“You made my code,” he said. “Well done.”
Her nose twitched. “I made my code.”
Their eyes met once again. It was so, so different from their first meeting. He’d thought her delightful at the time, but seeing her like this—eight months into a project he had set for her, eight months away from the place where he’d found her—meant he could see all the ways that uncertainty had pushed her off-center in her former life.
She’d found something like balance, and it made Grayson think of his own instability—how impossible it was to stop running once you set off down a hill at breakneck speed.
He swallowed his careening thoughts and gave her a broad smile.
“Behold.” He mustered all his confidence. “You’re not doomed. I’ve arrived just in time.”
Chapter Twenty
The meeting with Taotai Tu went about as Grayson had expected. They were ushered into the taotai’s yamen. The official residence took them through a garden of frozen ponds and dry rustling leaves. Even in the depths of icy winter, there was a sense of beauty, as if the icicles had been planned. Their party passed through a gate flanked by lions and decorated with triangular flags, and into a courtyard bounded by four long buildings. The ridgelines of the roof tilted up in graceful curves at each end. But there was no time to dawdle and appreciate the space.
The servants opened a set of doors facing the courtyard. In summer, Grayson imagined they’d remain open. For now Grayson and his party passed into a receiving room where a small handful of men, with long beards and longer braided queues awaited. This was the taotai and a handful of accompanying ministers. They exchanged greetings and gifts in Mandarin, and after the pleasantries were over, Grayson started his presentation.
He could feel Mrs. Smith’s eyes on him as he sketched out his proposal. He could feel when her attention shifted to Scholar Wu, who was giving the in-depth discussion of their telegraphic code.
He had to take care to make the case for what was coming. It was not just about navigating the complicated, stubborn morass of Chinese–Occidental politics.
When he’d first met Mrs. Smith, she’d shone with a brightness that could not entirely be suppressed, no matter how her circumstances had conspired to do so.
Her circumstances had now stopped suppressing her, and it showed in a dozen small ways. There was a confidence in her smile, an assurance to the way she quietly directed those who’d worked with her on developing the code. Her eyes were the brightest part of her.
Mrs. Smith had attracted him before. Now he found his eyes drifting toward her even from across the room, found his ears straining to hear a sound from her over the talk that Scholar Wu was giving to the Mandarin officials about the code.
“One fundamental characteristic,” Scholar Wu was saying, “that sets the Chinese language above the Western alphabet, is this. One must read Western languages to know what they say. With our Chinese characters, you can see an entire page at a glance.”
Gray looked up to see the taotai nodding.
“I am proud to say that an experienced operator, such as myself, can see our code as well. Let me show you how that works.”
Grayson had examined her presentation in detail on the final leg from Yokohama. Every radical had an encoding in the English alphabet. But the highlight of her invention was what she called “join characters.” E—the simplest character—was used to join radicals vertically. Other combinations represented horizontal joins and enclosures.
“It seems still possible to confuse two characters,” said a minister.
“Ah,” Scholar Wu said. “We’ve done testing on that. Here are five instances that we’ve come across.” Mrs. Smith was already in motion, smiling as she handed papers out to the officials. “As you can see, one can tell quite easily from context which character is meant. And in the unlikely event that is not the case, we’ve come up with guidelines for distinguishing between them.”
She’d mentioned that difficulty in an earlier telegram. She’d solved it. She’d left the bulk of the presentation to others, and yet to his eye, she was undoubtedly in charge. After Wu finished and stepped back, an official lifted a finger.
“Mrs. Smith,” he asked. “Where do you come from?”
She blinked, as if surprised to be included in the conversation beyond handing out materials. “I was taken in by missionaries when I was six years old.”
“Missionaries!” said the man, recoiling. “Don’t they take the hearts and eyes of our children to make unholy medicine?”
Mrs. Smith looked singularly unperturbed by this charge. “No,” she said with a smile. “Although I have had much to learn to make up for the shortcomings in my upbringing.”
“Hmm.” The man frowned at her, squinting as if trying to make her out. But his perusal didn’t last long. The taotai gathered up his ministers, and they decamped to a corner of the room, consulting one another in quiet murmurs.
Mrs. Smith met his eyes with a tense smile; he returned a solemn nod. But they were not kept waiting. After a long pause, the men returned.
The taotai spoke. “Your presentation was very edifying. But the treaty allows only for the construction of buildings and streets. Telegraph wires are not included, and we therefore respectfully decline your request, as telegraph lines are unsightly.”
Grayson had been expecting this answer. The Great Northern Telegraph Company had received the same answer when they’d approached the taotai earlier. One of the men involved had complained about Chinese backwardness in preferring natural harmony without modern innovation.
The man he spoke to hadn’t even considered the possibility that this was an excuse.
“Taotai.” Grayson nodded respectfully. “I understand your decision. Undoubtedly something could be done with the lines themselves to beautify them. We would be happy to work with your engineers on such a project. But—if I may speak plainly?”
“Of course.”
Grayson was good at many things. Persuasion yes, when he didn’t particularly care what someone thought of him after the fact. But this wasn’t mere persuasion. It was a partnership, one that would hopefully become a leveler after a series of Unequal Treaties, a partnership that built trust where it had been absent before.
If John were here… The thought rocked him on his heels. Instead, he smiled and did his best.
“I suspect you have other worries. As to those, I must ask. Do I look like a man who wants to outfit China for copper shackles?”
The taotai tilted his head, his expression not giving anything away. “Continue.”
Natural harmony? No doubt the taotai cared about that. But it wasn’t the only reason the taotai had said no.
“I am a Black man from America,” Grayson said. “My people have endured the shackles of the West for far too long. I have no wish to chain anyone else in turn. I have no love for a trade enterprise that treats my people—and yours—as perishable goods.”
The taotai met Grayson’s eyes. “Speak on.”
“I understand the burden you are carrying on a physical level. I have fought to end the West’s shackles. I have lost brothers in that fight who would be standing beside me right now in that fight, as you, too, have lost people.” He held on to the cutting grief that rose temporarily, holding it close in his heart. “I propose that China will own its telegraphic lines and control them entirely. China will collect revenues on those lines exclusively. We have come up with a code that encapsulates the clarity and beauty of the written Chinese language. We offer a partnership that grows out of respect, with nobody in a subservient position.”