Heart of Iron

Epilogue

Almost a year has passed since we got back to St. Petersburg. It is winter again, and I cannot wait until May when I can go back to Trubetskoye. I am a little upset that I have to repeat the first two quarters, but the work is easily accomplished the second time around.

I also find it comforting that Chiang Tse has been allowed to finish his education. He was granted leave from his gubernatorial post and now performs some diplomatic duties for the new Chinese ambassador to the imperial court — but not enough to interfere with his studies. The Crane Club is still gone, but now that the English have left the Northern Star, we’ve made it a favorite spot to get together and listen to the mechanical pianist.

Wong Jun was released from the Ravelin, but decided to stay in St. Petersburg — being a Manchu is now a precarious proposition in Beijing. He seems content to come to classes every now and again between bouts of complaining and dark moods. He claims to find some comfort in writing poetry, but he never allows the other Chinese students to read it.

And then there is Jack. He also attends the university and takes classes; he still walks me home every now and again. As for our adventure, we speak little of it. He has expressed regret over the poor horse, and the fright he gave the garrison. I have imparted some of Volzhenko’s theology and told him of the Aardvarks. The subject of my illfated letter is never mentioned between us, but the knowledge of it hangs over us. We both know I do not return his feelings, just as we both know he has not yet abandoned hope that someday I will. He seldom speaks to Chiang Tse, but both are polite and do not seem to wish ill to one another.

Jack seems concerned about the English expulsion, and makes occasionally vague predictions about the Secret Service traveling to Mongolia to make connections with the Qing Dynasty, but I think he worries a little prematurely. As Eugenia says, no point in planning for winter when you don’t know if you’ll live through the summer.

Eugenia remains at Trubetskoye to keep my mother company and to make sure the family estate runs as smoothly as could be desired. All summer, the two were the same as always, and I expect to find them so when I visit Trubetskoye at winter recess; I do not expect people their age to change. I would not want them to, for the world grows less familiar with every day, and one needs to have a steady constant flame of familiarity one can return to when the dragon airships are gone and the reverse corsets are packed away in oak chests. Any adventure must give away to familiarity of routine, and I look to what lies ahead of me, clear eyed and level headed, knowing that both changes and constancy have their place in the world, and that I can survive either.