The People's Will (38 page)

Inside the cathedral was quiet, but not empty. It was bright, but the sun was high and Mihail guessed that there would be more light still when the morning or evening sun shone through the tall, arched windows. Two or three people knelt facing the iconostasis, praying. Others simply stood, their necks bent back and their jaws hanging loosely as they gazed up at the painted interior of the dome, or at the walls, or the columns. Almost every surface displayed artwork, either statues or paintings or mosaics, each depicting an individual or scene of the holiest nature. A
dyachok
pottered about the place, tending to candles and incense, as was his duty. Mihail stood among the gawkers, and studied the decoration, with a specific interest in just one adornment that he knew was somewhere inside the building, but had no idea quite where; an icon of Saint Paul.

He found it quickly enough, just outside the Nevsky Chapel in the north-eastern corner of the church. He checked around him, but no one would see him if he was quick. He reached out and rested his thumbs against the saint’s big toes, precisely as de Montferrand’s letter had suggested. At first there was no response. He began moving the tips of his thumbs in small circles of widening diameter, searching the nearby area. The letter had said that if either button was pressed on its own there would be no discernible movement. Only when both were pushed would the mechanism release. It made it safe, both from accidental activation and from what Mihail was now attempting. But he was determined. Within a minute he felt a slight depression beneath both his thumbs as tiles of the mosaic yielded, and the whole icon felt suddenly loose, pressing back on him as it tried to swing open.

He checked around him again. A man and woman were emerging from the side chapel, arm in arm, but still their mouths were open and their eyes upraised. Mihail could probably have made it through the doorway without them even noticing, but he chose to wait. He moved his hands across the icon until they were side by side, in front of him, still holding the panel in place.
He closed his eyes, as if drawing strength from the apostle. He heard footsteps and when he looked around again he was alone. It took him only a second to pull open the door, climb up into the passageway beyond and shut himself inside.

It was utterly black. Mihail reached into his bag and fetched out a paraffin lamp. Once this was alight he could see more clearly. He examined the door he had come in by, feeling in the corners where it met the walls until he found a catch. He tested it and the panel sprang open again, just a fraction of an inch. It was enough for him to know he had an escape route. He looked ahead. The passageway was not long, but he couldn’t make out how it ended. He reached into his bag again and pulled out his favourite weapon of the many he knew could kill a vampire.

At his side he had his military sword, which he could use for beheading. Under his coat he carried the short wooden dagger, with which he could stab through the heart. But both were close-range weapons. This was something rather different, arrived from Saratov just the previous morning.

It was an
arbalyet
– a crossbow. He’d been developing it since he was a boy. The device itself was standard enough, an eighteenth-century German
Armbrust
that he’d found rotting in a barn. The problem had been the bolts. The short drawback and high tension of a crossbow meant that it needed a dense bolt to receive the maximum kinetic energy. That was why iron was the traditional material. Wood though, not iron, was what was needed to kill a
voordalak
. But a wooden arrow fired from an
arbalyet
was liable to fly off in any direction, and even when it hit its target it had little penetration.

In the end Mihail settled on a hybrid: a core of iron or, better, lead, wrapped in a wooden sheath, almost like a pencil, but whose sharp tip was of wood. It was accurate and penetrating – Mihail had successfully hunted wild boar with it more than once. Neither he nor Tamara had seen any reason that it should not be fatal to a
voordalak
, but they had never tested it on one. There had been only one opportunity for such an experiment, and they had chosen to exploit their single chance in a different way. Five glass cylinders safely wrapped in straw had been delivered in the case from Saratov too. Mihail knew just what a potent weapon they
could be, but they needed preparation and stealth – and a source of power. But he had seen the effects with his own eyes. The
arbalyet
was a different matter; theoretically sound, but untested. Perhaps soon, very soon, Mihail would discover the truth.

He pulled back the lever, tensioning the bow, and then inserted a bolt. He carried on along the short passageway. Already the splendour of the cathedral seemed far behind. The corridor ended in a descending spiral staircase. Mihail made his way down the stone steps, the lamp held high in his left hand, the crossbow outstretched in his right. Before long the steps brought him to a long, straight corridor, its end further than the lamplight could penetrate. He continued forward, nervous but determined. The narrow passage meant that attack could only come from ahead, and he was ready for that. Besides, however dark it was down here, it was still noon above. Any
voordalaki
he encountered were likely to be sleeping; likely, but not certain.

The passageway ended in a door. Mihail could see a keyhole and an iron ring for a handle. If the door was locked, then he would have to abandon his search, at least for today. He had no explosives with him, and he didn’t relish the idea of slowly breaking down the door and giving whatever lay beyond ample time to prepare for his entrance.

The handle turned and the door swept noiselessly open. Beyond was a vaulted brick chamber. Along one wall were a number of cupboards, much like the ones in Iuda’s rooms at the Hôtel d’Europe. All were closed and one, at the far end, was locked shut, the handles tied together with a far greater length of chain than was necessary, fixed with a sturdy padlock. It served only to intrigue Mihail.

In the middle of the chamber, among the brick columns that supported the ceiling, was some kind of ornamental pond – perhaps a font. The water in it was still and a few slivers of ice floated on it. It was cold down here, but warmer than on the surface. In the shadows towards the back of the cellar Mihail saw almost what he had been expecting to see. There were two coffins; he had anticipated only one.

It was not unthinkable that Iuda had acquired a companion. When Tamara had encountered him, he had hunted and killed
alongside Raisa. Tamara had described her discovery of their two coffins, side by side, just like these two. Mihail wondered if he would be familiar with Iuda’s vampire companion. Would it be someone he had seen at night in the streets of Petersburg? Or someone he would recognize, unchanged, as an acquaintance of years before?

On the other hand, two coffins did not necessarily mean two vampires. It might not even mean one. Iuda had known of this place for at least fifty years, when he had somehow persuaded de Montferrand to build the passage down from Saint Isaac’s. At some time in that long history he might have slept here with a companion, but that did not mean he did so now. Mihail could not even be sure that Iuda himself slept here. Perhaps he should have waited – watched the cathedral just as he had been watching the hotel. But he was impatient for revenge. He felt his heart beat faster. It might be just moments away.

He went closer. Both coffins had their lids in place. Mihail looked around and found a hook on one of the pillars from which he hung his lamp. It rocked a little from side to side, making the shadows waver. He held the crossbow out in front of him, like a pistol. It would be more accurate if he squeezed the stock tight against his shoulder, but at this range accuracy should not be a problem. He had tested it held close to the carcass of a dead pig; the result had been spectacular. The only thing to remember was not to hold it too close. The bow had to be given time to transfer all its energy to the bolt.

He reached forward with his left hand and curled his fingers under the lid of the first coffin. It did not resist. Once he had raised it an inch he slipped his toe under it, allowing him to straighten up and take better aim. He reached into his pocket and withdrew another bolt. If there were two of them he would have to reload and take aim again quickly.

He gave a kick and the coffin lid slid from its position and hit the brick floor with two hollow thuds, as first one edge and then the other made contact. Mihail’s finger tightened on the trigger, but he did not fire. He wanted Iuda to be conscious; wanted him to know.

The coffin was empty. Mihail stepped quickly over it to the
second one, afraid that the noise had disturbed whoever slumbered within, expecting to see the lid begin to rise and pale fingers to creep around the edge and take a grip.

All remained still.

Mihail repeated the process of lifting the lid, first with his hand and then with his foot. This time he scarcely heard the noise of its landing. His mind was occupied with what he saw.

This coffin was not empty. The tall figure that filled the wooden box lay deathly still, his eyes closed, his arms by his sides. Mihail’s finger relaxed a little on the trigger and his arm dropped a few inches. He forced himself to raise it again. He had rehearsed this moment so many times in his mind; how he would feel; how he would wake Iuda; how he would say the words, ‘My name is Mihail Konstantinovich Danilov, son of Tamara Alekseevna Danilova, daughter of Aleksei Ivanovich Danilov’; how long he would wait to see the look of understanding in Iuda’s eyes before he finally pulled the trigger.

But this was not Iuda. It was a
voordalak
, of that there was no doubt, and one that Mihail instantly recognized, but one that he had not expected to find here.

His thoughts were interrupted. A shudder ran through the vampire’s body and his chest began to rise and fall. Air scraped in and out of his throat. Mihail’s mind raced, wondering whether he should flee, or just kill the creature where it lay.

But it was too late. Dmitry opened his eyes.

‘DON’T MOVE,’ SAID
mihail, his voice clear and steady in the enclosed space.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ replied Dmitry.

‘Because I have this aimed at your heart.’ He jerked the
arbalyet
a little so that Dmitry would know what he meant.

Dmitry eyed the weapon, but did not move. ‘I take it this is more than revenge for our encounter the other day,’ he said.

‘Much more.’

‘And that our paths crossing both here and in Geok Tepe is more than simple coincidence.’

Mihail nodded. Dmitry thought for a moment, giving Mihail time to do the same.

‘Please, may I at least sit up?’ Dmitry asked.

‘Very well, but don’t stand,’ Mihail replied. The extra seconds it might take Dmitry to rise to his feet could mean the difference between life and death. Mihail backed away a little, so as to be too far for Dmitry to lunge at. He felt something against his thighs, stopping his movement, and realized it was the walled side of the pool. He took a few steps sideways, so that he could see both Dmitry and the door, then leaned back against one of the closed cupboards, making himself a little more comfortable. Meanwhile Dmitry had raised his body and pulled his knees up. He had nothing to lean back against, so he hugged them for support. Despite his stature he looked small and pathetic.

‘You didn’t expect to find me here, did you?’ said Dmitry, suddenly a little more confident.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because this is not my home. You came here for just the same reason you went to Geok Tepe; for the same reason I went there – to find Iuda.’

‘That’s very astute.’

‘Thank you.’ Dmitry smiled and shifted his position a little. Mihail raised the
arbalyet
an inch or two, just as a reminder that it was still there. ‘The question is,’ Dmitry continued, ‘are you a friend or an enemy of Iuda?’

‘The question is, are
you
?’

‘How can you ask that? You saw what happened at Geok Tepe.’

‘You’re a vampire. Your allegiances can change with the flicker of an eyelid.’

‘You seem to know a lot about my breed.’

‘I’ve been studying for a long time. I know enough.’

‘So why don’t you simply kill me?’ Dmitry asked.

‘I’m considering it.’ Mihail realized that he was losing control of the conversation. It should be him asking the questions. ‘Whose is the other coffin?’

‘It’s just a spare.’

Mihail shook his head. He already suspected the answer, but still he needed it confirmed. ‘No. In Geok Tepe you spoke of “we”. So whose is it?’

‘So you understood us; you speak English.’

Mihail said nothing. Dmitry thought for a moment more before speaking.

‘That means you also heard our conversation concerning Luka Miroslavich; which would explain why you sought him out … though not how you found his address, or even that he lived in Petersburg.’

‘You didn’t cover your tracks very well,’ said Mihail. It was an unnecessary bluff; he would have done better to say nothing. ‘I’ll ask again, who’s with you?’

Dmitry completely ignored the question. ‘Have you any idea where Iuda is now?’ he asked instead.

‘In the Pyetropavlovskaya, where you left him.’ Mihail deliberately understated his knowledge, hoping to tease something out of Dmitry.

‘I wish that were the case, but I’m afraid he was freed. He must
have friends in some
very
high places. We’ve no idea where he is now.’

‘There’s that “we” again.’

‘You really don’t want to know.’

‘I don’t suppose you actually call him a friend.’ Mihail looked for a flicker of reaction, but saw nothing. He tried goading Dmitry. ‘It’s been, what, a quarter of a century you’ve been a vampire? You can’t have made many friends. An entire human lifetime, and how many vampires have you met? How many that you can trust? Two? One? None?’

Dmitry’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed hard together, becoming pale. For a moment Mihail thought that he’d got to him, but again he seemed to regard himself as in control.