Dead of Winter - James Goss [55]
‘What about Madame Amy?’
‘Ha!’ laughed Prince Boris, ‘We’ll see how she treats Monsieur Rory.’ He turned to Kosov. ‘And you, my man… you…’
‘Keep back, Prince!’ I urged. ‘Keep back!’
Prince Boris smiled a tiny little smile, and advanced to Kosov. The giant of a man stood there. Prince Boris walked around him, tiny little steps, still tugging at the cord of his dressing gown. ‘Are you really here to kill me, Kosov?’
There was a terrible silence for a second. Then Kosov bowed. ‘I am here to serve you, Your Highness. Your health is my top concern.’
‘Indeed.’ Boris fiddled with the sash on his dressing gown cord. ‘Indeed. And how old are you?’
Kosov blinked. ‘I am 35, sir.’
‘I see. And if you are 35, how old were you when you taught me to ride as a little boy?’
Kosov faltered. ‘It was so long ago, Your Highness.’
Prince Boris nodded. ‘We are now the same age, Kosov. Yet, you taught me to ride when I was 4 years old. Explain that.’
Kosov just stood there. Eventually he said, ‘But Your Highness, there must be some mistake…’
Prince Boris shook his head, all the light gone from his face. ‘There is not. And never, ever contradict me. How old are you?’
Kosov took a trembling step towards the Prince. ‘Please, sir, don’t do this’ he cried, reaching out a trembling hand, imploringly. The giant begging from the prince.
But Prince Boris had folded his arms. Suddenly, for the first time, I realised what he was like when he was really a prince, rather than a bored man in pyjamas. His face was no longer light, or gay or charming. It was grim and sharp like the executioner’s axe.
‘So, Kosov, tell me – are the Doctor and Madame Pond in danger?’
Kosov stood there, sad but insolent.
‘What is Dr Bloom planning?’
Again, Kosov shook his head.
‘Very well. What are you?’
Kosov did not move.
‘Ah.’ Prince Boris let the word hang in the air. ‘You know what, Kosov, my dear chap? I rather fancy going home. I miss it all. Even in winter. There’s nothing quite like coming in from a cold horse ride through the forests to a roaring fire and a boiling dish of tea. I rather think I shall send for my things and go home. I am cured.’
Kosov made a noise, like something broke inside him. He breathed out, raggedly, like an injured dog.
‘But I shall go home alone, I rather fancy. Perhaps via Paris. Yes, a few days there. And quite a lot of late nights. Just the ticket after all Dr Bloom’s thin soup. When I get back to the estate, perhaps I shall send for you.’
Kosov shook his head, the sweat running from his brow – if it was sweat?
‘Or maybe,’ continued Prince Boris, ‘I shall simply saddle up my horse and go out, riding, riding, riding, every day through the frost. How marvellous would that be!’
Finally, Kosov spoke, his voice twisted. ‘Your Highness, I beg of you…’
Prince Boris shrugged and laughed, ‘Oh Kosov, dear Kosov, you’re not real. Go away and haunt some other fellow. You’re nothing but a Golem.’
Kosov took another step forward. ‘Please… you must believe… please, you have to… It’s for your own good…’
Now it was Prince Boris who shook his head, his eyes cold and blue. ‘No, Kosov. No. If you were the real Kosov, then I wouldn’t even doubt why you were doing this. He loved me like a son, and I adored him. I used to dream about working in the stables with him – oh, what stupid childish dreams. I’m sure it was a hard enough life. But Kosov was a great man. You, sir, are not Kosov. So I have to ask the questions I ask every man who approaches me with a deal that’s too good to be true: why are you here, and what is in it for you?’
Kosov’s mouth hung open. A little, wet clicking noise came out of it.
‘No answer?’ said Prince Boris, almost sadly. ‘I just wish… Ah well. You