Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [104]
The coolie shouted something in which I recognized my name into the center of the labyrinth and then sauntered off, unconcerned about the outcome. Soon we heard quick, light steps, and a man in traditional Han robes emerged from the lackluster offices, very much like a beautiful butterfly exiting its drab cocoon, unashamed of its humble beginning.
The foreman, like everyone here, had long hair falling over his young face. I clasped my hands over my mouth as I recognized him. “Lee Bo!”
He peered at me, puzzled at first. His forehead furrowed but soon smoothed over as—between my short hair and my raggedy mustache—he deciphered my features. “Sasha,” he breathed. “I’ll be damned.”
“You know each other?” Volzhenko said.
“We went to the university together,” I said quickly in my most masculine voice and rounded my eyes at Lee Bo.
“Indeed.” Lee Bo. “Before Mr. Menshov joined the hussars, it seems.”
I smiled gratefully. “And what about you? I thought you went back to China!”
“I did,” Lee Bo said. “Chiang Tse and I both did. But I was needed here. Taiping Tianguo is concerned about Russia allying with Britain, and with keeping the Qing as far from our factories as we can. So we came to Siberia—you could build an entire city here, and no one would ever know.”
“Is Chiang Tse well?” I blurted out before I could bite my tongue. I felt myself blush and quickly added, “Have you seen the Englishman who helped us that night at the club?”
“Why, yes to both,” Lee Bo said. He leaned against the makeshift office wall with reckless disregard as its integrity was threatened by even his slight frame. “Jack was just here—he left something for you.”
“He’s not here now?” I said, disappointed as well as relieved upon hearing good news about Chiang Tse.
“No. He had to go meet some people. He did leave you a package.”
We proceeded to Lee Bo’s office—a little kennel crowded with a drafting table and cylinder desk, filled almost to capacity with folded diagrams and broken models of wings and wooden propellers. There were feathers and crumbled pine needles crunching underfoot, and a small pile of plant parts on the cylinder desk. I saw sycamore and maple seeds, and smiled—I remembered Lee Bo talking once about taking inspiration from nature, and was glad to see that he looked to it in his airship design. At least, I assumed the maple seeds with their membranous, leathery wings were the inspiration for the hand-carved propeller sitting next to them.
Lee Bo went to work shifting papers and mumbling to himself in Chinese. I was curious to see him like that—until now, I knew him as one of the cohesive group of Chinese students, a soft spoken man who was rarely seen apart from Chiang Tse. Now, he was a confident engineer whose training in physics served him well. I was proud to know him, even though the sense of pride was somewhat muffled by a million questions and worries that weighed on my heart.
He found an envelope addressed in Jack’s hand, and proffered it to me. “Take it,” he said. “I was glad to meet Jack—glad to thank him for helping us that night back in St. Petersburg. And now, I have a chance to thank you—without your intervention, I would not be here today. I am glad to have this opportunity to return the favor. Jack said he could not transfer these papers to you before because you were being watched, and he hoped the pursuit has been diverted enough so you can continue your journey with everything you need.”
I opened the envelope with trembling fingers, and glimpsed the pale blue ink with a sigh of relief, felt the crinkling of the tracing paper under my fingers. The diagrams of submarines and faded letters all neatly collated, all the proof that I would need to convince the Taiping leaders . . . if I were to go to the Taipings. I breathed deep, savoring the smell