Boris Akunin - Special Assignments

She pointed to her neck, and there, under the powder, was a crimson line, smooth and narrow, like a thread.

'Tell me everything in the right order,' Erastushka told her.

Well, then, we come in here. He sat me on the bed - this one here - puts one hand on my shoulder and keeps the other behind his back. And he says - his voice is soft, like a woman's - "Do you think", he says, "that you're not beautiful?" So I blurts out: "I'm just fine, the face will heal up all right. It's my daughter that's disfigured for the rest of her life." He says, "What daughter's that?" "Over there," I say, "take a look at my little treasure," and I pulled back the curtain. As soon as he saw my Matryoshka -and she was sleeping then too; she's a sound sleeper, used to anything, she is - he started trembling, like, all over. And he says, "I'll make her into such a lovely beauty. And it'll make things easier for you too." I look a bit closer, and I can see he has something in his fist, behind his back, glinting like. Holy Mother, it was a knife! Sort of narrow and short.'

A scalpel?' Erastik asked, using a word they didn't understand.

'Eh?'

He just waved his hand: Come on, tell me more.

'I give him such a clout and I start yelling: "Help! Murder!" He looked at me, and his face was terrible, all twisted. "Quiet, you fool! You don't understand your own happiness!" And then he slashes at me! I jumped back, but even so he caught me across the throat. Well then I howled so loud, even Matryoshka woke up. Then she starts in wailing, and she's got a voice like a cat in heat in March. And he just turned and scarpered. And that's the whole adventure. It was the Holy Virgin saved me.'

Glashka made the sign of the cross over her forehead and then straight off, before she'd even lowered her hands, she asked: And you, good sir, you're interested for business, are you, or just in general?' And she fluttered her eyelids, the snake.

But Erast told her, strict like: 'Describe him to me, Glafira. What does he look like, this man?'

'Ordinary. A bit taller than me, shorter than you. He'd be up to here on you.' And she drew her finger across the side of Erastushka's head, real slow. Some people have no shame!

'His face is ordinary too. Clean, no moustache or beard. I don't know what else. Show him to me, and I'll recognise him straight away'

'We'll show him to you, we will,' Ineska's sweet darling muttered, wrinkling up his clear forehead and trying to figure something out. 'So he wanted to make things easier for you?'

'For that kind of help I'd unwind the evil bastard's guts with my bare hands,' Glashka said in a calm, convincing voice. 'Lord knows, we need the freaks too. Let my Matryoshka live - what's it to him?'

And from the way he talked, who is he - a gentleman or a working man? How was he dressed?'

'You couldn't tell from his clothes. Could have worked in a shop, or maybe some kind of clerk. But he spoke like a gent. I remembered one thing. When he looked at Matryoshka, he said to himself: "That's not ringworm, it's a rare nevus matevus." Nevus matevus - that's what he called my Matryoshka; I remembered that.'

'Nevus maternus,' Erastik said, putting her right. 'In doctor's talk that means "birth mark".'

He knows everything, he's so bright.

'Erastik, let's go, eh?' Ineska said, touching her sweetheart's sleeve. 'The cognac's still waiting.'

'Why go?' that cheeky bitch Glashka piped up. 'Since you're already here. I can find some cognac for a special guest, it's Shutov; I've been keeping it for Easter. So what's that your name is, you handsome man?'

Masahiro Shibata was sitting in his room, burning incense sticks and reading sutras in memory of the servant of the state Anisii Tulipov, who had departed this world in such an untimely fashion, his sister Sonya-san and the maid Palashka, whom the Japanese had his own special reasons to mourn.

Masa had arranged the room himself, spending no small amount of time and money on it. The straw mats that covered the floor had been brought on a steamboat all the way from Japan, and they had immediately made the room sunny and golden, and the floor had a jolly spring under your feet, not like stomping across cold, dead parquet made out of stupid oak. There was no furniture at all, but a spacious cupboard with a sliding door had been built into one of the walls, to hold a padded blanket and a pillow, as well as the whole of Masa's wardrobe: a cotton yukata robe, broad white cotton trousers and a similar jacket for rensu, two three-piece suits, for winter and summer, and the beautiful green livery that the Japanese servant respected so very much and only wore on special festive or solemn occasions. On the walls to delight the eye there were coloured lithographs of Tsar Alexander and Emperor Mutsuhito. And hanging in the corner, under the altar shelf, there was a scroll with an ancient wise saying: 'Live correctly and regret nothing.' Standing on the altar today there was a photograph: Masa and Anisii Tulipov in the Zoological Gardens. It had been taken the previous summer: Masa in his sandy-coloured summer suit and bowler hat, looking serious, Anisii with his mouth stretched into a smile that reached the ears sticking out from under his cap, and behind them an elephant with ears just the same, except that they were a bit bigger.

Masa was distracted from mournful thoughts on the vanity of the search for harmony and the fragility of the world by the telephone.

Fandorin's servant walked to the entrance hall through the dark, empty rooms - his master was somewhere in the city, looking for the murderer, in order to exact vengeance; his mistress had gone to the church and would probably not be back soon because tonight was the main Russian festival of Easter.

'Harro,' Masa said into the round bell mouth. 'This is Mista Fandorin's number. Who is speaking?'

'Mr Fandorin, is that you?' said a metallic voice, distorted by electrical howling. 'Erast Petrovich?'

'No, Mista Fandorin not here,' Masa said loudly, so that he could be heard above the howling. They had written in the newspapers that new telephones had appeared with an improved system which transmitted speech 'without the slightest loss of quality, remarkably loudly and clearly'. They ought to buy one. 'Prease ring back rater. Would you rike to reave a message?'

'No thank—' The voice had gone from a howl to a rustle. ‘I’ll phone later.'

'Prease make yourself wercome,' Masa said politely, and hung up.

Things were bad, very bad. This was the third night his master had not slept, and the mistress did not sleep either; she prayed all the time - either in the church or at home, in front of the icon. She had always prayed a lot, but never so much as now. All this would end very badly, although it was hard to see how things could be any worse than they were already.

If only the master would find whoever had killed Tiuri-san and murdered Sonya-san and Palasha. Find him and give his faithful servant a present - give that person to Masa. Not for long, just half an hour. No, an hour would be better ...

Engrossed in pleasant thoughts, he didn't notice the time passing. The clock struck eleven. Usually the people in the neighbouring houses were already asleep at this time, but today all the windows were lit up. It was a special night. Soon the bells would start chiming all over the city, and then different-coloured lights would explode in the sky, people in the streets would start singing and shouting, and tomorrow there would be a lot of drunks. Easter.

Perhaps he ought to go the church and stand with everyone and listen to the slow bass singing of the Christian bonzes. Anything was better than sitting all alone and waiting, waiting, waiting.

But he didn't have to wait any longer. The door slammed and he heard firm, confident footsteps. His master had returned!