Special Assignments (2 page)

The low wind swirled the snow across the ground. Oh, but it was cold.

Today, however, Anisii's working day could hardly have got off to a better start. You could say that Tulipov had a real stroke of luck. Egor Semenich, the collegiate registrar in charge of deliveries, cast a dubious glance at Anisii's unconvincing overcoat, shook his grey head and gave him a nice warm job, one that wouldn't have him running all over the place across the boundless, wind-swept city: all he had to do was deliver a folder of reports and documents to His Honour Mr Erast Petrovich Fandorin, the Deputy for Special Assignments to His Excellency the Governor-General. Deliver it and wait to see if there would be any return correspondence from Court Counsellor Fandorin.

That was all right - Anisii could cope with that. His spirits rose. He'd have the folder delivered quick as a flash before he even had time to start feeling chilled. Mr Fandorin's apartments were close by, right there on Malaya Nikitskaya Street, in an outbuilding on Baron von Evert-Kolokoltsev's estate.

Anisii adored Mr Fandorin - from a distance, with timid reverence, without any hope that the great man would ever notice Tulipov even existed. The Court Counsellor had a special reputation in the Department of Gendarmes, even though he served in a different department. His Excellency Efim Efimovich Baranov himself, Moscow's chief of police and a lieutenant-general, considered it no disgrace to request confidential advice or even solicit patronage from the Deputy for Special Assignments.

And that was only natural - anyone who knew anything at all about high Moscow politics knew that the father of Russia's old capital, Prince Vladimir Andreevich Dolgorukoi, favoured the Court Counsellor and paid attention to his opinions. All sorts of things were said about Mr Fandorin: for instance, he was supposed to have a special gift for seeing right through anybody and spotting even his very darkest secret in an instant.

The Court Counsellor's duties made him the Governor-General's eyes and ears in all secret Moscow business that came under the aegis of the gendarmes and the police. That was why the information that Erast Petrovich required was delivered to him every day from General Baranov and the Department of Gendarmes, usually to the Governor's house on Tverskaya Street, but sometimes to his home, because the Court Counsellor's work routine was free, and he had no need to go to the office if he did not wish.

That was the kind of important person Mr Fandorin was, but even so he had a simple manner with people and he didn't put on airs. Twice Anisii had delivered packages to him at Tverskaya Street and been completely overwhelmed by the courteous manners of such an influential individual: he would never humiliate the little man, he always spoke respectfully, always offered you a seat.

And it was very interesting to get a close look at an individual about whom the most fantastic rumours circulated in Moscow. You could see straight away that he was a special man: that handsome, smooth, young face, that raven-black hair touched with grey at the temples; that calm, quiet way of speaking, with the slight stammer, but every word to the point, and he obviously wasn't used to having to say the same thing twice. An impressive kind of gentleman, no two ways about it.

Tulipov had not been to the Court Counsellor's home before and so, as he walked in through the openwork cast-iron gates with a crown on the top and approached the stylish single-storey outhouse, his heart was fluttering slightly. Such an exceptional man was bound to live in a special kind of place.

He pressed the button of the electric bell. He had prepared his first phrase earlier: 'Courier Tulipov from the Department of Gendarmes with documents for His Honour.' Then he remembered and tucked his obstinate right ear in under his cap.

The carved-oak door swung open. Standing there in the doorway was a short stocky oriental - with narrow little eyes, fat cheeks and coarse, spiky black hair. The oriental was dressed in green livery with gold braiding and, rather oddly, straw sandals.

The servant gazed in annoyance at the visitor and asked: 'Wha' you wan'?'

From somewhere inside the house a rich woman's voice said: 'Masa! How many times do I have to tell you! Not "What you want?" but "What can I do for you"!'

The oriental cast an angry glance back into the house and muttered unwillingly to Anisii: 'Wha' can do f'you?'

'Courier Tulipov from the Department of Gendarmes with documents for His Honour.'

All righ', come,' the servant invited him, and moved aside to let him through.

Tulipov found himself in a spacious hallway. He looked around curiously and for a moment was disappointed: there was no stuffed bear with a silver tray for calling cards, and how could a gentleman's apartment not have a stuffed bear? Or did no one come calling on the Deputy for Special Assignments?

But even though there was no bear to be seen, the hallway was furnished very nicely indeed, and there was a glass cupboard in the corner with some peculiar kind of armour, all made out of little metal plates, with a complicated monogram on the chest and a helmet with horns like a beetle's.

An exceptionally beautiful woman glanced out through the door leading to the inner rooms - into which, of course, a courier could not be admitted. She was wearing a red dressing gown that reached right down to the floor. The beauty's thick, dark hair was arranged in a complicated style, leaving her slim neck exposed; her hands were crossed over her full breasts and her fingers were covered with rings.

The lady gave Anisii a disappointed look from her huge black eyes, wrinkled up her classic nose slightly and called out: 'Erast, it's for you. From the office.'

For some reason Anisii felt surprised that the Court Counsellor was married, although in principle there was nothing surprising in such a man having a lovely spouse, with a regal bearing and haughty gaze.

Madame Fandorin yawned aristocratically, without parting her lips, and disappeared back through the door, and a moment later Mr Fandorin himself came out into the hallway.

He was also wearing a dressing gown, not red, but black, with tassels and a silk belt.

'Hello, T-Tulipov,' said the Court Counsellor, fingering a string of green jade beads, and Anisii was simply overwhelmed with delight; he had never have expected Erast Petrovich to remember him, especially by name - there must be plenty of petty minions who delivered packages to him - but there it was.

'What's that you have there? Give it to me. And go through into the drawing room, sit down for a while. Masa, take M-Mr Tulipov's coat.'

Anisii walked timidly into the drawing room, not daring to gape all around, and sat down modestly on the edge of a chair upholstered with blue velvet. It was only a little while later that he started gazing stealthily around him.

It was an interesting room: all the walls were hung with coloured Japanese prints, which Anisii knew were very fashionable nowadays. He also spotted some scrolls with hieroglyphs and two curved sabres, one longer and one shorter, on a lacquered wooden stand.

The Court Counsellor rustled the documents, occasionally marking something in them with a little gold pencil. His wife paid no attention to the men and stood at the window, looking out into the garden with a bored air.

'My dear,' she said in French, 'why don't we ever go anywhere? It really is quite intolerable. I want society, I want to go to the theatre, I want to go to a ball.'

'Addy you yourself s-said that it's inappropriate,' replied Fandorin, looking up from his documents. "We might meet acquaintances of yours from Petersburg. It would be awkward. For me, personally it's all the same.'

He glanced at Tulipov, and the courier blushed. Well, he wasn't to blame - was he? - if he understood French, even with some difficulty.

So it turned out that the beautiful lady was not Madame Fandorin at all.

'Ah, forgive me, Addy' Erast Petrovich said in Russian. 'I haven't introduced Mr Tulipov to you; he works in the Department of Gendarmes. And this is Countess Ariadna Arkadievna Opraksina, my g-good friend.'

Anisii had the impression that the Court Counsellor hesitated slightly, as if he weren't quite sure how to describe the beautiful woman. Or perhaps it was simply the stammer that made it seem that way.

'Oh, God,' Countess Addy sighed in a long-suffering voice, and walked rapidly out of the room.

Almost immediately her voice rang out again: 'Masa, get away from my Natalya immediately! Off to your room with you right now, you vile girl! No, this is simply unbearable!'

Erast Petrovich also sighed and went back to reading the documents.

At that point Tulipov heard the tinkling of the doorbell, muffled by the noise of voices from the hallway, and the oriental he had seen earlier came tumbling into the drawing room like a rubber ball. He started jabbering away in some foreign mumbo-jumbo, but Fandorin gestured for him to be quiet.

'Masa, I've told you: when we have visitors, speak to me in Russian, not Japanese.'

Promoted to the rank of visitor, Anisii assumed a dignified air and peered curiously at the servant.

'From Vedisev-san,' Masa declared curtly.

'From Vedishchev? From Frol Grigorievich? Show him in.'

Anisii knew who Frol Grigorievich Vedishchev was all right. He was a well-known character, nicknamed 'the Grey Cardinal'. He had been with Prince Dolgorukoi since his childhood, first as an errand boy, then as an orderly, then as a manservant, and for the last twenty years as his personal valet - since Vladimir Andreevich had taken the ancient city into the tight grip of his firm hands. The valet might seem to be small fry but it was well known that the clever and cautious Dolgorukoi never took any important decisions without first consulting his faithful Frol. If you wanted to approach His Excellency with an important request, first you had to cajole and convince Vedishchev, and then you could consider the job already half-done.

An energetic fellow in the Governor's livery walked or, rather, ran into the drawing room and started jabbering from the doorway.

'Your Honour, Frol Grigorievich wants you to come. He insists you must come to see him as a matter of great urgency! It's a real rumpus, Erast Petrovich, a real rumpus! Frol Grigorievich says we can't manage without you! I'm in the Prince's sleigh; we'll be there in an instant.'

'What kind of "rumpus" is this?' the Court Counsellor asked with a frown, but he stood up and took off his dressing gown to reveal a white shirt and black tie. All right, let's go and t-take a look. Masa, my waistcoat and frock coat, and look lively!' called Fandorin, stuffing the documents into the folder. And you, Tulipov, will have to ride along with me. I'll finish reading these on the way'

Anisii was quite willing to follow His Honour anywhere at all, as he demonstrated by hastily leaping up off his chair.

This was something the courier Tulipov had never imagined -that one day he would take a ride in the Governor-General's closed sleigh.

It was a noble sleigh, a genuine carriage on runners. Inside it was upholstered in satin, the seats were Russian leather, and in the corner there was a little stove with a bronze flue, though it wasn't lit. The servant sat on the coachbox and Dolgorukoi's foursome of dashing trotters set off at a spanking pace.

As Anisii was swayed smoothly, almost gently, to and fro on the soft seat intended for far more noble buttocks, he thought to himself: Ah, no one will ever believe this.

Mr Fandorin cracked the sealing wax as he opened some despatch. He wrinkled his high, clear forehead. How very handsome he is, Tulipov thought with no envy, in genuine admiration, glancing sideways to observe the Court Counsellor tugging on his slim moustache.

After rushing them to the big house on Tverskaya Street in five minutes, the sleigh did not turn to the left, towards the office, but to the right, towards the formal entrance and the personal chambers of Vladimir Andreevich Dolgorukoi, 'the Great Prince of Moscow' (which was by no means the only nickname the all-powerful Governor had acquired).

'I beg your pardon, Tulipov,' Fandorin said hurriedly as he opened the little carriage door, 'but I can't let you go just yet. I'll jot down a couple of lines for the c-colonel later. But first I must sort out this little rumpus.'

Anisii followed Erast Petrovich out of the sleigh and into the grand marble palace, but then immediately dropped behind, intimidated by the sight of the imposing doorman with the gilded mace. Tulipov suddenly felt terribly afraid of being humiliated, concerned that Mr Fandorin would leave him to cool his heels below stairs, like some little puppy dog. But he overcame his pride and prepared to forgive the Court Counsellor: after all, how could you take a man into the Governor's apartments in a coat like this and a cap with a cracked peak?

"What are you doing stuck back there?' Erast Petrovich asked impatiently, turning round. He was already halfway up the stairs.

'Don't fall behind. You can see what a devil of a mess we have here.'

It was only then that Anisii finally realised that there really was something quite extraordinary going on in the Governor's house. If you looked closely, even the exalted doorman had an air that was not so much grand as confused. There were some brisk, rough-looking fellows carrying trunks, boxes and crates with foreign lettering on them into the hallway from the street. Was someone moving then?

Tulipov hopped and skipped up the stairs to the Court Counsellor and tried to keep within two paces of him, which meant that at times he had to trot in an undignified manner, because His Honour walked with a long and rapid stride.

Oh, how beautiful it was in the Governor's residence! Almost like in a church: variegated columns (perhaps they were porphyry?), brocade door curtains, statues of Greek goddesses. And the chandeliers! And the pictures in gold frames! And the parquet gleaming like a mirror, with those inlaid patterns!

Looking round at the parquet, Anisii suddenly noticed that his disgraceful shoes were leaving a dirty, wet trail on the wonderful floor. Oh Lord, don't let anyone notice that, he thought.