Jasper Kent - Thirteen Years Later

Aleksei had to hide his excitement. Soon Iuda would know the truth of what he was saying. It would be a joyous moment.

Dmitry had forgotten to thank his father for the piano. It was a small thing, but it mattered. It was Vasiliy who deserved the real thanks, for the encouragement, the advice, the first inspiring lessons. All Aleksei had done was to spend some of his money; a lot of his money. But it was money well spent, and Dmitry felt it indicated a change in his father’s attitude. He would have time to thank them both later, he hoped.

He stepped over the tiny low fence that marked the boundary of Senate Square. For the crowds on both sides, it was as good as a thick, solid brick wall. On the inside stood the rebelling soldiers. They had been told to assemble in Senate Square, and assemble there they did. One foot placed outside would have ruined the plans so carefully laid down by their diligent, absent leaders. On the outside, it was all civilians, by now quite a number of them. It was coming up to three in the afternoon – almost sunset – and news of what was happening had spread through the city. The citizens had gathered to watch. But just as the rebels knew their place, the onlookers, even without explicit instruction, knew that to step over those small slats of wood and into the square would transform them from observers into participants. It was as invisible and as impenetrable a barrier as that which separated a stage from an auditorium.

From over by the cathedral, Dmitry heard a shout. He looked. It was Nikolai himself who had given the order. In a second, a dozen cannons roared and their mouths spat canister across the square. A wave of men at the front of the crowd collapsed. Dmitry whirled on his heel and looked back towards his father and Vasiliy. Around them, some men fled and others stayed rooted to the spot. The men he was looking for stared back in his direction.

Aleksei was gesticulating with exaggerated arm movements, pointing at Dmitry and at himself and Vasiliy and in other directions too. The message was clear enough. Dmitry should carry on in the way he was heading; they two would try to escape across the other side of the square. Still Dmitry hesitated. He should go back and help them, though there would be nothing he could do but encourage them to run faster. They were both the type of men who knew how to survive. His father was, anyway. Vasiliy always had a slightly spiritual, unworldly air to him, a sense of benign impracticality, which Dmitry loved, but caused him worry as to the dangers it might bring upon its bearer.

But Dmitry knew he need not be concerned. However little experience Vasiliy might have under fire, Aleksei was an old professional, and Dmitry knew that his father, whatever differences he and Vasiliy might have had in the past, would not leave the square without first ensuring his friend’s survival. It was Vasiliy himself who had taught Dmitry that much about his father – taught him more than he had ever had the chance to experience for himself.

Dmitry took one last look towards the two of them, still in a state of indecision. Aleksei repeated his gestures once again, as if Dmitry had not understood them, but surprisingly it was Vasiliy who appeared the more calm. Standing just behind Aleksei, his only movement was a slow nod, but Dmitry understood entirely what Vasiliy meant. He always did.

Dmitry Alekseevich turned and fled into the twilight.

Aleksei turned back towards Iuda the moment he saw Dmitry at last depart. There was no one there. He heard a second volley of cannonfire. This time, panic spread through all assembled. Those who had stood their ground in the face of the first barrage now ran for their lives. Through the crowd, Aleksei caught sight of Iuda; he was past the statue of Pyotr and heading for the far corner of the square. Aleksei set off in pursuit. Most of the crowd was flowing in that direction, and Iuda soon became lost from sight again.

Aleksei kept on running. Iuda was easy to spot as one of the few in civilian dress. He had reached the corner of the square and had stopped, deciding which way to go. Half of the crowd was pouring into the narrow gap between the buildings that was the entrance to Galernaya Street, hammering on doors which refused to open, whilst the other half – more than half – were heading for the river. Some were making for the Isaakievsky Bridge; others ran straight out on to the ice itself. Iuda chose the river. His indecision had allowed Aleksei to catch up with him a little, but he was still not close.

Now, there were more civilians. Those crowds that had gathered to watch the stand-off as though it were some public spectacle had suddenly found themselves a part of the entertainment at which they had come to gawp. Soldiers showed them no more respect than they did their comrades, and many – men, women and even children – were trampled underfoot.

Iuda was out on the ice now. He would have been a fool to take the bridge. It was already overflowing with fugitives and many were forced to leap off its sides and on to the flat, white surface below. In summer, the entire bridge might have capsized, but the ice that locked its pontoons into place allowed no movement. Aleksei was on the rim of the stone embankment. He had the advantage of height over Iuda and was within range, but he did not want to shoot him in the back; that would be no fun. He drew his pistol.

‘Iuda!’ he shouted.

Iuda turned and saw the gun in his hand. He stood still and upright, his head slightly to one side. He seemed shocked – as if Aleksei had cheated. And it was true, if Aleksei were to shoot him stone dead now, it would be to cheat them both. But Aleksei was a pretty good shot, and Iuda would live long enough to hear what he had to tell him.

There were a hundred witnesses, but none would bother to look in the direction of the two men who faced each other across the ice. Even if they did see, they would not volunteer any information. ‘And what were you doing in Senate Square that evening?’ would not be a question for which many could find a satisfactory answer. For the same reason, many broken limbs that night would go unset, many wounds unbound; many who might have lived would die.

Aleksei took aim and curled his finger around the trigger. Above him, he heard a whistling sound. It was a cannonball. At almost the same instant he heard a second. Some of the fools had loaded their guns with round shot rather than canister. It would do nothing but shatter the ice of the river – unless that had been their intention. The first shot sailed over the river and landed somewhere on the Vasilevskiy Island. The second smashed through the Neva’s frozen surface close to the far bank. Iuda was thrown from his feet on to his back. Aleksei tried to adjust his aim, but it caused him to lose his balance. He jumped down on to the ice and managed to remain on his feet. He walked towards Iuda, holding the pistol out in front of him.

‘We should do this in summer next time,’ said Iuda as Aleksei approached.

‘There won’t be a next time,’ replied Aleksei.

‘Doesn’t it seem to you like fate? The bridge? The icy river? The cannonfire?’

‘The difference is I have a gun this time,’ said Aleksei.

Iuda pulled a face that acknowledged Aleksei’s point. Aleksei took aim. He remembered the advice of Kyesha’s letter: no poetry, just certainty.

‘Can you do it, Lyosha?’ Iuda asked. ‘Can you really kill me with such callousness? Not leave me in a burning building? Or thrust my head under the water of a freezing river? Or abandon me in a cave with a horde of ravenous vampires who despise my very soul? You have to leave me some way out.’

Aleksei thought about what Iuda was saying. Was there really some weakness, some sentimentality in Aleksei’s make-up that meant he had to give Iuda a fighting chance, or that he had to let God decide his ultimate fate? History might indicate it, but that said nothing for the future, or the present. He allowed a parade of faces to pass in front of him: Maks, Vadim, Margarita, Major Maskov, Captain Lishin, countless unnamed others, even the vampires that he had tortured, even Kyesha. And what of what he had done to Marfa and Dmitry; to Aleksei himself? If Aleksei had given Iuda a chance before then he had been a fool. But that could be remedied. He was older now, and wiser.