both products of Savinkov’s,’ he said, indicating the lozenge of angel stuff in his head. ‘I don’t get many chances to compare notes.’
He wondered whether Chazia had already talked to Safran herself, whether she knew of his interest in the Levrovskaya Square robbery, and Petrov. But there was no way to read her expression.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I hope you got something out of it.’ She smiled, showing sharp even teeth, and her pale eyes flashed again, but her face showed little expression, as if the patches of angel stuff had stiffened it somehow. The effect made Lom feel even more queasy. Out of his depth. He was relieved when she had gone.
22
Lom took a tram back to Vishnik’s apartment.
The private secretary had signed him a chit. It took Lom more than an hour to find the office where he could get it cashed. It was only twenty roubles.
‘I’d give you more, Investigator,’ he had said. ‘If I could. But this is the limit of my delegated expenditure authority.’ He didn’t even try to pretend this was true. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer to see the Under Secretary…’
At least now he had cash in his pocket. He stopped off on the way back to Pelican Quay and bought some onions, lamb, a box of pastries and a couple of bottles of plum brandy. Vishnik wouldn’t take rent, but it was something.
When he got to the apartment, Vishnik was waiting for him, full of energy, strangely exultant, dressed to go out. Lom sat on the couch and started to pull his boots off. He shoved the bag of shopping towards Vishnik with his foot.
‘Here. Dinner.’
‘This is no time for fucking eating, my friend,’ said Vishnik. ‘It’s only six. We’ll go out. I want to take you to the Dreksler-Kino.’
‘Another day maybe. I’ve got to work.’
‘What work, exactly?’
‘Thinking.’
‘Think at the Dreksler. You can’t be in Mirgorod and not see the Dreksler. It’s a wonder, a fucking wonder of the world. And today is Angelfall Day. ‘
Lom sighed. ‘OK. Why not.’
Lom didn’t wear his uniform. On the crowded tram he and Vishnik were the only passengers without one. The Dreksler-Kino was draped with fresh new flags and banners, red and gold. Its immense marble dome was awash with floodlight. Vertical searchlights turned the clouds overhead into a vast liquescent ceiling that swelled and shifted, shedding fine drifts of rain. Inside, twenty thousand seats, ranged in blocks and tiers and galleries, faced a great waterfall of dim red velvet curtain. The auditorium was crowded to capacity. A woman with a flashlight and a printed floor plan led them to their seats, and almost immediately the houselights dimmed. Twenty thousand people became an intimate private crowd, together in the dark.
There were cartoons, and then the newsreel opened with a mass rally at the Sports Palace, intercut with scenes from the southern front. The war was going well, said the calm, warm voice of the commentator. On the screen, artillery roared and kicked up churned mud. Columns of troops marched past the camera, waving, smoking cigarettes, grinning. Citizen! Stand tall! The drum of war thunders and thunders! The crowd cheered.
The commentator was reading a poem over scenes of wind moving across grassy plains; factories; columns of lorries and tanks.
In snow-covered lands – in fields of wheat –
In roaring factories –
Ecstatic and on fire with happy purpose – With you in our hearts, dear Novozhd –
We work – we fight –
We march to Victory!
There was stomping, jeering and whistling when the screen showed aircraft of the Archipelago being shot down over the sea. Corkscrews of oil-black smoke followed the silver specks down to a final silent blossoming of spray.
A familiar avuncular face filled the screen. The face that watched daily from a hundred, a thousand posters, newspapers and books. The Novozhd, with his abundant moustache and the merry smile in his eye.
Citizens of the Vlast, prepare yourselves for an important statement.
He’s looking older, thought Lom. Must be over sixty by now. Thirty years since he grabbed power in the Council and gave the Vlast his famous kick up the arse. The Great Revitalisation. Eight years since he re-opened the war with the Archipelago. Three decades of iron kindness. I go the way the angels dictate with the confidence of a sleepwalker.
In the Dreksler-Kino everyone rose to salute, and all across the Dominions of the Vlast people were doing the same.
‘Citizens,’ the Novozhd began, leaning confidingly towards the camera. ‘My brothers and sisters, my friends. It is now