The People's Will (32 page)

He had become an exhibit in a zoo, caged and trapped in his portion of the room while others could enter and approach the bars to peer and poke at the strange exhibit, never daring to come too close lest he lash out at them. But the zoo’s only visitor – or was he the zoo keeper? – remained seated, gazing intently at Iuda.

‘You release me from one gaol just to lock me in another?’ Iuda asked.

‘You’re free to go whenever you like, Cain. These bars are simply for my protection. I’m sure you understand.’

‘Why the bolted door?’

‘You just have to knock – it will be opened. Now sit down. I’d offer you some refreshment, but I don’t think we can cater for your tastes.’

Iuda accepted the offer and sat on the chair. It was soft and upholstered with leather, just like the one on the other side of the room. They could be any two gentlemen engaged in a quiet evening’s conversation, but for the bars that separated them. It was a sensible precaution; Iuda had no plans to attack but only a fool would take the risk, and the tsar was no fool.

‘I hope you’re not simply going to make me the same offer that you made my uncle,’ said Aleksandr. ‘I’d give you the same answer.’

‘You do not desire to become immortal, then?’

‘I do not desire to become Zmyeevich’s pawn.’

It was an interesting answer. Immortality under his own terms might still be on the table.

‘I no longer represent Zmyeevich,’ explained Iuda.

It had been fifty-six years since Iuda could say he represented Zmyeevich, but before that they had been close – allies rather than master and servant, though Zmyeevich would not have admitted it. They certainly weren’t friends. By then Cain had abandoned the concept of friendship. But before that – back in 1812 when they’d conspired against Bonaparte – they’d worked hand in glove.

After the call had gone out across Wallachia, Cain had made his way with the other vampires, still posing as one of their number, through the mountains to the ancient, ruined castle. Cain never knew if Zmyeevich – Dracula as he had styled himself in his home country – recognized him for what he was. It was unlikely that he cared. He had a mission for Cain – beyond that of helping to rid Russia of the French invaders. Once in Russia, Cain was to go to the tsar, Aleksandr I, and make him a simple offer: immortality, under Dracula’s terms. It was a proposition no sane man would refuse. And yet when Cain had finally made the offer, that was precisely what Aleksandr had done.

And now Iuda faced this second Aleksandr. This new tsar did not resemble his uncle physically – not in his face at least, though they were both tall men. What they shared, Iuda suspected, was
the same resolution. To a degree it was a sign of stupidity, but it had served the Romanovs well through the years and they saw no need for change; not this generation of them, at least.

‘If you no longer speak for Zmyeevich, what can you offer me?’ asked the tsar.

‘Freedom from his power.’

‘He has no power over me.’

‘He has the power to make you see – make you see what he sees, even if only in your dreams.’

Aleksandr looked uncomfortable, as if Iuda had read his mind.

‘My dreams can’t hurt me. Zmyeevich can make me do nothing that I do not wish.’

‘True,’ replied Iuda. ‘But what of the tsarevich?’

‘Aleksandr is my son. Zmyeevich will get no further with him.’

‘I was speaking of the former tsarevich; your elder son, Nikolai. Which of your sons, do you think, would have better led Russia? Which of the two would have better resisted Zmyeevich?’

Aleksandr leapt to his feet. ‘Nikolai would have had no truck with him!’

It was just the reaction Iuda had expected. Now he played his ace.

‘Which is why they killed him.’

‘What?’ Aleksandr could only force a whisper.

‘Zmyeevich – and his henchman. They made Nikolai the same offer you think I came here to make you. He refused. And so they killed him.’

‘My son’ – Aleksandr breathed between almost every word, desperate to remain calm, his face close to the bars – ‘died of tuberculosis of the spine. Why the Lord chose to take him early I have no idea, but I can tell you it was not the work of Zmyeevich.’

Iuda emitted a short, sarcastic laugh. ‘Believe what you like, Aleksandr Nikolayevich. Whatever the truth is, it is your son Aleksandr who will become tsar. That’s very much to Zmyeevich’s advantage. If the Lord chose to arrange things in such a way then we can only speculate as to whose side He is on.’

‘How,’ the tsar asked with deliberate precision, ‘is it to Zmyeevich’s advantage?’

‘You weren’t surprised that Nikolai would refuse Zmyeevich’s offer.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Because you raised him to be tsar. You raised him to be wise. You told him that Zmyeevich’s offer would come and you told him to reject it. But more than that, you raised him to be a man who would reject any such ignoble offer, regardless of your instructions.’

‘Exactly.’

‘And did you raise your second son in the same way?’

The tsar grew pale. He walked backwards and fell into his chair. ‘Sasha will make a fine tsar,’ he muttered unconvincingly.

‘I hope he shares your confidence, but he wasn’t raised to be tsar, was he? You poured all your attention on to Nikolai, and kept nothing in reserve. Aleksandr was thrust into the role, quite unprepared, at the age of just twenty.’

‘There’s been time since for him to learn.’

‘Zmyeevich had already made his offer.’

‘You’re lying.’ The tsar spoke wearily.

‘Tell me’ – Iuda was enjoying his opponent’s humiliation, though he knew he mustn’t overplay it – ‘when did your uncle, Aleksandr I, die?’

‘You know perfectly well: 19 November 1825.’

‘You don’t have to keep up the pretence. Your family may have fooled me then, but not for long. I don’t know what name he took, but I know for certain that Aleksandr was still alive when you ascended the throne. Now when did he die?’ For all his confidence, Iuda was genuinely curious. He had never discovered the full truth of Aleksandr and Lyosha’s trickery.

‘1864. 20 January.’ The tsar’s fingers massaged his brow.

‘And in scarcely a year your son Nikolai was dead. Zmyeevich may plan for the long term, but he acts quickly.’

‘You’re saying Sasha was privy to this?’

‘Not at all. He loved his brother – you know that better than I. Zmyeevich would play things subtly in making his offer.’

‘Why turn on my son? Why not deal with me?’

‘You’ve already answered that; because you’d refuse.’

‘So will my son.’ It sounded more a hope than an expectation.

‘I can ensure that the question need never be asked.’

Silence filled the room. The tsar remained in his chair, his eyes fixed on Iuda, considering all he had said. Iuda had spun a good story, but he was not certain of any of it. But it was what he himself would have done in Zmyeevich’s shoes, and that made it likely to be true. He’d long ago heard rumours of Aleksandr Aleksandrovich’s acquiescence and now Aleksandr Nikolayevich knew of it too.

‘What can you do?’ the tsar asked.

Iuda smiled. He scented victory. The Romanovs would pay well for their salvation. They would give Iuda the protection he needed. And Zmyeevich would know once and for all that he was bested.

‘You’re aware, I take it, that Zmyeevich can only exercise his sympathetic influence on the Romanov bloodline once in each generation?’

‘That’s what I’ve been assured. That is why Aleksandr Pavlovich’s feigned death trounced you so thoroughly. It kept his brother safe as tsar.’

Iuda did not relish being reminded of how he had been tricked, but he let it pass.

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘That is why Zmyeevich must be careful. He could not attempt to influence each of your sons in turn until he found one who would comply. The first failure would be a failure for all. We can exploit that.’

‘I will not sacrifice one of my sons to save another.’ The tsar had cottoned on quickly.

‘To save your entire dynasty?’ Iuda asked.

Aleksandr shook his head.

Iuda had expected as much; he was prepared. ‘What, might I ask, is Your Majesty’s opinion on the sanctity of marriage?’

The tsar shuffled in his seat. His infidelities to his wife were well known.

‘Nature, I assure you,’ Iuda continued, ‘is quite indifferent to the institution.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning that what applies to your legitimate heir would equally apply to a bastard child. They all carry Romanov blood.’

‘I love all my children.’ Aleksandr thought a moment before adding, ‘And I have no bastards.’

Iuda laughed out loud. ‘Oh, come on! What about all those kiddies that have sprung from the Dolgorukova girl?’

For the first time in their conversation, the tsar lost control of himself. He stood and strode towards Iuda, but regained his composure before speaking. Iuda decided it would be better not to goad him too much.

‘Princess Yurievskaya, as she is now titled, and I were married last July,’ he explained. ‘In secret.’

‘I apologize; I hadn’t heard. I’ve been rather out of touch.’ Iuda was genuinely ignorant, though there was much more that he could have said, not least to comment on the indecent haste with which they had wed – Aleksandr’s first wife, Maria Aleksandrovna, had died only in June. He might also have mentioned that it was common knowledge that there were other children by other mistresses. He couldn’t legitimize them all.

But Iuda held his tongue. The suggestion that the tsar should sacrifice one of his own children was not Iuda’s main thrust. He had suggested it merely to guide Aleksandr to the correct conclusion, to make that conclusion more palatable by comparison. Now he made things explicit.

‘The child in question need only be of the same generation as Aleksandr Aleksandrovich,’ he explained. ‘They do not have to be siblings.’

The tsar fell silent, deep in contemplation. Iuda studied his face, imagining his thoughts as his mind wandered over each of his nephews and nieces, dismissing those he loved, dismissing all who had a title, and then considering those born out of wedlock – pondering those of whose existence Iuda was not even aware. For his part, Iuda had no specific individual in mind – any of them would do.

‘How distant can they be?’ he asked. ‘Pyotr must have descendants all over Russia by now.’

‘True, but there is the question of certainty. There have always been pretenders to the Romanov name – look at the False Dmitrys who plagued your predecessors in the Time of Troubles. If we attempt this on someone who does not, in truth, carry Pyotr’s
blood then Zmyeevich will detect our ruse and will not fall for it a second time. The closer our subject is to you, the safer we shall be.’

Aleksandr lapsed into silence again. For over a minute there was no sound in the room. Then he looked up.

‘I shall consider what you have said. Come back to me, here, in two weeks’ time. I’ll let you know my decision.’

He turned and made for the door. Before leaving, he tugged on a bell pull. Then he was gone. A moment later Iuda heard the bolts being drawn on the door behind him. He smiled. He had achieved all he could hope for. Aleksandr would come round, he felt sure of it. Even so, a fortnight was a long time to wait. Given all that Iuda had heard about the activities of the People’s Will, His Majesty might be dead within days.

The cowering body was dragged before the committee. He still wore the hood that had been used in his abduction, tied at the neck so that he could not remove it and might fear strangulation, though there was no real danger of it. They’d stripped him to the waist so that the cold would weaken him too. And then they’d left him – for almost a day.

Now he would be ready to answer their questions.

‘What do we know of him?’ asked the chairman.

Sofia replied. ‘We’re reasonably certain that he is the same man as the sapper who worked on the undermining of Geok Tepe. He was born in Saratov and studied at the Imperial Technical School in Moscow. While in the army he is not known to have expressed strong political views in any direction. However, he did with apparent spontaneity assist Yevdokia Yegorovna with her cover story when she was transporting explosives from Rostov.’

As Sofia spoke the chairman noticed how she nervously rubbed the outside edge of one hand with the other. Beneath her fingers he could see the red scab of a crescent-shaped lesion: a bite mark – caused by a human rather than a
voordalak
. It was too deep a wound to have been inflicted by Zhelyabov as part of some sexual frolic, but the chairman could take a good guess as to the terrified individual whose teeth had inflicted the injury.

‘You think he was aware of what she was doing?’ he asked.

‘She’d been careless,’ interjected Kibalchich. ‘I’d have been able to spot what she was up to. I’m sure he would.’

Sofia continued. ‘We also suspect that he was the man that Rysakov and I witnessed accosting Konstantin Nikolayevich as he left the Marble Palace. He was arrested and taken to Fontanka 16, but released the following day. He then made contact with the traitor Luka Miroslavich.’

‘Let’s begin there then,’ said the chairman, nodding at Zhelyabov, who gave Lukin a hefty kick in the ribs. Lukin fell on his side.

‘Why did you visit Luka Miroslavich?’ demanded the chairman.

‘I’d heard his name.’

‘When?’ asked Sofia.

‘When I was a prisoner – at Fontanka 16. I overheard that Kletochnikov had been arrested, and then they mentioned Luka.’

‘So you knew he was a traitor?’

‘No. I thought they were going to arrest him too. I went to warn him.’

‘Why would you care what happened to him?’

Lukin didn’t answer. Zhelyabov kicked him again and he coughed, but then spoke. ‘I thought he’d be grateful; let me help him.’

‘Help him to do what? Betray our entire group?’

‘I didn’t know that!’ Lukin shouted through the bag. ‘I wanted to help you to … to change Russia.’

‘Change Russia how?’ asked Sofia.

Lukin’s mumble was inaudible. Zhelyabov kicked him again. ‘By any means necessary,’ he said.

‘So why had you already made contact with Dusya?’ asked the chairman. ‘You expect us to think that was a coincidence?’