Heart of Iron - Ekaterina Sedia [63]
I made a face. “Please tell me that you didn’t become one of . . . those.”
“You mean opium smokers?” Jack smiled. “No, although hashish eating was something I picked up later in India. But no, Paolo spoke of unlocking my mind’s hidden abilities . . . I suspect that he was intoxicated, insane, and extremely dull, but there wasn’t much else to do. His teachings seemed to be based on imperfectly understood Confucian philosophy and local superstitions, as well as whatever foolishness he had learned in his homeland.”
“And? He told you some magic words, made you a potion?”
Jack grinned and picked up his booklet. “I shall not tell you anything more if you keep interrupting me.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh no, it is too late. You’ll have to wait for the next time I feel like talking.”
I sulked. “You are just trying to be like one of those serials you love so much.”
“Maybe. Go read about your Sweeney Todd.”
“The stories are all the same,” I complained. “I read The String of Pearls a million times, and all the other Sweeney Todd stories are the same. Tell me how you became Spring Heeled Jack.”
“I will,” he said. “Just not now: I have to maintain my mystery, after all, or you won’t ever want to talk to me.”
I sighed and went back to my letter. There was at least two weeks on the train ahead of us and I decided he would tell me during the journey. At least it would keep the boredom at bay.
“I feel conflicted,” I wrote to my mother, “for even though I have no immediate plans of marriage, I feel I should be moved by the attentions of at least one of these young men. One of them especially has proven himself a loyal friend who has risked much to help me, and who was always considerate and kind. I feel I should be returning his interest, and I wonder whether I should compel myself to develop affection for this fine gentleman.
“Now, the other gentleman is a more complicated case—he is also a good friend and a kind companion, but I fear I have not have many opportunities to talk to him of late. Moreover, I fear that if I were to start a courtship with him, society would not approve. He is a foreigner, and recent political tensions may prevent any possibility of marital happiness. And yet . . . ”
A knock on the door interrupted my epistolary exercises. I rushed to the door before Jack, and found myself face to face with Rotmistr Ivankov.
“Looking good, lad,” he said and slapped my shoulder with enough force to make my teeth chatter. “Wild night last night, yeah?”
“I’ve seen wilder,” I lied. “What can I do for you, rotmistr?”
“There are some Englishmen downstairs, interviewing the staff,” he said. “They are looking for a very tall Englishman and someone who’s traveling with him. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about it, but I figured better safe than sorry and that I should drop you a word. In case it’s someone you know, even though I’ve never seen those folks they’re looking for, and neither have my cornets.” He gave me an exaggerated wink and was gone before I could muster a thank you.
Chapter 10
Jack and I tried not to panic as we threw everything we had unpacked the day before back into our satchels—at least, I tried not to panic. Jack seemed composed, but I felt certain it was playacting. Who could stay calm considering the terror of facing Dame Nightingale? I was afraid of her even before her letters had shown me a true depth of her passion—and I now knew of how much love and, conversely, hatred she was capable. Now I was mad with fear.
“Sasha,” Jack called me. “You must control your emotion. You are as pale as a ghost and look guiltier than sin. Appear casual, walk easy. They are looking for a girl, not a hussar.”
It felt like a bad dream, listening for footsteps and voices. Finally, the sense of fear and helplessness solidified into a piercing realization the people who were looking for us would not stop, and they would unlikely have any