‘And you obeyed,’ he said, stating the obvious.

The tsar nodded.

‘Why?’

‘He gave me no choice.’

‘I don’t see any overt threats in there,’ said Aleksei. ‘What’s the “Romanov Betrayal”?’

‘A family legend.’

‘Concerning?’

‘I can’t say.’

‘And this “person” he represents?’ asked Aleksei.

‘I can’t say.’

Aleksei paused for a moment, looking for another angle of attack. This whole encounter was an astonishing breakthrough. He didn’t intend to spoil it by pressing in areas that Aleksandr was clearly reluctant to discuss. ‘Why do you give the letter any credence?’ he asked at last.

‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s so vague. Anyone could have heard of this Romanov Betrayal, or could even have some petty squabble of their own that just happened to bring that phrase to their pen.’

Aleksandr looked pale. ‘No one outside the closest of the family knew. The tsaritsa never even told my father – she didn’t trust him.’

‘The tsaritsa?’ asked Aleksei – he hoped the implication of ‘Which tsaritsa?’ was clear.

‘Yekaterina Alekseevna – my grandmother. She told me someone would come.’

‘And when did he come?’ said Aleksei. ‘The first time?’

It was no great insight. The letter implied that Cain and the tsar were not strangers to each other. ‘Years ago,’ Aleksandr replied.

‘Why did you believe him then?’

‘He knew all about it. Everything the tsaritsa had told me.’

‘And what was that?’ asked Aleksei.

The tsar’s confidence seemed to return a little. He looked Aleksei in the eye. ‘There’s no need for you to know.’

Aleksei felt the urge to shout at the man, to grab him by the shoulders and shake into him some sense of his own vulnerability, but the idea of treating the tsar in such a manner was laughable. Again he changed tack.

‘Why did you not tell me this the other day?’ he asked.

Aleksandr took a deep breath, but then failed to speak.

‘To put it another way,’ Aleksei continued, ‘why have you decided to tell me now? Did Dr Wylie speak to you?’

‘Wylie? No, certainly not.’ The tsar paused again. ‘The reason I called you here was this.’ He reached over to his desk and handed Aleksei another sheet of paper. It was more of a note than a letter. The language was again French; the handwriting the same.

‘I received it today,’ said the tsar.

Aleksandr Pavlovich,

Apologies for my tardiness in contacting you. I was pleased to hear of your prompt arrival in Taganrog, and I thought it only polite to give you a little while to settle down and ensure your wife’s comfort.

It is common knowledge that you intend soon to leave Taganrog. Do not worry; that fits completely with our plans. You will be touring the Crimean Peninsula, as would be expected from a visiting monarch. Have you considered taking in the town of Bakhchisaray? It will be advantageous to us all.

Once there, you will know what to do.

Your devoted friend,

C

‘Did anyone see who delivered it?’ asked Aleksei.

Aleksandr shook his head. ‘It was the same as before.’

‘And were you planning to go to the Crimea?’

‘Of course. Anyone could have known that. Anyone could have guessed.’

‘You don’t think there’s an informant amongst your staff?’ asked Aleksei.

‘There’s no need for one.’ It was an interesting answer, which Maks would have appreciated; not reasoning against the conclusion, but against the thought process which arrived at it.

‘What do you know of Bakhchisaray?’

‘Very little, until today. I’ve not sat idly since I received that letter.’ He reached to his desk for a book, where he had marked a page. He summarized, rather than reading.

‘It’s in the south of the peninsula, between Sevastopol and Simferopol, on the Churuk Su river. It was the capital of the Crimean Khanate, ruled by the Tatars. We took it over in 1783.’

‘Has the Romanov Betrayal got anything to do with the Tatars?’

‘No,’ said the tsar. ‘I can assure you of that much. Do you know of the town?’

‘Pushkin has written a poem about it,’ said Aleksei.

‘Has he? His name did not appear on your little list, I noticed.’ Now that Aleksandr had unburdened himself, his manner was once again sharp and precise.

‘No,’ said Aleksei. If the name had been there, Aleksei would have removed it too. ‘Will you go?’ he asked.

‘I have to.’

‘Because of the Romanov Betrayal?’

Aleksandr nodded.

The two men sat in silence. Aleksei considered what the tsar had told him, and what he hadn’t. There was far more of the latter than the former, but he could think of no avenues of enquiry which the tsar had not already closed off to him. Eventually he realized the question the tsar wanted him to ask.

‘What do you want me to do, Your Majesty?’

‘Come with me,’ said the tsar.

‘To Bakhchisaray?’

‘And beyond.’

Aleksei read the second letter again. It took only moments. ‘He says you’ll know what to do once you’re there. Do you know now?’

Aleksandr shook his head. ‘Perhaps I’ll see something.’

‘Perhaps he’ll intercept you before you even get there.’

The tsar leaned forward with sudden animation. ‘Exactly. I mean… not necessarily that, but that’s the kind of thinking I need. You can think like Cain, outwit him.’ Cain fears you, Kyesha had said. ‘You can protect me.’

There was nothing for Aleksei to consider. ‘When do we depart?’ he asked.

‘Tomorrow,’ replied the tsar.

‘Utterly incredible.’

Wylie was waiting as Aleksei stepped out of the tsar’s study. Aleksei glanced around the anteroom, but saw that they were alone.

‘Incredible?’ Aleksei replied. ‘So you don’t believe it?’

‘I wouldn’t have done – had it not been for what you showed me.’

‘Even so…’

‘Don’t argue against your own case, Colonel Danilov,’ said Wylie. ‘That strange leather was enough to convince you of the book’s veracity.’

Aleksei hesitated. Neither Wylie’s premise nor his conclusion was true. Aleksei knew little of the validity of the notebook’s contents, since he had made so little headway in them. But whatever the book revealed, he had seen far more evidence of the existence of living vampires than a mere trick with a self-repairing bookbinding. He chose to focus on the former point rather than the latter.

‘You forget, Doctor, the reason I gave you the book,’ he said. ‘I cannot read your language.’

Wylie smiled. ‘Then I shall have the pleasure of witnessing your astonishment as I translate it for you.’

‘You’ve read it all?’

‘Not in detail, but the sections I have studied already are quite fascinating.’ Wylie suddenly straightened his posture and spoke more loudly. ‘I trust you will be joining us on our travels to the Crimea, Colonel.’

It was a tone of voice that Aleksei had heard before, on the lips of many an amateur spy. He did not need to look round to know that someone else had entered the room.

‘I certainly shall be,’ he said, his demeanour unchanged. He saw a fleeting look of concern cross Wylie’s face, revealing the suspicion that he had not cottoned on to what was happening, but Aleksei was simply playing the game better. ‘I hope we’ll have time to speak more as we travel.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Wylie.

Aleksei gave him a brief nod of goodbye and turned to leave. ‘Prince Volkonsky,’ he said, as an acknowledgement of the new entrant to the room, whose face he could now see.

‘Danilov,’ came the reply, but beyond that, Volkonsky was too interested in talking to Wylie to say any more.

Aleksei made a quiet exit and headed for his lodgings. It was only a few minutes’ walk through the dark streets of Taganrog, and he scarcely thought about where he was going. He felt a sense of excitement, with which he was familiar, but which he would never have associated with the prospect of learning the contents of a mere book. It was akin to the feeling he got every time he approached Moscow after weeks or months of absence – the anticipation of knowing Domnikiia’s body once again. He would not mention the comparison to her. Anyway, it would be a long time before he saw her again. He would be learning the contents of Cain’s book well before that.