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DIANA WAS THE first through the double doors. Igor hurried after her. "It’s okay! Don’t panic! It’s just a blank. Arthur found the gun in a basket of props. He was fooling around with it earlier on. That’s all it is: a prop."
Igor thrust him. "The bloody joker, I’ll settle his hash."
"It’s not my fault," cried Alex from behind. "I never knew about any pistol in those baskets, honest!"
But Arthur lay sprawled out on the parquet floor of the library, amidst the gloomy mahogany bookcases and the dusty, wingback chairs draped with antimacassars. Blood was pouring from his head. His finger was still tangled in the trigger guard.
Diana screamed, then knelt by Arthur, rocking back and forth.
"Don’t touch! him" warned Tisha. Urgently he turned to Alex. "Be quick! Ring for an ambulance!"
"No, Alex!" shouted Igor. "Don’t be a fool! Ambulance? That would bring the Militia, too. What if they ask questions? We couldn't tell them anything because we don’t know what our story is yet."
Bragin knelt by Arthur too and felt his pulse. Then he inspected the wound closely.
"It’s all right, Diana, he’s alive. His pulse is steady." He crouched lower. "Quiet, please, everyone! He’s still breathing perfectly well. I don’t think he’s in any danger. The bullet just creased his skull and tore his scalp."
"So much blood!"
"Of course, there’s a lot of blood flow from the scalp, Doctor Kotov! But he’ll live." Bragin applied a handkerchief to the wound. "I’ll just staunch this. Alex, would you be so good as to fetch me a bowl of hot water and the First Aid kit? I need scissors, dressing, and plaster."
This time Alex did hurry off.
"Let’s not react hastily. We mightn’t need outside help. I’ll know in a moment or so. A few minutes’ delay won’t harm him. If that gun’s a stage prop, where did he get a live bullet from? Was it a lucky charm? Something he kept out of deviltry?"
Stooping, Igor eased the pistol out of Arthur's hand. Straightening up, he broke the chamber open.
"Well, it’s empty now. Dammit! If this was a blank pistol it shouldn’t be able to take live ammo. This is no prop. What's it doing here?"
"Maybe it is Alex's," said Igor, "he said he didn’t know anything about it---so maybe he did? Methinks the lady doth protest too much."
"Perhaps," said Bragin, "it was a stage prop earlier on this weekend."
"What do you mean by that?"
"And now it isn’t. Not anymore."
"Will somebody please call an ambulance?" Diana begged. "Or else I will."
Bragin gripped her arm tightly with one hand. "If you really wanted to, you’d be doing that right now---not asking us. The answer’s no. The bullet only grazed the bone. Maybe he’ll have some concussion, and a rotten headache---but there won’t be any internal damage. He’s lucky."
"Is that what he is? Lucky? So why did he do it?"
"Too much Delko on the brain," snapped Igor. "He must have got a bloody big surprise when the gun went off."
Soon Alex bustled in with a First Aid box and a bowl of hot water. Bragin rummaged for scissors and started snipping away Arthur's blood-soaked hair.
While this was going on, Tisha cornered the caretaker. "Do you swear you know nothing about the gun?"
"I do. I mean, my God, what do I want a gun for?"
"Well, you must know how it got here! It didn't sprout legs and walk over here, obviously."
As Bragin began sponging, Arthur uttered a faint groan.
"Wait a minute! I recognize it now," exclaimed Diana all of a sudden. "It's Delko’s pistol! It's the same gun he brought to Siberia with him. Now it’s been fired at last. That’s it!"
"Brilliant!" Igor fairly snarled at her. "So Delko left his gun behind in Krasnoyarsk---and it’s been lying around in a basket ever since, waiting for us? How clever of you, Sherlock Kotov. That solves it all. I’ll tell you what’s to be done. Alex’s going to take the gun out and bury it in the woods, right now. And we’ll all forget about it. Okay, Alex?"
"If the Professor says Comrade Tolkachyov’s okay. That seems sensible. I mean, we don’t want any more trouble---we've got enough on our plate as it is."
Bragin bandaged Arthur's head. Igor strode over to Alex and thrust the pistol at him. Hastily Alex fumbled it away, out of sight.
"We can say that he slipped on the ice," said the caretaker. "Cracked his noodle, something like that. They'll understand that."
Shortly, Arthur opened his eyes and moaned. Tisha bent over him. "You had a little accident, Art."
"I, what?"
"You had an accident."
"Eh? What? Did I?"
"You did."
"I don't remember anything about---whose blood is this?"
"Yours, comrade. By the way, can you tell me: what is the last thing you remember."
"Uh? Oh, I was thumbing through Kameska Heights."
"And you slipped and fell on the ice, landing on your noodle---just like poor old Mr. Babichev did in Act 1."
"Shut up, Igor! Now, Art, tell me: what is Kameska Heights?
"Eh? What a thing to ask a wounded soldier." Arthur began struggling to sit up. Bragin restrained him. Arthur lay back on the parquet, squinting up. "Well, last time I was around it was a certain love story by old Eric Saveli."
"Mmmm. And how about A Rare Wife?"
"Dunno. Old Eric wrote Swindlers and Criminals. Well, he did! What are you lot staring at me for? I've never heard of A Rare Wife."313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIV3ZExapzh
"You aren’t by any chance having us on, dear comrade?"
"About what? Look, my head’s hurting."
"My poor baby," crooned Diana while she stroked Arthur's cheek.
"I repeat: you aren't having us on about A Rare Wife?"313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeQm6R6JNLr
"Of course, I'm not having you on, you daft bugger. What the hell am I lying on the floor for?"
"A meteor banged you on the gray matter," said Igor. "What do you think? It happens all the time."
Diana cradled Arthur. "My poor baby shot himself---don’t mock him."
"Shot? Myself? What with?"
"A gun."
"Where is it, then? Show me!"
However, Alex had already ambled, crab-like, out of the library to conceal the evidence.
"Never mind about that," said Igor. "How about Man of Dust?"
"Eh? Men aren't made out of dust."
"Written by the well-known E. S. Delko."
"Ah, you mean Kemeska Heights? Don't you know anything about the literary history of your nation? What is this, anyway? A drama quiz in a loony bin? You beat somebody over the head and ask them silly questions while they’re lying half-witted" Reaching up, Arthur caught hold of Bragin's lapel. "Is this another one of your fabulous new psycho-techniques?"
Firmly, Bragin removed Arthur's hand. "It is not. I assure you."
"And how about Commander Milan Adamavich?" pursued Tisha.
"Who?"
"Of the redstar Galactica."
"I give up! You’re all barmy. God, I feel dizzy." Arthur shut his eyes tight.
"Then, what are we doing in this building, Art? Can you tell me that?"313Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJXCZPVqMin
Arthur opened his left eye a crack. "Could it be to play charades?"
"Please be serious."
"Well, we’re here to rough out the plot for a movie, are we not?"
"Yes? Go on."
"Called The Curious Journey of Mr. Eric Delko."
"And what’s it about?"
"It’s about Delko’s bloody journey, what else? It’s about his frigging Tunguska Expedition. Now, if the interrogation’s quite over, can I please get up? I’ll feel a lot safer up on my feet than with you lot all leering down at me."
Diana grasped his arm, and Bragin took the other arm. Together they helped Sasha up, and over to the nearest chair. His eyes watered. His bandaged head lolled against the antimacassar.
"If only you knew," murmured Diana. "If only you knew."
"If only I knew what?"
"If I told you, it wouldn’t help your headache much."
Bragin collected up the First Aid box and his blood-stained hanky. After a moment’s hesitation, he stuffed these into an empty space in one of the bookcases, directly following on the final volume of the Collected Works of M. M. Gorky. From somewhere outside came a faint thumping sound: Oleg must be trying to back a hole into the frozen ground with a pick or chopping hoe, to bury the pistol.
"If only…If only I’d never come here," said Bragin. "But I did. So now we’ve collided with another world."
Misunderstanding him, Arthur rubbed his bandages ruefully. "Just as the past collided with the future, at the time of the Revolution! Or was it with my skull---eh, Igor? Ah, well, onward into the future, say I! A future of hope and happiness!" He cupped a hand behind his ear. "Hark, do I hear the jingle of the harness bells? Or is it my head that’s ringing?"
"I’ve had horses up to here." Igor made a throat-slitting gesture. "A taxi’ll suit me fine. What am I thinking of? We’ve still got the Volga." He pulled out the car keys and stared at them, then bit the ignition key in the manner of a peasant testing a coin for counterfeit.
"Remember," said Tisha, "the street names might have changed."
"So what? I don’t doubt they’ll still be the same streets. It’ll be the same old world as ever, redstar Galactica notwithstanding. Does anything ever really change?"
"My goodness," said Arthur, "you’ve certainly changed your tune! You sound just like one of Eric’s people. Poor burnt-out Igor, all passion spent---and now you’re exhausted. In fact," and Arthur began to chuckle, "you sound rather like Yanovich! Possessed by an event twice his size, which nobody else even noticed till Eric came along. Surely a simple little movie script isn’t such a challenge to a professional writer?" Tears ran down Arthur’s cheeks: tears of laughter, and the strain brought a tiny, fresh spot of blood to the surface, to strain his bandage.
"Aren’t you the lucky one?" cried Igor bitterly. "Shall we tell him, folks?" +
"Careful!" Bragin interposed. "Arthur’s our guide now. He’s our lifeline---our interpreter, should we need one. He knows where he is. He belongs."
Arthur carried on chortling. "You people are really too much. You’re as crazy as coots!"
Like the pulse of his blood and the beat of his heart, the faint thumping continued from outside as Alex backed away remorselessly at the soil, which was as hard as iron.
After a while the noise stopped. Perhaps Alex had realized that the last place to hide something was under a freshly chopped-up heap of soil, near the road.
The End
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