We approached the Palace Bridge when a familiar swirl of a gray cloak caught my attention. There was no reason for me to expect Jack’s appearance; yet the moment I saw him, I realized I had been holding my breath, hoping he would to come to my aid. When he did, I thought he had an extraordinarily sharp nose for police — secret or uniformed — and could not help but smile.
He approached us in an easy step, his eyes curious and bright. I thought he couldn’t very well attack any of my capturers, since they were in uniform and it was broad daylight. Still, I waited for miracles. Jack did not hesitate to produce one — or rather, he pulled a sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his jacket, and handed it to the apparent officer in charge. After a few whispered words he joined our party. I kept quiet and he did not say a word to me.
We passed the Palace Square and the Decembrists Square, close to the embankment, away from the streets dedicated to the tenements of the mercantile classes and the offices of clerks and minor governmental officials. They took me to Gorokhovaya Street, to a large nice-looking building. All five stories teemed with intense activity — everywhere I could see clerks coming and going, most of them dressed in uniforms of the Ministry of the Internal Affairs. There were other policemen, too. The clerks’ uniforms differed from the officers who surrounded me, and lacked swords, but it was apparent my captors belonged to the ministry — and the ministry was overseen by Prince Nicholas. Evidently Nikolashki could lurk about in civilian clothing or wear uniforms in public: both a secret police and the uniformed gendarmes.
I was led into a roomy office, the parquet floors and tall windows looking out on the silvery gray autumn daylight. Only one of the gendarme officers, his epaulettes golden and red, followed me inside. Jack Bartram remained with us as well, although I still had no idea on whose sufferance he was there.
The officer in the bright epaulettes offered me a seat on a stiff little sofa that rested against white-and-gold striped wallpaper by the door. He himself took a seat behind a massive oak desk, and Jack stood by the door, which he had carefully closed behind him. I got the distinct feeling the two men were keeping some secret from me, and I was about to be scolded. That made me feel slightly better, because a scolding was much preferable to accusations of sedition and treason and a tribunal of some sort, or any of the other such things I had imagined on my way here. I rested my parasol across my lap, took off my gloves, and prepared to listen.
The officer and Jack traded a look, as if each expected the other to speak first. After a short awkward pause, the officer cleared his throat.
“You know why you are here,” he told me.
I gave a one-shouldered shrug, unwilling to commit. I then stared at Jack.
“Mr. Bartram here claims to have some information,” the officer said. “And since Her Majesty’s interests and ours happen to coincide, Mr. Bartram and his colleagues have been quite helpful in our recent investigations of the Asiatic menace with which, I hear, you are involved.”
“Not at all,” I protested.
He shuffled a few papers on his desk, and pulled out a single sheet. I recognized the page from my notebook; I think I blanched, because the gendarme gave me a humorless smile. “We have a report,” he said, “that one Wong Jun was arrested, while in company of two compatriots and a lady, reportedly of European appearance. With your letter, I am forced to conclude you were that lady — a lady who resisted arrest, interfered with the performance of police duties, and escaped lawful custody.”
“Wong Jun is a classmate of mine,” I protested. “And I am not blind — I know how many Chinese students have disappeared.”
“And yet, you’ve inquired only after the one in our custody.” The man seemed to enjoy the effect of his words. “Not anyone else. You know why you are dealing with this special branch of the police and not others, correct?”
“Military crimes,” I said, sullen. “Which I did not commit.”
“And yet, you’ve consorted with spies.”
“They are not spies,” I said, starting to lose patience. “You have no proof that any of them is involved in anything untoward, just as you have no proof that I was in any way connected with illegal activities.”
“Do you have proof that you weren’t?” he asked. “Where were you on Saturday September twenty-fourth?”
I sought feverishly for an answer — Olga? Anastasia? Both would swear they were with me the entire day; unfortunately, there were likely others who saw the two of them return to the dormitories without me.
Jack spoke. “The lady was with me,” he said. “After she separated from her maid and a friend, she went for a walk with me. Not entirely proper, perhaps, but quite legal.”
The officer’s eyes lit with understanding and a sly smile curled the corners of his mouth under his mouth under his mustache. “I see,” he said.
I nodded, speechless. I wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful Jack would lie for me, suspicious because he was probably more eager to conceal his role in the event than mine, or furious because he never told me that he represented the interests of the British crown in addition to being a student. It did explain his taciturn demeanor when he was asked about his homeland though. I finally settled on seething resentment, softened a little by regret.
I declined Jack Bartram’s offer of walking me home, and asked for someone to be sent to fetch Anastasia. She arrived soon after the paperwork was finished and I was let go with no greater punishment than admonition to be careful about writing letters to the emperor’s brother, and about who I chose as friends. I had decided to take the latter to heart, and frowned all the way home. Anastasia prattled about how worried she had been ever since Larisa and Olga told her about my sudden detainment, and how she was “this close” to sending a messenger to Trubetskoye.
I brooded all the way home and long after Anastasia made tea and supper and retired to bed. I thought it silly to be angry with Jack — if he was indeed in St. Petersburg to somehow work with Prince Nicholas and help him spy on the Chinese, then his help with Lee Bo’s and Chiang Tse’s escape made no sense. Nor did it make sense for him to help me, to lie for me in direct violation of what the policeman claimed was his mission. On the other hand, if the gendarme was deceived, then Jack was carrying forged papers, and his interests diverged quite greatly from those of both empires. That sounded even more dangerous than having Chinese friends and resisting arrest.
I finally slept, only because my philosophy exam was the next day and I had already lost an entire afternoon of studying; I did not need to add a sleepless night to the list of my disadvantages.
The next morning, Olga burst into my room to inform me of the events following my extraction from the examination room. It was a pandemonium, she said. There had been laughter and speculation, and Professor Ipatiev said rather loudly to the professor who had been examining me — his name turned out to be Parshin — that since I had not finished my exam, I should be required to retake it.
I gasped at this point in the story, since I could think of nothing worse than being re-examined by Ipatiev who would surely not let me pass. It was just unfair, I thought — of course the professors knew more than the students, of course Ipatiev could fail me quite easily.
Olga, however, wagged her finger in my direction, and continued. “Only as soon as he said it, Professor Parshin jumped up and said that yours was one of the best examinations he had ever had an honor of witnessing — I swear, he did say ‘honor.’ And then he took your examination booklet and wrote ‘Excellent’ in it, so Ipatiev and everyone else could see. I offered to take it to you.” Olga extracted my booklet from her muff and handed it to me, smiling. “I didn’t think Ipatiev could be taken aback, but there he was. Here, don’t leave that behind again.”