It had been so long since Benedict had been in England. So long since those doubts had been cast his way. He found himself leaning forward in his seat.
“All of that is true. But the treason happened years ago. I was six when it transpired. I don’t remember my father or my brother—not either of them, not in the slightest. The only thing I remember is my compatriots at Eton threatening me with nooses. So thank you very much for the reminder.”
Larkin acted as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your brother was a traitor, and now you’re working with an American. Your sister is supposedly missing, and it provides you with a convenient reason to sift through consular records. My suspicions as to you are not without foundation.”
“Yes, British people were just clamoring to work with a seventeen-year-old whose family was tainted by treason.”
“You’ve been making ham-handed inquiries for far too long now. Odd, that you should prove so incompetent. What, precisely, is your sister doing? And what are you pretending to do with your insistent questions?” The man raised an eyebrow, as if to insinuate Theresa was gallivanting around the world, committing treason wherever she passed.
To be fair, Benedict wouldn’t put it past her. But still. He had to stand on principle.
“Odd,” Secretary Larkin continued, “that you should prove so absolutely incompetent. It makes me think your incompetence is a front.”
Benedict pushed back his chair. “I don’t believe I have to sit here and listen to you insult me and my family.”
“You don’t have to sit here at all,” Larkin said. “You’re free to leave up until I uncover the merest whiff of criminal conspiracy. I keep the British settlement in Shanghai clear of this sort of trouble, Mr. Worth.” He articulated that title—Mister—with a hint of venom. “So take care. I won’t help you. I don’t want you here—not at the consulate, not in the British Concession, not in any part of the foreign settlement in Shanghai in general or in China at large. I think you should leave all four. Immediately.”
Benedict bit his lip, stung. “And to think I was told you were fair to a fault.”
The ghost of a smile slipped across the man’s lips. “How lovely. I am.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dearest Leland,
I’m intrigued to know how your students have got on with the geometry curriculum that you mentioned several weeks ago. I’m passing on a newspaper article for them to read, which I realize is ridiculous as Hong Kong receives the papers before Shanghai, but nonetheless, ridiculousness is happening.
If I do my work well, I might one day be able to send you a telegram from my desk and have it arrive in your hand in less than an hour. I’ll wager you never thought your little sister would be involved in something like that!
Dearest Mother—
My apologies. You are right that I’ve communicated little in my last three letters except for information about my employment. Unfortunately, I still have nothing personal to add. I must assure you that this is not because I am angry, nor is it because someone has led me down the primrose path and I feel shame. It is because I am actually not doing anything but employment.
I shall take your admonishment for advice and shall try to do something else. The salary I am being paid is entirely adequate to hiring someone to help with meals and cleaning, and that may leave me a little more time.
Yours,
Amelia
To: Captain Grayson Hunter
Tasks I have completed
1 Encode radicals as English letters and numbers, reserving I, T, and E. I and T extend the remainder of the alphabet. J, JI, JT, JIT, JTI all represent separate radicals.
2 E reserved for joins. EBL equals character made by sun plus moon. E is for horizontal joins. ET for vertical. EI for contains.
3 New priority rules allow for encoding and decoding via inspection. Wins 10 to 1 in comparison to simplified numerical method
Incomplete
4 Code still underdetermines characters
5 Transmission errors radically change meaning
Your thoughts desired
Mr. Lightfoot had transcribed this barely comprehensible message from Amelia that afternoon aboard the Victory. It was a beautiful day. This far north, the light across the waves was golden and slanting, hinting at a winter that had not yet arrived.
They were maybe a week out from Myriad Island at this point, and the message had taken close to an hour to come through. It was terse—it would have taken poor Lightfoot hours to manage anything longer—and so it took Grayson fifteen minutes to understand what she was saying in general terms. They had a code. It worked. It was fast—as much as ten times faster than the alternative.
The code was not yet perfect. She was asking him if he had any thoughts on a code that she had developed entirely in his absence.
There could be only one reply.
The telegraph Amelia received from the courier went as follows: 4.
Dutifully, Amelia opened up the envelope marked 4.
Mrs. Smith, I trust that you understand the intricacy of the issues far better than I ever would; rely on your own judgment.
“Thank you,” she muttered to herself. “That’s very helpful. Very specific.”
“Mrs. Smith?” asked Scholar Wu.
Well. If he thought she wasn’t heading for a cliff… “He approves of our direction,” she said in Mandarin. “Let’s go through some of the examples you have of underdetermination.”
“Auntie Zhu,” Amelia said one midafternoon in the tea shop. “We need to test our telegraphic system.”
The woman paused while slipping a treat to Merry under the table, tilting her head in puzzlement. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Would you like to help?”
Her look of confusion grew. “What do I know about telegraphic messages?”
“Nothing,” Amelia said. “That’s the point. We need to see how people want to use the system, so we can evaluate what’s happening. Think of someone far away you’d like to talk to. Imagine the sort of message you might send to them, and we’ll see how our code system handles it. It’s only a simulation. Without an actual telegraph line, we won’t know for sure.”
Auntie Zhu gave Amelia a quizzical look. “Sounds like a lot of work.”
“We are paying.”
“In that case.” Auntie Zhu straightened, all business. “When do you need me?”
Dearest Leland,
I know not quite how to raise this matter, but I shall head straight into the breach. Is Mother driving you to the brink of despair? Perhaps even over it? I know it’s horrid to say such a thing, but it feels as if there is nothing I can say in my letters that will reassure her of my continued well-being. Every letter I send has her writing in response that I must clearly hate her for some perceived fault of hers that I have not, in fact, perceived.
Am I truly so horrible a daughter?
Dearest Mother,
Thank you for your latest letter. As always, it brings me great joy to hear from you, and I will endeavor to answer the point you raised with some alacrity, as you appear to be in some distress.