‘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.

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: