Thirteen Years Later (67 page)

Aleksei might have dismissed the comment as bravura, but he knew Iuda well enough to fear there might be more behind it.

‘So what do you plan to do with Marfa now?’ he asked. ‘Kill her?’

Iuda laughed. ‘Why should I?’ He leaned forward and spoke confidentially. ‘You and I are both fortunate, Lyosha. Men of our age seldom get the chance to enjoy the body of a beautiful, sensual woman. I would be a fool to put an end to it.’

He stood up, seemingly impatient, and walked over to the piano. He sat down and began to play. Aleksei did not recognize the piece, nor did he like it, but there was no doubting Iuda’s talent. He noticed for the first time a scar on Iuda’s neck – almost healed. He felt his heart jolt as he wondered briefly if Iuda had at last become a
voordalak
. But the fact he could see the wound proved no such transformation had occurred. If Iuda were a vampire, his flesh would have healed. Besides, his reflection was clear in the mirror that hung on the wall behind the piano, as it had been in the bedroom mirror. Iuda was as human as he had ever been, but clearly he’d had some kind of falling-out with a vampire – perhaps even Zmyeevich. Aleksei began to formulate a question on the matter, trying to find the words that would most rile Iuda. At the very least it would interrupt him from playing that strange, discomforting music.

But before he could say anything the door opened. It was Marfa. She had dressed, but not formally. Her cleavage was deliberately obvious, as were her ankles and calves. She walked over to Iuda and placed her hands on his shoulders. She looked more alluring than Aleksei had seen her since they were first married. She was just turned forty, and getting a little plump, but not excessively. That evening, her skin seemed to glow. That was thanks to Iuda. Aleksei pushed the thought from his mind.

‘That’s beautiful, Vasya,’ she said. Her voice still sounded nervous, but she hid it well – not as well as Iuda, but he was practised at extemporization. As much as they both might try to appear confident, Aleksei guessed his arrival had taken them by surprise, though Iuda at least had known it would happen one day.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ Iuda replied. He stopped playing and reached for her hand, placing it against his lips.

‘I’m not sorry, Aleksei,’ said Marfa, turning to her husband. ‘There’s no reason I should be. I’m not even angry any more.’

‘Angry?’

She frowned in annoyance, and raised her voice just slightly.
‘With you, for being with . . . that woman. You should have told me if you weren’t happy.’

‘I was happy,’ said Aleksei, but he realized his explanations were not going to help. He was happy with Marfa, then he had met Domnikiia and he became even happier.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘And we’re both happy now. You can’t object to me taking a lover, can you?’

‘I object to it being
him
.’ Iuda gave a look of mock indignation as Aleksei spoke.

‘Because he’s your friend?’ asked Marfa.

Hardly, thought Aleksei, but what could he explain of Iuda to Marfa? What he had done in Moscow in 1812? What he had done in Chufut Kalye just weeks before? It would sound less like the pathetic excuses of a cuckold and more the ravings of a madman. Neither would achieve anything.

‘He’s not my friend,’ he said simply.

Marfa frowned and looked down at Iuda. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been the cause of that. Vasiliy Denisovich is a fine man.’

Aleksei leapt to his feet. ‘I can’t stay here,’ he said. He headed for the door. Marfa caught up with him just as he was stepping out into the street. He turned and looked at her. She was shivering from the cold. It was ridiculous for her to stand at the open door in the winter weather dressed like that, but Aleksei relished the sense of vulnerability it gave her. He remembered how much he had once loved her. He still loved her, but he loved Domnikiia more. It was she that was forcing him to choose.

‘You can’t leave,’ she said.

‘I’m not leaving,’ he replied. ‘I’m just going.’

‘We have to think of Dmitry.’

‘I know. I know. But I can’t think now.’

‘Nothing really has to change,’ she pleaded.

He paused. He really couldn’t think, but he had to. ‘That’s what I thought,’ he said, ‘until I found out it was
him
.’

She looked bewildered – not the strong, confident woman of moments before. In Iuda’s absence she was lost. And that was
why Aleksei knew he could not abandon her – because, one day, Iuda would.

‘We’ll find a way,’ he said, ‘but not right now. Give me a few days.’

He kissed her and then put his arms around her, squeezing her briefly, but tightly. Even after, he liked to think he’d felt her hug him back.

A
LEKSEI HAD TURNED ON TO NEVSKY PROSPECT AND WAS
heading he didn’t know where; to the west, towards the river, but that was merely a direction, not a destination. The city was busy, despite the snow and the early dark – these were things the people were used to. Aleksei walked briskly, his head down, ignoring those around him. He felt the road slope upwards and then down again as he crossed the bridge over the Moika, but he did not look into its frozen waters.

Iuda must die. That was the only solution – and the solution to many problems. He could see no prospect of Marfa abandoning her lover, and if she stayed with him . . . it was too insane to contemplate. At worst, Aleksei would have to leave her. It would cost her her reputation and eventually far, far more. Iuda would find some abominable way to treat her; there was no doubt about that. He was like the scorpion Aleksei had discussed on the hilltop of Chufut Kalye – it was his nature. Aleksei could not leave his wife to that. He would have known that anyway, but he had felt it as a certainty since he had looked into her eyes just now on the threshold of the home they had made together.

And so he would have to kill Iuda – not in the way he had tried so often before; this would be simple murder. In 1812 there had been a war, and one more body would have made no difference. In the caves of Chufut Kalye, there would have been no remains – he would have been devoured by his erstwhile captives, if only
Aleksei had had the guts to stay and ensure that it happened. Even on the beach in Taganrog, where a single thrust of his blade would have destroyed the monster, he would have got away with it – he was a member of the tsar’s personal bodyguard, defending His Majesty as was his duty.

In all of those circumstances – had he succeeded – he would have got away with it not only in terms of there being no legal retribution, but in that Marfa would have had no idea it was her husband who had killed her lover. Even if she heard the story that Aleksei had stabbed Richard L. Cain in Taganrog, the name would mean nothing to her – at least, Aleksei presumed Iuda had not told her any of his various other
noms de guerre
. But after their encounter that evening, even if Aleksei were to commit the otherwise perfect murder, Marfa would instantly connect the disappearance of her lover with the actions of her husband. Even so, it would be better than letting him live. If Marfa never spoke to him again, he would at least have saved her. But ideally, Iuda would not simply disappear. He would have to die obviously, either in an accident or at the hands of some other – but who could Aleksei find to put in the frame for that? It would not be easy to kill any man that way – with Iuda, it might prove impossible.

He looked up. Ahead of him were the yellow walls of the Admiralty and, beyond them, the frozen Neva. He felt a hand on his arm. For a moment, he thought Marfa had pursued him, but the grip was much firmer, pulling him round.

It was Iuda.

‘Aleksei,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘I appreciate we have our domestic disagreements, but we have other matters to discuss of more national significance.’

‘What?’ spat Aleksei, knocking Iuda’s hand from his arm.

‘Concerning the tsar.’

Aleksei felt the sudden urge to smile victoriously and, beyond that, to tell all, to explain to Iuda how they had all fooled him, that the tsar – Aleksandr – was alive and well and free of his machinations, able to live in peace without ever hearing of
Zmyeevich or Iuda again. It would be delicious to reveal it all, and might almost compensate for much of what Aleksei had felt that evening, but in the very telling, the victory would evaporate. Iuda would tell Zmyeevich and the pursuit of Aleksandr’s soul would begin again. It was a tragedy, but Aleksei knew he could not speak. That was where Iuda’s intrigues outdid his – Iuda could trick him, and had done so many times, even with all the facts out in the open.

Of course, there was one variation that would fit in very well with Aleksei’s other problem. It would be safe to let Iuda know he had been duped – taken for a
prostak
– if he did not subsequently have the chance to tell Zmyeevich; if, for example, he learned the fact just moments before his death. That would make the revenge complete. It added one further layer of complexity to what Aleksei had to achieve when devising Iuda’s obliteration. But it would be a pleasure to rise to the challenge.

Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by what Iuda had said.

‘The tsar?’ he replied.

‘Who do you think
is
the tsar, Lyosha?’

Aleksei felt his stomach tighten. So it seemed Iuda already knew of the deception foisted upon him. It was like him to allow Aleksei to feel that sense of victory, before deflating it utterly. Even so, it was best that Aleksei maintained his bluff until all was lost for sure.

‘Konstantin Pavlovich, of course,’ he said.

Iuda shook his head with a smirk. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s Nikolai Pavlovich.’

So it seemed that Iuda had heard the same rumours that had reached the Northern Society. He had a simple answer for it. ‘Nikolai might like to be tsar, but that doesn’t make it so.’

‘It’s not what Nikolai likes; it’s what Konstantin doesn’t,’ said Iuda. ‘He’s refused to accept the crown – or abdicated within moments of taking it. It amounts to the same thing.’

‘What?’

‘It’s true. Believe me, Aleksei, it is.’ Iuda paused briefly. ‘I concede that’s not something you’re very likely to do, but check it out for yourself. Nikolai is the emperor.’

Aleksei considered. He would check, though he doubted Iuda would lie about something that could so easily be verified. Even so, Iuda would have needed a better reason for telling him the information than the simple fact that it was true.

‘Why should
you
care?’ he asked.

‘Because if people believe that Nikolai is usurping the throne, they’ll rise against him. It could mean the end of the Romanov monarchy.’

‘Zmyeevich may care about that, but why do you?’

Iuda smiled to himself. ‘I have more reason than ever to see that Zmyeevich gets what he desires,’ he said. ‘But for now, my goals concur with yours. You helped to kill one tsar in order to save his dynasty.’ Aleksei’s expression remained sceptical. Iuda pressed the point. ‘Look, Lyosha, I’ll be honest. The reason I came up here, apart from the desire to visit your lovely wife’ – he couldn’t resist, even when trying to cajole Aleksei – ‘was to try to ensure that the crown skipped through the generations as quickly as possible. It turns out that Konstantin has helped do that for me. I’m happy to settle at that – Aleksandr Nikolayevich would have a regent if he became tsar now; that wouldn’t help our cause.’

Aleksei considered. Iuda’s reasoning was sound. Nikolai becoming tsar would force him and Zmyeevich to pause for at least a decade, if not more, until young Aleksandr came of age. And even then, they would first have to kill Nikolai, which would be no easy thing given the protection he would enjoy as tsar. Unless, of course, the revolutionaries got their way. If they were to succeed in killing Nikolai, then there were two possible consequences: a republic, or a quick accession of Aleksandr II. Was Iuda instead choosing the safer option of letting Nikolai live, or was this just another bluff?

‘Think about it,’ Iuda said, and then vanished into the billowing snow.

* * *

Aleksei slept that night in a tiny, cramped room underneath the rafters of a run-down tavern. It was the first time in two decades he had spent a night in Petersburg other than in his own home. On waking, he had at first felt confused by his surroundings, but that had only lasted a moment. Then he had been aware that there was some problem in his life that he had to resolve – a serious problem, but one he could not quite discern; perhaps that implied it was not significant. Then he remembered Marfa.

There was little else in his whole life – since the death of his parents – that had so unnerved him. It seemed a ridiculous thought, given that he had in his time fought battles against men, stalked
voordalaki
by night, and conspired to convince the whole world that the leader of a nation was dead. And yet in all those things, he had known that it was he who must take charge of things, organize them, survive. Even in the thankfully occasional tribulations in his relationship with Domnikiia, he had always felt in charge of his own destiny. And why? Because throughout all that, he had been aware of Marfa Mihailovna sitting in Petersburg, always waiting for him, always loving him. She was his foundation, and now she was gone. And yet there was still hope. Iuda had to die for that hope to flourish, but that very thought gave him the energy to face the day.