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First published in Great Britain in 1999 by HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Michael Pearce 1999
Michael Pearce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008259488
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2017 ISBN: 9780008257279
Version: 2017-09-04
Praise for Michael Pearce
This series continues to be the most delightful in current detective fiction
GERALD KAUFMAN, Scotsman
Pearce takes apart ancient history and reassembles it with beguiling wit and colour
JOHN COLEMAN, Sunday Times
Irresistible fun
Time Out
The Mamur Zapts sly, irreverent humour continues to refresh the parts others seldom reach
Observer
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Praise
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Keep Reading
About the Author
Also by Michael Pearce
About the Publisher
1
Try the Missing Persons Bureau, said Dmitri coldly.
Missing Persons? said the Father Superior. Whats that got to do with it?
You said someone was missing.
Not some one, some thing! The One-Legged Lady. He looked incredulously at Dmitri. Youve not heard of her? An icon.
Dmitri knew, at least, what icons were. This was not surprising because nearly every house in Russia had one. It was usually situated in the opposite corner from the door so that you saw it as soon as you entered. The Church said that it was to remind you that you were forever under Gods protection. Dmitri said that since this was Russia and Church and Tsar were hand in glove, it was to remind you that someone was always keeping an eye on you. Anyway, as you went in at the door, there it was opposite you, usually a face under a tin plate, of some saint or other, looking you accusingly in the eye. It always reminded Dmitri of his difficult grandfather.
Not just an icon, said the Father Superior with emphasis: the icon. The Holy Icon of the One-Legged Lady of Kursk. The most famous icon in the province.
He looked hopefully at Dmitri. Without luck. To Dmitri, icons and monasteries and Father Superiors, for that matter belonged to the Dark Ages.
Youd better fill in a form, he said unenthusiastically.
The Father Superior stood for a moment looking down at him. Then he said:
Is there anyone more senior here? Boris Petrovich, for example?
Boris Petrovich was the Procurator and Dmitris boss.
Im afraid hes dining at the Governors this evening.
Ah, yes, said the Father Superior. Im dining there myself.
This icon of yours, said Dmitri, swiftly reviewing his position, its gone missing, you say?
Stolen, said the Father Superior. From the Monastery last night.
Dmitri pulled a pad towards him.
Value?
It is a holy object, said the Father Superior.
No value, wrote Dmitri.
He had a niggling feeling, however, that something remained to be said.
Famous, did you say? What is it famous for?
Performing miracles.
Oh, yes?
Dmitri put down his pen.
What sort of miracles? he said sceptically.
Well, its transformed the finances of the Monastery for a start.
This, admittedly, was the kind of miracle in which Dmitri could believe.
How?
By inducing thousands of people to come and see her. Including, said the Father Superior, Mrs Mitkin.
Mrs Mitkin was the Governors wife.
Perhaps I had better take a look, said Dmitri.
Didnt I tell you, said the Father Superior, that it performed miracles?
The sun came up and turned the snow pink. The ice crystals began to sparkle. Far off towards the horizon there Was another, larger, more continuous sparkle which became a flash of gold.
Gradually, the Monastery came into view. The flash came from a huge gold onion sitting on top of it. All around were subsidiary onions and scaly pineapples. They rose out of a pink-and-blue striped roof, beneath which were walls so white that they seemed an extension of the snow. The gold was very newly golden and the pink and blue so fresh that it almost leaped off the roof at you. The Monastery, thought Dmitri, must have rich patrons.
There was a black smudge in front of the gates which resolved itself, as they approached, into a crowd of people. They held out their hands as the sleigh hissed past them into the Monastery yard.
There are a lot of them, said Dmitri.
Who? said the Father Superior, preoccupied.
Beggars.
Pilgrims, said the Father Superior, pained.
Eyeing her all over! said the monk.
What? said Dmitri, startled.
You could tell he was no Christian. Didnt do his respects. Didnt even cross himself. Just stood there. Eyeing her all over, like I said. Disgusting!
Father Kiril,
Most of them show a bit of respect. Not him! There he stands, eyeing her all over. Bold as brass! Show a bit of respect! I say to him. And do you know what he says? Bugger off! Thats what he says.
Father Kiril,
Light began to dawn.
This was an icon, was it? said Dmitri.
What did you think it was?
The One-Legged Lady?
Eyeing her all over
Hes always like this, said the Father Superior despairingly.
The Chapel was dark except for a solitary lamp swinging down from overhead and the candles standing in front of the icons. The lamp turned in the draught whenever the door was opened and sent shadows chasing across the walls. Then it swung back again and they reassembled themselves. The candles fluttered and the faces beneath the metal plates seemed to alter their expressions but then the flames steadied and they resumed their normal impassivity. The air was heavy with incense.
A wooden screen, corresponding to the rood-screen in old English churches, stretched right across the Chapel, separating off the chancel. This was the iconostasis. It was covered with icons. From time to time someone would come up, bow before one or another of the icons, cross themselves, mutter a prayer and then shuffle away.
It was from the iconostasis that the Holy Icon of the One-Legged Lady of Kursk had been taken. There was a big, raw gap almost in the centre of the screen. A length of chain dangled down on either side.
We had it chained, said the Father Superior, but they filed them through.
Dmitri looked at the thick links.
That would have taken some time, he said.
They had all night. There are no services between midnight and five.
The Chapel is left open?
Yes. The Father Superior hesitated. Father Kiril likes to pray, he said reluctantly.
Did he pray last night?
The Father Superior sighed.
Yes, he said. He was here all the time.
What? said Father Kiril.
Last night! shouted Dmitri. The One-Legged Lady!
He made motions desperately with his hands.
Disgusting! said the old man.
Dmitri looked despairingly at the Father Superior.
Its no good, said the Father Superior. Weve tried everything. He cant hear a word!
Oh, yes, I can, said Father Kiril unexpectedly.
Except when he wants to, amended the Father Superior.
Dmitri tried again.
Last night
What? said Father Kiril.
The Father Superior preceded Dmitri through the door. As Dmitri made to follow him, a monk, emerging suddenly out of the shadows, seized him by the arm.
You dont want to listen to him, he said, jerking a thumb in the direction of Father Kiril. Hes past it!
I can see he has difficulties
Difficulties! The monk snarled contemptuously. He doesnt have difficulties: hes just past it. Addled. The milk in the buckets gone sour.
Yes, well,
Dmitri tried to edge past. The monk gripped his arm more tightly.
You dont want to listen to him!
Well, no, probably not, but
But, said the monk, nodding significantly, there are others who know more than they let on.
About the Icon?
Yes.
The monk released his grip a fraction.
Tell me, he said. Why was it stolen?
Ive been wondering that.
Well, why?
Dmitri shrugged.
Its value. I suppose.
Value? What sort of value has an icon got?
Spiritual, I suppose, said Dmitri, remembering his exchange with the Father Superior slightly guiltily.
Spiritual! Exactly! Well, who would want to steal a thing for its spiritual value?
I cant imagine that anyone
Think! insisted the monk. Think!
I am thinking. But
Monks.
Monks? Youre not suggesting that someone here in the Monastery ?
Not here. The monk made an impatient gesture.
Where, then?
There are plenty of other places that would like to get their hands on the One-Legged Lady.
Another monastery? But ?
The monk cackled, released his grip and shot away.
You ask Father Sergei, he called back over his shoulder. Hes one of those that know more than they let on!
Why would anyone steal an icon? It was a question that Dmitri had been asking himself and which he put to the Father Superior as they were walking across the yard.
Not for its intrinsic value, said the Father Superior, its value strictly as an object, that is. It contains some silver, certainly, but it would hardly be worth anyones while separating it out.
A collector, then?
I dont think a collector would be interested. Its too big. Huge! Six feet by four. And then the workmanship is a little crude. For my taste, that is. Its peasant work, really. I was saying as much to the Governor last night. Not that I would presume to set my taste against his. There is that rumour that its by the Master of Omsk, he said. Yes, I know, I said. But really
The Governor has quite a taste in these matters?
Oh, yes. Hes got quite a good collection of his own. Nothing like Marputins, of course, but pretty good. He glanced sideways at Dmitri. You know Marputin?
No, I dont think I do.
Oh, I thought you might. Hes down here quite often. Especially at the moment. He is a friend of the Mitkins. I think, said the Father Superior, that he would like to be more.
More?
Yes. He has his eye on the Mitkin daughter. Of course, hes much older than she is, but then, that doesnt matter much, does it, when there are other considerations?