The People's Will (21 page)

‘Thank you.’

Luka went over to the samovar, which was already hot, and drew two glasses. Mihail glanced around the apartment. The sitting room, on to which the front door opened, was quite large, with two further doors opening off. Three or four cheap watercolours provided the only real decoration. The room was well furnished with seating for over a dozen people, either on the divan or on a number of padded chairs or even more hard
ones, none of them matching. Mihail knew that one thing these revolutionaries did like to do was meet and talk, and this place seemed quite suited.

What the room lacked was any hint of written materials. The shelves on the walls were empty. There was a desk but apart from the samovar its surface was bare. He could not see in the drawers, but guessed that they would be the same. There would be no clues if the place was raided by the Ohrana.

‘And who is that?’ asked Luka, sitting on the divan and leaning back. He seemed calm – almost amused.

There Mihail was at something of a loss. The identity of the mutual friend – mutual acquaintance – was simple enough: Iuda. But Iuda was a creature of so many aliases that it would be a challenge to hit upon the right one. ‘Iuda’ itself seemed unlikely and though Tamara had told Mihail of others – Richard Cain, Vasiliy Denisovich Makarov, Vasiliy Innokyentievich Yudin – there could be many more besides, by any one of which he might be known to Luka.

There was, of course, another connection between Mihail and Luka – another who was closer than any friend: they shared a mother. But Mihail had decided not to reveal that – not until he knew just where his brother stood with regard to Iuda. He thought back to what he had heard Dmitry and Iuda say, back in Geok Tepe. There was very little, just Dmitry’s words: ‘We know you’ve befriended him … much as you befriended me.’ Iuda had befriended Dmitry when he was just five years old, and had been his hidden guardian as the boy had grown into a man. How close was the similarity with Luka?

‘I take it you know you’re adopted,’ said Mihail, approaching the issue obliquely.

‘Of course.’ If Luka was surprised at Mihail’s knowledge he hid it well. ‘My parents never lied to me about that.’

‘What happened to your real parents?’

‘My father died in the cholera epidemic in ’48. My mother went mad. They had to take me away from her.’

It was brutally close to the truth; perhaps it would have been kinder for them to invent a lie.

‘Any brothers or sisters?’ asked Mihail.

Luka shook his head. ‘My parents couldn’t have children of their own.’

‘It must have been lonely.’

Luka allowed a little of his irritation to seep through. ‘Look, what’s all this about? You said we had a mutual friend.’

Mihail continued with his line of attack, a plan forming in his mind.

‘I’m an only child too – and brought up just by my mother. But I was lucky enough to have a benefactor.’

‘And who was that?’ Was that a little flicker of acknowledgement in Luka’s eyes? Had Iuda played that same role for him?

‘He was shy about using his full name – he liked his good deeds to remain anonymous.’ It was wild guesswork – a parallel of the way Iuda had worked on Dmitry. ‘I usually just call him “Uncle Vasya”.’ Of the pseudonyms that Mihail knew, Vasiliy was the only repeating factor.

Now Luka showed an even greater reaction. He leaned forward in his seat. ‘Vasya? Vasiliy?’

‘That’s right. I can tell the name means something to you.’

‘Perhaps. Tell me more about him.’

‘Well, he was a friend of my mother’s,’ explained Mihail. It was all extemporization now, but it did not matter – Luka was hooked. This was mere reeling in. ‘I don’t mean there was anything like that going on; Vasya’s not like that. But he saw immediately that I missed my father, and tried to take on the role – when he was in town.’

Luka nodded, sharing the experience.

‘He used to buy me toys, and books when I was older, and tell me of history and of the world.’

‘What does he look like?’ Luka asked eagerly.

‘Striking. You wouldn’t fail to recognize him. He’s quite tall – a little taller than me. And he’s got blond hair; it’s very distinctive. He wears it long – at least for a man of his age.’

‘Anything else?’

‘His eyes; grey. Some people think they’re cold, but not when you get to know him.’

Luka nodded, his hands at his mouth, hiding his joy. ‘It’s him,’ he said. ‘The same man. Vasiliy Grigoryevich Chernetskiy.’

Another alias to add to the list. ‘How do you meet him?’ Mihail asked, trying to reflect his brother’s joy.

‘My story’s much the same as yours – except that Vasya knew my father rather than my mother. But whenever Papa had to go away on business, Vasya always kept an eye on us. And I know that Papa once got into debt, and Vasya made him a loan which saved him. He’s got money – from land, I presume – and he knows how to do good with it. The country would be a better place with more like him.’

Mihail nodded. ‘You’re not wrong.’ In some ways it would be sad to finally prick the bubble of the man’s affection for Iuda; in others a joy. It would have to be done sooner or later.

‘And so … what?’ asked Luka. ‘Vasya told you about me? Said you should look me up?’

‘Not quite. I’ve known about you for some time. But as fate would have it, Vasya and I found we would both be travelling to Petersburg at the beginning of the year. We planned to meet up and then call on you together.’

‘You mean …’ – Luka was excited now – ‘he’ll be here soon?’

Mihail allowed his face to fall. ‘That’s just the problem. I’m quite unable to find him. He should have arrived in the city before me, but I’ve been to the hotel where he said he’d be staying and his club, and there’s no sign. I wondered if he’d contacted you.’

And there it was: the reason for Mihail’s coming to Petersburg; the hope that there might be some thread of a connection whereby he could find Iuda.

Luka threw himself back on the divan and raised his hands in despair. ‘I’ve heard nothing. He hasn’t even written to announce his visit, which would be usual. You think he might be in trouble?’

‘That’s my fear.’ It was more than a fear. Iuda was Dmitry’s captive. There was no reason to suppose he had escaped, but there was plenty to suggest they had come to Petersburg – not least that Luka himself lived there.

‘What can we do?’

‘Keep our ears to the ground. You know Petersburg better than me. Does he have an apartment here, or anywhere else he might be able to stay?’

Luka thought, perhaps for a little too long, then shook his head. ‘Nowhere that I know of – nowhere fixed.’

‘He mentioned a place on Great Konyushennaya Street.’ It had been Aleksei’s home once, but Iuda had managed to acquire it, along with Aleksei’s wife and son.

Luka shook his head. ‘No, he sold that years ago – and even then he never lived there.’

‘Then all we can do is wait. If he is here and something has happened to him, you’ll hear of it I’m sure.’

‘How shall I get in touch?’

‘Here’s where I’m staying.’ Mihail handed him a card with the address of his hotel. ‘And I’ll find you here if I learn anything.’ He stood, preparing to leave.

‘One more thing, Mihail Konstantinovich,’ said Luka, standing also. An edge had crept into his voice.

‘Anything.’

‘You said we had a mutual friend – in Vasya – but it seems we have another.’

‘Another?’

‘Dusya.’

‘Dusya?’

Luka tutted. ‘Don’t play the idiot. We know you followed her yesterday. I saw you in the Summer Gardens.’

‘Ah!’ Mihail tried to blush, but did not know if he succeeded. ‘You saw me. That’s a pity.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I don’t know how much Dusya may have told you, but we met on the train from Rostov a few days ago. I couldn’t help but find her a very attractive young lady – she did nothing to encourage it, I assure you. You’ll imagine my surprise when I saw her paying a call on the very house where I knew you to live. But all the same, I felt the desire to become reacquainted with her.’

‘And so you followed her. Why not just speak to her?’

‘That would have been wiser. But Vasya’s disappearance has got me worried. When I saw her with you – not that I knew then who you were – I realized she already had a beau, and I gave up all inclinations in that direction.’ Mihail paused. He should have reacted to the apparent coincidence earlier. ‘I hope she’s not going
to come between us. Vasya would be so disappointed.’ Mihail resisted the urge to chuckle – that last comment was below the belt.

Luka held out his hand with a smile that didn’t quite convince. ‘I don’t see it being a problem.’

They shook hands and with that Mihail departed. There was no immediate lead to Iuda, but he had not expected one. Luka, however, was not a man without associates. If Iuda was anywhere in Petersburg, perhaps the People’s Will would hear of it. If not, there was always that other connection, through Dmitry. It was unlikely that Luka even guessed at the existence of his uncle, and Mihail was not going to overplay his hand by mentioning it just yet.

He turned on to the street and headed back to his hotel. It was getting on for lunchtime. He passed the tavern where he had eaten the previous day, but chose not to partake of its cuisine again. There must be a hundred better places to eat in the city. As he walked past the door, a man stepped out dressed in a heavy brown overcoat and with his
ushanka
tied tightly under his chin. He looked down the street away from Mihail, but then set off in the opposite direction, bumping into Mihail heavily, almost knocking him over in the slippery snow. Both men apologized and continued on their way.

It was only a dozen or so paces later, as Mihail replayed the minor incident in his mind, that he recalled the slight unnecessary pressure to his chest. He turned, but the man had vanished. He ripped off his glove, slipping his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, where he had felt the pressure. With relief he found that his notecase was still there. He pulled it out and opened it. None of his paper roubles were gone. It was inconceivable that a pickpocket could have taken them and replaced his empty wallet, but still he’d felt the urge to check. He returned it to his pocket, and it was then he noticed the extra slip of paper that had been planted there. The man had possessed the skills of a cutpurse, but he had used them not to take but to give.

Mihail opened up the note and discovered that it was a summons; a summons from his father.

Once he had begun to send his own messages, and listen to those that came back, Iuda managed to gather a clearer understanding of what was going on – not just in the Peter and Paul Fortress, but in the whole of Petersburg.

There were at least twenty inmates who were in some way connected with the People’s Will, plus others arrested for more normal crimes and a few from organizations with similar goals to the People’s Will, but quite independent. None of these were allowed to know the code – least of all the other revolutionary groups – though Iuda had no doubt that a few would have been smart enough to crack it. He had managed it in only a day, and there were plenty who’d been incarcerated here for longer than that.

Nor was it outside the realms of the imagination that the authorities understood something of the code – indeed it was almost essential that they did. While prisoners within the fortress could communicate with relative ease, it would be of little benefit to anyone if messages couldn’t be got out and in. At some point in the chain there had to be a corrupt guard to act as courier to the wider world. But that meant that the inmates had to be circumspect; beneath the surface of the simple code of tapping there were other layers of subterfuge. Pseudonyms were used rather than real identities – both for revolutionaries and their intended targets. Iuda had been familiar with most of it at one time but his long incarceration by the Turcomans had left him out of touch. Even so he could tell that something momentous was afoot, and that before long there would be another attempt on Aleksandr’s life.

But that was not Iuda’s most pressing concern; he was becoming thirsty. He had not fed since Dmitry and Zmyeevich had provided him with the meagre feast of the boy in Moscow. Before that there had been nothing since Geok Tepe. The sentries at the fortress delivered food twice a day, but it was of no use to him. He wasn’t yet on the point of becoming weak or lethargic, but the time would come. He needed to get out.

He had faced a similar problem with the vampire he kept prisoner beneath his father’s church in Esher. His first instinct, on discovering that what he’d captured was not human, had been
to kill it. He was still young enough to have an instinctive sense of what was good and what was evil, and to have a revulsion for the latter, but his first problem had been to devise a mechanism. He knew little of vampire lore. He’d heard tales that daylight could harm them, but while some stories said it would bring death, others were quite clear that it would merely weaken the monster. During the day the creature lurked in a dark corner of the crypt and so Richard never had the opportunity to experiment on the effect light might have on it, except to make the observation that it was afraid of the sun. But even as he realized the difficulties he might have in killing the creature, he also began to question the need for it. His father’s attitude continued to hold sway; the rat and the butterfly were not killed for killing’s sake, but in order to study them. If more could be learned from a live specimen than from a dead one, then life should remain.

He boarded up the small window by which he’d trapped the monster and instead gained access to it through the church. His father never went down into the crypt, and Richard now stole the appropriate keys so that he would not be able to, even if the whim took him. The entrance was hidden behind the triple-decker pulpit that stood almost midway down the nave, overlooking the Chamber Pew where the local nobility – the Pelham family – could worship in isolation from the masses. Richard’s father could preach directly at them, either from the top tier when he delivered his sermon, the middle when he read the lesson or the bottom when he had more secular announcements to make regarding the parish. It was from behind this bottom level that steps led down to a wooden door, and beyond that there was an iron gate leading to the crypt. Richard could sit between the two and converse with his specimen in complete safety.