He Lover of Death (40 page)

‘But do not f-forget that I have many old friends in M-Moscow, including many among the police. Not all of them are as b-blind as your superiors. But that has n-nothing to do with the matter at hand. I only wish to say that p-provocation and entrapment with a b-bloody outcome are nothing new to you. You are calculating and c-cold blooded. And therefore I do not b-believe in your wild, uncontrollable passion for the Prince’s l-lady love – you only need the lady as a s-source of information.’

‘What, this one too?’ the Prince groaned in a voice filled with such pain and torment that Senka actually felt sorry for him. ‘You’re the greatest whore on God’s earth! You’ve lifted your skirts for all of them, even a lousy copper would do!’

But Death just laughed – a low, rustling laugh that was almost soundless.

‘Madam,’ Erast Petrovich said, glancing at her briefly, ‘I d-demand that you withdraw immediately. Senya, t-take her away!’

The smart engineer had chosen the right moment all right – after he’d stirred them all up like that, they couldn’t care less about Death now, let alone little Senka.

And little Senka didn’t have to be asked twice. He took hold of Death’s hand and pulled her towards the mouth of the passage. Mr Nameless’s meet was going to end badly, no doubting that. It would be interesting to watch it to the end, of course, only through opera glasses, from a seat in the top circle. But as for being on stage when they started bumping everyone off – thanks for the offer, but maybe some other time.

Death took two small steps, no more, and then she refused to budge and Senka couldn’t shift her. And when he took hold of her sides and tried to pull her, she dug her elbow hard into the pit of his stomach, and it really hurt.

Senka grabbed hold of his belly and started gasping for air, but he carried on peeping out from behind her shoulder, trying to keep up with the action. It was interesting, after all. He saw the superintendent back away to the wall and point one revolver at Erast Petrovich and keep the other trained on the bandits.

‘So it’s a trap?’ he exclaimed, just as flustered as Senka. ‘You picked the wrong man, Fandorin. I’ve got twelve bullets in these cylinders. Enough for everyone! Boxman, come over here!’

The constable walked over to his superior and stood behind him, his eyes glinting menacingly under his grey brows.

‘This is not just one t-trap, Innokentii Romanovich, but two,’ Mr Nameless explained calmly after the superintendent called him that strange word again. ‘As I said, I wish to c-conclude all my business in Moscow tonight. I only stated the b-basis for my suspicions so that you would have the f-full picture. The culprit is here, and he will receive the p-punishment he deserves. I invited the rest of you here for a d-different purpose: to f-free a certain lady from dangerous liaisons and even m-more dangerous delusions. She is a quite exceptional lady, g-gentlemen. She has suffered a great deal and d-deserves compassion. And by the way, in c-calling you all spiders, she has suggested an excellent name for this operation. A most p-precise image. You are spiders, and while f-four of you belong to the species of c-common spider, the fifth is a g-genuine tarantula. So, welcome to Operation Spiders in a Jar. The n-narrow confines of this treasure chamber render the title even m-more fitting.’

The engineer paused, as if inviting the others to appreciate his wit.

‘The fifth?’ asked Solntsev. ‘Where do you see a fifth?’

‘Right behind you.’

The superintendent swung round in fright and stared at Boxman, who glared down at his superior from his great height.

‘Constable Boxman is my g-guest of honour here today,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘A spider of t-truly rare dimensions.’

Boxman barked so loudly, he brought the dust sprinkling down from the ceiling.

‘Your Honour must have lost his mind! Why, I—’

‘No, B-Boxman,’ the engineer retorted sharply. It wasn’t very loud, but the constable stopped talking. ‘You’re the one who has l-lost his mind in his old age. But we’ll t-talk about the reason for your mental derangement later. First let us d-deal with the essence of the matter. You were the prime suspect from the very b-beginning, in spite of all your c-caution. Let me explain why. The vicious m-murders in Khitrovka started about two months ago. A d-drunken reveller was killed and robbed, and then a reporter intending to write an article about the s-slums. Nothing unusual for Khitrovka, if n-not for one certain detail: their eyes were g-gouged out. Then the m-murderer gouged out the eyes of everyone in the Siniukhin family, in exactly the s-same way. There are two circumstances of n-note here. Firstly, it is impossible to imagine any of these exceptional c-crimes occurring on your beat without you f-finding out who committed them. You are the true master of Khitrovka! Superintendents come and g-go, the top dogs in the criminal underworld change, b-but Boxman is eternal. He has eyes and ears everywhere, every d-door is open to him, he knows the s-secrets of the police and the Council. More murders took p-place and the entire city started t-talking about them, but the ubiquitous Boxman d-didn’t know a thing. From this I concluded that you were c-connected with the mysterious Treasure Hunter, and m-must be his accomplice. My suspicions were corroborated by the fact that in s-subsequent murders the victims’ eyes were not put out. I recalled t-telling you that the theory of images being retained on the retina after death had been d-disproved by science . . . But I was still n-not certain that you were the killer and not s-simply an accomplice. Until yesterday n-night, that is, when you killed a young m-man, one of your informers. That was when I finally excluded all the other spiders f-from my list of suspects and focused on you . . .’

‘And how exactly, if I might enquire, did I give myself away?’ Boxman asked, looking at the engineer curiously. Senka couldn’t see a trace of fear or even alarm in the constable’s face.

But then he had to turn his head to look at the superintendent: Are you admitting it, Boxman?’ Solntsev exclaimed in fright, recoiling from his subordinate. ‘But he hasn’t proved anything yet!’

‘He will,’ Boxman said with a good-natured wave, still looking at Mr Nameless. ‘There’s no wriggling out of it with him. And you keep your mouth shut, Your Honour. This has nothing to do with you.’

Solntsev opened his mouth, but he didn’t make a peep. That was what the books called ‘to be struck dumb’.

‘You want t-to know how you gave yourself away?’ Erast Petrovich asked with a smirk. ‘Why, it’s very s-simple. There is only one way to twist someone’s n-neck through a hundred and eighty degrees in a s-single moment, so fast that he doesn’t even have time to m-make a sound: take a firm grasp of the c-crown of the head and turn it sharply, b-breaking the vertebrae and tearing the m-muscles. This requires truly phenomenal physical strength – a strength th-that you alone, of all the suspects, possess. Neither the Prince, nor Deadeye, n-nor the superintendent could have done that. There are not many people in the world c-capable of such a feat. And that’s all there is t-to it. The Khitrovka m-murders are not a very complex case. If I had not been involved in another investigation at the s-same time, I would have got to you m-much sooner . . .’

‘Well, no one’s perfect,’ Boxman said with a shrug. ‘I thought I was being so careful, but I slipped up there. I should have smashed Prokha’s head in.’

‘Indeed,’ Mr Nameless agreed. ‘But that would n-not have saved you from participating in Operation Spiders in a J-Jar. The outcome would still have b-been the same in any case.’

As he peeped over Death’s shoulder, Senka tried to figure out what that outcome was. What was going to happen when the talking stopped? The bandits had already lowered their hands on the sly, and the superintendent’s lips were trembling. If he started blasting away with those revolvers, that would be a fine outcome for everyone.

But the engineer carried on talking to the constable as if he was sitting by the samovar in a tea-house. ‘I c-can understand everything,’ said Erast Petrovich. ‘You didn’t want to l-leave any witnesses, you didn’t even take p-pity on a three-year-old child. But why kill the d-dog and the parrot? That is more than mere c-caution, it is insanity.’

‘Oh no, Your Honour,’ said Boxman, stroking his drooping moustache. ‘That bird could talk. When I went in, the Armenian woman said to me: “Good day, Constable.” And the parrot piped up: “Good day, Constable!” too. What if it had said that in front of the investigator? And that puppy at the mamselle’s place was altogether too fond of sniffing at things. I read in the
Police Gazette
how a dog attacked the man who killed its master, and that put him under suspicion. You can read a lot of useful things in the newspapers.

Only you can’t read the most important things.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Like how you can suddenly feel like a young man again, when you’re the wrong side of fifty . . .’

‘You mean there’s no f-fool like an old fool?’ Erast Petrovich asked with an understanding nod. ‘No, they don’t write m-much about that in the newspapers. You should have read p-poetry, Boxman, or gone to the opera: “Love humbles every age of m-man” and all that. I heard you t-telling Mademoiselle Death about “a st-strong man with immense wealth”. Were you thinking of yourself? In t-twenty years of ruling Khitrovka, you must have s-saved up quite a lot, enough for your old age. For your old age, yes, b-but hardly enough for a Swan Queen. In any c-case, that was what you thought. And your impossible d-dream drove you into a frenzy, you c-craved for that “immense wealth”. You started killing f-for money, something you had never d-done before, and when you heard about the underground treasure t-trove, you lost your m-mind completely . . .’

‘That’s love for you, Your Honour.’ Boxman sighed. ‘It asks no questions. Turns some into angels and others into devils. And I’d play the part of Satan himself to make her mine . . .’

‘You scoundrel!’ the superintendent exclaimed furiously. ‘You arrogant brute! Talking about love! Carrying on like this, behind my back! You’ll be doing hard labour!’

Boxman said sternly: ‘Shut up, you little shrimp! Haven’t you realised what Erast Petrovich is driving at?’

The superintendent choked. ‘Shrimp?’ Then he changed tack. ‘Driving at? What do you mean by that?’

‘Erast Petrovich has fallen for Death too, head over heels,’ Boxman explained as if he was talking to a simpleton. ‘And he’s decided that only one man’s going to leave this place alive, and that’s him. His Honour’s decided right, too, because he’s a clever man. I agree with him. There’ll be five dead men left in here, and only one will get out, with these incredible riches. And he’ll get Death too. Only we still have to see who it’s going to be.’

As Senka listened he thought:
He’s right, the snake, he’s right! That’s why Mr Nameless rounded them all up here, to rid the earth of these monsters. And to free a certain person who wasn’t supposed to hear all this –just look at the way her chest’s heaving now.

He touched Death on the shoulder: Come on, let’s clear off while the going’s good.

But then things began moving so fast, it set Senka’s head spinning.

At the words ‘who it’s going to be’, Boxman hit the superintendent on the wrists with his fists and the revolvers went clattering to the stone floor.

In a single moment Deadeye pulled a knife out of his sleeve, the Ghoul and the Prince pulled out their revolvers, and the constable bent down and picked up one of the revolvers Solntsev had dropped – and trained the barrel on Erast Petrovich.

HOW SENKA TRIED TO KEEP UP (continued)

Senka squeezed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears, so he wouldn’t be deafened by the thunderous roar that was coming. He waited about five seconds, but no shots came. Then he opened his eyes.

The picture he saw was like something out of a fairy tale about an enchanted kingdom, where everyone has suddenly fallen asleep and frozen on the spot, just as they were.

The Prince was aiming his revolver at Deadeye, who had his hand raised, holding a throwing knife; the superintendent had picked up one of his Colts and was aiming it at the Ghoul, and the Ghoul was aiming his gun at the superintendent. Boxman had Mr Nameless in his sights, and the engineer was the only one unarmed – he was just standing there with his arms calmly folded. No one was moving, so the whole lot of them looked like a photograph – as well as an enchanted kingdom.

‘Now how could you set out for such a serious rendezvous without a pistol, Your Honour?’ Boxman asked, shaking his head as if he was commiserating with the engineer. ‘You’re so proud. But in the Scriptures it says the proud shall be put to shame. What are you going to do?’

‘Proud, b-but not stupid, as you ought t-to know, Boxman. If I came without a weapon, it m-means there was good reason for it.’ Erast Petrovich raised his voice. ‘Gentlemen, stop trying to f-frighten each other! Operation Spiders in a Jar is p-proceeding according to plan and now entering its f-final stage. But first, I must explain s-something important. Are you aware that you are m-members of a certain club? A club that ought to be c-called “The Lovers of Death”. Were you not astounded that the most b-beautiful, the most miraculous of women d-demonstrated such benevolent condescension to your . . . dubious virtues, to p-put it politely?’

At these words the Prince, the Ghoul, Deadeye and even the superintendent turned towards the speaker, and Death shuddered.

Mr Nameless nodded. ‘I see that you were. You were q-quite right, Boxman, when you claimed that if you are the only one to g-get out of here alive, Death will b-be yours. That is undoubtedly what will occur. She herself will s-summon you into her embraces, b-because she recognises you as a g-genuine evildoer. After all, gentlemen, in his own way each of you is a genuine m-monster. Do not take that as a t-term of abuse, it is merely a statement of f-fact. After all the misfortunes she s-suffered, the poor young l-lady whom you know so well imagined that her caresses really were f-fatal for men. And therefore she d-drives away all those whom she does n-not think deserving of death and welcomes only the l-lowest dregs, whose vile, stinking breath p-poisons the very air of God’s world. Mademoiselle Death conceived the g-goal of using her body to reduce the amount of evil in th-the world. A tragic and s-senseless undertaking. She cannot possibly t-take on all the evil in the world, and it was not worth s-soiling herself for the sake of a few spiders. I shall be glad to render her this s-small service. Or rather, you will render it, b-by devouring each other.’