2. Obstacles

Henry Grey wakes, unrested. All night the train had crept and jolted, tipping him out of successive dreams. There had been no more strong waves, but he had felt his body tense in expectation each time.

In the dining car there is a strained atmosphere. Several passengers have kept to their cabins; those present are red-eyed and subdued, and the stewards are clumsier and slower than ever. Breakfast is unsatisfactory. There are stains on the plate his smoked kippers arrive on, and when he asks for more tea he is refused point blank.

The Countess, seated at the next table, demands more coffee. "There is barely a dribble here, has the price of coffee risen in the night?"

The steward wrings his hands. "It is a temporary measure, madam, if you would have patience."

Grey allows himself a small congratulatory glow that he is not one of these passengers who complain at the slightest discomfort.

"We must all have some forbearance, madam," he cannot resist saying.

"Must we, indeed?" she replies in a needlessly ironic tone. She and her washed-out little companion both regard him coolly. Others in the carriage, he has to say, seem more inclined to her way of thinking. The young widow, Marya, is silent and pale. Her hair, he notices, is unbrushed, and there are ink stains on her fingers. He butters himself another piece of toast. It is a sad tendency of other nationalities, he thinks to himself, to fall apart at the slightest provocation.

After breakfast he retires to the library, where he expects to find Alexei. The red circle on his map is approaching—they should reach it on day eight of their journey—but there is a new tentativeness to the train's progress. He aches, as if by stretching every sinew he could will the train forward, faster. He is so close. Every evening has been spent in his cabin taking notes on the Cartographer's charts that the engineer has given him, and the other articles and books he has collected. He has practiced getting in and out of the clumsy suit and helmet Alexei provided, and handling his collecting jars with the thick gloves. He is ready.

After an hour, though, there is still no sign of the engineer, which, considering the amount he is paying the man, seems unacceptable. Frustration builds in his chest, making the ulcer in his abdomen twinge all the more painfully. It is this reliance on others that is unbearable; this helplessness in the face of incompetence and idleness. But these are not good, Christian thoughts. Should he not have forbearance? He is being tested, that is all.

After the clock on the wall chimes another half hour, he resolves to take matters into his own hands, which necessitates walking through the Third Class carriages, a handkerchief covering his nose. Nutshells crunch beneath his feet and there is a certain stickiness to the floor. So many bodies in here, so close together. The passengers look him up and down as he passes but he merits no comment nor glimmer of recognition. There is a dangerous edge to the air, as if even a small flame could ignite everything.

Over the door to the next carriage hangs a sign stating, in a number of languages, that entry to this part of the train is forbidden to passengers, but he ignores it and walks through to what must be the crew's mess. The tables are set with plain white tablecloths, and they run the length of the carriage, with backless benches on either side of them. A scattering of crew members are shoveling food into their mouths, and don't look up when he enters, so he strides through the next carriages, along a wood-paneled corridor and a series of closed doors.

He is just beginning to think that the engineer must be deliberately avoiding him when he spots him at the other end of what seems to be a service carriage. He is balanced precariously on a ladder, jumping down when he sees Grey approaching.

"I have been looking for you," Grey begins, as he gets closer. He turns to make sure no one is in earshot. "Did we not have an arrangement that we would meet today?"

"You shouldn't be here, who let you in?" The engineer speaks low and fast, wiping his hands with a dirty cloth. "Passengers aren't allowed back here."

"Well, nobody stopped me, and frankly, there seemed no other way to reach you—"

The engineer doesn't wait for him to finish but bundles him into a store room and shuts the door. Around them, pipes rattle and wheeze, moisture gathering on gray metal. "Look, I need to tell you, I can't do it."

Grey stares at him. "But we had an agreement, you accepted my money. You know how much this means."

"I will return the money, but I can't go through with it, we can't go through with it, it's too dangerous, especially now that—"

"What? Especially now that what?"

The engineer rubs his forehead, leaving behind a greasy mark. "There's been a… complication. After the tides."

"Yes, I know there has been some disruption, but why should this affect our plans? We have been over this, it is natural to feel anxious at the start of a great project, ambition is never easy—"

"Dr. Grey, I understand your frustration but I agreed to this only when I believed there would be no danger to the train."

"And there will not be—you know that I would never risk the lives of others."

"It is not your risk to take."

And the engineer tells him, with much hedging and many caveats, and technicalities he cannot follow, that there is a problem with the water system.

"But you can mend it."

"Yes, but—"

"And we will take on more water, so really it need not hold us back from—"

"Dr. Grey, you're not listening. We will be low on water until we reach the next of the wells, and that will not be for at least three more days. And even after that, though we have patched up the problem, there is still a weakness, which will remain until we can deal with it properly in Moscow."

Grey tries to control the frustration he feels rising within him; a frustration he has not felt since those terrible weeks in Beijing, fruitlessly tramping the corridors of the Trans-Siberia Company offices, feeling all possibilities slipping away from him. The pain in his stomach sharpens and he tastes bitterness on his tongue. He must not allow his emotions to get the better of him—the doctor at the Foreigners' Hospital had been most insistent on this point. "Regulation in all aspects, that is the key to your health—the regulation of diet, of behavior, of emotions."

"But surely, with all your ingenuity, there is something that can be done? I have come to appreciate it already, even during these few days onboard. It is quite remarkable." He watches the engineer's face and is pleased to see a flash of pride. "Although," he continues, carefully, "it would seem that your work is not always appreciated by those representatives of the Company itself."

Alexei's expression darkens. "And I will not be like them," he says. "They have no understanding of the train, the delicacy needed to ensure its safety. They think they can push and push with no consequences." He stops, and takes control of himself. "I am sorry," he says. "There is nothing I can do, we must end our agreement."

Grey watches him walk away and feels the pain in his stomach intensify, making him so dizzy he needs to hold on to the handrail. No. Nothing is ending, he thinks. Not when he has come this far.