Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)The Rapunzel Gambit (CrimsonCardinal x Alan23)
Even though the impressive gates of the Vasiliev mansion were now looming before him, he was still not sure if he wanted to go through with this visit or not. There were pluses, of course – there were always pluses – but these days, he had grown jaded and bored. There had been times when he'd dreamed of a hypothetical time when he'd be rich enough not to have to work. Now that this time was here, he found himself facing a future of boredom with utter dread.
“So, the pluses,” he listed in his mind, as he brought the anonymous grey BMW to a halt outside the gates. “A free dinner. Never to be sneezed at. Maybe in the grand old American tradition, or, given the family's origins, something a tad more Soviet Kitsch. Chilled caviar, vodka, borscht. Solyanki, or Pelmeni.” Though, he mused, as far as the fish eggs went, the Italian version was far better.
And then there was the flunky who'd contacted him. Tomofei Utkin. Though they'd spoken only over the phone, Utkin's voice had given away that he almost certainly looked exactly like his surname. His voice even quacked. And, hidden under the faked insouciance they'd been more than a touch of desperation. Did they really think a man with his instincts wouldnt pick the pose? Such a state of desperation was always likely to be interesting.
It could be... intriguing. And intrigue, that was what he really craved.
The usual distorted, interrogative crackle came through the small speaker set by the gate.
“Lucas,” he replied, softly. “Rin Lucas I have an appointment with Mr Mavricky Vasiliev. His Personal Assistant, Mr Utkin would have told you I was arriving.”
Without a word the gates swung open. The menial manning the gates was, Rin tabled, so typical as to be almost a cliché. Full of his own importance, terse and suspicious of voice, and without even a polite “please go through Mr Lucas.” Rin shrugged. The adoration of strangers had never been a major craving of his psyche. Well, not male strangers, anyway.
The drive was long and circular, gravel-lined, again almost a cliché. Rin would not have been entirely surprised to see the Imperial Russian standard flying from one of the towers, or to have been greeted by a troop of cossacks riding herd on the car. The cypress trees (symbols of death, he knew, though he doubted that had been part of the landscaper's intention) seemed to reach out, as if to grope at the vehicle as it passed, like the malevolent willows in Tolkien.
He brought the car to a halt, noting the cars already parked outside the main entrance. A Rolls Royce... nothing strange that a Russo-American aristocrat should choose a British car, after all, Vlad Lenin owned one... a Saab, two Mercedes, a Lambo, a Caddie.
He swung his legs out of the car, and (despite the outstretched hand and the entreaty of the flunky who ushered him in) retained its keys. When dining with the devil, you needed not only a long spoon but also a guaranteed fast escape. The butler (Rin supposed that was what he was) tok his name and, with a sepulchraic “Please walk this way, Mr Lucas” led him along a long passage, lined with hung rugs, tables on which stood expensive vases (one, for sure, Han dynasty) and at least one original Renoir sketch that would have fetched enough to buy an apartment block at any auction.
The Vasiliev dining table was already well-populated when he arrived. A tall, bearded aristocrat who was obviously Mavricky Vasiliev. A thicker-set man of similar facial appearance, who was, presumably, Mavricky's brother Joakim. Their genial introductions proved Rin's guesses correct. A pixie-like lady with hard eyes proved to be Elizaveta, Joakim's wife. There was also a very fat man who puffed like a grampus even though he was only sitting down who was introduced as Osip, the cousin who was also a major shareholder of the Vasiliev group, and Emily, his American-brn wife, who had the kind of face, Rin thought, you could strike matches on, but a willowy appearance despite obviously pushing the sixty barrier. An ex model, for sure.
“Well,” said Mavricky Vasiliev, unfolding his napkin and signalling to a silently waiting flunky. “Shall we begin?”