3. Eden

"A new Eden," says Dr. Henry Grey. He has just been released from quarantine. Sweat stains his collar and he looks not to have shaved for days. There is a tremor in his voice which Marya has not noticed before, that puts her in mind of the fire-and-brimstone preachers on the Petersburg docks, proclaiming the world to come. "This is what we are making, a new Eden, more perfect and marvelous, more full of life, more—"

"More furnished with serpents?" Guillaume raises his glass, to appreciative laughter, then gestures at the steward to refill it. Henry Grey appears unperturbed. He has been holding forth all evening to whoever will listen and he returns, again and again, with evangelical fervor, to his great glass palace.

Beside Marya, Sophie LaFontaine is sketching.

"It's beautiful," says Marya, looking at the quick gray lines of the birches beneath her fingers. "It makes me want to reach in and touch the bark of the trees."

Sophie smiles at her. "Perhaps it will be a gift for Dr. Grey," she says. "Though I fear it is only a pale imitation of his Eden." She tilts the paper away, slightly, but as she does so the sheet below it is revealed, and a sketched figure catches Marya's eye. It is just a few pencil lines, a young woman in a doorway, but Sophie has given her a sense of movement, of lifelikeness. Marya can't say why, but it makes her uneasy. Perhaps it is the fact that the figure's face is blurred, and yet there is the distinct feeling that she is watching.

Sophie covers up the picture, hurriedly.

"Is she a passenger?" Marya asks.

"From Third Class, perhaps," says Sophie. Then she goes on, in a low voice, "You will think me foolish, and I know that it is just a lack of skill on my part, nothing else, but although I have seen her, at different times on our journey, I have never been able to capture her face." She flicks through other pages in her sketchbook and Marya sees the same figure, always in a doorway or beside a wall, always with her features indistinct, as if she has been caught by a camera in the act of moving.

"No," says Marya, "I don't think you're foolish at all, nor lacking in skill." She remembers the conviction she had felt in the observation car, how sure she had been that there was someone there. She remembers Henry Grey's angel.

"We are being observed in turn," Suzuki had said. She pushes the thought of him away, of his changing skin.

"Now, my dear, you are not boring our friend, are you? I am sure modern ladies have more to speak about than pretty drawings, is that not right?" Guillaume leans over to his wife and takes the sketchbook out of her hands, tossing it carelessly onto the seat beside them.

Marya can smell the liquor on his breath. "We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation, thank you," she says, not attempting any pretense at warmth.

"But don't you see," Henry Grey has raised his voice, "we understand the garden now. We are a new people, homo scientificus, we have been granted a new opportunity, a second chance. We must not throw it away, not let ourselves be distracted, this is what I shall present at the Exhibition…"

"I would pity him," the Countess remarks, "but I fear he would mistake it for encouragement."

Marya tries to respond but she is finding it hard to concentrate. It is late. She has not heard the chimes of the clock all evening over the rising noise and the merry songs of the musician, who remains nonetheless as morose as if he were playing a funeral dirge. At the passing of the boundary line they had drunk a toast to entering Europe, then another, and another, and now the night is slipping away and the music has ended but there is a general reluctance to go to bed.

"The poor man has nothing, of course. Just a few cases of dead butterflies and an inflated belief in his own brilliance." Anna Mikhail- ovna delicately sips her sirop de cassis.

Marya pictures the lines on Suzuki's skin, their slow, deliberate movement. What would Grey do if he saw them? What part would they play in his so-called Eden?

"I wish he would stop," she says, suddenly, more fiercely than she intended. "Why is everyone just letting him talk like this?"

"Oh, he will talk himself out, they always do, these men." The Countess waves a dismissive hand, but Marya sees the cleric, Yuri Petrovich, twitching in his chair, his slow, volcanic energy threatening to erupt. Beside him, the Countess sits back, with the look of one settling in to enjoy a spectacle.

"Blasphemy!" He hits the arm of his chair with his fist. The Countess doesn't react. "A new Eden? Such dangerous, blinkered nonsense I have never in my life heard. You think you found God in this wilderness? You found the Deceiver! You were taken in, as all weak fools are!"

This outburst silences the carriage but Yuri Petrovich's moment center stage is spoiled by the sudden arrival of a small boy, who crashes through the carriage door, stares at the faces turned toward him, and dashes back out again.

"Yuri Petrovich, you are scaring the infants," calls Guillaume, but the cleric is not to be distracted from the target of his ire.

"Don't you see? Don't you see they are laughing at you? All your talk of paradise when we are in Hell. And these pampered travellers, these tourists in the infernal regions, they take you for a fool!"

"Steady on," says Guillaume. Sophie and other passengers look away, embarrassed, though whether for themselves or for Yuri Petrovich or even Grey, Marya does not know. Grey is too far lost in his zealotry to care.

"There will always be doubters," he says, almost to himself. "There will also be those who do not see. They look but they do not see, because they themselves have been out in the wilderness for too long. They have not yet felt the touch of true understanding. The gift…" He raises his hands as if in prayer and she thinks she sees tears glistening on his cheeks.

"Who are you calling—" Yuri Petrovich rises to his feet.

"Gentlemen." Wu Jinlu reacts impressively quickly, appearing beside the cleric in such a way as to suggest that he merely happened to find himself there, and placing a hand on his arm.

"He slanders me," growls the cleric.

"I believe it was you, sir, who accused me of blasphemy—"

"You dare to call yourself a man of God! All of you here, you should be ashamed, drinking and making merry. You have given in to the temptations outside. I will pray for your souls." Yuri Petrovich shakes off Wu Jinlu's hand and strides out of the carriage.

"Well, that has certainly put us in our place," remarks the Countess, who, Marya notices, can barely keep the gleeful expression off her face.

But Grey is on his feet, shaken. "I must make him understand," he says. "It is too important—"

"Perhaps a task for tomorrow," says Wu Jinlu. "You look as if you need some sleep." And it is true, the Englishman is swaying. Marya rises to help steady him and Wu looks at her gratefully. "Let us help you to your cabin."

They maneuver him out of the saloon car and down the corridor of the sleeping carriage.

"I saw her," he mumbles, like one of the drunkards Marya used to see down by the water in Petersburg, stumbling from the riverside inns. "She saved my life."

"The woman outside, in the forest," explains Wu, with a raise of his eyebrows.

"No." Grey stops, forcing the three of them to come to an undignified halt, squashed together in the narrow corridor. "She was here. I saw her here first, on the train."

Marya thinks about the figure in Sophie's drawings. Hovering in doorways. Watching.

"It was just the storm," says Wu Jinlu, calmly. "It set us all on edge. Come, we are nearly at your cabin."

They enter awkwardly, depositing Grey onto one of the armchairs before they're able to turn on the lights. As Marya reaches out to the lamp on the table she gasps, and recoils.

Grey had left the curtains open, or the steward had forgotten to come in and close them, so the window and the night outside are exposed. But it isn't the landscape that makes them stare but the patterns on the glass. The window is covered in them, as if it were frosted over, despite the summer heat, or as if the ghosts of flowers had been imprinted into the glass, in patterns more delicate than even her father had made.

"I told you," says Grey. "We are blessed."

"Mold," says the merchant, stepping backwards. "But growing so fast."

He's right, it is growing before their eyes. "We should close the curtains," she says. She is afraid. Suddenly, horribly afraid.

"No, don't—" begins Grey, but she flicks the lamps on and tugs the curtains closed.

She and Wu exchange a glance. She can see her own fear reflected on his face. He wipes his forehead with a handkerchief.

"Nothing that this train hasn't seen before, I am sure," he says, though he has lost his habitual air of confidence.

A sound behind them makes her turn. Shadows fill the doorway. "Good evening to all of you. Is Dr. Grey feeling more himself?"

The Crows.

"I have never felt better, but I have work to do, I must make a record…" His hand twitches toward the curtain and she tries to stand in his way.

"Dr. Grey is simply overtired." They will lock him away, she thinks. They will say it's for his own protection. She looks at his trembling hands and is sure that he will not survive it.

"A good night's sleep is all he needs," adds Wu Jinlu.

The Company men both nod, and smile, though their smiles don't reach their eyes. They have started to lose their composure; to cast off some of their polish and shine. The journey is taking its toll.

"Of course," says Mr. Li. "We would not want to keep Dr. Grey from his work." Perhaps seeing her expression, he goes on: "We have invited him to speak at our own Exhibition stand. He will show the great contribution the Company makes to the scientific understanding of the Wastelands. It will be a great opportunity for us all." Is it her imagination or is there an odd emphasis in his words?

"Ah, I see," says Wu Jinlu, though a puzzled expression flits across his face. Marya says nothing. The Crows are looking at her with appraising gazes and she feels the first stirrings of fear. She wants to laugh at her own naivety. Grey is a blasphemer to clerics like Yuri Petrovich, yet an evangelist to the Company. Why would they wish to silence such fervor? He is useful to them. Come and see our wonders, they are blessed by God.

"How are you feeling, Marya Petrovna?" They know, she thinks. They know exactly who I am. They see me as clearly as if I had my own truths tattooed on my skin. How had they found out? Had she given herself away? Had Suzuki? No—that she cannot believe. She will not.

She tries to calm herself, but there is a ringing in her ears and the cabin is far too small; it is hard to breathe. She needs to get out but the Company men are blocking the door, as though they are spreading their wings and filling more and more of the space around them.

"Marya Petrovna? Could you accompany us, madam?"

"What do you mean by this?" demands Wu Jinlu.

"Please, this is for your own good." Mr. Petrov steps forward to take her arm, and she recoils, crashing into the table. Grey gives an exclamation of annoyance.

"We're afraid Marya Petrovna is unwell. We simply need her to come with us for her own safety, and that of others."

She sees the meaningful glance pass between Petrov and Wu. Sees Wu step away from her, stare down at his feet.

"I am quite well, I assure you." She tries to make her voice hard and steady but she can feel the shake in her throat.

"There is nothing to be worried about, it is just for observation."

"Don't cause a scene," her mother says, in her head. Her mother was afraid above all things of causing a scene, but this is exactly what she should do. She should shout and scream and bring the other passengers running; tell them that these men are liars, that they are the dangerous ones, that they will protect themselves, protect the Company, no matter what the cost.

But the look on Wu Jinlu's face weakens her resolve. He's afraid of her, of what she might do in the throes of a sickness that takes hold of the mind. She can stamp her foot and scream and plead that there is nothing wrong, she is perfectly fine, but that will only convince them more—they will all shake their heads and murmur politely that it is for the best. She can accuse the Company of anything she likes—no one will listen if they believe she is tainted.

There is movement behind the Crows and she sees the neat little Company doctor hovering in the doorway, one hand in a pocket to clumsily hide the bulge of a syringe. Petrov takes her by the arm. As they leave the cabin she looks back to see Grey leaning over his books, scribbling furiously, Wu Jinlu looking down, unable to lift his eyes to meet hers.