Free Sister Pelagia and the Red Cockerel by Boris Akunin Page A

answer the question, and he lowered his voice to a confidential undertone to do so: “Do you know, Mademoiselle, why I came dashing to investigate this murder myself?”
    The question was clearly rhetorical, and after maintaining a pause for the period required by the laws of the stage, Dolinin would certainly have answered it himself. However, the nun, who was beginning to like this intelligent investigator more and more, permitted herself to take a liberty (since she was no longer “Sister” but “Mademoiselle”): “I assume you found your tour of inspection boring and wanted to get back to real live work.”
    Sergei Sergeevich gave a short laugh, which softened the lines of his dry, bilious face and made it look younger. “Let’s assume that is correct, and it makes me admire your shrewdness yet again. You know, I really cannot get used to administrative work. My colleagues envy me. Such a rapid advance in my career, a general’s rank at the age of forty, a member of the council of a ministry, but I’m constantly tormented by nostalgia for my old job. Only a year ago I was still an investigator, for especially important cases. And not a bad investigator either, I assure you.”
    “I can see that. No doubt your superiors singled you out for promotion for distinguished service?”
    “If only.” Dolinin chuckled. “An investigator can be as wise as Solomon, he can wear out the knees of a thousand pairs of trousers and the elbows of a thousand frock coats, but he’ll never be elevated to such dizzy heights. That’s not the way great careers are made.”
    “How, then?”
    “With paper, dear Sister. Paper is the only magic carpet on which you can soar up to the mountain peaks in our mighty state. When I took up the pen, to be honest I wasn’t thinking about my career at all. Quite the opposite, I thought they would probably send me packing for such audacity. But I couldn’t go on watching the sheer Asiatic chaos in our investigative work. I wrote a project of reform and sent it to the individuals in high state positions who are charged with managing the protection of the rule of law. I decided to do it, come what may. I had already started looking for another job, as a lawyer. And suddenly this humble servant of God was summoned to Mount Olympus itself. ‘Well done,’ they said. ‘We’ve been waiting for someone like you for a long time.’” Dolinin raised his arms in a comical gesture, as if he were capitulating in the face of the unpredictable caprice of destiny. “I was instructed to prepare a reform designed to regulate the interaction between police investigative agencies and court investigations. Well, I asked for it, as they say. And now I’m like the Eternal Jew, wandering the cities and the provinces. At this stage I’ve done so much regulating, I could just sit down and howl, like a wolf. However, Mademoiselle Pelagia, you must not think that Dolinin has simply run away from a boring lesson, like some grammar-school boy. No, I am a responsible man, not given to puerile impulsiveness. You see, the case of the prophet Manuila is special. This is the second time he has been murdered.”
    Magical Manuila
    “HOW CAN THAT BE?” gasped Pelagia.
    “It’s a fact. There are many people who cannot bear this particular individual.”
    The holy sister nodded: “I’ve already realized that.”
    “The first time Manuila was murdered was three weeks ago, in the province of Tver.”
    “I’m sorry, but I don’t quite …”
    Dolinin waved his hand, as if to say Please don’t interrupt, listen . “The dead man turned out to be a commoner by the name of Petrov or Mikhailov, I don’t remember now. A Foundling, a follower of Manuila and similar to him in appearance. Hence the rumors of Manuila’s immortality.”
    “What if this isn’t him either?” asked Pelagia, pointing at the dead man.
    “A reasonable question. I’d like very much to find out. The appearance fits, as far as I can recall.