Boris Akunin - The Coronation

‘Let her bring him out first,’ I muttered, suddenly realising that I had no idea of what to do next. There had been nothing about that in Fandorin’s instructions. Should I give him the stone or not?

Suddenly the bodyguard who was still in the room leapt towards me with astounding agility and pressed his palms tight over my hands, which were holding the bomb. The jolt was only very slight and the detonating mechanism was not set off, but the diamond tumbled out of its niche and clattered across the floor. The jeweller grabbed it and put it in his pocket.

It was pointless trying to struggle with the great brute, and the coachman with the black beard also came up from behind – I had already had occasion to know of his great strength. Oh Lord, now I had ruined everything.

‘Now this is surprise number two,’ the deaf mute whispered in my ear, and in the same second he punched the thug on the forehead. The blow did not seem very strong to me, but the German’s eyes rolled up, he opened his hands and sank down on to the floor.

‘Hold it tight,’ the coachman said in Fandorin’s voice.

In a single bound he reached the jeweller and put one hand over his mouth, at the same time holding a stiletto to his chin from below.

‘ Taisez-vous ! Un mot, et vous êtes mort ! 8Ziukin, switch off the bomb, we won’t be needing it any more.’

The speed at which events were moving had left me numb, so I was not at all surprised by the coachman’s transformation into Fandorin; in fact, I was more impressed by the fact that Erast Petrovich had completely stopped stammering.

I obediently gripped the depressed button with my fingernails and pulled. It popped out with a gentle click.

‘Shout to say that you have the stone and the child can be released,’ Fandorin said quietly in French.

The jeweller batted his eyelids with unnatural speed. He could not nod because the gesture would have impaled his head on the blade of the stiletto.

Fandorin removed his hand from the jeweller’s mouth but kept the dagger in its vertical position.

His prisoner worked his sunken mouth and licked his lips, then threw his head back as if he wanted to look at something on the ceiling and suddenly shouted loudly: ‘ Alarme ! Fuiez-vous !’ 9

He was about to shout something else, but the narrow strip of steel slid in between his throat and his chin right up to the hilt and he wheezed. I gasped out loud.

Before the dead man had even collapsed to the floor, a head appeared out of the hatch – I think it belonged to the bandit who had gone down with Mademoiselle.

Fandorin leapt to the opening and kicked him hard in the face. There was the dull sound of a body collapsing heavily and Erast Petrovich jumped down without waiting even for a second.

‘Oh, Lord!’ I blurted out. ‘Oh, my Lord God.’

I heard a loud crash from below and voices shouting in German and French.

Crossing myself with the golden sphere, I ran to the opening and looked down.

It was a genuine roughhouse: a huge brute clutching a knife in one raised hand had pinned Fandorin to the floor, and another bodyguard was lying motionless further away. Erast Petrovich was clutching his opponent’s wrist with one hand to hold back the knife, and trying to reach his throat with the other. But he simply could not reach it. It seemed that the former state counsellor needed to be rescued.

I flung the sphere, aiming at the back of the giant’s head, and I was right on target. There was a squelching sound as it hit home. The blowwould undoubtedly have smashed any ordinary man’s skull, but this one merely swayed forward. That, however, was enough for Fandorin to reach his throat. I did not see exactly what Erast Petrovich’s fingers did, but I heard a sickening crunch, and the huge brute slumped over sideways.

I quickly went down into the vault. Fandorin had already jumped to his feet and was gazing around.

We were in a square room with corners drowned in dark shadow. At the centre of the vault there was a moss-covered gravestone, on which an oil lamp was burning.

‘Where is she?’ I asked, flustered. ‘Where is His Highness? Where is Lind?’

There was a trunk standing by one wall with a heap of rags on it, and I realised that must be where Mikhail Georgievich had been kept. However, Fandorin dashed in the opposite direction.

I heard the clatter of rapidly receding footsteps – it sounded as if there were three or four people running.

Fandorin grabbed the lamp and lifted it up high, and we saw the entrance to a passage in the wall. It was blocked by a metal grille.

The darkness was illuminated by a sudden flash; there was a spiteful whistling sound and a dull echo.

‘Get behind the projection!’ Fandorin shouted to me as he jumped to one side.

‘Emilie, are you alive?’ I called as loudly as I possibly could.

The darkness replied in Mademoiselle’s muted voice: ‘There are three of them! And Lind’s here! He’s—’

The voice broke off with a shriek. I dashed to the metal grille and began shaking it, but it was locked shut.

Erast Petrovich pulled me back by my sleeve – and just in time. They started shooting again out of the passageway. One of the metal bars exploded into a shower of sparks and an invisible rod of iron struck the wall, scattering fragments of stone onto the floor.

I heard men’s voices in the distance and someone – a woman or a child – groaned in a high-pitched voice.

‘Lind!’ Erast shouted loudly, speaking in French. ‘This is Fandorin! I have the stone! The exchange is still in force. I’ll give you the Orlov for the woman and the child!’

We held our breath. It was quiet – no voices, no steps. Had Lind heard?

Fandorin raised a hand in which a small black revolver had appeared out of nowhere and fired at the lock – once, twice, three times.

Sparks showered into the air again, but the lock did not fly open.

1 Ambush

2 The Church of the Prophet Elijah.

3 You’re insane! Do not even think of it! I am counting the turns of the wheels. We are almost there!

4 Deaf-mute blockhead!

5 All is in order.

6 Open it!

7My baby, my poor little one. You scum!

8 Quiet! One word and you’re dead!

9 Alarm! Run!

I sat by the river gazing dully at the long rafts of rough brown logs floating past, trying to understand whether it was I who had gone insane or the world around me.

Afanasii Ziukin declared an outlaw? Being hunted by the police and gendarmes?

Then perhaps Afanasii Ziukin was not really me at all but someone else.

But no, the entire might of the of the empire’s forces of law and order had been mobilised precisely to find us – Mr Fandorin and myself. And the reason for that was not some monstrous misunderstanding but our own criminal behaviour. Yes indeed, our behaviour, because I had become Fandorin’s accomplice willingly.

I needed to assess everything clearly from the very beginning, to recall every last detail of the events of the previous night.

When we finally managed to break open the lock and enter the passage, any attempt to overtake Lind was already pointless. But in our extreme agitation we did not realise this immediately. Fandorin ran ahead, lighting the way with a lantern he had taken from a table, and I ran after him, hunching over in order not to bang my head against the low ceiling. The swaying beam of light picked tangles of cobwebs out of the darkness, exposed shards of some kind under our feet, lit up the clay walls with a damp gleam.

After about twenty paces the passage divided in two. Erast Petrovich squatted on the ground for a moment, shone his lantern down and confidently turned to the right. Thirty seconds later the tunnel divided again. After studying the tracks clearly visible in the thick layer of dust, we went to the left. Another seven or eight forks were negotiated with the same ease, and then the oil in the lantern ran out, and we were left in total darkness.