“It’s not real,” Benedikt interrupted. “I want the Scarlets dead too, but don’t be foolish. No bank crest in this city looks like this—it is not even a good inking.” He tossed the paper to the table, flicking his hands for the men to disperse. “It is the blackmailer once again. The Scarlets got the same falsified document blaming us. Now get back to your jobs.”
“Benedikt.”
The summons came from above. Benedikt’s head snapped up—as did everybody else’s in the living room—to find his uncle atop the staircase. Lord Montagov’s hands were crowded with silver when he set them on the handrails, rings that glinted by the light of the sunset streaming through the windows.
“Did you say,” Lord Montagov said slowly, coming down the steps, taking one at a time like he had to weigh himself on each landing first, “that the Scarlet Gang received the same information?”
Benedikt could feel sweat starting at the back of his neck. “I was accosted by one of their messengers on the streets,” he said carefully. “He accused us of sending the threats.”
“And still”—Lord Montagov came down the last few steps, the nearest men parting to make way for him, a path clearing toward Benedikt like some miniature Red Sea—“knowing their malicious intent, you stop our own from rushing out?”
An abrupt, scraping sound came from the wall outside, like someone had slipped off and fallen to the ground. Before Benedikt could entertain the possibility of an eavesdropper outside, a White Flower messenger—a true one, this time—scrambled through the door, heaving for breath.
“Come quickly,” he gasped. “Tyler Cai is launching an attack.”
“I will find the Frenchman,” Roma said when the train pulled into Shanghai, the station coming into view. “And as soon as I find him . . . perhaps he will be afraid enough to tell us directly who turned him into a monster.”
Juliette nodded absently. Her eyes watched the window, pinned on the approaching platform. The sky was horribly dark, but the hour was also growing late. They had spent longer in Zhouzhuang than Juliette had liked, and the car ride back to Kunshan had been slowed by the potholes on the gravelly roads.
“It will not be that easy,” Juliette grumbled. “Not if the blackmailer sent him right after us. He did not even bother hiding his face.” She turned away from the window and looked at Roma. “But still—it is better than nothing. We work from there.”
Roma rose and reached up to gather his coat from the overhead storage. Before Juliette could stop him, he had hers too, tossing it upon her.
“Careful,” she chided. She stuck her hand into the pocket, checking on the vial they had stolen from Mr. Huai. It was fine, the blue liquid sloshing at its half-filled point. She had a sneaking suspicion that Roma had intended for her to worry that he was going to damage it; he was not foolish enough to forget it was in her pocket.
Especially not when he had the other half of the vaccine in his pocket, separated into its own vial.
“We have arrived at the destination,” the compartment speaker announced as Juliette got to her feet. The train came to a screeching stop, but even after, as the noise faded, there was still a dull roar coming from the misty grayness outside, and Juliette peered through the window again, searching for the source.
“Do you hear that?” she asked.
She didn’t give Roma any time to respond. Juliette was already hurrying off the train, watching her step over the platform gap and surging into the crowds jostling at the station. This wasn’t right. There were too many people here. Why were there so many people?
“Juliette!” Roma called. His voice was almost immediately drowned out, and when Juliette glanced back momentarily, she had already lost sight of him.
A sharp police whistle sounded to her right. Juliette whipped her attention to the officer, who had one foot balanced on the base of a column while the rest of him clung to it, putting him a few feet above the masses. He was waving at people to move off the platform and into the station, but only because droves of people were hurrying in from outside.
Juliette grabbed the nearest person. An elderly woman stared up at her with wide eyes, lips tightening in recognition.
“What’s going on?” Juliette demanded. “Where are all of these people coming from?”
The woman’s gaze darted to the side. In her hands, she was holding today’s newspapers, crumpled under her tight grip.
“Smoke outside,” she managed. “A gangster safe house is on fire.”