The Coronation (41 page)

‘Tell me, Mister Policeman, is it true what they say, that they’re going to give everyone a pewter mug and fill it right up to the brim with vodka?’ our driver asked, turning his round animated face towards us. He had obviously been infected by the mood of the festive crowd.

‘Halt,’ Erast Petrovich ordered.

I saw that Lind’s cab had stopped, although there was still a long way to go before the turn to the Petrovsky Palace.

‘They’re getting out!’ I exclaimed.

Fandorin handed the cabby a banknote and we set off at a sprint, pushing through the slow-moving crowd.

Although there was a half-moon peering through the clouds, it was quite dark, and so we decided to move a little closer, to a distance of about ten paces. There were bonfires blazing in the open field on the left of the road and on the right, behind the bushes, and so the two silhouettes, one taller and the other slightly shorter, were clearly visible.

‘We must not lose sight of them,’ I kept repeating to myself over and over, like an incantation.

During those minutes of pursuit I seemed to forget all about His Highness and Mademoiselle Declique. Some ancient and powerful instinct that had nothing to do with pity and was stronger than fear set my heart pounding rapidly but steadily. I had never understood the attraction of the hunt, but now it suddenly occurred to me that the hounds must feel something like this when the pack is unleashed to run down the wolf.

We were forcing our way through a genuine crush now, almost like Nevsky Prospect at the height of the day. From time to time we had to put our elbows to work. A hulking factory hand pushed in front of us and blocked our view. I managed somehow to squeeze through under his elbow and gasped in horror. Lind and the Postman had disappeared!

I looked round despairingly at Fandorin. He drew himself up to his full height and, I think, even stood on tiptoe as he gazed around.

‘What can we do?’ I shouted. ‘My God, what can we do?’

‘You go right; I’ll go left,’ he said.

I dashed to the edge of the road. There were people sitting on the grass in large and small groups. Others were wandering aimlessly among the trees, and in the distance a choir was singing out of tune. Lind was not on my side. I rushed back to the road and collided with Erast Petrovich, who was forcing his way through towards me.

‘We’ve let them get away . . .’ I wailed.

It was all over. I covered my face with my hands in order not to see the crowd, the bonfires, the dark dove-grey sky.

Fandorin shook me impatiently by the shoulder. ‘Don’t give up, Ziukin. Here’s the wasteland where the meeting was set. We’ll walk around, keep looking and wait for the dawn. Lind won’t go anywhere. He needs us as much as we need him.’

He was right, and I tried to take myself in hand and focus my mind.

‘The stone,’ I said, suddenly feeling anxious. ‘You haven’t lost the stone, have you?’

If we could just get them back alive, and then come what may. That was all I could think of at that moment.

‘No, it is here,’ said Fandorin, slapping himself on the chest.

We were being bumped and jostled from all sides, and he took firm hold of my arm.

‘You look to the right, Ziukin, and I shall look to the left. We’ll walk slowly. If you see the men we are looking for, do not shout, simply nudge me in the side.’

I had never walked arm-in-arm with a man before. Or indeed with a woman, with the exception of one brief affair a very long time before, when I was still very green and stupid. I will not recall it here – the story is really not worth the effort.

The nights are short in May. There was already a strip of pink along the horizon in the east, and the twilight was beginning to brighten. It was obvious that many people had camped here the evening before, and it was becoming more and more crowded around the campfires. Occasionally I could feel empty bottles under my feet. And the crowds kept on coming along the main road from Moscow.

On the left, beyond the barriers and lines of police, there was a wide open field covered with specially built fairground booths and pavilions with walls of freshly cut timber. That was probably where the tsar’s gifts to the people were being kept. I cringed at the thought of the pandemonium that would break out here in a few hours time, when this sea of people, their patience exhausted by hours of waiting, went flooding past the barriers.

We wandered from the barriers to the palace and back – once, twice, three times. It was already light, and every time it was harder to force our way through the ever-denser mass of bodies. I continually turned my head to and fro, surveying the half of the area that had been assigned to me, and I struggled with all my strength against a rising tide of despair.

Somewhere in the distance a bugle sounded a clamorous reveille, and I remembered that the Khodynsk army camps were not far away.

I suppose it must be seven o’clock, I thought, trying to recall exactly when reveille was. And at that very second I suddenly saw the familiar Calabrian hat with the civil servant’s cap beside it.

‘There they are!’ I howled, tugging on Fandorin’s sleeve with all my might. ‘Thank God!’

The Postman looked round, saw me and shouted: ‘Ziukin!’

His companion glanced round for a moment – just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of his spectacles and beard – and then they plunged into the very thickest part of the crowd, where it was jostling right up against the barriers.

‘After them!’ cried Erast Petrovich, giving me a furious shove.

There was a stout merchant in front of us and he simply would not make way. Without the slightest hesitation, Fandorin grabbed his collar with one hand and the hem of his long frock coat with the other, and threw him aside. We went dashing through the crowd, with Erast Petrovich leading the way. He carved through the throng like an admiralty launch slicing through the waves, leaving rolling breakers on each side. From time to time he jumped incredibly high into the air – obviously to avoid losing sight of Lind again.

‘They’re forcing their way through towards the Khodynsk Field!’ Erast Petrovch shouted to me. ‘That’s quite excellent! There’s no crowd there but a lot of police!’

We’ll catch them now, any moment now, I realised, and suddenly feltmystrength increase tenfold. I drewlevel with Fandorin and barked: ‘Make way there!’

Closer to the barriers the most prudent and patient of the spectators were standing absolutely chock-a-block, and our rate of progress slowed.

‘Move aside!’ I roared. ‘Police!’

‘Ha, there’s a cunning one!’

Someone punched me so hard in the side that everythingwent black and I gasped for breath.

Erast Petrovich took out his police whistle and blew it. The crowd reeled back and parted at the harsh sound, and we advanced a few more steps with relative ease, but then coarse caftans, pea jackets and peasant shirts closed back together again.

Lind and the Postman were very close now. I saw them duck under a barrier into the open space right in front of the police cordon. Aha, now they were caught!

I saw the hat lean across to the cap and whisper something into it.

The Postman turned back, waved his arms in the air and bellowed: ‘Good Orthodox people! Look! On that side they’re pouring in from the Vaganka! They’ve broken through! They’ll get all the mugs! Forward, lads!’

A single roar was vented from a thousand throats. ‘Hah, the cunning swine! We’ve been here all night, and they want to grab the lot! Like hell they will!’

I was suddenly swept forward by a force so irresistible that my feet were lifted off the ground. Everything around me started moving, and everyone scrabbled with their elbows, trying to force a way through to the tents and pavilions.

I heard whistles trilling and shots fired into the air ahead of me. Then someone roared through a megaphone: ‘Go back! Go back! You’ll all be crushed!’

A chorus of voices replied cheerfully: ‘Don’t you worry, yer ’onour! Press on, lads!’

A woman shrieked desperately.

Somehow I managed to find the ground with my feet and move along with the crowd. Fandorinwas no longer there beside me – he had been swept away somewhere to one side. I almost stumbled when I stepped on something soft and did not immediately realise that it was a person. I caught a glimpse of a trampled soldier’s white tunic under my feet, but it was impossible to help the fallen man as my hands were pinned tight against my sides.

Then bodies began falling more and more often, and I could only think of one thing: God forbid that I might lose my footing – there was no way I would ever get up again. To my left there was someone running along over the people’s shoulders and heads, with his black tarred boots twinkling. Suddenly he swayed, flung up his arms and went crashing down.

I was being carried straight towards the sharp corner of a planking pavilion covered in fresh splinters. I tried to veer a little to one side, but it was hopeless.

‘Take him!’ voices shouted from my right. ‘Take the little one!’

They were passing a boy of about eight from one pair of raised hands to another. He was gazing around in terror and sniffing with his bloody nose.

I was flung against the wall and my cheek dragged across the splinters, making the tears spurt from my eyes. I struck my temple against a carved window frame and as I started slipping down I had just enough time to think: It’s over. Now they will crush me.

Someone gripped me under the armpits and jerked me back onto my feet. Fandorin. I was already so stunned that his appearance did not surprise me in the least.

‘Brace your hands against the wall!’ he shouted. ‘Otherwise they’ll crush you!’

He swung his arm and smashed out the patterned shutter with a single blow of his fist. Then he picked me up by my sides and thrust me up with incredible strength so that I flew over the window sill rather than climbed it, and landed with a crash on a floor that smelled of fresh wood shavings. There were neat pyramids of coronation mugs standing all around me. Erast Petrovich hauled himself up and also climbed into the pavilion. One of his eyebrowswas split, his uniformwas tattered, his sabre had come halfway out of its scabbard.

Were we really safe now?

I looked out of the windowand saw that the fieldwas jammed solid with people out of their minds. Screaming, groaning, crunching sounds, laughter – all of these were mingled together in the hubbub. There had to be a million of them! Clouds of dust swirled and shimmered in the air, transforming it into a thick fatty broth.

Someone had climbed into the next pavilion and began throwing mugs and sacks of presents out of the window. A brawl immediately started up beside the wall there.

‘Oh Lord, save Thy people,’ I blurted out, and my hand reached up of its own accord to make the sign of the cross.

‘What are you up to?’ someone shouted up at us. ‘Toss out the mugs! Is there any drink?’

The pavilion creaked and wood dust sprinkled down from the ceiling. I cried out in horror as I saw our frail refuge falling to pieces. Something struck me on the back of my head, and it was a relief when I lost consciousness.

I do not know who dragged me out from under the debris and then carried me to a safe place, or why they did it. In all probability I was once again indebted to Fandorin for saving me, although I do not find that a pleasant thought.

However it happened, I came round on a wooden grandstand at the edge of the Khodynsk Field. The sun was already high in the sky. I lifted my head, then immediately dropped it again, hitting it hard against the rough surface of the bench. I then managed to sit up after a fashion and felt my pounding head with my hands. It did not feel as if it was really mine. Although there was a substantial lump on the top of it, otherwise I seemed to be more or less unhurt. Fandorin was nowhere to be seen. I was in a strange drowsy state and could not get rid of the metallic ringing sound in my ears.

The first thing I did was survey the vast field. I saw booths and pavilions twisted awry and tight lines of soldiers moving slowly across the grass. And everywhere, almost completely covering the ground, therewere bodies: many were motionless, but some were still moving. It was distressing to watch, this feeble stirring. There was a buzzing in my temples and my eyes were blinded by the bright sun. I tucked my head into my crossed arms and either fell asleep or fainted. I do not know how long I sat there, leaning against the skirting of the grandstand, but the next time I woke up it was long after midday and the field was empty. There were no soldiers and no bodies.

My head was no longer hurting so badly, but I felt very thirsty.

I sat there, wondering feebly if I ought to go somewhere or if it would be better to stay where I was. I stayed, and it was the right thing to do, because soon Erast Petrovich appeared. He was stillwearing his police uniform, but his bootswere absolutely filthy and his white gloves black with soil.

‘Are you back with us?’ he asked in a gloomy voice. ‘My God, Ziukin, what a disaster. The only time I ever saw the like was at Plevna. Thousands killed and mutilated. This is the worst of all Lind’s atrocities. He has taken an army of slaves with him into the grave like some ancient king.’

‘So Lind was crushed too?’ I asked without any great interest, still unable to shake off my lethargic drowsiness.

‘I cannot see how he could possibly have survived in such a crush. However, let us go and check. The soldiers and police have just finished laying out the mangled bodies for identification – over there, along the side of the road. The line of the dead is almost a verst long. But how can we identify him? We don’t even know what he looks like. Except perhaps for the cloak . . . Let’s go, Ziukin, let’s go.’

I limped along after him.

The line of dead bodies stretched along the main highway, running as far as the eye could see in both directions. Therewere cabs and carts driving out from Moscow as the order had been given to transport the dead to the Vagankovskoe Cemetery, but they had not started moving them yet.

There were high-ranking officials striding about everywhere with sombre faces: military officers, police officers, civilians, each one accompanied by his own retinue. Oh, you will all get it in the neck for allowing the coronation to be wrecked, I thought, but more in sympathy than condemnation. It was Lind who had started the slaughter, but it was the men in charge who would have to pay.