Boris Akunin - The Coronation

Through a hole I had made in a page of the newspaper, I saw Mr Freyby approaching along the corridor and pretended to be absorbed in reading, but even so the Englishman stopped and greeted me.

The butler’s company usually had a calming effect on me, but on this occasion his appearance was most inopportune, for the door of Lord Banville’s room might open at any moment.

‘Good news?’ Freyby asked, nodding at the newspaper and fishing his dictionary out of his pocket. ‘ Khoroshii . . . novost ?’

I did not have my dictionary with me – it was in my livery – and so I limited myself to a simple nod.

After looking me over carefully, the Englishman pronounced a phrase of four words: ‘You look better today.’ Then he rustled the pages of his lexicon again and translated it into Russian: ‘ Ty . . . smotret . . . luchshe . . .sevodnya. ’

I started and looked up at his ruddy features. Why would he advise me to look better ? How did he know about our plan? What did he know in general?

The butler smiled benignly, bowed and proceeded on his way.

Five minutes later Mr Carr came out into the corridor, looking rather strange: despite the clear warm weather, he was wrapped in a long cloak reaching right down to his heels; his broad hat with a drooping brim was pulled down almost as far as his nose; and I also noticed that his shoes had heels that were high and extremely thin. On pressing my eye right up against the hole in the page, I sawthat the English gentlemanwas even more thickly painted and rouged than usual.

Stepping gracefully, Mr Carrwalked through to the exit. Then Endlung strode past me, whistling light-heartedly. He looked round and winked, and I remained at my post. But I did not have to wait for long. Literally half a minute later His Lordship’s door squeaked and Banville followed them out, walking on tiptoe. He was also wearing a cloak, but not such a long one as Mr Carr’s.

There was something mysterious going on. I waited for as brief a moment as possible, put on my bowler hat and joined this strange procession, bringing up the rear. Onthat day the emperor and empress had moved from the Alexandriisky Palace to the Kremlin, and so all the police agents had disappeared from the park, which was most opportune as to any observer our manoeuvres would certainly have seemed suspicious. I could not signal to Endlung because I was afraid of startling Lord Banville, and the lieutenant himself did not look round. However, he was strolling along casually, and I soon realised that His Lordshipwas not interested in Endlung at all, but in Mr Carr.

Outside the gates the latter took a cab and drove off in the direction of Kaluga Square. As he was getting into the carriage, the flap of his cloak fell open and something bright and pearly, like the hem of a brocade or satin dress, glinted in the light of the setting sun.

Endlung walked a bit further along the pavement, tapping his cane, stopped a cab coming towards him and, after exchanging a few words with the cabby, drove off in the same direction. But Banville was unlucky – there were no more cabs on the street. The Briton ran out into the roadway, looking after the carriages as they drove away. I concealed myself in the bushes, just to be on the safe side.

Five minuteswent by, or perhaps even ten, before His Lordship managed to get a cab. Banville obviously knew, or had guessed, where Mr Carr had gone to, because he shouted something very brief to the driver, and the carriage rattled off over the cobblestones.

Now it was my turn to feel nervous. But I did not wait for an empty cab to come along – I stopped a little man driving a water wagon, offered him two roubles and took a seat beside a barrel at the front. The man lashed his dray horse with his whip; it shook its tangled mane, snorted and set off along the broad street at a pace every bit as good as a cabman’s mare. No doubt in my respectable attire I must have looked very strange on that rough wooden cart, but at the time that was of absolutely no importance whatever – the important thing was to keep Lord Banville in my field of vision.

We drove across Krimsky Most Street, already familiar to me, and turned into a side street. Leaving the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour behind on our right, we found ourselves on a rich and beautiful street lined with nothing but palaces and mansions on both sides. Carriages were drawing up one after another outside the brightly illuminated front entrance of one of the houses. Banville also got out there and paid his driver. He walked past a haughty doorman covered in gold braid and went in through a pair of tall doors decorated with mouldings. I was left standing on the pavement as the water carter went rumbling on his way with my two roubles.

As far as I could tell, therewas a masquerade about to begin in the mansion because everyone who arrived was wearing a mask. On looking more closely at the guests, I discovered that they were divided into two types: men in ordinary frock coats and suits, and individuals of indeterminate sex, like Mr Carr, swathed in extremely long cloaks. Many people arrived in pairs, armin arm, and I guessedwhat kind of gatheringwas taking place.

Someone took hold of my elbow from behind. I looked round – it was Endlung.

‘This is the Elysium,’ he whispered, and his eyes sparkled. ‘A privileged club for Moscow queers. Mine’s in there as well.’

‘Mr Carr?’ I asked.

The lieutenant nodded and twitched the curled ends of his wheat-coloured moustache thoughtfully.

‘It’s not that simple just towalk in. We need make-up. Eureka!’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Follow me, Ziukin! The Variety Theatre is only five minutes from here; I have lots of lady friends there.’

He took me by the arm and led me across the rapidly darkening street.

‘Did you see that some of them have cloaks that reach right down to the ground? Those are the pansies – they’re wearing women’s dresses under their cloaks. There’s no way you would make a pansy, Ziukin; you’ll have to be the auntie. So be it, I shall perform a heroic feat for the sake of the royal family and dress up as a pansy.’

‘Who am I going to be?’ I asked, thinking that I must have misheard.

‘The auntie. That’s what the pansies’ patrons are called.’

We turned into the stage entrance of the theatre. The attendant bowed low to Endlung and even doffed his peaked cap, for which he received a coin from the lieutenant.

‘Quick, quick,’ said the decisive gentleman of the bedchamber, urging me on as he ran up a steep and non-too-clean staircase. ‘Now, where would be best? Ah, Zizi’s dressing room would do. It’s five to nine now, almost time for the interval.’

In the empty dressing room he took a seat in front of the mirror as if he belonged there, examined his own face critically and said with a sigh: ‘I shall have to shave the damn moustache off. The Russian navy hasn’t made such sacrifices since the Black Sea fleet was scuttled. Right, you English buggers, you’ll answer to me for this . . .’

With a steadfast hand he picked up a pair of scissors from a small table and snipped off first one side of his moustache and then the other. Such willing self-sacrifice demonstrated yet again that I had underestimated Lieutenant Endlung, and that Georgii Alexandrovich had been quite right about him.

When the courageous sailor had lathered up the remaining stubble and opened a razor, two rather pretty but quite incredibly over-painted young ladies came in, wearing dresses with spangles and necklines that were much too low.

‘Filya!’ one of them, light-haired and slim, exclaimed, and threw herself on Endlung from behind, giving him a loud kiss on the neck.

‘Filiusha!’ the other one, a plump brunette, squealed just as joyfully, and kissed the lathered lieutenant on the cheek.