Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [60]
“Cheer up, lad,” the rotmistr told me. “There’s hope for the empire yet. Now, how about a toast to the emperor’s health?”
Jack came down the stairs, concern written clearly on his long face, to find me in the company of three fairly drunk hussars—truth be told, I was getting a bit tipsy myself, because they kept calling me a bare-faced youth and buying me drinks. I consumed tremendous quantities of gherkins and pickled herring attempting to stave off intoxication, but by the time I saw Jack, my vision was blurred, I laughed quite readily, and the hussars had persuaded me to join them in a song.
“This . . . this is my charge,” I explained to my new friends, while poking Jack in the chest repeatedly. Then I swept my arm in the air, indicating the rotmistr and both cornets, and informed Jack, “And these are my friends. We were just singing ‘God Save the Tsar’.”
“How nice,” Jack said. “We do have to turn in—we have a long day tomorrow.”
“Just one more drink,” the rotmistr said in passable English. “Please, join us for one drink, and then we’ll return your boy.”
“Very well.” Jack pulled up the chair and shook hands.
I felt misty-eyed, so happy everyone was getting along so well, and that Jack did not seem inclined to snub anyone. I also missed my mother with a sudden intensity, and wished we had taken a long route to Moscow, stopping by Trubetskoye. I decided to write her a letter instead, as soon as I could hold a pen. Meanwhile, Jack and the rotmistr started a discussion about Asia.
“The thing is,” the rotmistr was saying, swaying a bit with liquor, a fire of righteous conviction bright in his eyes, “Russia needs to embrace its Asian nature. Scythians, yes? Our ancestors, and yet Asiatic. We need to embrace that.”
“Is that so?” Jack said, smiling. “It seems to me that Emperor Constantine along with Peter the Great and a few others tsars are quite intent on being embracing Europe.”
I rolled my eyes: this was a discussion I had heard many times, and even participated in myself. It did not seem to have a resolution or even any purpose beyond providing a thin excuse for discussing Russia’s destiny as a nation and its delicate position perched as it was between the East and the West, like a Georgian circus rider between two horses. Their voices buzzed in my ears as my mind drifted to the train ride with Chiang Tse, who seemed so curious then of the entire notion of westernization. I was half asleep by the time Jack tapped me on the shoulder and dragged me upstairs, to the accompaniment of the hussars’ laughter.
The next morning I woke up with a headache and a sense of calamity; there was an uncomfortable sensation burning in the pit of my stomach as if I had done something inappropriate the night before but couldn’t quite remember it. I had slept in my clothes, and my shoulder hurt where my reverse corset had rubbed it raw. I sat up and stretched, trying to readjust everything that had shifted during sleep. My mouth tasted especially foul.
The other bed was empty, and I worried until the door opened and Jack appeared with two plates of fried eggs, cheese, and bread and butter. “Eat this,” he said and set one next to me. “Believe me, there’s nothing better for a hangover than a full stomach. I’ll get tea.”
He disappeared again and I ate, my mind clearing as eggs and bread and butter smothered the queasy feeling in my belly. I was glad to have Jack on my side.
“What are we doing today?” I asked when he returned with two glasses of very strong and sweet tea.
“I would suggest staying where we are,” he answered, and started on his breakfast. “I went out this morning, picked up newspapers