Siberian Red

eyes on the door as he sipped a cup of smoky-tasting tea. He wondered why Ilya was late. She was normally punctual, which was perhaps to be expected from a teacher of young children. Probably, the headmistress had kept her behind again to discuss some change in the curriculum, not in spite of the fact that she must have known it was Ilya’s birthday and that Pekkala had made reservations at the Metropole but precisely because of that fact. The headmistress had done things like this before and now Pekkala clenched his fist upon the tablecloth as he silently cursed the old woman.
    Just when he was about to give up and go home, the door opened and this time Pekkala felt sure it must be Ilya. Instead, however, a giant of a man walked into the room, swathed in the uniform of an Imperial Cavalry Officer. The newcomer removed his cap in the manner of a cavalryman, lifting it from the back and tipping it forward off his head. Briefly, he glanced about to get his bearings, then climbed the stairs and strode along the balcony. The leaves of palm trees brushed against his shoulders, as if bowing to the giant as he passed. He came to a stop outside one of the Kabinets, knocked once and entered.
    Late for the party, guessed Pekkala, and for a moment, he went back to thinking about Ilya – whether she would like the present he had bought her: a silver dragonfly necklace made by the St Petersburg jeweller Nijinsky. The necklace had been very expensive, and quietly it galled Pekkala to pay so much for something so utterly impractical.
    The wanderings of Pekkala’s mind were halted by the sound of the door to the Kabinet opening again. This time, two men emerged; the giant cavalry officer again and a man Pekkala recognised as Colonel Kolchak.
    Kolchak was fastening the buttons on his tunic as he descended from the balcony and made his way towards the exit. Glancing across the sea of guests, he caught Pekkala’s eye.
    The two men nodded in greeting.
    Kolchak’s expression was grim and angry. He muttered something in the ear of the cavalry officer, who then crossed the dining room, sidestepping in the narrow space between tables with an agility surprising for such a heavyset man. He arrived at Pekkala’s table, clicked his heels and jolted his head forward in a hasty bow. ‘I am the Colonel’s aide-de-camp. He requires your help, Inspector.’
    Immediately Pekkala rose to his feet, dropping his napkin on the table. ‘What is it about?’
    ‘Colonel Kolchak needs you to be his second.’
    ‘His second what?’
    ‘His second in a duel.’
    The word took Pekkala’s breath away. ‘A duel? When? Where?’
    ‘Outside. Now.’
    Pekkala hesitated. Although the fighting of duels was legal, as far as he knew, it had been years since one had taken place in the streets of St Petersburg. In order to make the duel legal, a second was required for each man, and these seconds, if asked, were required by law to witness the event.
    ‘If you don’t mind my asking, Lieutenant, why aren’t you his second in this matter?’
    ‘Because the Colonel asked for you, Inspector. Now if you will kindly follow me . . .’
    Out in the street, it was snowing. Horse-drawn carriages passed by, wheels purring through the slush.
    A staff car, which Pekkala recognised as belonging to Colonel Kolchak, was pulled up on to the kerb.
    In the road stood a man Pekkala had never seen before. He was of medium height, with short, dark hair parted down the middle and a neatly trimmed moustache. The man was in the process of taking off his jacket, which he handed to another man standing beside him.
    This second man was gaunt and narrow-lipped, with a sheepskin cap perched high upon his head.
    Opposite these two, about twenty paces away, stood Colonel Kolchak. Weaving on his feet, the Colonel was obviously drunk. ‘Let’s get this over with!’ he shouted.
    ‘Kolchak,’ said Pekkala, ‘let us talk this through. I beg you to reconsider the challenge you have brought against this man.’
    Kolchak turned to him and laughed. ‘You are talking to the wrong man, Pekkala. I am not the one who asked to fight a duel.’
    ‘But what is this about?’
    Kolchak shook his head and spat into the snow. ‘Nothing that matters to me.’
    Realising this was the only answer he was going to get, Pekkala approached the other men.
    The gaunt figure in the sheepskin cap came out to meet him. ‘I am Polivanov,’ he said.
    ‘And who is he?’ Pekkala nodded towards the gentleman