Heart of Iron (37 page)

“That is not true,” Chiang Tse said. “I heard about the robbery in the Crane Club. You want our inventions.”

“We have some models,” Nightingale said, smiling. “Remember — we don’t really need anything from you; Britain won that war.” And yet, I noticed her eyes stray toward the dragon airship resting behind us, twin streams of steam coming from the symmetrical holes in the side of its hull and making the wings undulate up and down.

Chiang Tse noticed too: he hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the ship. “Not even that?”

“We do not want blueprints; we already have them.”

“Then it won’t make any difference,” I told Chiang Tse. “It’s only the matter of time before the British can build their own.”

Chiang Tse frowned. “But Sasha, we cannot give them such weapons. Our very survival—”

“—is a matter completely separate from the one at hand,” I interrupted. “Don’t you remember? You owe your life to this man, you owe him the very alliance between our countries.”

He shook his head, but then smiled, as if remembering something. “If you put it that way… What are matters of military security when you can save the man who risked so much for you?”

“Exactly!” I gave a quick sideways look to Nightingale. “If we have Jack on our side, the loss of one ship won’t matter.”

“I know there will be a war sooner or later,” Chiang Tse said, and looked at Jack with new appreciation. “I suppose he would be valuable.” He then turned to Nightingale. “Will you trade with us? That man for the airship. We’ll even provide an engineer to fly it.”

The English muttered among themselves.

“You won’t be in trouble?” I whispered to Chiang Tse.

He shrugged. “These things have a way of sorting themselves out.” He winked at me, amused at something I was missing.

Nightingale turned away from me for the first time since we got there, and consulted in lowered voice with her contingent. Her mind must have already been made up, for she didn’t pay attention to Jack, and he hobbled toward me.

“Jack,” I started.

He shook his head — rather wobbled it side to side, which was as much movement as his stocks allowed. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “I’m just glad to see that you are alive and well.”

“You too,” I said. “I wish they had not kept you in these wooden blocks.”

“Well, they bloody well had to, didn’t they?”

“You probably do not remember me,” Chiang Tse cut in.

“I do,” Jack said. “You are welcome.”

I could not believe that I had persuaded Chiang Tse to give up the airship — a beautiful, powerful machine — to his enemies. And yet, I couldn’t see another way; I only wished I would have the same clarity of vision every day of my life, the same ability to see through the conjecture and the imagined complications we tended to pile on top of everything, to see right to the heart of the matter: there was a man we both owed our lives to, and something we could trade for his salvation. It wasn’t even a difficult choice once you looked at it that way — and I was glad that Chiang Tse was able to see it my way.

I brushed an unbidden tear from my eyelashes. “I guess I better go to the airship and get my aunt and her things. Does anyone know when the next train arrives?”

“You’re close enough to Moscow,” Dame Nightingale said. “There is a train every hour or so. And do send your people to fetch the rest of your belongings from the ship — we are not thieves, we just want the airship.”

“You’re accepting our offer then?” Chiang Tse said.

“Of course. You didn’t think that he—” she gave another head toss in Jack’s direction—“is important, did you?”

“Of course he is,” I said. “He’s important to you, enough to chase him all the way to Siberia.”

Chiang Tse pulled on my sleeve. “Sasha,” he said mildly. “Let’s not prolong the pointless argument.”

“I am sorry,” I said to her. “We appreciate your willingness to negotiate.”

“I hope your engineer doesn’t mind taking us to St. Petersburg and then London,” she said. “It seems like the emperor has had quite a change of heart, and I fear that soon we won’t be welcome at his court.”

“Of course,” said Chiang Tse. “Wherever you have to go.”

I bit my tongue, said nothing, only nodded. “Do you have the key for those stocks?”

Nightingale tossed the jangling knot of keys to me. I fumbled the catch, and they sunk into the snow by my feet. I dropped to my knees, my reddened, clawed hands digging in the snow. Who knew how deep the snow was, how far those keys had fallen? I had my arms up to my shoulder in snow, when I heard Nightingale’s abrupt laugh. My fingers touched the steel and I drew a gigantic breath of relief.

“Don’t let him out until we’re gone,” she said. “And forgive us for not waiting.”

By the time I pulled the keys out of the snow, the steam of the airship had grown to two forceful streams. Aunt Eugenia and the rest of our companions had disembarked with speed that precluded dignity — I saw a man tumble in the snow, and recognized the engineer, Tang Wei.

I turned to Chiang Tse. “But he… ”

“We sent a different engineer,” Chiang Tse said as the English turned their backs on us in their hurry to get aboard.

I scanned the faces of the small crowd — my aunt, the diplomats, the crew… Kuan Yu was conspicuously missing, and I finally understood.

Jack waited patiently as I unlocked his chains and the locks. The wooden stocks split in half and tumbled to the ground, with a dull and splintering sound and the ship’s wings were beating violently, like those of a panicked butterfly.

Aunt Eugenia joined us. “What did I miss?” she asked. “The Englishmen and that terrible Nightingale woman have the ship — did you mean to do that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Don’t worry. Aunt Genia, you remember Jack? Jack Bartram? We saw him at the opera house.”

Jack stood in the snow, rubbing his wrists with an absent expression. I was starting to worry that he was damaged somehow, hurt beyond repair.

“Jack,” I whispered.

His eyes snapped open, and he smiled at Eugenia. “It is a pleasure,” he said, and shook the hand she offered.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bartram,” she replied. “I suppose we can get acquainted on the train since Sasha and Chiang Tse gave away the airship.”

“Yes, they gave the airship… ” Jack’s voice drifted off and his eyes turned toward the ship, its wings unfurled, shuddering in anticipation of flight. It seemed alive now, breathing, almost the legendary creature itself come to life… I felt an acute pang of regret for letting Nightingale’s unclean hands touch such magic.

“Well, we’d best all get to the platform so the next train will stop for us.” Eugenia started striding across the desolate field, barely troughed by all the human movement to and fro. She seemed remarkably indifferent to the snow that was undoubtedly starting to melt in her shoes.

“Wait, Countess Menshova,” Chiang Tse called. “There’s still someone joining us.”

“But—” Aunt Eugenia never got a chance to finish her thought as the roaring of the airship grew deafening, and its wings, shrouded in the sparkling veil of snow, flapped faster as it rose higher and higher into the air.

And then Jack leapt.

Eugenia and Chiang Tse, and even the Taipings who had all seen Kuan Yu in action, gasped — even though Kuan Yu’s fighting was impressive, he could never leap so high. We watched Jack float up into the air, as high as the tallest tree in the forest, as high as the beating wings of the airship. He was vengeance personified, and already his gnarled blue fingers stretched, reaching, ready to tear the delicate wings of the ship and to pluck it out of the sky, like a cat leaping for an unsuspecting sparrow.

“Jack!” It was my own voice splitting the air, dry and strained like tearing of raw silk.

Impossibly, Jack stopped in the air — the momentum that carried him toward the airship ceased and he hovered there for a part of a second, a black gangly puppet against the light sky — just inches away from the ship — and then gravity took hold of him and he fell back to the trampled snow where the rest of our small group huddled close together, as the dragon airship glared golden in the sky, and the train whistled from far away.

“Wait,” Chiang Tse repeated, this time looking directly at Jack. “No sense in killing yourself in a pointless task.”

Jack, crouched down with the force of his landing, looked up, and straightened, slow and deliberate. “Pointless?”

“Jack, I think Chiang Tse means that Kuan Yu is flying the ship.”

“He seems to be doing a fine job,” Aunt Eugenia said.

“Kuan Yu? Our friend from the train?” Jack asked, confused. “I knew he was no ordinary fur trader, but surely he is not an engineer?”

“He isn’t.” I knew my satisfied expression befuddled Jack all the more, but I just could not contain my desire to tease him a little — after all, he did sent me on a chase after him.

The ship was now a mere gold coin against the sky, gaining distance. I strained my eyes until I saw a black speck, so small that I was not entirely sure I had seen it, detach from the ship and fall toward the Earth. “Look!” I called to Chaing Tse, pointing at the falling dot.

He smiled. “It is rare to find an ally who knows what you need him to do without ever asking. I would be a liar if I said I was not pleased with his admirable abilities.”

Despite the distance, as the speck approached the ground, I could see it was shaped like a tulip — or a man with a substantial amount of fabric spread above and around him, bracing and slowing his fall. “What of the ship?” I said.

Aunt Eugenia sighed. “Remember Tosno?”

I nodded, mute. The ship was so beautiful — it was beautiful still as it faltered and grew larger as it descended, as its wings hung limp. The steam no longer escaped from it, and I could only imagine the terror of the people trapped inside it — or rather, I tried not to. The golden ship wobbled one last time, and then plummeted somewhere into fields hidden from view by a narrow copse of bare aspens. Only a brief flash against the slowly darkening sky signaled its demise.

I turned to Jack. “I suppose you have your revenge.”

He shrugged. “It’s not proper revenge if you do not complete it yourself.”

“At least this way you survived. I’m glad you have.”

He nodded, looking unconvinced.

We shivered and waited for Kuan Yu to join us.

Almost a year has passed since we got back to St. Petersburg. It is winter again, and I cannot wait until May when I can go back to Trubetskoye. I am a little upset that I have to repeat the first two quarters, but the work is easily accomplished the second time around.

I also find it comforting that Chiang Tse has been allowed to finish his education. He was granted leave from his gubernatorial post and now performs some diplomatic duties for the new Chinese ambassador to the imperial court — but not enough to interfere with his studies. The Crane Club is still gone, but now that the English have left the Northern Star, we’ve made it a favorite spot to get together and listen to the mechanical pianist.

Wong Jun was released from the Ravelin, but decided to stay in St. Petersburg — being a Manchu is now a precarious proposition in Beijing. He seems content to come to classes every now and again between bouts of complaining and dark moods. He claims to find some comfort in writing poetry, but he never allows the other Chinese students to read it.

And then there is Jack. He also attends the university and takes classes; he still walks me home every now and again. As for our adventure, we speak little of it. He has expressed regret over the poor horse, and the fright he gave the garrison. I have imparted some of Volzhenko’s theology and told him of the Aardvarks. The subject of my illfated letter is never mentioned between us, but the knowledge of it hangs over us. We both know I do not return his feelings, just as we both know he has not yet abandoned hope that someday I will. He seldom speaks to Chiang Tse, but both are polite and do not seem to wish ill to one another.

Jack seems concerned about the English expulsion, and makes occasionally vague predictions about the Secret Service traveling to Mongolia to make connections with the Qing Dynasty, but I think he worries a little prematurely. As Eugenia says, no point in planning for winter when you don’t know if you’ll live through the summer.

Eugenia remains at Trubetskoye to keep my mother company and to make sure the family estate runs as smoothly as could be desired. All summer, the two were the same as always, and I expect to find them so when I visit Trubetskoye at winter recess; I do not expect people their age to change. I would not want them to, for the world grows less familiar with every day, and one needs to have a steady constant flame of familiarity one can return to when the dragon airships are gone and the reverse corsets are packed away in oak chests. Any adventure must give away to familiarity of routine, and I look to what lies ahead of me, clear eyed and level headed, knowing that both changes and constancy have their place in the world, and that I can survive either.

I gratefully acknowledge love and support of my family, without whom this book would not be possible. I am forever grateful to Jennifer Jackson, my tireless agent, who provided feedback throughout, and worked diligently on finding this book a home. I thank Paula Guran, my editor, for all her hard work in making this a much more coherent book; and of course I am thankful to Sean Wallace, who continues to believe in my work. Many thanks go to Marcin Jakubowski for his art, and to Stephen Segal for his always expert design ideas.

I am grateful to my first readers — Amy Lau, Beth Bernobich, John Glover, Justin Howe, Leah Bobet, Michael Curry — for their thoughtful feedback, and for helping make it a better book. I am especially grateful to Genevieve Valentine who was there to offer her friendship, advice and encouragement from the very beginning of this project.