Diversions
by spinner
Lavrenty Arkadievich Mizinov made his orders perfectly clear from the start.
"Zurov, this is one thousand francs. You will take Fandorin to Bucharest, or Odessa, or Paris, or Brazil if you have to. He needs to be away from here for a few days. He needs to relax."
Hippolyte blinked at the money that had been stuffed into his grasp, and then he blinked at the man who had given it to him. Had the leader of the Third Section totally lost his mind?
"Perhaps you haven't noticed, sir, but there's a war going on out there. Is this really the time?"
"Fandorin is knotted up—he's snapping at everyone, making stupid mistakes. I don't want him to lose control in front of the others. Kazanzaki is slavering, waiting for the opportunity of showing Fandorin up. Take Erast away for a few days. Make him relax. That is all. How difficult could that be? You are the resident expert at horseplay, so I am told."
"How am I to lure Erasmus away from his duty?"
"Make something up if you have to. I don't care. I will speak with your superiors. Explain to them that you are on a special assignment from me. Leave. Now. Take Fandorin with you."
It didn't take Hippolyte long to come up with a ruse. He would tell Erasmus that he had heard that Amalia had been seen in Bucharest, and would the boy accompany him in order to prevent Zurov from harming the witch if they did indeed encounter her. It wasn't as if he had been avoiding Fandorin since their unexpected interlude. No. In honesty, he had been avoiding him, but only out of guilt, out of worry that he had been too quick, too fast, too hard on the young man. This might prove the god-given opportunity to make things up to the boy, might it not?
"What the hell w-was I thinking, agreeing to this nonsense?" Fandorin leaned across the table to whisper to Zurov. They were in the press club, surrounded by smoke and drink and the constant, annoying voice of Varvara Suvarova.
"What nonsense?" Hippolyte asked, watching behind Erast Petrovich as Varya Suvarova tittered and giggled her way through a conversation across the room with several of the senior officers. She tossed her hair, giggled, tossed her hair, fidgeted with an earring, tossed her hair. Erast scowled impatiently in her direction and faced Zurov again, with his face more foreboding than ever.
"It's like t-tossing a bloody, red steak into the center of a pack of r-ravenous wolves. I must have been out of my m-mind to help her stay here."
"Sometimes we can't help, when we're attracted to someone, doing all the wrong things," Hippolyte began. Those words made Fandorin pale slightly. He avoided Zurov's eyes and emptied his goblet of harsh red wine. "I need your help, Erasmus."
"I am at your service, of course," Fandorin replied without looking up from his book. As Zurov spun his tale about Amalia and Bucharest, Erast stiffened, raised his eyes, and waited for him to continue. "Are you c-certain the source is reliable?" he wondered.
"Yes. It's only, I don't trust myself to go alone. Come with me. You can make certain I don't prove myself a fool over her again."
Hippolyte gave Erast a hopeful glance, and Fandorin immediately nodded.
"When d-do we leave?" Erast asked, offering Zurov a cigar and lighting one for himself.
"Is tonight too early?" Zurov asked hesitantly.
"Can we g-go right now? If she laughs like that one more time, I m-may kill her with my bare h-hands."
"Aren't you going to tell her where you're going?"
"No! She will w-want to follow. No, I tell you! Not one word!"
Zurov laughed heartily at the angry words, and took Fandorin by the arm.
"Come on then, we'll need a change of clothes."
"I will n-need to tell Mizinov I am leaving for a day or so," Erast tentatively interjected. Hippolyte nodded. That shouldn't take long, and it didn't. Fandorin knocked briefly and entered. Zurov waited outside but he could hear the exchange. Erast Petrovich gave a two sentence request and Mizinov responded with an exceptionally-curt, "Go away, Fandorin. Two days,". Fandorin emerged from the tent and made a grim face, perhaps surprised at his boss's surliness. Zurov had to admire how well Mizinov had played that!
They were in Bucharest in no time. The travel had been easy and quick, considering they were in a war zone. They travelled very light indeed, opting for horses and saddlebags. The horses were boarded down at the army headquarters in the city. The luggage was carried from there. There wasn't one snivel of complaint from Fandorin. He seemed happy to be away from the army camp. Perhaps Mizinov had been on to something.
"Where shall we set up our observation point and wait for M-madamemoiselle Amalia?" Fandorin asked once they had left the horses at the headquarters. It was a perfectly reasonable question, but one that Zurov had not anticipated. For the answer, he relied on his instincts. He situated Fandorin at a corner café, told him that he was going to the nearby post office, and he would be back in one hour, two at the most. Although Erast Petrovich had given him a most skeptical glance, the young man obeyed him.
It took Hippolyte a little over one hour to locate an appropriate place for the unwinding of Erast Petrovich's nerves. He secured two rooms at a delightful hotel, using the money that Mizinov had given him. Zurov knew it would be no great difficulty to wait a few hours, mope around the streets pretending to look for Amalia, put on a good show about being unable to find her, and then decide to find alternate female companionship in order to soothe his wounded heart. It would be totally in character for him, and it would not raise Fandorin's suspicions in the slightest. Mindless relaxation was not to Fandorin's liking, but a diversion with a purpose, that would fit the bill.
When Zurov returned to the café, Erast Petrovich's table was stacked with small white cups, one of which contained a tiny amount of black coffee that the young man had yet to finish. Fandorin was skin and bones. He should be having a full breakfast. At least he was having morning coffee. This shouldn't have been a surprise, as they had been up most of the night and into the day already. There were newspapers of every variety spread about too. Fandorin was hungrily devouring them. The boy ate words and nothing else. Putting on a determined face, Zurov hurried over to him, pulling him to his feet.
"I have arranged a hotel. My source says that she was spotted there last week. It's near to the theatres. Nothing Amalia loves more than theatre, am I right? We shall go, and we shall walk up and down a while, and we shall wait, and she will appear. Am I right?"
Zurov bundled up Fandorin's papers, paid for his coffees, and rushed him out the door of the café. Erast dropped their luggage and a few of the newspapers at the hotel, and with Hippolyte, he walked up and down the streets of the theatre district for several hours. Zurov couldn't help but adore the delightful manner in which the young man kept alert for any sign of the much-maligned Amalia. It did Hippolyte's heart good to know that in the event of an inglorious reunion with the dark-hearted villainess, Erasmus was by his side to defend him or to encourage him. In truth, it made him feel a little guilty for constructing such a convincing ruse.
By sunset, Hippolyte felt it was perfectly legitimate for him to start showing depression at the lack of Amalia's appearance. There was Erast Petrovich by his side, supporting him even to the last shadows of twilight, before the lights in the theatre houses began to turn bright, and well-dressed people began to appear for the evening's entertainment.
"She m-may yet show herself," Fandorin soothed, bringing Zurov a meat pie from the vendor on the corner who had been watching the two of them all day in hopes they might prove customers at last. The meat pie man was not the only one of had been watching them either. Hippolyte was terribly encouraged by the fact that quite a few ladies of easy virtue and obvious occupation began to circle about the street as the theatre patrons began to appear. It wasn't going to be hard at all to find distractions for himself and for Erast as well this evening.
"This is horrendous," he whispered to Erast, gobbling the meat pie down nonetheless. "Why should we waste our night waiting for that minx!? Come! I'm going to buy you a real dinner, and we're going to show her she's not the only dark-haired beauty to be found!"
"Well, if you're sh-sure," Erast Petrovich agreed slowly. "An hour more? By then, the seats in the v-venues should all be filled, and there will b-be no chance of seeing her. You might never forgive yourself if you did not wait at least a few more minutes."
"We will give her half an hour. And in the meantime, I'm going to go learn the name of that beauty over there. Watch me! I don't need Amalia!" Hippolyte declared with enough bravado that Erast gave him a pitying sigh.
"Very well. I will w-wait here for you."
Fandorin put himself up against a brick wall and continued to watch the passers-by as Zurov headed willy-nilly between the rich carriages and made his way to the raven-haired woman across the street who had caught his eyes. She was not, alas, one of those women of easy virtue that he had such luck with, but she was a wonderful conversationalist, and helpful besides. She gave him precise directions to one of the best restaurants in Bucharest.
Departing from the pleasant matron with this new and useful knowledge firmly stowed, Zurov came back across the street to find that Fandorin was standing in the middle of five beauties of his own. Laughing loudly, Zurov hurried up to them, rubbing his hands together briskly. Oh, leave it to Erasmus—the most beautiful flower for the most discerning of bees!
"But is it this way or that to La Parisienne?" one of the ladies asked with a very pronounced French accent. They had made a circle around Fandorin and were all holding the edges of one very lucky map.
"I have n-not yet seen the establishm-ment," he replied, blushing brightly as one of the beauties put an arm around his waist and leaned her chin on his shoulder in order to better view the map.
"No, Josephine," she commented. "It is this way. This way."
"Not that way, Madeline!" another recounted, looking up and pointing down to the opposite end of the street.
"That way leads b-back towards the center of the city," Fandorin corrected.
"Oh, we will never make it on time! I told you we should have taken an earlier train!"
"It's not my fault!"
"You and your hair," Madeline scolded Josephine.
Fandorin collected the map and turned around slowly. His retinue turned with him. Erast Petrovich paused when he came face to face with Hippolyte.
"Could you move?" one of the other beauties ordered.
"Any ideas where La P-parisienne is?" Erast asked him as Zurov tipped his hat to the cross damsel and moved quickly to one side. He pushed his way through the ladies and their bustling skirts and leaned over Fandorin's shoulder.
"We could walk them there. It's three blocks that way."
"Oh, capital!" Josephine exclaimed, taking Erast's arm and heading in the direction that Zurov had indicated.
"Take a left at the end of this block," Zurov ordered, clucking and scolding as he moved the other beauties in line behind Fandorin and Josephine. This was going to be easier than he thought! "Who are you, by the way? What's all the rush about?" he asked of one of the slower girls.
"The chorus at La Parisienne. We're late for work. Chorus positions aren't easy to get, and Josephine has to take an hour on that hair of hers."
"Chorus? Chorus of angels, I dare say," Zurov whispered to himself, happily lending her his arm for support. As they walked along, he stared at Fandorin, envying and loving him for his fortunate halo.
* * *
By nine in the evening, after taking in the first and second shows at La Parisienne and having dinner with half the chorus, Hippolyte and Erast Petrovich were both well-relaxed. Fandorin kept giving Zurov keenly guilty looks though, as if to apologize that he had let them be so led-astray by all these lovelies, while they had honest work to do, trying to find the absent Amalia. But Hippolyte kept filling his cup for him, urging him to have another bite or two of food. By ten, Amalia was all but forgotten. By eleven, most of half the chorus had been diverted away to other amusements. Hippolyte and Erast found themselves alone with Madeline and Josephine. Madeline was a pleasant companion, and she would not be a difficult person to spend time with under any circumstances. Luckily, she was a brunette, and she was a convincing substitute that Erast could believe Zurov was drawn to because of her resemblance to Amalia. That was a truly fortunate break for Madeline, because it was going to take a team of hussars to break the possessive grip that Josephine had on Erast Petrovich's slender arm.
On the walk back towards their hotel, Zurov was not surprised that Josephine was taking the opportunity to nuzzle and kiss Erast every chance she got. It was terribly hard, watching her with her hands all over the same young man Hippolyte himself had a strong fancy for. She tugged him back into dark alleyways, and Hippolyte had to reverse course, locate, and drag them back into the light before continuing the short path to the hotel. For his part, Fandorin was blushing brightly and sweetly. It was short work getting the two young women upstairs through a side entrance. It was even shorter work getting them all in one room, letting their other suite sit idle. It was then that Zurov opened another bottle of wine and poured glasses all around. All it took was one more glass, and Fandorin was absolutely horizontal. It must have been a combination of the very potent wine and the vast number of hours since the last time he had slept. This was all the more convenient for the rapacious Josephine. She hurried Erast towards the bedroom suite with such rapidity that even Madeline was giggling in surprise.
"Should I be worried about him?" Hippolyte whispered to the dark-haired beauty. Madeline laughed softly again.
"Not too much, j'éspère."
"All the same. One must protect their comrades-in-arms."
Hippolyte hurried towards the bedroom and pushed open the door.
"Here, now, wait a minute," he scowled, scooping Josephine off of Erast and depositing her on the chair beside the bed. Fandorin laughed a tiny bit, reaching a hand towards Hippolyte.
"B-brother, help me up," Erast pleaded.
Hippolyte tugged Erast up by his outstretched hand. He stood him upright, patted his shoulders, and then he pushed him back down to the mattress and stretched him out once more in a better position, further up on the luxurious covers. It was like being deposited in a fluffy snowbank. Fandorin was muffling his silly laughter in the pillows, trying to turn away. He gave Hippolyte one boot in the chest, only to have Zurov take the foot, slip off the boot, and grab the other before Fandorin was able to shimmy away.
"You be gentle with him. He's new to this kind of thing," Zurov scolded Josephine, who bounced out of her cloak, boots, and skirts and was back on the bed on top of Erast in a short minute. Erast scrambled away from her, unable to stop his soft laughter. He managed to get to his feet, but only barely. He circled around Hippolyte, hiding from Josephine on Zurov's other side.
"Are th-they always like this?" he asked, his eyes unfocused, his chin resting on Zurov's shoulder and his arms curled around the count's waist. Hippolyte glanced back at the impatient Josephine, who sat on the end of the bed and waited, glaring at them. Erast hid his face down behind Hippolyte's shoulder.
"She is determined, isn't she? Don't worry. You'll be fine."
"Don't g-go. How will I know what to do?" Erast whispered to him.
"She obviously knows what to do."
"Hippolyte, d-don't go. What am I going to tell Lizanka? Please help me."
"Shhh, Erasmus," Hippolyte whispered back to him. "Lizanka will not be mad at you, I promise."
Hippolyte helped Erast back to the bed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt for him. The young man obeyed without question, lying back with his arms open to the sides above his head. He was watching Zurov with the most trusting eyes. It nearly broke Hippolyte's heart. Josephine set upon Erast again, undoing his trousers and sliding them away as Hippolyte gently removed his shirt and vest and jacket and such.
"Take it easy, will you?" Zurov scolded the over-eager Josephine again, giving her a thump on the back of the head. "Are you trying to scare the boy?"
Watching Erast's face, it wasn't hard to guess what Josephine was doing under all that unfolded hair of hers. Zurov lay down on the bed beside Fandorin, kicking off his own boots, and slowly stroking Erast's hair off his face as Josephine pulled off the young man's undergarments and pushed them aside with the rest of his clothes, her clothes, and the like.
"Erasmus, I'm going to go now," Hippolyte murmured in Erast's ear, listening to the soft keening coming from Fandorin. It was pointless, though, all this protesting. Fandorin's fingers curled through Zurov's hair, and the young man tugged the hussar's mouth down to his own. He was not a skilled kisser, not yet, but he was eager, and he was willing to learn.
There was a change in the tone of the keening coming from Fandorin, and it was enough different that Zurov had to look up and find out what was going on. He encountered two pair of cat-like eyes in the darkness. More clothes were piled by the bed. Madeline had joined them out of sheer boredom, it seemed. Hippolyte shrugged one shoulder calmly before returning to his previous endeavor.
He slid his tongue into Erast's ear and teased the young man with consummate skill. Fandorin was beginning to pant and whisper, his eyes glazed with the frenzy of pleasure. Hippolyte was glad to see Erast was able to rise to the occasion after all that alcohol. He must have poured six bottles of good wine down the boy. Zurov settled for nuzzling Erast's neck and ears for fear of suffocating him with kisses. He moved down Erast's chest and bumped foreheads with Madeline, who giggled gently and made room for him. Together they suckled opposite sides of Erast, settled in like pups at his chest. It clearly didn't bother Madeline that Hippolyte was there. Erasmus was writhing, crying wordless syllables. Josephine caught him tightly by the hips and started doing wicked things that made him scream out.
* * *
It had been the best possible solution, inviting two women instead of just one, Hippolyte decided, congratulating himself on his foresight. Zurov was staring down into Erast's sleeping face by the morning light. He carefully unhooked the silver locket that was winced tight around Erast's neck and tangled through Josephine's long hair. Zurov let the priceless locket dangle for a moment in the morning light before putting it down on the side table. He gave half a thought to losing the locket altogether, but decided against it. He didn't have to open it to know whose picture was inside.
It wasn't fair to Erasmus that Lizanka continued to have this hold on him from beyond the grave. It had been two years, after all. How had Zurov not guessed the reason for Erast's mood and his misery? Being around the coquettish Varvara Suvarova had stirred up these memories of happier times for Erast. If Hippolyte had any inkling, the lovely Lizanka had been anything but coquettish. She had probably been as sweet and pure as honey and milk, just like Erast was. His friend never spoke of his ill-fated wife, and Hippolyte did not have to wonder as to the reasons. There was whispered gossip in the press club when Fandorin wasn't around, usually cast about by Kazanzaki and his friends. The wunderkind had gone completely mad, out of his mind, some whispered. There was even talk about a short stay at an asylum before being released into the care of his in-laws. Baron von Evert-Kolokolstev was a powerful man. Erast's grief at losing his Lizanka must have driven him to find the fastest possible way to kill himself which wouldn't jeopardize his mortal soul, and conveniently for him there was a war in need of volunteers! Who in the world, Zurov had to wonder, had allowed Fandorin to sign up for the Serbian campaign? Well, he was an adult and could do as he pleased, but surely, surely, what a terrible idea it had been! Somewhere along the path from Russia to Romania to Turkish captivity and out again to freedom, and now to Plevna, Erast's plans for death had been derailed, maybe by common sense or survival instincts. Here it was, another year, and it was summer again, and lo, but he was still alive. Hippolyte was certain that Erast and Lizanka had courted in summer and married in the fall. Autumn would be upon them soon, and Hippolyte would be needed more than ever before to distract Fandorin from his misery. The thought of how horrible late September would be for Fandorin drove through Zurov's heart like a cold steel spike. Poor Erasmus, Hippolyte thought, stroking the young man's hair and whispering to him.
"Sleep, little angel. Promise me you will stay alive a while longer, yes? You make Hippolyte so very happy."
Unaware of Zurov's thoughts or actions, Erast didn't even blink. Madeline lifted one eye lid and groaned softly, sliding her limbs one by one out of the tangle in the bed. She winked at Hippolyte and tiptoed towards the bathroom. With her face bare of all those cosmetics, she was rather a sweet-faced girl. He hoped they might be able to convince her to visit again over the next couple days, depending on her work schedule at the La Parisienne.
Even Zurov wasn't sure which of the two young ladies had been the first with Erast last night, and it had not mattered by that point. Madeline and Josephine had between the two of them utterly exhausted Fandorin. After Erast has fallen soundlessly to sleep, Zurov had done his best to console both Josephine and Madeline, and he had heard no complaints. After he had fallen asleep, he was certain the ladies had found a way to amuse themselves without him or Erast either one.
Josephine was moving now. Her groans were a little louder than Madeline's had been. But no wonder, Hippolyte remembered with a chuckle, as Josephine had been nearly on the bottom of the pile. The sleepy blonde made her way to the bathroom as well, where she knocked, entered, greeted Madeline, and locked the door behind themselves.
Erast slept on, at least for a few seconds. He lay there wrapped in silk sheets and pale skin, gnawing on the edge of one pillow. Hippolyte wondered what he was dreaming. Erast was far too much temptation to refuse. Hippolyte rolled him gently onto one side, found the nearly empty bottle of lubricant, and smoothed it over himself. He extracted the pillow edge from Fandorin's mouth, muffled his lips with one large hand, and began to slowly enter into him. Gently, tenderly, patiently, he sat up to his knees and rolled Erast onto his stomach. He knew Erast was awakening when the young man arched back towards him with a sleepy, confused moan of pleasure.
Hippolyte put his arms around and under Erast, nuzzling his shoulders and neck, and began to move against and inside him, keeping his pace gentle and slow. Erast was quivering in his grip, mouth now muffled against one of Hippolyte's arms. Zurov increased his pace from a trot to a prance, and Erast's breathing shifted as well, rising and falling in faster pants. Tiny teeth sank into Zurov's arm. The pace rose steadily from a prance to a march, to a gallop. They reached a racing stride, and Erast began gasping and whispering curse words. Hippolyte was seconds from his own climax, and in no mood to hurry. He was quite enjoying the surprising abundance of foul language in Erast's hidden repertoire. He rode evenly and carefully, kissing Erast's back and the middle of his spine as the young man cried out and then sank down, his limbs growing loose and his trembling body unwinding from head to toe.
They lay together in the dim noise of rushed breathing, waiting for the calm to return. Hippolyte nuzzled the back of Erast's neck and whispered kisses in his ear, unwilling to relinquish the comfortable position on top of him. He kissed the nape of Fandorin's neck and up the back of his skull, through his hair. He found a spot behind one ear to nuzzle which made Erast ball up under him with ticklish laughter. Hippolyte spent several moments kissing here, wishing there was enough time to find out what other places on Fandorin's body, when given similar attention, would produce similar results.
"Sh-shall we look for Amalia this morning?" Erast murmured softly, his voice no more than a whisper.
"Amalia who?" Zurov responded mischievously. "If those two don't get out of the bathroom soon, I am going to pee in this bed."
"We could v-venture into the hallway and use the b-bathroom in the other suite," Fandorin suggested.
"Brilliant!" Zurov exclaimed, rising out of the bed and striding naked across the floor, out of the bedroom. He yanked open the front door to the suite, and calmly walked through the hallway and into the next room as though this were perfectly ordinary behavior. Erast gave a shocked gasp, unwilling to follow at first. Eventually though, Erast pulled the silk sheets around himself, and tiptoed out of the bedroom and to the opening in the hallway. He peered out one way, then the other, pulled the door closed to the first suite, and went on light feet to the next. He knocked, waiting patiently.
Hippolyte pulled the door open, and yanked Erast inside. He ripped the sheet away, and tossed it back out into the hallway before slamming the door. He pounced on the startled Fandorin, howling loudly like a wolf. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Erast merely stared at him. Zurov sank his teeth into one shoulder and dragged Fandorin by the nape of the neck towards the fresh, clean bed in the as-yet-unused bedroom. What a waste to let all that beautiful linen and silk go unwrinkled. Zurov threw the young man bodily back up onto the covers. He prowled around Erasmus's bare skin, nuzzling, and licking. When Fandorin made as if to wriggle out from under him, Zurov grabbed his hands and bit his shoulder, shaking the room with an even louder wolf howl. This one crumbled Fandorin's shock into blissful mirth. Zurov released his hands, and Erast patted him gently on top of his wild hair.
"Perhaps you ought n-not do that quite yet, Hippolyte. It's early. You'll t-terrify the morning m-maids," he whispered.
"Stay right where you are. I will run us a bath. Perhaps we will drill a hole in the wall and find out what the ladies are up to over there, and why they are taking so long."
On his way to the bathroom, Hippolyte paused for a smile. Erast was watching him with doubtful amusement on his face. The painfully-sad trust was there again too. Why was it that Erast's trust should make Hippolyte feel so guilty? Perhaps he didn't feel at all as if he deserved such a wondrous gift as that. Zurov was happy that he would be able to report success in this mission to Mizinov. He only hoped the Lieutenant Colonel didn't ask for too much detail on the specifics.
"How would we ever b-be able to d-drill a hole in the wall?" Fandorin asked, giving the hint of a mischievous smile. Oh, there was hope for him yet, Hippolyte decided.
Le Fin
© 2008 to spinner
