The People's Will (34 page)

‘That’s right.’ So this was what they were meant to discuss.

‘We have a lot of supporters at the Imperial Technical School.’

‘I know.’

‘And yet you weren’t one of them?’

There was a knock. Mihail raised a finger to his lips and then put his shirt back on. He went over to the door and opened it a crack. It was only a boy with the food he had ordered. He took the tray and handed back a few kopeks. He put the tray on the table and poured two glasses of the red wine, then grabbed a
piece of bread and began to gnaw on it. It had been over a day since he had eaten.

‘Do have some,’ he said after a minute or so, through a mouthful of cheese.

‘I’ll let you have what you want first,’ she said. She sipped at her wine.

In the end, Mihail ate everything, leaving only an apple for Dusya out of politeness, though he would still have liked to devour it. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. She ate it at his insistence, but he guessed that she too was being polite.

‘You were telling me about Moscow,’ she said.

‘Don’t think I was,’ he replied, ‘but I can if you want.’

‘So why didn’t you get involved at the institute? From what we hear, you kept your head down.’

‘I mistrust youth,’ he said.

‘What?’ she laughed.

‘Even in myself.’ He leaned forward, speaking intensely. He was being honest, even though his purpose was to deceive. ‘Think about it. At the institute half of them, maybe more, claimed to oppose the tsar. Not openly – that was the fun of it. It makes them important – makes it clear to everyone that they care about something; really care. And that makes them popular. Then others see it work and copy; not just the action, the belief. But there comes a point where it’s obvious that it’s just a fashion and so there’s others – the richer ones generally – who have to react against it and say how much they love their tsar. But how many really keep their beliefs, on either side, as they grow older? They’ll pay lip service to them, to prove they’re not hypocrites, but in the end they just get on with their lives as best they can and hope the Ohrana don’t have their names on file.’

‘But that’s not you.’

‘No, but I thought it might be. How was I to know? I remember thinking to myself, if I still believe this at twenty-five, then I’ll know it’s right.’

‘And now you’re twenty-five?’

‘No, I’m twenty-three, but I bumped into a pretty girl on the train and I realized it might be my only opportunity to get involved.’

She smiled, averting her eyes. ‘And you think that I’m one of those who’ll grow up and forget it all?’

‘How old are you?’

‘I’m twenty-six.’

‘Well if I’m old enough, then you are.’ He noticed a twinkle in her eye and realized the other meaning of what he’d said. ‘You’re old enough to let the man you loved die,’ he added.

She leaned forward. ‘Does that bother you so?’

Mihail tried to hide his reaction. It was so preposterous a thing to say, and yet she believed it so sincerely – more than that, she expected him, and presumably the rest of the world, to see it in the same way. They called themselves the People’s Will, but they had no understanding of the people, no comprehension that such clinical decisions as to what was best meant nothing when stood up against the sense in men’s hearts of what was right. Though who was he to judge? He had no idea – nor very much interest – as to what lay in the hearts of ordinary men, but he felt pretty sure it wasn’t what Dusya stood for.

And yet for Mihail specifically, she was right. It didn’t bother him that Luka, his half-brother, was dead any more than it bothered her that Luka, her lover, was dead. Mihail had a singular destiny to fulfil and so did Dusya – and the rest could go hang. They were made for each other. He felt a sudden attraction to her. It was mostly physical, but also the realization that they were kindred spirits. That was probably a rarer thing for him to find than for her.

‘If it did, do you think I’d be here?’ he asked.

She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. He pulled away and put his hand to the back of his head, which was still bruised.

‘I know what happens next,’ he said. ‘I don’t want another bang on the head.’

She giggled and leaned towards him once more. ‘Not this time.’ She kissed him again.

‘You don’t have to, you know, just because they’ve told you to.’ She looked at him intently. ‘Just because they told me to doesn’t mean I don’t want to.’

Mihail gazed back. Where would be the harm? It would
make her – and therefore her comrades – more trusting of him. It wouldn’t hinder his search for Iuda in any way. And she was attractive and willing and … here; and it had been a long time. But however pleasant it might be, it riled him that this opportunity to exercise his passions came at the behest of the Executive Committee of the People’s Will. Christ, they’d probably even taken a vote on it!

A chuckle escaped him.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘They told you to say that too, didn’t they?’

The slap to his face was well deserved, but it didn’t make what he’d said untrue. Now she was on her feet and putting her overcoat back on.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t be,’ she replied. ‘You were right.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

She looked at him, puzzled, giving him one last chance.

‘Please don’t go,’ he said. It was only when the prospect of her departure had become a reality that he realized how much he wanted her, and feared that he had pushed her too far.

She considered, then took off her coat again. It was inevitable now. Mihail lay back on the bed, feeling content, but detached from his normal life – from his quest. She sat beside him, with her back to him. He ran his finger down her spine through the cloth of her blouse, enjoying the fact that she allowed him to more than the sensation itself. It was better that he had pushed her – better that they knew where they stood, each aware of the other’s insincerity. She reached to the table beside them and extinguished the lamp, leaving them in darkness.

‘Don’t stop,’ he heard her say.

He reached out again and this time only her bare skin stood between his fingertips and the ridges and valleys of her vertebrae. She turned and he managed to remain in contact with her, so that now he could feel the smooth flesh of her belly. Her lips pressed against his, and he silently thanked the Executive Committee for their efforts.

When Mihail awoke he was alone. He tried to think what had roused him, then he heard the sound again – a knocking at the door. It was only the maid, bringing hot water. Mihail washed and dressed. Looking in the mirror as he shaved, he noticed how broadly he was smiling, as memories of his night with Dusya played through his mind. He glanced over at the rumpled bedding. It was no surprise that she had gone – to have stayed might have suggested a depth to their relationship. She knew where her loyalties lay, but even so Mihail wondered whether he might in future gain some slight advantage if she had to make a choice between him and her beliefs. She pretended to be stalwart, but she was still human. As was Mihail. He knew that he too must take care that affection for her did not cause his determination to waver. But already he felt the urge to be with her again, if only to test that determination.

But that was for later. What was he to do next? He felt both energized and helpless. Now that he knew of Dmitry’s connection with the People’s Will, he felt sure he was a step closer to Iuda, but he knew also that there was little he could do but wait. He had, it seemed, been accepted into the organization. If he started investigating they would become suspicious – take him for an
ohranik
. But they would come for him. They needed him. He would uncover what he needed to know, but at their pace, not his.

Besides, he had another line of enquiry – perhaps a better one, but one that he had not had a moment to examine.

He went over to his trunk and opened it. He found the knapsack where he’d left it, underneath his clothes. He looked inside. The blood sample was still there, undamaged; Zmyeevich’s blood. He knew full well the power that it gave him. He could simply open the curtains and throw it out into the sunlight and Zmyeevich, wherever he might be in the world, would experience the most unimaginable pain. But the moment would be short-lived. There were better uses to which he could put his treasure. He grabbed the shirt he had been wearing the previous night. It was in a sorry state anyway. He ripped off a sleeve and used it to wrap the vial safely, then pushed it back among the clothes in the trunk.

Then he moved on to the papers he had taken. Iuda’s journals were written in English, as he had expected. The other documents
were in a variety of languages, French and Russian mostly, but some English and even a few in what looked like Italian, which Mihail had never studied. He began to skim through the folder marked ‘Petersburg’, but did not learn much. Most of the Russian material related simply to Iuda’s rooms at the Hôtel d’Europe, some of which was new to Mihail – such as the fact that Iuda had first settled there on 6 December 1876 – but was of little value.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was the maid again, this time offering him a note.

Dear Mihail Konstantinovich,

There is a basement shop on the east side of Malaya Sadovaya Street which sells a fine selection of cheeses from around the world. Please meet me there at 10 o’clock this morning.

Yours,

Yevdokia Yegorovna Nikonova

Mihail looked at his watch. It was after nine. For a moment he hesitated. The last time he had been lured away by Dusya it had ended in a great deal of discomfort for him. He believed he had been accepted into the People’s Will, but could he ever be sure? If they were to discern one tiny extra fact about him, it could change their entire attitude; and they would not hesitate to deal with him as brutally as they had Luka. What if he had talked in his sleep? But if he didn’t go, they would come and find him anyway, and worse, he might forfeit the opportunity to gain the knowledge he craved.

He packed the papers away and set off. The direct route was to head towards the Admiralty and then turn down Nevsky Prospekt. This would take Mihail past the Hôtel d’Europe. He wondered for a moment whether it might be tempting fate to go so close to where he presumed Iuda still resided, but he dismissed his fears. It was a sunny winter’s day. Iuda would be sleeping. Even if not, he wouldn’t dare even peek out of the window, and anyway those windows looked out of the back of the hotel, not the front; a
voordalak
would seldom ask for a room with a view. The thought
of his pilfering of Iuda’s hotel rooms brought to mind the fact that he too could easily become victim of a similar manoeuvre. Dusya knew where he was staying, and therefore undoubtedly Dmitry did too, as chairman of the committee. There was no reason for him to search Mihail’s rooms, but if he did he would be overjoyed at what he found. Mihail would have to find himself a new den – for those stolen possessions, if not for himself. Another room in another cheap hotel would suffice. He had Iuda’s money to pay for it, and he could always sell that final sapphire. It occurred to him that it might already be too late – that Dusya’s letter had drawn him away from his rooms with the express intent of allowing them to be searched. There was no time to go back, but Mihail cursed his stupidity.

There was a little snow in the air as he pressed on down the street. He buried his hands in his pockets to keep them warm, wishing he had worn his uniform, but knowing that civilian clothes would be more appropriate for the day ahead. He passed the corner of Mihailovskaya Street and the hotel without incident and carried on past the frontage of shops and bars and the gateways that led to courtyards within the blocks of buildings. A break appeared in the façade, allowing access to a little blue and white church, set back from the street, behind the buildings. Mihail quickly realized what it was: the Armenian Church. His mother had often said that it was a place he should visit if he ever went to Petersburg, but as in everything to do with her there was a sadness to the truth behind it. She had always promised to take her other children there – Mihail’s half-brothers and sister – but it had never happened. Only Luka had survived into adulthood, and now he was gone too. Had he ever fulfilled his mother’s wish, Mihail wondered. He made a vow to himself that he would one day go in there and look around – but not today.

He pressed on across Sadovaya Street and finally turned into Malaya Sadovaya. It stood right opposite Aleksandrinsky Square and beside it the library where Mihail had been studying just two days before. The ‘Malaya’ of its name evidently referred to its length rather than its width. It spanned only one block, between Nevsky Prospekt and Italyanskaya Street, but for that short length was broad enough for perhaps six carriages to run side by side, without
even taking to the pavements. About a third of the way along, Mihail saw it.

Склад Русских Сыров – Е. Кобозева
Russian Cheese Store – Y. Kobozev

The sign was at the level of his knees. Beneath it a set of stone steps with an iron railing led down to the basement shop. Barred, arched windows peeped just over the level of the pavement. As he descended Mihail noticed in one of them an unlit votive candle in front of a small icon depicting Saint George. He smiled; another connection to Zmyeevich – another coincidence.

He went inside.

He was immediately assailed by the aroma of cheese. Looking around, it was easy to see that the source of the smell was everywhere. Behind the counter stood a young woman, about the same age as Dusya and just as attractive. She gave Mihail a furtive glance, though he did not recognize her face. Over by the shelves stood a more familiar figure – Mihail had noticed him during the brief period he’d had to take in the members of the Executive Committee. He was explaining the merits of a particular cheese to another man who was a stranger to Mihail – presumably a customer. Soon the shopkeeper had cut a piece and had taken it over to the counter for his assistant to wrap and charge for.