Death's Ink Black Shadow

by John Wiltshire

  Nikolas blinked, but before he could apparently challenge or untangle this, the visitor asked, “Do you miss him? Aleksey? You were very close once.”

  Nikolas came forward sharply. “You did not know him that well. You speak as if you and my brother were close. He…he could barely tell one of Sergei’s friends apart from another. You were all a blur in his life. Passing by like shit in a drain.” He licked his lips again, ran his fingers through his hair and added, “He told me.”

  Anatoly smirked and shrugged. “Perhaps he did not like to tell you much that we discussed. Much that we did together. I spent a great deal of time with your brother, Nikolas. Sergei was a busy man, always state affairs, always travel. I had much time, and I enjoyed your brother’s company very much. I took him to my dacha for the summer once. Did he not tell you this?”

  Nikolas’s jaw worked around, as if he was literally chewing on the word. “No.”

  “Ah, well. Boys will be boys. All their delicious secrets. Aleksey loved his power games, wove lies like the complex threads of a tapestry. He was very good at lying, even as a very little boy. And then, of course, after the gulags he was superb—a master of games and manipulations. You may not know this, Nikolas, but your brother trumped up charges against me and had me imprisoned. Yes, we all enjoyed his games. My daughter, Kristina, always adored them, I recall. Now, I must get on. I have much business to conduct in this city before I leave. I do hope we have a chance to meet again. I feel certain that we will.” Anatoly rose, and began to wander toward the door when he spied something on the ground and picked it up. He examined the chewed-up, spat-out tennis ball carefully then declared happily, “You have a dog,” suddenly throwing it to Nikolas.

  Nikolas caught it deftly. In his right hand.

  The old man shook his head sadly. “You should not let him have such things in the house! They are hazardous. Imagine the accidents that could happen. You English are so amusing with your dogs. Not so with your children, of course. We Russians like our children. Sons and daughters. Yes, very much.” He held out his hand. “Well, Mr Rider-Mikkelsen, it has been very nice to meet you.”

  Ben, being English, shook the hand of the man who’d fucked and abused Nikolas and was, as far as he could see, fucking him around again now. He offered this politeness, but he was fairly sure the other man got what he was thinking. He saw the old eyes narrow for a moment, reassessing, and that was extremely satisfying.

  § § §

  There was a brief instant again after the old man had left when Ben thought Nikolas was going to open up a little. He was tossing Radulf’s ball from hand to hand, deep in thought. Ben chuckled. “Good move with the catch.”

  Nikolas looked over, his face neutral.

  Ben elaborated, “Using your right hand. It must be hell of a shock for him to apparently meet Aleksey’s brother after all this time.”

  Nikolas’s face remained neutral, but once more Ben had the unsettling feeling that a lot was going on under the surface of this apparent calm. Finally, Nikolas commented, “You think he doesn’t know it’s me.”

  It didn’t sound like a question, more a realisation of a gulf between them.

  Ben folded his arms, confused. “What do you mean? Of course he thinks you’re Nikolas.”

  Nikolas suddenly roused and smiled, ruffling Ben’s hair. “Good. That’s what I think, too. Now, I have some work to do with Pey—in my office. Go for your run. I was embarrassed at how fat you looked sitting there in your shorts.” He dashed quickly up the stairs before Ben could catch him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ben was very glad to get Nikolas away from London that weekend. Their life in Devon, and all its innocent simplicity, beckoned him. Nikolas had been reluctant to leave for some reason, and claimed he had to be back on Monday.

  This time when they departed for London on Sunday night, Ben left Radulf with Babushka, as he planned to drive Nikolas back to London, go and see Tim and Squeezy and apologise, because he was English and that’s what you did, and then come straight back. Radulf loved a trip, but it seemed mean to drag him back for such a short time.

  After Squeezy, Ulyana Ivanovna was Radulf’s favourite person to stay with. She spoke Russian, which was clearly an advantage, as after Danish, he knew a lot of Russian words. He never seemed to hear quite the same Russian words from her as he did from Nikolas, but nevertheless sit, where’s your ball? and stop it! worked fine.

  They got the call as they were approaching London on the M4.

  Ben was driving, so Nikolas fished down deep into the offending pocket to find Ben’s cell, something which naturally cheered them both up and delayed the actual answering of the phone. Nikolas swore slightly as he tapped it just a little too late. “Babushka.”

  “She’ll leave a message if it’s important.”

  “Does she know how?”

  Ben ignored this blatant attempt to cast Babushka as an octogenarian incapable of using technology. He was thinking about Nikolas’s hand and wondering if he should try and get him to return the favour he’d given him whilst driving—twice. But then he was doing…a hundred and ten…

  He slowed slightly.

  Nikolas grunted as the phone vibrated with a text.

  He clicked and read it.

  Ben heard a small, strangulated noise. “What?” He flicked his gaze over. Nikolas was white. Ben had only ever seen such a thing on men suffering from extreme blood loss. “What?”

  “Radulf is dead.”

  “What! Fuck!” Ben swerved back into his own lane, ignoring the blare of horn from behind. “What the fuck! What happened?”

  “That’s all it says.”

  “Call her!”

  Nikolas tried, but Babushka’s home phone just rang unanswered and her cell was switched off.

  Ben crossed three lanes of heavy traffic, took the next exit, over the bridge and pulled back out onto an almost empty motorway going west.

  They were silent. Nikolas turned his head to stare out of the window so Ben could not see his face. Ben kept glancing at the speedometer, as if by looking at it he could magically make the miles disappear, eat them with acceleration. He usually went fast. The car’s top speed was a hundred and fifty-five miles an hour—it was electronically limited to this—and Ben tried it out for the first time.

  Nikolas called Babushka’s phone until he was apparently sick of hearing the empty ring.

  Eventually, they came to their turn off, then to their lane, and then the driveway along the ridge and down to the grounds.

  Neither wanted to get out of the car.

  They made their way to the house in the woods.

  Lights were on.

  Ben closed his eyes for strength and knocked. There was a commotion inside and Babushka opened the door. She began to babble at Nikolas in Russian. Ben was too distraught to listen and untangle the words. He stepped inside.

  Radulf staggered sheepishly up from his basket to say hello.

  § § §

  According to Nikolas’s fractured translation, Ulyana Ivanovna refused to accept that it had been her appalling English that had caused such a fuss. Two grown men. Whatever next! If a certain young man learnt to speak Russian properly she wouldn’t have had to text him in English. Dead, dying, sick. She’d been panicked. The vet said Radulf could have died. Dead. Terrible language with ridiculous irregular verbs! She then rounded on Nikolas. If another certain man who actually spoke God’s language carried a phone that worked she’d have called him!

  Basically, they all agreed that Radulf’s premature obituary was entirely not her fault.

  Ben was inclined to cut her some slack because Radulf apparently very nearly had died, and she’d coped with this appalling possibility with her habitual Siberian stoicism and saved his life.

  Radulf, it appeared, had ingested poison.

  She suspected someone had laid bait for her badgers, which Radulf, being both blind and greedy, had eaten on their walk. Unbeknownst to either Ben or Nikolas, th
ey had an extensive sett on their land. Ulyana Ivanovna and Radulf had been studying and protecting the family for some months. They were both something of badger experts by now. Poisoning these harmless creatures, she claimed, was on the increase due to the lack of success of the cull.

  Radulf had returned from their walk and started bleeding and vomiting. She didn’t have a car any more, as she pointed out to Ben. He was already chastised for not speaking Russian. Now, he felt worse for taking her car.

  Babushka had called 999 and told the emergency operator her dog had eaten poison. Apparently, however, her English was so bad the operator must have thought she’d swallowed it…Quite understandable that someone might make that mistake…

  An ambulance had arrived in twenty minutes.

  At this part of the story, Ulyana Ivanovna’s eyes watered, and she murmured just how wonderful the English were—how they loved their dogs. The nice young men in the ambulance had taken one look at Radulf, and instead of declaring that they didn’t deal with animals, had bundled them both into the vehicle and sped to the vet in Ashburton. In the ambulance, sure it was rat poison, they’d pumped Radulf’s stomach and then given him active charcoal.

  By the time they’d reached the surgery, Radulf was stable. He probably could have walked into the vet, but the very nice young men had wanted to carry him. He’d been wrapped in an emergency—and very fetching—red blanket.

  She showed it to Ben and Nikolas. They’d let him keep it.

  One look at this object in Radulf’s basket, and she slumped and began to cry.

  Nikolas hugged her and Ben knelt down in front of Radulf. He took the dog’s face in his hands and rested their foreheads together for a moment. “You smell horrible.”

  Radulf banged his tail in agreement.

  It was hard to deny.

  § § §

  On the walk back to the house, with Nikolas carrying Radulf, Ben said, “I think we saw him.”

  Nikolas nodded. He seemed distracted. Ben assumed it was the dead weight in his arms. No not dead. Just weight. “The badger guy. Our intruder is explained.”

  Nikolas nodded again.

  They agreed Radulf should sleep with them that night, so Nikolas lumped him all the way to the bedroom and placed him on the bed.

  “Well at least our mystery visitor is solved.” Ben often had to talk to himself, so this was nothing particularly new.

  Once more, Nikolas nodded. He sat down on the bed next to the dog and began thoughtlessly twisting the drooping ears, rubbing around them, as Ben knew Radulf loved. “He’s going to be fine, Nik. What’s wrong?”

  Nikolas shook his head. “Nothing. I have some calls to make.”

  § § §

  Nikolas spent over an hour on the phone.

  Ben heard little bits and pieces of the conversation as he brought Nikolas some tea or returned to the bedroom to check on Radulf. He was very well aware that Nikolas changed the subject of the conversation whenever he sensed he wasn’t alone, but Ben had the impression he was talking to Peyton Garic for some reason. Nikolas had the gift of mimicry, possibly from knowing so many languages. Not only did he slip between them unconsciously sometimes, he tended to take up expressions and idioms from the people he was talking to. Ben heard an unusual number of odd American idiosyncrasies during this call. You do the math came out at one point. What was math, when it was at home? My bad followed. My bad what?

  Ben was convinced it was Peyton on the other end.

  All the monitors were on.

  The grounds were eerie in the black and white images.

  Nikolas was scanning them intently as he spoke in his weirdly corrupted English.

  § § §

  There wasn’t that much space left in the bed once Radulf had taken up his favourite position—upside down, legs akimbo, and right in the middle.

  Ben lay separated from Nikolas by the dog, but knew that Nikolas wasn’t asleep.

  “We should buy Babushka something to say thank you.”

  “A dictionary?”

  “She might like flowers better.”

  Nikolas only grunted.

  “Emmy’ll be here tomorrow. That’ll cheer her up. Do you want to come meet her at the airport with me?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t want to talk, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Why don’t—?”

  “I’m going to swim.” True to his word, Nikolas suddenly rose from the bed and strode naked to the pool. Ben heard a soft splash of a dive and that was that.

  He glanced at Radulf.

  All he had now was a wheezy snore and odd smell for company.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Ben got a text as he was making Nikolas some tea before leaving for the airport to meet Emilia’s plane. He was a little wary of answering texts now, but when he saw it was from her, he assumed she was confirming that she’d got safely on the flight.

  He tapped it and scanned it as the kettle was boiling.

  Nikolas was reading the paper with silent concentration, although Ben noticed that the pages hadn’t turned for quite a while. In the past when he’d spotted something like this, he’d have commented on it, accused Nikolas of plotting something, and demanded to know what was wrong, but he had a feeling he’d be wasting his time if he tried that now. Instead, he mentioned casually, “Em’s coming down by car instead now.”

  Nikolas looked up sharply. “What do you mean? What car?”

  “Calm down. Mrs Toogood’s, apparently. She’s taking Miles to France for the week…they’re leaving from Plymouth…she offered to drive Em. Bloody hell, that’s a long drive.”

  Nikolas rose and flung his paper down. “Her car is older than you. It does not even have airbags. Call Emilia back and tell her—” He sank down suddenly and put his head in his hands. “You all defeat me. I cannot do this anymore.”

  Ben went to the table and sat down across from him. “Hey, what’s wrong? Tell me.”

  Nikolas lifted his head and smiled ruefully. “I’m just tired. For some reason, I was unable to get comfortable last night.”

  They both glanced at the culprit who was snoozing in his basket. He hadn’t eaten his breakfast, but Nikolas maintained this was just a ploy to spend another night in their bed and that such devious tactics had to be resisted.

  Nikolas stood up. “They will be very late tonight. I will go and tell Babushka. We must offer them hospitality.” He seemed almost too weary to move. Ben watched him go with that disturbing sense, once more, that maybe there was coffee on somewhere that he ought to be smelling.

  § § §

  The intrepid trio made surprisingly good time and were with them just after tea. Ben then discovered from Emilia that Mrs Toogood had got her and Miles up at four and on the road by five. It was how she’d travelled with her parents to the continent for their annual tours, and she hadn’t seen why things had to change. Although, as she hadn’t driven much beyond the borders of her Highland home for almost sixty years, she had apparently discovered that things in Britain were very different now and had spent the entire trip muttering, “In my day…” followed by something Emilia had tuned out.

  Miles was something of a shock to Ben.

  He was beginning to wonder whether Nikolas had a secret fat fetish, which would be strange considering his preferred partner for sex, as far as Ben was aware, had zero body fat.

  Emilia flung herself in Ben’s arms and kissed his ear, talking nineteen to the dozen. Radulf got the next kiss, Babushka the third, and she was only after the first two because the grandmothers had been helping Miles lever himself out of the back of the tiny Morris Minor.

  Then Emilia turned to Nikolas. He narrowed his eyes at her. She went to kiss him but at the very last moment shied away and punched him lightly in the belly instead. He was entirely caught unawares, something Ben had very rarely seen, and spluttered with astonishment as he creased to the punch. Emilia gave Nikolas a cheeky grin then hugged him close and joked, �
�You’re getting old. Reactions are going.”

  Nikolas laughed again, and Ben could have kissed the girl. He hadn’t heard genuine amusement from Nikolas in some days. Since they’d returned from Aeroe, he now realised sadly.

  Ben introduced himself to Miles who responded by asking, “Do you not find the glass on this house acts like a greenhouse?”

  “Huh?”

  “The circulation of the heated air?”

  “Huh?”

  “I’ve been studying future colonies on Mars, you see.”

  Nikolas was ushering them all inside, and fortunately for Ben, Miles immediately spotted the swim lane and went to investigate. Babushka was chatting in rapid Russian to Emilia, and from the girl’s expression and immediate joining of Radulf, who was now in his basket, she had just been told about his escape from death. That left Mrs Toogood. She walked incredibly slowly across the gravel, taking an inordinate length of time to cross through the door.

  Ben went to help her, offer her his arm, but saw a tiny flick of negative from Nikolas. He frowned but let the old lady sit herself down at the table. She was glancing around with evident approval and didn’t seem at all surprised by the wealth on display. “Lovely rhododendrons. You must tell me how you keep them like that.”

  Miles returned.

  Ben slid off to put the kettle on but he was followed. “Do you worry about the radiation from the tor?”

  “Huh?”

  “The rocks! Granite! They give off more radiation than a nuclear power plant. Your bedroom must be full of radon gas.”

  Ben’s first thought at this was to blame Radulf, but then he frowned and heard it more clearly and muttered, “What?”

  Miles was trying to get up on one of the counter stools, but it was too high for him and he wasn’t the right shape to hop. He gave Ben an incredulous look. “Decaying uranium!”

  “What? Depleted uranium! In the bedroom?”

  Miles stopped his struggles. “Oh, goodness, I think I’d better make this much simpler for you. That’s exactly the opposite—depleted of U235.”

  “Huh?” Ben glanced at Nikolas for help. Nikolas was showing Mrs Toogood some pictures of the construction of the house. He was deliberately not catching Ben’s eye. Ben could tell. Ben suddenly had a brainwave and said to the boy, “Do you like chocolate cake?”