Boris Akunin - Special Assignments

The princess twittered away in lively French and kept losing her footing all the time, providing a pretext for clutching at the secretary's arm as often as possible. Momos tried to make friends with venerable Zukhra, attempting to express his sympathy to her in gestures and exclamations. Zukhra, however, proved to be a genuine virago. The bitch refused to get to know him and merely cackled from under her chaddar and waved her stubby-fingered hand about, as if to say: Go away, I keep to myself. A genuine savage, in fact.

Mimi and the eunuch, on the other hand, were getting along like a house on fire. Momos waited until the oriental finally mellowed and offered the young lady permanent support in the form of his crooked arm and decided that was enough for the first time. He caught up with his young ward and intoned sternly: 'Sofiko-o, my little dove, it's time to go home for tea and bread-cakes.'

The following day 'Sofiko' was already teaching Tarik-bei how to skate (for which the secretary demonstrated quite outstanding ability). In general, the eunuch proved quite compliant: when Mimi lured him behind a fir tree and seemingly by accident set her plump lips right in front of his brown nose, he didn't shy away, but obediently kissed them. Afterwards she told Momos: 'You know, Momochka, I feel so sorry for him. I put my arms round his neck, and he was trembling all over, the poor thing. It's really atrocious to mutilate people like that.'

'The Lord gave the cussed cow no horns,' the callous Momos replied flippantly. The operation was set to take place the following night.

During the day everything went as smooth as butter: driven insane by passion, the princess completely lost her head and promised her platonic admirer that she would pay him a visit during the night. In promising, she emphasised the exalted nature of her feelings and the union of two loving hearts in the highest sense, with no crude vulgarity. She could not tell how much of this the oriental understood, but he was clearly overjoyed at the prospect of the visit and explained in broken French that he would open the garden gate at precisely midnight. 'But I shall come with my nanny' Mimi warned him. 'I know what you men are like.'

At that Tarik-bei hung his head and sighed bitterly. Mimi felt so sorry for him she almost cried.

That Saturday night there was a moon and stars, perfect for platonic love. After letting his coachman go outside the gates of the Governor's suburban villa, Momos took a look around. Ahead of him, beyond the mansion, was the steep drop to the River Moscow; behind him stood the fir trees of the Sparrow Park; to his right and his left he could see the dark silhouettes of expensive dachas. They would have to leave on foot afterwards: through the Acclimatic Garden to the Knacker's Quarter. There they could hire a troika at the inn on the Kaluga road at any time of day or night. And then a sleigh ride with bells jingling along the Kaluga highroad! Never mind the biting frost - the emerald would be warm against his heart.

They gave the secret knock at the gate and the little door opened immediately. The impatient secretary was obviously already standing there, waiting. He gave a low bow and beckoned for them to follow. They walked through the snow-covered garden to the entrance of the house. The three gendarmes on duty in the vestibule were drinking tea with hard, dry bread rings. They gave the secretary and his nocturnal visitors a curious glance; the sergeant-major with the grey moustache grunted and shook his head, but he didn't say anything. What business was it of his?

In the dark corridor Tarik-bei pressed a finger to his lips and pointed somewhere upstairs, then folded his hands together, put them against his cheek and closed his eyes. Aha, that meant His Highness was already sleeping - excellent.

The drawing room was lit by a candle and smelled of some kind of oriental incense. The secretary seated the chaperone in an armchair, set a bowl of sweetmeats and fruits in front of her and muttered something incomprehensible, but it was not hard to guess the significance of his request.

Ah, children, children,' Momos purred placidly, and wagged a finger in warning. 'But no nonsense, mind.'

The enamoured couple took each other by the hand and went out through the door and into the secretary's room to devote themselves to their exalted, platonic passion. He'll slobber all over her, the Indian gelding, Momos thought with a frown. He sat and waited for a while, to give the eunuch time to get carried away. He ate a juicy pear and tried some halva. Right, that should be long enough.

He had to assume that the master's chambers were over there, behind that white door with the moulding. Momos went out into the corridor, squeezed his eyes shut and stood like that for about a minute to let his eyes grow accustomed to the darkness. But after that he moved quickly, without making a sound.

He opened one door a little: it was the music room. Another -that was the dining room. A third - still not the right one.

He recalled that Tarik-bei had pointed upwards. That meant he had to go up to the first floor.

He slipped out into the vestibule and ran silently up the carpet-covered staircase - the gendarmes didn't even glance round. Another long corridor with another row of doors.

The bedroom turned out to be the third on the left. The moon was shining into the window and Momos could easily make out the bed, the motionless silhouette under the blanket and - hoorah! - the little white mound on the small bedside table. A moonbeam fell on the turban, and a bright ray was reflected from the glittering stone, straight into Momos's eye.

Momos approached the bed, walking on tiptoe. Ahmad-Khan was sleeping on his back, with his face covered by the edge of the blanket - all that could be seen was a head of short-trimmed, spiky black hair.

'Hushaby hushaby' Momos whispered gently as he placed a jack of spades right on the sleeper's stomach.

He reached out cautiously for the stone. When his fingers touched the smooth, gleaming surface of the emerald, a strangely familiar hand with short fingers suddenly shot out from under the blanket and seized Momos's wrist in a tight grip.

He squealed in surprise and jerked away with a start, but it was pointless: the hand had taken a firm hold on him. The blanket had slipped down, and gazing out at Momos from under its corner was the fat-cheeked physiognomy of Fandorin's valet, with its unblinking slanty eyes.

'I've been d-dreaming of meeting you for a long time, Monsieur Momos,' a low, mocking voice said behind his back. 'Erast Petrovich Fandorin at your service.'

Momos swung his head round like a trapped animal and saw that there was someone sitting in the tall Voltaire chair in the dark corner, with one leg crossed over the other.

'Dzi-ing, dzi-ing!

The piercing, monotonous ringing of the electric bell penetrated Anisii's drifting consciousness from somewhere far away, on the other side of the world. Tulipov did not even realise at first what this new phenomenon could be that had supplemented the picture of God's wonderful world, already so incredibly enriched. However, a whisper of alarm from the darkness roused the sleuth from his state of bliss.

'On sonne! Qu'est que c'est?

Anisii jerked upright, immediately remembered everything and freed himself from a gentle, but at the same time remarkably tenacious, embrace.

The signal! The trap had been sprung! Oh, this was bad! How could he have forgotten his duty?

'Pardon,' he muttered, 'tout de suite.'

In the darkness he felt for his Indian robe, shuffled on his slippers and dashed to the door without turning back to answer the insistent voice that was still asking questions. Bounding out into the corridor, he locked the door with two turns of the key. There, now she wouldn't be flitting off anywhere. It was no ordinary room: it had steel bars on the windows. When the key scraped in the lock, he felt a sickening scraping sensation in his heart as well, but duty is duty.