The Third Section (46 page)

‘I suppose so,’ said Dmitry. It sounded like Aleksei.

‘But when did Lyosha change his mind?’ Yudin showed genuine curiosity. ‘He was so adamant when we spoke of it.’

‘He didn’t change his mind – not until it was forced upon him.’

‘Forced?’

‘In 1825, only months before the revolt, we encountered one of them, here in Moscow.’

‘My God. What happened?’

‘Papa dealt with it, eventually, but it meant he had to tell me all he knew.’

‘But he never told you about me?’

Dmitry shook his head.

‘Just like him,’ said Yudin, with a chuckle of nostalgic laughter. ‘Wants to protect you. Wants to protect me.’

Dmitry couldn’t disagree, but there was no time to dwell upon memories of Aleksei. His face became grim. He looked Yudin straight in the eye. ‘This isn’t just history though. They’re here. Here in Moscow.’

‘My God!’ Yudin leaned forward, running his hand across his mouth as he considered the enormity of what Dmitry had said.

‘They came after me,’ Dmitry explained.

‘After you?’

‘From Sevastopol. They found me there. They were looking for me – for the son of the three-fingered man.’

‘Why?’ asked Yudin.

‘To help them. They want revenge against a vampire called Cain.’

‘Cain? Ha! A myth.’

‘What?’

‘He’s the vampire’s equivalent of Baba Yaga.’

‘How do you know?’

Yudin stood and walked around the desk. He leaned forward towards Dmitry, one hand on the desktop, the other on the back of the chair. He spoke swiftly and quietly, as if afraid of being overheard. ‘Mitka, you know the kind of man I am – a man of thought rather than action. Your father was happy to kill these monsters, but my approach was to study them. Ever since I first met them, I have studied them. I know their strengths. I know their weaknesses. I know their customs.’

‘So even vampires have folklore?’ asked Dmitry. It had never occurred to him – and yet it made perfect sense. ‘And Cain is part of it?’

Yudin nodded.

‘But why did they tell me?’

‘To trick you. To make it all the easier for them to drink your blood.’ Yudin turned away, his hands clasped behind his back.

Dmitry needed to think about it for only a moment. ‘No,’ he said firmly.

Yudin spun on his heel. ‘What?’

‘Believe me, if all they wanted was my blood, they had ample opportunities to get it.’

‘Are you sure?’

Dmitry felt suddenly sick. The prospect of telling Yudin, a man he so respected, of his encounter with Tyeplov revolted him. He would avoid it at any cost. ‘Believe me,’ he said simply.

‘Then perhaps it’s something worse,’ said Yudin.

‘How could it be worse?’

Yudin squatted down, his face level with Dmitry’s. ‘Blood is not the only thing that a
voordalak
craves. Sometimes they desire … companionship.’

‘Companionship?’

‘To turn a human into one of their kind, to be with them throughout eternity. Surely you’ve heard legends of these things?’

‘I’d never heard it put quite like that.’

‘It hardly matters how it’s put – it’s a repugnant idea,’ said Yudin with force. ‘That’s why it can only happen if the victim is willing to go along with it.’

‘Well, I certainly wouldn’t have been.’

‘No.’ Yudin stood and patted him on the shoulder. ‘You’re too good a man for that, Mitka. Perhaps they sensed that. Perhaps they’ll move on.’

It took Dmitry only a moment to see the inevitable consequence of his friend’s words. His head swam and a starry pattern began to creep into his vision. He downed the brandy in his hand with a single gulp.

‘Raisa,’ he murmured.

‘Raisa?’

‘They paid her a visit last night – at Degtyarny Lane. I thought they just wanted to use her to get to me, but …’ Tyeplov’s words burned in his mind: ‘This isn’t about you, Mitka.’

‘Is she …?’

‘She’s fine. I killed one of them, but the other escaped. But they’ll come after her again. I’m more certain of it now than ever.’

‘They?’

‘The one who survived was Tyeplov – I told you about him, asking about Papa. And I think there’s another, Mihailov. They were both in Sevastopol.’

Yudin returned to his seat. He took a deep breath. ‘Mitka, this is very important. How much did Lyosha tell you of the mechanism by which a man can become a vampire?’

‘Not much.’ It was true – there had been so little time, Aleksei had not really told him anything beyond his own exploits.

‘Then listen. The process is simple. First the vampire drinks the human blood – from the neck, just as it would when feeding. It takes enough to kill, but not immediately. Then comes the difference. The vampire will deliberately wound itself – often in the chest, but in truth it doesn’t matter where. The creature has to exert great willpower to prevent the wound from healing until the human has time to drink its blood in return for what was taken. The victim will still die, but he will become undead. He will become a
voordalak
.’

Dmitry listened in horror. ‘Why are you telling me?’ he asked once Yudin had finished.

‘That is what they would have tried to do to you.’

‘But they won’t now?’

‘Not if you’ve proved to them that you cannot be swayed from the path of righteousness. But who knows what Raisa might do?’

‘Never,’ growled Dmitry. ‘She’d never do that – not willingly.’

Yudin nodded thoughtfully before speaking. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said slowly, ‘but I also think we’d both be happier if she was never put to the test.’

Dmitry looked across the desk with half a smile, acknowledging Yudin’s subtlety. It would be abhorrent for Dmitry to concede that there was any real prospect of Raisa succumbing to Tyeplov, but Yudin had avoided that discussion altogether.

‘Of course,’ he muttered.

Yudin considered for a moment, his eyes flicking across the room before settling on Dmitry. ‘Mitka, could you stand to be parted from her?’

‘To save her? Of course.’

‘Good. Good. Look, I have a friend in Klin. She’d take Raisa in, for a price. It’s far enough from Moscow. She’d be safe.’

‘I’ll pay whatever’s necessary.’

Yudin nodded, thoughtfully. ‘Don’t worry about that now. We’ll share the costs, but only once it’s over.’

‘When will it be over?’

‘I don’t know, but once Raisa is safe, you and I will work out a way to solve the problem for good.’

‘Can’t I go with her?’

‘No. With the two of you together, it would be much easier for them to find you. And you need to be here, in Moscow, to hunt down and destroy these monsters.’

Another problem occurred to Dmitry. ‘Do you think Raisa will be happy to go?’

‘You’ll have to persuade her. You
must
.’

Dmitry nodded.

‘I’ll write to Madame Zhiglova in Klin, and tell her Raisa is coming. Then you and I will talk to Raisa herself – and may God help us to convince her.’ He reached for pen and paper and began to write.

Dmitry sat and watched him, trying to force from his mind any consideration of what might happen if their plan failed. Even so, he could not help but let his thoughts wander.

‘Vasya,’ he said at length. ‘You know her. You don’t think she would …’

‘Would what?’

‘You said she would have to be willing … to become a vampire. That’s not her, is it?’

‘My dear friend, no. Of course not. Not when she has you.’ He paused. ‘But if they find her, and find her unwilling, then the outcome will be almost as foul.’

Dmitry didn’t speak. He understood what Yudin meant, but still his friend spelled it out.

‘They will still get their pleasure from her. And if she will not drink their blood, then have no doubt: they will not hesitate to consume every drop of hers.’

‘Toma. How lovely to see you again.’

It had been only a few days since Tamara’s last visit to the Lavrovs. Yelena Vadimovna’s voice showed an appropriate mix of surprise and delight.

‘I’m afraid your father’s not at home at the moment, but …’

‘I have a question, Mama,’ interrupted Tamara, ‘about when I was young.’

She watched as her mother’s face fell. More and more, Tamara hated the pain she brought to her parents by bringing up the subject of her … other parents. But on this occasion that wasn’t really what she was asking about. Her mother’s reaction was the sign of a guilty conscience. But Tamara was interrupted before she could explain.

‘I rather hoped you’d come to see
me
,’ said a voice from behind her. She recognized it in an instant. She turned and ran over to him.

‘Rodion,’ she yelled, and threw herself into her brother’s arms. He was not her brother, of course, but she could not imagine loving a true brother better. Unlike his parents, he did not usurp anyone by taking the role he assumed. There was room in the world for dozens of brothers, but only one father and one mother.

After a long embrace, she stepped back and looked at him. In her eyes, he looked just the same as he had always done – apart
from
the full beard that he now sported. He was perhaps a little fatter than when they had last seen each other, three years before, but he had always had a big, strong frame, so it hung well on him. He was forty-three now, and Tamara noticed a little greying at his temples. He looked resplendent in his captain’s uniform. Ultimately, he was commanded by Grand Duke Konstantin, as head of the navy. Tamara hid a smirk, and decided not to reveal her own connection to the tsar’s brother.

‘He’s the image of his grandfather,’ said Yelena.

The mention of Vadim Fyodorovich brought back to Tamara the conversation of the previous night, when Dmitry had told her of how he died. She saw Rodion in the same pose, hanging from a nail, his throat bearing the teeth marks of a
voordalak
, his body slowly decaying. She tried to force the image away, but it began to fill her mind; when she looked at her brother she could see the maggots crawling among the hairs of his newly grown beard. Try as she might to ignore it, it lingered at the back of her mind, waiting to find readmittance.

They sat and talked for some time – mostly Tamara and Rodion, with their mother smiling happily on them. The vision of Vadim returned to her again and again, Rodion’s words emitted from his grandfather’s dead, caked lips. Of all she had learned from Dmitry the previous night, that was the thing that most personally affected her. That and one other: throughout she was itching to ask the question that had been the whole reason for her visit. She marvelled at her own priorities. Last night she had seen first-hand creatures she had never dreamed existed, heard stories of horror that she had no reason to doubt were true, and yet her obsession was with the one tiny clue that Dmitry had given her that might lead to the truth about her parents.

Rodion sensed her impatience.

‘Weren’t you about to ask Mama something?’ he said at length.

Yelena scowled, but with Rodion there she could do little to avoid the issue. Tamara posed her question.

‘Mama, when I was young, did I ever have a nanny?’

Yelena hid her reaction well, but it was plain to see that the question meant more to her than Tamara might have expected. Her mother’s eyes narrowed, trying to fathom what was behind
it
. Even Rodion seemed taken aback. His eyes shot over to his mother to watch how she dealt with it.

‘You had several,’ said Yelena calmly.

‘Really? I can scarcely remember.’

‘Only when you were very young. Once you started growing up, there was less need for one.’

‘Do you remember any of their names?’

Yelena made a show of thinking about it, but Tamara knew at once that she wasn’t going to get an answer. Clearly this nanny did know something – something that Yelena wanted to remain a secret.

‘It was so long ago,’ Yelena said at last. ‘None of them comes to mind. I’ll ask Valentin, but I doubt he’ll do any better.’

I bet he won’t, thought Tamara.

The door burst open and a voice shouted across the room. ‘Come on, Papa, we’ll be late.’

‘Vadim!’ said Yelena sternly. ‘Don’t be so rude. Say hello to your aunt Tamara.’

Vadim bowed and kissed Tamara’s hand. She beamed back at him, but again visions of his great-grandfather and namesake haunted her. He turned to his father. ‘Now can we go?’ he asked.

‘Let me go and get ready,’ said Rodion, rising to his feet. He bid farewell to Tamara and Yelena and followed his son out of the room.

There were a few moments of silence, broken by Tamara. ‘Do you mind if I go and look at my old bedroom?’ she asked.

‘Your bedroom?’ Yelena was still suspicious, even of so innocent an enquiry.

‘Fond memories.’

‘This is still your home. It always will be.’

Tamara went out to the hall and up the stairs. Her old room was at the front of the house. She hesitated as she put her hand to the door. She had slept here until she was nineteen, when Vitya had taken her away to Petersburg. The ghosts of the past still resided in there, somewhere. She hoped that just one of them would give her some clue to this mysterious nanny.