Heart of Iron

Chapter 17

The morning came, bleak and stiff with cold, tasting of ash and burning paint. I stretched and remembered where I was — sleeping in the snow, swaddled in my furs, which, although still comfortable, were beginning to smell of all the unsavory things we had encountered recently. I tried not to breathe in too deep as I sat up.

The true scale of devastation was mercifully hidden by the morning dusk and the curling of fog — or was it smoke? — that tendriled between the campfires, close to the trampled, black snow. I stretched and stood up, looking around. Our airship was not visible in the distance, but the stone walls of Beijing seemed just a few hundred yards away. Last night’s fire seemed to have died down.

Lee Bo stood next to me, his hand with dirty and broken fingernails lightly resting on my shoulder. When I squinted my eyes just so, I could see every crease and every speck of dirt rubbed so deep into his olive skin. “What do we do now?

“The assistant general, one Feng Yunshan, and some of his army are inside the city,” Lee Bo said. “The Qing have surrendered, or at least this is what everyone here thinks.”

“So it is possible there’s still fighting in the city.”

“Everything is possible.” Lee Bo shrugged. “However, if you want to speak to the Assistant General Feng, this might be a good opportunity to do so. If the Taipings solidify their position over the Qing, the alliance with your country may not seem as necessary as now, when everything is still teetering on the edge.”

I sighed. The political maneuvering was starting to wear on me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that if it were up to me, I would never leave the comfort of St. Petersburg or Trubetskoye again if I could help it, and if I did would make sure to remain within a hundred yards of a hot bath at all times. “I suppose. Isn’t it dangerous, though, if there’s still fighting?”

“We’ll take Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi with us,” Lee Bo said, as if that negated my point completely.

We came to the gates, that stood undamaged in the otherwise charred wall, but the gates were unlocked. Despite the destruction, I stared all around me, suddenly hungry for novel sights. The streets were wide and deserted, and I marveled at the beauty of the remaining houses — even though only a few still stood intact among the wreckage, I found their appearance as attractive as it was foreign: the houses, only one or two stories tall, boasted an abundance of wide windows and roofs with steeply arching eaves. They were painted green and gold and red, and plum trees, bare now, grew between the houses in small copses. Their bamboo and wood paneling, lacquered and brightly painted, gave the street a cheerful and peaceful air, belied by the burned out ruins all around us.

I let Lee Bo and the others lead the way, and trailed behind, keeping an eye out for troops. There were very few people in the streets, and I couldn’t say I blamed them. However, there was no shortage of dead bodies — I tried to look away when yet another corpse, stiff and straight and white with frost captured my gaze. I stared instead at the roofs and the windows, trying to guess who was behind an occasional shadow that flitted behind the white screens guarding most of the windows.

After a few streets like that, we entered a part of the city where buildings were taller and streets were wider, giving way to several squares with large, imposing buildings. One of them, particularly sprawling, had a statue of a goddess in front of it.

“This is the examination hall,” Lee Bo told me as we passed it. “Local students take their examinations here, and they get assigned to the official posts depending on how well they do.”

“Did you do well?”

He grinned. “Not really. This is why I’m running a factory in Siberia. But Chiang Tse did very well.”

The sound of his name pricked my heart like a small, sharp pin. “Oh? Was he the governor you wanted me to meet?”

Lee Bo only smiled.

“You have to tell me!” Suddenly, it seemed very important for me to know. “Where is he? Will I see him?”

Lee Bo laughed then. “I don’t know. I haven’t been home since October. We exchange an occasional letter, but last I heard, he was on duty in Gansu, his province.”

We arrived at the bottom of the bridge that led to a set of very tall gates. The gates stood between us and the rest of the street, flanked by two white stone dragons; they were probably guarding something important.

I smiled, imagining humble and soft-spoken Chiang Tse as an imposing official figure. “I am sure he’s governing well,” I said out loud. And added, without thinking much, “Do you usually have several wives?”

Lee Bo waited with me at the foot of the bridge until Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi caught up to us. “Under the Qing, yes. Taipings? Just one. Chiang Tse, however, doesn’t have any.”

I blushed without meaning to. “I was just curious, in general.”

“Of course,” Lee Bo said, thankfully not laughing. “In general. Customs of foreign lands are so confusing.” There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

“I thought it was the Chinese who wanted the foreigners to stay away. How do you expect us to know your customs?”

“I don’t.” Lee Bo’s eyes met mine, and I was taken aback by anger I saw in them. “But look around you — this is what happens when you let foreign ideas into a country.”

“I thought you supported the Taiping Tianguo.”

“I do, but that is beside the point. Remember the Qing are foreigners, and the Hakka are among the most ancient people of China, with its original language and customs.”

“I see,” I said, very softly. “But I hoped that being at the foreign university had some benefits for you.”

He looked at me as if he just saw me for the first time. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you. But it hurts, to see it like this. And we keep arguing… ”

“Yes,” Kuan Yu said as he stood next to us on the steps. “Arguing, always arguing, and it’s always the same words that run around like water in a circle, wearing down the bedrock.”

“Yes,” Lee Bo agreed, and looked pensive. “Shall we? This is the imperial residence, the English call it the Forbidden City.”

I looked up to the place where the bridge ended at a flat square area just before the gates. Even though our view was largely blocked by the elevation of the bridge and the platform’s edges, it was still clear there were people there — I heard voices and clanging of metal.

“Who’s there?” I asked Lee Bo.

“Only one way to find out.”

He headed up the bridge, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi catching up to him and flanking him, so that the three walked almost shoulder to shoulder, with Lee Bo a quarter of a step ahead of the others. Something about their formation made me suck the air through my swollen lips and move the satchel into my left hand, while my right rested lightly on the hilt. There were only four of us and unknown multitudes up and ahead — what reason did I have to be nervous?

The men standing in front of the high red walls were Taipings, about twenty in number, and I drew a relieved breath. Dirty and long-haired or not, they were our allies, and I worked hard at trying to like them.

One of the filthy men stopped us by thrusting a spear he held against Lee Bo’s chest sideways, like a gate.

Lee Bo stopped and said something in Chinese.

The man with the spear argued, and Kuan Yu joined in. The volume of their voices increased as the man with the spear only stood, feet planted wide of the chipped gray stone of the platform, and shook his head no.

A few others joined in, and Lee Bo shoved the spear away from his chest. This gesture was followed by further consternation and agitated hand waving. I looked from one group to another helplessly, hoping for some clue in addition to their outward hostility, something that would reassure me the argument would not end in bloodshed.

One of the other guards, a thin and sullen man with a beard long enough to brush against his rope belt, pointed at me. Even though I did not understand his words, I shook my head. “Not English,” I said, rather contradictorily, in English.

The Taipings around us closed ranks and pushed closer, forcing Lee Bo, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi to push back, almost leaning into our attackers. I kept my hand on my hilt.

The thin man who had spoken to me reached out — his long-fingered, yellowed hand splayed up in the air — and grabbed the front of my uniform jacket, visible between my open furs. I don’t know whether he just wanted to see my insignia or whether it was a gesture of provocation; all I know is that I took an instinctive step back, to give myself room to draw my weapon and to end the unwelcome contact. The buttons and the gold braid, subjected to so much stress by travel and dirt, snapped and my jacket flew open, spitting forth the theatrical bill with Wong Jun’s calligraphy.

I wrestled out of the attacker’s hand, indignant, and quickly closed my uniform and buttoned my furs. Lee Bo tried to grab the bill out of the attacker’s hand, but the other Taipings held him back.

“You don’t understand,” I started. “I am not here to see the Qing, I swear to you… ”

But it was already too late, as the thin man pointed at me, shouting, and even though I did not know the word, its meaning resonated loudly. “Traitor!” he called. “An English traitor in our midst, a foreigner, carrying a letter offering alliance to the Qing!”

Lee Bo spun close to the ground, and in a fluid quick motion twisted the spear out of the hands of the large man; his foot swept in a wide semicircle, and the disarmed giant thundered to the ground, landing on his rear and elbows.

I already knew what Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi were capable of doing, but here, free of the confines of the train carriage, they took my breath away. I tried to fight, my saber parrying thrusts from the sword held by one of the Taiping guards, but my efforts were half-hearted, because even the threat to my very life could tear my attention from the acrobatic airborne miracles that were Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi. I do not think I had ever seen anything quite as graceful, quite as beautiful as their defensive display. Even the Imperial Ballet would appear a mere trundling of mincing cows in comparison.

Kuan Yu’s feet, slippered like those of a dancer, left the ground as if elevated by some divine will. Unceremoniously, he planted his right foot on the knee of his opponent, who stood with his legs slightly bent, thus offering Kuan Yu an incidental foothold. Kuan Yu pivoted, and his left foot arced through the air, striking several faces in quick succession.

Liu Zhi had disarmed one of the guards and used the spear as a staff to make a wide circle around him — he swung the spear to and fro, lashing viciously at everyone who dared to take a step toward him. Lee Bo, who had his back to Liu Zhi’s, thrust his spear at the brutish man who was the first to attack him, and all three seemed quite unconcerned about the immediate threat — their faces were set in an expression of thorough concentration, but there were no traces of fear or panic, the emotions I felt certain my own face betrayed in abundance.

There was a swish of air, and I stepped to the side, deflecting a sword’s point thrust at me. I am not a good swordsman: I had never had proper training, and all I knew I had picked up from the long summers spent playing with the children of engineers. Childhood play with sticks taught me to sidestep thrusts and to block direct hits; I had no form to speak of, but enough attention and strength to follow my opponent’s attacks and to parry or avoid them. He increased his exertions, and I had to turn away from the sight of Liu Zhi rising into the air, using the spears of several of the guards as rungs of an invisible ladder.

I defended myself as well as I could, even though my attacker kept pressing, forcing me back to the bridge leading down, and I had to keep looking sideways to make sure I was not about to tumble down the stone slope. The man was stronger and would have overpowered me, but I remembered the satchel I still held in my left hand. I swung it at his face, and connected with a satisfying, solid slap. My attacker staggered back, and I used the opportunity to lunge at him and demand he surrender his sword.

Meanwhile, Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi did not waste any time. By the time I stumbled back to the knot of the Taiping guards, they had felled many of the enemy; still more of them ceased attacking and, instead, stepped back. I did not think anyone was killed — even though Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi punched and kicked and punched some more, their fists a gray blur of fast and precisely terrifying motion, their attackers appeared awed and stunned rather than seriously hurt. The only blood flowed from injured noses and lips, not from serious wounds.

One of the guards noticed my approach, and swung about, a spear in his hands gleaming with a sharp brilliant point. I had no time to react as the spear struck me in the shoulder, and with a twist its handle broke off, leaving the point embedded in the cork of my corset. I frowned, and ripped out the spearhead; I think I impressed my attacker — he stepped back, giving me an opportunity to run for the gates.

Lee Bo took another wide swing at the crowd, and his eyes met mine. “Go!” he shouted. “Go inside.”

I ran across the stone paving, sheathing my sword as I ran. The Taipings intensified their efforts at not letting us through; Kuan Yu and Liu Zhi flew over them like two deadly birds. They seemed singularly undisturbed by gravity, and I left this question to be pondered at a more opportune time. I rushed to the carved double gates, red-colored wood covered in long, sinuous dragons and winding flower stems receding before me as if in a tunnel. They seemed so far away — until I slammed into them, full-tilt, and the doors slowly swung open, not making a slightest sound, as in a dream.

Lee Bo followed me right away, and I stopped.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, pulling the door closed behind us.

“Kuan Yu,” I replied.

“They’ll be fine, they can take care of themselves.”

I did not doubt his words, of course, and yet worry gnawed at me — even flying men could be killed, especially if it was only two against twenty. Against an armed twenty.

“You fought well,” Lee Bo said with some surprise, and sucked in his breath. “Come along now.”

We found ourselves in a small courtyard, where only two Taipings guarded the passage to the rest of the Forbidden City — I gasped at its vast and serene appearance, at the bright pavilions and the gardens that stretched around us. Everything was lavishly decorated. There was gold leaf to rival the domes of the Moscow churches, and carvings that seemed to breathe, giving life to the taloned maned monsters that decorated them.

The guards paid us little mind. The outside gates, heavy as they were, did not let through much sound, and I did not suppose they would have a reason to suspect that two men would somehow get through the twenty outside without their consent.

“Where’s Feng?” Lee Bo asked one of the guards — at least, this is what I thought he asked. I recognized the name Feng.

The guard waved his arm toward the large building off in some distance. Lee Bo translated. “Talking to the emperor, discussing terms of surrender.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Some officials.” The guard thought for a while, and then added, “And a Russian envoy.”

“Who would that be?” Lee Bo asked me as soon as we passed the guards.

“No idea,” I said. “I thought the Emperor Constantine did not want an alliance… but maybe my aunt has convinced him.” I smiled then, hopeful my work would be easier.

The Forbidden City seemed the Abandoned City now. We walked along the path lined with strangely shaped rocks and pillars; what they were supposed to represent was obscured by the snow. The trees that craned their slender, snow-weighed branches over the path must’ve been magnificent in the spring, when the white flowers frothed and cascaded over the boughs, and I squinted and imagined that the snow mounding on the stones were white petals of plum and cherry flowers.

“This is the Palace of Earthly Peace,” Lee Bo said and pointed at the large pavilion that dwarfed everything else around it. It also stood out from the surroundings because it had two roofs, one stacked on top of the other. The building itself was an arrangement of smaller pavilions, some lower and some taller. A wide staircase led toward it and several subordinate structures, topped with matching copper-colored rectangular roofs with steeply curved eaves.

“It is beautiful,” I told Lee Bo, and really meant it. “I’ve never seen anything quite so… ” I paused, searching for an appropriate epithet. It seemed so strange and otherworldly, especially considering that we just fought the people who were supposed to be on our side. “It’s very beautiful,” I concluded in a rather uninspired manner. “I am sorry for getting us into that fight — Wong Jun’s letter… ”

Lee Bo shrugged. “If we ran into Qing forces, that letter would’ve had an opposite effect. In any case, you’re a barbarian, and it would be foolish to expect people to trust you.”

“Kuan Yu does.”

Lee Bo shook his head, smiling. “This is very naive of you. Do you think he is helping you because you’re serving the purpose he finds agreeable, or because you’re so precious that everyone who runs into you just has to help you?”

“The former.” I tried not to sulk.

“Right. So don’t take it personally, but do remember that people… people will do what suits themselves first. Don’t expect them to stop everything because you happened to wander by and need help.”

“I don’t,” I said. “Is it another one of those arguments you mentioned before?”

He nodded. We ascended the white staircase to the Palace itself, and I thought of how unlike the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg it was. Irrelevant and minor thoughts always plagued me at such important times, and I shook my head to clear it.

There were more guards here, but they wore Qing queues, and I wished I still had Wong Jun’s letter.

My stomach growled and acted as if it was about to do a flip and exit my body through my mouth and disappear forever. I swallowed hard. “I am bringing important information about the British.”

Lee Bo translated.

The guards did not seem especially spirited — they barely acknowledged our presence and let us through the double doors leading to the palace. I stepped through, simultaneously hopeful and apprehensive.

To my disappointment, we did not see the emperor. I supposed that he must have been rather discouraged by the woefully underdressed Taipings tracking muddy footprints across his beautifully paved floors and fine carpets. There were quite a few of them about; they gave us suspicious looks, but Lee Bo’s banter seemed to put them at enough ease to let us through. The walls were decorated by friezes and hangings made of richly embroidered shimmering silk that moved in the breeze, and the people in the battle scenes, artfully depicted, waved their banners and raised sails of their war junks.

We found General Feng in one of the smaller halls of the palace — it was almost intimate, decorated with soft rugs and low, embroidered couches, almost European in their design. On one of these couches, Feng, a small man who looked to be in his early thirties, stretched luxuriously, oblivious to the fact that his leather slippers left a round wet stain on the upholstery. His long hair was pulled into a horsetail on top of his head, and his wide, curved sword rested across his lap. Otherwise, he looked like any of his men.

He sat up when he saw me, and spoke sharply in Chinese.

I smiled and shook my head, and opened my satchel. I always suspected there was a huge relief in stopping the struggle and simply giving up the thing that had motivated one for weeks and months and years on end. I suspected that Sisyphus himself heaved a sigh of relief when the boulder rolled down the hill and he stood on the slope, empty-handed and free for a moment, truly happy because in that brief instant he had lost everything again, and had not yet regained hope and motivation for the next impossible task.

This is how I felt when I extracted the blueprints and the letters detailing the English treachery, when I gave general Feng the signed copies of treaties between the British and Ottoman empires, as I piled proof after proof after proof that China and the Taiping Tianguo, if they were to survive, would have to form an alliance with someone, and Russia seemed a logical choice, a neighbor driven by the same necessity and less foreign than any other.

Lee Bo translated, pointed things out, answered the general’s questions.

Feng’s voice rose as he gestured at one of the papers. Lee Bo frowned and spoke faster and in a higher pitch. I looked from one foreign face to the other, suddenly aware of how much I did not belong here. My suspicions intensified when Lee Bo bowed his head, pressed his hands together before his chest, and spoke softer, but with the unmistakable strain of pleading that was always the same, no matter whether the language spoken was Russian, English, or Cantonese.

Feng listened and sat up straighter, his back growing rigid with resolution. When he spoke, he was not addressing either Lee Bo or myself, but rather talking over our heads to someone in the hallway just outside.

My heart sunk as Feng tossed the papers I had given him carelessly on the couch cushions, and waited for the two Taipings to enter and flank me, in a way much less reassuring than the manner in which Kuan Yu and Lee Bo had so shortly before. When their hands clasped my wrists, freed my saber from my sheath, and took my shoulders — gently, gently, like a mother cradling a helpless child — my spirit gave out. I did not sob but I did not struggle; I let my head droop and my thoughts swim, as I could almost see myself — like another person would; detached, floating — being led down a corridor, all golden lights and filigreed panels on the walls, flowers and fantastic beasts, my heels hitting the tiles too loudly.

Then we were outside. Deep snow in hidden courtyards littered with splintered bamboo shafts and shredded red paper muted my footsteps, and I thought of it as a relief. We arrived at a small pavilion, and I thought it was a jail. But instead it turned out to be a small shrine. There were several statues placed on a dais; one corner of the cold stone floor was covered by a threadbare straw mat. The stone rang hollow and frozen with my bootsteps, went silent as my legs gave way and I crumpled to the floor, just as the key on the other side of the door turned, leaving me more cold and alone than I ever thought possible.

I had time to think now. The rushing about of the past weeks came to such an abrupt and disreputable stop that the very cessation of motion felt more crushing than the imprisonment. And I was in prison, even though instead of a jailer I had jade statues of some unfamiliar gods and a goddess, and there were no bars, just a room with dais with rounded corners and a wooden door.

It was too cold to sleep, and I curled into a comma, pulling my worn pelisse over my shoulders, like a too-short blanket. The carved goddess looked at me from the corner of one eye, not to notice me, but looking nonetheless.

My only blessing was the realization of how lucky I had been until that day, and how an abrupt end of my good fortune cast the incredible run of luck that preceded it in stark relief. Of course my luck had to run out some day, and it seemed more than coincidence that it did so just a few days after Jack’s capture.

I searched under the dais, not really hoping to find anything but to keep moving. To my surprise, in the dusty, cold darkness under the smooth wood my fingers felt a jagged piece of rock. I pulled it out and discovered it was a flint stone, and my heart squeezed tight in my already constricted chest, then let go again.

The empty sheath of my saber was not a very good weapon, but its steel-encased tip would serve as a perfect counterpart to the flint stone, if only I could find something to set fire to. Encouraged and newly energized by hope, I crawled on my hands and knees, looking into every crevice between the floor tiles, and under every side of the dais.

My reward was a thin splinter of bamboo lodged between the wall and a floor tile, and half of incense stick. It was better than nothing at all.

Then it struck me: I tore at my jacket, exposing the accursed reverse corset (which, I worried, was permanently altering the shape of my body) and tore off a chunk of cork off one shoulder, my fingers clawed and insensitive from cold. With my bamboo splinter, I arranged the cork shavings into a small pile, and set to striking the stone against the sheath’s steel tip.

Just moving about warmed me up, and the surge of blood to my face and hands chased away the ennui and sense of indifference which victims of cold are so susceptible to. When the cork began to smolder, it seemed an extravagant gift, and I spread my fingers toward the pale stunted flames.

I burned the incense almost as an afterthought, and the smoldering stick filled the shrine with thick smoke. I coughed and almost put it out, but a new idea occurred to me.

I shoved the burning incense tip through the keyhole in the door — I did not have enough fire to burn the door, or worse yet, risk suffocation, but I could send a smoke signal — much like in a James Fenimore Cooper novel. My only worry was that there was no one on the outside to care enough to receive it. And still I waited, until the smoldering red line crawled back through the keyhole and burned my fingers before going out.

The night came and went — I had not realized it, but when my feeble incense stick ran out and I sucked my burned fingers numbly, a golden shaft of light forced itself through the keyhole. It seemed so tangible, so solid, that I imagined myself grasping it like a magical key and turning it, the door squeaking open and returning to freedom. It felt so vivid, the fresh air on my face… I shivered and curled back into a small depressed ball. Even if I could break through the door, there was an entire country beyond the shrine and the courtyard and the Forbidden City — a country whose language I did not speak and to whom I looked like an enemy. I only hoped that Lee Bo was working to exercise his influence over Feng — if he wasn’t thought a traitor and locked away elsewhere, of course.

The door opened then, as if my thoughts and the power of conjured images compelled it to. I sat up and blinked at the flood of bright light, simultaneously pulling my jacket closed and hoping that the dents in my shoulders were not too obvious. Two dark shadows solidified against the blinding whiteness and resolved into my escorts from day before. I looked at them, trying to suppress any hope. It became easier the moment General Feng stepped inside.

It turned out he spoke passable English. He gestured to me and said, “We saw your smoke this morning. Thank you. It has been so busy here, I forgot about you. My apologies.”

I did not have the standing to sulk, although I was tempted. I did not particularly relish being a forgotten casualty of a foreign and ultimately strange conflict where if I were to die no one would likely know my name or remember my face. “Thank you for remembering me,” I said. I did feel some gratitude — not to Feng but to Fenimore Cooper. “Now are you willing to listen to my proposal?”

Feng took a step back, as if suddenly unbalanced. “We examined the papers you brought,” he said. “There is some interesting information, but I doubt your ability to speak for your ruler.”

“I never said I did,” I answered. “I merely gave you tools so you may seek alliance with those who can help you and whose trust you would have to win.”

Feng looked at me quizzically. “And you took it upon yourself to do so. What made you decide to interfere in the fates of empires?”

I could not tell him the truth — namely, that the decision was pure hotheaded foolishness on my part. Instead, I stared at the tips of my boots and said, “I was in possession of these documents as well as an opportunity to travel. I hope you are not suspecting any untoward motives.”

“I was,” Feng answered. “But today, we spoke to the Russian envoy who confirms your offer, and even brings assurances of the Russian emperor. Would you accept my apologies and join us?”

I found myself back in the palace, where Lee Bo greeted me with exclamations of relief.

Feng spoke in Chinese again, relieved at the presence of Lee Bo.

Lee Bo translated. “He says, the Russian envoy will be here any second. Even though he is inclined to reconsider the meaning of your information because of new events, he will of course have to take it to Hong.”

“Good.” I was about to ask who the envoy was, when there was some commotion in the hallway, and a small bamboo litter was carried into the room. I doubted the necessity of traveling by litter indoors, and thus waited with interest to see who would emerge from it. The carriers set the litter down, the curtain at its side moved, and my Aunt Eugenia, her own black-clad and unmistakable self, stepped out, smiling, with tears in her eyes.

I cried as well, and I introduced Aunt Eugenia to Lee Bo, and Lee Bo introduced her to Feng, and Feng asked Eugenia and myself about our feelings on the Taiping philosophy, which he kindly offered to summarize right away for us, and did so. I stopped listening when he mentioned strict separation of the sexes, and hugged Eugenia, and she hugged me back, and even though we both felt like we should have no tears left by now, we cried some more, and it was all very exciting.

“Why are you traveling in this litter?” I asked Eugenia. There were so many questions vying for my attention and struggling for primacy, but it looked like the least important had won out.

Eugenia laughed and hugged me again. “They let me meet the Qing Emperor, only he was not happy that the envoy was a woman, and the Taipings — whom I had to deal with mostly — insisted on keeping me separate from everyone else, so I’ve been carried in this litter all over the Forbidden City and the palace — which is quite large; much larger than it looks from the outside. I guess it is easier for everyone to cope if I am hidden away in this little coffin with rails.”

“They did have an empress,” I said. “Dowager, I mean, but an empress nonetheless.”

“The Russians have had more recent empresses,” Eugenia pointed out sensibly. “The great world of good it did us.”

“I gave Jack’s documents to the Taipings,” I said. “They seem like better allies.”

“Yes, since they are winning,” Eugenia agreed. “Come with me, Sasha, come for a walk in a garden. We need to talk.”

The garden that lay just behind the palace and surrounded a small shrine with a round roof was quiet and white, graceful black branches outlined against the snowdrifts and walls. I wondered at my ability to even notice such things, even admire them, as so many other concerns should’ve been closer to my heart. “I worry about Kuan Yu,” I said. “I hope Feng got it sorted out with his people at the gates.”

“I’m sure your friends will be fine,” Eugenia said. “You’ve done well. I received your message, and I was able to finally talk Constantine into listening to reason.”

“How did you manage that?”

Eugenia smiled, sly. “I do have friends, and I followed your advice. Apparently, being old-fashioned and honorable doesn’t get you anywhere, but being friends with the empress’s former beau who still has some of her less discreet letters will assure you her help.”

“Brilliant,” I said with respect. “So she helped you get Constantine’s ear.”

“Apparently, men do listen to their wives.” Eugenia stepped off the stone path and crouched down, black as a crow on the white snow. She picked up a handful of snow and rolled it in her hands absently. “The snow is so heavy and wet,” she said. “Great for the crops, and I think a warm spell is coming.”

I crouched down next to her. The stone of the path felt so heavy that I put my hand on it, to feel its aged-cold surface, worn smooth by so many generations of feet, and yet it managed to retain the tiny bumps and cracks on its surface. They made me think of the moon and the dark blemishes and long sinuous fissures one could see on it some nights in June. “Do you think we’ll be back in Trubetskoye by the time they start sowing?” I asked.

“Depends on what else we have to do. I think the Taipings will accept the invitation from the emperor I’ve delivered, and you and your Englishman friend certainly helped to sweeten the deal… Where is he, by the way?”

I told her about Jack and his initial disappearance and his capture, of the way he kept close and yet managed to distract Nightingale and her contingent.

“I never liked that woman,” Eugenia said. “I always keep thinking we women ought to stick together, and I keep telling it to the empress — because if we do, we can stand up to the men and to the way they run things. But the empress and that Nightingale, they value men’s opinion over those of their own kind. And I don’t know what to do about them.”

“I don’t know about the general principle,” I said, “but I certainly would be quite comfortable with destroying her. Not killing, just making sure she would never interfere with my life again, and that she wouldn’t hurt Jack.”

“Where would they take him?”

I shrugged. “Maybe to London, and maybe to St. Petersburg. Is Mr. Herbert still there?”

“I believe so. I think I saw some mincing dandy the last time I was at the Winter Palace, who kept lisping into Nicholas’s ear.” Eugenia straightened and spat. “I swear it is a miracle that I managed to get myself sent here — Nicholas is in the pocket of the English and the Turks, and he has no inkling they are not his friends.”

I stood too. “He does seem both dim and unpleasant. But I am really thinking that I should probably go do something about Jack before he is executed as a traitor and a criminal.”

Eugenia gave me a long look and continued down the path, leaving tracks of snow clumps on the clean dry stones. “You keep some dubious company.”

“I suppose. Will you come with me, at least some of the way?”

“Of course, dear. How far do you think they could’ve traveled?”

“If they took the train, they are at least three days ahead of us.”

“Then I suppose we will have to convince Mr. Feng to lend us an airship. Otherwise, we will never catch up.”

I sighed happily and caught up to Eugenia, throwing one arm around her shoulders. “Dear Aunt Genia, I’m so glad you’re here. I feel like everything will be right now.”

Genia’s thin hand — traversed by blue, delicate veins — patted mine. I felt a surge of pity at her fragility and the sudden realization that she was getting old. “Well,” she said. “I do not know if everything will ever be completely ‘right,’ but I can promise you this: if your prolonged absence gets you expelled from the university, the emperor himself promised to intervene on your behalf.”

“Really?”

“Really.” She smiled. “He said so himself before he stuffed me into a submarine.”

“Is that how you got here so quickly?”

She nodded, pleased. “I felt rather like a sardine, but it took me from St. Petersburg to the Kara Sea and to Yenisey to Baikal quick enough. Then they found me an airship.”

I shuddered at the thought. “The submarine sounds awful. I hope we get to travel by air rather than water. But I suppose we have to go and find out if we are required to take any messages with us.”