Boris Akunin - He Lover of Death

As he peeped over Death’s shoulder, Senka tried to figure out what that outcome was. What was going to happen when the talking stopped? The bandits had already lowered their hands on the sly, and the superintendent’s lips were trembling. If he started blasting away with those revolvers, that would be a fine outcome for everyone.

But the engineer carried on talking to the constable as if he was sitting by the samovar in a tea-house. ‘I c-can understand everything,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘You didn’t want to l-leave any witnesses, you didn’t even take p-pity on a three-year-old child. But why kill the d-dog and the parrot? That is more than mere c-caution, it is insanity.’

‘Oh no, Your Honour,’ said Boxman, stroking his drooping moustache. ‘That bird could talk. When I went in, the Armenian woman said to me: “Good day, Constable.” And the parrot piped up: “Good day, Constable!” too. What if it had said that in front of the investigator? And that puppy at the mamselle’s place was altogether too fond of sniffing at things. I read in the Police Gazette how a dog attacked the man who killed its master, and that put him under suspicion. You can read a lot of useful things in the newspapers.

Only you can’t read the most important things.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Like how you can suddenly feel like a young man again, when you’re the wrong side of fifty . . .’

‘You mean there’s no f-fool like an old fool?’ Erast Petrovich asked with an understanding nod. ‘No, they don’t write m-much about that in the newspapers. You should have read p-poetry, Boxman, or gone to the opera: “Love humbles every age of m-man” and all that. I heard you t-telling Mademoiselle Death about “a st-strong man with immense wealth”. Were you thinking of yourself? In t-twenty years of ruling Khitrovka, you must have s-saved up quite a lot, enough for your old age. For your old age, yes, b-but hardly enough for a Swan Queen. In any c-case, that was what you thought. And your impossible d-dream drove you into a frenzy, you c-craved for that “immense wealth”. You started killing f-for money, something you had never d-done before, and when you heard about the underground treasure t-trove, you lost your m-mind completely . . .’

‘That’s love for you, Your Honour.’ Boxman sighed. ‘It asks no questions. Turns some into angels and others into devils. And I’d play the part of Satan himself to make her mine . . .’

‘You scoundrel!’ the superintendent exclaimed furiously. ‘You arrogant brute! Talking about love! Carrying on like this, behind my back! You’ll be doing hard labour!’

Boxman said sternly: ‘Shut up, you little shrimp! Haven’t you realised what Erast Petrovich is driving at?’

The superintendent choked. ‘Shrimp?’ Then he changed tack. ‘Driving at? What do you mean by that?’

‘Erast Petrovich has fallen for Death too, head over heels,’ Boxman explained as if he was talking to a simpleton. ‘And he’s decided that only one man’s going to leave this place alive, and that’s him. His Honour’s decided right, too, because he’s a clever man. I agree with him. There’ll be five dead men left in here, and only one will get out, with these incredible riches. And he’ll get Death too. Only we still have to see who it’s going to be.’

As Senka listened he thought: He’s right, the snake, he’s right! That’s why Mr Nameless rounded them all up here, to rid the earth of these monsters. And to free a certain person who wasn’t supposed to hear all this –just look at the way her chest’s heaving now.

He touched Death on the shoulder: Come on, let’s clear off while the going’s good.

But then things began moving so fast, it set Senka’s head spinning.

At the words ‘who it’s going to be’, Boxman hit the superintendent on the wrists with his fists and the revolvers went clattering to the stone floor.

In a single moment Deadeye pulled a knife out of his sleeve, the Ghoul and the Prince pulled out their revolvers, and the constable bent down and picked up one of the revolvers Solntsev had dropped – and trained the barrel on Erast Petrovich.

Senka squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears, so he wouldn’t be deafened by the thunderous roar that was coming. He waited about five seconds, but no shots came. Then he opened his eyes.

The picture he saw was like something out of a fairy tale about an enchanted kingdom, where everyone has suddenly fallen asleep and frozen on the spot, just as they were.

The Prince was aiming his revolver at Deadeye, who had his hand raised, holding a throwing knife; the superintendent had picked up one of his Colts and was aiming it at the Ghoul, and the Ghoul was aiming his gun at the superintendent. Boxman had Mr Nameless in his sights, and the engineer was the only one unarmed – he was just standing there with his arms calmly folded. No one was moving, so the whole lot of them looked like a photograph – as well as an enchanted kingdom.

‘Now how could you set out for such a serious rendezvous without a pistol, Your Honour?’ Boxman asked, shaking his head as if he was commiserating with the engineer. ‘You’re so proud. But in the Scriptures it says the proud shall be put to shame. What are you going to do?’

‘Proud, b-but not stupid, as you ought t-to know, Boxman. If I came without a weapon, it m-means there was good reason for it.’ Erast Petrovich raised his voice. ‘Gentlemen, stop trying to f-frighten each other! Operation Spiders in a Jar is p-proceeding according to plan and now entering its f-final stage. But first, I must explain s-something important. Are you aware that you are m-members of a certain club? A club that ought to be c-called “The Lovers of Death”. Were you not astounded that the most b-beautiful, the most miraculous of women d-demonstrated such benevolent condescension to your . . . dubious virtues, to p-put it politely?’

At these words the Prince, the Ghoul, Deadeye and even the superintendent turned towards the speaker, and Death shuddered.

Mr Nameless nodded. ‘I see that you were. You were q-quite right, Boxman, when you claimed that if you are the only one to g-get out of here alive, Death will b-be yours. That is undoubtedly what will occur. She herself will s-summon you into her embraces, b-because she recognises you as a g-genuine evildoer. After all, gentlemen, in his own way each of you is a genuine m-monster. Do not take that as a t-term of abuse, it is merely a statement of f-fact. After all the misfortunes she s-suffered, the poor young l-lady whom you know so well imagined that her caresses really were f-fatal for men. And therefore she d-drives away all those whom she does n-not think deserving of death and welcomes only the l-lowest dregs, whose vile, stinking breath p-poisons the very air of God’s world. Mademoiselle Death conceived the g-goal of using her body to reduce the amount of evil in th-the world. A tragic and s-senseless undertaking. She cannot possibly t-take on all the evil in the world, and it was not worth s-soiling herself for the sake of a few spiders. I shall be glad to render her this s-small service. Or rather, you will render it, b-by devouring each other.’

Just at that moment Death whispered something. Senka pricked up his ears, but he couldn’t make out the words. Except for one: ‘late’. What did that mean?

So that was why she’d thrown Erast Petrovich out on his ear! She was afraid her love would cost him his life!

And she didn’t give me the push because I’m just a kid to her, either, Senka told himself, straightening up his shoulders.

Mr Nameless had come up with a smart plan, no denying that. Do away with all of the stinking reptiles at the same time. Only how was he going to handle them without a weapon?