The commotion came nearer. Benedikt ducked just in time to hide from the group of Scarlets as they hurried out of the French Concession.
He shouldn’t have been surprised. The Scarlets and Nationalists had come into an agreement with the foreigners, then. The foreigners had allowed this, had known about the purge and warned their people to stay indoors. No matter how much the Nationalists proclaimed their need to retake the country, too much of this city was under the foreigners. Too many Nationalist offices and Nationalist headquarters sat on French land to risk upsetting them.
“Hurry up. Jessfield is low on reinforcements.”
Another group ran past the telephone post, and Benedikt sank lower, though the post would surely cover him from view. Only when the voices faded again did he stand, poking his head around to watch the Kuomintang men disappear from sight.
The French Concession was empty. Benedikt had never seen its early mornings so vacant, not a single vendor in sight even while the sky slowly brightened into a hazy gray. But that didn’t mean it was quiet. Sirens were shrieking all across the city, most of them coming from the south. If Benedikt took a guess, he would say they were coming from the gunboats, those floating upon the parts of the Huangpu in Nanshi.
He started to run. No use being subtle now. Each second wasted was a second closer to noon. Benedikt knew where General Shu’s house was located. His only concern was whether Marshall would be there or if the house would be inhabited at all. For all he knew, they were no longer in Shanghai. For all he knew, they were in any location across the city, outside of foreign land and far from the fighting.
“Hey!”
With a start, Benedikt turned over his shoulder, finding a group of Scarlets emerging from a narrow side street. They were dressed as he was, rifles in hand. Benedikt’s first instinct was to run, but the Concession was too wide and vast; there would be no way to lose his pursuers, not unless he could disappear into thin air.
“What?” Benedikt shouted back, as if their call was nothing more than an annoyance.
“Where are you going?” one Scarlet within the group bellowed. “Command said to congregate in Zhabei. We’ve got protesters trying to march on Second Division headquarters.”
“Oh?” Benedikt feigned ignorance. He tried to think if he even knew where the hell the Nationalists’ Second Division headquarters were. Baoshan Road? “I was not made aware. I’m running a message.”
“For?”
They were getting suspicious. Benedikt steeled his expression.
“Lord Cai is having a direct note brought to Chiang Kai-shek. He’s already mad enough about Juliette’s stunt. Do you want to be the ones to go back and explain why his note is so late?”
The Scarlets all grimaced, some more severely than others. “Go on, then,” another in the group said. Before Benedikt even moved, they were already off in a different direction, muttering among themselves about Lord Cai.
Benedikt exhaled, continuing onward with his pulse beating a racket in his chest. That had been a risk. For all he knew, Lord Cai might not have publicly announced what Juliette had done. Fate was on his side this time.
His target finally came into view. A tall wrought-iron gate, painted black. It didn’t seem like there was anyone standing guard. It didn’t seem like there was anyone keeping watch within the compound either. All Benedikt could hear were distant sirens—distant sirens and the whistling wind, whipping through his hair and obscuring his vision.
Benedikt palmed a gun and slunk around the gate. His boots came down hard on the shrubbery that surrounded the residence, rustling with every step. The ground inclined slightly uphill here, rising as the trees grew thicker, branches drooping low. In this part of the French Concession, the houses were built far apart enough that each had a garden and a long, winding driveway. Some chose enclosures to block people from looking in, while others let their flowers and shrubs be gawped at freely. When Benedikt finally found a lump of dirt tall enough to step on, he used the boost to launch himself up on the walled gate, peering over to discover not only one outer enclosure but a second fence erected just inside.
“Is this a house or a military compound?” he muttered. There seemed to be no movement between the fences. With a grunt, Benedikt swung his legs over the first wall, almost rolling right off and narrowly landing on his two feet. A twinge of pain shot up his ankle.
Please don’t be sprained. Please don’t be sprained.
He took a step forward. The pain worsened.
Oh, for crying out loud.