Heart of Iron by Ekaterina Sedia

think of the Crane Club, and miss Chiang Tse acutely. Chamber music seemed a pleasant enough way to spend the evening, but no one could argue that at the same time it was quite unadventurous and dull.
    I sighed and rolled my eyes at Anastasia. “Prepare an evening dress,” I said. “I’m going out tomorrow night.”
    The Northern Star Club was surreptitiously tucked away among the tenement buildings not too far from Moyka and the Yusupovs’ palace — that reminded me painfully of my first season. It was hard to believe it had been less than a year since my debut. I certainly felt more adult and more sympathetic to my aunt after just a couple of months on my own. I could now understand the deep irritation those who ran this city caused her.
    Jack had collected me by the dormitories — he still refused to come inside, and waited stubbornly by the main entrance as I made sure that my dress had not developed any rips or stains while I was not watching. Jack had the good sense to hire a coach, and as soon as my crinoline and I settled inside the carriage, I began asking him questions. And I had quite a few of them.
    “Why did that gendarme listen to you?” I asked, not bothering to waste time on how-do-you-dos and other polite nonsense.
    “He told you,” Jack said. “I have diplomatic papers.”
    “Even though you claim to be a student.”
    “I claim to be both.” He smiled. “Is that not allowed?”
    “And since when do the English have jurisdiction over the police, which are, if I recall correctly, a part of Russian Internal Affairs?”
    Jack swallowed and looked out of the carriage window, no doubt longing to be outside or at the very least away from me — even though just an hour before he wanted nothing better but my company. “Collaboration in the cases of Chinese espionage,” he finally said. “You understand.”
    I shook my head vehemently enough to displace my bonnet. “I most certainly do not. If you indeed think they are spies, why did you let them go?”
    “But you… ”
    “It was not about me,” I interrupted, with Eugenia’s stern tone cutting into my voice. “You did not know who I was… ” A sudden thought struck me and I peered into his face, undeterred by darkness and flopping brim of his hat. “Or did you?”
    “I did,” he said. “But that is not why I was there.”
    “You were there to help with the arrests?”
    He shook his head. “My… my own business, I swear to you. And I just happened by and could not bear to see your distress.”
    He seemed sincerely anguished, and I decided to scale back my interrogation. There’s only so far you can push a horse before it collapses, Eugenia used to say. I suspected the maxim applied to bipeds as well as the equine species. We traveled the rest of the way in silence, me smiling as beatifically as I could manage, and Jack hiding under his hat, his nervous fingers worrying an unlit cigar.
    The club could rival any of the imperial palaces in the number of chandeliers, candelabras, and score of other contrivances blazing light. It seemed that the Northern Star had one mission — to banish every scrap of darkness and shadow — and it succeeded admirably. Even Jack’s long, narrow countenance, usually hidden by his hat, was cast in stark relief. I could admire the austere hollow of his cheek, like that of an ancient saint. I thought my mother would approve as we entered the club, arm in arm.
    In the main hall, as large as any ballroom I had ever seen and probably quite capable of serving as one, the light was dazzling. Men and women spoke and mingled in the excessive illumination, some sitting at the small round tables, others in armchairs and on sofas positioned invitingly in the alcoves of the ornately decorated walls. Soft music was playing, and I had to squint to discern four musicians and their instruments on a small stage at the far end of the hall. Two violins, a cello, and a flute complained about something beautiful and sad,