Boris Akunin - Turkish Gambit

'There goes the old draggletail!'

'We'll beat her with our little sultan here, gentlemen!'

'L'as de carreau' - ace of diamonds. 'Ha-ha, that's beaten it!'

Varya moved closer to Erast Petrovich and asked: 'Why does he call you Erasmus?'

'It's just something that happened’ said the secretive Fandorin, avoiding the question.

'Hey-eh,' Sobolev sighed loudly. 'Kriedener's probably already advancing on Plevna, and I'm stuck in here like a low card in the discards.'

Perepyolkin stuck close to his idol, pretending that he was also interested in the game.

The angry McLaughlin, standing all alone with a chessboard under his arm, muttered something in English and then translated it into Russian himself: 'It used to be a press club, now it's a low gambling den.'

'Hey, my man, do you have any Shustov cognac? Bring it over!' cried the hussar, turning to the bartender. 'We might as well have some real fun while we're at it.'

The evening really was promising to turn out very cheerful.

The next day, however, the press club had changed beyond all recognition, with the Russians sitting there looking gloomy and depressed, while the correspondents were talking excitedly in low voices, and every now and then, when one of them learned some new details, he would go running to the telegraph office -what had happened was an absolutely huge sensation.

Already at lunchtime the dark rumours had begun to spread round the camp, and as Varya and Fandorin were walking back from the shooting range after five (the titular counsellor was teaching his assistant to use a Colt-system revolver), they had been met by a sullenly agitated Sobolev.

'A fine business,' he said, rubbing his hands together nervously. 'Have you heard?'

'Plevna?' Fandorin asked forlornly.

'A total rout. General Schilder-Schuldner went at it full pelt; he wanted to overtake Osman-pasha. We had seven thousand men, but the Turks had far more. Our columns attacked full on and were caught in a crossfire. Rosenbaum, the commander of the Arkhangelsk Regiment, was killed; Kleinhaus, the commander of the Kostroma Regiment, was fatally wounded and Major-General Knorring was brought back on a stretcher. A third of our men were killed. Absolute carnage. So much for three battalions. And the Turks were different too, not like before. They fought like devils.'

'What about Paladin?' Erast Petrovich asked rapidly.

'He's all right. He turned bright green and kept babbling excuses. Kazanzaki's taken him away for interrogation . . . Well, now the real thing will start. Perhaps now they'll give me an assignment. Pere-pyolkin hinted that there might be a chance' - and the general set off towards the staff building with a spring in his step.

Varya had spent the time until evening in the hospital, helping to sterilise surgical instruments. So many wounded had been brought in that they had been obliged to set up another two temporary tents. The nurses were run off their feet. The air was filled with the smell of blood and suffering, and the screams and prayers of the wounded.

It was almost night before she was able to escape to the correspondents' marquee where, as has already been mentioned, the atmosphere was strikingly different from the day before.

The only place where life continued in full swing was at the card table, where the game was now in its second uninterrupted day. Pale-faced Zurov puffed on a cigar as he rapidly dealt out the cards. He had not eaten a thing, but he had been drinking incessantly without getting even slightly drunk. A tall heap of banknotes, golden coins and promissory notes had sprung up beside his elbow. Sitting opposite him, tousling his hair in insane frenzy, was Colonel Lukan. Some officer or other was sleeping beside him with his light-brown head of hair slumped on to his folded arms. The bartender fluttered around them like a fat moth, plucking the lucky hussar's wishes out of the air on the wing.

Fandorin was not in the club, nor was Paladin. McLaughlin was playing chess, while Sobolev, surrounded by officers, was poring over a three-vyerst map and had not even glanced at Varya.

Already regretting that she had come, she said: 'Count, are you not ashamed? So many people have been killed.'

'But we are still alive, mademoiselle,' Zurov replied absent-mindedly, tapping on a deck of cards with his finger. 'What's the point in burying yourself before your time has come? Oh, you're bluffing, Luke. I raise you two.'

Lukan tugged the diamond ring off his finger: 'I'll see you.' He reached out a trembling hand towards Zurov's cards lying casually face down on the table.

At that instant Varya saw Lieutenant-Colonel Kazanzaki glide soundlessly into the tent, looking hideously like a black raven that has caught the sweet smell of a putrid corpse. Remembering how the gendarme's previous appearance had ended, she shuddered.

'Mr Kazanzaki,' said McLaughlin, turning towards the new arrival, 'where is Paladin?'

The lieutenant-colonel paused portentously, waiting for the club to become quiet. He answered curtly: 'I have him. He is writing a statement.' He cleared his throat and added ominously. 'And then we'll make our minds up.'

The awkward silence that ensued was broken by Zurov's nonchalant light bass: 'So this is the famous gendarme Kozinikinaki? Greetings to you, Mister Split-Lip.' He waited, his eyes gleaming insolently as he stared expectantly at the lieutenant-colonel's flushed face.

'And I have heard about you, Mister Brawler,' Kazan-zaki replied unhurriedly, also staring hard at the hussar. 'A notorious character. Pray be so good as to hold your tongue, or I shall call the sentry and have you taken to the guardhouse for gambling in camp. And I shall arrest the bank.'

'There's no mistaking a serious man,' chuckled the count. 'Understood, I'll be as silent as the grave.'

Lukan finally turned over Zurov's cards, gave a protracted groan and clutched his head in his hands. The count inspected the ring he had won with a sceptical eye.

'No, Lieutenant-Colonel, no, there is no damned treason here!' Varya heard Sobolev say irritably. 'Perepyolkin's right. He's the brains on the staff. Osman simply covered the ground at a forced march, and our blustering sabre-rattlers weren't expecting that kind of vim from the Turks. We have a formidable enemy to fight now, and this war is going to be fought in earnest.'

On the one hand, things were going very badly; you might even say they could not possibly be any worse. Poor Petya was still languishing under lock and key -after the Plevna bloodbath the noxious Kazanzaki had lost interest in the cryptographer, but the threat of a court martial remained as real as ever. And the fortunes of war had proved fickle: the golden fish that granted wishes had turned into a prickly sea scorpion and disappeared into the abyss, leaving their hands scratched and bleeding.

But on the other hand (this was something that Varya was ashamed to admit even to herself), her life had never been so . . . interesting. That was the word: 'interesting'. That was it exactly.