‘Pardon?’
‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ he assured her. ‘I was just thinking, I too may have to tear myself away from your delightful company.’
‘Your Highness!’ she protested. ‘Surely you would not be so ungallant as to leave a young woman alone amongst a strange gathering?’
‘What about your husband?’
‘He seems to have disappeared.’ More than an hour had passed since she had seen Killigrew slip out of the compound in the captain-lieutenant’s uniform, but if she had been expecting to hear an explosion since then she had been disappointed. And she had not liked the look on Nekrasoff’s face just before he left. When a man like Nekrasoff smiled, it boded no good for someone. She wondered if she should give Zhirinovsky the slip and try to find Killigrew to make sure he was all right. But while a man in the uniform of an officer could slip out of the compound without attracting attention to himself, a woman sneaking about the naval base in a ball gown was going to arouse the suspicions of everyone she passed. And besides, Killigrew was counting on her to rescue Stålberg and Lindström, and so far she had not even found out where Nekrasoff was holding them.
Zhirinovsky was looking at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘You know, you seem strangely familiar to me. I cannot help but think we have met before.’
‘Now that you mention it, I’ve been thinking I’ve seen you somewhere before too.’ She frowned. ‘Ambrosius took me with him on a business trip to St Petersburg last week… I remember going to a ball on a steam yacht with some of my husband’s colleagues.’
‘Ah, yes… you were with Admiral Rykord that day, I seem to recall.’
‘He was kind enough to take me under his wing. Ambrosius could not come, he suffers terribly from mal de mer. He was even sick on the ferry that brought us out here tonight.’
‘Have you been married long?’ Zhirinovsky asked her.
‘Oh, about two years. And four years before that, to my first husband.’
‘Your first husband?’
She nodded. ‘He died of cholera four years ago.’ She knew it was dangerous to extemporise a back story for the identity she had assumed; but she felt she was on fairly safe ground here: everything would be over, one way or another, before Zhirinovsky had a chance to check her background. ‘Ambrosius was very good to me in the difficult time that followed.’
‘Ah… so that’s why you married him.’
‘I’m not sure I follow you.’
‘You felt indebted to him.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Do you have any children?’
She shook her head. ‘So far, our union has not been blessed.’
Zhirinovsky laughed. ‘Children are no blessing, believe me! I have two boys of my own, both grown up now. One of them is in Sevastopol, serving with Black Sea fleet.’
‘So you are married too?’
‘Alas, no. My own wife departed this life some years ago.’
She looked around the compound as if still searching for her husband. ‘Oh, this is just too thoughtless of Ambrosius, wandering off and leaving me alone like this!’ she protested, on the verge of tears.
‘There, there, madame!’ Zhirinovsky put a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Console yourself. I’m sure he cannot have gone far. It seems he is not so attentive after all,’ he could not resist adding.
She grimaced. ‘I confess his tenderness to me waned soon after our marriage… but you don’t want to hear of my troubles…’
‘To the contrary, madame… may I call you Ottilia?’
‘Please.’
‘To the contrary, Ottilia; what kind of friend would I be, were I to refuse you a shoulder to cry on?’
‘You are too kind, sir.’
‘Please, call me Samya.’
‘To tell the truth, I have… oh! I know it is wrong of me to even think it, and yet… I have doubts about my husband…’
‘You think he is unfaithful to you?’
‘Is it wrong of me to be so distrusting?’
‘I’m sure you are mistaken, Madame. And yet…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing, nothing. Forget I spoke.’
‘No, please, Highness… Samya… go on.’
‘It is just… well, perhaps I am unduly cynical, yet if I am it is because I never cease to be amazed by how many men with perfectly beautiful wives like yourself can be tempted to stray from the path of propriety. And when Colonel Nekrasoff was here I thought I saw… but no, it is nothing. I’m sure it was perfectly innocent.’
‘Samya, if you know something – and if you consider yourself my friend – then I demand that you tell me all!’
‘It is nothing. I only saw the man you arrived with talking to Gravina Hornfeldt. I’m certain her reputation is wholly without foundation. You must know how disrespectfully men talk of beautiful young widows, I’m sure…’
Aurélie burst into tears and buried her head in Zhirinovsky’s breast with a wail. ‘Oh, I knew it! That beast! He cares nothing for me! I know he keeps at least one mistress, though he thinks I know nothing of it.’
Looking about, embarrassed at the stares they were getting from the people around them, Zhirinovsky steered Aurélie out of the citadel and gave her his silk handkerchief while she had a good snivel.
‘Oh, look at me!’ she said at last. ‘Getting all histrionic again. I’ve made a proper spectacle of myself, haven’t I?’
‘Quite understandable, under the circumstances.’
‘Oh, I must look an absolute fright, I know. Is there somewhere around here I can compose myself?’
‘My quarters are not far from here…’
‘Prince Zhirinovsky! Whatever can you be thinking?’
‘Forgive me, madame. I was not thinking at all. You are right: it would be quite unseemly. The matrosy’s latrines are further away, but perhaps it would be more fitting… although I should warn you, the facilities there are somewhat, shall we say, basic?’
'Matrosy’s latrines? I’m not sure I care for the sound of that. I mean, it is not as if there is anyone around to see us; and you being an admiral – and a prince – even if they did, I’m sure no one would even dream of accusing a man as respectable as you of any impropriety.’
Smiling triumphantly, he led her across the bridge back to East Svarto and they made their way to the small house he had been allocated as his residence while he was based at Sveaborg.
‘My bedroom is upstairs,’ he told her. ‘You will find all you need to make your toilette, I think… I will make drinks for us. You look as though you could do with one.’
‘Oh, Samya! You are such a gentleman!’
Chapter 22
A Guest of the Tsar
Killigrew felt the stinging slap of water in his face and for a moment he was back on the Sea Devil with water slopping in around the rim of the hatch. Except there was an immense pain in his wrists and shoulders he could not account for. He was standing on his own two feet through no volition of his own; or rather, was hanging from his wrists with his feet resting on the ground. He tried to stand to take the pressure off his arms.
His skull throbbed, particularly in the forehead. He remembered something hitting him there when the bullet ricocheted all around the interior of the Sea Devil. He was trying to work out what had happened when it hit him with almost as much force as the bullet had.
He had contrived to shoot himself in the head.
And, apparently, lived to tell the tale.
How many times had the bullet spanged off the iron sides of the underwater boat? Enough to rob it of nearly all its impetus, so it had been all but spent by the time it struck him. A lucky escape, but the worst kind of luck: he had failed in his mission, and now he was a prisoner.
He opened his eyes to find Ryzhago standing over him with an empty bucket in one hand, dripping water. With the other meaty fist he punched Killigrew in the stomach.
It was a punch to make the commander wish he were still unconscious
. He wanted to double up, to hug the pain within him as if it was a wounded wild animal squirming in his arms, but his chains prevented him. Looking up, he saw his wrists were manacled, the chain between them looped over a hook dangling from a series of chains and pulleys suspended from the girders below the ceiling.
‘Easy, Ryzhago!’ an urbane, all-too-familiar voice chided the big man mockingly. ‘After all, we owe Commander Killigrew our gratitude. It was thanks to him we were able to arrest the ringleaders of the Wolves of Suomi.’
Killigrew twisted his head to see Colonel Nekrasoff standing to his left, an amused smile playing on his face. ‘Let me down and give me a gun,’ Killigrew slurred thickly, ‘and we’ll call it quits.’
Nekrasoff chuckled. ‘Still as flippant as ever, even at the end of it all. I would have expected nothing less. Although I must confess, you impressed even me with your resourcefulness this time. Successfully penetrating Sveaborg’s defences, coming within an ace of sinking the Sea Devil… I’ll admit, this time you have been most troublesome. But as I told you back in London, you were out of your depth – in over your head.’
Looking around the room he was in, Killigrew found himself back in the gunboat shed. The Sea Devil was in its dock, a couple of matrosy standing on its back working stirrup pumps to empty it of water. A naval lieutenant emerged from the hatch, followed by a civilian whom Killigrew recognised as Bauer from the magic-lantern portrait Brunel had shown him. Both of them were wet to the knees.
As the two of them approached, Nekrasoff turned to the civilian. ‘Well, Herr Bauer?’
‘We can have the water pumped out of her within the hour.’
Nekrasoff turned back to Killigrew. ‘Sergeant Zubakoff was able to fother the viewing port long enough to get the Khimera back to the surface,’ he explained triumphantly. ‘You see, your efforts have been quite in vain—’
‘Now hold on a minute!’ protested the lieutenant. ‘Pumping the water out of the Khimera is just the beginning. We’ve still got to replace the glass in the port.’
Killigrew grinned at Nekrasoff. ‘You were saying?’
Ryzhago punched him in the stomach again. Through the waves of nausea that swamped him, he heard Nekrasoff tell Fedorovich curtly: ‘Then replace it!’
‘It isn’t easy to cut glass of that thickness,’ grated Bauer. ‘It will take time.’
‘How long?’ Nekrasoff demanded impatiently.
‘A day or two,’ said Bauer.
‘A matter of hours, if we work through the night,’ said Fedorovich. Bauer shot him a dirty look.
The colonel took out his fob watch. ‘It is now… seven minutes past midnight. You have until four o’clock to get the Khimera operational once more. Otherwise your next assignment will be the Siberian salt mines!’
‘But the sun rises just after four!’ protested Fedorovich. ‘You’re not suggesting I take the Khimera out when it’s light?’
‘Then you have an added incentive to get it repaired as soon as possible, haven’t you?’
Fedorovich and Bauer hurried out to get to work cutting a new circle of glass for the viewing port.
Nekrasoff turned to Ryzhago and indicated Killigrew. ‘Bring him.’
Ryzhago paid out one end of a pulley, lowering the hook from which Killigrew hung from the block and tackle above so he could unhook his manacles. As Nekrasoff headed for the door, Ryzhago took Killigrew by the arm and steered him out after the colonel. The big man gave him a shove in the back that sent him staggering after Nekrasoff. Caught off balance, and still woozy from Ryzhago’s gut-punches, Killigrew stumbled against the wall of the gunboat shed. With his hands shackled in front of him, he had to twist to catch the worst of the collision against his shoulder.
The first part of the journey was carried out in a haze of pain and nausea. Killigrew could not tell how long it lasted or how far they walked. As they crossed a wooden bridge, the new sound of their footsteps on the planks after the scrunch of gravel helped to snap him out of his daze, and he realised he should be trying to remember the route so he could find his way back to the gunboat shed later.
Assuming he had a ‘later’ to look forward to.
They reached a T-junction with a large blockhouse in front of them. Nekrasoff and Ryzhago took Killigrew left, and then turned right, down the side of the blockhouse with a second building on their left. On the far side they crossed a triangular courtyard framed by buildings on two sides, passing between them into a second courtyard beyond which he could see the crenellated walls of the star-shaped citadel at the centre of Vargon. There was an optical telegraph tower off to their left, and they walked out through a gateway and between the open area beyond before the battlements of the citadel.
Off to the left he could see the starlight glittering on the Kronbergsfjärden, which meant they were headed south. Having had a chance to view Sveaborg from a distance, Killigrew was starting to get his bearings now. There was another wooden bridge ahead, spanning the narrow channel between Varfon and the next island, which he knew must be Gustafvard. Two forts that looked as if they had been constructed over the past few months stood on the shore to his right, and behind them a solid-looking structure with the word ‘Magazin’ in bold Cyrillic script on a sign above the main door. Killigrew knew he was gaining invaluable knowledge of Sveaborg’s layout if he ever got a chance to get back to the fleet before the bombardment started; except that the iron-roofed building looked so solidly constructed it was difficult to imagine any mortar shell falling hard enough to penetrate the roof before it exploded. Better yet, let him get inside the magazine for a few moments with a match, and he would make the Russians rue the day they had declared war on Commander Kit Killigrew!
But Nekrasoff and Ryzhago clearly had no intention of letting him get anywhere near the magazine. They marched him across the bridge on to Gustafvard, the southern-most of the five islands. Unlike East Svarto and Vargon, which were relatively built up, Gustafvard was comparatively open, apart from the artillery batteries down the west coast and a large, star-shaped fort at the south-eastern corner. Once inside the fort, they entered a labyrinth of interlocking glacis, ravelins and blockhouses, where the paths became a narrow defile between the battlemented ramparts that towered above them.
They passed through a low but wide archway that became a tunnel, half built out of brick and half carved out of the rock. Killigrew saw light at the far end, but before they reached it Nekrasoff stopped abruptly by a recessed doorway and produced a bunch of keys, unlocking the stout, iron-bound door hidden in the shadows. He stepped through, and Ryzhago thrust Killigrew after him, down a set of stone steps carved out of the rock until they came to a small subterranean chamber at the bottom. A candle guttering in a lanthorn cast dim illumination over the iron door in the far wall. Nekrasoff banged on it with his fist. A grille opened in the door and a pair of piggy eyes peered out at them.
‘Another prisoner for you,’ Nekrasoff told him.
The eyes took in Killigrew and Ryzhago before the grille was slammed shut, and then the door was opened and Ryzhago thrust the prisoner through into an antechamber lit by two oil-lamps hanging from the ceiling. There were two soldiers in there, both husky men, the fellow who had opened the outer door for them and another, who was already in the process of unlocking one of the iron doors at the far end of the room.
A face appeared at the grille in another iron door further along. ‘You there!’ it called in French – the man’s native tongue, if Killigrew was any judge. ‘Our enseigne de vaisseau is an officer of the French navy, and as such should not be billeted with common matelots…’
The other gaoler smacked a truncheon against the bars of the grille, making the Frenchman jump back. ‘Your precious enseigne will be billeted in conditions fitting his rank when he gives his parole not to try to escape, and not before!’
Killigrew was thrust through into a dank, unlit chamber that stank of urine. In the light that filtered through from the antechamber, he could just make out St�
�lberg and Lindström, hanging spread-eagled from the walls in chains, their feet not quite touching the straw-strewn floor. Nekrasoff kept Killigrew covered with a revolver from a safe distance while Ryzhago removed his manacles and then pinned him, spread-eagled, against the wall, while one of the guards locked Killigrew into the fetters. Once he was secured, the guard went out again, and chains clanked in the stout wall behind him as he was hauled off his feet. He gasped at the agony of the shackles on his already-chafed wrists, and the strain on his shoulders.
‘I want you to exercise extreme caution with this one,’ Nekrasoff told the guards. ‘He may not look much, but he’s tough and extremely resourceful. Don’t listen to anything he tells you, and if you must let him down – which I strongly advise against – make sure you keep this door locked and two muskets levelled at him the whole time until he’s chained up again – and be sure the men with the muskets keep their distance!’
‘We know how to look after prisoners,’ one of the gaolers muttered truculently.
‘Perhaps, but you’ve never had a prisoner like this one before. Blink and he’ll kill you. And if you let him escape, you’d best pray he kills you in the process, because he’ll offer you a swifter, kinder death than I will if I come back in a few hours to discover he’s gone.’ Nekrasoff turned to Killigrew. ‘If it were up to me, I’d put a bullet in your skull myself and be done with it – I’d rather have you dead than risk your escaping while I try to think up a more imaginative death for you – but unfortunately Admiral Matyushkin demands that we observe the proper formalities while we’re guests in his naval base. You are to be shot at dawn.’
‘I don’t suppose there’s any point demanding to see the British consul?’
Nekrasoff smiled. ‘Farewell, Mr Killigrew. The next time we meet, it will only be so I can watch you being put out of my misery.’ He marched out with Ryzhago, and the guards slammed and locked the door behind them, plunging the room into darkness.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 43
