I had laid eyes on this girl for only the briefest of moments, and we had barely spoken at the chestnut stand, but there was a warmth, a kindness in those eyes that made me wish I could run down to find her again, to talk to her and discover who she was. I almost laughed at the absurdity of my emotions. You are being ridiculous, Georgy! I told myself, shaking my head quickly to rid myself of the images, and with still no sign of anyone to tell me any better, I started to walk along the corridor, away from those dangerous windows and the solitude of my exquisite chair.
And it was at that moment that I began to hear voices in the distance.
Every closed door was as ornate as the last and stood perhaps fifteen feet in height, with a semi-circular frieze placed above the intricate gold mouldings that ornamented each surface. I wondered how many hours of craftsmanship had gone into their elaborate detailing. How many doors like these were there in this palace? A thousand? Two thousand? The idea was too much for my brain to consider and I became dizzy at the thought of how many people must have struggled to complete work on such finery, which existed to serve the pleasures of only one family. Did they even notice how beautiful it was, I wondered, or did the delicate splendour just pass them by entirely?
Hesitating for only a moment, I turned a corner to where a much shorter corridor awaited me. There were no lights running to my left and its increasing darkness reminded me of some of the more terrifying stories that Asya had told me as an infant to induce nightmares, and I shuddered slightly and turned away. To my right, however, a number of candles were lit along the windowsills and I started to walk along in a spirit of exploration, carefully, quietly, so that my boots would not sound too loudly on the floor beneath my feet.
Again, each door was closed, but it wasn’t long before I tracked the voices to a room a little further ahead. Intrigued, I continued along, pressing an ear to each door, but there was only silence behind them. What happened in each one, I wondered? Who lived there, worked there, issued orders from there? The sounds grew louder and at the end of the corridor there was one door slightly ajar, but I hesitated before approaching it. The voices were more distinct now, although the people from whom they emanated were speaking quietly, and as I looked around I observed a simple room before me, with a prie-dieu placed directly at its centre.
Kneeling upon it, her head buried in its cushion, was a woman. And she was crying.
I watched her for a moment, intrigued by her sorrow, before my eyes drifted to the room’s other occupant, a man whose back was turned to me as he faced the wall, where a large icon was positioned upon a luminescent tapestry. He had the most extraordinary long dark hair and it hung down his back, thick and ragged, as if it was quite unclean, and he was dressed in simple peasant clothes, the type of tunic and trousers that would not have been out of place in Kashin. I wondered what on earth he could possibly be doing here in such simple apparel. Had he broken in? Was he a thief of some sort? But no, that was impossible, for the lady kneeling before him was dressed in the finest gown I had ever laid eyes on and clearly had reason to be here in the palace; had he been an intruder he would not have been commanding her attention quite so intently.
‘You must pray, Matushka,’ the man said suddenly, his voice deep and low, as if it came from the very depths of hell. He stretched his arms wide in a pose that recalled the crucified Christ upon on the cross at Calvary. ‘You must put your faith in a greater power than princes and palaces. You are nothing, Matushka. And I am nothing but a channel through which the voice of God may be heard. Before His grace you must supplicate yourself. You must give yourself to God in whatever disguise he presents himself. You must do whatever he asks of you. For the boy’s sake.’
The woman said nothing, but buried her head deeper into the cushion at the front of the prie-dieu. I felt a chill enter my body and grew nervous as I watched the scene play out before me. However, I was hypnotized by the moment and found that I could not turn away. I held my breath, expecting the man to speak again, but in an instant he spun around, aware of my presence, and our eyes met.
Those eyes. To recall them even now… They were like circles of coal, mined from the centre of a diseased pit.
My own eyes grew wide as we stared at each other and my body became numb with fear. Run, I cried out in my mind. Run away! But my legs would not obey and we continued to stare at each other until finally the man cocked his head a little to the side, as if curious about me, and smiled widely, a horrible smile, a set of yellow teeth displayed in a cavernous darkness, and the dreadfulness of his expression was enough to break my spell and I turned and ran back the way I had come, finding myself at the junction once again and hesitating, already confused as to which direction would lead me back to where Count Charnetsky had instructed me to wait.
Running, convinced that he was giving chase to murder me, I twisted and turned, running along the wrong corridors and in opposite directions, lost in the palace now, scared, my breath gasping, my heart racing, unsure how on earth I could ever explain my disappearance, whether I should just descend as many staircases as possible until I found myself outside the palace again, at which time I could run away, home to Kashin, pretending that this entire experience had never taken place.
And then, as if by some curious magic, I found myself back on the corridor where I had started. I stopped and doubled over, catching my breath, and when I looked up I realized that I was not alone there any more.
A man was standing at the end of the hallway, just outside an open door, from where a great light shone, illuminating him almost as a god. I stared at him, wondering what other terrors this evening was to bring. Who was this man, bathed in white glory? Why had he been sent for me?
‘Are you Jachmenev?’ he asked quietly, his voice low and peaceful but making its way down to me without difficulty.
‘Yes, sir,’ I replied.
‘Please,’ he said, turning around and indicating the room behind him. ‘I thought perhaps you had disappeared on me.’
I hesitated for only a moment before following him. I had never met this man before, of course, had never laid eyes on him. But I knew immediately who he was.
His Imperial Majesty, Tsar Nicholas II, Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias, Grand Duke of Finland, King of Poland.
My employer.
‘I apologize if I kept you waiting,’ he said as I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. ‘As you can imagine, there are many matters of state to be taken care of. And this has been a very, very long day. I had hoped—’ He stopped short as he turned around and stared at me in amazement. ‘What on earth are you doing, boy?’
He was standing to the left of his desk, no doubt surprised to see me kneeling about ten feet away from him, supplicating myself on the floor with my hands outstretched on the rich carpet before me and my forehead touching the ground.
‘Your most Imperial of Majesties,’ I began, my words getting muffled in the purple and red weave in which my nose was buried. ‘May I offer my sincere appreciation for the honour of—’