The Assassins by Alan Bardos (read novel full .TXT) 📕

They walked past the Emperor's Bridge, then a few hundred yards down, they crossed over to the other side of the city, onto the narrow, cobbled Lateiner Bridge and stopped at a wine shop. According to the Cyrillic above the door it was called ‘Semiz's’. It was a very grimy looking place of ancient Turkish design, but a wine shop, nonetheless. Johnny was overjoyed. He could hear rowdy singing coming from inside, reminding him of the rugby games his stepfather used to take him to.

Gavrilo opened the door, pushing Johnny in, and he was hit by the overpowering smell of stale wine. The singing stopped as soon as he entered and the door slammed shut behind him. It was pitch black and for a terrible moment Johnny thought he'd been lured into a trap and would be found the next morning in the blood-red mud of the Miljacka, with his throat cut.

Gavrilo walked up behind him and Johnny tensed. He was pretty badly bruised, but was determined to make a good account of himself.

'Jevtic, light a candle for goodness' sake. I can't see a thing!' Gavrilo called.

'Gavroche! Come in my friend - forgive me. We did not notice it getting dark,' came back a cheery greeting at the same time as a candle was lit. Johnny exhaled slowly, relieved. He saw that he was in a cramped room with young men dressed much the same as Gavrilo and himself, all sitting at plain wooden tables and drinking red wine. Johnny's heart lifted at the sight of all the casks and barrels around him.

'Gavroche, over here!' the cheery voice called. It belonged to a slightly more flamboyant member of the group who was signalling to Gavrilo. Rather than the den of cutthroats he'd been expecting, he realised that they were in some sort of Bohemian hangout. 'Come join us, and bring your new friend,' Jevtic said. To emphasise the invitation, they resumed their singing.

'Maybe later, Jevtic,' Gavrilo answered and led Johnny to a table near the only window in the place. Johnny took a seat and leant against a wall, sticky with red wine.

He looked out at Lateiner Bridge and then turned back to Gavrilo. 'Gavroche?'

'A nickname - it's after the character from "Les Miserables",' Gavrilo answered as Jevtic came to their table.

'Like Gavroche, poverty and injustice intensifies Gavroli's spirit and purpose,' Jevtic said, putting down a carafe of wine and two cups. 'Here, on me.'

'Thank you,' Johnny said, pouring himself some wine and ignoring Gavrilo's indignant look.

'Jovo, this is Jevtic,' Gavrilo said. Jevtic bowed and went back to his friends.

'Nice chap,' Johnny observed, sipping his wine, which was surprisingly good.

'Jevtic was a housemate of mine in Belgrade. He and his intellectual friends come here to drink wine and sing.'

'Very decent chap,' Johnny reiterated, drinking more wine and feeling it warm and relax him.

'He's a good friend but is unwilling to take action for our people. I find coming here a good way to be inconspicuous to the police and to appear to be acting as every other person our age acts,' he said, giving another disapproving look as Johnny poured a second cup of wine.

'Sorry - would you like some Gavrilo? Very rude of me,' Johnny said. Gavrilo shook his head. 'What do they do?' Johnny asked, glad to be amongst some lively company again.

'Jevtic's a writer. They're all poets and writers,' Gavrilo answered, in a tone which Johnny thought attached a great deal of prestige to their chosen vocations. 'These people, however, are for the most part, incapable of a great idea.'

'Do you have any particular poet or writer you admire?' Johnny asked. He was hoping that if he could get Gavrilo to talk about himself he wouldn't ask him any difficult questions about where he came from.

'I enjoy reading Dumas, Walter Scott and of course Sherlock Holmes.' That was safe ground for Johnny; he could talk about them. 'I also greatly admire poets like Sima Pandurovic and the elegant way he expresses his mistrust of life, and Vladimir Vidric, wary of his own pipe-dreams about love. And you?'

'What?' Johnny's mind went blank. This was precisely what he'd been trying to avoid.

'Who do you admire, Jovo? You must have a favourite writer or thinker.' Johnny swore under his breath, wishing he'd read the primer Breitner had given him. 'You must be an admirer of Nietzsche at least,' Gavrilo said.

'Nietzsche, yes. He's very good.' Johnny finished his wine and poured himself another. Gavrilo glared at him, his clear blue eyes burning, but there wasn’t anything brutal or threatening in his face.

'Jovo, if we are to restore what our people have lost, to instil a revolution in their hearts, we must be true to our ideals. We must forgo our bodily pleasures - be that women or alcohol. We have to remain pure and unstained.'

'I'm sorry?' Johnny said quietly. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

'I thought you understood that, after we talked of how the Austrians corrupt the morality of our people.' Gavrilo's eyes burned with fury again, but still there was nothing brutal or threatening in his face, which Johnny found particularly unnerving, as he wondered just how much rage lay beneath the surface of Gavrilo’s calm exterior.

'Yes, yes of course,' Johnny said, trying to look shamefaced. ‘I am not capable of great ideas.’

‘Your political character is not yet fully formed. I will continue to guide you.’

Johnny involuntarily reached for the wine, then stopped as the shop door creaked open and Ilic entered. He greeted the Bohemians and joined Johnny and Gavrilo at their table.

'Is it arranged?' Gavrilo asked.

Ilic nodded. He exchanged a discreet glance with Gavrilo and turned to Johnny. 'Jovo - you wish to take action?'

'I do.' Johnny's bowels tightened.

'Come, I will have need of you in the morning,' Ilic said.

The three of them