Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [56]
It felt almost obscene at times, the way she toyed with the fate of nations in letters interspersed with proclamations of passion, where longings of lovers forced to be apart lashed out at the entire countries, a forbidden love that raged against the world and promised to destroy it. The seas that separated them were to be conquered by the navies and submarine fleets, the impossible expanse of land was to be crossed in airships of stolen designs, to be marched across by armies in red and gold of Britain and Ottomans. Dame Nightingale was denied, and it was the world that would have to pay for it.
“We’ll have to send these to Eugenia.” I gathered a sheaf of letters and a few other papers that made it clear that Nightingale and quite a few frequent visitors to the Northern Star had been using their positions to gather information and to use it for military planning. “I’ll hire a reliable courier in Moscow.”
Jack nodded.
“My God,” I said, blushing even more, and handed the letters back to Jack. “They love each other so much. And yet they are so proper when they are together.”
“Mr. Herbert is married,” Jack said.
“I guessed as much.” I looked out of the window. “And yet, she would turn the world inside out to please him.”
“This is what love does,” Jack said. He leafed through the letters, absent-minded. “I wish I could have had a chance to drop them off with your aunt last night,” he said. “But . . . ”
I remembered his mad run, something from a nightmare, not a waking memory. Something my mind tried to forget it even saw. “Does she know? Dame Nightingale, I mean.”
He nodded. “They chased me.”
“So they know where you went?”
Jack yawned and stretched, smiling. “I don’t think so; I jumped over the roofs and doubled back a few times, so I am fairly certain I’ve lost whatever pursuit was sent my way. “
“We still have to be careful.”
“Yes.”
We spent the rest of the morning in private ruminations. Jack’s thoughts were of course a mystery to me, but my own contemplation ran toward the possibility of pursuit. They would figure out he had left the city, and they would look for him in Moscow sooner rather than later. Our only hope was to continue moving, not attracting notice. Keep running, I thought, in rhythm with the wheels; keep changing trains and cities. It occurred to me there was a seductive danger about such life, the temptation to keep moving and never look back, and to never arrive at the final destination.
Chapter 9
Moscow greeted us with fresh snow and blazing golden cathedral domes. We had to cover our eyes to protect them from the brilliance from above and below.
A hired coach took us to Balchug Street in the Zamoskvorechye District by the river. Tsar’s Tavern dated back to the sixteenth century, but its old-fashioned name was now a misnomer. After recent renovations the establishment was a small hotel, with a portion of the first floor still occupied by a kitchen and a dining hall that served food and liquor.
We took rooms on the second floor. We did not plan to stay longer than was necessary, but we needed papers to travel abroad. Thankfully, my aunt’s letters were enough to hasten the process.
After lunching, we went to see the Minister of Oriental Affairs. The ministry was instituted in Moscow after Siberian exploration started—as the sad result of Prince Nicholas’ eagerness to exile his enemies as far north as possible. The landlocked and eastern location suited it and a few other agencies better than the imperial capital of St. Petersburg.
The ministry was not far from Balchug Street. We had only to cross the bridge over the Moscow River, already seized with black and green brittle casing of ice, pass the Kremlin, and enter a labyrinth of small twisting streets.