‘Here.’
‘Would you get rid of it? A long way off?’
‘Right.’ Glancing round. ‘You ready, Nick?’
The Count nodded. He’d washed most of the coal-dust off; his head and beard were dripping wet still. ‘Did you fix the steamboat?’
‘It’s on its way down-river.’
‘No trouble?’
He shrugged. ‘Not much.’ Asking Krebst, ‘All set, Sergeant?’
‘Very good – thank you!’ Krebst laughed. He was the sort of man who laughs easily. Nadia murmured, ‘The other one talks French, Bob.’ Nodding towards Majerle, the orang-utan, as he came out of the kitchen shaking water off himself. Nadia added, ‘Good French.’ Bob’s eyes held hers again – for about two seconds that might have been two minutes… Then: ‘That’s worth knowing. Not that mine’s up to much.’ He tried some of it, all the same, on the orang-utan: ‘Très bon! On peut causer en Francais, uh?’
‘Mais oui! Et je veux vous remercier, Monsieur…’
‘Robat. Je m’appelle Robat. Mais – pas necéssaire – du tout.’
Krebst didn’t talk French, Nick told him – drawing him aside, wanting a private word. But the rest of them did, of course… ‘Bob – we do have to take the Czechs along with us, I suppose?’
‘Unless they choose to go off on their own. That would be fine. But we need to get ’em well away from here first, don’t you agree?’
‘You mean in case they were recaptured, and—’
‘Exactly. And for the same reason let’s stick to Anton Vetrov and Robat, and not a word about princesses.’
Not that one had positive reason to distrust them. But when time and circumstances allowed, one might enquire into their background, probe a little: it seemed strange that Khitrov didn’t seem to have done them any harm. ‘Nick – on the same subject – I acquired another pistol down there. I want mine, by the way – wherever Nadia or Maroussia put it… But we have four between us now – what d’you think about arming the Czechs?’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Let’s not, then. What about the tunnel under the wall?’
‘Nobody’s sure. But we have a rope, we could get over it, if—’
‘Right. Make sure you bring it. And it’s up to you to take us to the right spot. Next question is where should Maroussia pick us up? Cutting the corner, if we get to the road a hundred metres north of the gate, as you said – how far from there, with cover we can wait in?’
‘Four, five hundred metres, from where we rejoin the road. There’s a bend before that, and we could wait down on the river side of the levee.’
‘Fine. And Maroussia – when you get to us, don’t stop. If you did they might hear it from the gate. Keep Don Juan down to a walk, we’ll pile in one at a time while you’re on the move, then you can give him his head. All right?’
She’d nodded. Don Juan moving his ears about as if to hear better. Bob said, ‘Then the big decision – how far north can you take us?’
‘Not to Fedorovka?’
Fedorovka, of the blood-red sunset, had been the place in his mind when he’d briefed Nick an hour earlier. Knowing that she and the donkey had been that far, to collect Nick’s mother and the two girls, that it was a distance they could manage. But he’d been having second thoughts: had been reminded, when he’d cast the steamboat adrift, of this river’s strength.
‘Fedorovka would do, Maroussia. A long way for you and this fellow anyway. But – look…’ He sketched it with a forefinger on the donkey’s grey hide. ‘Here’s the river. Here on the other bank, Sasykolsk. We need to fetch up somewhere near there – actually just above—’
‘Where you met Leonid Mesyats.’
‘Exactly! But you see – six of us in a boat, with one man rowing…’
‘Kopanovka would be the best place. You’d have a channel right across, and all downstream.’ Glancing at the Count. ‘For me, ten or twelve versts farther, that’s all.’
‘Could you really make that distance?’
‘He could.’ She ruffled Don Juan’s ears. ‘Take a bit longer, that’s all.’
* * *
The Count led, with Nadia next behind him, then Majerle, Krebst, Irina, and Bob bringing up the rear. Single file and about six paces apart, slipping out of the door and turning right along the front of the stable-block and around its end, then northward towards the road. The moon was down, but the night was windless now and every sound the others made ahead of him seemed dangerously loud.
The vital thing was to be gone before a relief guard found the cellar door bolted, got no response from inside and started yelling. But not just for them to be gone – Maroussia too. These few minutes now would be the worst time of all for the alarms to sound. The plan was that she’d give them time to get clear before she started out, so when she was stopped at the gate she’d have nothing on board except the remains of the old dinghy, and they’d be waiting for her to pick them up just down the road: they’d have got out either through the old bolthole which Leonid Mesyats’ grandson was thought to have made use of a few days ago, or if Nick couldn’t find it, over the wall.
These were beeches. Fine old trees, their great canopies shutting out the sky. Sounds as of a small army blundering through the night ahead of him.
Irina, suddenly close…
‘All right?’
Her pale face as she turned… ‘Having trouble finding it, I expect.’
‘Might as well close up. You might help him.’
‘Yes…’
Bunching up. Krebst – Majerle, then… ‘Nadia?’
‘Yes, I’m here.’ Her whisper. ‘But – just a minute…’
‘This way.’ Nick’s voice, from the right. ‘I’ve found it. Nadia?’
‘Coming.’ From behind them, the direction of the house, an owl hooted. Possibly the owl… They were advancing in a group now, a few paces behind Nadia. Then the wall loomed black, with the trees’ great branches overhanging it. Nadia had stopped. ‘Nikki?’
‘I don’t think it’s any use.’ His voice came from ground-level. ‘Too narrow. All right for a child, perhaps, but—’
‘Didn’t Boris use it?’
‘We don’t know for sure. Might have partly filled in since then, anyway. Bob?’
‘Over the top.’ He came up beside Nadia. ‘Where’s the rope?’
He took the coil from Nick: it felt like rotten rope… Get over without it, maybe. Up one of these trees, out along a branch to the wall, haul the girls up… Looking up at the branches, he decided to try the rope anyway: not that this would be a good time for breaking legs.
‘Give me some room. I’ll chuck it over that one.’
The third throw made it. He reached up for the dangling end, hauled it down so that the rope was doubled over the branch, close enough to the wall.
‘I’ll go up first – if this doesn’t break – then haul the girls up. Then you, Nick, and you go over the other side and I’ll lower them down to you. I’ll get the Czechs up after you three are over. All right?’
Nadia muttered, ‘Will it take your weight?’
‘Soon find out…’
Luckily, it did. Which meant it would take the others’ weight too. It didn’t have to take the whole weight anyway, except at some brief moments, a lot of it was on the wall through one’s feet as one scrambled up: but if it had broken he’d have come down on his back. He made it, though, digging the toes of his boots into crevices between the bricks, then transferring – not easy – from the branch to the top of the wall…
‘All right. Girls now…’
Nadia, then Irina. Then the Count, then the orang-utan and Krebst. He pulled the ends of the rope up, threw them down on the other side. ‘Down you go, Nick.’ The Count slid down into the darkness on that side, and when he whispered up that he was ready Bob lowered Irina into his arms. Then Nadia. The Czechs went over, using the rope, and he followed.
Landing in long grass and bushes: he hauled the rope down by je
rking it around the branch. Maroussia might need it, but in any case the last thing one wanted was to leave a marker here. Coiling it between hand and elbow as he ran, following the others across the road – which curved concavely at this point, following the edge of the high ground which had justified Stukalin or his predecessors building a house here. The curve’s concavity was eastward: and the intention now was to cut across that area of low ground – bog, presumably – and rejoin the road well above the north gate, out of which Maroussia and Don Juan would be clattering in about ten minutes’ time. Where you rejoined the road you’d be climbing up on to the levee, artificial banking that carried the road above the level of spring floods.
Nick led again – over the road and down a steep, uneven slope. Even in mid-summer the dead-flat ground was soft underfoot. The long grass would keep it so, Bob supposed. Soft, but firm enough to walk on. Getting an idea from it, an alternative approach to the river crossing. Wishing he had Leonid Mesyats here to consult… Up ahead, Nick had Irina with him, and the Czechs were close behind them; looking round for Nadia, Bob found her close on his left.
Putting out a hand: ‘All right?’
‘Need to hurry, don’t we?’
‘Yes…’
Otherwise Maroussia might be driving out on to the road ahead of them, and have to stop, not knowing where they’d got to. Then the man or men on the north gate would hear her stop: and later, when all hell broke loose, might remember…
What might happen to Maroussia was a major worry. The other big one was what to do when – assuming the right word was when, not if – what to do when one got down to the delta, with only one small boat at one’s disposal and six grown people to be transported in it. Even in a flat calm – and as the days passed the odds against getting many more flat calms on the Caspian were lengthening.
Nadia panted, ‘Ought to just make it…’
Nick whispered back to them, ‘I can make out the levee now. Not far to go.’
They all heard it then: the cart’s iron-rimmed wheels on cobbles. On a still night like this you’d just about hear it in Enotayevsk… It had stopped now. Nadia had begun, ‘Oh Lord, that’s—’ and then checked, in the silence. Bob imagining the cart stopped, Don Juan flexing his ears while Maroussia went to shut the coachhouse door. She’d be climbing back up now, flipping the reins…
At exactly that moment the wheels began to grind again. He called, ‘Nick – better run?’
* * *
Maroussia said crossly, ‘Told you, didn’t I? It’s a boat. My late husband, God bless him, used to catch fish from it. None of your business, anyway.’
‘You wouldn’t catch many fish from it now, babushka, I’ll tell you that for nothing!’
‘It can be mended. Look, cover that end up, put it back as it was before!’
‘I’d sell it under the cover, if I were you. Best chance you’d have. What d’you reckon you’ll get for it?’
She sniffed. ‘Sack of turnips, maybe.’
‘You and your turnips.’ The soldier laughed. ‘On you go, then, babushka. Let me know how you get on, eh?’ She flipped the reins. ‘Po-idyom…’
Plodding out through the gateway and turning right, northward. Iron wheel-rims clattering on the ridged surface. After about a hundred yards, just around the bend, she saw a figure on the road ahead: with four or five hundred metres still to cover before she’d been supposed to see anyone…
‘Maroussia.’ Low-voiced, but audible enough – the Count. Other figures appearing behind him now, seeming to rise out of the ground like apparitions… She clicked her tongue at Don Juan, to keep him going, guessing he’d take this meeting as a good excuse to stop if he was given half a chance… ‘Thought you’d be farther on than this.’
‘Only just made it.’ Panting. ‘Had to run…’
‘Put my darlings in first, eh?’
‘Of course.’ The Count was loosening the twine and pulling back the leading edge of the tarpaulin. The cart having an escort of pedestrians now – stumbling along beside it, puffing and blowing… He had the front uncovered, room for anyone to get in on either side of the boat’s bow and then duck under and sit down. There’d be plenty of headroom, anyway… ‘Nadia – here, I’ll give you a leg up…’
* * *
Trundling northwards. Don Juan was doing well, having maintained a reasonably fast trot for – well, more than an hour now, probably – Maroussia keeping him up to scratch with an occasional crack across the rump – using the loose end of the reins, leaning forward from her perch to reach him with it – while the telega banged and clattered over ruts and potholes, swayed around the bends.
Under the boat’s stern were the two girls and the Count – they’d been the first to board – while the Czechs and Bob were in the front, the thwart across the midships section of the boat dividing the head-space into these two halves. The tendency was to sit with the feet drawn in, hugging one’s knees. Noise and vibration kept verbal exchanges to a minimum; although Bob was using his advantageous position in the bow to spend periods on his feet, leaning beside Maroussia for sporadic conversation.
Some of this was useful. For instance she was sure about there being a transverse deepwater channel that would take them across from Kopanovka to the fishing-station a few miles downstream. It linked the two main, roughly parallel channels, ran – he gathered, putting his own interpretation on to her sketchy description of it – from north-west to south-east, starting about two miles below Kopanovka where you’d take a left fork into it. When she’d last been on the river up there – with her husband, years ago – there used always to be a small island high and dry in about the middle of it, and after the island a branch southward which was not a main channel but into which the current was always very strong. So you’d hug the left bank, keep to it, and finally emerge into the main channel only about a mile above the fishing-station. Which, she warned him, would be deserted now, Leonid Mesyats and his like having all dispersed to their own villages. Her Ivan had been a keen fisherman in his day, and in her own younger days she’d spent a lot of time on the river with him. All their friends had been fishing people; from childhood onwards the river had been initially their livelihood, later their recreation and still an appreciable source of food.
‘So when the Solovyev family weren’t here…’
‘Spring and autumn – yes.’
Then later he’d broached another subject… ‘Maroussia. This very long trip you’re making for us. You aren’t likely to be back at the Dacha much before sunrise, are you?’
‘About then.’ She cackled. ‘In time for work.’ A flip of the reins… ‘All right for this old devil, he can sleep all day. Sleep and eat, is all he does!’
‘Will you take the boat back with you?’
‘Suppose so. I’ll say they wouldn’t buy it. Mean pigs…’
‘Then you’ll find Nadia missing, and you’ll want to know what they’ve done with her.’
‘I’ll say she went out with me to find Don Juan, and the night was beautiful so she decided to stay out for a little while. That was the last I saw her. They might believe the prisoners caught her and took her with them.’ A shrug of the bent, shawled figure… ‘Give them something to believe. But I’ll say their filthy soldiers must have – taken her, or—’
‘You’d be desperate, wouldn’t you – mad with worry.’
‘I’ll be mad, all right!’
‘But as regards this boat – couldn’t you stop in Enotayevsk, at the Shvedski traktir, persuade the Swede to give you some turnips for it? Half a sack, say?’
‘Maybe. Wake him up. Tell him I was there earlier looking for him. And I’ve been out all night looking for a buyer. Went to Fedorovka, maybe…’
‘That’s good. You’d have at least some support for your story, then. If you needed any. And if anyone had seen you passing through Enotayevsk earlier – seen or heard you…’
‘Yes. Yes…’
They’d been coming up to Fedorovka. He’d go
t back inside, feeling a bit better about the old girl, that she might get away with it. Being allegedly crazy, she’d be hard to trap. Only if there was physical evidence – coal-dust for instance. Even in this cart: and notably from himself, the only one of them who hadn’t cleaned himself up. He made a mental note to tell her this: so she’d throw a bucket or two of water over it. But the mess in her kitchen, too, around the tap where the others had rinsed themselves. And she ought to check the Hole very carefully for any evidence of its having been made use of; then shift all that hay back over the trapdoor.
The orang-utan asked him in French, ‘Are we doing all right?’
‘Doing fine.’ Over the internal noise, you had to yell. ‘But we’re about to go through a village. So – need to stay quiet.’ He leant back to warn the others: ‘Fedorovka coming up.’
‘Maroussia and Don Juan all right?’
‘Both doing well.’
‘But—’ Nick, leaning forward past Irina – ‘Are we – up to schedule?’
‘God knows.’ There wasn’t any schedule. The hope, as he saw their present situation, was simply to get to the other side of the river, to that transport, before daylight. At least before daylight… ‘Nadia, can you see the time by your watch?’
‘No, but it must be – twelve-thirty?’
He grunted, sitting back. Noise and motion changing as the condition of the road surface changed, in the approach to the village. Clock-watching wouldn’t help anyway, he thought, all you could do was push on as fast as possible; you couldn’t estimate how long any particular stage of the journey might take. How long to get to Kopanovka, then to find and take a boat; then the crossing, landing, doing something or other about the boat – covering of tracks being vitally important…
More distantly – but getting less so as time passed – the real spectre was the looming problem of one small skiff, six people, and the Caspian, which could be as treacherous as any other sea.
* * *
Bloody Sunset Page 26
