Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [33]
Olga took a long sip of her piping hot tea. “You’ll change your mind,” she said. “You just wait.”
I did not argue, but thought bitterly to myself that everyone seemed to think they knew more about me than I did, from Dame Nightingale to my best friend. Oh, how I hoped they were wrong.
Chapter 6
I spent more time with Jack, since every conversation I attempted to have with Olga ended up with her asking about him anyway. Jack was a pleasant companion in his own right, even if one were to ignore the fact I attempted to use our new closeness to find answers to the questions that plagued me. He, however, was very good at avoiding sly hints and the subtle verbal traps I set for him. When the break came to an end, I knew no more about his purpose, Dame Nightingale, or the burglary at the Crane Club than I did when it started.
The last Sunday before the classes were set to resume, Jack and I went for a walk along the Nevsky Prospect. It was late October, and the snowfall and the cutting winter winds were not far away. I was eager to enjoy the last of the tolerable weather, even if it meant contending with light rain and occasional wind gusts forceful enough to almost rip the hat off my head despite many pins specifically embedded to keep it in place.
Jack too had to keep vigilant hold of his hat. He did not look particularly pleased about the walk, but I described the horses at the Anichkov Bridge and the impression they made on me last year, and he agreed to pay them a visit. As we both stood transfixed—I was caught up anew in the violent yet still life of the sculpture—my thoughts churned. It was as if the horses gave me the presence of mind and courage to enunciate the question to which I so desired—and perhaps dreaded—an answer.
“Mr. Bartram,” I said then, “Do you know what happened with the Crane Club? Did you have anything to do with it?”
He kept looking at the horses, his head tilted back, one gloved hand holding the brim of his hat. His eyes, squinting against the wind, did not change their expression and the Adam’s apple on his long pale throat did not bob. Yet, like the sculpture he was studying, his still frame filled with silent tension, and just like that, without him uttering a word or making a gesture, I knew.
“No,” he said after a very long pause. “Why would you think that?”
“That night, you were at the club.”
“I was just passing by.”
“And at the Northern Star . . . that awful lady told you to remember your loyalties. The Crane Club was vandalized, soon after.”
He finally looked away from the bridge, his eyes meeting mine. His coat flapped, and something twinged in the depths of my memory. “And why would one thing have anything to do with another?”
“Your country was at war with China.”
He smiled, as if I were a child he had decided to indulge a bit longer. “We have signed a peace treaty. But even if we had not . . . do you think ransacking a Chinese club is the same as declaring military hostilities? It was more likely some drunks or thieves who were hoping to find alcohol in that place—it was all but abandoned recently. So they took some trinkets to sell. Really, Sasha, you’re too smart for your own good—you’re making things so complicated.”
I did feel very young and very foolish then. “We can go,” I whispered.
He offered me his elbow and I hooked my hand over the crook of his arm. “Don’t feel bad,” he said. “I know you are upset about your friends. Only I wish you wouldn’t cast me as an enemy.”
Those words made me blush. “I remember that you saved us,” I said. “You saved me twice, and I told you I was grateful. But there are things happening now that I do not understand, all I know is that I do not trust Prince Nicholas and his secret police, and I do not trust your Dame Nightingale.”
He seemed amused by my words, as we turned toward the Palace Square. “She may be a bit brash,