My reward was a thin splinter of bamboo lodged between the wall and a floor tile, and half of incense stick. It was better than nothing at all.
Then it struck me: I tore at my jacket, exposing the accursed reverse corset (which, I worried, was permanently altering the shape of my body) and tore off a chunk of cork off one shoulder, my fingers clawed and insensitive from cold. With my bamboo splinter, I arranged the cork shavings into a small pile, and set to striking the stone against the sheath’s steel tip.
Just moving about warmed me up, and the surge of blood to my face and hands chased away the ennui and sense of indifference which victims of cold are so susceptible to. When the cork began to smolder, it seemed an extravagant gift, and I spread my fingers toward the pale stunted flames.
I burned the incense almost as an afterthought, and the smoldering stick filled the shrine with thick smoke. I coughed and almost put it out, but a new idea occurred to me.
I shoved the burning incense tip through the keyhole in the door — I did not have enough fire to burn the door, or worse yet, risk suffocation, but I could send a smoke signal — much like in a James Fenimore Cooper novel. My only worry was that there was no one on the outside to care enough to receive it. And still I waited, until the smoldering red line crawled back through the keyhole and burned my fingers before going out.
The night came and went — I had not realized it, but when my feeble incense stick ran out and I sucked my burned fingers numbly, a golden shaft of light forced itself through the keyhole. It seemed so tangible, so solid, that I imagined myself grasping it like a magical key and turning it, the door squeaking open and returning to freedom. It felt so vivid, the fresh air on my face… I shivered and curled back into a small depressed ball. Even if I could break through the door, there was an entire country beyond the shrine and the courtyard and the Forbidden City — a country whose language I did not speak and to whom I looked like an enemy. I only hoped that Lee Bo was working to exercise his influence over Feng — if he wasn’t thought a traitor and locked away elsewhere, of course.
The door opened then, as if my thoughts and the power of conjured images compelled it to. I sat up and blinked at the flood of bright light, simultaneously pulling my jacket closed and hoping that the dents in my shoulders were not too obvious. Two dark shadows solidified against the blinding whiteness and resolved into my escorts from day before. I looked at them, trying to suppress any hope. It became easier the moment General Feng stepped inside.
It turned out he spoke passable English. He gestured to me and said, “We saw your smoke this morning. Thank you. It has been so busy here, I forgot about you. My apologies.”
I did not have the standing to sulk, although I was tempted. I did not particularly relish being a forgotten casualty of a foreign and ultimately strange conflict where if I were to die no one would likely know my name or remember my face. “Thank you for remembering me,” I said. I did feel some gratitude — not to Feng but to Fenimore Cooper. “Now are you willing to listen to my proposal?”
Feng took a step back, as if suddenly unbalanced. “We examined the papers you brought,” he said. “There is some interesting information, but I doubt your ability to speak for your ruler.”
“I never said I did,” I answered. “I merely gave you tools so you may seek alliance with those who can help you and whose trust you would have to win.”
Feng looked at me quizzically. “And you took it upon yourself to do so. What made you decide to interfere in the fates of empires?”
I could not tell him the truth — namely, that the decision was pure hotheaded foolishness on my part. Instead, I stared at the tips of my boots and said, “I was in possession of these documents as well as an opportunity to travel. I hope you are not suspecting any untoward motives.”
“I was,” Feng answered. “But today, we spoke to the Russian envoy who confirms your offer, and even brings assurances of the Russian emperor. Would you accept my apologies and join us?”
I found myself back in the palace, where Lee Bo greeted me with exclamations of relief.
Feng spoke in Chinese again, relieved at the presence of Lee Bo.
Lee Bo translated. “He says, the Russian envoy will be here any second. Even though he is inclined to reconsider the meaning of your information because of new events, he will of course have to take it to Hong.”
“Good.” I was about to ask who the envoy was, when there was some commotion in the hallway, and a small bamboo litter was carried into the room. I doubted the necessity of traveling by litter indoors, and thus waited with interest to see who would emerge from it. The carriers set the litter down, the curtain at its side moved, and my Aunt Eugenia, her own black-clad and unmistakable self, stepped out, smiling, with tears in her eyes.
I cried as well, and I introduced Aunt Eugenia to Lee Bo, and Lee Bo introduced her to Feng, and Feng asked Eugenia and myself about our feelings on the Taiping philosophy, which he kindly offered to summarize right away for us, and did so. I stopped listening when he mentioned strict separation of the sexes, and hugged Eugenia, and she hugged me back, and even though we both felt like we should have no tears left by now, we cried some more, and it was all very exciting.
“Why are you traveling in this litter?” I asked Eugenia. There were so many questions vying for my attention and struggling for primacy, but it looked like the least important had won out.
Eugenia laughed and hugged me again. “They let me meet the Qing Emperor, only he was not happy that the envoy was a woman, and the Taipings — whom I had to deal with mostly — insisted on keeping me separate from everyone else, so I’ve been carried in this litter all over the Forbidden City and the palace — which is quite large; much larger than it looks from the outside. I guess it is easier for everyone to cope if I am hidden away in this little coffin with rails.”
“They did have an empress,” I said. “Dowager, I mean, but an empress nonetheless.”
“The Russians have had more recent empresses,” Eugenia pointed out sensibly. “The great world of good it did us.”
“I gave Jack’s documents to the Taipings,” I said. “They seem like better allies.”
“Yes, since they are winning,” Eugenia agreed. “Come with me, Sasha, come for a walk in a garden. We need to talk.”
The garden that lay just behind the palace and surrounded a small shrine with a round roof was quiet and white, graceful black branches outlined against the snowdrifts and walls. I wondered at my ability to even notice such things, even admire them, as so many other concerns should’ve been closer to my heart. “I worry about Kuan Yu,” I said. “I hope Feng got it sorted out with his people at the gates.”
“I’m sure your friends will be fine,” Eugenia said. “You’ve done well. I received your message, and I was able to finally talk Constantine into listening to reason.”
“How did you manage that?”
Eugenia smiled, sly. “I do have friends, and I followed your advice. Apparently, being old-fashioned and honorable doesn’t get you anywhere, but being friends with the empress’s former beau who still has some of her less discreet letters will assure you her help.”
“Brilliant,” I said with respect. “So she helped you get Constantine’s ear.”
“Apparently, men do listen to their wives.” Eugenia stepped off the stone path and crouched down, black as a crow on the white snow. She picked up a handful of snow and rolled it in her hands absently. “The snow is so heavy and wet,” she said. “Great for the crops, and I think a warm spell is coming.”