Jasper Kent - Thirteen Years Later

And so would Aleksei. It surprised him how easy it was to remember not just where those places were, but which one corresponded to each day. And that, of course, led on to a more intriguing question, similar to those which Aleksei had already asked himself: how did Kyesha know the list? He certainly hadn’t learned it from his brother Maks. For when Vadim, Dmitry and Aleksei had drawn it up, in the desperate hiatus before the arrival of the Grande Armée, Maks was already dead.

The Archangel Gabriel had not held aloft the cross that topped Menshikov’s Tower for more than one hundred years, not since a fire – it was always fire in Moscow – had almost razed the whole building. Today, the tower looked little different from when Aleksei had last stood beneath its orange-plasterwork walls thirteen years before, waiting to meet Vadim. Vadim had not shown up; Aleksei was soon to discover, as he even then had feared, that Vadim was already dead. Then, the small alleyway between the tower and the Church of Fyodor Stratilit had been quiet and gloomy. Tonight it was relatively busy. It was odd to find two churches so close to each other, but the Russians were a religious people. Aleksei himself had attended mass that morning. Not here, but over in Arbatskaya, at Yelena Vadimovna and Valentin Valentinovich’s regular place of worship. They made a happy family – the parents, the son and the little daughter – and it did not seem odd that they should be accompanied by the girl’s nanny and an old family friend.

Few of those who were now heading into either of the two churches paid much attention to Aleksei. It was dark now, and autumn was giving way to the beginnings of winter. There was no moon, and only the candlelight from the windows illuminated anyone’s face. Aleksei peered to see if he could recognize Kyesha amongst them.

‘I see we understand each other, Aleksei.’ Kyesha’s voice came from behind him, and to the left. Aleksei knew he was getting old. When he had been at his peak, it would have been difficult for anyone to creep up so close to him – any human. He turned to face Kyesha.

‘How did you know about the list?’ he asked.

‘We can’t talk here,’ said Kyesha. ‘Let me get you a drink. Do you know anywhere decent?’

Aleksei wasn’t in the mood to socialize, but he was in no position to control the situation. It was too late to pretend now that he wasn’t hooked, and besides, he did need a drink.

‘This way,’ he said.

The tavern he took them to wasn’t far, and was pretty rough. As he glanced around, he recognized a few of the faces he’d been hoping to see – men he’d at one time or another either bribed for information or paid to do what would be too risky for Aleksei to be caught doing himself. He wouldn’t call any of them friends, but if he got into trouble, he guessed they would be on his side, in the expectation of further payment to come.

He ordered a bottle of wine; red and French – this sort of place made little further distinction, and even then the borders of France could be pretty vague at times. They went to a booth and began to drink.

‘I think you’d better tell me what it is you want,’ said Aleksei.

Kyesha reached into his pocket. Aleksei could see his fingers searching around inside. When he withdrew his hand, it was clasped shut. He looked down at it, considering whatever was hidden within. Then, with a quick shake of his wrist, as though he were throwing dice, he cast what he was holding on to the table: six small stones, roughly cylindrical in shape, but not smooth or even. At the ends, nodules protruded with a randomness that hinted at a natural formation. They varied in size. The largest was almost the length of Aleksei’s thumb, the shortest smaller than a one-copeck coin. All six had fitted comfortably into Kyesha’s closed fist.

‘Do you know how to play knucklebones, Aleksei?’ he asked.

It was an incongruous thing to ask, but Aleksei nodded, taking the question in his stride. The game was common enough in the army, where anything that could be bet upon was popular. Knucklebones had the added benefit that they could be easily transported – or replaced. ‘Aren’t there usually just five?’ he asked.

‘Always pays to have a spare,’ said Kyesha. He took the smallest of the bones and put it back in his pocket. Then he cupped the remaining five in his hand and scattered them across the table. He picked out the largest. ‘I’ll stake five roubles on two. Will you take the bet?’

Aleksei said nothing. Kyesha threw the bone in his hand into the air. Aleksei’s eyes followed it, but Kyesha’s did not. Aleksei looked down again. Kyesha’s hand darted over the table, grabbing two of the bones and then twisting his palm upwards, opening it to catch the one he had thrown into the air just before it reached the table.

‘That’s five you owe me then,’ said Kyesha. Aleksei did not move to pay him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep a tally.’ He produced from his pocket a pencil and paper and noted down Aleksei’s debt. ‘We can settle up later.’ He poured the three bones from his hand to join the two left on the table, and then pushed all five over towards his competitor. ‘Your turn.’

Aleksei eyed the knucklebones. He had no idea what this was leading to. It seemed silly and trivial. Perhaps it was, but Aleksei doubted that Kyesha’s true reason for being here was either of those things, and if this was a necessary preamble, then so be it. He took a swig from his glass and then picked up the bones. They were smaller than those he had played with before. Traditionally, they would be made from the anklebones of sheep or goats. These certainly seemed to be made of bone – not stone as he had first assumed – but if they were from a sheep’s ankle, the creature had been very small. Clearly Kyesha had played with them a lot; they were well worn, but even so, Aleksei could see that one end of each of the longest two was smooth, as if the bone had been deliberately worked, or perhaps cut.

Aleksei dropped the five bones on to the table, with the slightest of downward force from his hand. They bounced off each other and spread in an almost perfect circle. He selected the largest, as Kyesha had done and presumably for the same reason – that it was closest in size to what he was used to playing with.

‘Two for five,’ he said.

Kyesha nodded.

Aleksei threw the bone up with a flick of his fingertips. This time, his eyes did not follow it into the air. As part of the same motion, his hand turned over and he reached for the bones on the table. He picked up one and then a second, and realized he had made the bet too easy. It didn’t matter. In his peripheral vision, he perceived the first beginning to fall. Now his eyes did fix upon it, but he did not turn his palm upwards as Kyesha had done. He curled his fingers around the two he held, rather than grasping them in his fist, and kept the bottom joints of his fingers straight, effectively increasing the area of the back of his hand. Just as the falling bone touched his hand, he dropped it slightly, and the bone came to a steady rest. Aleksei raised his hand to eye level, looking at Kyesha across the back of it.

‘You pay double for that where I come from,’ he said.

‘And where I come from.’ Kyesha noted down the tally.

‘And where’s that?’

Kyesha smiled and said nothing. He threw down the bones again, and picked up the largest, as before. ‘Five roubles for two,’ he said.

Aleksei shook his head.

‘For three?’ asked Kyesha.

‘OK.’

Kyesha threw the bone upwards. He picked up two, but it was obvious he had no time for a third. He plucked the falling bone from the air moments before it hit the table. If he had picked up three but dropped the one he had thrown then – at least according to Aleksei’s rules – he would have paid double; it was always better to fail by not picking up sufficient bones than by missing the catch.