Twelve

Your devoted friend,

Iuda.

'He does gush,' I said scornfully.

'I think it's nice that he makes the effort.'

'You are joking, aren't you?'

She put her chin on my shoulder and I felt her arms around my waist. 'Yes, Aleksei Ivanovich, I am joking.'

'I mean you only met him once, and that was for five minutes.'

'Absolutely,' she said in heartfelt agreement. 'And of course on top of that, he is a vampire.'

'Are you teasing me, Mademoiselle Dominique?'

'Well, you sound like a jealous husband going through my correspondence.'

'When did you get this?' I asked.

'I said, this morning, when Polya got up.'

'When was that?'

'About ten o'clock. We work late here.'

'And when did you close up last night?'

'Around two.'

'So this could have arrived any time between two and ten?'

'Yes,' she replied, with emphasized patience. 'Does it matter?'

It mattered a lot. If Iuda had delivered it before our meeting the previous night, then that presented a number of possibilities. Our encounter that night might not have been as premeditated as it had seemed, at least not on Iuda's part, or it might have been that he had all along expected me to escape. A third possibility was that the letter was not intended for me at all, but was solely for the benefit of Domnikiia, to whom, after all, it had been addressed. Could this be to persuade her to attend the meeting in my place? It seemed unlikely. Could it be to give Iuda a veneer of innocence in Domnikiia's eyes once my death was discovered? That was more believable.

On the other hand, if the letter had been delivered this morning, after I had seen him, then it would make more sense, but since Iuda would have been unable to travel in daylight, he must have had human assistance in delivering it. Was this some errand boy he had simply hired for a few copecks, or did he have human servants of a more devoted nature? The obvious suspect would have been Dmitry, but Dmitry had been with me all the time.

'Are you going to go to the meeting?' she asked.

'I think so.'

'Won't it be dangerous?'

'I'll have Dmitry with me.'

'You mean Dmitry's in Moscow? I thought he went back to the army.'

'No, he had other things to do.'

'Do you trust him?'

'I do now.'

'You mean you didn't before?' she asked.

'I did before, but I was wrong.'

'And now you're right?'

'Dmitry's run out of options.'

She paused for a moment before asking, 'How far is Kurilovo?'

'Not far,' I replied. 'We'll set off the day after tomorrow. I'd better go.'

We made our goodbyes and I left, taking Iuda's letter with me. I went back to the inn and slept for most of the afternoon. Early in the evening, there was a knock at my door. It was Dmitry. I showed him the letter.

'Well, you're not going, are you?' he asked dismissively.

'Yes, I think we are.'

'We?'

'Yes, Dmitry, we.'

'But it's so obviously a trick,' he insisted.

'Do you know the crossroads he mentions?'

'No, I don't think I do.'

'It's a very good place to meet someone you don't trust. There's a clear view all around. We'll easily be able to see if he's brought anyone with him.'

'Do you think he knows that?'

'Possibly,' I replied. 'They may have come that way as they made the last stretch of their journey here from Tula. I think he's chosen the place so that we'll both feel safe.'

'You think he's afraid of you?' asked Dmitry, betraying by the edge in his voice the fear he felt for the Oprichniki – a fear which had been in him all the time, but which only gained substance when he discovered they had become his enemies.

'I hope he is,' I replied.

'I still don't think it's a good idea. They've left Moscow and soon they'll have left the country. Enough of them have died so that they won't come back. Let someone else deal with them. Let the French deal with them.'

'You think they won't come back?'

'Why should they?'

'Revenge. Look what they did to Maks. He'd killed three of them. I've killed four – even you've killed one.'

'They're practical – not spiteful.'

'Most of them maybe, but why would Iuda try to entice us into this meeting if his only plan was to get away? If we don't go, then he'll just have to come back here. He's already suggesting that Domnikiia might be at risk by sending the letter to her.'

'I suppose,' replied Dmitry contemplatively.

'Have you tried to track down Boris and Natalia at all?' I asked, ostensibly changing the subject.

'I went back to where they were staying,' said Dmitry, 'but the French had torn it all down.'

'I found out that their shop burnt down on the first day of the fires.'

'I know,' he said. 'Boris told me.'

'But I met someone who has seen them since Bonaparte's departure.'

'Really? Where?'

'Just around.'

'In that house this morning, I thought that one of the bodies might be…' Dmitry could not bring himself to say it.

'I know. I thought so too for a moment.'

'So when shall we set out for Kurilovo?' asked Dmitry, after a moment's pause.

'We'll leave the day after tomorrow, on the twenty-sixth. That will give us two days to get there.'

Domnikiia did manage to join me that night. On my instructions, her arrival was soon followed by that of the innkeeper, who brought us some supper and a bottle of wine. We sat at the small table in my room and talked of things of little consequence. Eventually, there was no option but to raise the subject of my journey to Kurilovo.

'So what time will you and Dmitry be setting off?' she asked.

'First light. We should be there by Sunday and then we'll have a whole day to check things out before the meeting on Monday.'

'Do you mind if I don't come over tomorrow night then?'

'Why? Don't you like the idea of being woken up so early?' I joked.

'I don't like the idea of waking up to see you go – or to find you gone.'

'OK,' I said, though the prospect struck me more harshly than I would have imagined.

'It's selfish of me, I know.'

'It's all right. If you were here, I probably wouldn't be able to leave.'

'You can have me all day tomorrow, though. I'm not going to work.'

'Can you? Just like that?'

'I can do what I like. Pyetr Pyetrovich is terrified of you.'

'Really?' I was surprised. 'I've barely ever spoken to him.'

'Yes, but I've said a few things, about what a great soldier you are and so forth – all exaggeration, of course.'

'Thank you.'

'Anyway, he needs me on his side. I'm his most popular girl.'

I felt a knot in my stomach as I was presented with a reality of which I was already fully aware.

'Is that meant to make me feel good?' I asked, trying to keep it lighter than I felt.

'Don't you deserve the best?' she smiled.

I stood up and started to clear the things from the table. Then I noticed her face drain of its colour. I followed her gaze to the replacement wooden sword that I'd been working on, lying half-finished on the desk in the corner of the room.

'What happened to the other one?' she asked.

'Dmitry broke it,' I said.

She sensed my desire not to give her any more detail, and did not ask. 'They must break very easily,' she said simply.

'It's never a problem to make a new one,' I told her.

We spent the following day wandering around the city. It was below freezing and a layer of snow coated the ground – nothing compared with what was to come. We both wore heavy coats to keep warm.

'I hate to see Moscow like this,' said Domnikiia after we had been walking for a little while. 'So devastated – so empty.'