Shortly after its departure, Celia places the leather-bound book safely away, camouflaged in plain sight amongst her own volumes.
She changes from her bloodstained gown to a flowing one in moonlight grey, bound with ribbons in black, white, and charcoal, which had been one of Friedrick’s particular favorites.
The ribbons drift behind her as she makes her way down the train.
She stops at the only door that has two calligraphed characters as well as a handwritten name on the tag next to it.
Her polite knock is answered immediately, inviting her inside.
While most of the train compartments are saturated with color, Tsukiko’s private car is almost completely neutral. A bare space surrounded by paper screens and curtains of raw silk, perfumed with the scent of ginger and cream.
Tsukiko sits on the floor in the center of the room, wearing a red kimono. A beating crimson heart in the pale chamber.
And she is not alone. Isobel lies on the floor with her head in Tsukiko’s lap, sobbing softly.
“I did not mean to interrupt,” Celia says. She hesitates in the doorway, ready to slide the door closed again.
“You are not interrupting,” Tsukiko says, beckoning her inside. “Perhaps you will be able to help me convince Isobel that she is in need of some rest.”
Celia says nothing, but Isobel wipes her eyes, nodding as she stands.
“Thank you, Kiko,” she says, smoothing out the wrinkles in her gown. Tsukiko remains seated, her attention on Celia.
Isobel stops next to Celia as she makes her way to the door.
“I am sorry about Herr Thiessen,” she says.
“I am as well.”
For a moment, Celia thinks Isobel means to embrace her, but instead she only nods before leaving, sliding the door closed behind her.
“The last hours have been long for all of us,” Tsukiko says after Isobel has departed. “You need tea,” she adds before Celia can explain why she is there. Tsukiko sits her down on a cushion and walks silently to the end of the car, fetching her tea supplies from behind one of the tall screens.
It is not the full tea ceremony that she has performed on several occasions over the years, but as Tsukiko slowly prepares two bowls of green matcha, it is beautiful and calming nonetheless.
“Why did you never tell me?” Celia asks when Tsukiko has settled herself across from her.
“Tell you what?” Tsukiko asks, smiling over her tea.
Celia sighs. She wonders if Lainie Burgess felt a similar frustration over two different cups of tea in Constantinople. She has half a mind to break Tsukiko’s tea bowl, just to see what she would do.
“Did you injure yourself?” Tsukiko asks, nodding at the scar on Celia’s finger.
“I was bound into a challenge almost thirty years ago,” Celia says. She sips her tea before adding, “Are you going to show me your scar, now that you have seen mine?”
Tsukiko smiles and places her tea on the floor in front of her. Then she turns and lowers the neck of her kimono.
At the nape of her neck, in the space between a shower of tattooed symbols, nestled in the curve of a crescent moon, there is a faded scar about the size and shape of a ring.
“The scars last longer than the game, you see,” Tsukiko says, straightening her kimono around her shoulders.
“It was one of my father’s rings that did that,” Celia says, but Tsukiko does not confirm or deny the statement.
“How is your tea?” she asks.
“Why are you here?” Celia counters.
“I was hired to be a contortionist.”
Celia puts down her tea.
“I am not in the mood for this, Tsukiko,” she says.
“Should you choose your questions more carefully, you may receive more satisfying answers.”
“Why did you never tell me you knew about the challenge?” Celia asks. “That you had played before yourself?”
“I made an agreement that I would not reveal myself unless approached directly,” Tsukiko says. “I keep my word.”
“Why did you come here, in the beginning?”
“I was curious. There has not been a challenge of this sort since the one I participated in. I did not intend to stay.”
“Why did you stay?”
“I liked Monsieur Lefèvre. The venue for my challenge was a more intimate one, and this seemed unique. It is rare to discover places that are truly unique. I stayed to observe.”
“You’ve been watching us,” Celia says.
Tsukiko nods.
“Tell me about the game,” Celia says, hoping to get a response to an open-ended inquiry now that Tsukiko is more forthcoming.
“There is more to it than you think,” Tsukiko says. “I did not understand the rules myself, in my time. It is not only about what you call magic. You believe adding a new tent to the circus is a move? It is more than that. Everything you do, every moment of the day and night is a move. You carry your chessboard with you, it is not contained within canvas and stripes. Though you and your opponent do not have the luxury of polite squares to stay upon.”