by Boris Akunin
'My God, I'm so terribly, terribly pleased to meet you,' he began when he was only halfway down the stairs. 'I've heard a lot about you, and all of it most flattering. I am extremely glad that Firochka has such reputable acquaintances, you know, it was always those long-haired types in dirty boots with coarse voices ... That's because she was still young, of course. I knew it would pass. Well, actually, I am Litvinov, and you, Mr Fandorin, have no need to introduce yourself; you are a very well-known individual.'
Erast Petrovich was somewhat surprised to see the banker wearing a frock coat and his star in his own home - he was probably going out somewhere too. But certainly not to Dolgorukoi's for pancakes, for that Avessalom Efraimovich would have to wait until his baronial title arrived.
'Such an honour, such an honour for Firochka to be going to an intimate supper at His Excellency's home. I'm very, very glad.' The banker was now very close to his visitor and he extended a white, puffy hand. 'I am exceedingly glad to make your acquaintance. We are at home on Thursdays and would be truly delighted to see you. But never mind our at-homes, simply come at any time that is convenient. My wife and I are doing everything to encourage this acquaintance of our Firochka's.'
The ingenuousness of this final phrase left the State Counsellor feeling somewhat uneasy. He felt even more embarrassed on noticing that the door leading to the inner chambers on the ground floor was ajar and someone was studying him attentively from behind it.
But Esfir was already walking down the stairs, and the way she was dressed immediately made Fandorin forget both the ambiguity of his position and the mysterious spy.
'Papa, why have you pinned on that trinket of yours again!' she exclaimed menacingly. 'Take it off immediately, or he'll think you sleep with it on. I suppose you've already invited him to the at-homes? Don't even think of coming, Erast. That would be just like you. A-ha' - Esfir had noticed the half-open door -'Mama's peeping. Don't waste your time; I'm not going to marry him!'
It was instantly clear who ruled the roost in these marble halls. The door immediately closed, startled Papa instantly covered his star with his hand and, speaking in a timid voice, asked the question that was also occupying Erast Petrovich: 'Firochka are you sure you can go to His Excellency's gathering dressed like that?'
Mademoiselle Litvinova had covered her short black hair with a gold net, which made it look as if her head was encased in a gleaming helmet; her scarlet tunic, cut in the loose Greek style, narrowed at the waist, where it was belted with a broad brocade girdle, below which it expanded into spacious folds; but the most striking element was the gash that extended down almost as far as her waist - not so much because it was so deep, as because it clearly indicated the absence of any brassiere or corset.
'The invitation said: "Ladies are free to choose a dress at their own discretion,'" said Esfir, glancing at Fandorin in alarm. 'Why - doesn't it suit me, then?'
'It suits you very well,' he replied in the voice of a doomed man, pondering the effect it would produce.
The effect exceeded Erast Petrovich's very worst apprehensions.
The gentlemen came to the Governor General's house for pancakes without their official decorations, but nonetheless in white tie and tails; all the ladies came in dresses in the semi-official bluish-white range. Against this copperplate-engraving background Esfir's outfit blazed like a scarlet rose on the dirty March snow. Another comparison also occurred to Fandorin: a flamingo that had flown into a chicken hutch by mistake.
Since the supper was an informal one, His Excellency had not yet joined his guests, allowing them an opportunity to mingle freely; but the furore created by State Counsellor Fandorin's escort was so great that it was quite impossible to maintain the light conversation customary in such circumstances - there was a hint of scandal in the air, or at least of a savoury incident that would be the talk of Moscow the following day.
The women surveyed the crop-haired damsel's outfit, cut in the latest shameless style that still provoked outrage even in Paris, with their lips pursed fastidiously and a greedy gleam in their eyes. The men, however, as yet uninformed of the approaching revolution in the world of ladies' fashion, stared openly, mesmerised by the free swaying of those two hemispheres barely covered by the extremely fine material. This sight was far more impressive than the accustomed nakedness of ladies' shoulders and backs.
Esfir did not appear to be even slightly embarrassed by the general attention and she examined the people around her with even franker curiosity.
'Who's that?' she asked the State Counsellor in a loud whisper. 'And that buxom one over there - who's she?'
At one point she exclaimed in a loud, clear voice: 'Oh good Lord, what a freak show!'
At first Erast Petrovich bore it manfully. He exchanged polite bows with his acquaintances, pretending not to notice the aim of those numerous glances, some with the naked eye, some assisted by lorgnettes. However, when Frol Grigorievich Vedishchev approached the State Counsellor and whispered: 'He wants to see you,' Fandorin excused himself to Esfir on grounds of urgent business and went dashing off with shameful haste to the inner apartments of the gubernatorial residence, abandoning his companion to the whim of fate. Just as he reached the doors, a pang of conscience made him look back.
Esfir did not seem lost at all, and she was not gazing after the deserter. She was standing facing a bevy of ladies, examining them with calm interest, and the ladies were trying as hard as they could to pretend that they were absorbed in casual conversation. Apparently there was no need to feel concerned for Mademoiselle Litvinova.
Dolgorukoi listened to the report from his Deputy for Special Assignments with undisguised satisfaction, although for the sake of appearances he gasped at the theft of state funds, even though they had, in fact, been destined for despatch to Turkestan.
'They're not having it all their own way,' said Vladimir Andreevich. 'Oh, fine smart fellows they found to put the blame on Dolgorukoi. Now, they can sort it out. So, the smug gentleman from the capital has run straight into a brick wall? Serves him right, serves him right.'
Vedishchev finished attaching the prince's stiff starched collar and cautiously sprinkled His Excellency's wrinkled neck with talc, so that it wouldn't get chafed.
'Frolushka, fix this bit.' The Governor General stood in front of the mirror, turned his head this way and that, and pointed to his crookedly poised chestnut wig. 'Of course, Erast Petrovich, they will never forgive me for Khrapov. I have received a very cold letter from His Majesty, so some day soon I'll be asked to vacate the premises. But I really would like to make that camarilla eat dirt before I go. Stick the solved case under their noses: There, eat that and remember Dolgorukoi. Eh, Erast Petrovich?'
The State Counsellor sighed. 'I can't promise, Vladimir Andreevich. My hands are tied. But I will t-try.'
'Yes, I understand
The prince started towards the doors leading into the hall. 'How are my guests? Are they all here?'
The doors opened as if of their own accord. Dolgorukoi halted on the threshold, to give the assembled public time to notice their host's entrance and prepare themselves accordingly.
The prince glanced round the hall and started in surprise: 'Who's that there in scarlet? The only one standing with her back to me?'
'That is my friend, Esfir Avessalomovna Litvinova,' the State Counsellor replied mournfully. 'You did ask..’
Dolgorukoi screwed up his long-sighted eyes and chewed on his lips.
'Frol, my old darling, dash to the banquet hall and change round the cards on the table. Seat the Governor and his wife further away and move Erast Petrovich and his lady friend so that they are on my right.'
'What's that you say - in the kisser?' the Governor General asked incredulously, and suddenly began blinking very fast - he had just noticed the edges of the gash in his neighbour's dress moving apart.
The upper end of the table, where the most eminent of the tided guests were sitting, suddenly went very quiet at the sound of tha
t appalling word.
'Why yes, in the kisser,' Esfir repeated loudly for the deaf old man. 'The director of the school told me: "With that kind of behaviour, Litvinova, I wouldn't keep you here for a whole mountain of Yiddish pieces of silver." So I smacked him in the kisser. What would you have done in my place?'
'Well yes, there really was no other option,' Dolgorukoi admitted and asked curioiusly, 'And what did he do?'
'Nothing. He expelled me in disgrace, and I completed my studies at home.'
Esfir, who was seated between the prince and Erast Petrovich, was managing to do justice to the celebrated pancakes and conduct a lively conversation with the ruler of Moscow at the same time.
There were, in fact, only two people taking part in the conversation: His Excellency and his extravagant guest. No one else within hearing opened their mouth, and the unfortunate State Counsellor had completely turned to stone.
Female sensuality, the workers' question, the harmfulness of underwear, the pale of settlement - these were only some of the subjects that Mademoiselle Litvinova found time to touch on during the first three servings. When she left the table, making sure to inform everyone where she was going, Vladimir Andreevich whispered to Fandorin in absolute delight: 'Elle est ravissante, votre élue.' And when Esfir came back, she turned to Erast Petrovich to express her approval of the prince: 'Such a nice old man. Why do our people talk so badly about him?'
During the sixth serving of pancakes, after the sturgeon, sterlet pate and caviar had been replaced by fruit and various types of honey and jam, the duty adjutant appeared at the far end of the banqueting hall. With his aiguillettes jingling, he ran the entire length of the chamber on tiptoe, and his sprint did not pass unnoticed. From the officer's despairing expression it was clear that something quite out of the ordinary had happened. The guests turned round to watch the messenger as he ran past, and only the Governor General, whispering something in Esfir Avessalomovna's ear, remained unaware.
'That tickles,' she said, pulling away from his flurry dyed moustache, and stared curiously at the adjutant.
'Your Excellency, an emergency,' the captain reported, breathing heavily.
He tried to speak quiedy, but in the silence that had descended his words carried a long way.
'Eh? What's that?' asked Dolgorukoi, with a smile still on his face. 'What sort of emergency?'
'We've only just heard. There was an attack on the acting head of the Provincial Office of Gendarmes, Sverchinsky, at the Nikolaevsky Station. The Colonel was killed. His adjutant has been wounded. The attackers escaped. All trains to St Petersburg have been halted.'
CHAPTER 8
.. get yourself a pig'
He only slept for two hours that night. It wasn't a matter of the bedbugs or the stuffy atmosphere, or even the throbbing pain -minor difficulties like that simply weren't worthy of his attention. The problem bothering him was something far more vital.
Green lay on his back with his hands under his head, thinking intensely. Emelya and Bullfinch were sleeping beside him on the floor of the cramped little room. The former was tossing and turning restlessly, obviously tormented by little bloodsuckers. The latter was crying out feebly in his sleep. It was amazing he'd managed to fall sleep at all after the events of the previous day.
The unexpected outcome of their collaboration with Ace had required rapid action. First of all Green had brought the hysterically sobbing Julie to her senses, for which he had had to slap her gendy across the cheeks. After that she had stopped shaking and done everything he told her to do, but avoided looking at the motionless body and the bright puddle of wine that was rapidly darkening as the blood mingled with it.
Then he had hastily bound up his own wounds. The hardest thing to deal with was his ear, so he simply covered it with a handkerchief and pulled his shop assistant's peaked cap down tight over the top. Julie brought him a jug of water to wash the blood off his face and hands.
Now they could leave.
Green left Julie on guard by the sleigh while he carried the sacks out of the room. This time he couldn't take two at a time -he had to avoid aggravating the wound on his wrist.
He only started wondering where to take the money after the India had been left safely behind.
To take it to their meet, the railway lineman's hut near the Vindava Station, would be dangerous. It was an open spot with no shelter; someone might see them carry in the sacks and suspect they were stolen goods from a freight train.
Go to another hotel? They wouldn't be allowed to take the sacks into a room, and leaving them with anybody for safe keeping would be too risky.
It was Julie who came up with the answer. She seemed to be just sitting there sulking in her ruffled chintzy dress, not asking any questions, not interfering with his thinking.
But then she suddenly said: 'What about the Nikolaevsky Station? My bags are in the left-luggage room. I'll take the suitcases and leave the sacks instead. They're very strict there; no one will go rummaging in them. And the police will never guess the money's right there under their noses.'
'I can't show my face there,' Green explained. 'They've got my description.'
'You don't have to. I'll say I'm a maid, come to collect my mistress's suitcases. I have the ticket. No one will take any notice. You're the driver: you can stay in the sleigh and not go into the station. I'll bring some porters.'
It felt awkward to hear her talking to him in such an intimate tone of voice. But the left-luggage room was a good idea.
From the station they went on to the Hotel Kitezh near Krasnye Vorota Square. It wasn't a first-class place, but it did have a telephone beside the counter, and that was particularly important now.
Green phoned the party courier and asked: 'How are they?'
Needle replied in a voice trembling with excitement: 'Is that you? Thank God! Are you all right? Do you have the goods?' 'Yes. What about the others?'
'They're all well. Arsenii's the only one who fell ill. He had to be left behind.'
'Is he getting treatment?' he asked, frowning.
'No, it was too late.' Needle's voice trembled again.
'Send for my men from Vindava Station. Tell them to come to the Kitezh Hotel. Bring some medical alcohol, a needle, coarse thread.'
Needle was quick to arrive. She nodded briefly to Julie, barely even giving her a glance, although it was the first time she had seen her. She looked at Green's bandaged head and blood-caked eyebrow and asked: 'Are you seriously wounded?'
'No. Did you bring the things?'
She put a small grip bag on the table. "This is the alcohol, needle and thread you asked for. And there's gauze, cotton wool, bandages and plaster. I studied to be a nurse. Show me and I'll do everything.'
'That's good. I can fix my side myself. The eyebrow, ear and hand are awkward. The plaster's good. I've got a broken rib; it needs to be held together.'
He stripped to the waist, and Julie gasped pitifully when she saw the bruises and the blood-soaked bandage.
A knife, not very deep,' Green commented on the wound in his side. 'Nothing crucial damaged. Just needs washing and sewing up.'
'Lie down on the divan,' Needle told him. 'I'll wash my hands.'
Julie sat down beside him. Her doll-like face was contorted in suffering. 'Greeny, my poor darling, does it really hurt a lot?'
'You shouldn't be here,' he said. 'You've done your bit. Let her get on with it. Go.'
Needle cleaned "the wound with alcohol, working quickly and deftly. She soaked the coarse thread in alcohol too, and heated the needle in the candle flame. So that she wouldn't tense up, Green tried to make a joke: 'Needle with a needle.'
Obviously it wasn't funny enough - she didn't smile.
She warned him: 'This will hurt. Grit your teeth.'
But Green scarcely even felt the pain - he was well trained, and Needle knew what she was doing.
Green watched closely as she made the rows of fine, neat stitches, first on his side and then on his wr
ist. He asked: ' "Needle" - is this the reason?'
The question came out awkwardly - he felt that himself; but Needle understood.
'No. This is the reason.' She raised her hand rapidly to the tight knot of hair at the back of her head and pulled out a long, sharp hairpin.
'What for?' he asked in surprise. 'To defend yourself?'
She washed his split eyebrow with alcohol and put in two stitches before she answered. 'No, to stab myself if they arrest me. I know the spot - right here.' She pointed to her neck. 'I have claustrophobia. I can't tolerate narrow spaces. I might not be able to stand it in prison; I could break down.' Needle's face flushed red - the confession had obviously not been easy for her to make.
Soon Emelya and Bullfinch arrived.
'Are you wounded?' Bullfinch asked, alarmed.
Emelya looked around, screwing up his eyes, and asked: 'Where's Rahmet?'
Green didn't answer the first question because there was no point. He answered the second one briefly: 'There are three of us now. Tell me everything.'
Bullfinch told the story, with Emelya putting in occasional comments, but Green was hardly even listening. He knew the boy had to get it all out - it was the first time he'd been on a genuine operation. But the details of the gunfight were of no importance; he had something else to think about now.
'... He ran off a bit and then fell. He was hit here.' Bullfinch pointed to a spot just above his collarbone. 'Me and Nail tried to pick him up, but he put the revolver to his temple so quick ... His head jerked to the side, and he fell again. And we all ran for it...'
