Eugenia gave a short incredulous laugh. “Oh dear niece. Not even three months you’re away from home, and already you’re plotting and calculating like a government official. This city has bureaucracy in the bones, and black ink for blood.”
“When is my appointment?” I asked.
“Tomorrow,” Eugenia replied. Before I could object, she held up her hand, commanding. “I know, I know, you haven’t missed a day of classes yet. I’ll send Anastasia to your professors so they know we had an urgent family affair only my heiress could deal with. And I’ll make sure those friends of yours come for tea after and tell you everything they learned. Which probably won’t be much, what with the way they’ve been filling their heads with dresses and men and nonsense, but enough to get you by. You’re so much smarter than any of them, I swear.”
I knew my aunt well enough to recognize this praise as disguised question — she wanted to know whether I was filling my head with nonsense. I suspected that dresses she wouldn’t have minded so much, but Jack must have been a concern to her. I still had not told her about her expected role in my designs, reasoning that the less time she had to contemplate my request, the less likely she would be to decline it. Despite her many eccentricities, Aunt Eugenia was not insane. Rather she possessed the courage and iron will to stand up to the emperor or anyone in his court. But she lacked the ability to ignore the facts and barrel through — her hope hitched to that least reliable of movers, expectation of luck and simple refusal to think through one’s actions and their unavoidable outcome — against all odds.
If I were to think everything through as thoroughly as Eugenia, I would not go to the Petropavlovsk Fortress, or made plans to travel to China. My ignorance and optimism sustain me when sober reason fails; I am not convinced that I like this conclusion, but I cannot deny it. Whatever the case, I had decided to conceal my intentions from Eugenia for as long as my conscience would allow me — and it was proving to be surprisingly robust.
Eugenia touched my hand. “What are you thinking about?”
I realized I hadn’t answered her question, so I laughed. “Rest assured, Aunt Genia, I am not interested in dresses or men. Or rather, I am interested in the man in Alexeevsky Ravelin, but my interest in him in strictly political.”
Eugenia smiled with visible relief.
I shrugged. “I have my education to worry about.”
Eugenia had never been stupid, and she sat up, looking at me closely with her piercing eyes. “And pray tell, why are you so interested in it all of a sudden?”
I could never lie to her about these things, and yet I had trouble articulating why I had undergone such a change of heart. She knew, of course, that I had first gone to the university out of obedience rather than enthusiasm. And now, as much as I would hate to disappoint her if I quit, the drive to stay and to excel was entirely mine. “I am not sure,” I said after some soul-searching. “I suppose this is one thing that is entirely mine.”
She raised an eyebrow at me, but finished her tea and stood. “The coach will be here tomorrow at eight in the morning. Be ready.”
I slept surprisingly well that night. I suppose I should have fretted and been concerned for Wong Jun’s wellbeing and for my own impending and perilous trip. If there were to be a trip, if Jack managed to steal the necessary papers and we escaped the unpleasant attention of Dame Nightingale. Instead, I stretched like my mother’s tabby cat and went to sleep, not a worry in my mind…
… and it was morning with Anastasia whispering fiercely for me to wake up, wake up, miss, please wake up.
She got me dressed — I chose a sophisticated two-piece tweed ensemble trimmed with lace that simultaneously signaled refinement and naiveté—and made me breakfast. Eugenia had already gone for the day, and I wished I could talk to her a bit before leaving. Instead I had to content myself with admonishing Anastasia to not forget to take the message to all my professors, and not to spend too much time gabbing with Natalia Sergeevna.
The coach took me along the University Embankment, all the way around the eastern tip of Vasilyevsky Island, and turned north toward the Tuchkov Bridge to Petrovsky Island. I briefly considered the folly of building a city on several islands, and the dangers spring floods always presented. I had heard a few stories of the Neva and other rivers overflowing their banks despite the tall containment walls; hundreds of people drowned. I supposed the trick of living so close to water was to never contemplate the damage it could cause longer than strictly necessary. I stared out the window instead.
The coach traveled east and north, along Bolshoy Prospect, a crowded, noisy avenue that was not nearly as pleasant as Nevsky, and much dirtier. The northern wind brought clouds of acrid smoke and exhaust from the factories by the Malaya Nevka River, and I covered my nose and mouth with my handkerchief. The scent of lilac sachet was comforting and far less objectionable than the air. We turned east and traveled over a small wooden bridge to Zayachiy Island. The carriage stopped at the gatehouse of the fortress — a place of grim aspect — and the coachman assisted me out.
“I’ll wait for you here, miss,” the freedman driver said. “Here, on the outside.”
I could not blame him for not wanting to go into the fortress. I hesitated myself, suspicious this was all a ploy to lure me here. I soon realized that was rather irrational. Surely, a simple arrest would get me into jail just as securely and more efficiently than laying an elaborate trap. I knocked on the small side door by the gate.
A guardsman in full uniform the epaulettes as large as his face let me inside, and I admired the trees and the carpet of orange and red leaves lining what in the summer was likely to be a very soft lawn. The guardsman escorted me to the commandant’s house.
Commandant Mishkin, a stout, mustachioed man in shining black boots and very thoroughly pressed uniform, checked my papers and asked me a few perfunctory questions. As he walked me along one of the many twining paths toward the Ravelin itself, he smiled. “You know,” he said, “this fortress is quite prestigious, far as jails go. Some of the brightest minds have stayed with us at one time or another.”
I found the idea that the caliber of a prison was measured by the talents of those unjustly contained within terrifying and funny at the same time, a comical nightmare. I managed not to betray my thoughts but only nodded thoughtfully.
Commandant Mishkin smiled. “We have been undergoing some wonderful renovations. The emperor is very concerned about the humane treatment of prisoners. We just finished expanding the cells and introducing all possible amenities. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.”
My suspicions revived again. “How do you mean? Surely, you do not expect me to evaluate these amenities by myself?”
He laughed, a great belly laugh suitable to a man much bigger and more rounded. “I should’ve known,” he said between guffaws. “You take after your aunt. She always makes me laugh.”
“You know her?”
“We are old friends,” he said, as if it was an obvious fact that should’ve been known to me. “I owe my position here to her — not in a direct way, of course, but still. It took her long enough to call on our acquaintance.”
“Why is that?”
“She always tries to do things the right way, no bribes, no calling in favors — unless there’s no other way, of course.” Mishkin stopped mid-stride to cross his eyes and give his mustache a critical look. He wetted his thick thumb and forefinger with his tongue and twisted the mustache tips into points. Satisfied with the results, he continued. “She is old fashioned, your aunt, no matter how much she loves progress. She still expects things to be as they used to — as they ought to. Only you and I, we both know that progress has its price, and this price includes the cost of doing business.” He winked. “And here we are.”