by Boris Akunin
‘The point is, Ziukin, that since the Time of Troubles all the ground around the Novodevichy Convent has been riddled with underground passages. It was besieged by the Poles and then the False Dmitry, and later the Streltsy dug under it to free theTsarina Sophia from captivity. I am sure that Lind, being the highly prudent and cautious individual that he is, chose this spot for a good reason. There must be a line of retreat – that is always his tactic. And so I decided to take a different approach.’
He knitted his brows and sighed.
‘The delivery of the stone was set for five o’clock yesterday, since the coronation was due to conclude at two. Immediately after the ceremony the Orlov was removed from the sceptre—’
‘Permission was given for the exchange?’ I exclaimed. ‘So she was wrong, and they decided to save Mikhail Georgievich after all!’
‘Who is she?’ Fandorin asked, but he could see from my face that therewould be no answer, and he continued: ‘Iwas entrusted with the Orlov on one condition. I gave a guarantee that Lind would not keep the stone under any circumstances. Not under any circumstances,’ he repeated significantly.
I nodded. ‘That is, if a choice has to be made between the life of His Highness and the diamond . . .’
‘Precisely so.’
‘But how can we be sure that the doctor will not manage to keep the Orlov? Howwill Mademoiselle Declique be able to stop him? And then, you said yourself that there are underground passages . . .’
‘I set one condition for Lind, which Emilie communicated to him the day before yesterday. Since we are not dealing with any ordinary jewel here but a holy relic, the d-diamond cannot be entrusted to a weak woman. The governess was to be accompanied by an escort. One man, unarmed, so that Lind need not fear an attack . . .’
‘And who was this escort?’
‘I was,’ Fandorin said ruefully. ‘It was good idea, don’t you think?’
‘And what happened?’
‘It didn’t work. I disguised myself as an old stooped footman but clearly not carefully enough. Emilie and I waited for more than an hour in the cathedral. No one approached us. And yet the day before yesterday, when she was alone, there were no difficulties: another note, a closed carriage in one of the side streets nearby and so on. Yesterday we waited until a quarter past six and came back with nothing for our pains.’
‘Surely Lind could not have abandoned the exchange?’ I asked in a dismal voice.
‘Indeed not. Therewas a letterwaiting for us at the Hermitage, delivered in the same manner as before, by the postman but without any stamp. Here, read it, especially since it concerns you directly.’
I cautiously took the sheet of paper, which gave off a faint aroma of scent.
‘The Earl of Essex?’ I asked.
‘In person. B-but read it, read it.’
‘I have decided to make the Romanov dynasty a generous gift on the occasion of the coronation . . .’ I read the first sentence in French and everything began swimming in front of my eyes. Could it really be?
But no, my joy was premature. I batted my eyelids to disperse the haze and read the note through to the end:
I have decided to make the Romanov dynasty a generous gift on the occasion of the coronation. A gift that is worth a million, for that is the sum agreed as one day’s payment for the Orlov, which I have kindly loaned to the Russian monarchy. And so you may keep the stone for one more day, entirely without charge. After all, it would be impolite of me, to say the least, to cast a shadow over your day of celebration.
We will complete our little transaction tomorrow. The governess must be in the cathedral at seven o’clock in the evening. I understand your reluctance to entrust such a valuable treasure to this woman, and I have no objections to a single escort. However, it must be someone I know, that is Monsieur Doggy Sideburns.
Yours sincerely,
Doctor Lind
My heart began beating faster and faster.
‘So this is why you are telling me all this?’
‘Yes,’ said Fandorin, looking into my eyes. ‘Afanasii Stepanovich, I need to ask you to take part in this dangerous business. You are not a police agent or a member of the armed services; you are not obliged to risk your life to p-protect the interests of the state, but circumstances have determined that without your help—’
‘I agree,’ I said, interrupting him.
At that moment I did not feel afraid at all. I was thinking of only one thing: Emilie and I would be together. I think it was the first time that I had thought of Mademoiselle by her first name.
There was a brief pause, and then Erast Petrovich got to his feet.
‘Then get some rest, you look tired. Be in the d-drawing room at ten o’clock. I’ll give you and Emilie a briefing.’
The late sun had warmed the velvet curtains, and there was a distinct smell of dust in the shaded drawing room. Velvet is always a problem – it is in the nature of the material: if it is left hanging for years without being washed regularly, as it had been here in the Hermitage, you simply cannot completely get rid of the dust that has eaten into it. I made a mental note to have the curtains changed that very day. Provided, of course, that I came back from the operation alive.
The success of the proposed undertaking appeared highly doubtful to me. At this last meeting – I had to assume that it was indeed the very last – only those directly involved in the operation were present: Mademoiselle and I, Mr Fandorin and the two colonels, Karnovich and Lasovsky, who were as meek as lambs and as quiet as mice, and listened to Erast Petrovich with emphatic respect, which may have been genuine or false, I do not know.
The plan of the area between the Novodevichy Convent and the Novodevichy Embankment that was laid out on the table had been carefully drawn, not like that morning’s demonstration on the oilcloth. Cross-hatched circles marked the positions of the secret sentries who surrounded the wasteland on all sides: the senior agent (Fandorin gave his name – Kuzyakin) in a hollow in an old oak tree on the corner of Vselensky Square; six ‘attendants’ in the dormitory of the children’s clinic that had windows overlooking the pond; eleven ‘monks’ on the wall of the convent; seven ‘boatmen’ and ‘buoy keepers’ on the river; one man disguised as a female street trader on the turn-off from Pogodinskaya Street; three ‘beggars’ at the gates of the convent; two ‘fishermen’ by the pond, the closest of all. The total number of agents in the first ring of the cordon was thirty-one.
‘The exchangemust take place as follows,’ Fandorin explained after he had indicated the positions of the sentry posts. ‘The two of you will be led to the chapel and taken inside. You will demand that your blindfolds be removed. The doctor’s own jeweller is bound to be there. You will give him the Orlov to examine and then take it back. Then Mademoiselle Declique will go down into the vault and collect the boy. When the boy is brought out to you, you hand over the stone. At that point, Ziukin, your mission is over.’
I could hardly believe my ears. I was already familiar with Mr Fandorin’s adventurous disposition, but I had not expected such irresponsibility, even from him. The most astounding thing was that the head of the court police and the high police master of Moscow had listened to this insane plan with a perfectly serious air and did not utter a single word of protest!
‘What nonsense!’ I declared with a trenchancy that was quite uncharacteristic of me (but entirely justified by the circumstances). ‘I shall be alone, unarmed, and Mademoiselle’s presence will not help me. They will simply take the diamond away from me once they are satisfied that it is genuine. And they will not even think of returning Mikhail Georgievich. They will simply escape through some underground passage and kill all three of us. A fine operation that will be! Wouldn’t it be better towait until Mademoiselle Declique and I have been taken inside, and then storm the tomb?’
‘No, it would not,’ Fandorin replied curtly.
And Karnovich explained: ‘If the place is stormed, His Highness will certainly be killed. And so wi
ll the two of you.’
I said nothing and glanced at Emilie. I must admit that she looked much calmer than I was and she was gazing at Fandorin as if she trusted him completely, which was particularly painful to see.
‘Erast Petrovich,’ she said quietly, ‘Doctor Lind is very cunning. What if Monsieur Ziukin and I are taken to a different place today, somewhere completely new? If that is the case, then your embuscade1 will be in vain.’
I turned to the sagacious Fandorin, for the question had, as they say, hit the bullseye.
‘That is not out of the question,’ he admitted. ‘But I have taken certain m-measures to deal with it. And your concerns, Ziukin – that they will take the stone and not return the boy – are also perfectly reasonable. It will all depend entirely on you. And so now I come to the m-most important thing of all.’
And so saying, hewent across to a smallwooden chest standing on a table beside the window, opened it and, using both hands, lifted out a smooth, shiny golden sphere the size of a small Crimean melon.
‘Here is your guarantee,’ said Erast Petrovich, setting the sphere down in front of me.
‘What is it?’ I asked, leaning over it.
The mirror surface of the sphere showed me a comically extended reflection of my own face.
‘Abomb, Afanasii Stepanovich. Of appalling destructive power. There is a small button on the inside. Pressing it releases the detonator, and after that the slightest jolt – for instance dropping the sphere on a stone floor – is sufficient to cause an explosion that would completely obliterate you, Lind and his men, and the entire chapel. The Orlov, as it happens, would survive, because it is indestructible and afterwards we would c-certainly find it among the rubble . . . You will have to explain all this to the doctor. Tell him that at the slightest sign of foul play you will drop the sphere. This is the only argument that will have any effect on Lind. It is our little surprise, so to speak.’
‘But the bomb is not genuine?’
‘I assure you that it is entirely g-genuine. The charge consists of an explosive mixture invented by chemists at the Imperial Mining and Artillery Laboratory. The Commission of the Central Artillery Department has not approved the mixture for use because the risk of accidental explosion is too great. If they try to search you when you are getting into the carriage, you will say that the sphere is a case for the Orlov and you will not allow them to open it under any circumstances. Say that the journey is cancelled if they do not agree. But then, if it is the same mute coachman who comes for you, any discussion is unlikely.’
Erast Petrovich picked up the sphere and prised open a barely visible lid with his nail.
‘The Orlov really is inside, in the upper section of the sphere. When you take out the stone to hand it over for inspection, you press here and so activate the mechanism. Under no circumstances do this in the carriage, or else the jolting might produce an explosion. And after you have pressed the button you will tell Lind or his men what kind of toy this is.’
I glanced inside the sphere. The priceless relic of the House of Romanovwas lying in a rounded niche, glinting with a dull bluish light. At close quarters the miraculous stone seemed to me like a cut-crystal door handle, similar to those that adorned the chest of drawers in the grand duchess’s dressing room. To be quite honest, I was far more impressed by the red metal button that was almost invisible against the background of scarlet velvet.
I wiped the sweat off my forehead and looked at Emilie. If things went badly, or if I simply made a blunder, we would die together, and the fragments of our bodieswould be intermingled. She nodded to me calmly, as if to say: It is all right. I trust you and everything is certain to turn out well.
‘But then what?’ I asked. ‘Lind will not want to be blown up, that is clear enough, so he will not break the rules of the game. He will give us Mikhail Georgievich and then escape through some cunning secret passage. And the Orlov will be lost forever!’
‘That must not happen, no matter what!’ said Karnovich, joining in the conversation for the first time. ‘Remember, Mr Fandorin, you have guaranteed the stone’s safety with your own life.’
Fandorin smiled at me as if he had not heard the colonel.
‘In that eventuality, Ziukin, I have another surprise in store for the doctor.’
However the smile, which was really quite inappropriate in the situation, rapidly disappeared, to be replaced by an expression of uncertainty or perhaps even embarrassment.
‘Emilie, Afanasii Stepanovich . . . the risk to which you are exposing yourselves is undoubtedly v-very great. Lind is a man of paradoxical intelligence; his actions and reactions are frequently unpredictable. A plan is all very well, but anything at all could happen. And after all, Emilie, you are a lady and not even a Russian subject . . .’
‘Never mind the risk, that is all right,’ Mademoiselle said with sublime dignity. ‘But we – Mr Ziukin and I – will be easier in our minds if we know what other surprise you have in mind.’
Fandorin carefully closed the gold lid and the blue radiance glimmering above the table disappeared.
‘It is best if you do not know that. Itmust be a surprise for you two as well. Otherwise the plan may go awry.’
A strange business. When we found ourselves alone together, sealed off from the world in the dark carriage, neither of us said a word for a long time. I listened to Mademoiselle’s regular breathing, and as time passed and my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I could make out her vague silhouette. I wanted to hear her voice, to say something encouraging to her but, as usual, I simply could not find the right words. The metal sphere was lying on my knees, and although the detonator was not yet activated, I gripped the infernal device firmly with both hands.
My fears that I would have problems with Doctor Lind’s intermediary concerning the strangely rounded bulky bundle had proved unfounded. The first stage of the operation had gone smoothly – as the common folk say, without a hitch.
Mademoiselle and I had been standing in the cathedral for less than five minuteswhen a boywho looked like one of the ordinary little beggars who are always jostling on the porch there handed me a note – I even had to give the little villain five kopecks of my own money. Our shoulders pressed together as we unfolded the sheet of paper (once again I caught a whiff of the scent The Earl of Essex) and read the single short line: ‘L’église d’Ilya Prorok’.2 I did not know where that was, but Mademoiselle, who had had an opportunity to study all the surrounding streets and side streets in close detail, confidently showed me the way.
A few minutes later we were outside a small church, and there was a black carriage with curtained windows waiting in front of the next building. It looked very much like the one that I had seen a week earlier, although I could not vouch for it being the same one. A tall man with a hat pulled down very low jumped down off the coach box. All I could see of his face was a thick black beard. Without saying a word, he opened the door and pushed Mademoiselle inside.
I showed him my bundle and pronounced the phrase that I had prepared in a severe tone of voice: ‘This is the object of the exchange. It must not be touched.’
I do not know if he understood me, but he did not touch the bundle. He squatted down and very rapidly ran his hands over my entire body, touching even the most intimate places without the slightest sign of embarrassment.
‘If you do not mind, sir . . .’ I protested, but the search was already over.
Without speaking, the bearded man pushed me in the back, I got into the carriage and the door slammed. I heard the squeak of a bolt. The carriage swayed, and we set off.
I expect that at least half an hour must have passed before we struck up a conversation. It was Mademoiselle who began it, because I had still not thought of a way to start.
‘Strange,’ she said when the carriage swayed on a corner and our shoulders touched. ‘It is strange that he did not caress me today.’
‘What?’ I asked, amazed.
‘How do you say –
perquisitionner?’
‘Ah, to frisk, to search.’
‘Yes, thank you. Strange that he did not search me. He usually does, to see if it is possible to hide a little pistol in the pantaloons.’
I took the liberty of leaning down to her ear and whispering: ‘We have a better weapon than that.’
‘Careful!’ Mademoiselle gasped. ‘I’m afraid!’
A woman is always a woman, even the very bravest!
‘It’s all right,’ I reassured her. ‘The detonator has not been activated yet; there is nothing to be afraid of.’
‘I keep thinking about Monsieur Fandorin’s second surprise,’ Mademoiselle suddenly said in French. ‘Could it possibly be that the bomb will go off in any case, blowing us and Doctor Lind and His Highness to pieces, and then afterwards, as Monsieur Fandorin said, they will find the stone among the rubble? The most important thing for the tsar is to keep the Orlov and avoid any publicity. And for Monsieur Fandorin, the main thing is to take his revenge on Doctor Lind. What do you think, Athanas?’
To be quite honest, her suspicions seemed quite plausible to me, but after a moment’s thought I found an appropriate objection.
‘In that case they would have given us a fake instead of the genuine stone. Then they would not have to search for anything in the rubble.’
‘And what makes you sure that it is the genuine Orlov in the sphere?’ she asked nervously. ‘We are not jewellers, after all. When you press the button, there will be an explosion, and that will be the promised surprise that you and I were not supposed to know about under any circumstances.’
I turned cold inside. This conjecture seemed only too logical.
‘Then that is our destiny,’ I said, crossing myself. ‘If you have guessed right, then the decision was taken by a higher power, and I shall carry it out to the letter. But you do not have to go into the chapel. When we get there, I shall tell the driver that there is no need for you to be present; I shall collect Mikhail Georgievich myself.’
