Anatoly Rybakov - THE BRONZE BIRD

The boys sat down on the grass. The leaves in the crowns of the trees rustled and birds whistled and chirped. Somewhere in the distance a dog was barking.

Genka grunted and whispered:

"Those asses are searching for the treasure in the swamp. Treasure-hunters they call themselves!"

"Still, it's strange that they're digging in this very woods," Slava said.

"There's nothing strange in that," Genka protested. "They're misinformed. They were told to look in the woods. But they don't know where."

"When will we start digging?" Slava asked. "I suggest we don't put it off for too long," Genka said. "Don't forget that the stranger in the green suit is coming on Wednesday. And today's already Friday."

"Yes, we can't put it off," Misha agreed, "but we must go about it sensibly. First, we must make a copy of the drawing and put the original back, otherwise the countess will take precautionary measures."

"You're right," Genka said, "but when will we start digging?"

"We must get witnesses and representatives of the authorities. You can never tell what we'll find," Misha declared.

Genka was furious. What! Tell the chairman of the Village Soviet? Why, he would immediately inform Yerofeyev, and the latter would tell the boatman.

"That is one thing he'll not tell him," Misha calmed him. "We'll also call representatives from the uyezd and from the gubernia. Hidden treasure is state property. Everything must be done legally."

"It's always like that," Genka said with disappointment. "We do all the donkey work, risk our lives and in the end somebody else comes along and takes the cake. It's not fair!"

The boys turned homeward. They were tired but very happy. It's not everyone who solves puzzles like this, but they had done it twice: the first time it was the secret of the dirk and now it was the mystery of the bronze bird.

Reaching the manor, Misha told Genka and Slava to go on to the camp and went into the servants' hall to find out how Kit was and, on the whole, to check the situation there.

The doctor was sitting at Kit's bedside.

"I'm glad you've come," he said when he saw Misha. "He," he nodded towards Kit, "can get up, but he must watch his diet."

This was a fix! It had not entered Misha's plans to let Kit out of the house. They would lose their access to the servants' hall and the possibility of going into the house once more, at least to put the drawing back. Misha instantly thought of a reply.

"He'll get up and overeat again the next minute. We know him well. If he has to be on a diet it's best to keep him in bed."

"Is he such a glutton?"

"The biggest in the world."

"Can't you control yourself?" the doctor asked Kit.

"No," Kit confessed.

"But he needs fresh air," the doctor said, "and as for the diet, let him make it a point of discipline."

"If he gets up everything will be lost," Misha said with desperation.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm speaking generally," Misha said hastily. "He'll fall ill again and we'll have nowhere to put him. Nobody will let us into this place again. We'll have to keep him in a tent and you said yourself that a tent is no place for a sick person."

"We'll always find where to put a patient," the doctor replied, "and he's stayed in bed long enough."

"You mean I can get up?" Kit asked, throwing back his blanket.

"Yes."

Saying no more, Kit got out of bed and without looking at Misha, went out of the hall. A minute later his voice came from the direction of the camp-fire where supper was being cooked.

Misha and the doctor also went to the camp. The doctor had left his horse there.

– After they had gone a few steps along the drive, the doctor stopped and turned his head. Misha intercepted his gaze. He was looking at the bronze bird.

"What does that bronze bird stand for?" Misha asked. "I can't see why it's there at all."

The doctor took off his pince-nez, wiped it, and put it on again, throwing the black, twisted thread over his ear.

"It's a famous bird," he laughed. "Quite a few people have gone off their heads because of it."

"Really?" Misha said, excited that the doctor could tell him something.

"It's an old and long story," the doctor said, "and, to tell you the truth, it's dull."

"Please, I'd like to hear it," Misha said. "We're interested in history. The boys keep asking me about the bird, but I can't tell them anything."

"It's a long, very long story," the doctor repeated. "Some other time."

"Please tell it to me now," Misha pleaded, "while we're walking to your horse." '

"All right," the doctor said, slowing down his pace. "It's quite a silly story really. A mixture of lordly tyranny and provincial romanticism. I must tell you that the counts Karagayev are an ancient though poverty-stricken family. The line, so people say, goes back to a Tatar murza, who came to Russia with the Golden Horde. But the family lost its wealth and fell into decay especially after Elizabeth executed One of* the counts and his son and had their bodies thrown into a swamp."

"So the story about the Goligin Brushwood Road is true?" Misha asked with amazement.

"Yes," the doctor said, "it is a historical fact. They were executed and trampled underfoot on the brushwood road. The family seat was seized by the crown and the family all but scattered. However, thanks to a lucky match between one of the counts and the daughter of a Demidov, the Karagayevs regained their feet and the family came to own estates and mines in the Urals."

"I've heard something about that," Misha said.

"The family," the doctor continued, "had a passion for precious stones, a mania you might even call it. That was particularly true of the last count. He was a great lover and judge of diamonds. But he was a dreamer and a mystic. He worked his property in the Urals on a big scale, but the diamonds were small and, as you know, small diamonds are not worth much. The price of a diamond rises almost geometrically with its size. The stones from his mines were small, but he spread rumours that some of his finds were outstanding. A check showed that it was all bluff. He became such an inveterate liar that not only did people stop believing him but he was very nearly taken to court for counterfeiting some stone. He was threatened with bankruptcy. At the trial, the son attempted to have the old man declared insane. He wanted me to help him, but I refused and almost spoilt the case for him. Since then, he has been afraid of me. He found some people who helped him to get the inheritance before the old man died. The old count went abroad. But he had the last laugh."

The doctor and Misha reached the carriage. The doctor got in, lit a cigarette and continued:

"Although his heir was a fool, he was also a great scoundrel. That woman," he nodded in the direction of the house, "played an odious role in the whole affair."

"You mean the countess?"

"She's no countess. But she was once a beautiful woman." The doctor paused, a shadow flitting across his face. "A beautiful woman," he repeated, "only nothing has remained of her beauty. Yes, as I was saying, the young count... The local peasants called him Rouble Twenty... He was born lame. He limped a little but he was very well built. Now, this is how his father punished him..."

The doctor paused again as though trying to recall the story, then went on:

"The most amazing thing was that fables were not all that the old count told. Just before the trial he announced that he had found two diamonds of nearly 50 carats each. He went so far as to show them. But nobody believed him, of course. Yet the diamonds proved to be real. That was confirmed by Dutch jewellers. And one day the count sent his son a letter that ran something like this: