“The situation seems to require immediacy.” She didn’t back down.
“We are absolutely ready if a crisis should arise.” Khorvat’s eyes flickered over their faces to see who dared disagree. They were silent and only the slightest movements, a hand in a pocket, an exchange of glances, betrayed their unease.
Messonier’s thin laugh. “I’d best go home and prepare for battle.”
“Or prepare a last will and testament. Depending on your faith,” Iasienski joked.
“No. That would be bad luck.” Dr. Maria Lebedev touched Messonier’s arm.
When Khorvat was alone, waiting for a servant to bring his coat, the Baron approached him. “Dr. Wu is very young. But spirited.”
Khorvat was benevolent after vodka and his favorite caviar. “Wu has Alfred Sze from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as a supporter. Sze has Grand Councillor Na Dong as his patron. They can speak directly to the throne in Beijing. Although we’ll see if it’s an aid or a hindrance. The Chinese dream that they can battle an outbreak of plague alone. They don’t recognize the peril of their position. If they don’t stop the plague, Russia and Japan will help them.”
“With their armies?”
“There are many kinds of help. But the important thing is that Dr. Wu cooperates with us.”
“He will be embraced by the hospital. We’ve always been understaffed.” Not the correct answer but vodka would smooth over the general’s memory.
The Baron heard indistinct voices, a pattern of orders and acknowledgments, as he entered the magistrate’s audience hall. The dao tai, who represented the Qing imperial government, was a hunched silhouette in an elaborately carved chair, his jacket stiffly embroidered with waves and twisting figures of beasts, their intricate rainbow colors diminished in the hall’s light. Attendants stood beside his chair.
As a mark of respect for the dao tai, the Baron had pulled his sleeves down over his hands and made the courteous gongshou bow. The dao tai, unblinking, registered no surprise as the Russian made the usual courtesies in Chinese. He was allowed to continue.
“Your Honor, a mysterious illness has taken the lives of several Chinese. I beg permission to inspect inns, homes, and eating places in Fuchiatien to find others suffering from the sickness.”
The dao tai nodded and slumped forward. His attendants glared at the Baron as if this discourtesy were his fault. The dao tai abruptly jerked his head up again. “Will the sick receive treatment?”
“Yes. They will be taken to the Russian hospital.” If the dao tai refused the request or asked for time to consider it, Russian soldiers would probably conduct an inspection without permission. The dao tai would be foolish to risk losing face for the sake of a few poor laborers. Possibly he expected a bribe.
The Baron continued his role as a supplicant. “The situation needs your strength and wisdom.” He believed these words at the moment they were spoken. “We also ask for doctors to monitor passengers departing and arriving at Central Station. We must be vigilant.” This request was purely a courtesy, as CER trains were owned by Russia and their soldiers would enforce inspection at the station.
Unfocused, the dao tai blinked and slumped deeper in his chair. The Baron realized he was an addict. Opium. The wait for his reply could be lengthy. He shuffled his feet.
What was he doing in this role? Standing between two corrupt systems, a negotiator like his father, the diplomat. No escape from family or the past, even here in Manchuria. He’d sworn to avoid situations where he would represent the government, the instrument of empire.
The dao tai’s soft voice offered an agreement. With the slightest motion of his hand, he granted the Baron and those he represented power over his most vulnerable subjects. Letters of agreement would be exchanged with Russian officials to permit inspection of Fuchiatien. Men could disappear in the space between the two countries.
Perhaps this agreement would allow the Baron to save a few unfortunates. He was the worm in the bud, a broken thread in the official fabric. Perhaps his father had also recognized his own helplessness.
Afterward, the Baron met Chang in a teahouse on Kitayskaya Street in the Pristan quarter. The place was crowded and its smell of damp shearling, sweat, and burning wood was familiar.
“Yes, better now.” Chang rubbed his jaw, a gesture to soothe his nerves. His fur hat leaked moisture from its dusting of snow onto the table next to the Baron’s cup. “My droshky got stuck. Tipped at an angle in the snow. I was dumped out. I walked from Novotorgovaya Street here to the chaynaya teahouse. The snow wasn’t cleared away even in front of the stores. Would have been easier for longer legs.”
“I’ll order tea for you.” The Baron gently waved in a waiter’s direction and turned back to Chang, his face displaying his concern.
Chang continued talking as if he hadn’t heard the Baron’s offer. “Sunlight glared off the ice in the harbor, so the street was blinding white. Then I see a hand sticking up from the snow. Right in front of me. This close.” His arm stretched across the table. He spoke quickly, an exorcism to free himself of the experience. “I started shaking. The hand was so white I could hardly see it against the snow except for its shadow. And blue fingernails.”
A waiter shoved the teapot on the table between them and hurried away.
“Doctor, do you have anything to help me sleep tonight?”
“Perhaps.” The Baron automatically checked the teapot, stalling for time while his thoughts raced. He imagined locating the buried corpse, testing it for plague, presenting his discovery to doctors in the hospital. “You didn’t touch the hand? The corpse?”
“I wouldn’t have touched the hand even with a shovel.”
“I’ll file a report. Can you remember the location of the body?”
Chang was gratified by the Baron’s serious attention to his story. “Between Kommercheskaya and Kitayskaya Streets. Tell me what you’ll report.”
“A body was found.” The wooden table was so rough that the teapot scraped as the Baron pushed it across to Chang.
The dwarf was puzzled. “That’s your report?”
“It’s enough to launch a search for the body. Once it’s found, the cause of death can be determined.”
“The mysterious sickness?”
The Baron was careful. How to warn without alarm. “A meeting has been called tomorrow for the entire medical staff. I’ll have more information. What steps will be taken. What I can do.”
“I’m not a fool.”
The Baron’s nervousness stopped words in his throat. “I’m told there’s no need for alarm. I’ve told my wife the same thing. Has anything changed at Churin’s?”
Chang frowned. “Churin’s store wishes everything to appear the same during this crisis so shoppers have confidence to spend money. So I remain at the door.”
“I hope they’ve increased your pay.”
“I’ll probably die before I’m paid. But what are my chances of meeting someone with plague? I hear gossip. Terrible rumors about unexplained deaths.”
The Baron tightened his grip on the cup. “Ask your fortune-teller.”
“I may start to cross myself each time I open the door for someone at Churin’s. Ask for a blessing. But I’m lucky to work. I wait inside the warm store, step outside only to open the door for a shopper. I keep my distance. There’s plenty of fresh Manchurian air between me and the customers. But the rich are probably healthy.”
“Anyone could be infected. Beggars, officials, newspaper sellers, the elegant Polish woman who sells fur coats. They’re all dangerous.”