"Baker, Kage - Facts Relating To The Arrest Of Dr. Kalugin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Baker Kage)
"That's all right, you send it. I know my orders will come." He nodded his head confidently. So I typed in the inquiry, and as I'd suspected the green letters just sat there and glowed. But Courier seemed to have been comforted, and so I bid him Goodnight.
On my way to the kitchen, a figure loomed into view, blocking the corridor, and my heart sank. It was Kostromitinov, the Manager. He did not look pleased with me.
"Kalugin!" he intoned. Oh, dear; he hadn't even taken off his riding boots. "We have a guest, it seems, Vasilii Vasilievich? A stranger? And in my absence you've given him a complete tour of the colony, fortifications and all? Let him count every one of our cannons, I suppose?"
"It's not like that at all, sir," I protested. He was backing me up against the wall. "He's simply a messenger, and I was obliged to offer him hospitality."
"Did that mean you had to show him the armory, you idiot?"
"Sir, you don't understand." I let my lip tremble. "He brought a letter from home. There's, er, been a terrible tragedy in my family -- my dear aunt, my sainted mother's only sister -- she raised me from infancy -- she -- she -- " a tear rolled down my cheek.
"She's died, I suppose?" He took a step back.
"She was run over by a pie wagon!" I broke down and sobbed. Well, it was the first thing that came into my head. Kostromitinov exhaled and folded his arms.
"All right. All right. My condolences. But, Kalugin! This may seem an idle sleepy place, but do I have to remind you that we are on disputed soil? And you know nothing about this Englishman, do you, really? What if he's a spy? What if he murdered your lawyer's clerk and took the letter in order to get an opportunity to study our defenses for his government?"
"He's not an Englishman." I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. "He's from Kiev. He, er, lost his trunk and had to borrow those absurd clothes from a fellow-passenger who happened to be English."
"On the _Polifem_?" Kostromitinov raised his eyebrows. "How interesting. I heard nothing about any foreigners on board. Still, who tells _me _anything nowadays? Why should _I _receive any directives from the Governor?"
"A-actually I believe it was before he left Siberia, Piotr Stepanovich."
"I see. So the unpleasantness on board the _Polifem_ had nothing to do with your friend losing his trunk?" Kostromitinov thrust his face close to mine.
"No, it -- that is -- was there an unpleasantness on board the _Polifem_?" I tried to look surprised. "My goodness, he seems such an affable young man."
"Well, Iakov Babin, who as you may be aware is not exactly a holy saint himself, has formed the lowest of opinions of your friend's character. He told me so personally. Waited up to tell me, in fact, so that the first sight to greet me as I returned from a long day of wrestling with the failing economy of the Slavianka farm was Iakov Dmitrivich's scowling face."
"As God is my witness, Piotr Stepanovich, he's no spy," I sniveled. "And what was I to do, after all, when he'd made such a long journey on my family's behalf? Bar the gates against him? Give him a kopeck and tell him to get out? I will stake my life on it he's nothing but a pleasant fool."
Kostromitinov rolled his eyes. "How should you know? Haven't you ever heard that he who plays the greatest fool often lays the deepest plots?" _Truer than you know, _I thought. "But I suppose there's nothing to be done now, is there? Pull yourself together, Vasilii Vasilievich. Why don't you go to the pantry and brace yourself with a shot of vodka? And can you vouch for this desperate character's behavior after I leave again tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir." I replied weakly, and stumbled past him into the kitchen, where I took his advice and had a shot of vodka. In fact, I took his advice three times.
* * * *
"Kalugin!" My troubled sleep ended with a jolt. It was pitch black in my room, but an apparition at the foot of my bed glowed by infrared like the fires of Hell. I felt an involuntary desire to cross myself. It was only Courier standing there, after all.
"What is it?"
"Have you got my orders?"
"Dear God, what time is it?" I groaned, and checked my internal chronometer. "Courier, it's four o'clock in the morning!"
"Have you got my orders?" he repeated, louder this time.
He opened his mouth as if to say something; sighed loudly instead, and went away.
Of course I failed utterly to go back to sleep after that. I wondered, as I tried to beat comfort into my leaden pillow, whether mortals would envy us our infinitely prolonged existence if they knew it meant an infinite number of Four A.M.s like this one.
In any case it was a chilled and blear-eyed immortal who ordered hot tea and settled down by the fire in the deserted officers' mess to enjoy it. Need I tell you that my pleasure was short-lived? For here came Courier, with his traveling-bag in his hand, pacing toward me like a dog in search of its master.
"Have you got my orders?" he wanted to know.
"Not yet." I sipped my tea.
"You didn't even look!"
"I'd hear the signal if a message came in," I told him. "However, if it will make you feel better -- " I took out the credenza and showed him. After staring at it a moment he sank down on a bench. He looked so miserable it was impossible not to feel sorry for him.
"Would you like any breakfast?" I inquired. "I can order you a bowl of kasha. The cook is awake." He nodded glumly and I went out to fetch it for him. When it arrived he cheered up quite a bit, became pleasant and talkative, praised kasha to the skies for its flavor, its aroma and its obvious nutritive qualities: but when it was gone he fell silent again, with a queer sullenness to his expression I had not noticed previously. He began to beat out a rhythm on the table with his hands. I finished my tea, drew a deep breath and volunteered:
"Well, since it seems you'll be my guest a trifle longer than we'd anticipated, would you like to explore the surrounding countryside today? We can borrow a pair of saddle horses from the stables."
Courier's face smoothed out like untroubled water. He jumped to his feet.
"You bet! Let's go!"
We departed the colony while it was still half-asleep, white smoke curling up from its chimneys and Indian day laborers straggling in across its fields from their village nearby. Courier's horse was skittish and uneasy, but I must say he was a superb rider, controlling with an iron hand an animal that clearly wanted to bolt and run. I myself ride like a sack of flour; there were no Cossacks amongst my mortal gene donors, I fear. My mount looked over its shoulder at me in what I fancied was pitying contempt. Horses always know.
Courier seemed quite happy to spur his horse splashing along dark streams, in the deep shadow under enormous trees, exclaiming over their vastness. ("Gosh! This looks like where _The Return of the Jedi_ was shot!") Sometimes we'd come down into an open valley and follow a watercourse through willow and alder thickets, near villages where Indians fished for salmon, or we'd skirt wide marshlands where a single egret stood motionless, like a white flame. I played the tour docent and explained as much as I knew of the local natural history, though of course I'd have done better if I'd had a chance to access Mendoza's codes, but Courier didn't seem to mind. He shouted his rapture at encountering a madrone tree scarlet with berries, or a spray of flame-pink maple leaves backlit by a sunbeam against moss green as emeralds.
As the afternoon lengthened I led us back in a loop to the great coastal ridge, and timed our progress up its leeward side so that we came to the crest just as the sun was setting.
"And we're home again." I gestured at the breathtaking view, rather pleased with myself. Across the gleaming Pacific, the red sun was just descending into a bank of purple fog. Far below us, down beyond countless treetops, the Ross settlement looked like a toy village, with its quaint blockhouses and domed and towered chapel. There were still tiny figures moving in the patchwork fields. Mortal places are so beautiful.
I glanced over at Courier to see if he were appreciating the full effect. No. A moment before, his face had been all bright and animated, gleeful as he urged his mount up toward the crest. Now, however, he drooped visibly.
"We're going back _there_?" he complained.
"Well, of course. It's nearly dark. Wouldn't want to meet with a bear up here, after all, would we?"
"I guess not." He moved restlessly in the saddle. "Have you got my orders?" he demanded. I drew out my credenza at once and checked.
"No, Courier, not yet."
"They'll _never_ come," he cried mournfully. I just shrugged and urged my horse on down the trail. After a moment he followed me, sad and silent, and finally caught up as we crossed the road and neared the stockade.
"Maybe we could eat dinner with the other Russian guys here, tonight, instead of just sitting in that dark room?" he asked.
"You mean dine in the Officers' mess?" I was nonplussed. "Er -- you might find it a little boring." The truth was that I was fairly certain he hadn't paid much attention to my lecture on Russian habits; and as peculiar as he seemed to me, he'd seem even stranger to my fellow officers.
"Oh, no, it'd be neat!" he told me. "Is it anything like that party in _Anna Karenina_? The one with Greta Garbo?"
| © 2025 Библиотека RealLib.org (support [a t] reallib.org) |