Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [43]
“I hear she’s in disfavor.”
I shrugged. “She is, but in his heart the emperor knows she always speaks the truth. He may try and ignore her, but he won’t succeed. We must make sure she has proof the British . . . that you are spying and planning an alliance with the Ottomans. Can you obtain such proof? Something even a delusional man can not argue with?”
“A delusional man can argue with anything,” Jack answered, catching up to me with no effort and walking so close his arm brushed mine. “However, I can provide your aunt with enough that the emperor will have to admit he is delusional to ignore it.”
“That would do,” I said. “And I will help you avoid Nightingale.”
He made an amused face, but I could not miss the savage hope that flashed in his pale gray eyes. “And how would you do that?”
“You will come with me to China,” I said. The plan had just formed in my head—rather, all the sleepless nights and musings and political conversations with my aunt had crystallized into this solution, as perfect as it was simple, or idiotic, depending on one’s viewpoint. All I knew was that I liked it.
“China,” Jack repeated, not bothering to affect amusement any longer. “To do what, exactly?”
“To avoid Nightingale,” I said cheerfully. “We can find those men you freed that night, remember? I need to see Wong Jun first, to ask him where we can find them and who else would help us. My aunt will work on the emperor here, while we convince the Chinese that they need to ally with Russia against Britain. We can bring the documents, the diagrams of the airships. We will take submarine plans to them as well, as a bargaining chip.”
“Seems risky,” Jack said. “Although I do not suppose Russia would have much to fear from the Chinese—the British East India Company would surely be their main concern.”
“And submarines would help against China’s ships,” I concluded. “Really, it is disgraceful what Britain is doing with the opium trade.”
“I wish I could argue,” Jack said, “but you are correct—and you are correct about traveling to China.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his docile readiness to follow me across an entire continent the same way he followed me to my dormitories, protective and yet defenseless. I, of course, had to admit that fear of Dame Nightingale probably provided a stronger motivation than whatever attraction he felt toward my humble person, but enjoyed the realization nonetheless. Besides, I had read enough James Fenimore Cooper and Alexander Dumas in my youth in Trubetskoye to appreciate the challenges of our lonesome heroics. We were two noble friends standing against the cruelty and small-mindedness of the world, and we had no choice but to do what we believed in, circumstance be damned. I almost felt guilty about still worrying about my exams, and my secret hope that it will take us long enough to gain access to Wong Jun for me to finish the exams. One thing I did not worry about was my aunt’s compliance—I knew that she would have nothing but agreement with my proposition.
One day in mid-November Eugenia arrived at my apartment with an expression of triumph on her red, chapped face.
“Don’t ask me how I did it,” she said as she pulled off her gloves and gestured to Anastasia to get the kettle on, “But I got you an appointment with your Chinaman friend.”
I ignored the explicit prohibition—more of a dare or an invitation, really. “Who did you bribe?”
She took off her hat and bustled into the kitchen, rubbing her cracked, rough hands and pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Never you worry about small indignities—you have an aunt for that.”
I had to smile, sure this is what she told my mother—my mother who was comfortable and content in the family home, with a tabby cat purring in her lap and her knitting in her hands. “Thank you, Aunt Genia. Where is he?”
“They stuck him in the Petropavlosk Fortress,” she replied. “On Zayachiy Island. Apparently, he’s important enough.”
“Of course he is,” I replied. “He is a Manchu.” It was