by Boris Akunin
The prisoner began moaning plaintively, making it clear that she wanted to say something. The effect was pitiful, but Lidia Evgenievna's heart was not softened.
“You wish to provoke my pity? Too late! I would have forgiven you for the others, but for him—never!” Her eyes glinted with such fierce hatred that Polina Andreevna realized she would not have listened anyway—she had already decided everything.
Lisitsyna never did learn who was the man for whom Lidia Evge-nievna would not forgive her: her accuser haughtily set one hand on her hip, extended the other downward in the gesture of a Roman empress condemning a gladiator to death, and declared: “Your sentence has already been pronounced and now it will be carried out. Jonah, will you be true to your oath?”
“Yes, my queen,” the captain replied in a hoarse voice. “For you, anything you desire!”
“Then get to work.”
Jonah rummaged in a dark corner and pulled out an iron crowbar from somewhere. He spat on his hands and took a firm grip on it.
Was he really going to beat her brains out? Polina Andreevna screwed her eyes shut.
There was a crunch and the crack of breaking boards.
Opening her eyes, she saw that with a single blow the giant of a man had smashed a hole in the side of the vessel, and it was below the water-line—water was gushing into the hold. The captain took a swing and struck again. Then again and again.
And now there were four streams of black, oily, glistening water running in through holes in the wall and splashing down onto the floor.
“Enough,” said Lidia Evgenievna, halting the demolition. “I want this to last as long as possible. Let her howl in terror and curse the day and the hour when she dared intrude into my realm!”
And having pronounced her terrible verdict, Miss Boreiko climbed up the ladder and out onto the deck. Jonah clattered up after her.
Polina Andreevna could not see the floor anymore—it was completely covered with water. She lifted her feet up onto her seat and then straightened up with difficulty, pressing her back against the side of the boat.
How disgusting! The water had driven the mice out of their holes, and they were squeaking in fright as they clambered up the condemned woman's drawers.
Lisitsyna heard a malevolent laugh from above her head: “Behold a genuine Princess Tarakanova! Close it!”
The ladder rose up through the trapdoor, the door slammed shut, and the hold was suddenly dark.
She could hear the murderers’ conversation through the boards. The woman said, “Wait on the shore until it sinks. Then come. Perhaps you will receive a reward.”
The answer was a roar of ecstasy.
“I said perhaps,” said Lidia Evgenievna, cutting short Jonah's triumph.
Receding footsteps. Silence.
In Mrs. Lisitsyna's world, now shrunk to the dimensions of a wooden cage, there was nothing but darkness and the splashing of water. The thing that Polina Andreevna found most annoying as she prepared to die was that her letter to the bishop—which she now knew to be mistaken in its deductions—would drown together with her, and no one would ever know that “Basilisk” was not a phantom or a chimera, but a malevolent game played by a criminal mind.
And yet she must not give in—not until the very final moment. Only when every last human resource had been exhausted was it permissible to accept the inevitable and entrust herself to the Providence of the Lord.
But Polina Andreevna was bound and shut in a trap, and the resources available to her were precious few. She could not remove the gag, nor could she untie her hands. So I have to try to free my feet, she told herself. She squatted down and found her fingers could feel the string on her ankles. But alas, the knots were complicated, and some especially cunning—no doubt sailors’ knots—and they were pulled so tight that her nails could get no purchase on them.
From the sound of splashing, she guessed that the water had already risen to the level of her seat. A mouse was squeaking somewhere very close at hand, but Polina Andreevna had no time now for female phobias. If only she could tackle the knots with her teeth! Doubling up as tightly as she could, she took a firm hold on the piece of cloth tied tightly across her face and jerked it downward—she almost dislocated her lower jaw, and the sudden blow drove something sharp into her chest.
What was that?
Needles, knitting needles. She was wearing the handiwork bag under her chemise. Lisitsyna quickly thrust her hands up under the chemise and located the little bag with her fingers. It only took her a second to pull out a needle. Now she could use the sharp metal point to pick at the knot, pull it open, and loosen it.
There was cold water lapping at the soles of her shoes, gradually seeping through.
That was it! Her feet were free.
She would not be able to untie her hands, but at least now she could reach up with them. First she untied the head scarf and pulled the repellent gag out of her mouth. Then she stood up on tiptoe and pushed against the ceiling with her clenched fists. Ah! The trapdoor was bolted shut. Even now she could not get out of the hold! But Polina Andreevna did not despair for long. Dropping to her knees and splashing water up all around her, she leaned down and began fumbling on the floor.
There was the crowbar, lying where Jonah had dropped it.
She straightened up to her full height again, swung the crowbar back, and struck at the roof with all her might. The iron bar broke right through the rotten wood of the trapdoor. A few more blows, and the bolt shot out of its groove. Lisitsyna threw back the door and saw the early dawn sky above her head. The air was stale and dank, but it smelled of life.
Clutching the edge of the hole with her fingers, Polina Andreevna pulled herself up, bracing first one elbow and then the other on the edge—it was all not so very difficult for a teacher of gymnastics.
When she was already sitting on the deck, she glanced down into the hole. The black, dead water was heaving and swaying, rising faster and faster—the holes must have been widened by the pressure.
What was that little spot on the surface?
She looked closer and saw it was a mouse, the only one that had survived—the others had all drowned. And this one was floundering, its strength almost exhausted.
After her own miraculous escape Polina Andreevna leaned down with a grimace of disgust and scooped up the little gray swimmer in the palm of her hand (it was her close acquaintance with the stub tail), then flung it onto the deck, as far away from herself as possible. The mouse shook itself like a dog and immediately, without even giving its rescuer a second glance, set off at a run down the gangplank to the shore.
It had made the right choice—the deck had already settled almost to the level of the lake.
Mrs. Lisitsyna looked around and saw half-sunk boats, masts protruding from the water, wooden hulks rotting in the shallows. A graveyard of small fishing boats and smacks—that was what it was, this place where the love-crazed Captain Jonah had brought his victim to die.
And suddenly, there was the man himself, a massive black figure looming up over the shoreline, swaying from side to side as he moved slowly toward her.
A ‘Long-Distance Run
POLINA ANDREEVNA WATCHED in horror as the monk's hands rolled up the sleeves of his cassock with slow deliberation. The meaning of the gesture was so obvious that the newly resurrected victim even stopped breathing in the blessed smell of life and followed the example of her spry little friend by making a dash for the gangplank.
She ran down the rickety plank onto dry land, ducked under Jonah's monstrous clutching hand, and then darted off across the gravel and rocks, onto a path that she calculated must lead to the town.
Glancing around, she saw that Jonah was plodding after her, his boots clattering heavily over the ground. But how could he possibly overtake his fleet-footed quarry! And there was another circumstance that was against him—his long cassock; and yet another—the lightweight drawers that allowed Lisitsyna complete freedom of movement.
Mrs. Lisitsyna opened up a lead of twenty paces, then fifty, then a hundred, until she could hardly even hear the tramping of boots behind her. But even so, every time she looked around she saw the obstinate captain still running, running and refusing to give up.
The path was completely deserted, and on both sides of it there were empty meadows, with not a single house—nothing but squat farm buildings, all dark and abandoned. Polina Andreevna could count on nobody and nothing except her own two feet.
She breathed in time to the pounding of those feet against the resilient earth: one-two-three-four in, one-two-three-four out, but the farther she ran, the more of a hindrance her hands became. According to the English science of sport, correct running required a reverse-symmetrical swing of the arms, involving the energetic employment of the elbows and shoulders, and what swing could she make, how could she employ her elbows, with her bound wrists pressed against her breast?
Later, as the path started to rise a little, she began to run out of breath. In total violation of the correct method, Polina Andreevna was already breathing with both her mouth and her nose, and not at every fourth step, but in any way she could manage. Several times she stumbled and barely kept her feet.
The tramping of the boots drew a little closer, and Lisitsyna remembered that apart from sprinting—that is, short-distance running—the Olympics also featured long-distance running events. It seemed likely that in a long-distance race the victory would be Brother Jonah's.
The mist melted away and the dawn gradually grew brighter, until the distance that had to be covered was finally made clear. There on the left, perhaps a mile away, lay the sleepy town with its gray bell towers. Exhausted as she was, Polina Andreevna would never be able to run that far; her only hope was that she might meet someone who would save her. But what if she didn't?
On her right, no more than three hundred paces away, there was a solitary white tower standing on the cliff top, obviously a lighthouse. There had to be someone there!
She made a dash for the slim stone structure, half-running and half-walking, gasping for breath. She ought to have shouted for help, but she didn't have the strength.
When she had almost reached the lighthouse, Lisitsyna saw that the windows were boarded up with crossed planks, the yard was overgrown with grass and weeds, and the fence was dilapidated and tumbling down.
The lighthouse was empty, deserted!
By sheer inertia she ran on a little farther, even though it was pointless. Then she stumbled over a tussock and fell, right in front of the lopsided gate that was standing open.
She did not have the strength to get to her feet—and what was the point? Instead, she propped herself up on her elbows, threw back her head, and shouted out loud. Not to call for help (who would hear her in this?) but in sheer despair: Here I am, Lord, the nun Pelagia, in the secular world Polina Lisitsyna. I'm done for!
And having purged all her fear, she turned to face the approaching tramping of boots. The pursuit had not greatly shortened the captain's breath—he was simply somewhat redder in the face than usual.
Pressing her hands to her breast, so that she looked as if she were begging for mercy, Polina Andreevna said piteously, “Brother Jonah! What have I done to you? I am your sister in Christ! Do not destroy a living soul!” She did not think he would answer.
But the monk halted, standing over the woman on the ground, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, and rumbled: “If I've doomed my own soul, why should I spare yours?” He glanced around, picked up a large, rough stone from the edge of the path, and raised it above his head. Mrs. Lisitsyna did not screw her eyes tightly shut; she looked upward, but not at her killer—at the sky: it was stern and overcast, but suffused with light.
“Hey, dear fellow!” she suddenly heard a clear, calm voice say.
Polina Andreevna, already reconciled to the fact that her ginger head was about to be shattered like an eggshell, stared at Jonah in astonishment. Still holding the stone up over his head, he turned toward the lighthouse, where the voice had come from.
The door of the tower, which had been closed, was wide open. Standing on the bottom step was a gentleman in a silk dressing gown with tassels and brightly patterned Persian slippers. He had clearly just risen from his bed.
Lisitsyna recognized the gentleman straightaway. How could she possibly not have! How could anyone forget that bold face, those blue eyes, and that lock of golden hair tumbling across the noble forehead?
It was he, the savior of kittens and perturber of women's hearts.
What strange delusion was this?
The Temptation of Saint Pelagia
“PUT THE STONE down, servant of God,” said the handsome devil, surveying with keen interest the strapping monk and the young woman lying at his feet. “And come here—I'll box your ears, to teach you how to treat a lady” He was simply magnificent as he pronounced those defiant words: slim and elegant, with a mocking smile on his thin lips. David, hurling his challenge at Goliath—that was the comparison that immediately came to Mrs. Lisitsynas mind as she struggled to absorb this rapid turn of events.
However, in this case, unlike the biblical combat, the stone was not in the hands of the handsome hero, but of the giant, and with a dull roar he swung his arm back and hurled the missile at this witness who had appeared out of nowhere.
The heavy stone would probably have knocked the blond-headed young man off his feet, but he dodged it nimbly and the rock struck the open door of the lighthouse, splitting it in two, then fell onto the porch and clattered down the three steps, one at a time, before burying itself in the mud.
“Ah, so that's how it is! All right then, brother long-skirt!”
The valiant knight's mocking expression changed to one of determination, his chin jutted forward, and his eyes took on a steely gleam. The miraculous intercessor dashed at the monk, assumed an elegant pugilist's pose, and began peppering the captain's vast physiognomy with precise, crushing blows, which, unfortunately, produced no effect whatever on Jonah.
The monstrous hulk shrugged off his energetic opponent's punches as if they were no more than fleabites, then seized him by the shoulders, lifted him up, and tossed him a good fifteen feet away. Lisitsyna could only watch and gasp.
The handsome blond immediately jumped to his feet and tore off his dressing gown, which, given the situation, was rather inappropriate. Since there was no shirt under the dressing gown, this gesture revealed to Polina Andreevna's gaze a lean stomach and a muscular chest overgrown with golden hair—now the bold warrior was even more like the biblical David.
Evidently realizing that his bare hands were not enough to deal with such a huge bear of a man, the inhabitant of the lighthouse turned his gaze to the left and the right in search of some form of weapon. Fortunately, it lit upon an old axle shaft lying in the grass beside a decrepit hut with a sagging roof full of holes.
In two swift bounds David was there beside it. He grabbed it with both hands and swung it around above his head in a whistling circle. The chances of the two opponents appeared to have been evened out now. Polina Andreevna's spirits rose; she got up off the ground and sank her teeth into the string that bound her hands. She had to untie them as quickly as possible and help!
Captain Goliath was not intimidated by the axle shaft—he walked straight at his enemy, with his fists clenched and his head down, making no attempt to dodge, and when the improvised club smashed into his temple, he merely swayed slightly on his feet. But the axle snapped in two like a matchstick.
Again the captain seized his opponent by the shoulders, took a run, and flung him hard, this time not onto the ground, but against the wall of the lighthouse. It was simply amazing that the handsome young fellow was not knocked unconscious by
the sheer impact!
He staggered as he scrambled up onto the porch, intending to retreat into the house, where he very probably had some other defensive weapon, something more effective than the rotten axle shaft. But Jonah guessed the handsome gentleman's intentions and dashed forward with a roar to overtake him.
The outcome of the duel was no longer in doubt. The monk pressed the poor paladin against the door frame with one hand and drew the other back slowly, clenching it into a fist as he prepared to strike a crushing, probably fatal blow.
But at that moment Mrs. Lisitsyna finally managed to untie her bonds. Leaping to her feet with a piercing shriek, she dashed to save her defender. Moving at full speed, she leapt up onto the captain's shoulders, flung her arms around him, and bit him on his neck, which tasted salty and was as tough as dried Caspian roach.
Jonah shook off the weightless lady as easily as a bear shakes off a dog: he swung his trunk around sharply, and Polina Andreevna went flying off into the air. But the captain was standing on the edge of the porch, and the sudden jerk made him lose his balance: he swayed, with his arms waving above his head, and the hero David seized this precious opportunity that would surely not be repeated—he butted the hulking brute on the chin as hard as he could with his forehead.
The giants fall from what was a rather low height had a monumental grace to it, like the toppling of the Vendôme column (Polina Andreevna had once seen a painting showing the Communards of Paris felling Bonaparte's pillar). Brother Jonah collapsed flat onto his back, and the back of his head struck the very same irregular stone that he had only recently intended to use as a weapon of murder. The impact was accompanied by a terrifying crunch: the giant lay there with his mighty arms flung out wide and did not move again.
“Thank you, Lord,” Lisitsyna whispered fervently. “That is just.”
