Free The People's Will by Jasper Kent

Saint Petersburg, far in the north.
    Mihail had listened intently to that conversation between Dmitry and Iuda, though his eyes had been closed and his head had lolled idly against the stone wall of the chamber. His mother had insisted that he learn English from an early age, even though she spoke not a word herself. The reason she held it so important, she had told him, was that English was the language of Cain’sjournal. Whether he was truly an Englishman, no one had been able to determine for sure, but that he used it in writings intended only for himself to read suggested that the language was close to his heart. Mihail had been a little surprised to learn that Dmitry could speak English too, but as he’d suggested, he’d had plenty of time to learn.
    Only a fool – and neither Dmitry nor Iuda fitted into that category – would expect that speaking in a foreign tongue was a sure protection against eavesdroppers, but little of what they discussed would be comprehensible to the uninitiated. Most of it Mihail already knew. He’d followed the clues that led inescapably to the fact that somewhere deep beneath Geok Tepe there was a secret prison which held a captive so terrible that he was never allowed even to rise from his chair. In Kyzyl-Arvat he’d witnessed the interrogation of a captured Teke who described the appearance of the man – his straggling blond hair and cold grey eyes.
    Mihail had never met Iuda, but he’d heard the monster’s description even as he suckled at his mother’s breast. She’d tried to draw him, but without much skill, although when he’d finally seen Iuda face to face, bound to that chair, Mihail had begun to review his assessment of his mother’s abilities. Of course, when she had known him his hair had been dyed black, but they’d both guessed – and guessed right – that he was happier with it in its natural blond state.
    Mihail did not stare too long into Iuda’s eyes, no longer, he hoped, than any officer might upon encountering so strangely fettered a prisoner. He saw no hint of recognition in those eyes, but why should there be? Mihail’s mother had always claimed to see a family resemblance in her son, but he suspected she was just trying to flatter – for her there could be no greater compliment.
    It was only when Major Osokin had mentioned Mihail’s surname, Lukin, that there had been a flicker of recognition in Iuda’s eyes, and perhaps a flicker of fear too. It would be almost seventy years since that name had meant anything to Iuda, but he might still be wary of revenge. If he was, he was wise. He might suspect revenge if he heard other surnames too, the names Savin and Petrenko. But he would experience the greatest terror if he knew Mihail’s true surname. He would learn it soon enough. Hewould have discovered it there and then, on the day that Geok Tepe fell, if things had gone according to Mihail’s original plan, and would have died with that name on his lips, but it turned out that Mihail was not the only one who had been able to piece together the clues.
    Dmitry’s arrival – under the pseudonym of Colonel Otrepyev – had been a complete surprise. At first, Mihail had not even been certain it was Dmitry; his mother’s description of him had been less precise – she held for him none of the hatred that she felt for Iuda. She wondered even if he might be counted on as a friend, but warned Mihail not to trust him. It was his height that was the most recognizable feature, though it was not unique. But Otrepyev’s evident interest in and knowledge of the prisoner put into Mihail’s mind the list of people who might come so far to find him. And ‘people’ was not the right word. Mihail knew that Dmitry was a
voordalak
, just as he knew Iuda was. He watched Otrepyev and saw that he never went out of the tunnels during the day. He watched Otrepyev’s men too, but they led more normal lives. Mihail felt sure that they were not vampires; most of them, at