EF06 - The State Counsellor (21 page)

'No, no!' Julie exclaimed. She kissed her lover on the lips once again and dashed over to the window sill. 'I knew everything would be all right. Look, I've got a bottle of Cliquot cooling outside. We have to raise a glass.'

Ace walked over to the sacks lying on the floor. He swung his foot and kicked them one at a time, as if he were checking how tightly they were packed. Then he turned slightly and swung his foot, with the same springy movement, but three times as hard, straight into Green's crotch.

For an instant the sudden pain made everything go dark. Green doubled over and another crushing blow landed on the back of his head. He saw the floorboards right in front of his eyes. He must have fallen.

He knew how to handle pain, even pain as sharp as this. He had to take three convulsive breaths in, forcing the breath back out each time, and disconnect the zone of pain from his physical awareness. Once he used to spend a lot of time practising with fire (burning the palm of his hand, the inside of his elbow, the back of his knee) and he had completely mastered this difficult art.

But the blows were still raining down - on his ribs, his shoulders, his head.

‘I’ll kill you, you louse,' Ace kept repeating. ‘I’ll trample you into manure! Trying to make a gull out of me!'

There was no time to fight the pain. Green turned into the next blow and took it in his stomach, but he grabbed the felt boot and kept hold of it. From close up the boot didn't look so white: it was smeared with mud and spattered with blood. He jerked it towards himself, knocking Ace off his feet.

He let go of the boot so that his fingers could reach Ace's throat, but his adversary rolled aside and dodged out of the way.

They jumped to their feet at the same moment, face to face.

It was bad that his revolver was still in the pocket of his coat. There it was, hanging on the hallstand - a long way away, and it was pointless in any case: he couldn't fire in the room, it would bring everyone in the hotel running.

Julie froze motionless by the wall, with her eyes staring in horror and her mouth open, one hand clutching the bottle of champagne while the fingers of the other automatically tore away the gold foil.

'You bloody bitch,' the bandit said with an angry smile.

"Thought you'd swap your Ace for a spot card, did you? Take a look at him, the ugly freak. He looks like a corpse.'

'You imagined it all, Ace,' Julie babbled in a quavering voice, '- imagined the whole thing. Nothing happened.'

'Don't lie. "Nothing happened"! Ace has the eye of a falcon where treason's concerned -
1
can sense it straight away. That's why I'm still walking around and not rotting in jail.'

The specialist leaned down and pulled a knife with a long, slim blade out of his boot.

'Now I'm going to carve you up, dead-eyes. Slowly, one little scrap at a time.'

Green wiped his split eyebrow with his sleeve so that the blood wouldn't blind him and held out his bare hands. He'd used his knife on Rahmet. Never mind; he could manage without a knife.

Ace moved closer, taking little steps, easily dodged a right hook and ran his knife across Green's wrist. Red drops began falling to the floor. Julie howled.

'That's for your starters,' Ace promised.

Green said: 'Quiet, Julie. You mustn't scream.'

He tried to catch hold of his opponent by the collar, but again only grabbed empty air and the sharp blade ran through his undershirt and stung his side.

'And that's for the soup.'

With his left hand Ace grabbed a carafe off the table and flung it. To avoid it hitting his head, Green had to duck down, losing sight of the specialist for a moment. The knife immediately took its opportunity, whizzing past right beside his ear, which was suddenly aflame, as if the contact had set it on fire. Green raised his hand - the top of his ear was dangling by a thin strip of skin. He tore it off and threw it into the corner. Something hot streamed down his neck.

'That was the meat course,' Ace explained. 'And now we'll get to the dessert.'

Green had to change his tactics. He retreated to the wall and stood there motionless. He had to ignore the knife. Let it cut. Throw himself towards the blade, seize his opponent's chin with one hand and the top of his head with the other, then twist sharply. Like in 1884
,
in the fights in the Tyumen transit prison.

But Ace was in no hurry to come at him now. He stopped three steps away, shuffling his fingers, and the knife flickered through them like a glittering snake.

All right, Julietta, now who do you choose?' he asked derisively. 'Do you want me to leave him for you? Never mind that he's all battered and cut up, you can lick his wounds for him. Or will you go with me? I've got money now, heaps of it. We could leave old Mother Russia and never come back.'

'I choose you, you,' Julie answered immediately, sobbing and rushing towards Ace 'I don't want him. It was just playing a game - seeing if I could do it. Forgive me, Acey, my sweet, you know the way I am. Compared to you he's nothing, just slobbered all over me, nothing interesting at all. Kill him. He's dangerous. He'll set all the revolutionaries on your tail; there'll be nowhere in Europe you can hide.'

The bandit winked at Green.

'Do you hear the smart woman's advice? Naturally, I was going to finish you off anyway. But you can thank Julietta for one thing. You'll go quick. I was going to play with you a bit longer - slit your nose and your eyes

The specialist didn't finish. The green bottle descended on his head with a crunch and he collapsed at Green's feet.

Ai! Ai! Ai! Ai!' Julie screeched shrilly, at regular intervals, staring in fright, first at the broken neck of the bottle, then at the man on the floor, then at the blood frothing up as it mingled with the spilled champagne.

Green stepped over the motionless body, took Julie by the shoulders and shook her firmly.

CHAPTER
7

in which the investigation is right back where it started

Erast Petrovich had intended to make a start on the search the very first thing on Tuesday morning, but he failed to make an early start, because his female guest once again spent the night at the outhouse on Malaya Nikitskaya Street.

Esfir turned up without any warning, after midnight, when the State Counsellor was walking around his study, counting his beads. His visitor had a determined air, and she didn't waste any time on conversation - right there in the hallway, without even taking off her sable cloak, she put her arms around Erast Petro-vich's neck and gave him a tight hug; and naturally it was quite some time before he was able to concentrate on his deductions again.

In fact, he only managed to get back to work in the morning, when Esfir was still asleep. Fandorin slipped quietly out of bed, sat in an armchair and tried to restore the broken thread of his thought. The results were not very good. His beloved jade beads, which disciplined the workings of his mind with their rigorous, crisp clicking, had been left behind in the study; and walking to and fro, so that the movement of his muscles would stimulate the activity of his brain, was too risky - the slightest sound would wake Esfir. And he could hear Masa snuffling behind the door -the servant was waiting patiently for the moment when he and his master could do their gymnastic exercises.

Difficult circumstances are no hindrance to the superior man in contemplating higher things, the State Counsellor reminded himself, recalling a maxim from the great sage of the Orient. As if she had overheard the phrase 'difficult circumstances', Esfir stuck her bare arm out from under the blanket and ran her hand over the pillow beside her. Finding nobody there, she moaned pitifully, but still unawares, without waking up. Even so, he had to think quickly.

Diana, Fandorin decided - he should start with her. The other lines of enquiry were already taken in any case.

The mysterious female collaborator had links to the Office of Gendarmes and the Okhranka, and the revolutionaries. Very probably she was a traitor to them all. An entirely amoral individual and, moreover, judging from Sverchinsky and Burlyaev's behaviour, not only in a political sense. But then, it seemed, did it not, that in revolutionary circles the view taken of relations between the sexes was more liberal than the general view in society?

Erast Petrovich cast a glance of vague misgiving at the sleeping beauty. The scarlet lips moved, shaping soundless words, the long black eyelashes trembled, the two moist embers framed between them flared up brightly and were not extinguished again. Esfir opened her eyes wide, saw Fandorin and smiled.

'What are you doing?' she asked in a voice hoarse from sleep. 'Come here.'

'I'd like t-to ask you ...' he began, then hesitated and broke off in embarrassment.

Was it fitting to exploit personal relationships to gather information for his investigation?

Ask.' She yawned, sat up on the bed and stretched sweetly, so that the blanket slipped down and Erast Petrovich had to make a serious effort not to be distracted.

He resolved his moral dilemma as follows.

Of course he should not ask about Diana. Even less should he ask about the revolutionary groups - in any case, Esfir was hardly likely to be involved in any serious anti-government activity. But it was permissible for him to extract information of a quite general, one might say sociological, nature.

'Tell me, Esfir, is it t-true that the women in revolutionary circles take... an absolutely free view of amorous relationships?'

She burst into laughter, pulling her knees up to her chin and clasping them in her arms. 'I knew it! How predictable and bourgeois you are after all. If a woman hasn't acted out the proper performance of unavailability for you, you're ready to suspect she is debauched and promiscuous. "Oh, sir, I am not that kind of girl! Phoo, how disgusting! No, no, no, only after the wedding!'" she mocked in a repulsive, lisping voice. "That's how you want us to behave. But of course - the laws of capitalism apply, don't they? If you wish to sell your commodity for a good price, first you have to make it desirable, set the buyer's mouth watering. But I am not a commodity, Your Honour. And you are not a buyer.' Esfir's eyes blazed with righteous indignation and her slim hand sliced through the air menacingly. 'We women of the new age are not ashamed of our nature and we choose for ourselves who to love. There's one girl in our circle. The men all run a mile from her, because the poor thing is so terribly ugly -a real fright, an absolute nightmare. But for her intelligence she gets far more respect than all the great beauties. She says that free love is not lustful sin but the union of two equal beings -naturally, a temporary union, because it is the nature of feelings to be inconstant; you can't incarcerate them for life. And you don't need to be afraid that I'll try to drag you to the altar. I shall drop you soon anyway. You're not my type at all, and in general you're absolutely awful! I want to gorge myself until I've had enough and I'm finally disillusioned with you. Well, what are you gaping at? Come here immediately!'

Masa must have been listening at the door, because at that very moment it opened a little and a round head with narrow eyes was thrust into the room through the crack.

'Goo' morin',' the head said with a joyful, beaming smile.

'Go to hell with your gymnastics!' Esfir exclaimed resolutely, flinging a well-aimed pillow at the head; but Masa bore the blow without flinching.

'Letter from impotan' gen'man,' he declared, holding up a long white envelope.

'Impotan' gen'man' was what the Japanese called the Governor General, so the reason for his intrusion had to be accepted as legitimate. Erast Petrovich opened the envelope and took out a card bearing a gold crest.

Most of the text was printed; only the name and the note at the bottom were written in His Excellency's regular, old-fashioned hand.

My dear Erast Petrovich

On the occasion of Butter Week and the forthcoming festival of Shrovetide, I request your company for pancakes.

The cordial supper in an intimate circle will commence at midnight. Gentlemen invited are requested not to trouble themselves by wearing uniform. Ladies are free to choose a dress at their own discretion.

Vladimir Dolgorukoi

Erast Petrovich you must come. You can tell me how our business is going.

And do bring your new flame -it is an unofficial supper and as an old man I am curious to see her.

'What is it?' Esfir asked, disgruntled, '-a summons from the terrible Tsar? Tie a dog's head to your saddle and ride off to work - severing heads?'

'Not at all,' Fandorin replied. 'It's an invitation to pancakes at the Governor General's residence. Listen.'

He read it out loud, naturally omitting the handwritten note. Fandorin was not at all surprised by how well informed the prince was concerning the private lives of his aides - all the years they had worked together had accustomed him to that.

'You know, we could g-go together if you like,' he said, absolutely certain that the only way Esfir would go to the Governor General's residence for pancakes was wearing shackles and under armed escort.

'What does "an intimate circle" mean?' she asked, wrinkling up her nose squeamishly. 'Is it just the sultan and his viziers and the especially trustworthy eunuchs?'