Petersburg to Moscow

by spinner

"Please d-do forgive me for intruding at s-such an hour and in this condition. I do humbly beg your pardon, Countess Opraksina."

"Young man, don't you step one inch off those tiles."

The words were delivered with an icy menace that chilled Erast Petrovich far more than his bone-numbing twenty-four hour journey had. He was wet through and through—even his underclothing was clinging tight to him. He was a mess. He was drenched, miserable, cold, and horrible to behold. Torrential rains had dogged him for the last six hours of his trek. A precautionary detour through a series of muddy fields to avoid his ravenous pack of pursuers had coated Fandorin with cold mud from the soles of his feet to the apex of his long thighs. He snuffled softly and bowed his head, nodding to the mistress of the house. Limp hair fell in his eyes. He wanted to cry, he was so completely exhausted.

"The neighbors will talk. My husband is not home," the mistress said, her dark, shiny, sloe-berry eyes glaring into the very heart of him as she crossed her arms over her chest. Erast raised his eyes to study her. Why did she keep calling him 'young man'? She was his age, he thought, and carried herself with an aristocratic bearing. Soaked to the skin and weighted down with ruined clothes, his age must have been hard to discern. "Do you know what time it is?" she demanded, as if her dressing gown and unbound hair were not enough of an indication that it was well past the hour that any civilized human being might call. Erast's shoulders drooped even further.

"Yes, m-madam, and I d-do apologize, but it is very urgent that I speak with your husband. Do you know where I can find him? Prince D-dolgorukoi has sent me with explicit instructions to give these p-papers to no one but the Count."

Erast's words lit a fire in those black eyes. The countess began to smile slightly and then quickly thought better of the action. Her lips pulled taut again, but her eyes remained warm to him.

"Vladimir Andreeivich sent you?"

"Yes, madam," Erast sniffled. He felt a sneeze coming on, and put his hand over his mouth and nose barely in time.

"Are you his precious and indispensible Fandorin?" the countess blinked in surprise. Her beautiful, regal face was warming all over in spite of her best efforts. Erast nodded again, lowering his eyes to the floor. A puddle of rain water and snow melt and mud flow was spreading out around him.

The mistress rang a small bell which she produced from the pocket of her dressing gown. A cadre of maids appeared at the doorway from the kitchens, and they bumped into each other as they stopped and gaped at Fandorin. The countess chuckled softly.

"Stop eavesdropping and make yourselves useful. Start a hot bath in the green room. Gather blankets and robes. Bring him some food—see how thin he is! Go!"

Four of the maids vanished, and the fifth looked expectantly at her mistress. There was more to come, Erast divined, and they were both staring at him.

"Natalya, come here and help me. Young man, take off your clothes."

The countess snapped her fingers and motioned to the floor as she stepped onto the tiles not a foot away from Fandorin. The maid approached on tentative feet. Erast took a worried step back from them both, and the countess frowned at him.

"M-madam?" he quivered, clutching his courier pouch close to his chest. It squelched from the pressure.

"Take off your clothes," the countess repeated, more forcefully this time.

Erast's mouth was hanging open in annoyance and surprise. He tucked his chin to his chest.

"Is that t-truly n-n-necessary?" he asked, shivering. His distress was not entirely genuine. Erast could tell from her demeanor, and the manner in which the other four maids had vanished with one crisp sentence from her, that this woman was accustomed to commanding and being immediately obeyed. The only way he was going to get into her house for the rest of the night was by doing whatever she said. Fandorin was willing to play along, if he had to do so.

"These carpets are from Paris. You are not going to spread mud, water, and snow across this room and up three flights of stairs. Take off your boots and your clothes, Mr. Fandorin, or you may spend the night in the stable with the horses."

While a dry, cozy stable would have been approximately as comfortable as this freezing foyer, Erast took a moment to decide what the countess was actually trying to accomplish—embarrassing him? Choking back the thought at what Prince Dolgorukoi was going to have to say about this kind of behavior, Fandorin locked eyes with the frosty countess and started peeling off his mud-caked, half-frozen clothing. Redness began to color Opraksina's cheeks, and her eyes travelled over his body with obvious interest. She clearly had not expected him to obey her so quickly or completely. Eventually, their eyes met again. This time she turned away first. With a sunny sense of accomplishment, Fandorin realized he had won the moment.

Exhaustion overwhelmed Fandorin shortly after he emerged from his scalding hot bath and was bundled up in a heavy, winter robe. It was as if his energy had been expunged from his body along with the frozen mud and water. He blinked in the darkness of the guest room where he would be staying, and nearly fell asleep sitting up as someone guided him to the over-large bed and pulled back the covers for him.

Female voices whispered around him.

"For the love of Saint Peter, give me that. What are you doing, stupid girl? Trying to put his neck out of place?"

Someone climbed onto the bed behind him. Strong thighs pressed against his back, supporting his body. A heavy towel was rubbed gently and thoroughly through his hair, drawing away any moisture which might chill him or dampen the bedcovers. Hidden under the voluptuous luxury of the warmed towel, Erast rocked back and forth with the rubbing motions, being held upright only by the body behind him. His mind was enveloped by a distant memory of his exceptionally-attentive nanny, who would bathe him nightly, dry his hair exactly in this fashion, and rock him to sleep after a small story or two.

The towel moved upwards in front. A mug of soup was held in his hands and guided to his lips. He drank a few mouthfuls—it was a thick, creamy potato soup and it was quite delicious, but he simply didn't have the energy to eat right at the moment. He warmed one knee with the stoneware mug and blinked at the Persian rug on the carpet under his bare feet. He scrunched up his toes and trembled. A cautious pair of hands took the mug out of his lax grip before he spilled it on himself.

"Very well, the excitement is over. Back to bed with the lot of you. Be gone. Let him sleep."

It was well after midnight, and the heavy rains were continuing outside. Erast quivered as the cadence of the raindrops echoed into his brain. Or was that the footsteps of the maids leaving?

Most of the voices around him disappeared. The heavy towel being rubbed through his hair was pulled away. Sloe-berry eyes stared into his from over his shoulder. Had it been the countess behind him? He was asleep before his head touched the pillow. The heavy blankets were drawn up to his chin.

Erast became aware that the rain had stopped, and his brain was suddenly entirely awake. Time had passed—two hours, perhaps three? No more than four. Something wasn't right. It took him several moments to figure out what was wrong. He had fallen to sleep on his side, but he was now lying on his back. His robe was open. His arms and legs were secured to the bedposts with silken material (scarves, perhaps?)

What a curious development!

Erast decided, in spite of this vulnerable position, that he was not in any imminent danger. Someone with luxurious soft hair was mouthing kisses along his body, trying to arouse his cock. Her long locks were teasing his stomach and thighs like so many tiny fingers. Fandorin allowed himself to relax. People intent on harming you hardly ever took the time to strip you naked, tie you up, make you come, and then kill you. It did happen, now and then, but usually not.

He moaned softly, utterly puzzled. He wasn't unmoved by her efforts. He was merely too exhausted for much of a response. He didn't have any excess energy to expend. He so wanted to tell her that what she was doing felt wonderful. After his harrowing journey, to awaken surrounded by such warmth and softness while someone was slowly and expertly sucking him off—it was enough to convince Fandorin he had died and gone to Heaven.

He let her continue what she was doing, whichever angel she was. There had been five maids, he remembered, and it wasn't unknown in his experience to have the occasional, unidentified night visitor slip into his bed on the command of the master or mistress of the house. Perhaps the countess wanted to make amends for being rude to Erast, and had sent one of her maids to make sure he stayed warm in the night. Though why the maid had gone through the trouble of tying him to the bed, that was a mystery that puzzled him as he sleepily cooperated with her efforts to bring him to orgasm. If only she hadn't tied his hands, he lamented, wanting to touch her hair. He rocked quietly under her command, and inadvertently freed one leg. He wrapped his limb around her form, and thought perhaps he heard her whisper a soft chuckle of triumph as he finally came for her.

Enveloped in afterglow, he waited for his breathing to even out before he tried to talk. He closed his eyes and stretched out his right leg because she was caressing his thigh with long fingers and short nails. His foot touched the bed post, and she wound the scarf around his ankle once more. Well, if it made her more relaxed, he didn't mind.

There was no point in opening his eyes. He couldn't see further than a foot or two in the darkness outside the aura of the firelight. The room was perfectly warm and having his borrowed dressing gown pulled open did not cause the slightest discomfort. What light that did touch the bed illuminated his own bare skin and nothing identifiable about the succubus under his covers with him, except that she had very dark hair and very pale skin. The woman in his bed nosed kisses up his chest, pausing to nuzzle his nipples before sucking on his right earlobe. A sensuous voice caressed Erast's ear, causing him to start with surprise.

"You aren't going to scream, are you, Mr. Fandorin?" It was the countess herself, whispering to him in French! She reached off to a night-stand on the dark side of the bed, and brought back a goblet of wine, which she took a sip from before setting it aside again.

"N-not unless you want me to," Erast replied.

"Shh, then. Don't make a sound," she murmured to him, sinking their mouths together. The strong wine on her tongue was making him hungry for a sip of his own. It was a very sound burgundy—Nuit St. George, if he was not mistaken. She moved down his chest with kisses and bites, again, just enough pain that he was reacting, but not enough that he felt in jeopardy. Fandorin mused to himself that he should not have been so worried about disturbing the mistress of the house when he had rung the bell last night. It was clear that the mistress of the house was already sufficiently disturbed without any effort on his part.

"What a beautiful, beautiful boy Vladimir Andreeivich has sent me. I shall have to find a way to thank him."

She teased her tongue along the edge of his cock, and Erast moaned softly. He was not ready yet for whatever else she might have in mind, but this did not bother her. She appeared willing to help matters along.

"I must have been a very good girl," the countess murmured.

Countess Opraksina wasn't talking to Erast. She was answering the little voices in her head for her own amusement. Having heard his master's name reminded Erast of his purpose here. This wasn't exactly appropriate behavior for the Governor-General's Deputy of Special Assignments. Fandorin debated his options—he could undoubtedly undo the bonds Opraksina had fitted on his ankles and wrists with very little effort, but then what? Was he going to wrestle his way out of the grasp of a lovely, wonderful woman? Accuse her of unspeakable acts? Ruin her reputation and destroy her marriage? What a skillful tongue she had, tracing his body like a painter with a new canvas. There really wasn't any point in putting up a dreadful protest, was there? Dolgorukoi didn't like scandals.

The countess was winding something silken and smooth around the base of his cock and under his balls, not too tight, enough to cradle, enough to tease, just enough. He began to pine softly when she touched delicate kisses over the sensitive skin. He had to wonder how she had so succinctly surmised what might arouse him in bed. A suspicious man might have suspected she was tipped off ahead of time, but there really wasn't anyone who had known he was headed to St. Petersburg to the Opraksin home, except the pack of wolves following him who wanted the contents of his courier satchel for their own, and of course, Prince Dolgorukoi.

Had Vladimir Andreeivich orchestrated this? Fandorin gave a groan of despair. Had this been a test for him? Had he failed or not?

"Shh. Natalya will hear you," the countess chided, suddenly next to Erast's cheek. She smiled wickedly at him before producing another silk scarf, drawing it out of the pocket of the robe which she had wrapped around herself. She teased the scarf over and around his body, running it down over his chest before wrapping it too around his rising cock. Erast had been trying to control his breathing, control his thoughts, control his mind, but when the countess began to lick along his length once more, he was pining and gasping again.

Small, cold, orb-like objects spilled onto his abdomen. Bullets? He tensed in alarm until he decided the objects were linked together, and therefore it might be a necklace of pearls or beads. Whatever she was doing, he couldn't stop moaning. The orb-like beads began to warm to his skin, and Opraksina teased them in a long line around his flesh, over his chest, down his abdomen, until Erast was tensing up off the sheets in connection to wherever she dragged the line of warm beads. She began to wind them around his swollen member, and he started panting, hiccupping for breath. He wanted to beg her to stop. He wanted to beg her for mercy. Instead, he tried desperately to turn one of the pillows over to hide his face and silence himself.

Her face was over his for a moment or two while she was pushing pillows away before he could hurt himself. She whispered a musky, wet kiss to his mouth before vanishing under the covers to the sounds of melodic, triumphant chuckles. Feathery kisses were making him buck and whimper. She started sucking the head of his cock, slowly unwinding her scarves and beads, and drawing him further and further into her mouth. The screaming she evoked from him with the rake of her sharp teeth could have been heard in the next estate house, let alone downstairs by the cadres of maids.

Erast awoke alone in the morning, overwrought with guilt that he had allowed the mistress of the house to stay in his bed so long into the night. He was blaming himself for this strange turn of events, terribly worried that if his master was testing him, then he probably had failed expectations miserably. Erast must have provoked the poor, lonely Countess Opraksina in some fashion, said or done something to make her believe this behavior was appropriate. How would he feel if he were in her husband's place? But precisely, that was the problem, wasn't it? Should he have protested more last night when he first had awakened to find her between his legs? His over-familiar manner in the foyer must have led her to desire him. That was the only answer. Why else would such an august, beautiful creature be willing to jeopardize her marriage for the likes of him? He couldn't imagine what he had done, beyond taking off all his clothes in front of a complete stranger, but he had clearly done something!

The countess entered the guest room with the maid who brought Erast breakfast, and the mistress of the house impatiently dismissed the maid. The girl was surprised, but obeyed as quickly as her feet could carry her. Opraksina sat with Fandorin on his bed, feeding him bites and nibbles of food from her own hands. Taking his hands, she kissed his wrists, although there wasn't the slightest bruising, only a pale redness which would fade before the day was out.

She barely waited until the tray was empty before she started to lavish Erast from head to toe with kisses and gentle words, cooing softly to him, coaxing him out of his robe and into her arms. To be honest, it did not take much coaxing. Although Erast had resolved that he would be firm but insistent in his protest to these inappropriate interactions between them, he couldn't bring himself to be cruel to her. She was obviously lonely for company and hungry for physical affection, and wasn't he as well? Erast found himself answering any whim she had with quick obedience, winning more kisses and praises and a very thorough and enthusiastic fucking that left him exhausted. He slept well past noon.

He awoke to find the countess in his bed again, and he did not disappoint her. What would be the point of protesting at this juncture? She was all too easy to make happy with a little cooperation and a smattering of French. He let her do as she pleased to him, and she again exhausted him. This was simply out of hand! He couldn't stop himself!

After an entire day and night of sex on nearly every conceivable horizontal surface in the green room, and twice in the claw-foot tub in the bathroom, Erast thought it might be good manners to ask the mistress of the house what her Christian name was. It could be the start to a meaningful conversation, at any rate. His polite question had made the Countess Opraksina nearly burst with courteous amusement.

"What a lovely, lovely boy you are. I do so like a man with manners. Ariadna Arkadievna Prunellière Opraksina. You may call me 'Addy'," she whispered in his ear, touching her nose to his cheek. She smoothed his upper lip where she had bitten him in a desirous frenzy a few minutes before. The bite had bled profusely until she stoppered it with a loving kiss.

"Ad-d-ddy, are you ever going to let me out of this bedroom again?"

"No, Erastushka, I am not," she replied, laughing deeply and wickedly.

"When are you expecting the Count to be home?"

"In a week or so, I imagine."

How to broach the topic without offending her? Erast watched her with careful eyes, testing his bit lip with the tip of his tongue. Perhaps she and her husband had an open relationship. That wasn't unheard of among certain nobles with arranged marriages.

"Do you imagine he w-will be at all concerned to find me here, like this, with you?"

"He might be taken somewhat aback," she agreed, loosening his robe from his shoulders and letting it pool around his waist. No, Erast decided, they did not have an open marriage, and the countess was most certainly looking for a method by which she might provoke Count Opraksin. Fandorin decided that were he in Opraksin's well-heeled shoes, finding his young wife in bed with a handsome young man half his own age would be provocation indeed! The question was why Ariadna Arkadievna Prunellière Opraksina wanted to provoke her husband at all. Whatever the answer, Fandorin wasn't sure it was wise to put himself in the middle of their private war.

"You could g-give me my clothes and let me return to M-moscow."

"I don't believe I can."

"Why not?"

"My husband left for Moscow the evening before you arrived here, and given the choice between going back to Moscow to find him, and remaining here until he returns, I think you'll agree with me that you would be far more comfortable right where you are, here, with me."

"It's d-difficult to argue with that sort of logic, but Prince Dolgorukoi is going to be upset with me if I don't deliver those papers to your husband. That m-means at some point, I'm going to have to be where your husband is, whether that is Petersburg or Moscow. You d-do still have my courier pouch, don't you?"

"It's in the foyer. No one has touched it."

"Good."

"Why would Vladimir Andreeivich send someone as important to him as you are on a delivery mission such as this?"

"Because I am reliable, and he trusts me."

"You don't give yourself enough credit, Mr. Fandorin. A fine stable horse is reliable and trust-worthy. You mean so much more to the Governor-General. He says nothing but good about you. Do you have any idea what you are carrying?"

"Matters of s-state importance, I assumed. What more is there to know?"

"Mr. Fandorin, I for one certainly hope you haven't risked death and pneumonia for the seating arrangement and guest list of the next royal ball," she whispered, her eyes glowing merrily. Erast allowed a tiny smile.

"As do I," he nodded.

"Tony will be back before the end of the week."

"How can you be sure?"

"I telephoned him in Moscow."

"You h-have a telephone?"

"Of course we have a telephone," she declared imperiously, insulted to have him question her.

"May I use your telephone?" he asked timidly.

"Perhaps later."

"Where is your h-husband staying in Moscow?"

"With Vladimir Andreeivich, naturally."

Erast blinked at her for a moment, and part of his brain screamed out in panic. The other part remained perfectly calm. Luckily, it was the calm part that spoke next.

"I should return to Moscow at once."

"You could. But the ride would be long and uncomfortable without clothing, wouldn't it?"

"Countess Op-praksina, what have you d-done with my clothes?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. They are being washed, dried, mended, repaired. It appears you went through brambles and thorns, mud and water, far worse substances as well. I cannot in good conscience let you return to Moscow wearing clothes in that condition. Of course, if they cannot be repaired, they'll have to be replaced."

"How long do you imagine that will take?"

"At least a week, by which point my husband should be home again."

Erast blinked at the forceful countess and studied her judiciously before he spoke. She was beginning to hint at a smile.

"M-madam, what am I going to have to d-do to get you to return my clothes?"

Well, was there really any point to beating around the bush? Besides, the question made Countess Opraksina grin wolfishly at him. Her sloe-berry eyes glittered hungrily.

"Mr. Fandorin, I am so glad you asked. Lie back, and I will show you."

"You'll never believe what has happened."

The Countess brought Erast dinner, setting down the tray in order to give him a bread roll which she was carrying in her hand. He hungrily devoured the oven-warm bread, waiting for further explanation. The tray she was carrying was spreading rumors about roast beef and mashed potatoes, perhaps carrots, and he waited anxiously to find out if the gossip was true.

"There are four young men downstairs in the study, poring over the papers you brought."

She pounded him on the back to get him to stop coughing, and successfully dislodged the bite of bread that had nearly choked him to death.

"Don't be alarmed. I know three of the four personally, and the fourth is the nephew of a good friend of mine in Moscow. They are all from Dolgorukoi. Not to worry. Take your time. Eat your dinner. I warned them I did not want you disturbed. I fear you've taken ill from your fretful journey, and that you might have to remain in bed, in case you've caught a cold or the flu."

"I'm perfectly healthy, as you very well know," Erast replied, jumping out of bed, pulling on his borrowed robe, and heading for the door.

"Stop!" the countess exclaimed, running for the door, reaching it before him, and putting herself between him and the handle.

"Madam, I m-must see to my duty," Fandorin protested.

"You are not leaving this room," she said evenly, pointing to the bed.

"I haven't g-got a cold or the flu."

"You, sir, carry my reputation in your very hands."

"I will say nothing," Erast whispered, edging closer to her, nuzzling her cheek. The countess purred gently, touching her lips to his cheek in return.

"Erastushka, you won't have to say a word. How would it look? I've been letting a naked man wander my house in the absence of my husband. You wouldn't have to say a thing. No. You are not leaving this room. What's more, you'd better start developing a very biting cough, if you know what's good for you!"

Fandorin gave the Countess a brief, patient smile.

"Perhaps I should get you to kiss my stable manager. Poor Sven has a virulent flu presently," she plotted aloud. "With any luck he will give it to you."

Erast blinked at her. Was she serious?

"Don't worry. He's quite a good kisser," she added.

Erast decided she must be kidding. At least he hoped she was!

"I will remain in b-bed, for the moment," he relinquished, knowing perfectly well to what lengths a woman might go to preserve her reputation, and not wishing to cause the lady any distress whatsoever. "But you're g-going to let me use the telephone to talk to His Excellency, Prince Dolgorukoi," he bargained.

"I'm not sure if the cord will reach this far," she lied flatly.

"I'm m-more than willing to g-go wherever the telephone is."

"Stay here. Eat your dinner. Natalya and I will see if the cord will reach. Go eat. Go on," she pointed back to the bed.

"You are all right, my dear boy?"

"A t-trifle of a sniffle, that's all," Erast replied to Prince Dolgorukoi's question, glancing up at the countess as she hovered nervously next to the bed.

"Ariadna Arkadievna believes otherwise," the prince answered. "She mentioned pneumonia more than once."

"She has training as a nurse," another voice shouted in the background, loud enough that Fandorin was certain the countess had heard, because she was rolling her eyes. That booming bass must have belonged to the Count Opraksin.

"Nurse," she muttered, rolling her eyes, "I bandaged an injured dove I found when I was twelve. Always these exaggerations."

"There's no point in risking it," Dolgorukoi shouted as well. "Erast Petrovich, stay right where you are."

"Did the dove live?" Erast asked softly as an aside before replying to Dolgorukoi, "I would m-much rather come back to Moscow!"

The countess smacked him hard on the back of the head, and Fandorin wasn't sure if that was in response to the question about the dove or to his insistence about returning home.

"Erast Petrovich, stay right there and decipher the papers, if you're feeling up to it," Dolgorukoi ordered. "Count Opraksin will come home to St. Petersburg by train on Friday. I will expect you back in Moscow once your task is completed."

"Yes, sir," Erast answered gloomily.

"I'm sending Kirnov to help you."

"Who is K-kirnov?" Fandorin asked. At that very second, the countess spritzed Erast with a strong-smelling perfume from a bottle on the dresser. He began to cough and wheeze horribly, and expelled several sneezes. He dropped the receiver, and she picked it up while he tried to contain his respiratory distress.

"No, I agree, Vladimir Andreeivich, the boy sounds dreadful. He shouldn't be out of bed. I'll do my utmost to keep him there, I promise you. I'll look after him like one of my own. I know what he means to you. Of course. You are so very welcome. It's my pleasure! He's such a polite boy. Such a nice boy. I do so like him. Thank you so much. Give my love to Tony."

The countess retreated across the room to the doorway with the phone as she was speaking. She was dragging Erast's borrowed robe with her. He calmed his breathing and followed her, pulling half the covers off the bed behind him in an effort to keep himself somewhat decently covered, in case Natalya was right outside the door, which she was. Natalya's amber eyes lit up with curiosity as she admired Erast. Addy said a loud goodbye to Dolgorukoi, hung up the phone, handed it out the door to Natalya. Then the countess turned around to face Fandorin once more.

"Back in bed, if you please, Mr. Fandorin," she pointed imperiously.

"I sh-should like to place another call."

"To whom?"

"My home in M-moscow."

"I was under the impression you were unmarried." The countess had paled slightly.

"To my valet," he explained slowly. This made Opraksina sigh and narrow her eyes at him.

"By the time your man brings you a new change of clothes, your others will surely be repaired. Why bother him to come out in this weather?"

"You are quite d-determined to keep me here, aren't you?" Fandorin whispered. The countess caressed his chin with one finger.

"Quite determined," she replied.

"I c-cannot stay forever," Erast murmured, gentle and sad at once. Addy watched him with lonely eyes, and he again wondered at the state of affairs in her marriage if she was willing to risk her societal position and her future for a meaningless liaison with a complete stranger, no matter how handsome or compliant he might be. Was Count Opraksin that unbearable to be around? Was he cruel to her? Fandorin did not know him personally, but knew from his work that he was dedicated, honorable, just, and well-respected. What had Opraksin done to so alienate this beautiful woman? Addy bowed her head and touched her mouth to his.

"A day or two more, and I will be content," she promised. "Did you finish your dinner?"

"I did. It was quite good. Thank you."

"But the menu is unfinished. You have not seen dessert," she purred, smirking wickedly.

"Maximillian Pavlovich Kirnov, at your service."

"Erast Petrovich F-Fandorin."

Erast bowed slightly, while Kirnov studied him with cold amusement. As introductions went, it was entirely unremarkable. Fandorin was positive they had seen each other before but had not been introduced. He must have run into Kirnov at a society function, or a royal ball, or some such proceeding as that. Perhaps he had seen him at the Governor-General's palace?

"You don't look ill," Kirnov commented, eyeing Fandorin up and down and back again. Fandorin felt his face flushing with color under the scrutiny of those biting green eyes. "You look flush, sound, in the pink of health, one might say."

"Shut up, Maximillian Pavlovich, and see if you can help Mr. Fandorin with deciphering this mess in my study," the mistress of the house ordered flatly.

The Countess Opraksina handed Kirnov a large mug of fragrant coffee, which he sipped from, his eyes never leaving Fandorin. Erast seated himself in an armchair before the roaring fire, and huddled inside the borrowed pajamas and dressing gown that Addy had given him to wear. She stopped beside his chair and felt his forehead.

"Mm. I don't like this. See how red you are. You could be on your deathbed by tomorrow if you don't listen to me. I want you back in bed before noon."

With that command, the countess left the study, but not without a chilly, backwards glance at Kirnov. Were the two of them acquainted, Erast wondered, and was it a cordial relationship? He sipped from his own cup of coffee and turned his attention to the pages which were drying on the hearth. This was what he had risked his life for, and to what end? The rain had seeped into his pouch and the ink on the letters had run, and the six pages of print were nearly destroyed. Oh, with careful study and educated guesses, one might be able to ascertain what the content of the missive once was, but it would never stand up as proof of coordinated treason in a court of law.

Knowing it had been a fruitless effort in the end, Fandorin sighed, put down his coffee, picked up one of the ruined pages, and let Kirnov wander around the room. Mr. Kirnov was not interested in the wet pages in the slightest.

"I've never been inside Opraksin's home. It's not what I expected," the other agent confided, circling behind Erast's chair and walking to the bookshelves. "He's fluent in Russian, French, Greek, Italian, Latin, but of course, one must have expected that. He had a very good education at the finest schools at home and abroad. Studied in Rome for several years. There was talk he had an affair with a famous Italian soprano some years ago, and it broke his wife's heart. Their relationship has not been the same since."

Erast lifted his eyes from his page to find that Kirnov was studying him from a sideways angle, gauging his reaction to the disclosed information. Fandorin remembered now where he had most recently seen this agent. Kirnov had been hovering to the left of Prince Dolgorukoi during a state diplomatic function that had gone well into the night. They had never been properly introduced, and that was clearly on purpose. More than once, he had seen Kirnov, now he was sure. This man preferred the shadows to the daylight—he must also be an agent for the prince, and obviously a creature as useful to Dolgorukoi as Fandorin himself was. Erast decided he didn't recognize Kirnov at first because he had never seen him in broad daylight. How interesting to know that together, he and Kirnov shared a master in Prince Dolgorukoi, but their angles of approach were entirely divergent. Did they share a common purpose here in Petersburg, or was Kirnov among the people in Moscow attempting to dethrone Dolgorukoi from his position of power?

"I have always been told that the Countess Opraksina was an aloof, distant elitist. Whatever did you and she find in common to become such close friends so quickly?" Kirnov whispered. Wasn't the answer obvious? Here Fandorin was, sitting in the countess's private study, wearing his husband's robe and pajamas. They had clearly not bonded over an ardent love for stamp collecting!

"A shared dislike of Italian sopranos," Fandorin offered cheekily, hoping it would push Kirnov to a safe distance from the truth. Quite the opposite, in fact. Maximillian Pavlovich came closer yet, reaching out one rough hand, touching Fandorin under the chin with his fingertips.

"Why did she bite you on the lip? Did you insult her cooking?"

"Mr. Kirnov, are you here to help me translate this mess, or to disgrace me with ruinous questions and smear the reputation of a gracious and hospitable woman?"

"Am I not allowed to do both?" Kirnov answered, cocking a cold smile. Maximillian Pavlovich lowered his hand and moved away from Erast's chair. He put himself down into the armchair opposite Fandorin's. The chairs matched-- one slightly smaller than the other. It was a husband and wife set, Fandorin realized with a quick, soft, snort of amusement. "Hold the paper closer to the fire," Kirnov ordered.

Fandorin eyed him for a moment, but obeyed, rising out of his cocoon of warm blankets and standing before the fireplace.

"Closer?" Erast asked.

"Yes, please. I will attempt to read through the back of the page. While the front might be smeared, the initial impressions of the letters might very well be visible. Hold. There. Stay. Good boy."

"You'd better read quickly,"Erast murmured.

"Why is that?"

"This c-close to the f-fire, I could go up in flames at any second."

"Get used to the fire, Mr. Fandorin. That's where adulterers spend eternity."

"Useless."

"Entirely?" Dolgorukoi murmured, disappointment clear in his voice.

"Utterly," Kirnov confirmed, watching with narrowed eyes as the Countess Opraksina refilled his mug of coffee and wandered around the study. She was tidying the pillows, putting books back on the shelves. She passed by Fandorin's chair many times, taking unspeakable liberties such as caressing his cheek, smoothing his hair, adjusting the blanket that was wrapped around him. If Fandorin had been awake, he would have never permitted such indecent displays of ownership and familiarity. But Erast had been soundly asleep for nearly half an hour.

"Nothing can be salvaged?"

"No, no," Kirnov boomed, hoping to shake Fandorin awake. "Your Excellency, I mean to say that the papers, they are not what we suspected. Erast Petrovich was able to help me decipher them. We managed to unwind most of the passages."

"And?" Dolgorukoi boomed over the telephone.

"It's a wedding list."

"What?"

"His daughter! Vasili's oldest daughter. Varvara Vasilyevna. She's getting married next fall. The letter is a preliminary draft of the guest list."

Countess Opraksina went by Kirnov's chair, chuckling wickedly.

"And so it is," she murmured. "But who is to say the information contained therein is useless?"

"Shh," Kirnov scolded her. "No, no. The countess was talking," he said into the receiver to Dolgorukoi. "What?"

"Give her to me!" the prince repeated. Kirnov turned the receiver over to Opraksina, who took it from him, and stood in front of the fireplace.

"A wedding list, yes," she confirmed.

"But how can this be helpful?"

"You don't invite strangers to your only daughter's wedding, do you?" the countess said. "You may have at least a partial list of the names that you have long sought. There is nothing to be depressed about here, Vladimir Andreeivich."

"You may be right, dear girl!"

"Of course I'm right. You don't have to thank me. You already have," she purred, staring longingly at Erast Fandorin. Kirnov's mood got darker and darker. "I do apologize, Your Excellency, but we may have to cut this conversation short," the countess added.

"Why is that?"

"There's a squat little man staring in through my French doors, and I'm not sure I like the looks of him at all."

"Who is it?"

"I'll ask him that after I shoot him. Would you like to talk to Maximillian Pavlovich while I get my pistol?"

"Why don't you let Mr. Kirnov handle matters for you?"

"It’s no trouble. I'm a very good shot."

The countess was calmly slipping bullets into the chambers of her pistol when Erast Petrovich roused himself awake, blinked in amazement at the french doors, and started speaking animatedly in a foreign tongue. Kirnov continued speaking to Dolgorukoi while Fandorin hurried over, threw the exit doors wide open, and wrapped his own blanket around the man he found freezing there. Natalya closed the portal, scolding Fandorin and the newcomer profusely.

"Frosty hedgehog," Erast was laughing, patting the top of the Asian man's head, where his hair was standing on end, frozen in place. Fandorin retrieved his own cup of coffee and gave it to the stranger.

"Well, it's clear Erast Petrovich knows our intruder. All that excitement for nothing. Shall I tell the countess to put away her pistol?" Kirnov asked into the phone. "Short man, dark hair, Asian. Oh. His valet. I see."

"Masa, you c-came all th-this way without a hat? What is the matter with you?!" Erast was scolding in Russian finally, having given up the other language for the time being.

"Master, I was worried," the man responded, trembling. Opraksina rounded the chairs and table, still holding her pistol, and waited for an explanation. She was frowning down at Masa's muddy, wet, booted feet. Fandorin scolded her crisply with one sharp look.

"Addy, lower that p-pistol before you hurt someone. And please d-do not concern yourself about the c-carpets."

"How do you plan to get him through the house otherwise?" she asked. Fandorin lifted Masa into his grip very easily, swinging his stubby legs upwards at the knees.

"You will need a hot bath and dry clothes, which are in short supply at the moment. We might have to share," Erast said, carrying Masa through the study and out into the hallway. "How do you feel about potato soup? Talya is an excellent cook."

Masa smiled faintly, sipping his coffee as if it were manna from heaven. He was smiling over one of his master's shoulders at the crowd of maids and Kirnov and Opraksina, all of whom were watching in bewilderment as Fandorin deftly carried his man up the winding staircase of the massive house.

"No, no. Not to worry. It seems Mr. Fandorin is indeed very much acquainted with the intruder," Kirnov spoke sourly into the telephone.

"I do hope you found St. Petersburg nearly as comfortable as Moscow," the Count Opraksin was saying as he shook hands with Erast Petrovich on the platform at the railway station.

"Very comfortable indeed, sir," Fandorin said coolly. His polite distance did not seem out of place. Although the men had much in common, more than the count had yet to ascertain, they did not know each other socially and had only worked together on one or two small cases before. They were not intimates. They were not friends.

"My wife was not too inhospitable, I hope," Opraksin tested a tight smile.

"Not at all, sir. The Countess is a gracious and dear woman. I found Addy to be very pleasant company."

It was a compliment of the highest order, and yet, it made a profound change come over the face of the St. Petersburg man. A redness started in the count's neck, climbed his throat, entered his cheeks. The gaze he directed at Erast Petrovich Fandorin went from the heights of noble politeness to the depths of homicidal fury in seconds. Kirnov was worried he would have to throw himself between the two gentlemen, because the hint of a pleased smile had injudiciously found its way onto the thin, beautiful mouth of the Deputy of Special Assignments at the most inopportune of times. This could only end in chaos, Kirnov feared. And yet, a second later, Opraksin was the correct color again, his malevolence buried under layers of good breeding, and Fandorin's decidedly-capricious smile found its way back behind his serene, handsome mask.

"Please let me extend our most sincere apologies if we inconvenienced you or your wife in any way. Do take care of yourselves, Count Opraksin," Kirnov said with a bow, hurrying Fandorin onto the steaming train.

Masa bowed deeply to the count and followed the others inside. They traversed the thin corridors and found an empty compartment, where Fandorin sat next to the windows. From his seat, he could see where the veiled Countess herself was lurking among the other persons on the platform. She raised her eyes to Fandorin's window, finding him easily. She was less than five feet away outside, perched as if in a predestined or prearranged spot. The faintest of smiles, traced with the sweetest of sad sympathy, touched Erast Petrovich's face before Maximillian Pavlovich snapped the window shade down between the two fools.

"You amaze me, Mr. Fandorin," Kirnov growled, taking the seat opposite him. Their knees crashed together, mingled briefly, and then parted away around one another as Fandorin rustled about in his place. Masa stood in the doorway, sniffing.

"You need hot tea, right away," Fandorin said, jumping to his feet and putting Masa down in his own place. The valet snuffled, pressed a paper napkin to his nose, and blotted out a sneeze and a cough. "Look at you! My poor squeaky hedgehog. I will bring you tea. You sit down here and make nice with Mr. Kirnov. I won't be long."

Fandorin vanished out of the compartment. Masa sniffed in the silence and Kirnov glared around at no one in particular. Minutes went by, not many, but enough that Kirnov became more and more agitated. Finally he lifted the window shade. The train whistled loudly and started to move. Kirnov studied the crowd, slapped a palm to his brow, and shook his head lowly between his shoulders. The shade whipped away from his grip and snapped repeatedly at the top of the window as it spun around itself.

"Oh my god," he moaned.

Masa gazed out the window, trying to discern the reason for the agent's obvious dismay. He snorted, and patiently lowered the shade again. He did not seem at all concerned that Fandorin had not joined them even though the train was beginning to pick up speed.

Five minutes more passed before Fandorin came rattling into the compartment at a breakneck speed before righting himself. He was grinning from ear to ear. His hair was tossed about, and his cheeks were beet red. There were wet mouth-marks on his lips and his ear. Kirnov, who had gotten up to pace frantically in the small area, slammed the compartment door behind Fandorin and went through the motion if not the complete action of taking him by the throat. Erast moved out of his path, giving Masa a nearly-full mug of hot, black liquid that smelled like flowers, and a bag of warm bread rolls. Or were they bagels? The valet didn't comment out loud, but his quicksilver smile said all there was to be said about gratitude and adoration. What silence remained, Kirnov filled in with several acidic glances from under his ominous, furrowed brow.

"Would you like a tale?" Fandorin asked of his valet. They traded places, with Fandorin seated next to the window again. Masa rested his head in Fandorin's lap, while his master's fingers traced his scalp and spiky hair. "It will make the time pass more quickly," Erast soothed. Masa nodded, hugging his bag of bread against his chest and clutching the mug tight in his grip. "Would you like a tragedy? A comedy? A saga about star-crossed lovers? Bless you," he whispered, digging for a handkerchief in his coat as Masa tried to laugh and simply started sneezing anew.

Le Fin

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