Asking around, I heard that the encampment had been broken up by the French only a few days after we left. There had been no bloodshed – the people there had simply dispersed to other locations in the city. There was little hope that anyone would know where a specific cobbler and his daughter had gone. I carried on to the meeting which I hoped Vadim would attend.
He was not there when I arrived, a little before nine. It took me but a moment to find the message I had left for him, scratched against the soft stone on a low part of the wall. My heart beat faster in the anticipation that he might have followed it up with a subsequent message in response, but there was none. I waited for an hour, but Vadim did not come. I headed back to my bed.
The following morning, I made a tour of the six remaining meeting points, much as I had done on my last day before leaving Moscow. My purpose was, as it had in part been at the church the previous night, to check whether Vadim had left any responses to my messages. Most of my messages remained intact. One of the chalk ones had vanished completely, presumably washed away by rain, and another had been half rubbed off, but was still essentially legible. However, at none of them did I find any corresponding reply from Vadim. I even checked the burnt-out tavern, where I had not left anything at all, in case Vadim had written a message there, but there was nothing.
If he had read any of the messages, he would surely have replied. Even if he had decided instantly on joining us in Yuryev-Polsky, he would have at least indicated that he had been at the rendezvous. It was, of course, possible that he had been at the place but not seen the message but, on the other hand, I had put them in conventional places – places where Vadim, with his years of experience, would certainly have looked. I could only conclude that he had not attended any meeting since we had last seen him, under the archway at Saint Vasily's. Like us, he must have left the city soon after. But even then, wouldn't he have left messages for us as I did? The other possibility was that he had never left the city and never would.
It seemed increasingly likely. If Iuda had realized that Vadim was following him, he would have had no qualms about ridding himself of his pursuer and indulging in a good meal at a single stroke. Vadim would have put up a good fight, but his scepticism was obvious even at the mention of the word 'voordalak', and so he might not have been as wary as he should. Moreover, it was Iuda, not Vadim, that I had seen more recently. And who was to know that they hadn't run into one of the other Oprichniki, and then Vadim would have been beyond hope. It was an irony and a very small comfort that, if this was the case, Iuda himself had perished only hours later in the inferno of the cellar.
But though I feared, I did not know. It was just as likely that Vadim had fled Moscow. If that was the case then, with the city coming back to life, now was the time when he would be most likely to return, just as I had. All I could do was turn up at the appropriate place at nine o'clock each evening and hope.
That afternoon, I paid a visit to Degtyarny Lane. I hadn't completely abandoned hope on Domnikiia, but if she was lost to me, then I at least wanted it to end on an amicable footing. I also wanted to throw myself at her feet and tell her I loved her, but she was well aware of that – saying it wouldn't change anything.
I was not entirely surprised to find that the brothel had not only survived the fires, but was already open for business – although business did not yet seem to be booming. That the building had survived the flames could only be put down to good luck, but Pyetr Pyetrovich was a man who knew how to be lucky.
Domnikiia was not in the salon. The other girls sat around languidly, tired already of waiting for clients who did not arrive. None of them came up to me; they knew my face well enough to know whom I had come to see. On the stairs, I met Margarita.
'Oh, it's you,' she said inhospitably.
'I've come to see Domnikiia.'
'I can't stop you,' she replied, and continued down the stairs.
'Sorry the nursing job didn't work out,' I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
I knocked on Domnikiia's door and entered on her reply.
'Oh, it's you,' she said, in a tone with far less passion – of any kind – than that with which Margarita had just uttered the same words.
'Yes,' I said. 'I wanted to see you.'
'Well, you know me, Aleksei. A job's a job and I won't refuse a man with money.'
'That wasn't what I came to do.'
'So what did you come to do?'
I thought about it for a moment, and found that I didn't know. I knew full well what I wanted to achieve, but I had no real plans for how to achieve it. I realized there was one thing that needed to be said whichever way I was to leave her – be it as her lover or as her former lover.
'I came to say I'm sorry,' I said.
'Sorry for what? For shouting at me when I said I wanted to be a vampire?' She spoke dismissively, as if such an apology could have little importance.
'No,' I replied, knowing that only complete honesty would suffice. 'I was right to do that. I'm sorry for not accepting your apology afterwards.'
'Why didn't you?' Her voice was suddenly full of humility. I could boast about my sensitive appreciation of the subtleties of the female heart, but in reality it had been only by luck that I had stumbled upon saying what she wanted to hear.
'I didn't think it needed saying. It was obvious.'
'Was it?' She spoke almost in a whisper now. 'Why?'
'Because…' But I didn't have an answer. It was obvious because I knew exactly how my mind worked and how I felt about her. She did not.
She took a step towards me. 'Is there anything else obvious that you haven't said to me?' she enquired tantalizingly, standing so close that she had to crane her neck upwards to look at me. I leaned forward to kiss her. She held her fingers to my lips to stop me. 'Uh-uh,' she said, shaking her head. 'You have to say it.'
'Isn't it obvious yet?'
'Say it, Lyosha!' she murmured, more mouthing than speaking.
I bent down to her ear and whispered it to her. Straightening up, I saw in her face a smile even more radiant than that I had seen on Natalia's when Dmitry had remembered her name day. I bent forward to kiss her and this time she offered no objections. I pushed her towards the bed, but now she did stop me.
'Not here,' she said. 'Not if we don't have to. Where are you staying?'
'At the inn, where I used to.'
'It will have to be late; maybe after midnight.'
'That's all right.'
'If I can come at all.'
'It would be easier for me to see you here,' I told her.
'No, I don't want that. I want it to be like it was in Yuryev-Polsky – like when I was a nurse.'
'OK,' I said and kissed her again. Then I left.
I waited again for Vadim that evening. It was Monday and so the venue was Red Square. I paced about for an hour or so. Autumn had given way to winter and I had to keep walking just to keep warm, my hands buried deep in my pockets. The square was far from bustling and those who were there walked across it briskly and purposefully, not wanting to spend any more time than necessary in the cold night air. Vadim was not among them.
I returned to the inn. I had told the innkeeper that a lady might be visiting me, and so a raised eyebrow to him as I entered was question enough for him. A brief shake of the head was his reply. But it was still early.
I had fallen asleep by the time she entered my bedroom. It wasn't until I felt her cool, naked body press against my back and wrap itself around mine that I knew she was there. I rolled over to face her.
'Do I need to say anything now, Domnikiia?' I asked her softly.