I turned to face them. At least the pacing had dried off the parts of my clothes that had still been wet and clammy when I woke up. It’s one way to keep warm. And it ain’t too cozy in a submersible.
In my head, when I was thinking about this moment, I’d rehearsed all sorts of clever things I might say. I’d wracked my brains, trying to come up with some bit of badinage worthy of Calamity Jane. But I looked Horatio Standish in the eye, and all that came out was, “Can I be of some assistance to you gentlemen?”
“These aren’t gentlemen,” Standish said. “They’re Cossacks.”
Then he did something that purely blindsided me, though looking back now, I can’t tell you that I know why I didn’t see it coming. It was just that he was so polite, even working for Bantle. And in my defense, I was so busy being surprised by my realization that this was a Russian submersible, and that whoever Bantle was working for was a Russian agent, I didn’t have much thinking space left over to be spotting other stuff in advance.
Horaz Standish pulled a riding crop out of his boot and slashed me once hard across the burned cheek with it.
Reader, I ain’t never felt a thing that hurt like that before.
I rocked over sideways and then went down on my knees. Or would of done, except the table caught me across the floating ribs and the next thing I knew I was on the floor on my back, a cramp in my midsection I couldn’t breathe around, and sticky-slick heat welling over the fingers I had clutched to my face. I stared up at Standish and his thugs, wondering if I was going to die of not being able to inhale.
Standish eyed the whip thoughtfully, gave it a snap as if he was shaking it off, and slid it back into his boot. “That’s just so you have something to think about,” he said. “For later.”
He turned and said something in what I assumed was Russian that might of been, “Now help her up, lads.”
So they did, and they were the only reason I stayed standing, because when they pulled me to my feet the world went black around the edges and nausea cramped me. I still couldn’t breathe, and the idea of vomiting when I couldn’t pull a breath in was so scary I started to yank against the sailors’ grip. But I couldn’t manage much more than a kitten thrash, and at least kittens have claws.
One of the sailors thumped me on the back — hard — and somehow that started me up breathing again. Released the cramp or something. The air came in with a whoosh and went right back out again on a scream. I ain’t never been much of a screamer — but for that incident right then I made an exception. I gave another yank against the sailors, but I might as well have been pulling at iron bars set in stone. They were big, and as hard as a plowhorse’s haunches.
I kicked at Standish, since they had my arms and all. He caught the ankle and gave it a fond squeeze before letting go of me again.“Don’t worry, Miss Memery. We’ll have plenty of time together later. Why do you think I argued so hard to keep you and your friend alive?”
He touched my bruised and burned and split-open cheek, and I tell you true — though I didn’t mean to, I shivered. I thought of the girl in the alley, tossed in with the trash. I thought about Priya saying that things were always better when Standish was in town but that he traveled a lot. Because I realized something — something I should have comprehended as soon as he pulled that crop out of his boot. The Devil can quote scripture, after all. And monsters can say “please” and “thank you” same as any mother’s son.
“How did you like the Indian Territory?” I asked. “Lose a cuff link there?”
His eyes narrowed. I might of regretted my bravado if it hadn’t of been the only thing keeping me on my feet. I thought about this barn cat Da used to have that run off a brown bear once out of pure cussedness, and I made up my mind to be like her. Then he smiled and pulled out his crop again and tapped me lightly on the tip of the nose with it.
I flinched, all right. But then I made myself pick my chin up and smile right back at him.
“Oh,” he said. “I’m going to like breaking you.”
* * *
I had expected a long walk, sort of tromping through endless corridors. Instead it was just a few yards, and we did it in a sort of hunched-over shuffle because the corridors was that narrow and short. It was uncomfortable enough for me. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Ivan and Boris, the two Russian sides of beef. But in all honesty, I didn’t mind seeing them suffer.
That short walk seemed long enough, with me dwelling on what Standish had said about breaking, and me thinking about my da and Priya and the ones you can’t break. I didn’t think I was one of those. But I wondered if I could make myself be, if I knew that no matter what he was going to kill me anyway.
Either Ivan or Boris stepped forward to open a hatch, and the other one guided me through it by my elbows. I’d expected … some sort of control room, I guessed. A bridge, right out of the illustrations for Monsieur Verne’s book. But it was just a narrow room with a long table in it, and a lingering smell of onions and sour cream.
My stomach growled. Da would say that nothing in the history of ever has upset my appetite. And then he’d point out that Chinese recorded history is three thousand years long.
Endure this, I thought. And you’ll be seeing him soon. And Mama, too.
Some would say a whore don’t have no expectation of Heaven. I’d say, if she gives value for cash, she’s got a better shot at God’s blessing than your average banker.
Jesus loved Mary Magdalene. He kicked over tables when He met a moneylender.
Well, that made me feel so much immeasurably better about everything that I was just about ready to trust to Providence and commend my soul into the hands of the Almighty — because whatever the preachers say, I know and you know that the flesh ain’t His concern and He don’t take no truck with what befalls it — when the door at the far end of the room opened up and another set of Boris and Ivan so like my own I could only tell ’em apart by hairline walked in, escorting Priya.
And it occurred to me that Da and Mama might be waiting for me … but whatever happened to Priya, if her religion was as right as mine, she was coming around for another cycle on her great wheel of being and me, I was going to Heaven or maybe Hell.
Well, dammit. If I had any say in the matter, I wasn’t going anywhere without a chance at a good long life with Priya first.
She looked up at me, and even across the room I saw her mouth tighten. At least she didn’t seem to be any more banged up than when I had saw her last.
I resolved then and there to do what it took to keep Horatio Standish’s affections to myself for as long as possible. I wondered if I knew what I was getting into. Thinking about that poor girl cut to ribbons in the trash, I decided I probably had no idea.
I figured Standish must have a purpose for letting Priya and me see each other, so I kept my face as blank as I could. She stared at me hard, then let her gaze drop to her feet.
Boris and Ivan Mark Two brought Priya down to my end of the table. We stood side by side, not touching or talking or even acknowledging each other’s existence, though it was all I could do not to lean toward her and soak up her warmth through my skin. She made me stronger and better just standing there.
That door she’d come in through opened again, and this time the person who walked in looked like a captain. He wore a black wool coat, double-breasted with silver buttons. A high collar embroidered with silver bullion and scarlet edging lifted his chin. His cuffs were embroidered, too, and his epaulets were gold, with a design of an anchor topped by a two-headed, crowned eagle on each one.