Boris Akunin - The State Counsellor

Erast Petrovich listened to what the prince was saying, and his finely formed eyebrows shifted uncertainly towards the bridge of his nose.

'I don't want anyone straightforward,' the dark-haired visitor said in a tearful voice that was perfectly recognisable despite its distinct nasal twang. 'You don't understand anything; he's more alive than anyone I know. Only I'm afraid he doesn't know how to love. And I'm afraid all the time that he'll be killed ...'

Fandorin listened to no more after that.

'Why did you bring me here?' he whispered furiously to Frol Grigorievich and walked rapidly out of the corridor.

Back in the reception room, the State Counsellor leaned so hard on his pen that the ink spattered across the paper as he wrote the Governor General a new note, substantially different from the previous one in both tone and content.

But before he could hand it to the secretary, the white door swung open and he heard Dolgorukoi's voice: 'Go, and God be with you. And remember my advice.'

'Good morning, Esfir Avessalomovna,' the State Counsellor said, bowing to the young beauty who had emerged from the study.

She measured him with a scornful glance. It was impossible even to imagine that this haughty creature had just been sobbing and sniffing like a primary-school girl cheated of her ice cream. Except perhaps for the fact that her eyes, still moist with tears, were gleaming more brightly than usual. The Queen of Sheba swept on and away without favouring Erast Petrovich with a reply.

Ah,' Vladimir Andreevich sighed. 'If only I were sixty again ... Come in, come in, my dear fellow. I'm sorry for making you wait.'

By tacit agreement, they did not mention the recent female visitor, but moved straight on to business.

'Circumstances have developed in such a way as to prevent me from coming to report to Your Excellency any sooner,' Fandorin began in an official tone of voice, but the Governor General took him by the elbow, sat him down in the armchair facing his own and said good-naturedly: 'I know everything. Frol has his well-wishers in the Department of Security and other places. I have received regular reports on your adventures. And I am also fully informed about today's battle. I received a communique from Collegiate Assessor Mylnikov, with all the details. A fine fellow, Evstratii Pavlovich - very keen to fill the vacancy left by Burlyaev. And why not? - I could have a little word with the Minister. I have already sent His Majesty an urgent despatch about today's heroic feats - a little sooner than that prince of yours. The most important thing in these cases is who submits his report first. I painted your valorous deed in the most glowing colours.'

'For which I am m-most humbly grateful,' Erast Petrovich replied, somewhat confused. 'However, I really have nothing very much to boast of. The most important c-criminal escaped.'

'He escaped, but six were neutralised. That's a great achievement, my dear fellow. It's a long time now since the police have had such a great success. And the victory was won here in Moscow, even if help was brought in from the capital. The sovereign will understand from my despatch that six terrorists were killed owing to your efforts, and the escape of the seventh was Pozharsky's blunder. I know how to compose despatches. I've been sailing the inky oceans for nigh on half a century now. Worry not, God is good. Perhaps they will realise up there' - the prince's wrinkled finger was jabbed upwards towards the ceiling in appeal to either the sovereign or the Lord - 'that it is too soon to throw Dolgorukoi out on the rubbish heap. Just let them try. And I also mentioned your long-delayed appointment as head police-master in my despatch. We'll see who comes out of this best...'

Erast Petrovich emerged from the Governor General's palace in a pensive state of mind. As he pulled on his gloves, he halted beside an advertising column and for no particular reason read an announcement set in huge type:

A Miracle of American Technology!

Edison's latest phonograph is to be demonstrated at the

Polytechnical Museum. Mr Repman, head of the department of applied physics, will personally conduct an experiment in the recording of sound, for which he will perform an aria from 'A Life for the Tsar’, Entrance fee 15 kopecks. The number of tickets is limited.

A snowball struck Erast Petrovich in the back. The State Counsellor swung round in amazement and saw a light two-seater sleigh standing beside the pavement. There was a black-eyed young lady in a sable coat sitting on the velvet seat, leaning against its curved back.

'Get in,' said the young lady. 'Let's go.'

'Been to tell tales to the boss, have we, Mademoiselle Litvinova?' Fandorin enquired with all the venom that he could muster.

'Erast, you're a fool,' she declared peremptorily. 'Shut up, or we'll quarrel again.'

'But what about His Excellency's advice?'

Esfir sighed. 'It's good advice. I'll definitely act on it. But not now. Later.'

Before he entered the large house on Tverskoi Boulevard that was known to everyone in Moscow, Fandorin halted, overwhelmed by his conflicting feelings. So now here it was, the appointment that had been spoken about for so long, in which Erast Petrovich had already ceased to believe. It had finally come to pass.

Half an hour earlier a courier had arrived at the outhouse on Malaya Nikitskaya Street, bowed to the State Counsellor, who had come to the door in his dressing gown, and informed him that he was expected immediately at the head police-master's residence. The invitation could mean only one thing: the Governor General's despatch of the previous day to the supreme ruler had produced an effect, and more quickly than anticipated.

Fandorin had tried to make as little noise as possible as he performed his morning ablutions, put on his uniform, complete with medals, and buckled on his sword - the occasion called for formality - and then, with a glance at the closed door of the bedroom, he had tiptoed out into the hallway.

In career terms, promotion to the position of the second most important individual in the old capital meant elevation to almost empyrean heights: quite certainly a general's rank, immense power, an enviable salary and - most important of all - a certain path to even more vertiginous heights in the future. However, this path was strewn with briars as well as roses, and in Fandorin's eyes the prickliest briar of all was the total loss of privacy. The head police-master was required to live in his official residence, which was grand, showy and uncomfortable - and also directly connected to the secretariat building; to participate as one of the central figures in numerous mandatory official functions (for instance, the gala opening of the Society for the Sponsorship of Public Sobriety was planned for the Week of the Adoration of the Cross, under the patronage of the city's foremost custodian of the law); and finally, to set the citizens of Moscow an example of moral living which, in view of his present personal circumstances, Erast Petrovich felt was a goal that would be hard to achieve.

All this meant that Erast Petrovich was obliged to summon up his courage before stepping across the threshold of his new residence and his new life. As usual, there was consolation to be found in a saying of the Wisest of All Sages: 'The superior man knows where his duty lies and does not attempt to shirk it.'

To shirk it was impossible, to draw things out was stupid, and so Erast Petrovich heaved a sigh and crossed that fatal boundary line marking the final countdown to his new career. He nodded to the saluting gendarme, cast a lingering glance around the familiar, elegant vestibule and shrugged off his fur coat into the arms of the doorman. The Governor General's sleigh should arrive any moment now. Vladimir Andreevich would show his protege into the office and ceremonially present him with a seal, a medal on a chain and a symbolic key to the city - the formal attributes of the head police-master's authority.