‘We should go soon, Your Majesty,’ said Colonel Salomka.
‘Yes, yes,’ said Aleksandr. ‘Just one last look at the view.’
Aleksei went over to Dr Wylie as the tsar took a few paces towards the steep valley slope. There had been no danger so far – nothing of any note at all – and yet he would be glad when they were back down from this ancient place. Even if they left now, they would not be back in safety for a few more hours, and Aleksei could not help but remember Kyesha’s certainty that it would be here that something happened.
‘A reminder of home,’ said Wylie.
Aleksei looked away from the tsar to see what the doctor was referring to. He had plucked out the dried, dead stem of a thistle that had grown amongst the grasses and shrubs that managed to find sustenance on the rocky terrain.
‘A sorry specimen,’ continued the doctor, ‘but it’s pleasant to see Scotland’s flower thriving so far from home.’
‘This place must be even more impressive in spring,’ commented Aleksei.
‘Indeed,’ replied Wylie, but he evidently had something else on his mind. ‘You know, it occurs to me that we’re making something of an assumption that your man Cain is English. He’s an English speaker, for sure, but he could be Scottish, Irish – even American.’
‘Can’t you tell from the name itself?’
‘Not really, though I’m no expert. Even if we could trace-’
‘Your Majesty!’ The shout came from Colonel Salomka. He repeated it seconds later. ‘Your Majesty!’
Aleksei and Wylie looked around, but there was no sign of the tsar anywhere near where he had been standing moments before. They rushed over to the spot and looked down towards the valley floor, but there was nothing to be seen. It would have been impossible for them to miss him in that vast, smooth expanse if he had fallen, or even if anyone had taken him. And yet there was nowhere else for him to have gone. He could not possibly have walked or been taken back across the hilltop without one of them noticing, unless with the assistance of some magical invisibility. Aleksei doubted it. A more realistic possibility had occurred to him.
He lay flat on his stomach and pulled his body forwards, to lean out over the cliff top as far as he dared. He quickly saw what he was looking for. The smooth, vertical limestone was pockmarked with the mouths of caves – dozens of them along its length. There were three or four that Aleksei could almost reach out and touch.
In a moment he was up on his feet, looking around him. Just to the right of where he stood – of where the tsar had been standing – lay a cleft in the rock just wide enough for him to climb down a little way. It was precarious, but he was soon out on the very face of the cliff. A narrow ridge ran horizontally, allowing access to any one of the nearby cave mouths. The tsar could have been dragged into any one of them.
‘He’s in the caves,’ shouted Aleksei up to the two men on the precipice above him.
‘What?’ asked Salomka.
‘Just get help,’ said Wylie. ‘We need a search party.’
Salomka ran off in the direction of the city.
‘We’ve no time,’ said Aleksei, eyeing the cave entrances and wondering which to choose. Then a thought occurred to him; a ridiculous long-shot, but the only chance they had. ‘Wylie,’ he shouted. ‘Do you have the book with you? Cain’s notebook.’
‘I do indeed; it’s in here,’ replied the doctor, indicating the knapsack he carried over his shoulder.
‘Get it out. Expose it to the light.’
‘What? Why?’ Even as he questioned Aleksei’s instructions, he carried them out, unshouldering the bag and bringing out the book, still wrapped in the paper that bore Aleksei’s initials.
‘Do it,’ said Aleksei. ‘Now.’
The doctor opened up the paper, and Aleksei saw smoke rising from the book. He couldn’t smell the foul odour of decay, but he saw Wylie blench at it.
And there was something else.
As the skin began to blister and burn under the rays of the sun, a distant, tortured scream echoed from one of the cave mouths in the cliffside, just to Aleksei’s right. There was a broken exhaustion to the sound, and yet it was still powerful enough to carry from deep within the caves. Wylie clearly heard it too.
‘Cover it,’ shouted Aleksei.
Wylie did so, and the scream died away almost instantly. They waited a few moments.
‘And again,’ said Aleksei. Wylie revealed the book’s cover to the sun once more, and the howl issued forth from the same cave; louder this time, but even more weary. Wylie quickly drew the paper back over, and Aleksei felt a sense of relief as the sound faded.
‘You know what that means?’ said Aleksei. The doctor didn’t reply, even though he must surely have comprehended. Aleksei spelled it out. ‘It’s in there; the voordalak from which that skin came; still living – still feeling the pain, even though the skin is no longer attached.’ He remembered slamming his fist down on those severed fingers, and knew now that Kyesha must have felt that pain, wherever in the world he might have been.
‘It must be,’ whispered Wylie.
‘And wherever that creature is,’ continued Aleksei, ‘so is Cain. And so’s the tsar. I’m going in there.’
‘You’ll never find them,’ said Wylie. ‘The cave system is immense.’
‘Keep exposing the skin,’ explained Aleksei. ‘Every half-minute, just briefly, then let it regrow. I can follow the sound to its source.’
Wylie looked down at him, horrified, but nodded in agreement. Aleksei gave him a brief wave goodbye and then slipped into the cave entrance. It was just big enough for him to stand upright. He walked a few paces over the rocky floor, and then reached into his own knapsack. Inside, he had a couple of candles. He lit one and held it up, searching for the path ahead.
From somewhere in front of him, that same scream echoed again, amplified by the close stone walls. It died away quickly. Dr Wylie was doing as he had been asked.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TUNNEL DIVIDED SEVERAL TIMES ALONG THE WAY, BUT AT each junction Aleksei had only to stop and wait for a few moments until, on the hilltop above him, Wylie once again let sunlight fall upon the skin of the creature that lay imprisoned ahead, and the sound of its wailing would guide him along the correct path. As far as he could tell, he was heading a little south of west, back towards the centre of the citadel itself, and would soon be beneath it, but the incline was steep and he knew he had descended deep under the ground.
Before he had gone very far he realized that, though he had a means of finding his way into the labyrinth, there would be no similar siren voice calling him out. Mostly it would be easy – simply by taking the uphill path he would be able to retrace his steps – but at those few junctions where he felt he might be confused, he drew his knife and marked the rock with an indication of the direction he should go. He hoped he would be able to find the marks again, especially if he was leaving in a hurry.
He’d been going for about ten minutes – using the half-minute regularity of the screams as a clock – when he first noticed the smell; the voordalak smell. It wasn’t quite the same as the scent of Kyesha, and far stronger – there were many vampires ahead. He had never noticed when he had first dealt with the Oprichniki, but it must have been there. The smell of death that had permeated Moscow at the time would have done much to disguise it. Soon, he noticed that the caves were becoming lighter – not with sunlight, but from lamps and candles. He blew out his own candle and slipped it back into his bag. Now he had both hands free. In each he carried a sword; one of steel, the other of wood; one for Cain, the other for his victims. He had a pistol too, hidden inside his jacket, but the solid feel of a sword in each hand gave him a far greater sense of protection.