Read Online Field of Mars by Stephen Miller - Free Book Online

faltered on the carpet.
    Suddenly there were footsteps behind them. ‘Shit,’ hissed Dudenko. Ryzhkov felt Hokhodiev tighten his grip, trying to hold him up straighter.
    â€˜All right, that’s enough! Enough!’ It was the guards officer’s voice, angrily taking charge. ‘You people are disgraceful! Get him out of here . . .’ His diatribe got lost in a wave of applause. Suddenly there were young men in tailcoats rushing past them.
    â€˜God Almighty!’ the officer spat. The young men in tailcoats flung open the doors to the boxes and instantly came a screamed command. The guards snapped to attention.
    And then . . .
    The very atmosphere began to hum. It was as if an electric charge had been sent through the corridor. A rustling of silk, a dazzling flash of white as a fan of eagle feathers flicked in Empress Alexandra’s hand as she swept out of the dark tunnel to the Imperial boxes. Simultaneously all of the men bowed, but Ryzhkov, caught dazed and unawares, could only stare at the Tsarina.
    Empress Alexandra’s features were frozen, her expression was a metallic mask—as dead as an ikon, her skin nearly as pale as the white lace she wore. Only the impatience of her step betrayed her emotions. Her eyes were dark and glazed, focused on nothingness, blankly staring ahead. Immediately behind her came a Cossack bodyguard carrying the young Grand Duke Alexei, heir to the House of Romanov. A few steps behind them, the Tsar strode out, deep in conversation with the Minister of War. All sound ceased except for the Tsar’s voice softly fading as the Imperial entourage moved down the carpeted corridor between the ranks of gleaming soldiers, ranks so solemn that they could have been on parade for the dead.
    Then, as abruptly as they had come, the Romanovs were gone, through the great doors and down the golden staircase, heading for their carriages at the front of the Marinsky. The tension instantly evaporated.
    â€˜Finally.’ The officer turned on the Okhrana men, pushing them back against the wall so they would be clear of the swarm of Russia’s elite rushing toward the staircase. The corridor was suddenly full of gowns and jewels and bright uniforms. ‘What’s your name?’ the officer hissed. His face was red, angry.
    â€˜Deputy Inspector Hokhodiev, sir.’
    â€˜Get this one out of here. And you!’ Now the guardsman whirled on Dudenko. ‘You make sure he does it! Now go!’
    â€˜Take us to Glasovskaya Street then,’ Dudenko called out to Muta.
    â€˜Not all that far, eh, Dima?’ Hokhodiev said sarcastically. ‘Only a few hundred miles across the Fontanka, way down there by the gasworks, tucked in beside the race track.’
    â€˜God,’ Dudenko sighed.
    â€˜It’s a nice new place, though, right? A little noisy, but still a nice place, eh, Pyotr?’
    â€˜Yes. Nice,’ Ryzhkov said underneath the rushing trees. Filippa had picked it out, the family had bought it for them. The best apartment in the best building on a second-rate street. Being from Moscow they’d known nothing about the neighbourhood.
    â€˜You can keep this until the morning then, I suppose,’ said Hokhodiev as he shifted the salter full of cocaine back into his pocket. Ryzhkov sat up a little, unscrewed the lid and stuck his finger in for another dab of painkiller. They were manoeuvring around a park and for a few moments he tried to decipher their location by the undersides of the trees as they clattered along.
    Ryzhkov succumbed to a reverie that kept pace with the rhythm of their horse’s hooves, only surfacing when he heard Hokhodiev tell Dudenko that the gendarmes’ official explanation was that the girl at the bindery had been drunk and imagined she could fly. She had jumped out of the window in a fit of hysteria.
    â€˜But she had marks,’ Ryzhkov said. ‘Right around . . .’ he tried to make a little circling