He Lover of Death (39 page)

Senka’s head bobbed back and forth and he didn’t like it one little bit. Just imagine – Senka being so impatient for the Prince to arrive! Where had they all got to, had they fallen asleep in that passage?

Maybe he should reveal the secret of the rods to the Ghoul? Erast Petrovich had said: ‘If things look like turning nasty, the boy Motya can recover the gift of speech.’ How much nastier could things get? Senka’s eyes were almost falling out of his head!

Senka opened his mouth to say something meaningful instead of goobledegook, but suddenly the Ghoul stopped shaking him, jerked his hands away and pricked up his ears. He must have heard something.

Soon Senka heard it too: footsteps and voices.

The milker kicked his lamp, which fell over and went out. Suddenly it was very dark.

But not for long.

‘. . . don’t you say anything?’ a muffled voice said from inside the narrow entrance, and then a bright, narrow ray of light came snaking out, fumbling its way across the vaults and along the walls. The Ghoul and Senka froze, but the light didn’t pick them out straight away.

Three people came in. The first, wearing a long frock coat, was holding an electric torch in his hand. The second was a woman. It was the third one, the last to set foot in the chamber, who was doing the talking.

‘Fine, don’t say anything, then,’ the Prince said bitterly. ‘You swap me for a black-face and you’ve got nothing to say? You’re a shameless bitch, that’s what you are, not Death.’

A match scraped as one of the new arrivals lit a kerosene lamp.

The chamber was suddenly bright.

‘Oo-la-la!’ the Jack exclaimed under his breath. He quickly put the lamp down on the floor, turned off the torch and put it in his pocket. ‘Well, fancy seeing you here!’

‘Ghoul!’ the Prince yelled. ‘Is that you?’

The milker didn’t say a word. He just whispered in Senka’s ear: ‘Well, you Yids really are cunning bastards. Get ready to die, you little shit.’

But the Prince seemed to think he was the one who’d been ambushed. He turned to Death: ‘Have you sold me out to this scum, you little slag?’

He raised his fist to hit her, and he was wearing a knuckleduster too. Death didn’t flinch or back away, she just smiled, but Senka howled in terror. A fine operation this was! Now they’d do them both in!

‘Wait, Prince!’ called Deadeye, turning his head this way and that. ‘It’s not an ambush. He’s here alone, the kid doesn’t count.’

The Jack set off across the cellar with his springy stride, muttering: ‘There’s something wrong here, something wrong. And there’s no silver . . .’

Suddenly he turned towards the milker. ‘Monsieur Ghoul, you are not here on our account, are you? Otherwise, you would not have come alone, right?’

‘Stands to reason,’ the Ghoul answered warily, letting go of Senka and sticking both hands in his pockets. Oh Lord, now he was going to start shooting through his pants!

‘Then why?’ Deadeye asked with a glint of his specs. ‘Could it perhaps be on account of a certain treasure?’

The Ghoul’s eyes shifted rapidly to and fro, from one enemy to the other. ‘So?’

‘“So?” – I’ll take that as a yes. And who tipped you off?’ Deadeye stopped talking and signalled to the Prince not to do anything yet. ‘Not a Caucasian gentleman by the name of Kazbek, by any chance?’

‘No,’ said the Ghoul, knitting his sparse eyebrows. ‘An old Yid gave me the nod. And he gave me a guide, this little kike here.’

Deadeye snapped his fingers and rubbed his forehead. ‘Right, right. So what does this strange coincidence signify? A chasm opened wide, replete with stars ...’

‘What are you playing at?’ the Prince yelled, dashing at Death, but he lowered the hand with the knuckleduster. ‘What did you bring us here for?’

‘Just a moment, stop babbling,’ the Jack said, pulling him up short again. ‘She won’t tell you anything.’ He nodded in Senka’s direction. ‘Why don’t we sound out our little betrayer of Christ first?’

The betrayer sunk his head into his chest, wondering whether he ought to shout out about the treasure now or wait a bit longer.

The Ghoul twitched his chin. ‘He’s a loony, all he does is bleat. And when he starts flapping his tongue, you can’t understand a thing.’

‘He doesn’t look like a total loony,’ said Deadeye sauntering towards Senka. ‘Come on now, little gentleman of Jerusalem, talk to me, and I’ll listen.’

Senka started back from the crazy maniac. That made the Jack laugh.

‘Where to in such great haste, young Yiddish maid?’

He was right, there was nowhere to go. After just three steps Senka’s back hit the wall.

Deadeye took out his torch, shone it into Senka’s face and laughed. ‘The hair appears to be false,’ he said, and jerked the wig off Senka’s head. The red side locks and the skullcap slid over to one side. ‘Prince, look who we have here. Oh, how many wonderful discoveries—’

‘You whore!’ howled the Prince. ‘So you and your snot-nosed little lover-boy set the whole thing up! Right, Speedy, you tapeworm, this time you’re really done for!’

Now was just the right time, Senka realised. If things turned any nastier than this, he wouldn’t get another chance.

‘Don’t kill me!’ he shouted as loud as he could. ‘You’ll never find the treasure without me!’

The Jack grabbed the Prince by the shoulders. ‘Wait, we’re in no rush!’

But the Ghoul went flying at Senka instead. ‘So you’re in disguise?’ he yelled, and thumped Senka on the ear with his fist.

It was a good thing the crooked wig cushioned the blow, or it would have knocked the life clean out of Senka.

But it still sent him flying anyway. So before they could carry on beating him, he pointed to the nearest heap and shouted: ‘That’s it, there, the silver! Look!’

The milker followed the direction of the finger. He picked up one of the rods and twirled it in his hands. Then Deadeye walked over, picked up another rod and scraped it with his knife. There was a dull white gleam, and the Ghoul gasped: ‘Silver! Well, I’ll be damned, it’s silver!’

He took out his pen and tried another rod, then another, and another. ‘Why, there must be a ton of the stuff in here!’

The Prince and Deadeye forgot all about Senka and also started grabbing too, setting the metal rods clattering.

Senka crept slowly along the wall, moving closer and closer to Death. He whispered: ‘Let’s clear out of here!’

She whispered back: ‘We can’t.’

‘You what? Any moment now they’ll come to their senses and finish me off!’

But Death wouldn’t listen: ‘Erast Petrovich said not to.’

Senka wondered whether maybe he ought to leave her there, seeing as she was so stubborn. Maybe he would have done too (though that’s not very likely) only just then, speak of the devil, who should arrive but Mr Nameless!

They must have been creeping through the passage on tiptoe, because no one had heard them coming.

Three people stepped into the chamber, one after another: Erast Petrovich, Superintendent Solntsev and Boxman. The engineer was holding a torch (which, as it happens, he put out straight away – it was light enough already); the superintendent was holding a revolver in each hand, and Boxman just held up his massive great fists.

‘Reach for the sky!’ the superintendent cried in dashing style. ‘Or I’ll drop you where you stand!’

Mr Nameless stood on his left, and the constable on his right.

The two bandits and the milker froze. The Ghoul was the first to drop his silver rod. He turned round slowly and raised his hands. The Prince and Deadeye followed.

‘That’s my boys!’ Solntsev exclaimed cheerfully. ‘All my sweethearts are here! All my little darlings! And you too, mademoiselle! What are you doing in a place like this! I warned you to be a bit choosier with your acquaintances! Now you have only yourself to blame!’ He glanced quickly at Erast Petrovich and Boxman. ‘Get your revolvers out, what do you think you’re doing? With this treacherous lot, you never know what might happen.’

‘I don’t have a f-firearm on my person today,’ the engineer replied calmly. ‘It will not be n-necessary.’

The constable boomed: ‘And I don’t need one. I’ll lay them out with my fists if need be.’

The superintendent was nobody’s fool, thought Senka. He’d chosen the right man for his assistant.

‘Madam, and you, S-Senya, stand behind me,’ Erast Petrovich said in a voice that couldn’t be argued with.

But it didn’t cross Senka’s mind to object – he ran behind the engineer in a trice and stood right beside the way out. Even headstrong Death didn’t dare argue and she stood beside him.

‘Innokentii Romanovich, p-permit me to address everyone b-briefly,’ Mr Nameless said to the superintendent. ‘I have to explain the t-true significance of this gathering to all p-present here.’

‘The true significance?’ Solntsev exclaimed in surprise. ‘But that’s obvious – the arrest of these villains. The only thing I’d like to know is how you managed to lure them all in here. And who is that picturesque character?’

Those last words were aimed at Senka, who stepped back into the mouth of the passage, just in case.

‘That is m-my assistant,’ Erast Petrovich explained, ‘but my address will not be c-concerned with that.’ He cleared his throat and spoke more loudly, so everyone could hear. ‘Gentlemen, I have very little t-time. I have gathered you here in order to p-put an end to everything at once. Tomorrow – or, rather, t-today –I am departing from the c-city of Moscow, and I must conclude all my b-business here tonight.’

The superintendent interrupted him anxiously. ‘Departing? But on the way here you told me we would wipe out all these lowlifes together, and that would open up tremendous prospects for me . . .’

‘There are s-some things that I find more interesting than your c-career,’ the engineer snapped. ‘Sport, for instance.’

‘What damned sport?’

The superintendent was so surprised that he shifted his gaze from the prisoners to Erast Petrovich. Deadeye didn’t miss a beat, he slipped his hand into his sleeve, but Boxman bounded forward and raised his huge fist. ‘I’ll clobber you!’

The Jack instantly held up his empty palms.

‘Interrupt m-me once again, and I’ll t-take away your Colts!’ Mr Nameless shouted angrily at the superintendent. ‘In your hands they’re not much use in any case!’

Solntsev just nodded: All right, all right, I’ll hold my tongue.

Now that he’d shown everyone who was cock of the walk (at least, that was how Senka interpreted the engineer’s behaviour), Erast Petrovich addressed the arrested men: ‘And so, gentlemen, I d-decided to gather you here for two reasons. The first is that you were all suspects in the c-case of the Khitrovka murders. I already know who the true culprit is, but n-nonetheless I shall explain briefly how each of you attracted my s-suspicion. The Prince knew of the existence of the t-treasure, that is one. He was s-searching for it, that is two. In addition, in recent m-months he has been transformed from an ordinary hold-up artist into a ruthless k-killer, that is three. You, Mr D-Deadeye, also knew about the treasure, that is one. You are m-monstrously cruel, that is two. And finally, you are p-playing a double game behind your patron’s b-back: you despise him, steal from his t-table and sleep in his bed. That is three.’

‘What?’ the Prince roared, turning towards his adjutant. ‘What’s that he said about my bed?’

The Jack smirked, but it was a look that gave Senka goose pimples all over.

But meanwhile Mr Nameless had already turned to the Ghoul: ‘As f-for you, Mr Milker, you have been obsessed b-by the Prince’s rapid ascent. As a vulture who preys on the spoils of others’ efforts, you are always attempting to g-grab a chunk of your rival’s good f-fortune: loot, g-glory, a woman. That is one. You do not stop short at m-murder, but you only resort to this extreme measure after having t-taken all possible precautions. Like the Khitrovka Treasure Hunter, who is d-distinguished by his positively maniacal c-caution. That is two . . .’

‘A woman?’ the Prince interrupted – he was listening intently to the case for the prosecution. ‘What woman? Death, is that who he means? Don’t tell me the Ghoul got his dirty paws on you as well?’

Senka looked at Death and saw she was as pale as death (no, better to say ‘pale as a sheet’, or ‘white as snow’, or else it will be confusing). But she just laughed.

‘Yes, he did, and your friend Deadeye too. You’re all as good as each other – spiders!’

The Prince swung round and launched a punch at the side of the Jack’s head, but Deadeye seemed to be expecting it – he leapt back nimbly and pulled a knife out of his sleeve. The Ghoul dug one hand into his pocket too.

‘Stop that!’ the superintendent yelled. ‘Or you’ll go down where you stand! All three of you!’

They froze, staring daggers at each other. Deadeye didn’t put the knife away, the Ghoul didn’t take his hand out of his pocket, and the steel knuckleduster glinted on the Prince’s clenched fist.

‘Put your weapons away immediately,’ the engineer told them all. ‘That includes you t-too, Innokentii Romanovich. You m-might shoot by accident. And in any case, this is n-not cowboys and Indians, or c-cops and robbers, but a different g-game altogether, in which all of you are all equal.’

‘Wha-at?’ the superintendent gasped.

‘Oh yes. You were also one of my suspects. Would you l-like to know my reasons? Very well, I’ll proceed. You are as ruthless and c-cruel as the other guests here. And you will stoop to any base v-villainy, even murder, to further your own ambition. This is q-quite evident from your entire service record, which is very well kn-known to me. It is to your advantage for the n-new ripper from Khitrovka to become the latest s-sensation in Moscow. It is therefore no accident that you are s-so hospitable to the n-newspaper reporters. First create a bogeyman to set the p-public trembling with fear, then heroically defeat your own c-creation – that is your method. That is exactly how you acted a year ago in the c-case of the famous “Khamovniki Gang” – you c-controlled the gang yourself, through your agent.’

‘Nonsense! Wild conjecture!’ the superintendent cried. ‘You have no proof! You weren’t even in Moscow at the time!’