to send a city wall crumbling to its foundations. All of it was surplus to requirements. The other chamber was tidier, but still a number of accumulator cells and reels of wire were stacked up against one wall. It too had an iron gate, but this one had been unlocked, assuming it had ever been locked – there was no sign of a key. Inside it was featureless, but for a simple alcove, about a foot high and at eye level, set into the wall. It was empty, but on the stonework above it was an inscription, written in an alphabet that Mihail could not comprehend.
No one else could make out the language, neither did they seem to care. Their minds were set on the explosion to come. It was late on Friday now; still a day and a half until the tsar’s carriage was due to roll past, though Mihail knew it never would. And even if for some reason the tsar did change his plans and come this way, he would be in little danger. How difficult would it be for Mihail simply to reverse two wires and render the entire trap ineffective? Wiser not to do it yet, though. Kibalchich could come down at any time and check that everything was in order. Sabotage was best performed at the last minute.
Even so, it would be preferable to get out and warn the tsar. More than that, Mihail had his own trap to spring – and this place was perfect for it. It would take only a little preparation, and he himself would be the bait, but bait would only lure its victim if the victim knew of its existence. That was why Mihail sought the opportunity to break free and speak to the tsar. There was no doubt that Aleksandr would help; Mihail had saved him, in a far greater way than by warning him of the plot against him. Mihail had drunk Zmyeevich’s blood. It might mean that he would be haunted for ever by those terrible dreams, but it had made the tsarevich immune. There was nothing that His Majesty wouldn’t do for Mihail when he heard the boastful but utterly irrefutable words, ‘Your Majesty, I have saved your dynasty.’
‘Your Majesty, I have saved your dynasty.’
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ Aleksandr replied.
‘I assure you, I’m speaking the truth.’
‘An assurance from a creature such as you, Cain, means nothing.’
Iuda considered. He looked around him. Once again he was trapped like an animal in the zoo, in a cage that protruded into the tsar’s more comfortable portion of the room. It was not a position of power, but at least Aleksandr had agreed to see him – that demonstrated he still regarded Zmyeevich as a threat.
‘What proof can I offer?’ Iuda asked. ‘Your family’s happy survival for another century?’
‘That would be a start. You would still be around to receive payment.’
‘You would not be around to give it.’
‘My descendants would honour my word,’ said the tsar.
‘I wouldn’t trust you to honour your own word.’
‘I am a Romanov.’
‘Ha! So your word is as good as Pyotr’s was to Zmyeevich.’
‘So it seems neither of us trusts the other,’ said Aleksandr.
‘Then neither of us can benefit.’
‘I must contradict you. You say you have saved my dynasty – if that is true, then I have already benefited.’
Iuda smiled in acknowledgement of the tsar’s trap. ‘I overstated my position,’ he said. ‘I have it in my power to save your dynasty.’
‘How?’
‘I have found the bastard we require.’
Aleksandr sat down, rubbing his moustache. ‘Whose child?’
‘The child of your brother, Konstantin.’
‘He’ll never agree.’
‘He need never know.’
Aleksandr considered, remaining silent for several seconds. Iuda tried to follow his thought processes, but he was a difficult man to fathom. When he spoke, it revealed a concern for the practical rather than the moral considerations. ‘You propose to go to Pavlovsk and just kidnap the child?’
‘It is not one of his acknowledged sons,’ Iuda explained.
‘Who is it then?’ snapped Aleksandr.
‘His name is Lukin – Mihail Konstantinovich Lukin.’ As he spoke Iuda looked for any flicker of expression in the tsar’s face that might indicate he was aware of Lukin’s existence, but he saw none.
‘How do you know he’s Kostya’s boy?’
‘I know he’s a Romanov, and what’s more Zmyeevich knows it too.’
‘How?’
Iuda decided that it was best to come clean. ‘Because he has already drunk Zmyeevich’s blood. In doing so he has saved your son Aleksandr Aleksandrovich. It will take only a little more effort for