I interrupt. “Forgive my ignorance. I know the word Cossack – and I have a picture in my mind of what a Cossack should look like. But—”
Yuri laughs. “Outside Russia, hardly anyone knows what Cossack means – even though you all have these same pictures in your heads! It’s like this. In America, you have your western states – frontier lands. Hundreds of years ago in Russia, it was the same. People moved from different parts of the Tsar’s empire to settle the southern border lands. They formed into groups based on areas. Each group is a Host, and although they owe allegiance and military service to the Tsar, the Hosts govern themselves. They elect a leader – an Ataman. But on any decision, the Ataman can be outvoted by the members of the Host.”
The professor looks from me to Yuri. “Cossack men all serve in the Tsar’s army for many years. As you have, Captain Sirko?”
“Indeed – since long before the war started. I was stationed in several places across the Empire, and I enjoyed it. But two years ago, when the war came, everything changed. We fought in the Battle of Tannenberg. The Germans overwhelmed us with better equipment and better tactics. I learnt the literal meaning of the word ‘bloodbath’. Cossacks do not readily surrender, but thousands of my kinsmen did, to avoid certain death. Since then, I have seen ceaseless fighting. Battle after battle, and every single one has ended in defeat for us.
One month ago, I was stationed on the Daugava River near Riga. The German Army was dug in on the opposite bank of the river, and spent their time firing shells at us. We didn’t fire back, because we had no ammunition, which is typical. Then I received orders that I did not understand. That too is typical, in the Russian Army. But this was most odd. I was told to travel to St Petersburg, alone, and report to a Mr Bukin, at that very office there.” He points out of the carriage window.
“Meeting Mr Bukin was also odd. He was not a military man. In fact, when I met him I thought he was some kind of petty bureaucrat. Which he is. Except that his bureaucracy’s work is to protect the imperial household from plots and terrorism. His job is to keep the Tsar’s family safe. My job is to run errands for him.
I like my new work. On the front line I’ve been shelled, attacked with chlorine gas and shot at with machine guns. Not for days or weeks, but constantly, for years. Do you know the most useful piece of kit for a Russian soldier?”
I shake my head; Sirko smiles ruefully at us. “A shovel. A big shovel, for burying one’s fallen comrades. I have helped bury more than one hundred men.
So working for Bukin is a holiday. But then – I found another dead body. It was me, you see, who found Miss Håkansson. She had been a beautiful woman, but she was sitting there on the porch on that island with a hole in her head. Her eyes were still looking out at the scenery.
Of course, that fusspot Bukin told me not to say anything. He even told one of the servant girls to say that she had found the body, not me. I remember the look of panic in his face when he heard that some insane butterfly collector from England had arrived and was waiting up near the main Dacha. ‘I’ll go up and meet the Englishman, and make sure he finds out nothing’ Bukin said.”
I think back to what Lord Buttermere said about his arrival at Tri Tsarevny, and the ‘some kind of butler’ who met him. But Professor Axelson is peering through the carriage window
“Is that Mr Bukin at the office door? He’s coming back to the carriage.”
Yuri glances towards the office. “There’s just time to finish my story. You’ll have guessed by now that Bukin and his Okhrana taskmasters don’t care about finding the murderer. They want to sweep it all under the carpet.”
Axelson nods. “Yes. I had that impression too.”
“It’s more than an impression: it’s totally definite. I overheard Bukin say to the police detectives ‘Close the file. Put out a public statement that unknown revolutionaries killed Miss Håkansson.’” Yuri shakes his head wearily. “I’m a loyal man – I do what I’m told. So I can’t investigate this myself. But someone must get justice for Miss Håkansson… then, you two arrive in Russia, to look into the case.”
“But now, we are returning to Sweden.”
“I know. But Professor, you are reporting to King Gustaf himself, aren’t you? Show him that piece of paper – the Tsarina’s list. One name on that list must be the killer.”
“Yes – I had concluded that too.”
“Get King Gustaf to write to the Tsarina, to say he has new evidence, and the case should be reopened. A fresh police enquiry—”
Bukin’s face appears at the door of our carriage. He looks at Yuri, but I don’t think he overheard us. I say innocently “Captain Sirko was just telling us about Astrakhan.”
“Ah yes… the beautiful city on the Volga River, where it flows into the Caspian Sea – and, home of the famous Astrakhan wool! Do you know why the wool is so expensive, Miss Frocester?”
The professor interjects. “Our ship, Mr Bukin…”
“I will first respond briefly to Miss Frocester’s interest in astrakhan wool – so desirable, so fashionable! Its high price reflects the effort of obtaining it. It is the wool of an unborn lamb in the ewe’s womb. The mother is killed and cut open—”
Yuri interrupts. “Not every citizen of Astrakhan spends his time slaughtering sheep for a living, Mr Bukin. I think our visitors are more keen to hear about their travel arrangements.”
“Of course, of course! Miss Frocester, Professor Axelson – there has been a change of plan. An improvement.”
“The best improvement, Mr Bukin, would be for myself and Miss Agnes to be aboard a Swedish ship, within the hour.”
“Ah. Your steamer – it has already sailed, I’m afraid. But in any event, given the news I have for you, you would wish to stay on in St Petersburg.”
The professor stares at Bukin with angry disbelief in his eyes. But I’m not surprised at this turn of events. I had a feeling, like something under my skin, that this would happen.
Bukin carries on. “Professor Axelson, you are highly honored. Our esteemed Mr Rasputin has heard that you are in Russia. He knows of your marvellous talents as a mesmerist, Professor. He is even aware of your Hypnotic-Forensic Method, and how it guarantees that the hypnotized person must tell the truth.”
“Not necessarily. We must be clear about the limits of my technique, Mr Bukin. My method can only ensure the truth if the hypnotized patient is willing to fully enter a hypnotic state.”
“Indeed – we appreciate that, Professor. Now, I must tell you a little about Grigor Rasputin. He is a kind of living saint: his mind communes with God. A heavy burden for a man to bear.
But in recent weeks there have been wicked rumors that connect him with Miss Håkansson’s death. That has added to the strain on Rasputin’s mind. He wants the truth to be told: that he had nothing to do with the murder.
In short, Professor, I have a proposition from Rasputin. He generously proposes to pay for you to stay in one of St Petersburg’s finest hotels, so that you may meet him tomorrow. Mr Rasputin has requested that you hypnotize him.”
7
At the Neva Bath House
The ‘finest hotel’ isn’t very nice. After Mr Bukin took his leave of us, I lay exhausted on the bed in my room, but I couldn’t ignore the rattling, scuttling sounds from behind the skirting-boards. Rats. So I went down to the reception desk and asked to be moved to another room, but the blank-eyed concierge simply shrugged. “Miss, you may not know that this entire city was built on the orders of Tsar Peter the Great, by an army of slaves. Thousands died, and their graves are under every building. What you hear is not rats; it is ghosts.”