Boris Akunin - The Coronation

His handshake was firm, mine was feeble.

‘Sit here for a while and don’t make yourself obvious. I’ll go and reconnoitre.’

He strode off in the direction of the convent and I knelt down beside the water. It was pure and transparent. I first drank my fill and then, when the ripples had dispersed, I contemplated the reflection of my face. Nothing in it seemed to have changed: a moustache, sideburns, a prominent forehead with a receding hairline. And yet it was not the face of Housemaster Ziukin, butler of the Green House and faithful servant of the throne, but that of a state criminal.

Erast Petrovich’s return roused me from my melancholy torpor but did nothing to improve my mood.

Apparently the police and soldiers had cordoned off not only the chapel but the entire convent. The search had already been going on for many hours in the underground labyrinth. The police constable with whom Fandorin spoke told him that all the police stations had been sent verbal portraits of two highly dangerous criminals who had committed some unknown crime that must be truly heinous. All routes out of Moscow were completely sealed off and it was only a matter of time before the two villains were caught. One of them was a lean youthful-looking man with dark hair and a slim moustache, special features, grey hair at the temples and a characteristic stammer. The other – and here Fandorin described my own modest person but in far greater detail. And so I learned that my nose was of the divided cartilage type, my wart was not merely on my neck but in its third left segment, and my eyes were of a marshy yellow hue with an almond-shaped outline.

‘How did you manage to get the constable to talk?’ I asked in amazement. ‘And did he not find your stammer suspicious?’

‘Getting a stranger to talk requires knowledge of psychology and physiognomical analysis,’ Erast Petrovich explained with a haughty air. ‘And as for the stammer, as you may have observed, when I assume a different identity, I change my voice and my way of speaking and all the other characteristics of speech. It is no longer me, or at least not entirely me. The stammer is the result of a concussion suffered very long ago by Fandorin, not by the grave little peasant who spoke so respectfully to the police constable.’

I gestured impatiently.

‘All your psychology is worth nothing in the present circumstances. We cannot save anyone. We need someone to save us. The police have our descriptions. We ought to give ourselves up. If we explain what happened, they will forgive us.’

Fandorin shrugged with outrageous flippancy. ‘Never mind those descriptions. We shall change our appearance. Dye your hair blond, dress you up as a civil servant, shave off your moustache and sideburns—’

‘Not for anything in the world!’ I exclaimed. ‘I have had them for more than twenty years!’

‘As you wish, but with your favoris de chien , as Lind puts it, you really are easy to identify. You are condemning yourself to remain inside, confined within four walls, while I shall move around the city quite freely.’

This threat did not frighten me in the least, and in any case I was already thinking about something else.

‘I can imagine how puzzled Their Highnesses are by my strange disappearance,’ I murmured dejectedly.

‘They are more likely indignant,’ Fandorin corrected me. ‘Viewed from the outside, the situation seems quite unambiguous. Naturally, everyone has decided that you and I conspired with Lind and have been working with him from the very beginning. Or else that we decided to take the opportunity to steal the Orlov. That is why the police are so very interested in us.’

I groaned. Why, of course, thatwas exactly howour behaviour appeared!

Fandorin also hung his head. Evidently he had finally realised the position in which we now found ourselves as a result of his inclination to irresponsible adventures. But no, it turned out to be something quite different that was saddening him.

‘Ah, Ziukin, what a magnificent operation, and it failed! Taking the place of the coachman was so simple, almost a stroke of genius. From what Emilie told me, I guessed that the driver was a deaf mute. That, plus the hat pulled so low over his eyes and the thick black beard, made the task easier. The police have the coachman now, but he will be no use to them. Not only is he mute, he is like a wild beast. That is why Lind was not afraid of exposing him to the danger of arrest. Everything should have gone so smoothly! We would have saved the boy and captured Lind.’ He gestured in annoyance and frustration. ‘Well, if we hadn’t taken him alive, we would have dropped him on the spot. It would be no loss to the human race. I ought to have gone down as well. Who could have imagined that the jeweller would not be afraid of a dagger? That was why everything went wrong. How devoted they are to Lind. What is his hold on them? No, it is simply quite incredible!’ Erast Petrovich jumped to his feet in agitation. ‘That damned Belgian was thinking about Lind, not himself. That is no mere bandit’s honour, it is absolutely genuine selfless love!’

‘How do you know that the jeweller was Belgian?’

‘What?’ he asked absent-mindedly. ‘Ah, from his accent. Belgian, from Antwerp. Absolutely no doubt about it. But that is not important. Something else, however, is. What d-do you make of what Emilie said? You remember, she shouted: “And Lind’s here. He’s—” What was to come next? I have the feeling that she was about to mention a name that we know or else some distinctive or unusual characteristic. If it was a name, then whose? If itwas a characteristic, thenwhat? “He is a hunchback”? “He is Chinese”? “He is a woman”?’ Fandorin narrowed his eyes. ‘As for being Chinese or a woman, I don’t know – anything is possible – but Lind is no hunchback. I know that for certain – I would have noticed . . . Never mind, we shall find out soon enough.’

These last words were spoken with such calm conviction that I felt a stirring of hope.

‘And so, Ziukin, let us d-discuss and assess the plusses and minuses of our situation.’ Erast Petrovich sat down on the sand beside me, picked up several small stones and drew a line across the sand. ‘The boy is still in Lind’s hands. That is bad.’ One stone, a black one, was set down on the left of the line. ‘Emilie has become a hostage too. That is also bad.’ A second black stone was added to the first.

‘And what is good?’ I burst out. ‘Add to this that all the police and secret police in the empire are hunting for you and me and not Doctor Lind. That His Highness is seriously ill as a result of the ordeals he has suffered, perhaps even at death’s door. That Lind, as you said yourself, does not leave witnesses alive!’

Fandorin nodded in agreement and put down three more stones on the same side.

‘And now let us look at things from the other side. It is good that you and I have the Orlov and are willing, as a last resort, to make an exchange. That is one. It is good that Lind has lost m-most of his gang. Almost all of them, in fact. Four on the day of the kidnapping, then all of Stump’s gang, and another five yesterday. Emilie shouted, “There are three of them.” So Lind has only two men left, and to start with he had almost twenty. That is two. Finally, yesterday I managed to tell Lind my name and specify the terms of a possible exchange. That is three.’

Looking at the five black stones and the three white ones, I did not feel my spirits suddenly rise.

‘But what is the point? We do not even know where to look for him now. And even if we did, our hands are tied. We can’t even take a step in Moscow without being arrested.’

‘You have advanced two theses, one of which is unsound and the other incorrect,’ Erast Petrovich objected with a professorial air. ‘Your last thesis, that our movements are restricted, is incorrect. As I have already had the honour of informing you, it is not at all difficult to change our appearance. Lind is the one whose movements are restricted. He has a burden on his hands – two prisoners, a sick child and a woman of extremely resolute character. The doctor will not dare to kill them because he has studied me enough to know that I will not allow myself to be deceived. That, by the way, is one more plus for us.’ He put down a fourth white stone. ‘And as for your first thesis, it is basically unsound, for a very simple reason: you and I are not going to look for Lind. The oats do not go to the horse. Lind will find us himself.’