“Yes. Here it is. Why?”
I take out the Tsarina’s list and unfold it. I flick the lighter and hold the flame below the paper.
“Miss Agnes! Are you burning that paper?”
“I’m not burning it, Professor. I’m heating it.”
And magic happens. Alongside the dark ink of the Tsarina’s writing, faint yellow-brown shapes begin to appear on the white paper.
“Miss Agnes – you have found invisible ink!”
“Yes. A secret message written in lemon juice, like schoolkids do for fun. Lord Buttermere said that the Tsarina likes this kind of thing. So I thought it was worth a try.”
The professor stares at the emerging letters. Two names are appearing under the heading of First Princess, alongside the already visible name of Captain Yuri Sirko. I know both names. Mr Vasily Bukin, and General Evgeny Aristarkhov.
I hold the lighter a little longer. Something else is appearing. There’s a bracket around all three names, and one word written next to the bracket. A word I’m now very much aware of: Okhrana.
There’s a knock at the compartment door. “Hello! It’s me, Yuri. And I have a visitor for you.”
The door opens. I just have time to fold the list and slip it into my dress pocket. Alongside Yuri stands the familiar dark-suited figure of Mr Bukin. He smiles his usual smile.
“Professor Axelson and Miss Frocester – thank you both for your patience. The delay to your journey is my fault. The train had to be held up, in order that I might board it. Unfortunately, I was over an hour late in my journey by motor-car to Gatchina Station. Please accept my apologies.”
“Of course.”
“I’m also very sorry, Professor and Miss Frocester, to hear of the accident at the cottage in the forest. Kaspar Sepp is a foolish young man; he no doubt left the stove on. The only consolation is that neither of you was hurt.”
Yuri towers behind Bukin, gazing at us. It’s impossible to read the expression on his face. The professor looks sharply at Bukin.
“It depends what you mean by ‘hurt’, Mr Bukin. I was in hospital for several hours. Are we now proceeding straight to St Petersburg?”
“Of course. This is a direct train, with no more stops.”
Yuri and Bukin both sit. The professor glances at me. We are in a train compartment, alone and vulnerable, with two members of the Russian secret police. We can only breathe easily again when we reach St Petersburg. But for the moment, there is nothing we can do, except trust these men.
The train starts up, and clouds of steam blow past the window. The four of us sit in silence as the train rattles on.
The faces around me are the same: Bukin smiles blandly, Sirko is expressionless, Axelson watchful and wary. But we’re no longer in a train compartment; we’re in a horse-drawn carriage, trotting along cobbled streets. Outside Vitebsky station in St Petersburg, I was relieved to hear Bukin asking the carriage driver to take us straight to the harbor, and we got into this cab. As we rattle along, the professor tries to be polite.
“Thank you for organising this, Mr Bukin. We do appreciate it, even if we might appear impatient at times. But, I have one last question before we go. I ask simply out of sheer curiosity.”
“Do ask, please! I will tell you anything I can.”
“We have heard a name – ‘Nestor’. To me, that is the name of an ancient Greek king, renowned for his wise words. But could it also be a Russian name?”
I notice a slight pause in Bukin’s manner.
“It is an Estonian surname…”
“But it means something more to you, doesn’t it? Does that name have any connection to Tri Tsarevny?”
Bukin seems to consider his words. “I may as well tell you, Professor, since you are leaving Russia anyway. Nestor was a private tutor for Prince Alexei, during the holiday at Tri Tsarevny. But I never met the tutor, who stayed up at the main Dacha, preparing lessons and teaching.”
“But you must know something about him?…”
“The Tsarina personally vouched for Nestor’s credentials. So it would have been imappropriate for me to make my own checks about the tutor. But I do know one fact. After the Tsarina and Alexei returned to St Petersburg, I heard that Nestor had been dismissed. I don’t know why: only the Tsarina could tell you. And that is all I know.” As he finishes speaking, Bukin raps with his fist on the roof of the carriage.
“Driver! Can you make a slight detour? I need to call in at my office, very briefly. It’s off to the left – just here.”
I feel the carriage swerve, then pull to a halt. Bukin gets out, and looks at Yuri. “You too, Sirko. Come with me for a moment. New orders may have arrived at the office for us from our commanders. It makes sense for us both to call in, when we are passing so close.”
As soon as the carriage door shuts, I ask the professor. “What is going on now? Both of them belong to the secret police…”
“This stop is yet another annoying delay. But although Bukin and Sirko are assigned to Okhrana, that is not necessarily sinister. The Tsarina, who after all invited us to Russia, trusted both these men enough to have them staying at Tri Tsarevny, to ensure security.”
“I’d hardly call it ‘security’. One person got murdered there, and look at what’s happened to us.”
“Well, just a few minutes more, Miss Agnes, and we can board our ship and forget it all. By the way, have you still got that list, with the invisible ink? An excellent piece of detective work. Where did you find that piece of paper?”
“You discovered it, Professor. It was in the bag with your clothes, at the hospital. I thought you’d picked it up at Tri Tsarevny.”
Axelson looks at me, bemused. I repeat to him. “I didn’t find that list. You found it.”
“No I didn’t, Miss Agnes. I never saw that paper, until you took it out of your handbag, on the train just now. I didn’t find it – you did.”
“No, Professor—”
“You are both wrong.”
Our heads turn at the sound of a deep voice at the door of the carriage. It’s Yuri. He’s alone.
“Neither of you found that list. I found it, and I threw it on the floor in the hospital room so that you would spot it, Agnes.”
We both look at Yuri in surprise.
“I found the paper at Tri Tsarevny. In the Tsarina’s bedroom, in fact. She left it behind, when they all abandoned the place after the murder.”
The professor stares. “What in the world?…”
“Mr Bukin will not be back for several minutes. He likes to spend a lot of time in that office, bowing and scraping to his superior officers. So I have time to explain – by telling you a story. In Russia, you know, we are fond of telling stories.”
He climbs up into the carriage, and continues, smiling at us. “I must begin my tale with an apology. I have deceived you, Agnes. When we had tea at the hospital, I let you believe I was a regular Russian cavalry officer. Now, I must tell you the truth.”
Is he about to admit he’s a secret agent? I stare at him.
“Look at my uniform. You’ve seen Russian soldiers. All those bright shiny buttons. My uniform doesn’t have them.”
I realise: that’s what was odd about the uniform I saw through the crack in the wall at the cottage. It had no buttons. Just a plain, practical front of blue-grey serge. Exactly like the one that Yuri is wearing now.
Axelson is grinning, like a schoolboy who has solved a puzzle. “Captain Sirko. You are a military man – and I think you have been drafted in to help Ohkrana. Which shows you are highly trusted. Yet you operate independently from the regular Russian Army.”
Yuri nods as the professor continues. “I can deduce only one conclusion. Captain Sirko. You are a Cossack.”
“Well done, Professor! You are exactly right. I am Captain Yuri Sirko of the Astrakhan Cossack Host. Since the beginning of the war, I and my regiment have been working alongside the main Russian Army.”