Boris Akunin - The Coronation

‘What was that?’ Mademoiselle asked with a start. ‘What was that sound?’

‘Lind’s plan is simpler and more cunning than Fandorin imagines,’ I said, gasping for air. ‘I suspect that the doctor has ordered us to be driven in this closed coffin until we suffocate, so that he can take the Orlov without any trouble. But it won’t work – I am activating the detonator. As long as I remain conscious, I shall hold the bomb steady with both hands. But when I am exhausted, the sphere will fall . . .’

‘ Vous êtes fou! ’ Mademoiselle exclaimed, pulling her hand away and seizing hold of my elbow. ‘ Vous êtes fou! N’y pensez pas. Je compte les détours, nous sommes presque là. ’ 3

‘Too late, I have already pressed the button,’ I said, and took a firm grip of the sphere with both hands.

And then a minute later the carriage really did stop.

‘Well then, may God help us,’ Emilie whispered and crossed herself, only not in the Orthodox manner, but in the Catholic way, from left to right.

The door opened, and I screwed my eyes up against the bright light. Nobody blindfolded me, and I saw the peeling walls of a small chapel and also, a little distance away, perhaps a hundred paces, the towers of an old convent. As I stepped onto the foot-plate, I stole a glance around me. There were fishermen sitting by the pond and on the edge of the nearby square a knotty old oak stood, covered in fresh greenery, presumably with senior police agent Kuzyakin concealed somewhere amongst it. I felt a little bit calmer, although the failure to blindfold us probably signified that Lind did not intend to let us go alive. Mademoiselle looked over my shoulder and also started gazing around – ah, yes, this was the first time she had been here without a blindfold. All right, Doctor, I thought. If we are to die, we’ll take you with us, and I pressed the bundle tight against my chest.

The driver, standing to one side of the open door of the carriage, seized me by the elbow and pulled as if to say: Get out. I grimaced at the strength of those steely fingers.

The rusty door with the heavy padlock barely even creaked as it swung open to admit us. I walked into the gloomy interior, which was more spacious than it appeared from the outside, and saw several male figures. Before I could get a clear look at them, the door closed behind us, but the light did not disappear; it merely changed from grey to yellow because there were several oil lamps hanging on the walls.

There were four men. The one who caught my attention was a lean grey-haired gentleman with a toothless non-Russian face and steel-rimmed spectacles. Could this be Doctor Lind himself? Standing one on each side of himwere two tall broad-shouldered men whose faces were drowned in the shadows – bodyguards, I presumed. The fourth manwas the coachman, who had followed us in and leaned back against the closed door as if to cut off our retreat.

One of the bodyguards gestured to the coachman, clearly indicating that he should leave.

The coachman nodded, but he did not move.

The bodyguard pointed angrily to the door.

‘ Taubstummer Dickkopf !’ 4the great brute swore.

So that was why the driver had behaved so strangely with us! And now it was clear why Lind had not been afraid that the bearded man might be taken by the police.

The other bodyguard replied, also in German: ‘Ah, to hell with it. Let him stay there. He’s probably as curious as we are to see what happens.’

Then the grey-haired gentleman stretched his hand out towards the bundle, and I realised that the truly important business had begun.

‘Did you bring it? Show me,’ he said in a dull voice, speaking French.

I dropped the shawl in which the sphere was wrapped onto the floor and opened the lid. The stone glittered from its velvet niche with a gentle muted light.

Enunciating every word slowly and clearly, I explained about the surprise and the conditions of exchange. Thank God, my voice did not tremble even once. The most important thing was for Lind to believe me. If it came to the crunch, I would not play the coward.

He heard me out without interrupting and nodded as if Iwere talking about something that went without saying. He clicked his fingers impatiently. ‘All right, all right. Give it to me. I’ll check it.’

And he took a small magnifying glass bound in copper out of his pocket.

So he was not Lind but the jeweller, just as Fandorin had predicted. I prised the stone out with two fingers and it seemed to fit snugly into the palm of my hand, as if had been created to match its size. With my other hand I held the bomb carefully against my chest.

The jeweller took the diamond and walked over to one of the lamps. The bodyguards, orwhoever they reallywere, surrounded him and drew in their breath loudly when the facets of the Orlov sparkled with unbearable brilliance.

I glanced round at Mademoiselle. She was standing still but with her fingers locked together. Raising her eyebrows, she indicated the sphere with her glance, and I nodded reassuringly as if to say: Don’t worry, I won’t drop it.

The light of the oil lamp was not enough for the jeweller. He took out a little electric torch too and pushed a switch. A thin, bright ray of light touched the diamond, and I screwed up my eyes. Sparks seemed to scatter from the surface of the stone.

‘ Alles in Ordnung ,’ 5the jeweller said dispassionately in perfect German and put the magnifying glass in his pocket.

‘Give me back the stone,’ I demanded.

When he did not do as I said, I held the open sphere out in front of me with both hands.

The jeweller shrugged and put the diamond back in its niche.

Heartened by this success, I raised my voice: ‘Where is His Highness? Under the terms of the agreement, you must now give him back immediately!’

The lipless man pointed to the stone floor, and for the first time I noticed a square black trapdoor with a metal ring for a handle.

‘Who needs your boy? Take him before he croaks.’

On the lips of this respectable-looking gentleman the crude word ‘croaks’, used about a little child, sounded so unexpected and terrible that I shuddered. My God, what kind of people were they!

Mademoiselle drew in a noisy breath and dashed to the trapdoor, grabbed the ring and pulled with all her might. The door lifted a little, and then fell back into the gap with a resounding metallic clang. None of the thugs moved to help the lady. Emilie looked at me in despair, but I could not help her – to do that I would have had to put down the sphere.

‘ Aufmachen !’ 6I shouted menacingly, lifting the bomb higher.

With clear reluctance, one of the banditsmoved Mademoiselle aside and easily lifted the cover up with one hand.

The gap that was revealed was not black, as I had expected, but filled with a trembling light. Obviously there was an oil lamp in the vault too. Asmell of dampness and mould came up through the opening.

Poor Mikhail Georgievich! How could they have kept him in that hole all these days!

Gathering up the hem of her skirt, Mademoiselle started to go down. One of the thugs followed her. I could feel my pulse pounding rapidly in my temples.

I heard the sound of voices coming from below and then a piercing shout from Emilie: ‘ Mon bébé, mon pauvre petit. Tas de salauds !’ 7

‘Is His Highness dead?’ I roared, ready to throw the bomb on the floor and damn the consequences.

‘No, he’s alive!’ I heard. ‘But very poorly!’

I cannot express the relief that I felt at those words. Of course His Highness was chilled to the bone, wounded and drugged with opium, but the important thing was that he was alive.

The jeweller held out his hand. ‘Give me the stone. Your companion will bring the boy out now.’