Boris Akunin - He Lover of Death

‘Isn’t there any way we can catch him without live bait?’ he asked cautiously.

‘There is way,’ said the sensei. ‘Not rive bait, but dead person. Is that it, Masta? Have I guess’ righ’?’

Erast Petrovich frowned. ‘Yes. But how many t-times do I have to tell you not to pun. You still haven’t m-mastered the Russian language well enough for that.’

Senka wrinkled up his forehead. It seemed like he was the only fool among wise men here.

‘What dead person?’

‘Masa is thinking of the l-lady who goes by the name of Death,’ the engineer explained. ‘In s-some way that we d-do not yet understand, all the atrocities that have taken place in Khitrovka over the l-last month are c-connected with that individual. And so are all the m-major characters involved: the Prince, and Deadeye, and other luminaries of the undergound b-business world, and the excessively spry s-superintendent, and even the Treasure Hunter’s m-main target.’

That means me, Senka guessed.

‘You want to use Death to catch him? You think she’s in league with this lowlife?’ he asked doubtfully.

‘No, I d-don’t think that. And what is m-more, she has agreed to help me.’

Well, that was news for him! So when Senka climbed back out through the window, completely disillusioned with people, the two of them had come to some sort of deal, had they? Or rather, he’d talked her round, Senka thought bitterly, and he just couldn’t help himself, he asked all casual, like: ‘So you gave it to her, did you? Didn’t take much persuading, I suppose?’

His voice trembled, the Judas.

The engineer gave Senka a light flick on the forehead. ‘Such questions are n-not asked, Senya, and they are certainly not answered. That is one. Women are not to be spoken about in that t-tone. That is two. But s-since all of us, including her, will be working together in a common c-cause, in order to avoid any ambiguity, I shall answer: I d-did not “give it to” that lady and I did not even t-try. That is three.’

Should Senka believe him or not? Maybe he should ask him to swear in the name of God.

He gave Mr Nameless a keen look and decided a man like that wouldn’t lie. His heart suddenly felt lighter. ‘But how can Death help us?’ he asked, switching to a brisk, practical tone. ‘If she knew anything about this Treasure Hunter, she’d have told us. She don’t approve of that savagery like that.’

Masa grunted suggestively, as if to say: Get ready, now I’m going to tell you the most important part. Senka turned towards the Japanese, but he said something Senka couldn’t make out at all: ‘Taifu-no meh.’

But the engineer understood. ‘Exactly. A v-very precise metaphor. The eye of the t-typhoon. Do you know what that is, S-Senya?’ He waited for Senka to shake his head and started to explain. ‘A typhoon is a t-terrible kind of hurricane that races across s-sea and land, spreading destruction and t-terror. But at the very centre of this st-storm there is a spot of serene t-tranquillity. Within the eye of the typhoon, all is p-peace, but without this static centre, there would be n-no raging whirlwind. Death is not a criminal, she d-does not kill anyone – she just sits by the window and embroiders f-fantastical designs on cloth. But the m-most ruthless villains in this city of more than a million p-people swarm round her, like b-bees round their queen.’

‘Also goo’ imaj,’ Masa said approvingly. ‘But mine betta.’

‘Well, m-more romantic, certainly. During the last few days I have p-paid several visits to the house on the Yauza B-Boulevard and had an opportunity to g-get to know this lady better.’

Ah, have you now? Senka was scowling again. ‘Well, Erast Petrovich, you sly dog, you find time to get everywhere, don’t you? What does “get to know her better” mean?’

‘The last t-time we met,’ Mr Nameless went on, obviously not noticing how badly Senka was suffering, ‘she said she c-could tell she was being f-followed, but she d-didn’t understand who was following her. When I went out on to the b-boulevard, out of the corner of my eye I also spotted a shadow lurking round the c-corner of a house. This is encouraging. Mademoiselle Death is n-now our only chance. By killing Tashka, Mr Treasure Hunter snapped the thread l-leading to you with his own hands. And now, like the old couple in The Golden Fish, he is left with a broken tub . . .’

‘Eh? Sorry, I mean, I beg your pardon? What tub’s that?’ asked Senka, who had been listening with bated breath.

All of a sudden Erast Petrovich turned angry: ‘I told you to b-buy a volume of Pushkin’s works and read the f-fairy tales at least!’

‘I did buy one,’ Senka said resentfully. ‘There were lots of different Pushkins. I picked this one.’

And to prove what he was saying, he took out of his pocket the small book that he’d bought two days earlier at a flea market. It was an interesting book, it even had pictures.

‘“The Forbidden Pushkin. Verses and p-poems previously circulated in manuscript”,’ said the engineer, reading out the title. He frowned and started leafing through the pages.

‘And I read the fairy tales too,’ said Senka, even more offended by this lack of trust. ‘About the archangel and the Virgin Mary, and about Tsar Nikita and his forty daughters. Don’t you believe me? I can tell you the stories if you like.’

‘No n-need,’ Erast Petrovich said brusquely, slamming the book shut. ‘What a scoundrel.’

‘Pushkin?’ Senka asked in surprise.

‘No, not Pushkin, the p-publisher. One should never publish what an author d-did not intend for publication. Who knows where it will end? Mark m-my words: soon our gentleman of the publishing t-trade will start publishing intimate c-correspondence!’ The engineer flung the book on to the table angrily. ‘And b-by the way, correspondence is the very subject that I wanted to t-talk to you about, Senya. Since Death is being f-followed, I can’t show myself at her p-place any more. And it is not really f-feasible to keep the house under c-constant observation – any stranger would be sp-spotted straight away. So we shall have to c-communicate from a distance.’

‘How do you mean, from a distance?’

‘Well, by epistolary m-means.’

‘You mean we’re going to set up an ambush, with pistols?’ Senka asked. He liked the idea. ‘Can I have a pistol too?’

Erast Petrovich stared at him absent-mindedly. ‘What have p-pistols got to do with it? We are going to write l-letters to each other. I can’t visit Death any more. Masa can’t go – he’s too c-conspicuous. And it wouldn’t be a g-good idea for Senka Spidorov to show up there, would it?’

‘I’d say not.’

‘So the only thing we can d-do is write letters. This is what we agreed. She will go to St N-Nikolai’s church every day, for mass. You will sit on the p-porch, disguised as a b-beggar. Mademoiselle Death will give you her letters when she g-gives you alms. I am almost c-certain that the Treasure Hunter will show his hand. He has p-probably heard about the way you c-cuckolded the Prince.’

‘Who, me?’ Senka gasped in horror.

‘Why, yes. The whole of Khitrovka is t-talking about it. It even g-got into the police agents’ reports, an acquaintance of mine in the d-detective force showed me it: “The wanted b-bandit Dron Veselov (known as ‘the Prince’) is threatening to find and k-kill his lady friend’s lover, the juvenile Speedy, whose whereabouts and real n-name are unknown.” So, as far as they are all concerned, Senya –you are Death’s lover.’

There was a big mirror in Erast Petrovich’s study. Well, not when they got there, but the engineer had a pier-glass set on top of the desk, and then he laid out all sorts of little bottles and jars and boxes in front of it, so it looked just like a hairdressing salon. In fact there were wigs there too, in every possible degree of hairiness and colour. When Senka asked what Mr Nameless needed all this for, he answered mysteriously that the fancy-dress ball season was about to begin.