The Cautious Traveller's Guide to the Wastelands

by Sarah Brooks

But Marya has heard the soldiers from the city garrisons tell of visions and nightmares; returnees from the Wall who tell of voices in the night and inexplicable fevers. “I believe they say that it is haunted, the Wall barracks,” says the Countess. “Ah, the garrison ghost.” The merchant smiles. “I too have heard these stories.” His Russian is fluent, though tinged, thinks Marya, with a trace of the roughness of the Moscow textile markets. “Of course, the Trans-Siberia Company won’t approve,” he goes on. “A ghost is certainly not modern enough for them, and I’m sure it refuses to pay rent. Ah…” He pauses, then nods toward the other end of the carriage. “As if they were waiting for their cue…” Marya follows his gaze to where two dark-suited figures have entered, one European, one Chinese, stopping to shake hands with some of the men and bow stiffly to the ladies. One turns his head toward her, light glinting from his spectacles, and she feels a roaring begin in her ears.