She Lover Of Death: The Further Adventures of Erast Fandorin

by Boris Akunin

  Lorelei exclaimed passionately: ‘You are right, my radiant boy. This device does belittle the majesty of Death. But there is one thing you have not taken into account. Death is no snob, and he will talk to anyone who is in love with him in a language that she can understand. Let them spin their wheel, what does that matter to you and me?’

  Columbine noticed that Caliban, who envied both of the poetical luminaries and was jealous of their relationship with the Doge, cringed at these words.

  The anatomist Horatio cleared his throat, adjusted his pince-nez and enquired in a businesslike voice: ‘Very well, let us assume that one of us has landed on the skull. Then what? What action, so to speak, is taken after that? Does the lucky winner immediately go dashing off to hang himself or drown himself ? Surely you agree that performing this act requires a certain degree of preparation? But if it is postponed until the next morning, then weakness may stir in a person’s soul. Would it not be an insult to Death and all of us if her Chosen One were to . . . mmm . . . leave her standing at the altar? Pardon me for being so direct, but I am not entirely sure of all our members.’

  ‘Are you . . . Are you alluding to me?’ Petya cried out in a trembling voice. ‘How dare you! Just because I have been in the club for a long time and am still alive, it doesn’t mean that I am avoiding it or playing the coward. I have been waiting for a message from the spirits! And I’m willing to spin the roulette wheel first!’

  Petya’s emotional outburst took Columbine by surprise – she had imagined that the anatomist’s thrust was directed against her. But if the cap fits . . . She had just that moment imagined that she would have to die today, and the thought had been so unbearable that she had started trembling in fear.

  Prospero raised his hand to call for silence.

  ‘Do not be concerned, I have taken care of everything.’ He pointed to the door. ‘Through there, in the study, there is a glass of malmsey. And dissolved in the wine is cyanide, the most noble of poisons. The Chosen One will drain the wedding cup, then walk along the street to the boulevard, sit on a bench, and a quarter of an hour later he or she will fall into a quiet sleep. It is a good way to depart. With no pain and no regrets.’

  ‘That’s a different matter,’ said Horatio, chewing on his lips. ‘In that case I’m in favour.’

  The twins exchanged glances and Guildenstern spoke for both of them: ‘Yes, we like this method better than spiritualism. Mathematical Wahrscheinlichkeit1 is more serious than the voices of the spirits.’

  Someone touched Columbine’s elbow. Turning round, she saw Genji.

  ‘How do you like Prospero’s invention?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘You’re the only one who hasn’t s-said anything.’

  ‘I don’t know. I feel like all the others.’

  It was strange – never before had she felt so alive as during these moments that might be the last before her death.

  ‘Prospero is a genuine magician,’ Columbine whispered excitedly. ‘Who else could fill our souls with this tremulous, all-embracing rapture of existence? “All that threatens ruin is fraught with delight for the mortal heart.” Oh, how true that is! “Perhaps the pledge of immortality”!’

  ‘You mean to say that if your ball lands on the skull, you will d-dutifully drink that lousy muck?’

  Columbine imagined the treacherous wine flowing in a rivulet of fire down her throat and into her body, and she shuddered. And the most terrible thing would be to get through those final fifteen minutes, with your heart still beating and your mind still wakeful, but with no way back, because you are already a living corpse. Who would find the dead body on the bench, and when? And what if it was sitting there slumped over with its eyes goggling and saliva dribbling from its open mouth?

  She imagined it so vividly that it set her lips trembling and her eyelashes fluttering.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Genji whispered, squeezing her elbow to reassure her. ‘You won’t land on the skull.’

  ‘Why are you so sure?’ she asked, offended. ‘Do you think that Death could not choose me? That I am unworthy to be her lover?’

  He sighed.

  ‘Ah indeed, our Russian soil is not yet ready for Mr Prospero’s teachings, that much is clear from basic grammar. What was that you just said? “Her lover”. That smacks of perversion.’

  Columbine realised that he was trying to cheer her up and she attempted to smile, but it came out forced.

  Genji repeated what he had said, speaking in a perfectly serious voice.

  ‘Don’t be afraid. You won’t have to drink poison, because I am certain to land on the p-precious skull.’

  ‘But you’re afraid yourself!’ she guessed, and her own fear immediately receded to make way for gloating. ‘So much for your desperate personality – you’re afraid too! You’re only playing the part of a superman, but actually you’re afraid of the end, just like everyone else.’

  Genji shrugged.

  ‘I t-told you about my special relationship with Fortune.’

  And he walked away.

  Meanwhile everything was ready for the ritual.

  The Doge raised one hand in the air, calling the aspirants to silence. He was holding the small ball between his fore-finger and thumb and it sparkled and flashed like a bright little golden star.

  ‘And so, ladies and gentlemen. Who feels ready? Who is the first?’

  Genji immediately threw up his hand, but his rivals’ response was more energetic.

  Caliban and Rosencrantz, Columbine’s timid admirer, exclaimed in chorus: ‘Me! Me!’

  The bookkeeper glared at his rival as if he wanted to tear him to pieces. But Rosencrantz gave Columbine a haughty smile and was rewarded with a gentle smile of approval.

  Neither they nor Prospero had noticed Genji’s reserved gesture.

  ‘Boy!’ Caliban fumed. ‘How dare you? I’m first! I’m older, and I’ve been a member of the club for longer!’

  But the quiet little German lowered his head like a bull and was obviously not prepared to give way.

  Then Caliban appealed to the Doge.

  ‘What is all this, Teacher? A Russian can’t breathe in his own country any longer! Whichever way you spit, there’s nothing but Germans and Polacks and Yids and Caucasians! And they not only prevent us from living, they even try to jump the queue to the next world! You decide for us!’

  Prospero said sternly: ‘You should be ashamed, Caliban. Surely you do not think that the Eternal Beloved attaches any importance to nonsensical trifles such as nationality or creed? As punishment for your rudeness and impatience you shall be second, after Rosencrantz.’

  The former ship’s bookkeeper stamped his foot angrily, but he didn’t dare to argue.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ Genji put in, ‘but I raised my hand even before these gentlemen put in their bids.’

  ‘This is not an auction at which you can signal with gestures,’ the Doge snapped. ‘You should have stated your intention out loud. You will be third. If, that is, your turn comes.’

  That was the end of the discussion. Columbine noticed that Genji was very annoyed and even slightly alarmed. She recalled the threat he had made the day before to disband the club of ‘Lovers of Death’ and wondered how he could do it. After all, the aspirants didn’t meet here under compulsion.

  Rosencrantz took the ball from the Doge, looked at it closely and suddenly crossed himself. Columbine was so startled by this unexpected gesture that she gasped in compassion. The Baltic German span the roulette wheel and then played a trick that was entirely unlike him: looking straight at his young female sympathiser, he gave the ball a quick kiss before tossing it resolutely on to the rim of the wheel.

  While it was spinning – and it went on for an eternity – Columbine moved her lips in a prayer to Death, Fate and God (she did not know whose) for the boy’s throw not to land in the fatal pocket.

  ‘Twenty-eight,’ Prospero announced dispassionately and everyone sighed in chorus.

  Pale-faced Rosencrant
z declared with dignity: ‘Schade.’2

  He walked away from the wheel. He didn’t look at Columbine any more, evidently feeing that he had already made enough of an impression. And in all honesty, he had. She thought that desperate kiss had made Rosencrantz look terribly sweet. But alas, Columbine’s heart belonged to another.

  ‘Come on, give me that,’ Caliban said impatiently, grabbing the ball. ‘I have a feeling I’m going to be lucky.’

  He spat three times over his left shoulder, span the roulette wheel with all his strength and tossed the little ball so that it went skipping across the pockets and almost flew over the edge.

  Everybody froze as they watched the spinning wheel gradually slow down. When its impetus was spent, the ball landed on the skull! A howl of triumph erupted from the bookkeeper’s chest, but the next moment the little golden sphere tumbled across the dividing line as if attracted by some strange force, and settled in the next pocket.

  Someone giggled hysterically – Columbine thought it was Petya. Caliban stood there as if he had been struck by lightning.

  Then he croaked, ‘I’m not forgiven! I’m rejected!’ And he dashed towards the door, sobbing desolately.

  Prospero sighed and said: ‘As you can see, Death informs us of her will unambiguously. Well now, would you care to try your luck?’

  The question was addressed to Genji, who nodded politely and performed the necessary procedure quickly and efficiently, with no affectation: he span the roulette wheel gently, casually dropped in the ball and then didn’t even watch it, but looked at the Doge.

  ‘The skull!’ squealed the Lioness.

  ‘Ha! That’s quite a trick!’ Gdlevsky declared in a ringing voice.

  Then everyone started shouting and talking at once and Columbine involuntarily groaned: ‘No!’

  She didn’t understand why herself.

  No, perhaps she did.

  This man whom she had only known for such a short time radiated an aura of calm, confident strength. When she was with him the world somehow felt bright and clear, it was if she were transformed from Columbine, who had strayed into the dark wings of the stage, back into the old Masha Mironova. But there was clearly no way back – Genji’s fatal throw was the proof of that.

  ‘Please accept my congratulations,’ Prospero said solemnly. ‘You are a lucky man and we all envy you. Goodbye until tomorrow, my friends. Let us go, Genji.’

  The Doge turned away and walked slowly through into the next room, leaving the doors open.

  Before he followed him, Genji turned towards Columbine and smiled – as if he were trying to comfort her.

  But he failed.

  She ran out into the street, choking on her sobs.

  III. From the ‘Agents’ Reports’ File

  To His Honour Lieutenant-Colonel Besikov

  (Private and confidential)

  Dear Lieutenant-Colonel,

  An entirely new side has been revealed to the story of the ‘Lovers of Death’ and the part played by the Doge in all of these events.

  I am writing this letter at night, with recent impressions still fresh in my mind. I have just returned from the Doge’s apartment, where I was witness to truly astounding events. Oh, how easy it is to be mistaken about people!

  I beg your pardon for a certain degree of incoherence – I am still very excited. Let me try to set everything out in the correct order.

  Today the society resumed its regular meetings, which had been interrupted by the disappearance of the medium. I must confess that I had expected the loss of our Vestal Virgin to throw the Doge into disarray and deprive him of his most dangerous weapon, but he has proved extremely enterprising and inventive. The substitute that he has found for spiritualism is brilliantly simple: a roulette wheel on which one of the divisions is marked with a skull and crossbones. If anyone lands on this grim symbol of death, he has to drink poison prepared by the Doge in person.

  I felt encouraged when I heard all this, since I decided that the man whom I regarded as the devil incarnate had finally abandoned his habit of caution and now it would be possible to catch him red-handed.

  I was lucky. Today, on the very first evening of this game, which is certainly the most hazardous known to mortal man, there was a winner – the very same Stammerer concerning whom I have already had the honour of reporting to you, and whom you, for some reason, found so very interesting. He is a most unusual individual, I have seen and heard enough to be quite sure of that, but how could you know him? A mystery.

  However, I must not deviate from my subject.

  When all the other members had left, I hid in the hallway and then went back into the drawing room, where the candles and the brazier had already been extinguished. It was very helpful that for certain reasons of principle the Doge does not believe in having servants.

  My plan was very simple. I was counting on obtaining direct proof of the Doge’s guilt. To do that, it was sufficient to slip through the dining room, open the door into the study slightly (all the doors in the house are upholstered with soft leather, and so they do not close tightly) and wait for the master of the house to offer the Stammerer the cup of poisoned wine with his own hands. After painful deliberations, I had come to the conclusion that the Stammerer would have to be sacrificed for the sake of the cause – there was nothing that could be done about that. In the final analysis, I reasoned, the life of one man does not outweigh the chance to avert a threat to dozens, or perhaps even hundreds, of immature souls.

  I was going to wait for the Stammerer to drink the poison and go out to die on the boulevard (that was the arrangement reached earlier) and then call the constable who always stands on Trubnaya Square. The death by poisoning would be recorded by a representative of authority, and if the Stammerer had not lost consciousness by the time the policeman appeared, and if he had even a shred of conscience, he would still be able to testify against the Doge, and his testimony would be incorporated in the report. But even without this testimony, I thought, the very fact of the death and my evidence would still be enough. The constable and I would immediately set out for the Doge’s apartment and detain the criminal at the scene of his crime. He would be unlikely to have already washed the glass, and there would still be traces of cyanide on it. And in addition there would be a live witness – me. And also the roulette wheel with the skull.

  You must admit that it was rather a good plan. At the very least, the Doge’s part in everything would have been revealed in a most unattractive light: he had organised a deadly dangerous game at his own home, but he himself did not take part; he had prepared the poison and served it to the victim himself. And there would have been the result of all these actions – a body that was still warm. This is quite obviously a serious criminal offence. At the same time, I had reason to hope that I would be able to persuade two, if not three, of the least convinced ‘lovers’ to give evidence for the prosecution if the case went as far as court proceedings.

  But now let me tell you what actually happened.

  I managed to open the door slightly without making a sound, and since it was quite dark in the drawing room I could not only hear, but also see what was happening in the study without any risk of being discovered.

  The Master was sitting in his chair at the desk with a triumphant, almost majestic air. Glinting on the polished surface of the desk was a crystal goblet, containing a liquid the colour of pomegranate juice.

  The Stammerer was standing by the desk, and so the scene was rather reminiscent of the artist Ge’s picture Peter the Great Questioning the Tsarevich Alexei. How often I have imagined myself as the captive Tsarevich: I stand in front of the formidable Peter, wholly and completely in his power, and my heart is wrung by a sweet feeling in which the awareness that I am absolutely defenceless, the fear of punishment and the hope of paternal mercy are all mingled together. But then, unlike the Tsarevich, the Stammerer was gazing straight at the seated man without the slightest sign of fear. I could not help being amazed at such
presence of mind in a man who was destined to depart from this life in a matter of only a few minutes.

  Neither of them spoke, and the pause seemed to go on forever. The Stammerer was looking hard straight into the Doge’s eyes, and the Doge started to seem a little bewildered.

  ‘I really do feel quite sorry,’ he said, sounding slightly embarrassed, which in ordinary circumstances is not typical of him at all, ‘that this lot has fallen to you.’

  ‘Why so?’ the Stammerer asked in a steady voice. ‘After all, this is the greatest good fortune, is it not?’

  Seeming even more embarrassed, the Doge hastily agreed: ‘Yes, yes, of course. I am certain that all the other seekers – or almost all of them – would be glad to be in your place . . . All I meant to say was that I regret parting with you so soon. You intrigue me, and we still haven’t had a chance for a heart-to-heart talk.’

  ‘Well, then,’ the Stammerer said, in the same even voice. ‘Let’s have a heart-to-heart talk now. I’m not in any hurry. Are you?’

  I had the impression that the Doge was glad to hear these words. ‘Excellent, let us talk,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t really understand why a mature and apparently self-sufficient individual like you was so eager to become one of my disciples. In fact, the more I thought about it, the stranger it seemed. By character you are an individualist, and not at all like the seeker who recently hanged himself. If you have serious reasons to wish to die, you could quite easily have managed without all these ceremonies.’

  ‘But the ceremonies you invent are so amusing. And I, sir, am a very curious man.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the Doge mused, looking up at the other man. ‘You certainly are a curious man.’

  ‘Oh, no more so than yourself, Mr Blagovolsky,’ the Stammerer said.

  Later it will become clear to you why I now consider it possible to reveal to you the Doge’s real name (by the way, in the club he goes by the name of ‘Prospero’). But then, I should also say that I had not known his name previously and heard it spoken for the first time by the Stammerer.