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As it grew darker I could tell the requisite power was being diverted. The corporal went to fetch us some food. He returned with the news that everyone had been warned to stay in their cellars. Some thought there was to be a Zeppelin raid, others had heard a story of my ‘Violet Ray’. It is astonishing to what extent information spreads in a city under siege. Gossip, as they say in Ukraine, takes the edge off hunger. My emergency Voltaic batteries were also prepared. I connected these to the transformer in case of a sudden failure of power. The darkness brought relief to me. My eyes were hurting. I could not dismiss the images of death, of blood, which filled them. At least Esmé and my mother and possibly Captain Brown were away by now, racing down the line to Odessa where French order existed, where there was hope. If things became worse, Uncle Semya could help them leave the country for a while. I assured myself that as soon as I knew exactly which way the wind blew I would use my ray to demonstrate its power, pack it up with the aid of the corporal, and be off with the basic apparatus to the French. The next train to Odessa would be carrying myself and my invention. The next ship out would be taking us to Paris.

There were no lights burning anywhere, but the artillery fire had begun. There were flashes of light from Trukhanov. I directed the projector at the island. The corporal asked me for one of my cigarettes. I handed him the case. He removed a papyrussa and put the case back in my pocket. He began to smoke. I wondered if any Bolshevik field glasses observed his red tip. If so, what did they make of the silence and darkness? The guns continued to fire from time to time. I heard a few yells, the sound of motor-engines, of horses’ hooves on the wooden blocks of streets where snow had melted beneath the wheels and feet of the Petlyurist army. I pressed the switch of my projector. I saw a flash of light. I think I destroyed a gun. I turned to the corporal so that I could enjoy my success with him. He had gone. The entire church was deserted. Kiev had filled up with ghosts. I trusted the corporal’s instincts more than Petlyura’s or my own. I called to him, but it was too late. He had gone to join the Bolsheviks or return to his village. I was about to dismantle my projector when I heard boots on the steps. I was in such a state of terror I was sure I should see ghosts or Antonov himself. But it was Petlyura, in his green uniform, with his black shapka on his head, a riding crop in his hands. He had a more dapper appearance than the Hetman. He sought an aristocratic image which simply made him look ridiculous. A character from The Prisoner of Zenda.

‘Have you used the ray yet?’

I told him I had destroyed a gun.

‘One gun isn’t enough.’

‘The machine has to be aimed. It consumes a great deal of energy with every shot. I have done well so far.’

‘You raised my hopes. You betrayed them.’

Two generals stood behind him, together with a few soldiers of lesser rank. All wore different uniforms: some blue, some white, some green.

‘I told you what I could do. With another day or so.’

‘Antonov is almost in Kiev. He’s moving troops up rapidly. We’re going to have to evacuate the city. You’ll hold off their advance with your ray.’

‘Alone?’

‘You’re a major in the Republican Army, comrade. You can be shot for disobeying orders.’

Someone grinned. ‘That’s true.’

‘And you’re leaving?’ I could not believe such perfidy.

‘We’re withdrawing from this position. We still have a great deal of support. I think we can rely on Hrihorieff. There’s a strong chance the Entente will lend us troops. Deniken and Krassnoff will have to throw in with us. It’s to their advantage.’

‘How shall I leave if the Bolsheviks find me?’ It seemed a fair question.

‘You’ll be able to slip away,’ said a captain. ‘You’re wearing civilian clothes.’

I wondered if I could get back to my hotel and pick up my bags or whether they would have been stolen already. I saluted in military fashion. ‘Then I shall do my duty.’ That duty, naturally, was to my dependants and to myself. There was no chance at all of the Ultraviolet Projector standing off the entire Bolshevik army. Petlyura had miscalculated everything. I asked him where I should meet the rest of the army.

He hesitated. ‘You’ll hear.’

He expected me to be captured. He did not want to risk my revealing his position. Some of his generals looked openly sympathetic to me. Others were smiling. I seemed to have become a bone of contention amongst them.

‘What if Antonov captures the ray?’ I asked.

‘You’ll destroy it first.’

I thought he was placing a great deal of trust in my loyalty to a cause I had never supported. ‘If they capture me before I can destroy it?’