stamp:
Office of the
Governor-General of Moscow. Secret records
And then, written by hand: 'Top secret'. There was a list of documents pasted inside the cardboard cover:
Service record Confidential references Personal information
Well now, let's take a look at this Fandorin who's appeared to taunt us.
Half an hour later the clerk left on tiptoe with the secret file and a cancelled IOU for five hundred roubles. For a good turn like that, Momos could have handed back all his IOUs, but he might still come in useful again.
Momos strolled thoughtfully round the study, toying absent-mindedly with the tassel of his dressing gown. So that was him: an unmasker of conspiracies and master of secret investigations? He had more orders and medals than a bottle of champagne. A Knight of the Japanese Orders of the Chrysathemums - that was remarkable. And he'd distinguished himself in Turkey, and Japan, and travelled on special assignments to Europe. Yes indeed, a serious gentleman.
What had it said there in the references? - 'Exceptional abilities in the conduct of delicate and secret matters, especially those requiring skills of investigative deduction.' Hmm. He would like to know how the gentleman had deduced the nature of the lottery on the very first day.
Well never mind, my scary Japanese wolf; it still remains to be seen whose tail will end up in the trap, Momos warned his invisible opponent. But he shouldn't put his entire trust in official documents, no matter how secret they might be. The information on Mr Fandorin needed to be supplemented and 'fleshed out'.
