Thirteen Years Later (46 page)

‘Tomorrow, perhaps,’ he said. ‘We can remain allies for today. He was Iuda, when I first knew him.’

‘I didn’t know that. All I learned was from conversations we had, early on.’

‘Early on?’

‘To begin with, he posed as a vampire,’ said Kyesha.

‘He’s done that before.’

‘He recruited many of us quite willingly. We helped him assemble everything that you saw up there in the caves. It was a huge task – but he had money as well as our labour.’

‘And then the experiments started?’

‘At first it was all voluntary. A lot of what he did was pain-free; investigating reflections, sleeping patterns, religious imagery. Then he asked for volunteers for experiments that involved a greater degree of physical intervention. Many agreed; there was no risk of permanent damage and some saw it as a badge of honour to be able to withstand the pain. All of us thought that, ultimately, knowledge of our own nature would make us stronger.

‘But then, imperceptibly, a division began to emerge between us. Cain – Iuda – orchestrated it, though none of us was ever aware explicitly. There were those who carried out the experiments, and
those who actually
were
the experiments. Guards and prisoners, Cain called it, but only much later on. I was lucky – I suppose – to be one of the guards. But when there were only a few of us left, and we began to realize what had happened, he rounded us all up and locked us away too. He has the place rigged with various ways for letting in light.’

‘I saw,’ said Aleksei.

‘Of course, we thought it would have the same effect on him as on us. It was only too late we discovered he was human. By then we couldn’t do anything about it. That was six years ago.’

‘But you escaped.’

‘Earlier this year. He made a mistake. He had me chained up by the wrists, and in a cave where daylight could get in. Each day it would burn me, and each day I’d recover. I don’t know what he learned from it. Much of what he did was just to terrorize – to keep us to heel.’

‘He’s doing much the same thing again now,’ said Aleksei.

‘With one major difference, I suspect. He made the chain too long – gave me that little bit of freedom, and I grabbed at it. One morning, when the sun first crept into the cave, I clenched my fists and thrust them into the light. You saw me cut off my own fingers, but that was nothing. I stood there as my hands dissolved into a stinking mess that seeped on to the floor. Oh, I knew they’d regrow, but I still felt every scintilla of pain that you would if you thrust your hands into a fire and held them there until they shrivelled to nothing.’

Aleksei looked at his own hands as Kyesha spoke. It was a horrible concept.

‘In the end though,’ continued Kyesha, ‘I was free. The manacles just slipped off. I ran and hid somewhere deep in the caves, whimpering in agony. It took two days for my hands to grow back. You’ve seen how quickly it can happen, at least for my fingers, but that was when I was healthy and well fed. When you’re starving, the whole thing slows down – sometimes even stops completely. That’s another thing Cain discovered.’

‘And how did you get hold of Cain’s notebook?’

‘Raisa Styepanovna helped me with that.’

‘I met her,’ said Aleksei.

‘You did? A beautiful woman. It was I who actually turned her into one of us, though it was Cain that persuaded her. Thankfully, when she realized the awfulness of what had been done to her, it was him, not me, that she blamed. We are close, as any vampire is to the one that created it; as any child is to its parent. For instance, I can tell you with absolute certainty that she is still alive.’

‘Really? Where?’

‘That much, I don’t know. Some can develop the bond to a very precise extent, but it takes much practice.’

‘So how did she help you?’ asked Aleksei.

‘She told me where he kept the notebook – just the one he was working on; the others were locked away. Plus some other documents.’

‘What other documents?’

‘How do you think I knew where your meetings were, and the codes for them? But we knew you were the only person who could defeat Cain – at least, that’s what
he
thought.’

‘But you said you didn’t know my name.’

‘No, but Cain had said a lot about Maksim Sergeivich Lukin, and particularly about his death in Desna. He said you blamed yourself for it.’

‘Yet he still never told you who I was?’

‘You were just the three-fingered man. And the only clue about Maks was that he came from Saratov. So once I was free, I went there. His mother was dead, but I found one of his sisters. She told me about their poor little brother Innokyentii Sergeivich, and when I mentioned a man with three fingers, she told me all about you.’

‘And that’s when you came to Petersburg?’

‘Yes, but from what Cain said, you weren’t likely to treat me any differently from how you had all those other vampires. Hence the somewhat long-winded introduction.’

‘You realize you’ve helped to save the tsar’s life,’ said Aleksei.

‘Do I get a medal?’

‘You get to live.’

‘Perhaps a good point to say goodbye,’ said Kyesha.

‘What will you do now?’

‘Meet up with some of my friends that you’ve freed. I thought I would have heard from them by now.’

Aleksei didn’t ask how Kyesha expected to be contacted by them. ‘Probably having too much fun with Iuda.’

‘Probably.’ He held out his hand but Aleksei did not take it. ‘I will try to make sure our paths never cross again. Really.’

With that, he disappeared into the shadows.

F
ROM BAKHCHISARAY THE PARTY HEADED BACK FOR TAGANROG
, but with no greater haste than it had travelled out. Aleksei had not had an opportunity to speak to the tsar about what had happened in Chufut Kalye. Wylie had attempted to do so, but Aleksandr had been prepared to tell him nothing.

The day after they left Bakhchisaray they were back at the Perekop isthmus, in the town of Perekop itself. The tsar made a tour of the local hospital, accompanied by both Drs Wylie and Tarasov. After they came back, Wylie spoke to Aleksei with some concern.

‘His Majesty suddenly shows a great interest in malaria,’ he said.

‘Is that unusual?’ asked Aleksei. ‘It’s his duty to take an interest in whatever his subjects are interested in. He was in a hospital and in the south. It’s a common enough disease round here.’

‘Yes, but in these situations, the duty of the tsar is to ask simple questions and nod politely at the answers. Today he’s been suggesting that malaria is a disease of the blood, for Heaven’s sake! The doctors could scarcely contain their laughter. Even you must know it’s borne in the foul air that comes from the swamps round here.’

Like most soldiers – especially those who’d fought south of the Danube – Aleksei was familiar with the disease, and the tricks for avoiding catching it, though it was still a lottery; one in which
Aleksei so far had been a winner. However, Aleksandr’s mistake didn’t seem too concerning to him.

‘So, he got it wrong,’ said Aleksei. ‘Probably heard it off some quack and thought he’d show off his knowledge. Maybe Dr Lee said something to him.’

‘Dr Lee is an acknowledged expert on the subject,’ said Wylie, with some indignation.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t see why it’s such a concern.’

‘Because of the mention of
blood
. There is a disease – if I may call it that – which we know full well is carried in the blood; one with which the tsar has recently come into close contact.’

‘And from which he is suffering no symptoms. Believe me, I would know.’ Even as he spoke, Aleksei wondered if he was being overconfident.

‘I’m not suggesting he is, but I think he may be
concerned
that he is. Did you hear any of what he and Cain were discussing?’

‘They were speaking English most of the time. The only thing I heard in French suggested that Cain was about to kill His Majesty. That’s when I intervened.’

‘So before that, Cain could have said something that put this idea into the tsar’s head.’

Aleksei shrugged. ‘Possibly, but I think it will be out of his head again pretty soon. He’s not one to perceive illness where there’s nothing there, is he?’

‘Quite the reverse, I would say,’ replied Wylie. ‘Even so, I shall mention my fears to Tarasov.’

‘Will he believe you?’

‘I won’t convey to him the unusual facts we know unless it is absolutely necessary. But if it does prove necessary, I think I’ll find it just as easy to convince him as you did me; and by the same method.’

Aleksei considered for a moment whether to protest at the cruelty of this approach now that they understood the physical pain that would be caused to the
voordalak
who had donated his skin in the book’s manufacture, but he realized that that was not
the true nature of his objection. What he really didn’t like was the way control of events was suddenly being taken out of his hands.
He
was the expert on vampires, and if consultation were needed with a second doctor, then
he
should seek it.

But he knew his place. The man he was talking to was personal physician to the tsar. It was a more influential role than that of some secret policeman, however much he might have assisted His Majesty.

And what did he care? If the tsar believed himself to be a chicken, a chimpanzee or a Chinaman, it would be a problem for Russia, but not one that was Aleksei’s responsibility. If he thought himself to be a
voordalak
then, again, it was nothing to do with Aleksei. Aleksei’s duty lay in dealing with the monsters of reality, not of the mind. And there his duty had been fulfilled.

Aleksei saw for himself the tsar’s preoccupation a few days later. They had quit the Crimea and were now only a few days from Taganrog. The party had stopped for lunch and all of its more senior members – colonels included – were sitting at the same table. It was Aleksandr himself who raised the issue.

‘You recall that demonstration of the effectiveness of quinine that Dr Lee showed us,’ he said, addressing his words to Wylie.

‘I recall it,’ replied the doctor, though Aleksei suspected a note of caution concerning the subject that the tsar might be turning to.

‘Well, I have heard that one of the limitations of the substance is that it tastes so foul. Patients simply will not drink it.’

‘It’s not exactly foul, Your Majesty, merely bitter. The flavour can be disguised, but even on its own it is not unpalatable.’

‘I find that very hard to believe,’ responded the tsar. ‘Let’s find out. Do you have any?’

Wylie exchanged a glance with Tarasov, and the latter left the table and went out of the room. Aleksei watched him out of the window, going through one of the bags strapped to the back of his carriage. He returned moments later carrying a jar containing a
white powder. The tsar opened it up and, having licked his finger, dabbed it in and put a little of the substance on his tongue.

He pulled a grimace, like some child who had encountered a new and harsh flavour – obviously exaggerated – and all round the table laughed. After he had flamboyantly recovered himself, he spoke to Tarasov.

‘You and Wylie certainly don’t go out of your way to spoil patients with pleasant-tasting medicines.’

Again there was laughter at the table and when it subsided the conversation moved on elsewhere, but Aleksei noticed – as he suspected did both Wylie and Tarasov – that the tsar never returned the jar of quinine.

Aleksei had grown a little saddle-sore after two weeks on the road. There was a spare coach, which on the way out had been packed with provisions that had now dwindled to almost nothing, and so he chose to journey on in there for a little while. He had quickly found it to be, if anything, less comfortable than riding on horseback. On these uneven roads, at least a horse had the ability to pick its way between the potholes.

It was early evening before they changed horses. Soon after they had stopped, Aleksei’s slumbers were interrupted as first Wylie and then Tarasov clambered into the carriage.

‘Look at this,’ said Tarasov. He held out what appeared to be the jar of quinine.

‘So His Majesty returned it to you,’ replied Aleksei. ‘Good.’

‘But look how much is missing,’ insisted Tarasov. ‘He’s taken five or six doses.’

‘Is that dangerous?’

‘Probably not,’ said Wylie, still with the same urgency that his colleague had conveyed. ‘If he’s got any sense he’ll have kept them for later use rather than take them all together. The point is his state of mind.’

‘You still think he believes he . . .’ Aleksei glanced at Tarasov ‘. . . has malaria?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Wylie. ‘I’ve explained everything to Dr Tarasov.’

‘Even so,’ persisted Aleksei, ‘it could just be malaria.’

‘It could,’ replied Wylie, ‘except for this.’ He took out the notebook he had been carrying under his arm. He glanced at Tarasov, who pulled down the blinds on his side of the carriage. Aleksei did the same on the other side. It was probably dark enough for the skin not to be damaged, but privacy was also an issue. Wylie unwrapped the paper and flicked through the book, quickly finding the page he wanted. He held it open under Aleksei’s nose.