by Boris Akunin
Fandorin had tried to make as little noise as possible as he performed his morning ablutions, put on his uniform, complete with medals, and buckled on his sword - the occasion called for formality - and then, with a glance at the closed door of the bedroom, he had tiptoed out into the hallway.
In career terms, promotion to the position of the second most important individual in the old capital meant elevation to almost empyrean heights: quite certainly a general's rank, immense power, an enviable salary and - most important of all - a certain path to even more vertiginous heights in the future. However, this path was strewn with briars as well as roses, and in Fandorin's eyes the prickliest briar of all was the total loss of privacy. The head police-master was required to live in his official residence, which was grand, showy and uncomfortable - and also directly connected to the secretariat building; to participate as one of the central figures in numerous mandatory official functions (for instance, the gala opening of the Society for the Sponsorship of Public Sobriety was planned for the Week of the Adoration of the Cross, under the patronage of the city's foremost custodian of the law); and finally, to set the citizens of Moscow an example of moral living which, in view of his present personal circumstances, Erast Petrovich felt was a goal that would be hard to achieve.
All this meant that Erast Petrovich was obliged to summon up his courage before stepping across the threshold of his new residence and his new life. As usual, there was consolation to be found in a saying of the Wisest of All Sages: 'The superior man knows where his duty lies and does not attempt to shirk it.'
To shirk it was impossible, to draw things out was stupid, and so Erast Petrovich heaved a sigh and crossed that fatal boundary line marking the final countdown to his new career. He nodded to the saluting gendarme, cast a lingering glance around the familiar, elegant vestibule and shrugged off his fur coat into the arms of the doorman. The Governor General's sleigh should arrive any moment now. Vladimir Andreevich would show his protege into the office and ceremonially present him with a seal, a medal on a chain and a symbolic key to the city - the formal attributes of the head police-master's authority.
'How touching of you to come in full uniform, and with all your medals,' a cheerful voice declared behind him. 'So you know already? And I wanted to surprise you.'
Pozharsky was standing on a short flight of four marble steps, dressed in a style that was far from formal - a morning coat and checked trousers - but with his lips set in a very broad smile.
'I accept your congratulations with gratitude,' he said with a humorous bow, 'although such solemnity is really rather excessive. Come into the office. I have something to show you.'
Erast Petrovich did not give himself away by so much as a single gesture, but when he happened to catch a glimpse in the mirror of the brilliant gleam of his medals and the gold embroidery on his uniform, he blushed painfully at his ignominious error. The Wisest of the Wise came to his assistance: 'When the world appears completely black, the superior man seeks for a small white speck in it.' The State Counsellor made an effort and the white speck was immediately found: at least now he would not be required to preside over public sobriety.
Without saying a word, Erast Petrovich followed Pozharsky into the head police-master's office and halted in the doorway, wondering where to sit - the divan and the armchairs were covered with dust sheets.
'I haven't had a chance to settle in yet. Here, let's use this,' said Pozharsky, pulling the white sheet off the divan. 'I received the telegram informing me of my appointment at dawn. But for you that's not the most important thing. This is ... a text for the newspapers, forwarded from St Petersburg. Intended for publication on the twenty-seventh. Dolgorukoi has already been sent the imperial edict. Read it.'
Erast Petrovich picked up the telegraph form with the official stamp 'Top Secret' and ran his eyes down the long column of paper ribbons glued closely together.
Today, on the supremely festive occasion of His Majesty the Sovereign Emperor’s birthday, Moscow has been blessed as never before by the Tsar's beneficent favour: the Autocratic Ruler of Russia has placed the first capital city of His Empire in the direct charge of His Most August Brother, the Grand Duke Simeon Alexandrovich, by appointing His Highness as Governor General of Moscow.
There is profound historical significance in this appointment. Moscow enters once again into direct communion with the Most August House of the Russian Tsars. The Centuries-old spiritual link between the leader of the Russian people and the ancient capital of Russia today assumes that external, palpable form which is of such profound importance for the clear national awareness of all the people.
Today the Sovereign Emperor has deemed it a boon to exalt even further Moscow's significance as a national palladium by appointing as His representative there none other than His Own Most August Brother.
Muscovites will never forget the easy accessibility for which Prince Vladimir Andreevich was so noted, the cordial consideration that he extended to all those who turned for him to help, the energy with which ...
'Have you read the bit about easy accessibility?' asked Pozharsky, evidendy impatient to proceed with the conversation. 'You don't need to read any more; there's a lot, but it's all froth. So there you are, Erast Petrovich: your patron's finished. And now the time has come for the two of us finally to clarify our relationship. From now on Moscow changes, and it will never again be the same as it was under your amiable Dolgorukoi. Genuine authority is being established in the city, firm power, without any of that "easy accessibility". Your boss failed to understand the true nature of power, he failed to distinguish between its sacred and practical functions, with the result that your city became bogged down in its old patriarchal habits and was making no progress at all towards the new century approaching.'
The prince spoke seriously, with energy and conviction. This was probably what he was really like, when he wasn't playing the hypocrite or being cunning.
'Sacred authority will be represented in Moscow by His Highness, my patron, whose interests I have actually represented here from the very beginning. I can now speak about that openly, without dissimulation. The Grand Duke is a man of a somewhat dreamy cast of mind, with rather distinctive tastes, about which you have no doubt already heard.'
Erast Petrovich recalled what people used to say about Simeon Alexandrovich: that he liked to surround himself with handsome young adjutants; but it was not clear if that was what Pozharsky had in mind.
'But then, that's not so very important. The fundamental point is that His Highness is not going to interfere in any business apart from the public gala parade variety - that is, he will not bedim the mystical halo of authority with "easy accessibility" and "cordial consideration". The practical power, the real power over this city of a million people, will go to Moscow's head police-master, and from today onwards, that happens to be me. I know that you will never stoop to writing underhand denunciations and whispering in ears, and therefore I think it possible to be absolute frank with you.' Gleb Georgievich glanced at Fandorins medals and gave a little frown.
'I get rather carried away sometimes, and I think I have offended you. You and I have become involved in a stupid kind of puerile rivalry, and I was simply unable to deny myself the pleasure of having a little joke with you. The joke turned sour. I beg your pardon yet again. I knew about the despatch that your patron sent yesterday, in which he requested the sovereign to confirm your appointment as head police-master. Dolgorukoi's secretary, the quiet and inoffensive Innokentii Andreevich, spotted which way the wind was blowing a long time ago, and he has been of quite invaluable assistance to our party. Did you really think that I went back to the hotel to sleep after Briusov Square?'
'I never even g-gave it a thought,' Erast Petrovich said coldly, breaking his silence for the first time.
'You are offended,' Pozharsky declared. 'Well, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Ah, forget about these foolish pranks. We're talking about your future here. I have had the opportunity to appr
eciate your exceptional qualities. You possess a keen intellect, firm resolve, courage, and also something that I value most of all in you: a talent for emerging from the flames without even singeing your wings. I'm a lucky man myself and I can recognise those who are favoured by fortune. Why don't we check to see whose luck is the stronger, yours or mine?'
He suddenly pulled a small pack of cards out of his pocket and held it out to the State Counsellor.
'Guess if the card on the top is red or black.'
'Very well, but put the p-pack on the table,' Erast Petrovich said with a shrug. 'Being too trusting in this game once nearly cost me my life.'
The prince was not offended in the least; in fact he laughed approvingly.
'Quite right. Luck is a lady; she should not be coralled into a corner. Well then?'
'Black,' Fandorin declared without even a moment's thought. Pozharsky pondered for a moment and said: 'I agree.' The top card proved to be the seven of spades. 'The next card is also black.' 'I agree.'
It was the three of clubs.
'Black again,' Erast Petrovich said patiently, as if he were playing a boring, infantile game with a little child.
'Unlikely that there would be three in a row ... No, I think red,' the prince declared - and turned over the queen of clubs.
'As I suspected,* Gleb Georgievich sighed. 'You are one of fortune's true darlings. I should have been sorry to lose such an ally. You know, from the very beginning I saw you as someone who was useful, but also dangerous. But now I no longer regard you as dangerous. For all your brilliant qualities, you have one immense shortcoming. You completely lack flexibility, you cannot alter your colour and shape to suit the circumstances. You are incapable of turning aside from the road already mapped out on to a roundabout side track. And so you won't be biding your time to stab me in the back - that is an art that you, of course, will never master, which suits me perfectly. And as for flexibility, there is a lot I could teach you about that. I propose an alliance. Together we could move mountains. It's not a matter of any specific position for you just yet - we can agree that later. What I need at present is your agreement in principle.'
The State Counsellor gave no reply, and Pozharsky continued, smiling disarmingly: 'Very well, let us take our time. For the time being let us simply get to know each better. I'll teach you how to be flexible, and you'll teach me to guess the colour of cards. Is it a deal?'
Fandorin thought for a moment and nodded.
'Excellent. Then I propose that from now on we should address each other informally and this evening we can seal the concordance by drinking to Bruderschaft,' the prince said, beaming. 'How about it? "Gleb and Erast"?'
'"Erast and Gleb",' Erast Petrovich agreed.
'My friends actually call me Glebchik,' the new head police-master said with a smile, holding out his hand. 'Well then, Erast, until this evening. I have to go out shortly on important business.'
Fandorin stood up and shook the outstretched hand, but seemed in no hurry to leave.
'But what about the search for Green? Are we not going to d-do anything about it? As I recall, Gleb,' said the State Counsellor, uttering the unaccustomed form of address with some effort, 'you said that we were going to "start scheming again".'
'Don't you worry about that,' Pozharsky replied, smiling like Vasilisa the Wise telling the young Tsarevich Ivan that tomorrow is a new day. 'The meeting for which I am departing in such haste will help me close the case of the Combat Group once and for all.'
Crushed by this final blow, Fandorin said no more, but merely nodded dejectedly in farewell and walked out of the office.
He walked down the stairs with the same crestfallen stride, crossed the vestibule slowly, threw his fur coat across his shoulders and went out on to the boulevard, swinging his top hat melancholically.
However, no sooner had Erast Fandorin moved a little distance away from the yellow building with the white columns than his bearing underwent a quite dramatic change. He suddenly ran out into the roadway and waved his hand to stop the first cab that came along.
'Where to, Your Excellency?' the grey-bearded cabby cried smardy in a Vladimir accent when he spotted the glittering cross of a medal under the open fur coat. 'We'll get you there quick as a flash!'
But the important gent didn't get in; instead he took a look at the sturdy, shaggy-haired horse and kicked the sleigh's runner with the toe of his boot.
'So how much is a rig like this nowadays?'
The cabby wasn't surprised, because this wasn't his first year driving a cab in Moscow and he'd seen all sorts of cranks in his time. In fact those cranks were the best tippers.
'Oh, nigh on five hundred,' he boasted, naturally stretching the truth a bit to make the figure sound respectable.
And then the gent did something really queer. He took a gold watch on a gold chain out of his pocket and said: 'This diamond Breguette is worth at least a thousand roubles. Take it, and give me the sleigh and the horse.'
The cabby's jaw dropped and his eyes went blank. He gazed spellbound at the bright specks of sunlight dancing on the gold.
'Make your mind up quickly' the crazy general shouted, 'or I'll st-stop someone else.'
The cabby snatched the watch and stuffed it into his cheek, but the chain wouldn't fit, so it was left dangling down across his beard. He got out of the sleigh, dropped his whip, slapped the sorrel mare on the rump in farewell and legged it.
'Stop!' the weird gent shouted after him - he must have changed his mind. 'Come back!'
The cabby plodded miserably back towards the sleigh, but he didn't take the booty out of his cheek yet; he was still hoping.
'M-m-ma-m, mimim, mamimi mummi mumi mamokumi,' he mooed reproachfully, which meant: 'Shame on a gent like you for playing tricks like that, you should have given me a tip for vodka too.'
'L-Let's swap clothes,' the crackpot said. 'Your sheepskin coat and mittens for my heavy coat. And take your cap off too.'
The gent pulled on the sheepskin coat and tugged the flaps of the sheepskin cap down over his ears. He tossed the cabby his cloth-covered beaver-fur coat and plonked the suede top hat down on his head. And then he yelled: 'That's it, now clear out!'
The cabby picked up the skirts of the heavy coat that was too long for him and set off across the boulevard, tramping heavily in his patched felt boots, with the chain of the gold watch dangling beside his ear.
Fandorin got into the sleigh, clicked his tongue to the horse to reassure it, and started waiting.
About five minutes later a closed sleigh drove up to the door of the head police-master's house. Pozharsky came out of the building carrying a bouquet of tea roses and ducked into the closed sleigh. It set off immediately. Another sleigh carrying two gentlemen who were already familiar to Erast Petrovich set off in pursuit.
After waiting for a little while, the State Counsellor gave a wild bandit whistle and whooped: 'Giddup, lazybones! Get moving!'
The sorrel mare shook its combed mane, jangled its sleigh bell and set off at a fast trot.
It turned out that they were going to the Nikolaevsky Station.
There Pozharsky jumped out of the carriage, tidied his bouquet and ran lightly up the station steps, two at a time. The 'guardian angels' followed him, keeping their customary distance.
Then the sham cabby got out of his own sleigh. As if he were simply strolling about aimlessly, he walked close to the covered carriage, dropped his mitten and bent down to pick it up, but didn't straighten up again immediately. He glanced around slyly and suddenly smashed the mounting of the suspension with an immensely powerful blow of his fist, delivered with such lightning speed that it was almost impossible to see. The sleigh shuddered and sagged slightly to one side. The alarmed driver hung down from his box to look, but saw nothing suspicious, because Fandorin had already straightened up and was looking the other way.
After that, while he sat in his sleigh, he refused several fares from the St Petersburg train, one of which was actually
highly advantageous: to Sokolniki for a rouble and twenty-five kopecks.
Pozharsky returned with company: an extremely attractive young lady. She was burying her face in the roses and laughing happily. And the prince was not his usual self: his face was positively glowing with carefree merriment.
The lovely lady put her free hand round his shoulders and kissed him on the lips so passionately that Gleb Georgievich's pine-marten cap slipped over to one side of his head.
Fandorin could not help shaking his head in amazement at the surprises thrown up by human nature. Who would ever have thought that the ambitious predator from St Petersburg was capable of such romantic behaviour? But what had all this to do with the Combat Group?
As soon as the prince seated his companion in the carriage, it heeled over decisively to the right, making quite clear that there was no chance of travelling any further in it.
Erast Fandorin pulled his cap further down over his eyes, turned up his collar, cracked his whip smartly and drove straight up to the scene of the mishap.
'Here's a fine light Vladimir sleigh for you!' the State Counsellor yelled in a high falsetto that had nothing in common with his normal voice. 'Get in, Your Honour, I'll take you and the mamselle wherever you like, and I won't ask a lot: just a roople, and a half a roople, and a quarter roople for tea and sugar!'
Pozharsky glanced at this dashing fellow, then at the lopsided carriage and said: 'You can take the lady to Lubyanskaya Square. And I', he said, addressing the new arrival herself, 'will ride to Tverskoi Boulevard with my sworn protectors. I'll be waiting for news.'
