The Winter Queen (26 page)

“That one’s a dud,” said the general, who had been listening with great interest. “The Portuguese government changed in May, so all the ministers in the cabinet are new.”

“Are they?” Erast Fandorin asked in dismay. “Oh, well, that means we’ll have seven instead of eight. Then the fifth is an American, the deputy chairman of a Senate committee, sent on the tenth of June, received on the twenty-eighth, in my own presence. The sixth is number ten forty-two F, Turkey, personal secretary to Prince Abdülhamid, sent on the first of June, received on the twentieth.”

General Mizinov found this information particularly interesting. “Really? Oh, that is very important. And actually on the first of June? Well, well. On the thirtieth of May in Turkey there was a coup, Sultan Abdülaziz was overthrown, and the new ruler, Midhat Pasha, set Murad V on the throne. And then the very next day he appointed a new secretary for Abdülhamid, Murad’s younger brother. What great haste, to be sure. This is extremely important news. Could Midhat Pasha be planning to get rid of Murad and set Abdülhamid on the throne? Aha…Never mind, Fandorin, that’s all way over your head. We ‘ll have the secretary identified in a couple of shakes. I’ll get on the telegraph today to Nikolai Pavlovich Gnatiev, our ambassador in Constantinople—we’re old friends. Carry on.”

“And the last, the seventh: number fifteen oh eight F, Switzerland, a prefect of cantonal police, sent on the twenty-fifth of May, received on the first of June. Identifying the rest will be a lot harder, and some of them will be impossible. But if we can at least identify these seven and put them under secret surveillance…”

“Give me the list,” said the general, holding out his hand. “I’ll give orders immediately for coded messages to be sent to the embassies concerned. We shall clearly have to collaborate with the special services of these countries. Apart from Turkey, where we have an excellent network of our own…You know, Mr. Fandorin, I was abrupt with you, but don’t take offense. I do value your contribution very highly and so on and so forth…It’s just that it was painful for me…because of Brilling…Well, you understand.”

“I understand, Your Excellency. I myself, in a sense, was no less—”

“Very well, excellent. You’ll be working with me, investigate Azazel. I’ll set up a special group and appoint the most experienced people. We must untangle this whole sorry mess.”

“Your Excellency, I really ought to take a trip to Moscow…”

“What for?”

“I’d like to have a little talk with Lady Astair. She herself, being more a creature of the heavens than the earth”—at this point Fandorin smiled—“was surely not aware of the true nature of Cunningham’s activity, but she did know the gentleman since he was a child and might well be able to tell us something useful. It would be best not to talk to her formally, through the gendarmerie, surely? I am fortunate enough to be slightly acquainted with her ladyship, and I speak English. What if another lead of some kind were to come to light? Perhaps we might pick up something from Cunningham’s past?”

“It sounds to the point. Go. But only for one day, no more. And now go and get some sleep. My adjutant will assign you your quarters. Tomorrow you’ll take the evening train to Moscow. If we’re lucky, by that time the first coded messages from the embassies will have arrived. On the morning of the twenty-eighth you’ll be in Moscow, and in the evening I want you back here, and come immediately to me to report. At any time, is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

IN THE CORRIDOR of the first-class carriage on the St. Petersburg-Moscow express, a very grand elderly gentleman sporting an enviable mustache and whiskers and a diamond pin in his necktie smoked a cigar as he glanced with undisguised curiosity at the locked door of compartment number one.

“Hey there, be so kind,” he said, beckoning with a fat finger to a conductor who had made an opportune appearance.

The conductor dashed over to the stately passenger in a flash and bowed. “What can I do for you, sir?”

The gentleman took hold of the conductor’s collar between his finger and thumb and asked in a deep bass whisper, “The young man traveling in the first compartment—who is he exactly? Do you know? He is quite remarkably young.”

“I was surprised at that too,” the conductor declared in a whisper. “Everyone knows the first compartment is reserved for VIPs. They won’t let just any old general in—only someone on urgent and responsible state business.”

“I know.” The gentleman released a stream of smoke. “Traveled in it myself once, on a secret inspection to Novorossiya. But this person is a mere boy. Perhaps he’s someone’s favorite son? One of our gilded youth?”

“Nothing of the kind, sir. They don’t put favorite sons in number one—they’re very strict about that. Except perhaps for one of the grand dukes. But I felt a bit curious about this one, so I took a quick glance at the train manager’s passenger list.” The attendant lowered his voice still further.

“Well then?” the intrigued gentleman urged him impatiently.

Anticipating a generous tip, the conductor put his finger to his lips. “From the Third Section. Specially important cases investigator.”

“I can understand the ‘specially.’ They wouldn’t put anyone who was merely ‘important’ in the first compartment.” The gentleman paused significantly. “And what is he up to?”

“He locked himself in the compartment and hasn’t been out since, sir. Twice I offered him tea, but he wasn’t interested. Just sits there with his nose stuck in his papers, without even lifting his head. We were detained for twenty-five minutes leaving Petersburg, remember? Due to him, that was, sir. We were waiting for him to arrive.”

“Oho!” gasped the passenger. “But that’s quite unheard-of!”

“It does happen, but only very rarely, sir.”

“And does the passenger list give his name?”

“Indeed no, sir. No name and no rank.”

THE LONGER ERAST FANDORIN CONTINUED his study of the niggardly lines of the dispatches, tousling his hair as he did so, the higher he felt the mystical terror mounting toward his throat.

Just as he was about to set out for the station, Mizinov’s adjutant had turned up at the state apartment where Fandorin had slept like a log for almost twenty-four hours and told him to wait. The first three telegrams had arrived from the embassies; they would be deciphered immediately and brought to him. The wait had lasted for almost an hour, and Erast Fandorin had been afraid he would miss the train, but the adjutant had reassured him on that score.

Fandorin was no sooner inside the immense compartment upholstered in green velvet, with a writing desk, a soft divan, and two walnut chairs with their legs bolted to the floor, than he opened the package and immersed himself in reading.

Three telegrams had arrived: from Washington, Paris, and Constantinople. The heading on all of them was identical:

URGENT. TO HIS EXCELLENCY LAVRENTII ARKADIEVICH MIZINOV IN REPLY TO YOUR REF. NO. 13476-8ZH OF 26 JUNE 1876
.

The reports were signed by the ambassadors themselves, but that was as far as the similarity went. The texts were as follows.

9 July (27 June) 1876. 12:15 Washington.

The person in whom you are interested is John Pratt Dodds, who on 9 June this year was elected vice chairman of the Senate Budget Committee. A man very well known in America, a millionaire of the sort who are known here as self-made men. Age 44. His early life, place of birth, and background are unknown. He is assumed to have become rich during the California gold rush. He is regarded as an entrepreneur of genius. During the war between the North and the South he was President Lincoln’s adviser on financial matters. It is believed by some that it was Dodds’s diligence and not the valor of the federal generals that was responsible for the capitalist North’s victory over the conservative South. In 1872 he was elected Senator for the state of Pennsylvania. Well-informed sources tell us that Dodds is tipped to become Secretary of the Treasury.

9 July (27 June) 1876. 16:45. Paris
.

Thanks to the agent Coco, who is known to you, it has been possible to ascertain via the Ministry of War that on the 15 of June Rear Admiral Jean Intrepide, who had recently been appointed to command the Siamese Squadron, was promoted to the rank of Vice Admiral. He is one of the French fleet’s most legendary personalities. Twenty years ago a French frigate off the coast of Tortuga came across a boat adrift in the open sea, carrying a boy who had obviously survived a shipwreck. As a result of the shock the boy had completely lost his memory and could not give his own name or even his nationality. Taken on as a cabin boy and named after the frigate that found him, he has made a brilliant career. He has taken part in numerous expeditions and colonial wars. He especially distinguished himself in the Mexican War. Last year Jean Intrepide caused a genuine sensation in Paris when he married the eldest daughter of the due de Rohan. I will forward details of the service record of the individual in whom you are interested in the next report.

27 June 1876. Two o’clock in the afternoon. Constantinople.

Dear Lavrentii,

Your request quite flabbergasted me, the point being that this Anwar Effendi, in whom you have expressed such pressing interest, has for some time now been the object of my own close scrutiny. According to information in my possession this individual, who is an intimate of Midhat Pasha and Abdülhamid, is one of the central figures in a conspiracy that is coming to a head in the palace. We must soon expect the overthrow of the present sultan and the reign ofAbdülhamid. Then Anwar Effendi will most certainly become a figure of quite exceptional influence. He is highly intelligent, with a European education, and knows a countless number of Oriental and Western languages. Unfortunately, we do not possess any detailed biographical information on this interesting gentleman. We do know that he is no more than twenty-five years old and was born in either Serbia or Bosnia. His origins are obscure and he has no relatives, which promises to be a great boon for Turkey if Anwar ever should become vizier. Just imagine it
—
a vizier without a horde of avaricious relatives! Such things simply never happen here. Anwar is by way of being Midhat Pasha’s eminence grise, an active member of the New Osman party. Have I satisfied your curiosity? Now please satisjy mine. What do you want with my Anwar Effendi? What do you know about him? Let me know immediately. It might prove to be important
.

Erast Fandorin read the telegrams through once again, and in the first one he underlined the words ‘His early life, place of birth, and background are unknown’; in the second one the words ‘could not give his own name or even his nationality’; and in the third the words ‘His origins are obscure and he has no relatives.’ He was beginning to feel frightened. All three of them seemed to have appeared out of nowhere! At some moment they had simply emerged from the void and immediately set about clambering upward with genuinely superhuman persistence. What were they—members of some secret sect? And what if they were not people at all but aliens from another world, emissaries, say, from the planet Mars? Or worse than that, some kind of infernal demons? Fandorin squirmed as he recalled his nocturnal encounter with ‘Amalia’s ghost.’ Bezhetskaya herself was yet another creature of unknown origin. And then there was that satanic invocation—Azazel. Oh, there was definitely a sulfurous smell about this business…

There was a furtive knock at the door. Erast Fandorin shuddered, reached rapidly behind his back for the secret holster, and fingered the grooved handle of his Herstal.

The conductor’s obsequious face appeared in the crack of the door.

“Your Excellency, we’re coming into a station. Perhaps you’d like to stretch your legs? There’s a buffet there, too.”

At the word ‘Excellency’ Erast Fandorin assumed a dignified air and cast a stealthy sidelong glance at himself in the mirror. Could he really be taken for a general? Well anyway, ‘stretching his legs’ sounded like a good idea, and it was easier to think as he walked. There was some vague idea swirling around in his head, but it kept eluding him. So far he couldn’t quite get a grip on it, but it seemed to be encouraging him: keep digging, keep digging!

“I think I will. How long is our stop?”

“Twenty minutes. But you’ve no need to concern yourself about that. Just take your time.” The conductor tittered. “They won’t leave without you.”

Erast Fandorin leapt down from the step onto a platform flooded with light by the lamps of the station. Here and there the lights were no longer burning in the windows of some compartments—evidently some of the passengers had already retired for the night. Fandorin stretched sweetly, folded his hands behind his back, and prepared himself for a stroll that would stimulate his mental faculties to more effective activity. However, at that very moment there emerged from the same carriage a portly, mustached gentleman wearing a top hat, who cast a glance of intense curiosity in the young man’s direction and proffered an arm to his youthful female companion. At the sight of her charming, fresh face Erast Fandorin froze on the spot, while the young lady beamed and exclaimed in a clear, ringing voice, “Papa, it’s him, that gentleman from the police! I told you about him, remember? You know, the one who
interrogated
Frälein Pfühl and me!”

The word ‘interrogated’ was pronounced with quite evident pleasure, and the clear gray eyes gazed at Fandorin with unconcealed interest. It must be admitted that the dizzying pace of events during the preceding weeks had somewhat dulled Erast Fandorin’s memories of her whom in his own mind he thought of exclusively as ‘Lizanka’ and sometimes, in moments of particularly fanciful reverie, even as his ‘tender angel.’ However, at the sight of this lovely creature the flame that had singed his heart instantly flared up with renewed heat, scorching his lungs with sparks of fire.

“I’m not actually from the police,” Fandorin mumbled, blushing. “Fandorin, special assignments officer at the—”