The Coronation (37 page)

Yes, yes, for myself. And itwas the veryworst of all the varieties of fear known to me. I was desperately afraid, not of pain or even of death, but of disgrace. All my life the thing of which I had been most afraid was to find myself in a position of disgrace and thereby sacrifice the sense of my own dignity. Whatwould I have left if I were deprived of my dignity? Who would I be then? A lonely ageing man of no account with a lumpy forehead, a bulbous nose and ‘doggy sideburns’ who had wasted his life on something meaningless.

I had discovered the recipe for maintaining dignity a long time before, in my youth. The magical formula proved to be simple and brief: make every possible effort to avoid surprises. This meant that I had to foresee and make provision for everything in advance. To be forearmed, to performmy duties conscientiously and not to go chasing after chimerical illusions. That was how I had lived. And what was the outcome? Afanasii Ziukin was a thief and a deceiver, a scoundrel and a state criminal. At least, that was what the people whose opinion I valued thought of me.

The sun passed its highest point in the sky and began gradually declining towards the west. I grew weary of wandering around the small glade and sat down. An intangible breeze rustled the fresh foliage; a bumblebee buzzed with a bass note among the dandelions; lacy clouds slid slowly across the azure sky.

I won’t get to sleep anyway, I thought, leaning back against the trunk of an elm.

‘Wake up, Ziukin. It’s time to go.’

I opened my eyes. The clouds were moving as unhurriedly as before, but now they were pink instead of white, while the sky had darkened. The sun had already set, which meant that I had slept until about nine o’clock at least.

‘Stop batting your eyes like that,’ Fandorin said cheerfully. ‘We’re going to storm the Hermitage.’

Erast Petrovich took off his long-skirted driver’s coat, and was left wearing a sateen waistcoat and a light-blue shirt – he was almost invisible against the thickening twilight.

We walked quickly through the empty park to the palace. When I saw the brightly lit windows of the Hermitage, I was overcome by an unutterable melancholy. The house was like a white ocean-going yacht sailing calmly and confidently through the gloom, but I, who so recently had stood on its trim deck, had fallen overboard andwas floundering among the darkwaves, and I did not even dare to cry for help.

Fandorin interrupted my mournful thoughts: ‘Whose window is that – the third from the left on the ground floor? You’re not looking in the right place. The one that is open but with no light in it?’

‘That is Mr Freyby’s room.’

‘Will you be able to climb in? All right, forward!’

We ran across the lawn, pressed ourselves against thewall and crept up to the dark open window. Erast Petrovich formed his hands into a stirrup and hoisted me up so adroitly that I was easily able to climb over the window sill. Fandorin followed me.

‘Stay here for a while. I’ll be b-back soon,’ he said

‘But what if Mr Freyby comes in?’ I asked in panic. ‘How shall I explain my presence to him?’

Fandorin looked around and picked up a bottle with brown liquid splashing about in it off the table. I thought it must be the notoriouswhisky withwhich the English butler had once regaled me.

‘Here, take this. Hit him on the head, tie him up and put a gag in his mouth – that napkin over there. There’s nothing to be done about it, Ziukin, this is an emergency. You can apologise to him later. The last thing we need now is for the Englishman to shout and raise the alarm. And stop shaking like that; I’ll be back soon.’

And indeed he did return in no more than five minutes. He was holding a travelling bag in one hand.

‘I have all the most essential items here. They have searched my room but not touched anything. But Masa is not there. I’ll go to look for him.’

I was left alone again, but not for long – the door soon opened again.

This time, however, it was not Erast Petrovich but Mr Freyby. He reached out his hand, turned a small lever on the oil lamp, and the room was suddenly bright. I blinked in confusion.

Grasping the bottle firmly, I took an uncertain step forward. The poor butler, he was not to blame for anything.

‘Good evening,’ Freyby said politely in Russian, glancing curiously at the bottle, then he added something in English: ‘I didn’t realise that you liked my whisky
that
much.’ He took the dictionary out of his pocket and with impressive dexterity – he had clearly developed the knack – rustled the pages and said: ‘
Ya . . . ne byl . . . soznavat . . . chto vi . . . lyubit . . . moi viski . . . tak . . . mnogo.
’

This threw me into a state of total embarrassment. To hit someone over the head when he has started a conversation with you, that was absolutely unthinkable.

The Englishman looked at my confused expression, chuckled good-naturedly, slapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the bottle: ‘A present.
Podarok.
’

The butler noticed that I was holding the travelling bag in my other hand.

‘Going travelling? Coo-choo-choo?’ he asked, imitating the sound of a steam locomotive, and I realised that Freyby thought I was setting out on a journey and had decided to take the bottle of drink with me because I had taken such a liking to it.

‘Yes, yes,’ I muttered in Russian. ‘Voyage. Tenk yoo.’

Then I slipped out through the door into the corridor as quickly as I could. God only knew what Freyby thought about Russian butlers now. But this was no moment to be concerned about national prestige.

In the next room, Mr Carr’s, a bell jingled to summon a servant.

I barely had time to conceal myself behind a drape before the junior footman Lipps came trotting along the corridor. Oh, well done, Lipps. That meant therewas firmorder in the house. Iwas not on the spot, but everything was still working like clockwork.

‘What can I do for you, sir?’ Lipps asked as he opened the door.

Mr Carr said something in Russian in a lazy voice. I made out ‘ink’, spoken with a quite incredible accent, and the footman left at the same praiseworthy trot. I backed into the adjoining corridor that led to my room; I had decided to hide in there for the rest of my wait. I took a few short steps, clutching the travelling bag and the bottle tight against my chest, and then my back suddenly encountered something soft. I looked round. Oh Lord, Somov.

‘Hello, Afanasii Stepanovich,’ my assistant babbled. ‘Good evening. I have been moved into your room . . .’

I gulped and said nothing.

‘They said that you had run off . . . that you and Mr Fandorin would soon be found and arrested. They have already taken the gentleman’s Japanese servant. They say you are criminals,’ he concluded in a whisper.

‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘But it is not true, Kornei Selifanovich. You have not had much time to get to know me, but I swear to you that what I am doing is for the sake of Mikhail Georgievich.’

Somov looked at me without saying anything, and from the expression on his face I could not tell what he was thinking. Would he shout or not? That was the only thing that concerned me at that moment. Just in case, I took a firm grip on the neck of the bottle with my fingers.

‘Yes, I really have had very little time to get to know you well, but you can tell a great butler straight away,’ Somov said in a quiet voice. ‘Permit me to take the liberty of saying that I admire you, Afanasii Stepanovich, and have always dreamed of being like you. And . . . and if you require my help, simply let me know. I will do anything.’

I felt a sudden tightness in my throat and was afraid that if I tried to speak, I might burst into tears.

‘Thank you,’ I said eventually. ‘Thank you for deciding not to give me away.’

‘How can I give you away when I have not even seen you?’ he asked with a shrug, then turned and walked away.

As a result of this entirely remarkable conversation, I lowered my guard a little and turned the corner without bothering to look first and see if there was anyone in the corridor. But there was Her Highness’s maid, Liza Petrishcheva, turning this way and that in front of the mirror.

‘Ah!’ squealed Liza, the foolish empty-headed girl who had been caught in the embraces of Fandorin’s valet.

‘Sh-sh-sh!’ I said to her. ‘Quiet, Petrishcheva. Do not shout.’

She nodded in fright, then suddenly swung round and darted away, howling: ‘Help! Murder! He’s he-e-e-ere!’

I dashed in the opposite direction, towards the exit, but heard the sound of excited men’s voices coming from there. Which way could I go?

Up to the first floor, there was nowhere else.

I dashed up the stairs in the twinkling of an eye and saw a white figure in the dimly lit passage. Xenia Georgievna!

I froze on the spot.

‘Where is he?’ Her Highness asked hastily. ‘Where is Erast Petrovich?’

I heard the tramping of many feet downstairs.

‘Ziukin’s here! Find him!’ I heard an authoritative bass voice say.

The grand princess grabbed hold of my arm. ‘To my room!’

We slammed the door and thirty seconds later several people ran by along the corridor.

‘Search the rooms!’ the same bass voice commanded.

Suddenly there were shouts from downstairs and someone howled: ‘Stop! Stop, you filthy swine!’

There was a shot and then another.

Xenia Georgievna squealed and swayed on her feet, and I was obliged to grab hold of her arms. Her face was as white as chalk, and her dilated pupils had turned her eyes completely black.

There was the sound of breaking glass on the ground floor.

Her Highness pushed me away sharply and dashed to the window sill. I followed her. Down below we saw a dark figure that had obviously just jumped from a window.

It was Fandorin – I recognised the waistcoat.

The next second another two figures in civilian clothes leapt out of the same window and grabbed Erast Petrovich by the arms. Xenia Georgievna gave a piercing screech.

However, Fandorin demonstrated a quite remarkable flexibility. Without freeing his hands, he twisted round like a spring and struck one of his opponents in the groin with his knee, and then dealt with the other in exactly the same manner. Both police agents doubled over, and Erast Petrovich flitted across the lawn like a shadow and disappeared into the bushes.

‘Thank God!’ Her Highness whispered. ‘He is safe!’

People began running around outside the house, some in uniforms, some in civilian clothes. Some went dashing down the drive towards the gates, others rushed off in pursuit of the fugitive. But there were not very many pursuers, perhaps about ten. How could they catch the fleet-footed Mr Fandorin in the wide spaces of the dark park?

I had no need to feel concerned for Erast Petrovich, but what was going to happen to me?

There was a loud knock at the door.

‘Your Imperial Highness! There is a criminal in the house! Are you all right?’

Xenia Georgievna gestured for me to hide in the wardrobe. She opened the door of the room and said in a discontented voice: ‘I have a terrible migraine, and you are shouting and clattering. Catch your criminal but do not bother me again!’

‘Your Highness, at least lock yourself in.’

‘Very well.’

I heard the sound of a key turning in a lock and came out into the centre of the room.

‘I know,’ Xenia Georgievna said in a feverish whisper, clasping my shoulders in a tremulous embrace. ‘It is all lies. He could not have committed a robbery. And you, Afanasii Stepanovich, are not capable of such a thing either. I have guessed everything. You want to rescue Mika. I do not ask you to tell me exactly what you plan to do. Just tell me, am I right?’

And she really did not ask me any more questions. She went down on her knees in front of an icon and started bowing low to the floor. I had never seen Her Highness display such piety before, not even when she was a child. She seemed to be whispering something as well, probably a prayer, but I could not make out the words.

Xenia Georgievna prayed for an unbearably long time. I believe it must have been at least half an hour. And I stood there, waiting. All I did was put the bottle of whisky into the travelling bag. Quite clearly, I could not leave it in the grand princess’s room, could I?

Her Highness did not rise from her knees until everything was quiet in the house and the pursuers had returned, talking loudly among themselves. She walked over to the secretaire, touched something inside it that made a jingling sound and then called me over to her. ‘Take this, Afanasii. You will need money. I do not have any, you know that. But here is a pair of opal earrings and a diamond brooch. They are my own, not the family’s. These things can be sold. They are probably worth a lot.’

I tried to protest, but she would not listen to me. To avoid being drawn into a long argument, for which this was quite the wrong time, I took the jewels, promising myself firmly that I would return them to Her Highness safe and sound.

Then Xenia Georgievna took a long silk sash from a Chinese dressing gown out of the wardrobe.

‘Tie this to the window catch and climb down. It will not reach all the way to the ground – you will have to jump – but you are brave; you will not be afraid. May the Lord preserve you.’

She made the sign of the cross over me and then suddenly kissed me on the cheek. I was quite overcome. And it must have been my state of disorientation that made me ask: ‘Is there anything you would like me to tell Mr Fandorin?’

‘That I love him,’ Her Highness replied briefly and pushed me towards the window.

I reached the ground without injuring myself in any way, and also negotiated the park without any adventures. I halted at the railings beyond which lay Bolshaya Kaluga Street, almost empty at this hour of the evening. After waiting until there were no passers-by anywhere in sight, I clambered over to the other side very nimbly. I had definitely made great progress in the art of climbing fences.

However, what I ought to do now was not clear. I still had no money so I could not even hire a cab. Andwherewould I actually go?

I halted indecisively.