Boris Akunin: The Winter Queen

There was a furtive knock at the door. Erast Fandorin shuddered, reached rapidly behind his back for the secret holster, and fingered the grooved handle of his Herstal.

The conductor's obsequious face appeared in the crack of the door.

"Your Excellency, we're coming into a station. Perhaps you'd like to stretch your legs? There's a buffet there, too."

At the word "Excellency" Erast Fandorin assumed a dignified air and cast a stealthy sidelong glance at himself in the mirror. Could he really be taken for a general? Well anyway, "stretching his legs" sounded like a good idea, and it was easier to think as he walked. There was some vague idea swirling around in his head, but it kept eluding him. So far he couldn't quite get a grip on it, but it seemed to be encouraging him: keep digging, keep digging!

"I think I will. How long is our stop?"

"Twenty minutes. But you've no need to concern yourself about that. Just take your time." The conductor tittered. "They won't leave without you."

Erast Fandorin leapt down from the step onto a platform flooded with light by the lamps of the station. Here and there the lights were no longer burning in the windows of some compartments — evidently some of the passengers had already retired for the night. Fandorin stretched sweetly, folded his hands behind his back, and prepared himself for a stroll that would stimulate his mental faculties to more effective activity. However, at that very moment there emerged from the same carriage a portly, mustached gentleman wearing a top hat, who cast a glance of intense curiosity in the young man's direction and proffered an arm to his youthful female companion. At the sight of her charming, fresh face Erast Fandorin froze on the spot, while the young lady beamed and exclaimed in a clear, ringing voice, "Papa, it's him, that gentleman from the police! I told you about him, remember? You know, the one who interrogated Frälein Pfühl and me!"

The word "interrogated" was pronounced with quite evident pleasure, and the clear gray eyes gazed at Fandorin with unconcealed interest. It must be admitted that the dizzying pace of events during the preceding weeks had somewhat dulled Erast Fandorin's memories of her whom in his own mind he thought of exclusively as "Lizanka" and sometimes, in moments of particularly fanciful reverie, even as his "tender angel." However, at the sight of this lovely creature the flame that had singed his heart instantly flared up with renewed heat, scorching his lungs with sparks of fire.

"I'm not actually from the police," Fandorin mumbled, blushing. "Fandorin, special assignments officer at the — "

"I know all about that "je vous le dis tout era"* BORIS AKUNIN Translated by Andrew Bromfield THE WINTER QUEEN the mustached gentleman said with a mysterious expression, and the diamond in his necktie glinted. "Affairs of state — no need to go into details. Entre nous sois dit ,; † BORIS AKUNIN Translated by Andrew Bromfield THE WINTER QUEEN I've had some involvement with that kind of business myself on more than one occasion, so I understand everything perfectly." He raised his top hat. "However, allow me to introduce myself. Full Privy Counselor Alexander Apollodorovich Evert-Kolokoltsev, chairman of the Moscow Province Appellate Court. My daughter, Liza ."

"But do call me Lizzie. I don't like 'Liza' — it sounds like 'geezer,' " the young lady requested, and then confessed naively, "I've often thought about you. Emma liked you. And I remember that you are called Erast Petrovich. Erast is a lovely name."

Fandorin felt as if he had fallen asleep and was having a wonderful dream. The most important thing was not to move a muscle, in case — God forbid! — he might wake up.

ERAST FANDORIN FOUND THAT IN LIZANKA’S company — somehow he could not really take to "Lizzie" — he felt equally content to speak or to remain silent.

The railway carriage swayed rhythmically across the switches as the train, with an occasional low snarl of its whistle, hurtled at breakneck speed through the drowsy forests of the low Valdai Hills, wreathed in predawn mist, and Lizanka and Erast Fandorin sat on the soft chairs in the first compartment and said nothing. For the most part they gazed out the window, but they also glanced at each other from time to time. If their glances happened by chance to cross they did not feel in the least bit shamefaced but quite the opposite — it gave them a pleasant and happy feeling. Fandorin had begun deliberately trying to turn away from the window as smartly as possible, and every time that he succeeded in catching her glancing back at him, Lizanka would burst into quiet laughter.

There was also good reason for not speaking because they might wake the baron, who was dozing peacefully on the divan. Not so very long before, Alexander Apollodorovich had been engaged in an animated discussion of the situation in the Balkans with Fandorin and then suddenly, almost in midword, he had given a sudden snore and his head had slumped forward onto his chest, where it was now swaying comfortably in time to the rattling rhythm of the wheels of the carriage: da-dam, da-dam (this way and that, this way and that); da-dam, da-dam (this way and that, this way and that).

Lizanka laughed softly at some thoughts of her own, and when Fandorin cast an inquiring glance at her, she explained, "You know, you're so very clever. You explained to Papa all about Midhat Pasha and Abdülhamid. And I'm so stupid, you can't even imagine."

"You can't possibly be stupid," Fandorin whispered with profound conviction.

"There's something I'd like to tell you, only I'm ashamed… but I'll tell you anyway. Somehow I have the feeling that you won't laugh at me. That is, you will laugh when you're here with me, but not without me, will you? Am I right?"

"Of course you are!" Erast Fandorin exclaimed loudly, but the baron twitched his eyebrows in his sleep, and the young man slipped back into a whisper. "I shall never laugh at you."

"Don't forget then, you promised. After that time you came to our house I imagined all sorts of things… and it was all so beautiful. Only very, very sad and always with a tragic ending. It's all because of Karamzin's Poor Liza . You remember, don't you, Liza and Erast? I imagined myself lying there in my coffin, all pale and beautiful, with white roses all around me. Perhaps I drowned, or perhaps I died of consumption, and you are there sobbing and Papa and Mama are sobbing and Emma is there, blowing her nose. It's funny, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," Fandorin agreed.

"It's really such a miracle that we met like that at the station. We'd been staying with ma tante* BORIS AKUNIN Translated by Andrew Bromfield THE WINTER QUEEN and we were supposed to have gone home yesterday, but Papa was detained on business in the ministry and we changed the tickets. That really is a miracle, isn't it?"

"There's nothing miraculous about it!" said Erast Fandorin in astonishment. "It is the finger of fate."

The sky outside the window looked strange — entirely black with a thin border of scarlet along the horizon. The official messages lying forgotten on the table were a dismal white.

THE COACHMAN DROVE Fandorin right across early-morning Moscow from the Nikolaevsky Station to Khamovniki. It was a bright and joyful day, and Lizanka's parting words were still ringing in Erast Fandorin's ears: "You absolutely must come today! Do you promise?"

The timing fitted perfectly. Now he would go to the Astair House, to see her ladyship. It would be best to go to the gendarmerie department later to have a word with the commanding officer, and — if he had managed to elicit anything important from Lady Astair — to send a telegram to General Mizinov. On the other hand, the remaining dispatches might have arrived from the embassies… Fandorin took apapyrosa out of his new silver cigarette case and lit it rather clumsily. Should he not perhaps go to the gendarmerie first? But his horse was already trotting down Ostozhenka Street, and it would be stupid to turn back. So, first to her ladyship, then to the department, then home to collect his things and move into a decent hotel; then change his clothes, buy some flowers, and be at the Evert-Kolokoltsevs' house on Malaya Nikitskaya Street by six o'clock. Erast Fandorin smiled blissfully and broke into song: