‘Now there are just the two of us, you and I,’ said Prospero. He looked into my eyes, and I felt the familiar magnetic influence of his gaze enveloping me and drawing me in. ‘Before you make any decision, I want you to listen carefully to your own heart. Do not make a mistake that you will regret for the rest of your life. Listen to me, look at me, trust me. The way you used to trust me, before this outsider invaded our world and spoiled and perverted everything . . .’
The sound of his clear baritone voice flowed on and on, until I no longer understood the meaning of the words. I realise now that Prospero had put me under his hypnotic influence, and very successfully too. I am highly suggestible and easily submit to the will of a stronger person, as you know very well from your own experience. And in addition, it is in my nature to take pleasure in my subservience – it is as if I dissolve into the personality of the other individual. While Genji was with me, I obeyed him unquestioningly, but now I was in the power of the Doge’s black eyes and mesmerising voice. I write about this bitterly, but soberly, in the full awareness of the more shameful aspects of my own nature.
It took very little time for Blagovolsky to transform me into a mesmerised rabbit, unable to move in the gaze of the python.
‘The superfluous third party is no longer with us, no one will disturb us,’ said the Doge, ‘and I shall tell you how everything really was. You are intelligent, you will be able to distinguish the truth from lies. But first you and I will have a drink – for the peace of the uninspired soul of Mr Genji. And in accordance with Russian tradition, let us drink vodka.’
And so saying, he walked into the corner, where there was a huge carved wooden cupboard standing in a niche. He opened its doors and I saw large bottles, carafes and goblets.
Now that I no longer felt his spellbinding stare on me, my mind seemed to awaken and start working again. I looked at the clock on the wall and saw that less than five minutes had gone by. Perhaps Genji was still holding on! However, before I could come to any decision, Blagovolsky came back to the desk and trained his black eyes on me, and once again I was overcome by a blissful apathy. I was no longer thinking about anything, only listening to the sound of his masterful voice. We were standing on opposite sides of the desk. The disgraced roulette wheel was between us and its nickel-plated rays glinted and sparkled.
‘Here are two glasses,’ said the Doge, ‘I don’t usually drink vodka – I have a sick liver, but after a shock like that I could do with a pick-me-up. Here.’
He set the glass on one of the pockets of the Wheel of Fortune (I remember it was a black one), gently pushed a little lever, and the crystal vessel described a semicircle as it slowly moved towards me. Prospero halted the roulette wheel and set the second glass down on another black pocket in front of him.
‘You will trust me and only me,’ the Doge said, speaking slowly and ponderously. ‘I am the only one who sees and understands the workings of your soul. You, Horatio, are not a man, but half a man. That is why you need to seek out your other half. You have found it. I am your other half. We shall be like a single whole, and you will be calm and happy . . .’
Just at that moment there was a sharp cracking sound from under the floor and we both shuddered and turned to look. One of the parquet blocks on the door of the secret hatch had split in half and there was a small round black hole in the middle of the crack.
‘What the devil . . .’ Prospero began, but then there was another bang, and then another – five or six in all.
Several more holes appeared beside the first. Chips of wood were sent flying, two parquet blocks jumped out of the floor, and white crumbs of plaster showered down from the ceiling. I guessed that Genji must be firing into the cover of the hatch. But what for? How would that help him?
I soon found out. There were several dull blows against the underside of the hatch: one, two, three. And then, on the fourth blow, several parquet blocks stood up on end and I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw a fist emerge from the hole. It was incredible, but Genji had managed to punch through the cover of the hatch with his bare hand – at the spot where the bullets had made holes in it!
The fist opened, the fingers grasped the edge of the hole that had been made and began pulling the cover down, overcoming the resistance of the spring.
‘He’s the devil himself!’ Prospero exclaimed, flinging himself across the desk on his stomach and seizing the inkwell.
I had no chance to stop him. Blagovolsky turned the heroic folklore figure and the hatch swung shut. I heard a groan and a dull blow, and a moment later an ominous rumbling sound receding into the distance.
The impact of the Doge’s sudden movement shook the desk: the roulette wheel trembled and turned through another half-circle. A few drops of vodka splashed out of the glasses into the pockets of the wheel.
‘Ooph,’ Prospero exclaimed in relief. ‘What a persistent gentleman. And all because we didn’t drink in time for the peace of his soul. Drink it down, Horatio, drain your glass. Or else he’ll climb back out again. Come on!’
The Doge knitted his brows menacingly and I meekly picked up my vodka.
‘We drink on one, two, three,’ Blagovolsky told me. ‘And damn my sick liver. One, two, three!’
I tipped back the glass and almost choked as the fiery liquid seared my throat. I should say that I am no lover of the Russian national beverage and usually prefer Moselle or Rheinwein.
When I wiped away the tears that had sprung to my eyes, I was astounded by the change that had come over Blagovolsky. He was standing absolutely still, clutching his throat with one hand, and his eyes were staring out of his head. I am unable to describe the expression of boundless horror that contorted the Doge’s face. He wheezed, tore at his collar and doubled over.
I couldn’t understand a thing, and events began following each other so rapidly that I could barely turn my head fast enough.
First there was a knocking sound and when I looked round I saw a hand grab the edge of the hatch. Then a second hand did the same, and a moment later Genji’s head appeared out of the hole – his hair was dishevelled and his scowling forehead was covered with scratches. A few moments later this amazing man had already climbed out and was brushing the white dust off his elbows.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Genji asked, wiping his grazed and bloody fingers with a handkerchief.
The question referred to the Doge, who was rolling about on the floor and howling desperately. He kept trying to get to his feet, but could not.
‘He drank some vodka, and he has a sick liver,’ I explained stupidly, still not recovered from my stupor.
Genji stepped across to the desk. He picked up my glass, sniffed it and put it down again. Then he leaned down to the roulette wheel and looked at the spot where Blagovolsky’s glass had stood. I saw that the spilled drops of vodka had left strange white marks on the black pocket.
Genji bent over, looked at Prospero writhing convulsively on the floor and remarked in a low voice: ‘It looks like “royal vodka”, a mixture of nitric and hydrochloric acid. It must have completely burned away his oesophagus and stomach. What a terrible way to die!’
I started shaking when I realised that the villainous Prospero had intended the poison for me, and only a lucky chance – the jolt that had turned the Wheel of Fortune – had saved me from a hideous fate.
‘Let’s go, Horatio,’ said Genji, tugging on my sleeve. ‘There’s nothing more for us to do here. The unfortunate Radishchev d-died in exactly the same way. There is no way to save Blagovolsky. And no way to ease his suffering either – except by shooting him. But I shall not render him that service. Let’s go.’