Peter Higgins - Truth and Fear

‘Where is that? Where you are from?’

‘East,’ said Lom, gesturing vaguely. ‘East. Way east. On the forest border. I doubt you’ve heard of it. A small town called Podchornok.’

‘I believe I do know Podchornok, as it happens. Some cousins of mine had an estate in that country once.’

Lom grunted.

‘Small world.’

‘Not such a coincidence,’ said the Count. ‘I had cousins in every oblast of the Dominions once, but that was a lifetime ago. A different world. The people I’m talking about were at Vyra. They had a fine house. A good lake for pike. The place is gone, now, of course, alas.’ He coughed and looked sourly at the cigarette in his hand. ‘In those days, when I was a child and went to Vyra, the Vlast was more… what? Moderate? Sensible? Willing to overlook small independences, let us say, so long as they were far from their own front door and paid their taxes and didn’t draw attention to themselves.’

‘Vyra was the Vishniks’ place,’ said Lom.

‘It was! Exactly so!’ Palffy looked at him with a new interest. ‘You knew them then?’

‘I knew Raku. We were at school.’

‘Raku?’ Count Palffy frowned. Then he remembered. ‘Of course! There was a Prince Raku. The Vishniks had a son, an only child. But that was long after my visit. We could not have met, Raku and I. So where is this Prince Raku now? What does he do with himself ? Perhaps I might write to him. Families should keep up their connections, don’t you think?’

‘Raku died.’

‘No!’ said the Count. ‘He couldn’t have been more than thirty. Was he ill? What happened?’

‘The militia happened.’

‘Ah. How shit. How very shit.’ Palffy dropped his cigarette on the step and crushed it out with the brass ferrule of his cane. Not an easy trick, but he speared it first shot. ‘This is a heavy blow. But we should not be making ourselves sad on such a splendid morning, my friend. Come inside with me, Vissarion Lom, and have breakfast. The snow makes one hungry, don’t you find?’

‘Thanks,’ said Lom. ‘But I should be getting back—’

‘Some coffee then. I have good coffee. Red beans from the Cloud Forest, roasted to my personal specification by Mandelbrot’s in Klepsydra Lane. How does that sound to you?’

‘I’d appreciate that,’ said Lom. ‘But not now. Maybe later.’

‘I will hold you to that, Vissarion Yppolitovich. A bond of honour.’

Lom found Maroussia in Elena’s kitchen, sitting on a stool against the warmth of the stove. She was wearing different clothes. She must have borrowed them from Elena: a plain grey woollen dress and a thick dark cardigan that was too big for her. She had the cardigan buttoned up to the neck, her fingers peeping from the cuffs. She gave him a quick wry smile when he came in, cold and fresh from outside, brushing the snow from his trousers. When the smile faded, her face was pale and drawn, but her eyes when they met his were bright with energy and fierce determination.

Elena was clearing breakfast off the table and the girls were laying out a backgammon board. The younger one, Yeva, was staring at Lom curiously.

‘What’s wrong with your head?’ she said. ‘There’s a hole in it.’

Lom touched the wound on his forehead.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘What happened? Was it a bullet?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a man at Vera’s who was shot in the head by dragoons. He’s not dead, but he doesn’t talk and one of his eyes is gone. He dribbles his tea.’

‘Be quiet, Yeva,’ said Elena. ‘Leave Vissarion in peace. And you can’t start on a game now. There’s no time. You need to go to school.’

‘What? No!’ said Galina. ‘Not today. The snow. There’s snow—’

‘You’re not missing school for a bit of snow. Kolya will take you in the cart. He’ll be waiting already.’

‘But—’

‘Go. School. Now. He’ll be waiting.’

‘Nobody goes to school when there’s snow. We’ll be the only ones…’

‘You’re not missing school. That’s not what we do. That’s not who we are.’

Elena hustled the girls out of the kitchen. Lom sat at the table next to Maroussia.

‘OK?’ he said. ‘You look tired.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m ready to go. Are you?’

‘Go where?’

Elena came back into the kitchen and attacked the breakfast things in the sink.

‘Elena?’ said Maroussia.

‘Yes?’

‘I need to find out about the forest. Who is there in the raion that I can talk to about the forest?’

‘The forest?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why? Why the forest?’

Maroussia brushed the question aside impatiently.

‘This is important,’ she said. ‘I want to find someone who knows about the forest and what happens there. Someone who’s actually been there.’

‘Is this anything to do with the trouble you’re in?’ said Elena. ‘No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.’

‘Is there someone?’ said Maroussia again. ‘Anyone who might be able to tell me something? Anything?’

Elena hesitated.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so. There was Teslom at the House on the Purfas. But he was arrested. And there’s the Count–he used to travel once. But not any more. Not for a long time. And I don’t know if he ever actually went into the forest himself.’

‘Not the Count,’ said Lom. ‘I’ve run into him already. He’s not the man, not for this.’

‘Isn’t there anyone else?’ said Maroussia.

Well,’ said Elena after a moment’s thought, ‘there is Kamilova. You could go and see her, I suppose. Eligiya Kamilova. She is a friend of mine, in a way. But… well, she’s not an easy person to talk to.’

‘Kamilova?’ said Maroussia. ‘Who is she?’

Elena shrugged, as if she wasn’t sure how to answer.

‘No one knows much about her,’ she said. ‘She comes and goes. She goes into the forest, into the wild places under the trees. She brings back specimens for the Count’s collection sometimes, but she’s not easy—’

‘I’ll go and see her,’ said Maroussia.

‘I can’t promise she’ll even talk to you.’

‘Where does she live? Is she here in the raion?’

‘Yes,’ said Elena. ‘Down by the harbour.’

‘I need to see her.’

‘Now?’ said Elena.

‘Yes. Now.’

The Colloquium for the Protection of Citizens and the Vlast met at ten o’clock every morning, not in the Lodka but in a room in the Armoury, as befitted a War Cabinet. Chazia was there first, as she always was. Prepared. Colloquium Chairman Etsim Fohn and his sidekick, Fess Khazar, the Secretary of Finance, arrived together, five minutes late and already deep in conversation. Sharing a joke. Fohn surveyed the room. Saw the empty chair.

‘Where is our General Secretary?’ he said. ‘Where is Dukhonin? I haven’t seen him this morning. My office has been trying to raise him, but no one is answering at his house. He didn’t come to… Well, never mind. Where is he? We need him here.’ The three of them–Fohn, Dukhonin, Khazar–always met in Fohn’s office before the formal Cabinet, to prepare their lines. To take the real decisions. Chazia was never invited. They thought she did not know.

‘The Minister for Armaments will not be joining us,’ she said. ‘Steopan Vadimovich is dead.’

Khazar sat down at the end of the table, his face white as chalk. He looked at Fohn, to see what he would do. Fohn was glaring at Chazia.

‘What?’ said Fohn. ‘When? Why wasn’t I told? Why do you know this, Lavrentina, and I do not? I am the Chairman . I should have been informed. I should have been told immediately. You should have… I should have been the first …’