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Nina’s heart races as she knocks on the door to the stranger’s cabin. Already she regrets this course of action; her entire being screams at her to turn back, to hide within her cabin—all of her, except her feet, arms, and hands.
Her father had told her often as a child to leave everything behind in an emergency. There was no way to know how fast a ship would sink, and no time to waste looking for precious belongings. At the time, she dutifully nodded and wondered why anyone would dither about in the face of death.
She understands now. Darka is all she has. Leaving her is unthinkable.
The door remains shut. Of course, Nina thinks, the occupant must be asleep. Bif told her of the soporific fed to the passengers. Still, against her better judgment, she knocks again, a bit louder. Waits.
The door unlatches. Nina’s pulse leaps into her throat. The air in the passage has become stuffy, her thick coat too warm. She laments that she didn't think to wear her disguise. Over the pounding in her ears she hears a voice in accented English saying, “What are you doing here at this time of night, Inspector—oh.”
The chill of a bitter winter overtakes her. Inspector.
The door opens just enough to reveal half of the passenger’s face. A young man, East Asian, wearing Western military-style clothing. Why is he fully dressed at this time of night, if he’s not expecting a visitor? She should go. This was a mistake. But Darka…
The man’s expression softens at the sight of her, small and curled into herself. He opens the door only slightly wider, denying her any chance of peering in to catch a glimpse of Darka.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but I think...my cat, she has gotten into your room.”
“Ah. Yes, one moment.” Then she is staring at the bulkhead, closed tightly once more, for minutes (seconds?) that pass like hours. If this inspector comes...if he sees her here…
The door opens again. The man holds a purring Darka comfortably in his arms. “Here you go,” he says, passing the kitten over.
“Spasibo, spasibo,” Nina whispers, gathering Darka to her chest to kiss the top of her head. “Please, do not tell anyone about her, I beg of you.”
The man promises easily, and Nina turns to go, near boneless with relief—she has Darka back, all her worries were for naught—
And then he recognizes her.
In her panic she whirls around, crowds against the door, words spilling out of her. Russian words, words he can’t possibly understand; she catches herself, notes the way the man’s posture has shifted from open to something more solid, filling the space between door and wall. He braces a hand against her shoulder, just short of pushing her away, as if he fears she will try to force entry. His other hand braces the door, ready to shut it. If she didn’t know better, she would say he was frightened, but the notion is too absurd. Darka squirms, mewls in protest, and it brings Nina back to herself, reminds her of what she must, at all costs, avoid.
She backs up a step, makes herself small. “You mustn’t tell,” she says, finding the words in English once more. “Please, I will tell you everything, but you must promise to tell no one that I am here.”
The man thinks for a moment. His eyes drift to the side, looking at nothing in particular even as he turns his head slightly. Finally, he nods. “I’ll keep your secrets if you will agree to keep mine.”
She agrees without hesitation. Whatever secrets this man has, they will not cross her lips. He eases the door open, steps aside just enough for her to slip inside. The bolt slides home with a resounding, ominous clunk.
The dim lamplight casts strange shadows off the objects in the room. Nina’s eyes land on the sword, and it occurs to her that she is completely alone in a locked room with a stranger. No, not alone—there is a person in the bed. The man’s wife, perhaps? Her eyes adjust, and she realizes it is not a woman at all, but another man, fast asleep. His clothing is badly wrinkled like it’s been shoved in a drawer unfolded for weeks. His mouth hangs open, drool leaking from the corner. The soporific’s work, no doubt.
“Forgive my rudeness,” says the first man. “My name is Aso—ah, Kazuma Asogi.” He bows slightly. “Please, have a seat, Miss Pavlova.”
On legs of jelly she stumbles over to the cabin’s small desk and sinks into the chair, stroking Darka’s back to soothe herself. Kazuma takes a seat on the edge of the bed, putting himself between Nina and the sleeping man, who doesn’t stir even when he tips slightly into the depression formed by Kazuma’s weight.
“Don’t worry about waking him. He’s sleeping rather soundly tonight.” There is a touch of concern in his voice, but fondness, too. “All things considered, I can’t blame him. A wardrobe makes for a poor bed.”
Nina has questions, but they are not questions one asks of a stranger, at least not in Russia. So she tells this stranger everything, the truth spilling forth uncontrollably, and while it terrifies her to be so vulnerable with a man she’s only just met, it’s also a relief of sorts. Hiding, she has learned, is as exhausting an effort as ballet. Even more, perhaps; she hasn’t built up the muscles for it like she has for dance.
He thinks for a long moment. “I could use a second opinion here...but it seems that will have to wait,” he mutters.
Nina is on her feet in an instant. “But you said—!”
“Ah! Apologies. Of course I’ll keep your secret. I promised, after all.”
He hadn’t, actually, but Nina is in no rush to remind him of that.
When Kazuma looks at the sleeping man again, his whole being softens. His hand slides from his lap to the mattress, resting a hair’s breadth from the man’s where it lays loosely curled by his face. Without a word exchanged between them, Nina understands the weight of the secret she is being asked to keep.
“Ryunosuke and I attended the same university back in Japan,” Kazuma says. “He’s brilliant, though he won’t admit it. I’m sure when he wakes up he’ll have plenty of ideas for how we can help you.”
“Do you…” It feels like a stupid question, with the way Kazuma is gazing at this man—Nina can hardly remember his name, so much more complicated and foreign than Kazuma’s, which she has been remembering as slightly to the left of Kosmo. She away shakes the image of her former colleague—a boy who sometimes brought treats for Darka when he could pinch them from the stalls near their venues—and asks the question anyway, because she cannot relax until she hears the words aloud. “Do you trust him to keep a secret?”
“Without a doubt,” Kazuma declares. “He’s the kindest man I know. And he’ll understand your predicament.” He folds his arms across his chest. “I was selected by my government to study law in London. I’m traveling with a couple of compatriots—my assistant Susato and an undercover policeman—but as far as they know, I am the sole occupant of this cabin.”
“Oh!” At once, she understands, and the relief is so great she could dance with joy. They are two boots in a pair, she and Kazuma. Of all the rooms for Darka to hide in, Nina thanks her lucky stars that it was this one.
They talk for a bit about their situations. Nina skirts around the details of her arrival, but Kazuma has no such qualms—and why should he, when there is no one’s livelihood at stake but his own?
“Why have you not asked the crew to stay out of your cabin?” she asks when she learns that Ryunosuke has been hiding in the wardrobe.
“Wouldn’t that be a strange request?”
Nina shakes her head. “Many first-class passengers, they do not want the crew coming and going in their rooms. They think they are going to steal valuables. Diplomats, ministers, they fear spies. It would not be odd for you, a lawyer. And your friend could be staying outside the wardrobe.”
Kazuma has never been on a ship before, and asks her all sorts of questions. It eases what is left of the knot in her chest, to be useful to him in the same way he is to her. They are co-conspirators now, this Japanese man and her. It is a special kind of camaraderie.
They talk a bit longer. Through it all, Ryunosuke sleeps, sliding into the space around Kazuma, sighing softly when Kazuma’s hand starts carding absently through his dark hair.
--♠--
Nina wakes to the sound of quiet voices coming through the ventilator connecting her room and Kazuma’s. She doesn’t recognize the language. Japanese, presumably. She wonders what they’re talking about.
She pours Darka some milk, then sets about cutting her hair. It ends up choppy and uneven. She mourns each lock she snips, but she has no pins or ties with which to secure her hair beneath her hat. It will grow back, she tells herself, gathering it up in the waste basket. It is only hair. She stares at it a beat longer, then shoves the newspaper over top of it.
The cabin is small and mostly bare, with nothing but a few books to amuse herself with for over a month. Nina tries to read, but despite everything that happened last night—or perhaps because of it—she can’t seem to focus.
“Uh...excuse me? Miss?”
Nina jumps, dropping the book with a loud bang. There’s a muffled exclamation from the next room. “Who’s there?” she asks.
“Um, R-Ryunosuke Naruhodo. Kazuma told me everything, so I...I thought I should introduce myself.”
He sounds smaller and more timid than she expected. The way Kazuma talked about him made him seem larger than life—humble, intelligent, daring. Despite having seen him just last night, Nina cannot help but picture a little mouse cowering in the ventilator. The thought brings a smile to her face.
“Nice to meet you, Ryu...no...ski?”
He laughs, not unkindly. “Close enough!”
There is silence for a long time after that, enough that Nina starts to think that was all he wanted, but then he speaks again. “Um, sorry if I’m bothering you, or if you’re busy…”
“I am not,” Nina says, suddenly desperate for conversation. Anything to fill the silence and chase away the paranoia that haunts her every waking moment.
“Oh, good,” Ryunosuke says, the same desperation tinting his voice.
They end up talking about Japan. Nina has been, but never had the chance to see much beyond the venues where she worked and slept. She thinks she might like to go sometime. She tries not to think about whether that will be possible.
She tells him about the places she’s been, and somehow he ends up telling a story about a murder he was wrongly accused for committing, heaping praise on Kazuma and Susato for keeping him out of prison. Kazuma returns to the room as he’s nearing the conclusion, and the two begin a quiet arguing about particulars. Nina falls asleep to their bickering with a smile on her face.
--♠--
“Ah, but you see, dear fellow, this is a matter of utmost importance!”
Nina freezes, all her attention turned to the hall outside. The English detective’s voice is unmistakable, as is Bif’s irate growl. The detective prattles on—something about India and the presence of mousetraps—but all Nina can think is that Kazuma isn’t in his room.
Maybe Ryunosuke has heard Sholmes, but she hasn’t heard any movement. Nina doesn’t dare speak up. Casting about for some way to get his attention, her eyes alight on Darka’s toy. She snatches it up, climbs on the bed, and sticks her arm through the ventilator grate, dangling the cat toy into Kazuma’s room.
Faintly, she hears—or hopes she hears—shuffling. There’s a faint tug on the toy. She pulls it back up, and seconds later, the bulkhead to Kazuma’s room creaks open. Sholmes is proclaiming loudly about Russian revolutionaries and bruise patterns, so it’s easy to track his movements. Still, Nina doesn’t relax until he’s well away from the first-class cabins.
Two days later, Kazuma just barely has time to warn her of his impending arrival before the man sweeps in, disorienting as a snowstorm. He doesn’t stay long—Bif is on duty, and more than happy to drag him bodily from the cabin—but it leaves Nina shaken. There had been just enough time to don her disguise and push Darka through the ventilator.
The kitten returns with a piece of chicken clamped firmly in her teeth, utterly unperturbed. Lucky creature.
It is not the last time Sholmes inflicts his presence upon her unannounced, but somehow there is always just enough time to conceal what must not be found. In fact, he doesn’t seem to be trying particularly hard to find anything. It’s unnerving. Thank goodness Darka has taken a liking to Ryunosuke and Kazuma, and doesn’t complain about being dropped off with them for a spell.
Perhaps Darka knew, in the way of animals, that Nina needed this—companions who share her fears and hopes, who can keep her company through the voyage, who will practice English with her.
--♠--
On one particularly lonely night, Nina finds herself knocking on Kazuma’s door. She ignores the look from Bif. He doesn’t like that she’s befriended the man. He worries for her safety.
She knows what she’s doing. Kazuma and Ryunosuke are taking as great a risk as she is.
She hasn’t seen either of them in person in two weeks. She’s seen no one, in fact, besides Bif and Sholmes; her disguise has not failed her yet, but she fears it is only a matter of time. Kazuma says nothing about the state of her hair, though she’s sure he’s noticed.
It’s almost startling to see Ryunosuke awake. In her mind’s eye he is asleep, or else he is a kindly mouse in her vent. He has an earnest smile and large expressive eyes that make Nina feel safe instantly. Kazuma has an air of danger about him that has nothing to do with the sword he keeps; there is a sharpness to him, a keen, honed edge. There is absolutely nothing threatening about Ryunosuke. It is hard to believe he defeated a seasoned prosecutor in a courtroom.
Nina finds that she admires Ryunosuke. For all his mousy timidity, he followed Kazuma—a man he’s known for three, maybe four months—onto a boat bound for a foreign country, bringing nothing of his own with him, abandoning his studies in Japan for the chance to see the greatest city in the world with his friend. To Nina’s ears it sounds terribly romantic.
But he worries, just as she does. About what will happen to him when they arrive; about how long he’ll have to conceal his presence, and what will happen when he stops; about the consequences of being caught. At the same time, he dreams of the places and people he’ll see, of learning English culture and law, of bringing that knowledge back home to Japan, all with his best friend by his side.
...It is not only admiration she feels, Nina realizes. She envies Ryunosuke and Kazuma. For all they claim to be flying by the seat of their pants, they have plans and a purpose and each other. They won’t have to embark on a new life alone.
After talking so long about their plans, it is only natural that the conversation turns to hers. The answer she has long held to be true rings hollow in her heart. Every day she spends at sea reminds her how far away America is, how lonely it will be to journey there when Ryunosuke and Kazuma are gone. Her days are filled with Ryunosuke’s quiet conversation about law lessons and friends and the things he misses about Japan. It’s a bit like having an older brother, or so she imagines. And Kazuma...well, she can’t picture Ryunosuke without Kazuma. They’re two halves of a whole, steady and nervous, confident and humble, sharp and soft. In barely more than two weeks, they have gone from strangers to co-conspirators to traveling companions to friends, and she finds she cannot imagine life without the two of them.
“Nina?” Ryunosuke says, and she realizes she has not answered his question. What will she do when she reaches London?
“I...I want to be your legal assistant.” The words are out of her mouth before she has thought them through, but the instant they are out in the open, she knows them to be true. “I want to stay with you. I...I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Ryunosuke’s eyes go wide. “M-my assistant? B-but I’m not...I’m just a student, I’m not— Don’t give me that look, Kazuma!”
Please do, Nina thinks, because Kazuma is stroking his chin thoughtfully. Help me figure out what I’m doing.
“I’m not fit to be a lawyer,” Ryunosuke insists. “I’ve told you a hundred times!”
“Why not? You’ve been studying with me,” Kazuma says to Ryunosuke, “and you have experience in court. It wouldn’t take much more for you to catch up.”
“But, but I’m not supposed to be in Britain—”
Kazuma shrugs. “I’m fairly certain Mr. Sholmes has us figured out. He keeps mentioning the extra rooms in his apartment, and contacts who could smooth things over—not his exact words, but—”
Nina clutches her coat. “You want to tell him?”
“Not without your permission. But...Ryunosuke’s right. There’s only so long we can keep our secret.” Kazuma gestures between himself and Ryunosuke. “He’s an odd man, but I’m sure we can trust him.”
“I don’t know…” says Ryunosuke.
Kazuma sighs. “You can’t hide in my room forever.” He slips into Japanese, his words only for Ryunosuke. Nina feels like she’s intruding on an intimate moment. Eventually Kazuma wears Ryunosuke down, countering his every argument like the talented lawyer he is. Then he takes Ryunosuke’s hand and says, “If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me,” and that’s the end of it.
For the first time since she fled Shanghai, Nina feels pure, unadulterated hope.
--♠--
If Ryunosuke is to become a lawyer, he’ll have to study; and if Nina is to become his assistant, she’ll have to study even harder. To that end, they waste no time informing Susato about their plan.
The first thing Nina thinks when she sees Susato is that she looks like a princess. Nina fiddles with her own sloppily shorn hair and wishes she had thought to make herself more presentable.
Susato is none too happy to have been lied to, but she is all smiles when it comes to Nina.
“Let me fix that for you,” she says, and the next thing Nina knows, Susato is brushing and trimming her hair into something presentable, if unfashionably short for a woman.
With Sholmes and Inspector Hosonaga in on the scheme, things become much easier. Bif is more than capable of keeping anyone else out of the first-class hallway; Sholmes, it turns out, has a plethora of articles for disguise in his luggage, and swiftly bestows upon Nina a sweater with a turtleneck so long it pulls up over her nose and mouth, along with a pair of decorative glasses and a pair of trousers that's several sizes too big until Bif gets his hands on it (and doesn't that take her back—Bif always used to patch up and alter her clothes when she was little). Nina’s days of isolation are over in a blink—between her chats with the men next door and her lessons with Susato and Sholmes, she is just as busy as she was traveling with the ballet troupe. There is so much to learn about being an assistant that she can’t see how she’ll learn it all in time, but whenever it gets to be too much, Susato gives her hand a comforting pat and a sweet smile, and Nina’s heart alights with joy.
Being friends with Susato—for she is a friend, even if Nina has only known for a short time—is wonderful and strange. The Japanese, it seems, are accustomed to a greater degree of personal space than Russians. Susato seems confused when Nina sits so close they are practically touching. The first time Nina greets Susato with a kiss, she blushes a pretty pink and nearly stumbles over Darka in her surprise. But then she begins to sit closer, and greet Nina with a kiss herself, and Nina’s heart soars.
She thinks of Ryunosuke and Kazuma next door, about the casual touches they share when they think no one is looking. About the risks they take for each other every day.
She thinks about that first night on the SS Burya, alone and scared. About the risks she took to be here now, and the risks she will have to take to achieve her new dream. About how far she has come from the frightened girl who climbed aboard a boat full of drugged passengers with only a carpet bag of clothing, her beloved cat, and a tiara. After years of life simply happening to her, she is more than ready to decide her own fate.
--♠--
Nina Pavlova steps from the train to the steam-filled London platform. Ahead of her, Kazuma and Ryunosuke marvel at the grand iron-and-glass ceiling and the rows of locomotives, their hands brushing against one another.
“I can’t believe we’re really in London,” says Susato, coming to stand beside her. She spins around, taking in the sights, then sighs. “Isn’t it amazing?”
Darka meows and climbs up Nina’s arm to lounge across Susato’s shoulders like a fluffy scarf.
Nina breathes deeply, and everything—the smell of soot and warm metal, the screech of brakes and the murmur of English conversation, the winter air biting at her cheeks—is a reminder that she is, finally, free.
She loops her free arm through Susato’s, and thrills at the way Susato leans against her. “Da,” says Nina. “It is beautiful as a miracle.”
A miracle. Yes, that must be it. For once in Nikolina Pavlova’s life, everything has gone precisely right. How unlikely, how wonderful, that one interaction could change her life completely.