NOVEMBER 1931
The easiest way to disappear was to never disappear fully, always hovering right at the periphery of being caught, responding in an instant when there was movement. It was hard to fall into a trap if you were the one setting the bait. Hard to be taken unaware when you drew the whole game board.
Alisa Montagova poured herself a cup of tea, eyes Aitting up to watch the door of the restaurant. The owner had pulled the window panels closed to block out the cold. In the warmer months, they would be left open, and the bamboo leaves growing along the ledge would cast gentle shadows onto the patrons taking meetings or drinking with lovers. This was a relatively small township, somewhere ambiguously to the west of Shanghai. Big enough to accommodate a few city folks for business here and there—which meant Alisa drew no notice while wandering the streets—but not so chaotic that she couldn’t 1nd an empty restaurant in the late afternoon, seating herself at a corner table as the hour struck four o’clock.
Alisa was very good at disappearing. She had been practicing since she was a child, lurking in the household to eavesdrop or cramming herself into hidden corners all across Shanghai. It grew to become a personal challenge: hold so many nibbles of information from diPerent places that she could put together corresponding reports and feel crafty by knowing so much. There was no good waiting for conversations to start and then sidling up to them. She needed to be three steps ahead. Already in the cupboard before two distant cousins had an argument in the kitchen. Dangling from the rafters by the time the old lady in the brothel was cursing out the clients to the girls in the back rooms. Only then did Alisa feel at home in her own city. To disappear well was to partake with her surroundings, to understand their rhythm and reasons instead of hiding and
hoping she wasn’t seen as an ill-1tting intrusion. It was moving from township to township while a whole unit of Nationalists was after her, con1dent at every turn that they would never come close to touching her, because she could pinpoint their arrivals each time and slip away. She had done it twice already. And if the incoming unit made haste today, this coming hour would be the third time.
“Anything to eat today, xiǎo gūniáng?”
Alisa blew on the hot tea. The ceramic cup felt wonderful on her bare 1ngers after they had turned numb from her stroll here. She hadn’t worn gloves once in her life, and she wasn’t starting now. Her hands liked being free and unrestricted.
“Can I get that little cucumber dish?” she asked. She waved her 1ngers about, tapping against the cup. “With the cute chopped-up pieces? And the garlic?”
The owner frowned, trying to work out what Alisa meant. A second later, she visibly brightened, turning on her heel. “Ah. I know which dish you want. It’ll be out soon.”
“Xiè xiè!”
Alisa slouched on her wooden stool, hooking her ankles onto the stool legs. As soon as the owner disappeared into the kitchen, the whole restaurant fell quiet again, save for the twinkle of wind chimes blowing at the doorway. There had been a bout of very light snow last week, and though none of it remained, the seasonal chill had arrived. It made the residents around these parts duck their heads and turn their gazes down to keep their ears warm, shuAing from destination to destination without much regard for their surroundings. When the scout wandered into the town center earlier in the morning and entered a bookshop, Alisa had sighted him immediately. Or rather, from the second Aoor of the teahouse, she had noted something oP about the way he walked, and as soon as he made his exit, she had hopped out of the teahouse and moseyed into the shop too, where they had told her that he was asking for a girl who matched her description.
The Nationalists were so easy to outsmart when they operated this way. At the very least, they ought to be sending the covert branch after her. But last Alisa had heard from coded radio broadcasts, the Nationalists’ covert branch was in
shambles, with one of their handlers having defected to the enemy Communists, one of their top agents brainwashed, and another agent kept under lock and key after exposure. It was rough over there. Not that her side was looking any better; she wasn’t sure if she had been marked as missing yet, or if the Communists were so used to her disappearing acts that they trusted she was oP getting something done.
“All right, here we are. Pāi huángguā. If it’s not spicy enough, tell me, hmm?” The cucumbers glistened with sesame oil and bright red chili chunks. The owner set the bowl in front of Alisa, pausing with bemusement when Alisa
wadded up some cash and slid it into her apron pocket before she could retreat. “Just wanted to settle the bill 1rst,” Alisa said casually. In case she needed to
run out of here mid-meal.
She assumed that Celia hadn’t reported her for the vial currently sitting in her pocket. Otherwise Celia’s superior would be contacting Alisa already, demanding that she bring it in. Sooner or later it would leak to her own side that she held the last vial of a chemical concoction unlike anything in the world. One that turned its victims into immortal supersoldiers who didn’t need sleep and wouldn’t stay injured, who were strong enough to throw an opponent across the room and could take a bullet to the chest without any noticeable ePect. When that happened, this disappearing game she played for her own amusement was going to have to end. She would need to run from both factions—and run properly if they sent covert after her—because she sure as hell wasn’t handing over a weapon that could completely control the direction of the civil war.
Alisa’s eyes Aickered to the restaurant entrance again while the owner returned behind the counter. She munched on a cucumber piece. Past the door, the street stayed hushed except for the occasional bicycle bell, ringing to say hello while its rider passed by. The 1rst warning sign that Alisa always listened for was shouting from residents in the vicinity. Soldiers never paid attention to the plants they were kicking or the carts they were shoving aside. Perhaps it was unnecessary to wait for that very moment they were approaching before Alisa started to move, but it was funny to injure their morale if she waited until she was within grasp. She had waved at them the 1rst time while running into the forest. Stuck her tongue out the second time when the car started to drive away.
Munch munch munch. The cucumber was really quite good.
The wind chimes blew against a gust of wind. Alisa took another sip of tea.
Then, without any warning, Jiemin—her former coworker and the head of the unit currently chasing after her—walked in through the door, doing a brief inventory of the place before his eyes landed on Alisa in the corner.
She didn’t get up.
“Miss Montagova, you have given me a lot of trouble.”
Jiemin sat down at the table, dropping onto the stool beside her as if this had been a planned meeting. Alisa pushed the plate of cucumber closer to him, oPering her chopsticks. He wasn’t dressed in uniform; nor had he brought any backup. In both manner and attire, he looked exactly as he did every morning when Alisa walked into their department at Seagreen Press, chewing on a meat bun while Jiemin paid no attention to what was going on outside his reception desk because he was engrossed in his book. Knowing what she did now, she wondered if that had merely been a part of his undercover act.
“You move far too slowly,” Alisa replied. “It’s been over a month since I started running with this vial. A good unit should be closing in at least once a week.”
In that month and then some, Alisa was honestly surprised it was only the Nationalists after her. Lady Hong had invented this weapon for the Japanese, but after her son Orion confronted her and Rosalind destroyed the only successful batch, there had been no news along the intelligence grapevine about a replacement being made. The Communists had been watching Lady Hong’s movement as closely as the Nationalists: the last sightings put her around Manchuria, reporting in with the Japanese. Perhaps she was lacking some resource. Perhaps she was simply preoccupied in the meanwhile with Orion at her side, his memories erased so that she could use his enhanced strength however she wished until more conditioned soldiers were created.
“I am not moving slowly.” Jiemin accepted the utensils, taking a piece of cucumber. “I am moving at a perfectly normal pace. It’s just easy for one individual to outrun a whole unit when we’re making a racket long before we approach.”
Alisa frowned. “Excuse me. This is hardly a task achievable by any individual.
It is not only because of the numbers.”
Looking rather thoughtful, Jiemin returned the chopsticks to Alisa’s side. “I’ve successfully caught up to you alone, though.”
“And yet you alone cannot bring me in.”
The owner came to replenish the teapot with more hot water. She poured out a cup for Jiemin. Though her eyes were curious, she didn’t say anything before retreating into the back.
“I am not trying to bring you in,” Jiemin said when the owner disappeared. “You know what I’m here for.”
Alisa’s response was immediate. “You’re not getting it.”
“Miss Montagova,” Jiemin urged. He lowered his voice. “A weapon like that cannot be allowed to travel freely. You may think you are helping Lang Shalin, but we are not getting Hong Liwen back. We cannot keep this around in the hopes that it might restore him.”
“So you’ve talked to Rosalind.” Alisa resumed eating her cucumber. She wasn’t asking a question; she was con1rming that Rosalind must have told Jiemin there was one vial left. As far as Alisa could determine, that was the only reason why the Nationalists knew to start chasing her while other factions played catch-up with intelligence.
“There won’t be any use stopping Lady Hong’s traitorous forces if this vial ends up in the wrong hands,” Jiemin continued, pretending not to have heard her remark.
Alisa slapped her chopsticks onto the table. “As far as I am concerned,” she said, her tone turning cold, “Nationalist hands are the wrong hands too.”
Jiemin stared her down. Alisa didn’t Ainch. It was near impossible to intimidate Alisa Montagova when she had a level of self-importance that inAated up to the sky, and anyone who tried only wasted their time.
Eventually, Jiemin looked away 1rst, his brow furrowing. He seemed to be mulling over something. Seconds later, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheathed dagger, oPering it forward.
“Is it coated in poison?” Alisa asked warily.
“It is something I hope will change your mind. Remember, Miss Montagova
—I came here alone.”
Alisa took the dagger. She pulled oP the sheath. Though the restaurant was unlit and the afternoon hovered at a cold, dull gray, the metal of the blade Aared with its own brightness. It was beautifully crafted, with a thin hollow line down the middle before each side tapered oP for a viciously sharp edge. And at the base…
Alisa grazed a thumb along the engraving. A small exhale of surprise escaped from her lips. She wondered if she could possibly be misreading the single Chinese character etched upon the metal, but the 蔡 stayed unchanging no matter how long she stared at its glimmering gold.
This weapon was a family heirloom. And Jiemin was certainly not of that family.
Right?
“Good God,” Alisa said. “Please don’t tell me you’re a secret Cai.”
Jiemin peered into his teacup. He had relaxed his brow. “What? I—no. My surname is Lin if you must know.” He nudged his cup away, opting to forgo the sludgy tea. “But you’re aware who that dagger belongs to, are you not?”
She supposed she could take a very well-informed guess. And she supposed that meant she could take a guess as to why Jiemin was showing her this. The original owner of this dagger wasn’t gaudy enough to pass it around for a token. No—Jiemin had already possessed it and was exposing it to make his point.
Alisa breathed in shallowly, pressing her thumb hard into the engraving. She had suspected, of course. She had caught a glimpse of them in Zhouzhuang that fateful April; she knew exactly where she ought to go if she wanted con1rmation that her brother and his lover were alive and in hiding. But she had been far too afraid of learning the opposite—despite knowing Roma was the only one who had the information to be paying her bills every month, despite Celia and Benedikt occasionally slipping up to talk about the two of them in the present tense—and so she had stayed away, living in her blissful hope.
This…
This was the 1rst time she had gotten true con1rmation. They were alive.
Alisa shoved the blade back into its sheath, blinking back the rush of emotion prickling at her eyes before Jiemin could see it. He had better have considered the consequences of telling her this, or Alisa wasn’t going to treat him kindly for creating danger.
“I’m going to say this once,” Alisa declared, sniffing. “No matter who you secretly work for, you are still a Nationalist. Even if they trust you, I am not letting this vial get anywhere near politics.” She stood up. Then, politely, she pushed her dish in front of Jiemin. “I will swallow the glass vial whole before I let you have it. Bring your forces after me and tear it from my stomach—that’s the only way you’re getting it. Now, please enjoy the rest of the huángguā, my treat.”
Alisa walked oP.
“Hey,” Jiemin called after her. “At least give the dagger back.”
“I have claimed it,” Alisa said without turning around. She gripped it tightly in her hand, a smile tugging at her lip. “Go take it up with my sister-in-law herself if you want to argue otherwise.”
She stepped out of the restaurant, tucking the dagger into her coat. Right as the 1rst Aake of snow drifted onto her nose to signal a new storm rolling in, Alisa set oP for the next township, disappearing again until she was needed.
