The Third Section (48 page)

We reached Khimki in plenty of time, and Vasiliy suggested that we should take a walk around the famous gardens, but I demurred. I cannot see this journey as any kind of a holiday, but perhaps one day soon we will be able to walk through those gardens together. We sat at the station and waited for the train, which duly pulled in a little before noon. I was surprised how many people got off when it arrived, but Vasiliy explained they would have come for the gardens, or to take lunch, or to listen to the orchestra that sometimes plays here. I’m sure you would adore it, though I don’t imagine they play anything like as well as you do. He also said that some people come just because they enjoy riding on the train, and that this was the shortest journey they could take, but that seems quite silly to me
.

There were only two others apart from myself who
boarded
the train at Khimki, though both I and Vasiliy Innokyentievich verified that neither was Tyeplov or Mihailov, at least as far as you described him. How could they be? How could they know of our plans, and even if they did, how could they stand there on the platform, with the summer sun at its highest?

Vasiliy Innokyentievich had arranged a seat in a first-class carriage for me, and he waited on the platform until the train pulled away. There was only one more stop before we got to Klin, and we crossed a very large bridge, at which I dared not look out for fear of seeing just how far the drop was down to the river. The journey took a little over four hours altogether and when we arrived I looked out of the window to see a kindly lady standing on the platform who I just
knew
was Mme Zhiglova. We took a little open wagon to her house, which overlooks the river Sestra. She is a widow who lost her husband when the French first attacked Sevastopol, back in 1854. I told her I have a friend who was in the city throughout the entire siege (I didn’t dare mention to her exactly what
type
of friend). I’m afraid I may have made rather more of your wounds than is strictly correct, but I know you love to do that too. I told her I would ask if you ever encountered Captain Zhiglov of the Tarutino Regiment. She has a daughter, Sofia Bogdanovna, who lives with her. She is fourteen years old and quite delightful. Her two sons, Ivan Bogdanovich and Lyov Bogdanovich, are both serving in the Caucasus
.

Mme Zhiglova showed me straight to my room, from which I can just see the river, and as soon as the maid had unpacked and helped me change my clothes I sat down to write this letter to you. Mme Zhiglova has already brought me some tea, and now she has called me down to sit with her on the veranda and share some
vatrushki,
which she is keen to tell me she makes with apples from her own orchard, so I must say goodbye
.

Write as soon as you receive this
.

Your loving

Rasha

My dearest Rasha
,

Vasiliy Innokyentievich has already told me your story up to the moment you left Khimki, though I must confess his telling of it was far less enchanting to hear than yours was to read, though somewhat more succinct. You’ll be pleased to know he made it safely back to Moscow and I dined with him yesterday evening. If I had known, I would have eaten only
vatrushki
and thought of you. Even without them I thought of you
.

My day has been as tedious as ever, reading reports from officers who have never been into battle and who believe the best way for a soldier to defeat his enemy is to dazzle them with his over-polished buttons. Tiresome though it is, I am beginning to feel a certain pride at the spectacle we shall see at His Imperial Majesty’s coronation, and I feel sure that my small contribution towards organizing the parades of the cavalry will help to ensure they do not go unnoticed. It would be wonderful if we could find a way for you to be back in Moscow by then. I’m sure I could secure you the perfect spot from which to see all those mounted officers passing by (though I flatter myself to hope you would have eyes only for one)
.

On that front, Vasiliy and I have been discussing how we can finally be shot of the creatures that threaten you and thus allow your safe return. We disagree on precisely what their next move will be. Vasiliy suspects that they will abandon all plans to imperil you and will turn their attention once again to me. My belief is that they will attempt to make a further move on you at Degtyarny Lane. Thankfully we can combine our defences against both eventualities. If they do come for me, I am well armed, and Vasya has used his influence to ensure that two covert officers, similarly armed and ready to protect me, will be close by whenever I am out during the hours of darkness. Thus I will be watching Degtyarny Lane from without, while Tamara Valentinovna watches from within. If they come in search of you, or in search of me, the result will be the same
.

I know you will hate the thought of my putting myself in danger, but in truth the danger is already there and if we don’t act to precipitate events, then it will remain with us for the rest of our lives
.

I’m afraid that I never encountered Captain Zhiglov, though I do have some friends in the Tarutino, so I will ask them when I see them. I’m sure he died bravely. The tragedy of the war has been that the same could be said of so many
.

I count the hours before your next letter arrives
.

I am yours
,

Mitka

HE HATED TO
lie to her, especially in a letter. It was only over a small matter, but not so small that he chose to tell her the truth.

Yudin had indeed suggested the idea of providing officers to protect Dmitry, and Dmitry had initially agreed, but then his mind had gone back to 1825 and the plan he had hatched with Aleksei to kill the vampire Kyesha. They had recruited half a dozen good soldiers, but had understood that they would be laughed at if the word
voordalak
was ever mentioned in connection with their purpose. They had been careful to tell the men merely to follow Kyesha, never to approach him, but one of them had decided to show his bravery – why shouldn’t he? – and had died for it.

He and Yudin had discussed whether they could conceivably tell the men what they would be dealing with, tried to find ways to make it sound less preposterous, but in the end they had agreed that it would be impossible to tell the truth. Yudin had still been prepared to take the risk and let the men protect Dmitry even though they were unaware of the danger, but Dmitry had refused to allow it.

In the end, he had only Yudin to protect him – and Tamara, though she was under strict orders to consider primarily her own safety. Each of the other two had furnished themselves with a cane, much like Dmitry’s. He had shown them how to sharpen its tip to a point and then cover it with an extra length of wood. The three of them had laughed as they stood there, canes in hand, like desperate followers of some new fashion trend. But it made a good disguise for a good weapon. Aleksei had managed with only
a
wooden dagger, modelled on the one he had made Dmitry as a boy. What, Dmitry wondered, had he made for Tamara when she was a child?

They also carried pistols. Dmitry had told Yudin how effective such a weapon had proved, however accidentally, in Sevastopol. It could not kill a vampire, but it could incapacitate for long enough for a weapon more familiar to folklore to do its work – the ancient augmented by the modern. Yudin, as ever, had gone one better than Dmitry and presented them each with American revolvers – Colt Dragoons – capable of firing off six shots before needing to be reloaded. Yudin would not say where he had got them, but all agreed that the vampires wouldn’t stand a chance.

And then, they waited. Each evening, Dmitry had loitered around Degtyarny Lane, making himself obvious in the hope of attracting Tyeplov or Mihailov’s attention, or in the hope of catching them trying to break in. Sometimes he noticed Yudin shadowing him, sometimes not, which proved that Yudin was doing his job well. Occasionally he would catch Tamara’s eye through the window or as she opened the door, but they rarely spoke.

He and Raisa exchanged letters every day. She would write in the evening and her letter would be carried by the train from Petersburg the next morning, travelling with it for the last few versts of its journey into Moscow. The letter would be in Dmitry’s hands by evening. He would write a reply that would go out with the morning train and be with Raisa in the afternoon – often as she sat down for lunch.

July passed into August, and neither of them once missed writing a letter. The warm days of August ran by and the coronation approached. Moscow prepared for the celebrations and Dmitry’s work on the committee headed towards its conclusion.

And of neither Tyeplov nor Mihailov was there the slightest sign.

‘All alone, Cain?’

Yudin looked up. He smiled, but at the same time he reached into his desk.

‘As are you, I believe, Tyeplov,’ he replied. The
voordalak
stood
at
the foot of the stairs to his office, tall and impassive. ‘Mihailov cannot have survived what I did to him, and I’ve heard more than one account of what happened to Ignatyev. One by one, your friends have fallen by the wayside.’

Raisa had told him of the events in her room at the brothel even before Dmitry had come to him. He had hoped that all three of the
voordalaki
had perished in the fire at the church, but was circumspect enough to allow for other possibilities. From what Raisa could gather, Tyeplov and Ignatyev had been quite unaware of any connection between her and Dmitry when they came to Degtyarny Lane. Their desire was solely for revenge over her helping Yudin at Chufut Kalye. No one except she had noticed the look of surprise on Tyeplov’s face when Dmitry burst in. But even as Raisa spoke of Dmitry’s heroic rescue, a plan had begun to form in Yudin’s mind. Now, with Tyeplov’s arrival, he had the final piece that he needed to begin his gambit.

‘Neither of us has had a friend for many years, Cain,’ said Tyeplov. ‘We both chose to abandon such things.’ Yudin said nothing. Tyeplov filled the silence. ‘What do you want with me, Cain?’

‘What do
I
want with
you
?’

‘You summoned me here.’

‘Did I?’ teased Yudin.

‘With the blood – my blood.’

‘You mean this?’ Yudin lifted his hand and revealed the vial of red liquid which he had been clutching. ‘You were willing enough to let me take it.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘True.’

‘What have you been doing with it?’ asked Tyeplov.

‘Various things – exposing it to the sun, mixing it with acid. Anything to painfully destroy a few more drops of it.’

‘Every week,’ said Tyeplov. ‘Regularly. For six weeks.’

‘Ever since your little escapade with Raisa Styepanovna.’

‘I felt it burn.’

‘You were meant to.’

‘But I knew it was a summons.’

‘So you come in peace?’

‘I want nothing from you now, Cain. Be happy – you have beaten me. I had already left the city when you called me back.’

‘I, on the other hand, want something from you. I have a small job for you.’

‘Why should I help?’

Yudin wiggled the vial of blood at him. ‘I think you know why. And it’s nothing difficult – just a little play-acting.’

Tyeplov considered, eyeing the blood, wondering just how much more pain Yudin could inflict than he had already. ‘Then you’ll leave me be?’

‘I left you for thirty years, didn’t I?’

The implied threat and the memory of his long entombment appeared to have the desired effect. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Tyeplov asked.

Yudin hesitated. There was not just Tyeplov to be considered. Whatever words were exchanged between them, Zmyeevich would be listening too. Mihailov had explained that. Tyeplov and Zmyeevich had exchanged blood when the one had transformed the other into a vampire and now they were linked. But there was no reason to suppose Zmyeevich would want to hinder Yudin’s plan – more likely he would enjoy watching as it played out. Anyway, Yudin had no other choice. He needed a vampire.

‘I want you,’ he explained, ‘to catch a train.’

They dined again at Yegorov’s. It wasn’t late in the evening, though Tamara was already beginning to notice that the nights were drawing in. But it was too early for there to be much business at Degtyarny Lane, and as the weeks had gone by, with no sign of the two vampires that they knew were still out there somewhere, they had grown more relaxed. Dmitry still never missed a night of his vigil outside the house, but he tended to arrive later and leave earlier.

Dmitry had his blini with cherries and cream. He didn’t mention it, but Tamara remembered that it was what both he and Raisa had had here before, the first time they met. Tamara herself had chosen mushrooms, fried with onion.

‘I’m going to have to go away for a few days soon,’ she told him.