There are moments in the life of a nation, thinks Colonel Novak, which portend its demise. The end always begins with something small, a trifle, which would have gone away had it been taken care of promptly. And yet, once it has taken root, it is almost impossible to eradicate, as its tendrils reach into the remotest corners of the empire.
The military and the police, those hallmarks of state rule, are supposed to be on the same side: the former fighting against threats from without, the latter fighting threats from within. Now they are flexing their mighty muscles at one another in a tense confrontation. Clearly, the army has been trying to shield the four suspects, and there is no doubt that Colonel Pazhari lied through his teeth in his report about “Zizek Adamsky” and “Patrick Breshov”. What is more, Novak has now conducted a thorough inquiry into David Pazhari’s true descent. Why? Well, surprisingly enough, no-one had ever thought to try it before him. In order to have a nephew, Count Alexander Pazhari would have to have a sibling, and indeed he has: a sister. Except not a single soul in St Petersburg ever recalls having seen the sister, who is well known in many circles, pregnant. Drunk? Absolutely. Making an exhibition of herself with a friend named Dushinka? On occasion. Committing adultery? Careful now, her husband doesn’t suspect a thing. But pregnant? Oh no, not even St Petersburg corsets could have hidden it if she was. Therefore, Count Alexander Pazhari of St Petersburg should be put under surveillance, because for some reason he has never bothered to deny this bogus family connection with the illustrious officer. Truth be told, it was thanks to this discovery that the entire affair came to light. At long last, the whole chain of events related to this case leads to a powerful and influential man from the capital. This is the only plausible explanation for the decision of a fake nobleman who has become a senior army officer to put his life on the line for four murder suspects. It also serves to explain why Captain Istomin, an impressive officer with an impeccable record, did the same.
Based on this, it can be assumed that Alexander Pazhari is a decadent count who for some reason is unhappy with his lot. On some whim or other, he recruited several henchmen to stir up disorder in Kobryn District. What is surprising about his plan is that he managed to recruit Jews for his scheme, despite their usual caution, which suggests that he must have made them an offer they could not refuse. There are people, among them fools and intellectuals, who believe that the żyds are plotting to take over the world. Novak will be bitterly disappointed if his investigation ends up supporting the prejudices of those buffoons and geniuses. Unfortunately, for now he has no other theory, but the theory he doesn’t have preoccupies him far more than the one that he does. Has he missed something? He cannot tell. Still, it is safe to say that everyone mixed up in this affair knew that the Okhrana was pursuing them, and yet they were not deterred. This is exactly what the end of a nation looks like, when people no longer think that the law is synonymous with justice.
But why should he be surprised? All he needs to do is take a look at his own men. He is surrounded by a pack of idiots. Thankfully Albin Dodek is at least not a drunk, but the rest of them reek of vodka and do not even try to hide it with fruit liqueur. They burn their stomachs with cheap kvass and then go out to make night arrests. They are incapable of any manner of thought, reflection or meditation. Being told to “bring in so-and-so”, they go and do it, no questions asked. Yet another sign of the nation’s demise: oafs filling the ranks of its police and security forces.
And what about the commander-in-chief, His Excellency Field Marshal Gurko, the celebrated governor? Why the hell did Gurko entrust him with this pestiferous role in the first place? Why hasn’t he invited Novak for a private audience in so many years? When Gurko had convinced him to accept the job, he had told him, “Piotr, I need you here. You know why.” And he did know, at least he thought he knew. But now, Mr Governor, dammit, I don’t understand a thing. Where is the respect that was promised me? Not the respect that derives from status or pay, but respect for one’s profession? All I am is a soldier, Field Marshal Gurko, all I ever wanted to be was a soldier. I always faced other armed soldiers, just like me. I faced forces that were organised just like my own. With flags flying just like mine. But as soon as I was hurled from a horse and crushed my leg, I became little more than a sewer rat.
Now my enemies have inferior firepower, their forces are in disarray, and, lacking any kind of banner, they hold fast to some trenchant belief or other instead. How did this come about? Did you imagine that you were sending me to a different battlefield? Or did you already know, back when you invited me to your office and buttered me up with flattery, noticing my limp, that a disabled man like me is only fit for lurking in the empire’s sewers? Is it perhaps true, Mr Gurko, honourable Governor, that you have not invited me to your office because you can’t look a rat in the eye? There’s another sign for the nation’s imminent downfall: the commander of the investigation is on the brink of going mad.
“Sir.” Dodek makes him start. “He’s ready.”
“He’s ready?” Novak says, trying to keep up. “Who is ready?”