Sam Eastland - Archive 17

“Oh, yes, Inspector. You and I have met before.”

Pekkala was startled by the revelation. “You mean at this camp? But I thought-”

Tarnowski shook his head. “Long before that, Pekkala, on a night even colder than this, outside the Hotel Metropole.”

At the mention of that place, memories came tumbling like an avalanche out of the darkness of his mind. “The duel!” whispered Pekkala.

He was sitting at a table in the hotel restaurant, waiting for Ilya to arrive. For his fiancee’s birthday, Pekkala had promised her dinner at the finest place in St. Petersburg .

Large white pillars, like relics from a temple on Olympus, held up the high ceiling, in the center of which was a huge skylight, its view of the heavens obscured by thick swirls of cigarette smoke .

From every corner of the room came laughter, the clink of cutlery on plates, and the dry clatter of footsteps on the tiled floor .

Tuxedoed and ball-gowned couples danced on a raised floor at the far end of the room, to music played by a troupe of gypsies, dressed in their traditional bright, flowing clothes. In front of the musicians stood the most famous singer in St. Petersburg, Maria Nikolaevna. Her quavering voice rose above all other sounds as she sang Panina’s melancholy song “I Do Not Speak to You.”

A high balcony skirted the large rectangular room. Set into the walls along this balcony and interspersed between tropical elephant-ear ferns were rows of doors leading into private rooms known as “Kabinets.” What went on in those cramped spaces, judging from the endless stream of waiters in short white jackets delivering blinis and caviar, as well as the scantily dressed women who flitted like ghosts between the Kabinets, was not difficult to guess .

Now and then, the warmth of the tobacco-fogged air would be disturbed by waves of cold as the double doors to the street were flung open and new customers entered, stamping pom-poms of snow from the toes of their boots and shedding huge sable coats. Immediately, they would be ushered to their tables, leaving behind a glittering dust of frost in the air, as if they had materialized from the haze of a magician’s spell .

Pekkala kept his eyes on the door as he sipped a cup of smoky-tasting tea. He wondered why Ilya was late. She was normally punctual, which was perhaps to be expected from a teacher of young children. Probably the headmistress had kept her behind again to discuss some change in the curriculum, not in spite of the fact that she must have known it was Ilya’s birthday and that Pekkala had made reservations at the Metropole but precisely because of that fact. The headmistress had done things like this before, and now Pekkala clenched his fist upon the tablecloth as he silently cursed the old woman .

Just when he was about to give up and go home, the door opened and this time Pekkala felt sure it must be Ilya. Instead, however, a giant of a man walked into the room, swathed in the uniform of an Imperial cavalry officer. The newcomer removed his cap in the manner of a cavalryman, lifting it from the back and tipping it forward off his head. Briefly, he glanced about to get his bearings, then climbed the stairs and strode along the balcony. The leaves of palm trees brushed against his shoulders, as if bowing to the giant as he passed. He came to a stop outside one of the Kabinets, knocked once, and entered. Late for the party, guessed Pekkala, and for a moment he went back to thinking about Ilya-whether she would like the present he had bought her, a silver dragonfly necklace made by the St. Petersburg jeweler Nijinsky. The necklace had been very expensive, and quietly it galled Pekkala to pay so much for something so utterly impractical .

The wanderings of Pekkala’s mind were halted by the sound of the door to the Kabinet opening again. This time two men emerged-the giant cavalry officer again and a man Pekkala recognized as Colonel Kolchak .

Kolchak was fastening the buttons on his tunic as he descended from the balcony and made his way towards the exit. Glancing across the sea of guests, he caught Pekkala’s eye .

The two men nodded in greeting .

Kolchak’s expression was grim and angry. He muttered something in the ear of the cavalry officer, who then crossed the dining room, sidestepping in the narrow space between tables with an agility surprising for such a heavyset man. He arrived at Pekkala’s table, clicked his heels, and jolted his head forward in a hasty bow. “I am the colonel’s aide-de-camp. He requires your help, Inspector.”

Immediately Pekkala rose to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. “What is it about?”

“Colonel Kolchak needs you to be his second.”

“His second what?”

“His second in a duel.”

The word took Pekkala’s breath away. “A duel? When? Where?”

“Outside. Now.”

Pekkala hesitated. Although the fighting of duels was legal, as far as he knew, it had been years since one had taken place in the streets of St. Petersburg. In order to make the duel legal, a second was required for each man, and these seconds, if asked, were required by law to witness the event .

“If you don’t mind my asking, Lieutenant, why aren’t you his second in this matter?”

“Because Colonel Kolchak asked for you, Inspector. Now if you will kindly follow me …”

Out in the street, it was snowing. Horse-drawn carriages passed by, wheels purring through the slush .

A staff car, which Pekkala recognized as belonging to Colonel Kolchak, was pulled up onto the curb .

In the road stood a man Pekkala had never seen before. He was of medium height, with short dark hair parted down the middle and a neatly trimmed mustache. The man was in the process of taking off his jacket, which he handed to another man standing beside him .

This second man was gaunt and narrow-lipped. A sheepskin cap was perched high upon his head .

Opposite these two, about twenty paces away, stood Colonel Kolchak. Wobbling on his feet, the colonel was obviously drunk. “Let’s get this over with!” he shouted .

“Kolchak,” said Pekkala, “let us talk this through. I beg you to reconsider the challenge you have brought against this man.”

Kolchak turned to him and laughed. “You are talking to the wrong man, Pekkala. I am not the one who asked to fight a duel.”

“But what is this about?”

Kolchak shook his head and spat into the snow. “Nothing that matters to me.”

Realizing this was the only answer he was going to get, Pekkala approached the other men .

The gaunt figure in the sheepskin cap came out to meet him. “I am Polivanov,” he said .

“And who is he?” Pekkala nodded towards the gentleman with the mustache .

“That is Maxim Alexeyevich Radom,” answered Polivanov. “It is he who has brought the challenge against Colonel Kolchak.”

“But why?”

“This is a point of honor,” Polivanov replied. “I am acting as his second. Am I to understand that you are the second for Colonel Kolchak?”

“I …” began Pekkala. “Yes, I am but …”

From the pockets of his coat, Polivanov removed two revolvers. Holding them by the barrels, he held the weapons out towards Pekkala. “Choose, please.”

“What?”

Polivanov leaned towards Pekkala and lowered his voice. “You must select a gun, sir.”

“Are you sure this can’t be stopped?” pleaded Pekkala .

“Quite sure,” replied Polivanov .