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First published in Great Britain in 1999 by HarperCollinsPublishers
Copyright © Michael Pearce 1999
Michael Pearce asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008259488
Ebook Edition © JUNE 2017 ISBN: 9780008257279
Version: 2017-09-04
‘This series continues to be the most delightful in current detective fiction’
GERALD KAUFMAN, Scotsman
‘Pearce … takes apart ancient history and reassembles it with beguiling wit and colour’
JOHN COLEMAN, Sunday Times
‘Irresistible fun’
Time Out
‘The Mamur Zapt’s sly, irreverent humour continues to refresh the parts others seldom reach’
Observer
Contents
‘Try the Missing Persons Bureau,’ said Dmitri coldly.
‘Missing Persons?’ said the Father Superior. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘You said someone was missing.’
‘Not some one, some thing! The One-Legged Lady.’ He looked incredulously at Dmitri. ‘You’ve not heard of her? An icon.’
Dmitri knew, at least, what icons were. This was not surprising because nearly every house in Russia had one. It was usually situated in the opposite corner from the door so that you saw it as soon as you entered. The Church said that it was to remind you that you were forever under God’s protection. Dmitri said that since this was Russia and Church and Tsar were hand in glove, it was to remind you that someone was always keeping an eye on you. Anyway, as you went in at the door, there it was opposite you, usually a face under a tin plate, of some saint or other, looking you accusingly in the eye. It always reminded Dmitri of his difficult grandfather.
‘Not just an icon,’ said the Father Superior with emphasis: ‘the icon. The Holy Icon of the One-Legged Lady of Kursk. The most famous icon in the province.’
He looked hopefully at Dmitri. Without luck. To Dmitri, icons and monasteries – and Father Superiors, for that matter – belonged to the Dark Ages.
‘You’d better fill in a form,’ he said unenthusiastically.
The Father Superior stood for a moment looking down at him. Then he said:
‘Is there anyone more senior here? Boris Petrovich, for example?’
Boris Petrovich was the Procurator and Dmitri’s boss.
‘I’m afraid he’s dining at the Governor’s this evening.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said the Father Superior. ‘I’m dining there myself.’
‘This icon of yours,’ said Dmitri, swiftly reviewing his position, ‘it’s gone missing, you say?’
‘Stolen,’ said the Father Superior. ‘From the Monastery last night.’
Dmitri pulled a pad towards him.
‘Value?’
‘It is