It is amazing, but on finding himself face to face with such a large number of members of the royal family, Erast Petrovich Fandorin betrayed not the slightest sign of discomfiture. The light but perfectly respectful bow that seemed to be addressed to all present but at the same time primarily to His Majesty would have done credit to a plenipotentiary ambassador extraordinary from some great power.
Kirill Alexandrovich, who had only just been extolling Fandorin’s virtues, began abruptly, without any words of greeting, in what I thought was a rather hostile manner: ‘Tell us what you know about Doctor Lind and about this whole business in general.’
Fandorin inclined his head as if to indicate that he understood the request, but what he said was not at all what they were expecting. The gaze of his cold blue eyes slid across the faces of the men sitting there and halted on the sheet of paper lying in the middle of the table.
‘I see a l-letter has arrived. May I familiarise myself with its contents?’
‘I warned you what an impudent beggar he is!’ Simeon Alexandrovich exclaimed indignantly, but Fandorin did not even glance in his direction.
Kirill Alexandrovich took no notice of what he had said either.
‘Yes, Georgie, read the letter out loud. Every word is important here.’
‘Yes, yes,’ His Majesty put in. ‘I would like to hear it again too.’
With an air of disgust, Georgii Alexandrovich picked the sheet of paper up off the table and began reading out the message, which was written in French:
Messieurs Romanovs,
I offer you an advantageous arrangement: a little Romanov prince weighing ten kilograms for a little Count Orlov weighing 190 carats. The exchange will take place tomorrow, and do not take it into your heads to palm me off with a fake – I have my own jeweller. If you accept, give your reply at precisely noon from the semaphore apparatus at the Alexandriisky Palace. If you do not accept, the prince will be returned to you immediately. In pieces.
Yours sincerely,
Doctor Lind
PS I enclose the code for the light signal.
I had just begun to pour His Majesty’s coffee, and I froze with the coffee pot in my hand, in my shock even spilling a few drops on to the floor, which had never happened to me before. The monstrousness of the letter had exceeded my very worst fears. His Highness in pieces? Oh my God, my God!
‘What semaphore is this?’ That was the only thing that interested Fandorin in this nightmarish missive.
It is improper to ask questions in the presence of His Majesty, but not only did the sovereign react indulgently to such a flagrant violation of etiquette, he actually replied himself, with his distinctive unfailing courtesy: ‘An old light semaphore. Installed on the roof of the palace in my great-grandfather’s time, and during my grandfather’s reign it was fitted with electric lights for use in the dark and during overcast weather. Light signals sent from the semaphore can be seen from almost any point in the city.’
Instead of thanking His Majesty for his most gracious explanation, as a faithful subject ought to do, Fandorin merely nodded thoughtfully and asked: ‘“Orlov”. Presumably we must take that to mean the diamond that adorns the imperial sceptre?’
‘Yes,’ His Majesty confirmed laconically. ‘The diamond that Count Orlov bought in Amsterdam in 1773 on the instructions of Catherine the Great.’
‘Impossible, absolutely unthinkable,’ Simeon Alexandrovich snapped. ‘The solemn presentation of the state regalia takes place in five days’ time, and the coronation is two days after that. Without the sceptre the ceremony cannot go on. Let him have any amount of money but not the Orlov, under no circumstances.’
As one man they all turned towards Georgii Alexandrovich, whose opinion as the father was especially important in this matter.
And the grand duke proved worthy of his position and his rank. Tears sprang to his eyes, his hand tugged spontaneously at his tight collar, but His Highness’s voice was firm: ‘Impossible. The life of one of the grand dukes, even . . . of my own son (at this point Georgii Alexandrovich did tremble after all) cannot be set above the interests of the monarchy and the state.’
That is what I call royal nobility – the summit that only those who have been marked and chosen by God himself can scale. The socialists and liberals write in their paltry newspapers and leaflets that the imperial house is wallowing in luxury. This is not luxury, this is the radiant halo of Russian statehood, and every member of the imperial family is prepared to sacrifice his own life and the lives of his loved ones in the name of Russia.
The room began swaying before my eyes and shimmering with iridescent colours. I blinked, shaking the tears off my eyelashes.
‘And what if we replace the diamond with paste?’ Karnovich’s voice piped up from the corner. ‘We can make such a good copy that no one will be able to tell the difference.’
‘In such a short period of time it is not possible to produce a c-copy of such high quality,’ Fandorin replied. ‘And in any case Lind tells us that he has his own jeweller.’
Kirill Alexandrovich shrugged and said: ‘There’s one thing I don’t understand. Why does he have to have the Orlov? The stone is priceless, and that means it has no market price. It’s known all over the world; you can’t sell it.’
‘But why not, Your Highness?’ Colonel Karnovich objected. ‘You could cut it into three or four large diamonds and a few dozen medium and small ones.’
‘And how much could you sell all that for?’
Karnovich shook his head, unable to answer the question.
‘I know a little about such things,’ said Fandorin. ‘Three large diamonds of fifty carats or so can be worth approximately half a million roubles in gold each. And the small ones – well, let’s say another half-million.’
‘Two million?’ said the emperor, and his face brightened. ‘But we will not grudge a sum like that for our dear Mika!’
Fandorin sighed: ‘Your Majesty, this is not at all a matter of two million. I know Lind’s style. This is blackmail, and on a far grander scale than is obvious at first glance. We are not simply talking about the life of one of Your Majesty’s eleven cousins. Lind’s target is the coronation. He knows perfectly well that without the Orlov, the ceremony cannot go ahead. And the boy’s life is only a means of applying p-pressure. The real threat is not that Lind will kill the young grand duke, but that he will disrupt the coronation and dishonour the name of Russia and the Romanov dynasty throughout the world by leaving parts of the boy’s body in the most crowded areas.’
Everyone present, including myself, gave a groan of horror, but Fandorin continued remorselessly: ‘You were saying, Your Majesty, that no buyer could be found for the Orlov anywhere in the world. But there already is a buyer, and one who cannot refuse to buy. That buyer is the house of Romanov. Essentially, what you have to buy from Lind is not the grand duke, but the Orlov diamond, for what is at stake here is not just the stone, but the c-coronation and the very prestige of the monarchy. I am afraid that it will cost more than two million. Very, very much more. And that is not the worst thing.’ Fandorin lowered his head sombrely and I saw his hands clench into fists. ‘You will pay for the safe keeping of the stone and the return of the grand duke, but Lind will not give the boy back alive. That is against the doctor’s principles . . .’
An ominous silence fell, but only for a few moments, because Pavel Georgievich, who had so far been sitting quietly at the far end of the table, suddenly covered his face with his hands and burst into sobs.
‘Pauly, get a grip,’ Kirill Alexandrovich told him sternly. ‘And you, Fandorin, stop trying to frighten us. You’d better tell us about Lind.’