‘Not again!’ Fabian Golyakovsky, Director of the Kremlin Art Museum, muttered under his breath as he watched Major Kirov stride into the building. ‘What have you come to borrow now? The last time Pekkala showed up here, half the pieces in the Byzantine wing ended up on the walls of Lubyanka!’
Kirov held up the piece of paper which had fallen out of Churikova’s book.
Golyakovsky had breathed in, ready to continue his tirade, but now he paused abruptly. Stepping cautiously forward, he peered at the document. ‘Where did you get that?’
‘Is that your signature?’
Removing the letter from Kirov’s hand‚ Golyakovsky studied it for a moment before replying. ‘Yes. The signature is mine. I gave Polina Churikova permission to work in our laboratory. She was a student at the Moscow Art Institute and came highly recommended by our mutual friend, Professor Semykin. Why is this letter damp?’
‘Never mind that‚’ answered Kirov. ‘What was Churikova doing here?’
Golyakovsky struggled to recall. ‘It was something to do with viscosity.’
‘Viscosity? What does that have to do with studying art?’
‘Well, I don’t know exactly. Polina was in a special programme devoted to art forensics. Finding out forgeries and so on. They often requested samples of paints and varnishes from works that arrived in our collection already damaged beyond repair. Sometimes, even though the paintings can’t be salvaged, we are able to reuse the frames.’
‘Why did they want paint samples?’
‘To determine their chemical composition. From that, they could often tell when a painting had been made. Some forgeries use colours that weren’t invented until centuries after the paintings were supposed to have been made. But that’s not always something you can tell just by looking at it. You have to be able to look at its chemical structure.’
‘This document also gives her permission to enter the archives.’
‘Yes. That means she was allowed to search in our inventory for particular samples on which to conduct scientific research. She couldn’t just walk out with it, you understand. It all had to be approved. I took charge of that personally.’
‘And what did she want for this experiment in viscosity?’
‘Well, it seemed very strange,’ he began, ‘but the whole business of forensics is strange to me.’
‘What did she want?’ repeated Kirov.
‘She asked for some samples of glue.’
‘What kind of samples?’
‘If I recall correctly, she wanted glue dating from several different time periods and from a number of different origins. A large part of our work here involves restoration, and glue is used extensively, not only in the repair but also in the creation of many original art works. If we don’t know what we’re dealing with, we might end up destroying the very things we’re trying to fix. Throughout history, glues have been made of different substances. These glues, in their original state, have different viscosities, or liquidity. If a glue used in the fabrication of a sixteenth-century cabinet turned out to be a modern synthetic compound, its lack of authenticity could be established.’
‘And what do the figures on the other side represent?’ asked Kirov.
Golyakovsky turned over the page. ‘These must be the results of her experiment. This refers to temperature.’ Golyakovsky pointed to a small circle at one end of the graph. ‘And this,’ he dragged his finger across to the backwards Latin U, ‘is the symbol for viscosity. It looks as if she was running an experiment with different kinds of glue to determine what effect heat would have on their liquidity. You see, once a glue has hardened, it forms a bond between two surfaces, but its original adhesive qualities are lost. It is no long sticky, if you see what I mean. Over time, the original compound can become brittle and the bond can fail if it is put under stress. The heat used here was to revive the glues.’
‘To see if they would become sticky again?’
‘Exactly. Now it looks as if most of these glues didn’t respond, but this one did.’ He touched one of the lines, which banked steadily upwards at the open end of the graph.
‘What was it made of? Can you tell?’
Golyakovsky shook his head. ‘Not entirely. Their chemical compounds are partially listed. It’s not a synthetic‚ I can tell you that much. My guess is that it’s quite old, containing something like beeswax and ichthyocolla.’
‘Ichthyo— What?’
‘Fish bladders. Makes you wonder how they figured that one out, doesn’t it, Major?’
‘Would there be any reason for her to keep this information secret?’
Golyakovsky shrugged. ‘Not that I can think of. Her findings were never restricted.’
Kirov explained how he came across the message. ‘Whatever this is, she didn’t want anyone else to know about it.’
Golyakovsky frowned in confusion. ‘But it’s just glue. It’s not as if there is a shortage of the stuff. If it had been something precious, I would understand, but . . .’
Golyakovsky continued to talk, but his words seemed to grow fainter and fainter as an idea crested like a wave in Kirov’s brain. ‘Thank you, Comrade Golyakovsky,’ he interrupted. Then, under the piercing gaze of saints whose bones had turned to dust five hundred years before, Kirov turned and sprinted for the exit.