Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [15]
I gave them a long measured look and continued on my way.
The same voice spoke again. “I hear this one is going to be an old maid too.”
I did not dignify it with a reaction, until someone else added, “I hear she’ll marry a Chinaman.”
I spun around, feeling my face burn. “Instead of marrying a brainless cowardly lout like any of you? Why, it’s a capital idea!”
A few laughed, the rest appeared outraged. I continued on my way. By then, we had left the building and early dusk was descending over the campus. It occurred to me then that I was alone and rather helpless. Six or seven of the men followed behind me, never closing the distance between us. I almost regretted my insolence when Dasha Muravieva and Larisa Kulich caught up to me, and the pursuers dispersed.
“What happened?” Dasha asked me.
I caught my breath and let my heart calm down before I answered. “I don’t know, but I think it would be a good idea for us to walk in pairs, and never alone.”
Dasha and Larisa nodded and grew serious. I thought bitterly that I did not need to explain to them what I meant when I said “us.” They knew we were separate from everyone on campus, and that even our families could not protect us from the subtle menace of our fellow students.
So I was relieved when Saturday had arrived, and looked forward to visiting the very mysterious Crane Club. I had only heard rumors of the place, and wondered if there would be any opium smoking, or any of the other indulgences ascribed to the foreigners. Chiang Tse did not seem capable of anything unwholesome—and neither did his friends. I had heard, however, rumors of strange devices housed in the Chinamen’s club.
The rumors turned out to be true. The outside of the building was an unassuming storefront, painted pale green. Inside, Olga, Anastasia, and I encountered a foyer filled with lacquered display cases, where a number of interesting contraptions sat on the shelves protected by thick glass.
Chiang Tse met us in the foyer, and smiled at my obvious befuddlement. “These are the projects of the Chinese engineering students who went to this university,” he said. He pointed out a cigar-shaped object with a basket under it. “This is a model of an airship used in the Opium War,” he said. “And next to it is a device that transcribes sounds.”
We politely examined a brass contraption that consisted of a huge funnel-shaped horn on top and a large gutta-percha membrane on the bottom, connected by wires to a series of slender quills. When Chiang Tse spoke, the quills twitched nervously, but remained stationary.
“There are quite a few interesting things,” Chiang Tse said. “But for now, let’s go and meet the rest of my friends.”
Inside the club proper we found it was fashioned after a large parlor. There were chairs and cushioned sofas, as well as a large central area covered in rugs woven in simple green patterns and surrounded by wide, low couches. All of the furniture was upholstered in sea-green and golden silk, and the paintings on the walls depicted bug-eyed black fish and peculiar, long-bodied dragons that reminded me of eels more than the stocky lizards one saw on St. George icons. There were also long scrolls hanging between the paintings, with plum flowers and mountainous landscapes drawn in spare brushstrokes of black and red ink. I had to stop and stare. I marveled at the economy of these drawings and how they still managed to evoke such expansive beauty.
Olga pulled at my sleeve to draw my attention to three young men reclining on the couches in a state of extreme languor. Long-stemmed pipes held by their weak hands exhaled wisps of sweet-smelling smoke.
Chiang Tse frowned. “Opium,” he said. “A terrible affliction of my countrymen, for which they cannot be faulted. Please come with me, and do not let the weaknesses of a few color your perception of the many.”
We followed him through the parlor and into a room dominated by a single long table, covered with crisp linen cloth of European fashion.