Boris Akunin - He Lover of Death

‘What’s this, are you hurt?’ asked Death. ‘You’ve got blood on you.’

She reached out a hand and rubbed the spot of dried blood on his cheek. Senka guessed some of the spray must have hit him when the horse-trader’s blood came spurting out.

But Death’s finger was hot, and her touch came as such a surprise that Senka suddenly burst into tears.

He stood there, blubbing away, the tears streaming down his face. He felt terribly ashamed, but he simply couldn’t stop. He tried hard to force them back, but they kept breaking through – it was so pitiful, just like a little puppy whimpering! Then Senka started cursing like he’d never cursed before, with the most obscene words he knew. But the tears kept on flowing.

Death took his hand: ‘What’s wrong, what is it? Come with me . . .’

She bolted the door shut and dragged him into the house after her. He tried to dig his heels in, but Death was strong. She sat him down at the table and took hold of his shoulders. He wasn’t crying now, just sobbing and rubbing his eyes furiously.

She put a glass of brown stuff down in front of him. ‘Go on, get that down you. It’s Jamaican rum.’

He drank it. It made his chest feel hot, but otherwise it was all right.

‘Now lie down on the sofa.’

‘I’m not lying down!’ Senka snarled, and he looked away again.

But he did lie down, because his head was spinning. And the instant his head touched the cushions, everything went blank.

When Senka woke up it was day, and not early in the day either –the sun was shining from the other side, not from where the street was but from the yard. Lying under a blanket – which was light and fluffy with a blue-and-green check – he felt free and easy.

Death was sitting at the table, sideways on to Senka sewing something, or maybe doing her embroidery. She looked incredibly beautiful from the side, only she seemed sadder than when you saw her from the front. He didn’t open his eyes wide, just peeked out at her for a long time. He had to figure out how to behave after what had just happened. Why, for instance, was he lying there naked? Not completely naked, that is, he had his pants on, but no shirt and no boots. That had to mean she undressed him while he was asleep, and he didn’t remember a thing.

Just then Death turned her head and Senka shut his eyelids quickly, but even so she realised he wasn’t sleeping any more.

‘Are you awake?’ she said. ‘Are you hungry? Sit at the table. Here’s a fresh roll. And here’s some milk.’

‘I don’t want it,’ Senka muttered, offended by the milk. Why couldn’t she offer him a man’s drink – tea or coffee? But then, of course, what respect could he hope for after snivelling like a little kid?

She stood up, took the cup and bread roll off the table and sat down beside him. Senka was afraid Death would start feeding him by hand, like a baby, and he sat up.

Suddenly he felt so desperately hungry he started trembling all over. And he started gobbling down the bread and washing it down with milk. Death watched and waited. She didn’t have to wait for long, Senka guzzled it all in a minute.

‘Now tell me what the matter is.’

There was nothing else for it. He hung his head, scowled, and told her – briefly, but honestly, without keeping anything back. And this is how he finished: ‘So I’m sorry, I’ve let you down. You vouched for me to the Prince, and I turned out too weak, you see. What kind of bandit would I make? I thought I was a falcon, and I’m nothing but a mangy little sparrow.’

And as soon as he finished, he looked up at her. She seemed so angry that Senka felt really terrible.

They didn’t say anything for a little while. Then she spoke: ‘I’m the one who owes you an apology, Speedy, for letting you get anywhere near the Prince. I wasn’t myself at the time.’ Then she shook her head and said to herself, not to Senka: ‘Oh, Prince, Prince . . .’

‘It wasn’t the Prince, it was Deadeye,’ he said. ‘Deadeye killed the Kalmyks. I told you . . .’

‘What can you expect from Deadeye, he’s not even human. But the Prince wasn’t always that way, I remember. At first I even wanted . . .’

Senka never found out what it was she wanted, because at that very moment they heard a knock, a special one: tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, and then two more times, tap-tap.

Death started and jumped up: ‘It’s him! Talk of the devil. Come on, get up, quick. If he sees you, he’ll kill you. He won’t care that you’re just a kid. He’s so awfully jealous.’

Senka didn’t have to be asked twice – he was up off that sofa in a flash, he wasn’t even offended by that ‘kid’.

He asked in a frightened voice: ‘Which way? The window?’

‘No, it takes too long to open.’

Senka made for one of the two white doors at the back of the room.

‘You can’t go in the bathroom. The Prince is fussy about keeping clean, the first thing he always does is go and wash his hands. Go in there.’ And she nodded to the other door.

Senka didn’t care – he’d have climbed into a hot oven to get away from the Prince. He was knocking again now – louder than before.

Senka flew into a little room that was like a closet, or even a cupboard, only inside it was all covered in white tiles. On the floor by the wall there was a big vase or bowl – it was white too.

‘What’s this?’ Senka asked.

She laughed. ‘A water closet. A privy with flushing water.’

‘And what if he gets the urge?’

She laughed even louder: ‘Why, he’d burst before he’d go to the privy in front of a lady. He’s a prince, after all.’

The door to the closet slammed shut, and she went to open up. Senka heard her shout: ‘All right, I’m coming, I’m coming, no need for that racket!’

Then he heard the Prince’s voice: ‘What did you lock yourself in for? You never lock yourself in!’

‘Someone filched a shawl from the porch, crept in during the night.’

The Prince was already in the room. ‘That must have been a vagrant, passing through. No one in Khitrovka would dare do that. Don’t worry, I’ll put the word out, they’ll get your shawl back and find the thief – he’ll be sorry.’

‘Oh, never mind about the shawl. It was old anyway, I was going to throw it out.’

Then it went quiet for a while, something rustled and there was a slobbery sound.

She said: ‘Well, hello.’

‘They’re necking,’ Senka guessed.

The Prince said: ‘I’ll go and wash my hands and face. I’m all dusty.’

Water started running on the other side of the wall, and the sound went on for a long time.

Meanwhile Senka looked around in the privy cupboard.

There was a pipe sticking out over the bowl, and higher up there was a cast-iron tank with a chain dangling from it – he had no idea what it was for. But then Senka had no time for idle curiosity – he had to scarper while he was still in one piece.

And right up by the ceiling was a bright little window – not very big, but he could get through it. If he stood on the china bowl, grabbed hold of the chain, and then the tank, he could reach it all right.

He didn’t waste any time on second thoughts. He climbed up on the bowl (oh, don’t let the damn thing crack!) and grabbed the chain.

The bowl stood the test all right, but that chain played him a shabby trick: when he tugged on it, the pipe started roaring and water came gushing out!

Senka almost fainted, he was so afraid.

Death stuck her head in: ‘What are you doing? Have you lost your wits?’

And just then the next door slammed as the Prince came out of the bathroom. So Death swung round towards him, as if she’d just finished her business.