Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (48 page)

The thunderous cheers that accompanied the burning
sounded like the crowd in a sports stadium. It was a long
moment before she realized whose home it was.

Why, it's Mathilde Kschessinska's mansion! Senda thought with growing horror. What could they possibly have against a
ballerina? Aren't even artists safe from this madness?

Fleetingly she thought of how often the prima ballerina had
been part of her Sunday salons; how Tamara had idolized her. Indeed, one of Tamara's prize possessions was the paste crown
Mathilde had worn in a performance of
Sleeping Beauty,
and it
occupied the place of honour among the treasures in Tamara's
bookshelves.

And now Mathilde's mansion had been put to the torch.

Senda could only hold her breath and pray that her friend
had somehow escaped the mob and found safety.

'Mama? What's going on?' a tiny voice asked from behind
her.

Senda let the curtain fall back in place and turned slowly
to face her daughter. The sight of the girl tore at her heart.
Tamara's eyes were wide with fear, and her cheeks were wet
with tear tracks. She was dragging her favourite teddy bear by
the arm.

'It's. nothing, angel,' Senda lied softly, reaching for her
daughter's quivering hand. She tried to compose her own tautly frightened features. 'Everything is fine.'

'But when I looked out my window—'

'I thought I told you to stay away from the windows!' Senda
hissed, her voice suddenly as sharp as a newly honed knife.
'How often must I tell you! Someone could have seen you
and . . . and . . .'

'But I'm frightened, Mama
...
all the noise and the
fires
...
I could see the orange light through my curtains.'
Tamara's voice rose to a terrified squeak.

The initial burst of anger, fuelled by worry, seeped out of
Senda. 'I'm sorry, angel,' she whispered. 'I didn't mean to
take it out on you. Of course you're frightened. We all are.'

'You're frightened too?' Tamara looked up at her mother
in awe.

Senda forced a smile and pulled her close. 'Even mamas get
a little frightened every now and then. Of course, it doesn't
last very long.' She knelt down and pressed Tamara tighter to
her breast. 'What you have to remember is that everything looks worse than it is. We're safe and we're together. That's
all that's important. Together, we are strong, invincible. I
want you always to remember that.' She pulled away from
Tamara and dabbed a large tear from her daughter's soft
cheek. 'You won't forget that? Ever?'

Tamara shook her head solemnly.

The sudden pounding on the front door froze them and
Senda's face went ashen. It sounded like a battering ram. Her
every instinct screamed that they must flee. But there was only
that one door.

'Gott im Himmel!'
In the kitchen, Inge forgot herself and
let out a sudden stream of German.

'I'd better go see who it is,' Senda muttered.

'Mama, it's
them!'
Tamara cried shakily. 'They've come to
burn us!'

'Ssssh!' Senda said more forcefully than she felt. She placed
a quieting finger on Tamara's lips. 'Everything is all right,
angel, you go to your room and stay there.'

'Open up! We know you're in there!' a rough voice called
from out in the stairwell.

Senda rose to her feet, pushed Tamara toward her room,
and clutching the front of her robe together with one hand,
started for the foyer. 'I'll get the door!' she called to Inge. Her
voice, despite her worst fears, was miraculously untouched by
panic. It was as though something deep within her character gave her strength and a shrewd insight. Whatever happened,
it was imperative that she remain calm and collected. Under
no circumstances must she panic. All three of their lives could
be at stake.

When she reached the foyer, she stared dumbly at the door;
it was shaking under the repeated impacts of knocks and kicks.
She could hear the wooden panels splintering. Another
minute and they would have it broken through.

Automatically, as though receiving guests, she turned to
the pier glass and ran a hand through her hair, aware of the
ludicrousness of the gesture, but unable to stop herself. It was
as if any last vestige of normality, however ill-timed it might
be, was suddenly of paramount importance. If she simply gave
in and met them looking haggard, then she would be conced
ing defeat before the battle even began.

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and opened
the door.

It burst inward with a crash, sending her staggering back
ward. Five heavily armed, unshaven men, led by Dmitri and
Polenka, pushed past her into the apartment, four of them
levelling their rifles at her. The last man pulled a long red
banner behind him. From the mudstains on it, it appeared to
have been trampled on repeatedly. Somehow, that revelation
gave the scene the air of a farcical comic opera. For a moment
Senda thought she would burst out laughing, but the laughter
died in her throat before it could emerge.

'How many of you are here?' the leader of the men
demanded. For some strange reason, Senda was mesmerized
by his round wire-rimmed glasses and the thick, ugly purple
scar tissue coursing down his left cheek, from the corner of his
eye to the corner of his mouth. Never afterwards would she
be able to reconstruct his face, but those glasses and that scar
would be engraved in her mind forever.

'How many?'
he barked, his face so near to hers that their
noses almost touched.

Senda recoiled, shrinking back against the wall as she stared
at him, her eyes blinking against the wave of spittle and
alcohol.

Her face was drawn and thin, but her mind was racing.
Oddly, she thought she had never been able to think quite so
clearly as now. It was as if the simmering violence and the
very real danger obliterated everything but the most necessary
thoughts and actions.

If he had been drinking, she thought, then the others might
very well have been too. And if they were drunk, as well as
armed, that made them doubly dangerous. They could all too
easily be trigger-happy. She would have to humour them, do
as they wanted, but she mustn't jump as soon as they told her
to, either. That would only prove her terror. She had to show
her strength, however feeble it might be in reality.

She raised her head challengingly, her eyes flashing with an
all-consuming anger. 'What right do you have to come barging
into my home?' she demanded icily, her hands clenched stiffly
at her sides.

'What
right? You
dare ask me what right
I
have?' The leering man grinned horribly, raised his hand, and it flashed sud
denly through the air. She tensed, bracing herself for the
impact, but when it came she wasn't ready for it. She spun
away from him, crashing into the opposite wall, her skull bang
ing on the doorframe. Her cheek burned, and his handprint
stood out whitely.

'I have
every
right! Do you understand?' His face was next to hers again. 'Get things straight,
elegant
lady, I have the
people's
right!'

Polenka tugged at his sleeve for attention. 'I keep telling
you, there's only the three of 'em. This whore, the German
woman, and the kid. All women.' She spat derisively.

'Mama!' Tamara's plaintive cry pushed through Senda's
fog, and she shook her head to clear it. Her ears were ringing,
but she had heard enough to know her daughter was close by,
far too close to these animals. Turning to her left, she spied
Tamara peering around the corner from the salon, only one
huge expressive eye and one small white hand visible. 'Did
they hurt you, Mama?'

Senda could feel her underlip swelling, and she tasted the
coppery blood. She shook her head. 'No, angel, Mama isn't
hurt. Go to your room and wait.' Despite her efforts to stay
calm, she could hear her voice rising to a shrill yell:
'
And stay
there till 1 fetch you!'

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Inge, like a
protective mother hen, scurrying from the kitchen, sweeping
Tamara off her feet, and scooping her off into the nursery.
The door slammed shut and a key turned noisily in the lock.

The man laughed. 'So
that's
your very own
Nemska,
is it?
A skinny bitch.'

Senda raised her pale face, her eyes calm. There was a
burning protectiveness in her that she had never known
existed. 'That
Nemska,
as you call her, has more decency in
one little finger than all of you so-called men put together. At
least she doesn't terrorize women and children!' She tensed,
waiting for another slap, but it didn't come. 'So now that
you're here,' she added coldly, 'What is it you want?'

'We came to try you and find you guilty on five counts,' the
man said wearily, as if by rote.

'Indeed. So you're a
judge?'
Senda asked incredulously,
laughing almost inaudibly. 'You could have fooled me.'