'Life must be very dull for you, Aleksei Ivanovich,' she replied haughtily, 'knowing so much. Perhaps one day I shall surprise you.'
She never stopped.
Towards the end of September, Dmitry was sufficiently recovered to be moved from the hospital to a regular barracks. The risk of his burns becoming diseased was past, the doctors said, and it was now simply a question of waiting until his skin grew back fully.
'Does this mean you'll be going back to Moscow?' asked Domnikiia when I told her. It wasn't until I had been sitting on that wagon with Dmitry laid on the back, riding away from the city, that I had realized how truly terrified I had been in Moscow.
The discovery that the Oprichniki were vampires had been one that I had first reacted to with immediate action. But as the need for action had abated, my fears had found room to float to the surface. I had seen how the Oprichniki killed – seen their strength and seen their savagery. I knew that I did not want to die like that, and that knowledge made me realize that I did not want to die at all. I wanted to live and enjoy life. I wanted my wife and my son and my mistress and to have more children and, damn it, more mistresses. I wanted to read books and drink wine and play cards and die when I was very, very old.
'Not yet,' I replied. 'The word is that Bonaparte will have to leave soon, whatever happens. He's wasted too much time. He could have gone for a final victory in Petersburg, but he went on thinking that Moscow was the key – that it would break Russia's heart to see her captured. Most of us thought the same, but we all turned out to be wrong. The tsar has made no peace, and the French will have to winter in a safer city than Moscow. The longer they leave it, the more they risk getting cut off when winter comes.'
'So we didn't need you to save Moscow after all?' I had no answer. 'Oh, Lyosha, I'm sure you helped a little.' Her tone was supremely patronizing. 'Is your friend Iuda still in Moscow, sorting out the French?'
'No, he's dead.'
'You don't seem too sorry. What happened to him?'
Again, I should have spoken; again, I didn't.
'The same fire that Dmitry got injured in – Iuda wasn't so lucky.'
Dmitry leaving the hospital meant that I too could look for better accommodation. I was lucky enough to find myself a fair-sized room at a reasonable price and so, once again, I had the privacy I desired.
Domnikiia the mistress was a very different lover from Dominique the prostitute. Which I preferred is hard to say, because the difference between the two came in the absence of deceit. To be told as a willing listener by a convincing actress that one is the world's greatest lover is a very pleasurable experience. But once the actress's mask has been dropped it can never be credibly raised again. Knowing the truth, that one's lovemaking could be improved upon, is not as pleasant as the delusion of perfection, but it is more pleasant than the exploded delusion. And there is always the pleasure of knowing that regular practice leads to improvement.
As I realized that there would soon be no avoiding my return to Moscow, I realized too that one day I would probably have to face the five remaining Oprichniki: Pyetr, Andrei, Iakov Zevedayinich, Filipp and Foma. I knew that they could be killed by fire. At least, I believed it; I had no solid evidence that Iuda and Ioann were dead. I knew for certain that they could be killed by a wooden stake through the heart, and that was the method that I could better control. I began to whittle for myself a stout wooden dagger – almost a small sword – that I could wield with the same skill as I did a sabre and thus, with a swift lunge, despatch a vampire in much the same way as I could a man.
One afternoon, while I was sitting on my bed, working on my new weapon, Domnikiia came into my room.
After we had greeted each other, she asked about the sword. 'Is that for your son?' It was very like a wooden sword that I had made for Dmitry Alekseevich a couple of years before, the one I had seen at his side in my dream, but this had a much more deadly purpose. I knew then, as I had always known, that it was my duty to tell Domnikiia what I had discovered. Her connection with me might bring her into danger and she at least deserved to be aware of the nature of that danger.
'No, it's not,' I replied. I put the sword to one side and lay back on the bed. She lay beside me with her head upon my chest. I stared up at the small window above us as I told her, trying to hide the terror in my heart as I spoke.
'You remember the Oprichniki?'
'Of course,' she said. 'I met Iuda, remember.'
I nodded, pausing to give myself time to think how I could best convey what I knew. Directness was the only course I could take. 'You know what a voordalak is?' I asked.
She looked at me. Her expression showed mild surprise at the turn the conversation had taken. Then she looked at the wooden sword, and back to me. Her face transformed. She understood – but she didn't believe.
'You shouldn't joke about that,' she said.
'Don't you believe in vampires?'
She stood up. 'Oh, I believe in vampires, Lyosha,' she said, a hint of anger in her voice, 'but you don't, I'm pretty sure. It's not fun to be teased for not being as smart as…'
I interrupted her. 'Didn't,' I said.
'What?'
'I didn't believe in them. I do now.'
She smiled a little. 'Well, that's one small victory for the peasant mind.' Then she shook her head. 'But they can't be. Why do you think they are?'
'You see,' I said. 'You have doubts.'
'I suppose. I don't know. Just because you believe in something doesn't mean you think you'll ever see it. How do you know?'
'I've seen them kill,' I said. 'I've seen them die.'
'My God,' Domnikiia murmured.
Suddenly, she got down on to her knees and started to frantically undo my shirt. Then, just as suddenly, she stopped.
'Thank God!' she exclaimed.
'What?'
'You're still wearing it.' She was staring at the icon that lay on my chest – the one that Marfa had sent me and that only now I remembered Domnikiia had insisted I wear.
'Will that help?' I asked.
'That's what they say. It has done so far, hasn't it?' She pulled from the neck of her dress a small silver crucifix on a chain. I had noticed it many times. 'I always wear this.' She kissed it and put it back. 'So it's not true that they live for ever?'
'No,' I replied. 'Seven of them are already dead.'
'Did you kill them?'
'Some of them. They're harder to kill, but they're mortal, like the rest of us.'
'I was always told they never age,' she said, her eyes gazing blankly at memories of childhood. 'They can't die, they can only be killed. Sunlight does it. Or a wooden stake, piercing their once-human heart.' It was astonishing how quickly we could both be taken to a world where such things were commonplace.
'What about fire?' I asked, still aware that I had no certainty in believing that Iuda and Ioann were dead.
She thought for a moment, then nodded. 'Yes, I think I heard that works too.' Then the reality of what we were discussing seemed to dawn on her. 'Is that how you did it?'
'Two of them,' I said. 'Maks killed three.'
She lay her head back down on my chest. 'Good old Maks,' she said quietly. I hoped that she would raise the question of how Maks had died, knowing that I never could, but she remained silent. I watched a tear creep across her cheek and become absorbed into her skin. When she spoke, it was not to discuss Maks.
'It would be lovely to never age,' she said. 'To always be young and have the vitality of youth.'
'And to watch all of your friends age and die around you,' I added.
'It wouldn't have to be like that. What if we were both vampires?' Her mood was almost deliberately light-hearted. 'We could live for ever together. If we did no one any harm, they'd leave us alone. Don't you think you could love me for ever?'