The River of No Return

turned and began to walk away.
    “Wait!” Nick grabbed his arm. “I—”
    The man jerked his hand away. “Oh, no, my fine lord. There is nothing you can say. Two lie dead in Berkeley Square, and the only good that can come of it is that the tide will turn now against you and your kind. Now scuttle off home to your wife and children. They are probably cowering like frighened mice under your mahogany dining table.”
    Nick pushed, in an agony of fear, against the tide of humanity. When Berkeley Square finally came into view he could see that his house was untouched. The square was almost entirely empty now. The iron paling around Robinson’s house was bent and broken, and pales were scattered across his steps. The door hung open on its hinges and there was broken furniture in the street. A clutch of people stood beneath the parlor window, bending over two poor, huddled forms; Nick could see a woman’s arm extending from beneath the greatcoat that had been tossed over her.
    Nick bowed his head. But the gesture of respect was empty; all he could think was, Thank God Julia is safe at home.
    * * *
    Smedley was waiting to receive his lordship’s hat and coat, but there was no hat, which elicited concern; had the rabble been violent? Smedley was relieved to hear it; his lordship had perhaps divined that Berkeley Square had not been so lucky? The revolting peasants had ignored the house, but there was some unpleasantness. Happily Miss Percy was already abed by the time the shootings occurred, and by the grace of God their ladyships had not been able to see the violence; the young plane trees might have been planted by good angels to preserve the women from having a clear view. Their ladyships were exhausted from the evening’s excitements and had followed Miss Percy’s lead; all the females of the house were abed. But his lordship will wish to know: Count Lebedev returned in the midst of the troubles and awaits his lordship in the library.
    Nick escaped the butler and opened the library door to a cloud of smoke. The Russian was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, a black cigarette with a gold filter dangling from his lips. He didn’t stand, and he neither looked at Nick nor answered his greeting. He merely raised a languid hand and let it fall again. Nick shrugged and headed to the sideboard for a brandy.
    Solvig ambled into the library and sniffed the smoky air, her eyebrows twitching. Then she lumbered past Arkady without a glance and collapsed in front of the fire.
    After a long moment, Arkady mumbled around his cigarette. “That’s a large dog. Yours?”
    “Mm.” Nick poured a splash of golden brandy into a balloon. “I acquired her recently. Don’t ask how.”
    “We had such dogs in Russia.” Arkady drew on his cigarette. “For fighting the bears. Their strength is something incredible. Their endurance and loyalty . . . once I knew one in Turkey; he tracked down and killed a wolf that had been devouring the sheep.” Arkady subsided into smoky silence.
    Nick leaned against the sideboard, enjoying the smell of brandy and cigarettes. It reminded him . . . of what? The past or the future? He sniffed again. Something about it wasn’t right. Arkady’s cigarette—it didn’t smell quite . . . clean. Black with a gold filter. “That kind of cigarette has definitely not been invented yet, Arkady,” Nick said. “Just in case you hadn’t realized it.”
    Arkady held the cigarette aloft and eyed it like it was a precious jewel. “This is a Sobranie Black Russian. I smoke them when I am angry. They are perfect in any century. Do you want one?” From his pocket he produced the box and gestured at Nick with it, though he still didn’t meet Nick’s eyes.
    “No thanks. I don’t want to know what your anger tastes like.”
    Arkady kept staring at the fire. He twirled the cigarette between thumb and forefinger and seemed to disappear into his thoughts.
    For his part, Nick swirled the brandy in his glass. He wasn’t happy to see Arkady again so soon. He’d hoped to have more time to learn from Alva before having to deal with the Guild again. He and Alva had spent the last several nights publicly establishing their so-called relationship, going to parties, being seen all over town. The one hour they had had to talk had been spent by Nick telling Alva his story. She had been especially interested in Mr. Mibbs, just as the Guild had been. Nick had told her more, including what Mibbs had said