Part 19 (1/2)

Yudin's breathing was slow and calm, belying the excitement he felt. He needed to be lucid, and to keep a steady hand, so that what he was doing could be achieved swiftly. He did not know when Prometheus perhaps others too would return, but it would most certainly be before dawn. Even so, Yudin knew that the antic.i.p.ation he had felt when setting out earlier that evening would not go unfulfilled, though his victim was utterly different from what he had expected.

It was the breath of the voordalak that came in the loudest, shortest, most unsteady bursts. It was the breath of the terrified, the breath that prepares the body for action and yet which the body chokes off before it is complete. Yudin pondered why a vampire should breathe like that. A vampire could be terrified, he had verified that many times, but it had so little need for air that a change in breathing was quite unnecessary. Perhaps it was merely a memory of being human, the body reacting to events in a way that would once have been helpful but was now merely for show like a dog half-heartedly kicking the earth over its faeces as a memory of the wolf that it once was.

'So, you're Mihailov,' said Yudin. 'I'll have to take your word for it. I don't remember the name, but I never forget a face.'

'I'll never forget yours,' Mihailov replied. Yudin glanced up and saw the hatred in his eyes. He had been easy to capture, and easy to persuade to talk, at least to reveal his name, but the rest would come. Mihailov's goal was vengeance, and vengeance was a meagre feast if its victim was not fully aware of the reasons for it.

Yudin tugged at Mihailov's feet. All seemed secure. He had only used rope to bind him. Normally he would have used thick chains on a creature with the strength of a voordalak, but when packing his little black-leather bag he had been intending only to deal with humans. Fortunately, most of what he had brought would still prove useful. To compensate, Yudin had found a way to ensure that Mihailov could apply no leverage to his bonds and the Saviour had a.s.sisted. To one side of the iconostasis, a little way back into the nave, a stone statue of Christ, life-sized, stood with His arms open in a sign of welcome. Yudin had hooked the rope that bound Mihailov's wrists together over Christ's right arm and let it nestle in the crook of His elbow. He had been worried for a moment, but it seemed the Lord was able to bear the weight even of this most abominable of sinners.

Mihailov's arms were stretched above his head and his feet dangled at about the level of Yudin's knees. His shoulders would have been dislocated by his own weight, but his torn ligaments and tendons would be healing now, leaving his shoulders permanently misshapen. It would make it even less likely that he could free himself. Yudin had held captives in this sort of pose many times before, enjoying the air of helplessness that it lent them. The manacles in the cell back at the Kremlin achieved much the same. It was a long time, though, since he had enjoyed the scene with a fellow voordalak as the centre of attention.

'You remember me from Chufut Kalye, I take it?' said Yudin, going back over to his bag.

'We all remember you.'

'All? How many is all?'

'How many of us were there?'

Yudin began to rummage through his possessions, but then realized he would probably need everything. He picked up the bag and brought it back over. 'Oh, dozens, I should say. But I can't believe that all of you escaped.' He put the bag down close to Mihailov's feet. 'I've only seen the two of you in Moscow.'

'Then at least two of us escaped.'

'How?'

'Some soldiers fought. One of them bled heavily. It seeped down and revived us.'

'Even so,' said Yudin, laying out his paraphernalia on the step in front of the iconostasis, 'you were still trapped.'

'We had almost dug our way free soon after you left us. And over the years the earth had s.h.i.+fted. It was easy enough.'

'On a dead man's blood?' Yudin knew that both the flavour and the nourishment of blood died quickly.

'Once we had escaped, we drank from his foe. Then we had the strength to move on.'

'The one who bled,' asked Yudin, 'where did he bleed from?'

'Where?' Mihailov seemed confused, as well he might be.

'Where on his body?'

It took a moment's thought. 'His thigh.'

'Good,' said Yudin. 'A good place for it.' He looked up. 'So then you came here, in pursuit of me?'

'We went to Sevastopol.'

'A bucket,' said Yudin, as though talking to himself, but knowing he would be heard. Mihailov's face showed the puzzlement he had hoped for. 'I need a bucket.' He cast his eyes around, searching. 'Go on,' he said more loudly. 'Why did you go to Sevastopol?'

'His son was there.'

Yudin saw what he was after in a dark corner. He hurried over. For all his bravura, he was afraid that Mihailov's comrades might return at any minute. He needed to be swift. 'Whose son?' he called over his shoulder.

'The three-fingered man's.'

'Aha!' said Yudin, as much at what he saw as what he had heard. It was a pewter font, quite a large one big enough to drown the baby if the priest so desired. The semicircular handle, lying on one side and aligning perfectly with the rim, reminded Yudin of a witch's cauldron. The entire font rested on a wooden stand, but he didn't need that. He lifted it off and placed it on the floor, then began to drag it by the handle back over to Mihailov. 'You thought he'd help you? Like father like son?'

Mihailov waited until the sc.r.a.pe, sc.r.a.pe, sc.r.a.pe of the font against the mosaic tiles had stopped before replying. 'We thought he might.'

'But he didn't.' Yudin's voice remained calm, but his mind quickly a.n.a.lysed the possibility that Dmitry had sided with them. It seemed preposterous. Dmitry was devoted to those he regarded as his friends. Even if they'd told him every detail of Yudin's past, even if he'd believed it, he'd have come to Yudin and offered him a chance to explain. But when they'd met, Yudin had noticed no trace of change in Dmitry's att.i.tude towards him. Even so, it was not a possibility entirely to be ignored.

'He didn't,' confirmed Mihailov, but on a matter such as that, he was not to be trusted.

Yudin began to pull off Mihailov's boots, making sure that as he did so he exerted maximum force on the creature's shoulders. 'I take it Prometheus is your leader.'

'Prometheus?'

'Tyeplov,' Yudin clarified, moving on to the second boot.

'He's the one who hates you most.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' Yudin stood upright. 'Now,' he said, 'this is where it all gets a bit friendly.' He reached up and took hold of Mihailov's belt in his left hand, pulling it away from his body. In his right hand he held his knife, which he used to saw through the belt and then to continue to cut through the breeches right down to the crotch. With a quick pull, Yudin had removed them. He threw them into a corner. The voordalak was naked from the waist down. His genitalia hung limp and ugly, distracting Yudin and making him regret having exposed them. But it was too late.

'He'll be here soon,' said Mihailov.

'Good,' replied Yudin. 'And I take it you all bear the same loathing for Raisa Styepanovna that you do for me.'

'She's a fool, but she must still be punished. What we do will act as a warning to others.'

'As will this,' replied Yudin. He selected a couple of items of equipment and then stepped close to Mihailov's leg, holding it behind the knee. With the scalpel he made a small, precise cut on the inside of the thigh. Blood flowed quickly from it, sticking to the skin of his leg as it ran down towards the ground. Yudin pressed the catheter into the wound, but before he could get it in place, the bleeding stopped as the cut began to seal itself. Within seconds it was as though the damage had never been done. 'd.a.m.n!' said Yudin. 'You're healthy.'

'We have eaten well here.'

Yudin glanced over at the man who would have been Mihailov's next meal. He had abandoned his attempts at the Beautiful Gate and had turned his attention at last towards the narthex and the door beyond. He had not got very far, and now lay still. But he was not unconscious. His head was on its side and his eyes were fixed on the two vampires.

'And you've been here since what September?' It was only a guess that they had stayed in Sevastopol until it had fallen. He cut again into Mihailov's skin. The voordalak did not flinch. He could have little idea what Yudin planned. This time he made the incision wider, to give himself more time. It was untidy, but that didn't matter.

'We've been here long enough.'

Now the gla.s.s tube slipped in before the wound could heal. Even so, the voordalak's flesh did its best, reducing the lesion to a tiny hole, which would itself have vanished had not the catheter prevented it. The gla.s.s became red in a moment as it filled with blood. Yudin stepped back so as not to spill any upon himself. The blood shot from the end of the tube and splashed on to the tiles of the church floor. Yudin watched for a moment, enjoying the desecration, even though he knew there was no one present to be offended by it. Then he pushed the font over a little with his foot until it was directly beneath Mihailov and able to catch his blood. At first it made a tinny rattle as it hit the metal, but once the bottom was covered with the liquid the remaining blood made a light splas.h.i.+ng sound as it fell. If it weren't for the colour of the fluid, anyone would think that Mihailov was taking a p.i.s.s.

'You came straight to Moscow?' asked Yudin.

'What are you doing?' asked Mihailov.

'I'm killing you. Slowly. Now answer my question.'

The voordalak remained impa.s.sive at the announcement of his imminent death, perhaps doubting Yudin's ability to fulfil his promise. 'That's right. We had to travel slowly, but we ate well along the way.'

'And tonight you decided to act?'