The State Counsellor - Fandorin 06

by Boris Akunin

  Masa must have been listening at the door, because at that very moment it opened a little and a round head with narrow eyes was thrust into the room through the crack.

  'Goo' morin',' the head said with a joyful, beaming smile.

  'Go to hell with your gymnastics!' Esfir exclaimed resolutely, flinging a well-aimed pillow at the head; but Masa bore the blow without flinching.

  'Letter from impotan' gen'man,' he declared, holding up a long white envelope.

  'Impotan' gen'man' was what the Japanese called the Governor General, so the reason for his intrusion had to be accepted as legitimate. Erast Petrovich opened the envelope and took out a card bearing a gold crest.

  Most of the text was printed; only the name and the note at the bottom were written in His Excellency's regular, old-fashioned hand.

  My dear Erast Petrovich

  On the occasion of Butter Week and the forthcoming festival of Shrovetide, I request your company for pancakes.

  The cordial supper in an intimate circle will commence at midnight. Gentlemen invited are requested not to trouble themselves by wearing uniform. Ladies are free to choose a dress at their own discretion.

  Vladimir Dolgorukoi

  Erast Petrovich you must come. You can tell me how our business is going.

  And do bring your new flame -it is an unofficial supper and as an old man I am curious to see her.

  'What is it?' Esfir asked, disgruntled, '-a summons from the terrible Tsar? Tie a dog's head to your saddle and ride off to work - severing heads?'

  'Not at all,' Fandorin replied. 'It's an invitation to pancakes at the Governor General's residence. Listen.'

  He read it out loud, naturally omitting the handwritten note. Fandorin was not at all surprised by how well informed the prince was concerning the private lives of his aides - all the years they had worked together had accustomed him to that.

  'You know, we could g-go together if you like,' he said, absolutely certain that the only way Esfir would go to the Governor General's residence for pancakes was wearing shackles and under armed escort.

  'What does "an intimate circle" mean?' she asked, wrinkling up her nose squeamishly. 'Is it just the sultan and his viziers and the especially trustworthy eunuchs?'

  'Shrovetide pancakes at the prince's house are a tradition,' Fandorin explained. 'It has been going on for more than twenty years. 'An intimate circle" means seventy or eighty close officials and honoured citizens with their wives. They spend the whole night sitting there eating, drinking and dancing. Nothing interesting about it. I always leave early.'

  And can I really wear any dress I like?' Esfir asked pensively, not looking at Erast Petrovich, but gazing off somewhere into space.

  Having taking his leave of Esfir until the evening, Fandorin tried several times to call the telephone number that Lieutenant Colonel Burlyaev had given to the operator two days before, but there was no reply, and Erast Petrovich began wondering if perhaps he ought to take advantage of the female agent's absence to carry out a secret search of the townhouse on Arbat Street.

  He gathered together the necessary assortment of tools and then telephoned again, just to make certain, and the earpiece suddenly responded in the American manner, with a long, drawling whisper: 'Hel-lo?'

  Against all his expectations, Diana failed to recall that the State Counsellor had been declared persona non grata and immediately agreed to a meeting.

  Nor was Fandorin obliged on this occasion to wait in front of a locked door. After ringing the bell, he pushed on the brass handle and, to his surprise, the door yielded - apparently it had been unlocked in advance.

  Erast Petrovich followed the familiar route up the steps into the mezzanine, knocked on the door of the study and entered without waiting for an answer.

  Just like the previous time, the thin curtains were tightly drawn and the woman on the divan was wearing a hat with a veil.

  The State Counsellor bowed and was about to sit in an armchair, but the woman beckoned him.

  'Over here. It's hard to whisper right across the room.'

  'Do you not find all these precautions excessive?' Fandorin could not resist asking the question, although he knew it was not a good idea to annoy his hostess. 'It would be quite enough for me not to be able to see your face.'

  'No-o,' Diana murmured. 'My sound is a rustle, a whisper, a hiss. My element is shade, darkness, silence. Sit down, sir. We shall make quiet conversation and in the pauses listen to the stillness.'

  'As you wish.'

  Erast Petrovich seated himself side on to the lady, some slight distance away from her, and tried to make out at least some features of her face through the veil. Alas, the room was too dark for that.

  'Are you aware that in progressive young people's circles you are now regarded as an intriguing individual?' the collaborator asked derisively. 'Your intervention in darling Pyotr Ivanovich's operation the day before yesterday has split my revolutionary friends into two camps. Some see you as a state official of a new type, the first herald of forthcoming liberal changes. While others...'

  'What d-do the others say?'

  'The others say that you should be eliminated, because you are more cunning and dangerous than the stupid sleuths from the Okhranka. But don't be alarmed.' Diana touched Erast Petrovich gendy on the shoulder. 'You have an intercessor -Firochka Litvinova - and after that evening she has the reputation of a true heroine. Ah, handsome men can always find women to intercede for them.'

  There was the sound of muffled, almost soundless laughter, which produced a distinctly unpleasant impression on the State Counsellor.

  'Is it true what our people say - that Larionov was executed by the CG?' Diana asked, inclining her head inquisitively. 'It had been rumoured that he was an agent provocateur. In any case, our people no longer mention his name. A taboo - the kind that primitive savages have. Was he really a collaborator?'

  Erast did not answer, because something else had occurred to him. Now it was clear why Esfir had never mentioned the deceased engineer.

  'Tell me, my lady, do you know a female individual who goes by the alias Needle?'

  'Needle? I've never heard it before. What is she like?'

  Fandorin repeated what he had heard from Rahmet-Gvidon. 'She looks about thirty. Thin. Tall. Plain ... I think that's all.'

  'Well, we have plenty like that. I might know her by name, but in conspiratorial circles she is known by her alias. My connections are extensive, Monsieur Fandorin, but not deep; they do not reach into the depths of the underground. Who told you about this Needle?'

  Again he did not answer. It was time to approach the most important question.

  'You are an unusual woman, Diana,' Erast Petrovich began with affected enthusiasm. 'At our last m-meeting you made a quite indelible impression on me, and I have been thinking about you ever since. I think this is the first time I have met a genuine femme fatale who can make respectable grown men lose their heads and neglect their duty'

  'Go on, go on,' whispered the woman with no face and no voice. 'It's a pleasure to listen to such words.'

  'I can see that you have driven Burlyaev and Sverchinsky completely insane, and they are very sober and serious gentlemen. They are consumed with burning jealousy for each other. And I am sure that on both sides their suspicions are not unfounded. How elegantly you toy with these two men, who are feared by the whole of Moscow! You are a bold woman. Others only speak of free love, but you preach it with your entire life.'

  She laughed in gratification, throwing her head back. 'There is no such thing as love. There is only the human being, living alone and dying alone. There is nothing and nobody who can share that solitude. And it is not possible for anyone to merge completely into anyone else's life. But you can play at someone else's life, taste it. You are an intelligent man, Mr Fandorin, I can be entirely frank with you. You see, by vocation I am an actress. I should be glittering on the stage in the finest theatres, rousing my public to tears and laughter, but... the
circumstances of life have prevented me from using my talent for its true purpose.'

  'Which circumstances?' Erast Petrovich enquired cautiously.

  'Do you mean your noble origins? I have heard that you come from good society.'

  'Yes, something of the kind,' Diana replied after a pause. 'But I have no regrets. Playing at life is far more interesting than playing on the stage. With stupid young people who have crammed their heads full of pernicious literature, I play one part; with Burlyaev I play another, and with Sverchinsky I play a different one again... I am more fortunate than many people, Mr Fandorin. I am never bored.'

  'I understand the difference between the roles of a nihilist and a collaborator, but do you really have to behave differently with the gendarme colonel Sverchinsky and the gendarme lieutenant colonel Burlyaev?'

  'Oho, you obviously understand nothing at all about the theatre.' She fluttered her hands rapturously. 'The two roles are quite different. Shall I tell you how to be successful with men? Do you think beauty is required? By no means! How can I be beautiful if you cannot even see my face? It is all very simple. You have to understand what a man is like and play a contrasting part. It is like electricity: opposite charges attract. Take Pyotr Ivanovich, now. He is a strong, coarse individual, inclined to direct action and force. With him I am weak, feminine, vulnerable. Add to that professional interest, a whiff of the mystery to which men are so partial - and poor Burlyaev becomes soft putty in my hands.'

  Erast Petrovich sensed that he was very close to the goal - he must not make a false step now.

  And Sverchinsky?'

  'Oh, he is entirely different. Cunning, cautious, suspicious. With him I am open-hearted, carefree, a little crude. I have already mentioned professional interest and mystery - those are essential components. Would you believe that last week Stanislav Filippovich went down on his knees in front of me and begged me to tell him if I was intimately involved with Burlyaev? I threw him out and told him not to show his face until he was summoned. Not bad for a "collaborator", ah? The top gendarme in the entire province, and I have him dancing like a performing poodle!'

  So there he had his first result: Sverchinsky had not been here since last week, and so Diana could not have received any information about Khrapov's arrival from him.

  'Brilliant!' the State Counsellor said approvingly. 'So the unfortunate Stanislav Filippovich has b-been in exile for an entire week? Poor fellow! No wonder he's so furious. The field was left open for the Department of Security'

  'Oh no!' the femme fatale gasped, quite overcome by her own quiet laughter. 'That's the whole point! I gave Burlyaev his marching orders for a week too! - so that he would think I had chosen Sverchinsky over him!'

  Erast Petrovich knitted his brows and asked: 'And in actual fact?'

  'In actual fact...' The collaborator leaned closer and whispered confidentially 'In actual fact I had the usual woman's troubles and was in any case obliged to take a break from both my lovers!*

  The State Counsellor involuntarily started back, and Diana broke into an even more intense fit of merriment, hissing and whistling in delight at the effect she had produced.

  'You are a very sensitive and proper gentleman, you adhere to strict rules, and therefore I try to intrigue you with my cynicism and violations of the conventions,' the frustrated actress blithely confessed. 'However, I am not doing it for any practical purpose, but solely out of my love of art. My woman's problems are over now, but you, Monsieur Fandorin, have no reason to hope for anything. There is no point in your trilling like a nightingale and showering me with compliments. You are simply not my type at all.'

  Erast Petrovich got up off the divan, overwhelmed by horror, hurt feelings and disappointment.

  The initial feeling was horror: how could this nightmarish creature have imagined that he was attempting to win her favours!

  The hurt feelings came with the recollection that this was the second time today a woman had told him he was not her type.

  But the strongest feeling, of course, was disappointment: Diana could not have been the channel through which the leak had occurred.

  'I assure you, madam, that you are completely m-mistaken as far as I am concerned,' the State Counsellor said coolly and walked towards the door, to the accompaniment of rustling, muffled laughter.

  Shortly after four Fandorin drove on to Bolshoi Gnezdikovksy Lane in a morose and depressed state of mind.

  The only promising theory left for him to explore had collapsed in a totally ignominious fashion and now nothing remained for him but to play the pitiful role of a sponger. The State Counsellor was not accustomed to feeding on crumbs from others' tables and the anticipation of humiliation had put him in a foul mood; but nonetheless it was absolutely essential for him to obtain some information about the progress of the investigation, for that night he would have to report to the Governor General.

  The Department of Security seemed to have been depopulated. There was not a single agent in the duty room on the ground floor - only a police sergeant and a clerk.

  Zubtsov was languishing in the reception room upstairs. He was quite delighted to see Erast Petrovich: 'Mr State Counsellor! Do you have anything?'

  Fandorin shook his head glumly.

  'We haven't come up with anything either,' the young man sighed, casting a despondent sideways glance at the telephone. 'Would you believe it, we've been sitting here all day, glued to the spot, waiting for some word from Gvidon - Mr Pozharsky and myself

  'He's here?' Erast Petrovich asked in surprise.

  'Yes, and he's very calm. I'd go so far as to say he's quite placid - sitting in Pyotr Ivanovich s office reading magazines. The Lieutenant Colonel has gone to the student hostel on Dmitrovka Street to interrogate suspects. Evstratii Pavlovich has taken his wild men and, in his own words, they've "gone off gathering mushrooms and berries". Sverchinsky went to make the rounds of all the turnpikes this morning and for some reason feels it necessary to telephone from every one of them. I don't even inform the prince any more. This evening the indefatigable Stanislav Filippovich is going to check in person on his men's work at the railway stations, and he intends to spend the night at the Nikolaevsky - how's that for professional zeal!' Zubtsov smirked ironically. 'Showing the new boss how energetic he is. Only the prince is no fool; you can't deceive him with sham diligence.'

  Recalling the threats that Sverchinsky had made against their visitor from the capital only the day before, Erast Petrovich shook his head: it was quite possible that diligence had nothing at all to do with the matter and the artful gendarme officer had something quite different in mind.

  'So there's nothing from Gvidon?'

  'Nothing,' Zubtsov sighed. 'Ten minutes ago some man called, but unfortunately I happened to be in the office with the prince. I left the clerk by the telephone. Now I can't get that call out of my mind.'

  'Well, send someone to the t-telephone exchange,' Erast Petrovich advised him. 'Get them to identify the number from which the call was made. It's perfectly feasible technically, I've checked. May I go in?' he asked, blushing slighdy as he indicated the door of the office.

  'Why do you even need to ask?' Zubtsov exclaimed in surprise. 'Of course, go in. I think I really shall send someone to the telephone exchange. We'll find out the address from the number and make cautious enquiries about who the phone belongs to.'

  Fandorin knocked and entered the office of the head of the Department of Security.

  Pozharsky was sitting beside the lamp in an extremely snug-looking pose, with his feet pulled up on to his leather armchair. In his hand the deputy director of police, aide-de-camp and rising star was holding an open copy of the popular new magazine The Journal of Foreign Literature.

  'Erast Petrovich!' Gleb Georgievich exclaimed enthusiastically. 'How delightful of you to call in. Please, have a seat.' He put the magazine down and smiled disarmingly.

  'Are you angry with me for edging you out of the case? I understand; in your place I wou
ld be annoyed too. But it's the Emperor's own order; I am not at liberty to change anything. I only regret that I have been deprived of any access to your analytical talent, about which I have heard so much. I did not dare give you an assignment, since I am not your superior. I must admit, however, that I very much hope you will meet with success in your independent line of inquiry. Well then, do you have a result?'

  'What result could I possibly have, when you hold absolutely all the threads in your hands?' Fandorin asked with a shrug of feigned indifference. 'But I believe you have nothing here either?'

  The prince declared confidently: 'They're checking Gvidon. That's very good. He has already begun to hate his former comrades - because he has betrayed them. And now he will develop an absolutely passionate hatred for them. I know human nature. Especially the nature of betrayal -I am obliged to understand that by virtue of my profession.'

  'Tell me then, is the psychology of betrayal always the same?' the State Counsellor asked, intrigued by the subject despite himself.

  'By no means; it is infinitely varied. There is betrayal out of fear, betrayal out of resentment, out of love, out of ambition and a host of different causes, up to and including betrayal out of gratitude.'

  'Out of g-gratitude?'

  'Yes indeed. Permit me to relate to you a certain incident from my professional experience.' Pozharsky took a slim papyrosa out of his cigarette case, lit it and savoured the smoke as he drew it in. 'One of my finest agents was a sweet, pure, unselfish old woman - the very kindest of creatures. She doted on her only son, but in his youthful foolishness the boy got mixed up in a business that smacked of hard labour. She came to me, begging and weeping, told me the entire story of her life. I was younger myself then, and more soft-hearted than I am now - anyway, I took pity on her. Just between the two of us, I even went so far as to commit an official crime: I removed certain documents from the case file. To cut the story short, the boy was released; he got off with a fatherly caution, which, to be quite honest, made not the slightest impression on him. He became involved with revolutionaries again and plunged into a life of dissipation. But then what do you think happened? Inspired by her undying gratitude to me, his mother began diligently providing me with highly valuable information. Her son's comrades had known her for a long time as a hospitable hostess, they felt quite uninhibited by the innocuous old woman's presence and spoke quite openly in her company. She used to make notes of everything on scraps of paper and bring them to me. There was even one report that was written on the back of a recipe. Truly a case of, Do good and ye shall have your reward.'