The light expanded as Porfiry walked towards it, picking his way around blocks of darkness. As he progressed, the objects around him became more clearly discernible. He saw stacks of metallic canisters and towers of crates. As his hand groped about him, it strayed onto a bulging column of wooden barrels, which swayed slightly at his touch. A forest of similar columns receded into the darkness. These were the barrels of gunpowder he presumed. Alongside them were metal drums, racked on their sides. Beyond the drums, he saw a pyramid of cannonballs, smaller than he had expected, each one about the size of a clenched fist. Porfiry reached a hand out towards the apex of the pyramid and clasped the black sphere resting there. He hefted it swiftly behind his back in his right hand.
Rounding a corner of the maze of deadly goods, he saw the source of light directly ahead of him. Perkhotin held an oil lantern over the black circular abyss at the neck of an opened barrel of gunpowder.
Maria Petrovna was seated hunched on the floor, huddled into a large, heavy shawl with a plaid pattern. Next to her was a man in labourer’s clothes whom Porfiry took to be the foreman, Fedya Vasilevich.
‘You see how things are, magistrate.’
Maria looked up at Perkhotin’s words and met Porfiry’s gaze with a look of mute pleading.
‘Make any sudden movement and I will let go of the lantern.’
‘Teach me,’ said Porfiry. ‘Teach me what you would achieve by that. I have come to learn from you.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘You left a clue for me, did you not? Out of the eater, the eaten. I presumed you meant to be found, leaving such an easy clue.’
‘I congratulate you. The riddle was a test. You have passed. You will be rewarded. You will be here to witness the cataclysm.’
‘You will tear apart the lion of the imperial state.’
‘Yes.’
‘And bring forth the honey of a new social order.’
‘Yes.’
‘You will send out three hundred flaming foxes.’
‘Yes.’
‘Only one thing concerns me, Apollon Mikhailovich. How will the people be able to interpret these wonders? How will they know that the revolution has begun, that the time to rise up is here? I know this corrupt regime. I know how it works. They will merely say that there has been an accident at the Nobel Plant. They will deny your act its revolutionary aspect.’
In the lamp glow, Perkhotin’s great shovel-beard was a dark spread of negativity eating away half his face. Above it, his expression clouded as he took in what Porfiry had said.
‘You need a witness,’ went on Porfiry. ‘Someone who will be believed. Someone the Tsar dare not silence. Let her go. Her father is a senior officer in the Third Section. She is untouchable. And think what power her testimony would have.’
‘No. She must stay. You may go. They will believe you. But she must stay. She must be made to understand.’
‘At least let Fedya go. He has served his purpose by admitting you here. You do not need him any more.’
‘His death is necessary. All our deaths are necessary. I have no choice in this. Revolution is an inevitable process. A force of nature. The innocent will die. Blood will flow. The blood of martyrs as well as of our enemies. But the process will triumph. I must not shrink from this.’
‘But you have never killed anyone, Apollon Mikhailovich! You didn’t kill any of the children, did you? That is not the role you play in this. You are the leader. The great thinker, originator of the masterplan. It is for others to execute it. Your disciples. You must have your disciples. Like Aglaia Filippovna. She was your instrument, your weapon. You aimed, primed and fired her. But she was not perfect. She was too wild, uncontrollable. She reduced everything to a sordid personal drama. There was no understanding, no true sense of mission. She simply killed to appease her bloodlust. A useful tool, but not a sophisticated one. How did it work? You picked out the children for her to kill?’
‘No. It was not like that. At first, I wanted just to show her how the poor live under this criminal regime. To open her eyes. Her sister Yelena had a carriage, provided by that banker. She refused to set foot in it, but she let Aglaia use it. We would go driving around the worst slums and I would show her everything. One day, I recognised one of the children from the school, Svetlana, and called her over. She climbed into the carriage and sat between us. Before I could stop her, Aglaia Filippovna had strangled the girl. She said she did it out of mercy. That it was an act of kindness to kill the girl. I dismissed the driver, gave him some money and deposited him near a tavern. He knew nothing of what had happened, so quickly and quietly had Aglaia Filippovna committed the crime. I drove the carriage myself across the city, looking for somewhere to deposit the body.’
‘Why did you not go to the police? I only ask because I wish to understand.’
‘The police?’ Perkhotin spat the word back dismissively. ‘One cannot undo what is done. Besides, I saw that a greater purpose could be served. I had noticed the ring around Aglaia’s thumb. She was in the habit of borrowing her sister’s jewellery as well as her carriage. I realised I could not prevent her from killing, so I decided to take a utilitarian approach to her murderous instincts. To use them for the benefit of society.’
‘And thereafter you took her out in the carriage yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘But when she killed Yelena, she went too far. That was never part of the plan, was it, Apollon Mikhailovich?’
‘One must be prepared to adapt one’s plans.’
‘You adapted admirably. But Aglaia had ideas of her own, did she not? She wanted to incriminate Captain Mizinchikov, to punish him for loving Yelena, whereas you saw that it would be another opportunity — a tremendous opportunity — to terrorise the state.’
‘Aglaia knew that her sister had placed a razor wrapped in red silk in Mizinchikov’s apartment, goading him to kill her. That gave her the idea of laying a red thread on Yelena’s body. In fact, she laid two — she was excessive in everything she did. I was able to steal one without her noticing. I thought it would come in useful. I didn’t know how, exactly, at the time.’
‘It was just as well that Aglaia collapsed under the strain of her crimes when she did. She was no use to you any more. But now you can use me, Apollon Mikhailovich. I understand. I am almost your equal. Notice that I said almost. I would not dare to set myself up as your equal. But I am worthy of you, you must see that. I shall be your weapon now, your disciple. It is not enough for me to witness the beginning of the revolution. Let me initiate it. The Tsar sickens me. I have been in his company. I have listened to his nauseating self-justifications. I want only to destroy him. Let me ignite the torch that will destroy the lion. And you, you can escape. You must escape! Russia needs you!’
‘No. It is too late for escape.’ Perkhotin regarded Porfiry narrowly. ‘Do you really wish to do this? No …’ He shook his head dubiously. ‘How can I trust you? This is some trick of yours. Some magistrate’s trick. I must do this myself.’
Porfiry closed in on Perkhotin in three brisk steps, so that he was close enough to scream in his face: ‘Do it then! Do it now, Apollon Mikhailovich. Release the lantern.’
Perkhotin let go. Porfiry swung out his left hand and batted the lantern away from the barrel. It smashed on the ground. The oil spread and ignited. Porfiry was standing in a pool of soft orange flame that lapped at his ankles.
Maria Petrovna leapt to her feet and in one movement drew the shawl from around her shoulders. She spread the garment out and screamed at Porfiry: ‘Out of the way!’ He jumped out of the flames as if he had only just noticed them. Maria Petrovna swept the shawl down to cover the fire. Fedya Vasilevich took off his jacket and threw that down too, but the flames were already out. They were plunged into darkness.