‘You reckon it’s completely sealed?’

  ‘If that’s what Cain intended, then he’ll have achieved it. There were only five routes in and out, plus those gaps where the light came in from the cliff. It wouldn’t take much gunpowder. Some of it was shored up anyway. It wasn’t safe at first. We helped him build it!’

  ‘I know,’ said Aleksei, recalling what Kyesha had told him. ‘So what will happen to the others? Can’t they dig their way out?’

  ‘If they were going to, they should have done it by now. They’ll grow weaker every day. There’s not much food supply in there.’

  ‘Not much? What do you mean?’ Aleksei was aware that his mind was working slowly, but even as he realized the only possible implication of what the voordalak had said, it was spelled out for him.

  ‘We weren’t just vampires in those cells. He had to feed us. I think there were seven humans in all. You saw three of them. Didn’t you know?’

  Aleksei jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ankle. His hands covered his face and he felt cold. He’d seen them there, two men and a woman. That was why they’d had vegetables to eat – not as an experiment to see what nourishment a voordalak could survive on, but to provide a food supply for the subjects of Iuda’s other experiments. And the man and the woman had been together. Did Iuda see them as breeding stock – not themselves to feed to those creatures, but to provide future generations that could be? Now, entombed, there would not be food enough for the humans to last more than a few weeks. There would be no prospect of their producing children to follow them in their fate. But those few weeks that drew their lives to a close would be indescribably vile. And Aleksei had seen them – opened their cage with the intent of letting them out, but with the effect of letting their tormentors in.

  He turned away and vomited, spasms racking his body as he came to understand what he had done. He had been lulled, by Kyesha’s charm, by his own pity for each voordalak he had seen suffering some monstrous fate, and by Iuda’s guile. He had made the mistake of judging any of them by human standards. Kyesha could smile and smile and be a villain. The imprisoned voordalaki could suffer what they had and still it would not make up for the very first meal they ever took in their altered existence. And Iuda? Iuda had played him for a prostak, just like he always did. Iuda had summoned him down to the Crimea, and Aleksei had trotted there with willing obedience. What Iuda’s ultimate intent might be was as yet unclear, but for the moment it would be enough for him simply to toy with Aleksei.

  There was nothing left for Aleksei’s stomach to yield. He turned back to the voordalak that still lurked in the shadows of the cave. The sun had not yet set, but the moon was already visible – almost full – in the east. Aleksei had not killed one of these creatures for many years, but before the night was out, he would. But there was much to be learned before that.

  ‘And when those seven have given all they can, your kin will starve to death anyway,’ he said. ‘Pointless, don’t you think?’

  ‘They may starve,’ the voordalak replied, ‘but they won’t die. They will weaken, become unable to move, unable to speak. If they conserve their energy, they may last a little longer. Eventually they’ll become insensible to what’s going on around them, perhaps indistinguishable to you from a rigid corpse. But dead? No. It is not a pleasant fate.’

  ‘One which you all willingly chose,’ muttered Aleksei.

  ‘True. And few do not learn to regret it.’

  ‘Do you regret it?’ asked Aleksei, clambering sideways across the slope before sitting back down. He felt the comforting hardness of his wooden sword, hidden under his greatcoat, as it pressed into his armpit.

  ‘Half an hour ago, I think I did. Now, I do not.’

  The urge to kill rose in Aleksei, and he decided it was time to draw the conversation to a close. He asked the question head on.

  ‘What did Cain have in store for Tsar Aleksandr?’

  ‘To make him into one of us.’ It was said with a simple coldness.

  ‘There was the blood of a vampire in that wine?’

  ‘That was the rumour, but who other than Cain would know the truth?’

  ‘And how would it work?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Even if Aleksandr had drunk the wine, he was never bitten by a vampire. Doesn’t that have to happen first?’

  The voordalak nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have always believed so,’ he said. ‘But there was one thing that Cain said in explanation of that.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘“It’s in the blood.”’ The creature shrugged its shoulders as it spoke.

  ‘“It’s in the blood”?’ Aleksei’s question accurately revealed his lack of understanding.

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘Already in the blood?’ asked Aleksei. ‘Is that what he meant?’

  ‘I can only tell you what he said. You must trust me on that.’ He smiled, much as Aleksei might have sneered, at the idea of trust between them. ‘We’re like Androcles and the lion, you and I,’ he said, as if changing the subject.

  ‘I take it I’m Androcles,’ replied Aleksei. He doubted he would get more on the matter that interested him.

  ‘Exactly. And I am the beast towards whom you showed not fear, but mercy. The thorn in my paw was enslavement. You freed me of it. I should show you eternal gratitude.’

  Aleksei considered. Theirs was a version of the tale that had never been told. Androcles finally faced the lion at the Roman games. Would it remember the benevolence shown it, and spare the gladiator, or revert to its animal state, and devour him? In no variant of the story had it been Androcles who saw the error of his ways, who realized that a lion cannot change its true nature, and that though it might spare the life of one man to whom it owed a debt, it would still prey on every other creature whose path it crossed and devour them without mercy. Aleksei would be the wise Androcles, who before the cheering crowd plunged his sword between the beast’s shoulderblades, ignoring the look of betrayal in its face and thinking only of the lives it had taken and the lives it would have taken if not stopped.

  He reached beneath his coat and felt the handle of the wooden sword. The creature was weak and hungry; now was the time to strike.

  ‘And I do feel grateful,’ said the voordalak. Aleksei wondered if it had guessed his reasoning and was about to beg for mercy. ‘But I prefer a story from Aesop to that of Androcles.’ It stood and took a few paces towards Aleksei. The sun had now set, and there was no restriction on its movements. ‘You know the one, about the scorpion who begs a ride across a river on a frog’s back. The frog is afraid the scorpion will sting it, but the scorpion explains it would be a fool to do so, because it would drown too. And so they set off across the river, and of course the scorpion stings the frog and the frog begins to sink. And as they both face death the frog gasps, “Why? Why did you sting me when it means your own death?” The scorpion – itself drowning – makes a simple reply. “I’m a scorpion; it’s my nature.”’

  ‘I know the story,’ replied Aleksei, tensing himself for action.

  ‘Well,’ said the tattooed voordalak, ‘I am a vampire. And I’m hungry.’ It looked almost sad as it spoke. ‘It’s my nature.’

  As the creature spoke, it launched itself at Aleksei. He was ready for it, and yet still he was too slow. He was getting old. He felt its weight push him backwards, and his head banged against the stony ground behind him. His hand was still inside his coat – as though he had become a portrait of Napoleon – grasping the sword but pinned there by his attacker’s weight. He felt the strange shape of the creature’s body pressed against his – the arcing leg, the hollow chest – but none of those deformities served to hinder it. Its teeth had suffered no malformation. Its mouth gaped wide open as its eyes gazed lasciviously at Aleksei’s throat.

  Aleksei grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, but the creature chose to hear the sound as a question.

  ‘You ask why after what I’ve already told you? Well, why not? And there’s one thing you’ve forgotten, three-fingered man; we’re already across the river.’

  Its hand descended and pushed Aleksei’s head to one side, stretching his neck in readiness. All Aleksei could see was the monster’s heart pumping faster, its blood blue through a thin membrane of skin which its deformed regrowth had created. He felt its hands squeeze tighter as its fangs descended, and saw the heart beat faster still. Despite everything that whirled through his mind, he tried to concentrate, to ensure that in death his thoughts were only of the things he loved. He saw in front of him a happy scene. He was at its centre. Cradled in his left arm was Tamara, too big to be held like that now, but still happy to be picked up by her father. On his right stood Domnikiia, her hand on his chest and her beaming smile directed towards the child they both loved; had together created.

  The image was ripped in two, and Aleksei felt the weight pressing down on him relax. The voordalak had turned its head to see what attacked it, but it was too late. The heart stopped beating and the skin through which it had been visible was ruptured. Aleksei saw the tip of a wooden blade, much like his own, disappear back into the body above him with a slurp that faded in an instant as the creature’s flesh began to desiccate in a way with which Aleksei was entirely familiar and wished he had had the chance to see more often over the past weeks. He closed his eyes and mouth to stop the powdered decay of the vampire’s body from in any way infiltrating his. He listened for the sound of tumbling ashes to cease, but his consciousness was instead assailed by a voice that was inescapably recognizable.

  ‘That story’s not from Aesop.’

  Aleksei opened his eyes. It was Iuda. The wooden stake he had used was cast on the ground beside him. Now he had in one hand his familiar double-bladed knife, and in the other a pistol. The latter was aimed at Aleksei’s head.

  ‘Why didn’t you let him kill me?’ asked Aleksei.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘You were happy enough for me to be torn apart by creatures like that last time we met.’

  Iuda smiled and glanced away from Aleksei, as if embarrassed. ‘Yes, well, you did rather take me by surprise that time, Lyosha, I have to admit. It was you or me, and I think we can both guess which one I’d choose. In this case, it was you or him. I think the decision is almost as obvious.’

  Aleksei was more interested in the idea of Iuda being surprised than in his self-serving attempts at flattery. ‘You made sure Kyesha would have enough to tempt me here . . . how can you not have been expecting me?’

  ‘Aleksei Ivanovich, I really don’t know what you are talking about. Now lie down and hold your hands out behind you.’ He waggled the gun in Aleksei’s direction with enough menace to induce his compliance. He placed his booted foot on Aleksei’s back before tucking the pistol under his elbow and bringing from his pocket a length of rope. ‘As far as I knew, you were happily ensconced in Moscow screwing that whore of whom you seem so fond.’ He slipped a loop of the rope over Aleksei’s proffered wrists. ‘Sorry, nanny – must keep with the times.’ He jerked the rope tight.

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Iuda,’ said Aleksei, ignoring the comments about Domnikiia. ‘I know that it was Raisa Styepanovna who told Kyesha where to find your notebook.’ The real relief was that Iuda had made no mention of Tamara.

  ‘Kyesha?’ asked Iuda, looping another coil of rope around Aleksei’s wrists and tying it tight, before pulling on it to bring him to his feet. ‘Stand up, would you?’

  ‘The vampire who stole your notebook.’

  ‘Oh – him! You know, Aleksei, I think you’re about the only person I’ve met in this godforsaken backwater who can manage to live his life passing himself off under just one name.’ He dragged Aleksei along by the rope, forcing him to walk backwards. ‘Did I say Aleksei? I meant Lyosha – though I think I’ve just ruined my own point.’

  ‘Whatever his name, you know who I mean.’ The rough cord cut into Aleksei’s wrists. He saw little point in resisting Iuda’s movement.

  ‘I do. I do. But let me assure you, his theft of my notebook was quite a surprise. And you say Raisa Styepanovna helped him? There’s a woman who’s not to be trusted, if ever there was one.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’ The rope was made of long, coarse strands, unlike anything Aleksei was familiar with. He suspected it might be horsehair.

  ‘No, no. I’d much prefer it if you were to believe I planned the whole thing and lured you here. I’m happy you think I’m up to it. The problem is, it all makes me look quite the fool when you interrupt just at my moment of triumph over Aleksandr Pavlovich. Sit down.’

  They had reached the edge of a patch of bushes and a few small trees. Aleksei sat with his back to a tree trunk, as Iuda indicated.

  ‘And how were you to triumph over His Majesty?’ asked Aleksei.

  ‘Clever stuff, Lyosha, but let me assure you, on this occasion, you are going to live. Therefore I am not going to reveal my plans to you, safe in the knowledge that you will take them to the grave. Let go of your bag.’

  Aleksei’s bag had been tucked under his bound arms as they walked across the hilltop. He still had just enough movement to drop it on to the ground beside him.

  ‘Why don’t you just kill me?’ he asked.

  ‘I take it,’ said Iuda, picking up the stray end of the rope and taking it with him around the tree, ‘that that is a question rather than a plea, and so I shall answer it with another. Why should I kill you?’

  ‘Why else did you go to such effort to tempt me here?’ Aleksei felt the rope tight across his chest as Iuda came out from behind the tree and began another lap.

  ‘Believe me, Lyosha, none of that was my doing.’ He emerged again and went over to Aleksei’s knapsack. ‘If I had wanted you to get hold of my notebook, why do you think I’ve subsequently been making so much effort to get it back? Why do you think I killed that gentleman who happened to be travelling in your carriage? Why do you think I then followed you back here? Why do you think I’m now doing this?’

  He reached into Aleksei’s bag and pulled out the notebook. It looked different somehow.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ said Iuda, with an air of disappointment. He blew on the cover of the book and a cloud of dust scurried in Aleksei’s direction, only to be quickly dispersed in the air. The fine voordalak-skin binding of the book was no more. All that remained was dull, grey card. Iuda glanced back in the direction of the cave mouth, where he had so recently reduced one of his former prisoners to a similar state of desiccation. ‘I knew there was a reason I’d kept that one alive,’ he said.

  He opened up the book and pored over its contents, occasionally nodding as he was reminded of some vital point. It was a full five minutes before he looked back up from it and spoke to Aleksei.

  ‘Do you believe me now?’ he asked. ‘This evening, I admit, I was expecting you. More than that – I’d followed you. But I have no reason to kill you.’

  ‘Do you need a reason?’

  He smiled, as if caught out for being excessively modest. ‘Perhaps not, but I also have a reason not to.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘There is something I want you to find out – and I’d hate you to go to your grave without ever discovering it.’

  ‘So tell me now,’ said Aleksei, unsure why he should be attempting to hasten his own death.

  ‘I’m afraid you’d never believe me,’ said Iuda, mournfully. ‘That is my curse. But for now, I have the two things I require.’

  ‘Two things?’ said Aleksei.

  ‘These notes,’ said Iuda, holding up the battered notebook, ‘and this head start.’

  He turned and ran into the darkness. Within moments, he had disappeared from view.

  CHAPTER XXIV

  MUCH AS HE DESIRED IT, ALEKSANDR KNEW HE COULD NOT shun the responsibilities of his position any longer. Across the room from him sat Volkonsky, and with him, two less familiar faces: Baron Frederiks, the military commander in Taganrog, and Colonel Nikolayev, who was in charge of the troop of Don Cossacks which guarded the tsar’s residence. He had hoped that Danilov would be here too, but he’d been away for almost a week. Dr Wylie said he was due back soon, but the tsar could wait no longer.

  ‘And when do you plan to reach Petersburg, Baron?’ he asked.

  ‘A little over a month from now, Your Majesty; certainly before the end of the year.’

  Aleksandr squeezed his lower lip and considered what might come to pass in that space of time.

  ‘I can easily find a courier,’ added the baron, ‘if your despatches are more urgent.’

  ‘No,’ said the tsar firmly. ‘Certainty is more important than speed. I need them to go with a man I can trust.’

  ‘You can certainly trust me, Your Majesty.’

  ‘And me,’ added Colonel Nikolayev.

  ‘You will ensure that Baron Frederiks completes his journey safely?’ asked the tsar.

  ‘I would die rather than fail in my duty,’ said Nikolayev.

  ‘There shouldn’t be any need for that,’ said Aleksandr. He had hardly heard what the colonel had said. He examined the packages in front of him. There were five of them, mostly addressed to various ministers and generals who worked in the capital. It was the envelope on the top of the pile that was of most importance to him. He handed the other four over to Frederiks.

  ‘These are to be opened immediately upon receipt,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ replied the baron.

  Aleksandr held the final envelope in his hands. He looked at the name on the front, written in his own handwriting:

  Nikolai Pavlovich

  ‘This is for my brother,’ he said with sudden resolution, passing it to the baron. He had thought of addressing it to ‘Kolya’, and of signing it ‘Sasha’. Those were the names they had always called each other by, face to face, but today it didn’t seem appropriate. ‘But remember, he is only to open it in the event of my death.’

  ‘I might as well burn it now, and save the trouble,’ said Frederiks.