Boris Akunin - The Coronation

At this point all of the other royal individuals directed their gazes at me, a state of affairs to which I was quite unused, so that I was unable to control the trembling of my voice.

‘It is about Mr Fandorin, the gentleman who . . . witnessed the outrage yesterday.’ I mastered my agitation and continued in a steadier voice. ‘This morning when, for obvious reasons, the house was in something of a commotion, Mr Fandorin was sitting on the terrace and smoking a cigar in the calmest manner one could imagine—’

Simeon Alexandrovich interrupted me irritably: ‘Do you really suppose it is so important for us and the sovereign emperor to know how Mr Fandorin spent the morning?’

I immediately fell silent and bowed to His Highness, not daring to continue.

‘Be quiet, Sam,’ Georgii Alexandrovich shouted abruptly at his younger brother.

Simeon Alexandrovich has an unfortunate peculiarity – no one likes him. Neither his relatives, nor his inner retinue, nor the Muscovites, nor even his own wife. It is hard to like such a man. They say that the late sovereign appointed him governor general of Moscow in order to see him less often. And also in order to rid the court of His Highness’s entourage – all those pretty little adjutants and secretaries with dyed hair. Alas, Simeon Alexandrovich’s habits are no secret to anyone – the whole of society gossips about them. On that very day, when he had just entered the hallway (having arrived last of all, even after the sovereign) His Highness had asked me in animated fashion: ‘Who was that handsome chap I met just now on the lawn? The slim fellow with the yellow hair?’ I politely explained to the grand duke that it must have been the Englishman, Mr Carr, but I felt a certain inward tremor: knowing the reason why the emergency conference had been convened, how was it possible to allow free rein to one’s personal inclinations? It was not even so much a matter of inclinations – His Highness simply has a very bad character.

‘Carry on, Afanasii,’ Georgii Alexandrovich told me. ‘We are all listening to you attentively.’

I could not help admiring my master’s emotional restraint and fortitude. Any ordinary man whose child had been kidnapped would have been in a terrible state, screaming and tearing his hair out, but His Highness did not lose his self-control even for an instant, except that he kept smoking one papyrosa after another. At such moments one feels especially keenly what a great honour and inexpressible responsibility it is to serve individuals of the imperial blood. They are special people, unlike all the rest.

‘Permit me to report,’ I continued, ‘that such imperturbability on the part of an individual aware of the disaster that has occurred struck me as strange. I approached Mr Fandorin and asked if he had discovered any more tracks in the park. He replied: “The second carriage, which was standing near the lawn and was used to abduct the boy, drove off in the direction of the Kaluga Highway. The attendant at the park gates saw a fast-moving carriage with the blinds tightly closed over the windows.” “Then why haven’t you told anyone?” I asked him. “You ought to inform the police immediately!” But he replied confidently: “But what for? There’s nothing to be done now.” And then he added this . . .’ At this point I deliberately made a brief pause and repeated Fandorin’s words exactly as I remembered them: ‘“We have to wait for a letter from Lind.” Yes, that was exactly what he said: “We have to wait for a letter from Lind.” I must admit that I had no idea what letter he was talking about, and I didn’t understand the last word at all. But now I remember quite clearly that he said “Lind”. Then I was called to the telephone, and our conversation was interrupted. However, the inference is that Mr Fandorin knew in advance about the letter and about Lind. Permit me also to draw your Imperial Majesty’s and your Imperial Highnesses’ attention to the circumstance that Mr Fandorin’s appearance at the scene of the kidnapping yesterday was clearly not fortuitous. He acted too resolutely for a chance passer-by, said some rather strange things and identified the leader of the bandits – he said his name was Penderetski.’

Colonel Karnovich spoke up from his corner.

‘I have managed to discover something about Lech Penderetski, also known as Blizna. He is one of the leaders of the criminal world in the Kingdom of Poland. A bandit, extortionist and murderer, but cautious and crafty – no one had ever managed to catch him red-handed. According to rumour, Blizna has links with the criminal communities of many countries in Europe. The body has been sent to Warsaw for identification, but the description and other information do suggest that it really is Penderetski.’

‘How did Fandorin come to know about this fellow?’ Kirill Alexandrovich asked thoughtfully.

Simeon Alexandrovich laughed spitefully: ‘Why, that’s easy to find out. We have to arrest Fandorin and interrogate him thoroughly. He’ll tell us everything. My Lasovsky knows how to loosen tongues. When he barks, even I get the shivers.’

And His Highness laughed, delighted with his joke, but no one else there shared his merriment.

‘Uncle Kir, Uncle Sam,’ His Majesty said in a quiet voice, ‘you pronounce the name of this Fandorin as if you knew him. Who is he?’

The head of the court police answered for the grand dukes. He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and reported as follows.

‘Fandorin, Erast Petrovich. Forty years of age. Of the Orthodox confession. A hereditary noble. A knight of many orders, too many to mention. A retired state counsellor. For almost ten years he served as deputy for special assignments to the governor general of Moscow, Prince Dolgorukoi.’

‘Ah yes, Fandorin again,’ Kirill Alexandrovich said slowly, looking out through the window as if he were recalling some old story. ‘I wonder where he has been all these years.’

From these words I concluded that His Highness really was acquainted with the retired state counsellor.

Then it emerged that Simeon Alexandrovich knew this gentleman even better, and apparently not from his most flattering side.

‘Fandorin has not shown his face in Moscow for about five years,’ the governor general said, pulling a wry face. ‘The scoundrel knows there’s no place for him in my city. This man, Nicky, is an adventurer of the very worst kind. Sly and shifty, slippery and foul. The reports I have received say that after he left Moscow he prospered in all sorts of dirty business. He left his tracks behind him in Europe, in America and even in Asia. I must admit that I follow this gentleman’s movements because I have a score to settle with him . . . Well, anyway, reliable sources have informed me that Fandorin has fallen as low as it is possible to fall: he accepts commissions to carry out investigations for private individuals and is not squeamish about charging a fee – apparently a substantial one. The point is that his clients (Simeon Alexandrovich pronounced this word with emphatic disgust) include millionaires and even, unfortunately, some foreign monarchs. In five years of this infamous activity Fandorin has earned a certain reputation for himself. I have no doubt that he is privy to many dirty secrets, but we can manage our family business without his dubious services. My police are excellent at their job and my Lasovsky will run down this doctor in two shakes of a dog’s tail.’

‘I beg Your Highness’s pardon,’ Karnovich interjected with an imperturbable expression, ‘but the protection of the imperial family falls within the purview of my department and I assure you that we will deal with this mission perfectly well without the participation of the Moscow police, not to mention any amateur detectives.’ The colonel smiled gently and added in a quiet voice, as if he were talking to himself: ‘We don’t need any Sherlock Holmeses here.’