Nanowrimo Winner

21. Dropping the Pilot

For a while Larvartin’s vicious instincts were held in check by a reasonable fear that if they were provoked, his many enemies would succeed in deposing and killing him. But after a couple of years had passed, he found that he was still secure; that his secret police had inspired such fear that no-one dared to say an open word against him; instead he was surrounded by toadying flatterers. He now decided to buttress his own position further by eliminating anyone whom he suspected of the smallest disloyalty.

Strangely enough, the chief obstacle to the satisfaction of his thirst for vengeance proved to be Controller Ursin. Ursin was, of course, not at all averse to violence and repression, but for him it was chiefly a means to an end. He wanted a stable, efficient state; if it were necessary to take out the odd troublemaker he would not hesitate, but he wanted it done unobtrusively, ‘clinically’ as he would often say. He had no appetite for a Twentyland Terror or the haphazard execution of unthreatening, compliant citizens.

Accordingly, he dismissed most of Larvartin’s accusations and refused to grant his request for what amounted to a personal death squad. He could not, of course, refuse to provide bodyguards, but he removed their captain, Chlori Forobdin, who seemed to him to be forming too friendly a relationship with Larvartin, and replaced him with Tulli Inmacra, a cynical fellow and one of his own most trusted lieutenants.

As the years passed, Ursin had become increasingly impatient about playing second fiddle to his cousin. The course of history, he clearly felt, had never been meant to go this way, and he was convinced that he could run the country more correctly if he were President himself. He was obliged to accept that as a former Royalist agent and a leading collaborator with the Nazis, he was lucky to be alive at all, and could hardly expect to be a natural candidate for the leadership of a Communist republic. But with the passage of time his sense of his own unsuitability began to fade, and the high-handed behaviour of his cousin began to grate on him more and more. This, I think, may have caused his tone in refusing Larvartin’s requests to be a little peremptory; and by now Larvartin was not used to being refused anything. Relations between the cousins perceptibly cooled.

The Council of the Twenty had formal meetings once a month in those days: they gathered round a long table in the great Hall of Karl Marx (formerly St George’s Hall) and reviewed reports from the Ministries. One September, however, they found they had different business to conduct.

Larvartin opened the meeting in his usual affable, joking manner, and then, looking solemn, announced that he had a serious matter to put before them. He praised the work of Ursin: his indefatigable pursuit of justice, his intelligence, his energy, his zeal in the cause of our precious Republic. The assembled Council members began to wonder whether this was the build-up to Ursin’s getting a medal, or to his involuntary retirement. But Larvartin went on to say that thanks to Ursin’s dedication, a terrible discovery had been made. On the sheet of paper before him – he held it up with its back toward his audience – were the names of three conspirators. These evil men had begun working on plot to strike at the very centre of the republic by assassinating not only him, Marki Larvartin (that would be a relatively small matter, he declared piously) but also many members of the Twenty and several senior Ministers, with a bomb. A bomb in a suitcase. At this point, inexplicably and to the bemusement of the Council, he smiled; but soon recovered his gravity.

These conspirators, he went on, were not fly-by-night reactionaries or disaffected metropolitan types. No: the names on the paper before him – supported by the clearest of evidence, thanks to the unceasing investigations of Comrade Ursin! – were important, trusted figures in the government of Twentyland.

The silence that followed this pronouncement was profound and prolonged. Ursin himself was, as usual on these occasions, standing behind Larvartin. From the expression on his face it was clear that he knew absolutely nothing about this: moreover, from where he stood he could see (as could I, sitting on Larvartin’s right hand) that the piece of paper which was supposed to bear the fatal names was in fact completely blank. I don’t know to this day whether letting Ursin see this was an uncharacteristically subtle piece of psychological warfare on Larvartin’s part, or simply another symptom of his growing derangement.

The Council members looked uneasily at one another and finally Jakoubian plucked up the nerve to speak. Was it possible, he asked, that is, when Comrade Larvartin said that the conspirators were members of the government… important members… could it be that, if Comrade Larvartin was prepared to tell the Council, could it be that perhaps one or more of the names were the names, the names of members of the Council of the Twenty itself?

Larvartin stared gravely and simply nodded his head once.

All at once, Juri Mustin, one of the younger and more energetic members of the Council got suddenly to his feet.

“Let this farce end here!” he exclaimed, rhetorically, “Do you wonder that I should plan to kill this wretch, this evil parasite, when the same burning desire must live in the heart of every loyal Communist and every simple patriot in the land? Let everlasting shame fall on any man here who has not wished that this cancer could be excised from our country’s government! For my part I shall conceal the truth no longer, but stand on my feet at last; and if I have to die, I shall die a free Dubitanian and a true socialist!”

He pulled a long-bladed opinelca from his pocket and started towards the head of the table, but he had not got more than two paces away from his chair before his head was blown apart by a bullet from Ursin’s pistol.

I think two paces is quite a long distance in the circumstances. There were at least six armed guards in the room, but it seems they had instructions not to shoot without Ursin’s explicit command. I suppose it was also understandable that the other Council members were too nonplussed to seize the traitor. At the time, nobody raised any questions about the apparent lack of enthusiasm of those present about defending the President, but I do wonder whether Ursin was actually a trifle disappointed with the calibre of the assassins he had to face. If Mustin had kept his mouth shut and asked to see Larvartin in private, he would have stood a fair chance of succeeding, simply because no-one had foreseen the possibility of a Council member launching a murderous attack with a simple opinelca. Instead he made a windy speech and set off on his deadly mission with all the dispatch of a peevish tortoise, more or less forcing Ursin to shoot him. In a way it was suicide.

Anyway, Ursin brusquely instructed the terrified Council members to sit down again and stay where they were: he summoned additional guards who took away the body and did some minimal clearing of the mess – it was impossible to remove all the blood spots and fragments quickly. Now Larvartin cleared his throat and it became apparent that the meeting was to continue a little longer.

“Comrades!” he said, “I regret to inform you that the name of Juri Mustin is not one of the three on the sheet of paper I have before me.”

He told the members that the extraordinary incident they had just witnessed nevertheless confirmed the appalling danger in which the Republic currently stood. It was essential that the Council and the government should be purged of disloyal elements, and he therefore hoped that members would not object to his imposing upon them a small test. He would ask each member of the Council to consider the matter and by noon the next day supply him with a list of those whose loyalty they considered doubtful. If they successfully identified the names on his list, he would be greatly reassured. The Council members, still understandably shocked, said nothing, and after a moment or two, realising that the meeting was now over, they stood and filed out in a depressed silence.

Larvartin’s car – his second oldest Zastra – was waiting in the leafy square outside, but he indicated by a gesture that he preferred to be alone, and that I should not go with him. As the car pulled away, my arm was seized roughly from behind: it was Ursin.

“What the hell is going on, Stilin?” he demanded, “If you’ve set him up to start a purge…”

“No! No, I know nothing about it,” I protested. “This is something he has come up with on his own.”

“Well, you and I are going to nip this in the bud,” he said, “Get in the car!”

I had not noticed that Ursin’s own car gliding smoothly up behind me. We rode in silence.

In the palace, Ursin strode unchecked through the building until we came to the anteroom – crowded with waiting officials; there the secretary attempted to waylay him, but he brushed her aside and shoved the door open.

Larvartin, looking up with some surprise, was sitting on a sofa with a teacup in his hand: in a corner was Inmacra, standing with his hands behind his back. And at the other end of the sofa sat Esmeralda Larvartin in a green silk dress.

“Juri!” she exclaimed fondly, as though we were expected, “And Lucas? Come and sit down.”

Ursin let out a strange kind of sigh, but he could not shove Esmeralda aside. We tamely sat down and accepted cups of tea.

“Now, I’m glad you’re here, Juri,” said Esmeralda, “I want you to knock a bit of sense into your cousin. He works so hard and yet he won’t take a proper holiday. He wants to go to the Black Sea, can you believe it, no of course you can’t, and for a week. Will you tell him that we must go to Capri? Why else would we have a villa if we are never going to use it? And for a month, really he looks so haggard, it must be a month, he’s exhausted, you know Lucas, I blame you, yes I’m sorry, but you keep him so late and you take him away so often, don’t you? You can’t deny it, of course you can’t.”

I was in such a state of terror about what Ursin was going to do I could hardly speak, and my teacup rattled on its saucer; but luckily Esmeralda expected nothing from me. Ursin had a more difficult time, smiling with clenched teeth and gradually going red in the face with frustration and impatience. It was an hour before Esmeralda finally released us, and the sight of her large silken rump wobbling out through the door was simultaneously one of the most welcome and most terrifying things I have ever seen.

As soon as she was gone Ursin stood up.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” he said, running a finger round the inside of his collar, “I don’t know what scheme you think you’re embarking on, Marki, but it’s not going to happen.”

Larvartin tried to speak, but Ursin held up one hand and continued.

“I’ve waited long enough, Marki,” he said, “We didn’t work together for all those years so that you could turn the place into a shambles, a laughing stock. No, shut up and listen to me. It’s over. You’ve had long enough. You’re retiring. You’re not leaving this room till you’ve signed a resignation letter; then you can come with me and I’ll take care of the rest. Is that clear? I said: is that clear?”

“Dear God!” exploded Larvartin, “After all I’ve done for you, Juri, is this it, no ounce of gratitude? All the years I spent living with scum while you were lording it over me from your fancy office. Well, I’m sorry to hurt your feelings but somehow it turned out they didn’t want you, did they? They wanted me. Out of the goodness of my heart I’ve kept you on, but face it, Juri, you’re past it; yes, we must face it, you’re a clapped-out gangster, and if I’m ever going to get this place sorted out, if we’re ever going to modernise you’ve got to go. Is that clear?”

Ursin stared at him for a moment, and then his hand moved towards the big black pistol. Larvartin let out a cry of rage and leapt on his cousin, seizing him round the throat.

I backed away from the struggling men, filled with horror but also a wild kind of hope. After all, I had not meant to devote my life to being the lackey of a corrupt dictator. When I joined the Party all those years ago, I did it out of genuine belief in socialism and the equality of men. But ever since that day in the farmyard when Porfri was killed, I had been living a lie, the prisoner of a ghastly parasite whose appetite seemed to grow and grow. Now at last, I might be free if Ursin could only get his gun out of its holster.

“Stilin?” said a calm, clear voice in the background. It was Inmacra. I never understood Inmacra; either there was something missing in his mind, or he understood the world in a different way to me – if so, it must be admitted that his way seemed to work. At any rate, I never saw him upset or disturbed, even in circumstances when any rational man might have shown some fear or disgust. He had calmly taken out his own gun and now, behind the frantically struggling figures of Larvartin and Ursin, he gestured politely, deferentially, to me with his left hand, almost like a waiter: this one – or this one?

Shuddering violently, I raised my hand and, fighting back my fear, pointed to Larvartin. There was a single loud bang.

But when I opened my eyes again, it was Ursin on the floor. Larvartin was getting his breath back, already thanking Inmacra for his loyal service and promising promotion. But how? My puzzlement only lasted a few moments. I had misinterpreted Inmacra’s gesture. He had meant, not which one shall I shoot? but which one do you want to keep? I had pointed to the wrong man.

The death of Ursin naturally fed the flames of paranoia so far as treachery in high places was concerned. Most of the Twenty produced a list of denunciations – a few brave souls refused to do so – and a round of investigations and trials began the next day, with Inmacra in charge. Soon the cellars of the Agraci Palace were full. Now a kind of deadly chain reaction occurred as senior officials put in pre-emptive denunciations of those they thought might be about to accuse them. To be accused was, with rare exceptions, to be condemned. Execution was not enough for Larvartin; he took pleasure in extorting bizarre confessions from the condemned, sometimes wholly unrelated to the charges against them. A few valiant souls went to their deaths in silence, but most were prepared to say anything after a few days in the cellars. Some went too far for their own good; when Larvartin found a prisoner whose confessions were especially enthusiastic and extravagant, he would sometimes keep them alive for more entertainment at future sessions. Meanwhile three floors of Tabula House had to be commandeered to hold additional prisoners; but in due course the firing squad began to catch up with the backlog.

It must have become clear to Inmacra that he and I were riding a tiger, and that if the treason trials went on, we should inevitably end up as victims ourselves. Since the day of Ursin’s death, he seemed to regard me as a fellow-conspirator; he sought me out and asked what my plan was.

“You’ve had your fun, Luci,” he said condescendingly, “How are you going to wrap this one up?”

“Me?” I protested, “It wasn’t my doing.”

“Wasn’t it?” he asked, “I gave you the choice, didn’t I? If it had been up to me, I would have kept the Chief. Come on, you’re the only one he listens to.”

“You’re wrong. He won’t listen to me. He won’t listen to anybody.”

“No?” said Inmacra. He leaned towards me. “Tell you what, though…” he said.

The next day when Larvartin came down to his office, he found Esmeralda waiting for him with tickets to Capri. By the time they returned, three months later, things had been returned to normal, and Larvartin seemed to have forgotten about treason, at least for the time being.

56,156 According to the plan, there are 24 chapters. I may not finish them all in November, but I’ve got the 50k, so that’s alright.