Boris Akunin - Special Assignments

He took the 'Police Summary of Municipal Events' from Tulipov and started reading the circled article.

'Hmm. In every case mention is made of a "blessed youth, with a, bright, clean face and golden hair, in a shirt whiter than snow". When did you ever hear of a holy fool with a bright, clean face and a shirt whiter than snow? And look at this, what it says here: "It is difficult to dismiss this rumour as a total invention in view of the remarkable amount of detail, which is not usually typical of such idle inventions." I tell you what, Tulipov: you take two or three agents from Sverchinsky and put Eropkin's house and his movements under secret surveillance. Don't explain the reason why; just say it's an order from His Excellency. Jack or no Jack, I sense some cunning intrigue in this. Let's get to the bottom of these holy miracles.'

The Court Counsellor pronounced this last phrase in a distinctly major key. The news of the magical black bird had produced a miraculous effect on Erast Petrovich. He stubbed out his cigar, and when Masa came in with the coffee things, he said: 'Give the coffee to Tulipov over there. You and I haven't done any sword training for a long time.'

The Japanese beamed brightly, dumped the tray on the desk, sending drops of black liquid flying into the air, and rushed headlong out of the study.

Five minutes later Anisii was standing at the window and wincing as he observed two figures, naked except for loincloths, trampling through the snow in the courtyard on slightly bent legs. The Court Counsellor was slim and muscular; Masa was as solid as a barrel, but without a single fold of fat. Each opponent was holding in his hands a stout stick of bamboo with a round guard on the hilt. You wouldn't kill anyone with a thing like that, of course, but you could very easily cripple them.

Masa held his hands out with his 'sword' pointing upwards, gave a blood-curdling howl and jumped forward. A loud crack of wood against wood, and once again the opponents were circling through the snow. 'Br-r-r-r-r,' Anisii said with a shudder, and took a sip of hot coffee.

The Chief dashed at the short Japanese, the clash of the sticks fused into a continuous crackling, and they began flashing about so fast that Tulipov's eyes were dazzled.

However, the fight did not last long. Masa slumped down on to his backside, clutching the top of his head, with Fandorin standing over him, rubbing a bruised shoulder.

'Hey, Tulipov,' he shouted merrily, turning towards the house, 'how would you like to join us? I'll teach you Japanese fencing!'

Oh no, thought Anisii, hiding behind the curtain. Some other time.

'You don't want to?' asked Erast Petrovich, scooping up a handful of snow and rubbing it into his sinewy midriff with evident pleasure. 'Off you go then; get on with the job. No more time-wasting!'

How do you like that? As if Tulipov had spent two days in a row sitting around in his dressing gown!

His Honour Mr Fandorin

26 February, second day of observation

I apologise for my handwriting - I am writing with a pencil and the sheet of paper is on agent Fedorov's back. The note will be delivered by agent Sidorchuk, and I have put the third agent, Latzis, on watch in a sleigh in case the mark departs suddenly.

Something strange is happening to the mark.

He has not been in his office either yesterday or today. We know from his cook that the holy fool, the boy Paisii, has been living in the house since yesterday morning. He eats a lot of chocolate and says that's all right, chocolate is not forbidden during the fast. Early this morning, when it was still dark, the mark went somewhere on his sleigh, accompanied by Paisii and three servants. On Yakimanka Street he got away from us and left in the direction of the Kaluga Gates - he has a very fine troika. We don't know where he went. He came back soon after seven, carrying an old copper saucepan that he held at arm's length. It looked quite heavy. The mark appeared agitated and even frightened. According to information received from the cook, he took no breakfast but locked himself in his bedroom and made jangling sounds there for a long time. There are whispers in the house about some 'huge great treasure' the master is supposed to have found. And a piece of total nonsense about the Holy Virgin herself supposedly appearing to E., or a burning bush speaking to him.

Since midday the mark has been here, in the Church of the Mother of God of Smolensk, praying furiously, bowing down to the ground in front of the Holy Icon. The boy Paisii is with him. The holy fool looks exactly as he was described in the summary. I would only add that he has a keen, lively gaze, not like holy fools have. Come quick, Chief, something is going on here. I'll send Sidorchuk now and go back into the church for communion.

Written at five hours forty-six and a half minutes in the afternoon.

A.T.

Erast Petrovich appeared in the church soon after seven, when the interminable 'Most Blessed Among Women' was already coming to an end. Tulipov (wearing blue spectacles and a ginger wig, so that he wouldn't be taken for a Tatar because of his shaved head) felt a touch on his shoulder. It was a swarthy-faced, curly-haired gypsy in a long fur coat, with an earring in his ear.

'Right, son, hand on the light of God,' the gypsy said, and when Anisii, astounded at such familiarity, took the candle from him, he whispered in Fandorin's voice: 'I see Eropkin, but where's the boy?'

Tulipov blinked, recovered his wits and pointed carefully.

The mark was kneeling on the floor, muttering prayers and bowing incessantly. There was a black-bearded man who looked like a bandit kneeling behind him but not crossing himself, just looking bored. Once or twice he even yawned widely, exposing the glint of his handsome white teeth. A pretty-looking youth was sitting to the right of Eropkin, with his hands folded into a cross and his eyes raised in sorrow, singing something in a thin voice. He was wearing a white shirt, but not actually as snow-white as the rumours had claimed - he clearly had not changed it for a long time. Once Anisii saw the holy fool fall face down on the floor in the ecstasy of prayer and quickly stuff a chocolate into his cheek. Tulipov was terribly hungry himself, but duty is duty. Even when he went outside to write his report he hadn't allowed himself to buy a smoked-sturgeon-belly pie on the square, although he had really wanted to.

'Why are you made up as a gypsy?' he asked the Chief in a whisper.

And who else do you think I can make myself up as with that Brazil-nut infusion still on my fizzog? A Moor, perhaps? A Moor has no business with the Mother of God of Smolensk.'

Erast Petrovich looked at Anisii reproachfully and suddenly, without the slightest stammer, he said something that made poor Tulipov's jaw drop: 'I forgot one substantial failing that is hard to transform into a virtue. You have a weak visual memory. Don't you see that the holy fool is a close, one might even say intimate, acquaintance of yours?'

'No!' exclaimed Anisii, clutching at his heart. 'It can't be!'

'Just look at her ear. I told you that every person's ears are unique. You see that short pink lobe, and the general outline -a perfect oval: that's rare, and the most distinctive detail - the slightly protruding antitragus. It's her, Tulipov, it is: the Georgian Princess. That means the Jack really is more impudent than I thought.'

The Court Counsellor shook his head as if in amazement at the mysteries of human nature. Then he began speaking curtly, in brief fragments: 'The very best agents. Definitely Mikheev, Subbotin, Seifullin and another seven. Six sleighs and horses good enough not to fall behind Eropkin's sleigh again. The strictest secrecy, following the "enemies all around" system, so that the pursuit will not be evident to the mark, or even to the public. It's quite possible that the Jack himself is hanging about somewhere near here. We don't know what his face looks like, and he hasn't shown us his ears. Quick march to Nikitskaya Street. Look lively!'