Romy stood huddled with Li at their school gate. They were both wearing coats, scarves and berets. The clouds were low and dark, and the wind rattled every window in the street as it howled between the buildings. Footpaths were covered with brown slush from leftover snow. Girls streamed out of the gates, climbing into rickshaws to take them out of the bitter weather. The only cars on the street running on petrol carried badges of the police, ambulance or fire brigade. Some girls were wearing armbands marked with a red A, B or N—indicating whether they were American, British or Dutch citizens.

Romy pulled her coat close, letting the rabbit fur rub against her cheek. Mutti had taken her to Lane Crawford last week to purchase a new coat and be measured for some new dresses.

‘I should have done it earlier, Liebling. But with the hospital…’ Romy didn’t mind. Seeing her parents working so hard made her even more determined to help.

‘Anyway,’ said Mutti, ‘you’re seventeen. It’s time you had a couple of nice things.’

Romy felt a wave of shame at the thought that she should deserve nice things when others had so little—like Nina, for instance. There had been no word from Nina since her farewell letter, though Delma and Miss Schwartz assured Romy they were still looking. They had heard rumours that Nina was working in one of the less salubrious boarding houses, but when they checked no-one there had heard of her.

It was easy to disappear in Shanghai, according to Miss Schwartz. It was a city for chameleons. Reinvention. White Russian cleaners became glamorous sing-song girls and club owners, European bureaucrats ran healthy sidelines selling ‘information’, Chinese country peasants grew fat selling opium—slipped to them under the table by the Japanese—to rickshaw drivers and coolies. It kept the coolies docile. For a girl to just disappear wasn’t unusual in this swirling metropolis, where decadence and depravity skipped hand in hand and it seemed rules were meant to be broken.

‘At last!’ cried Li, breaking into Romy’s reverie. She looked up to see Jian approaching, hands plunged deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched against the cold.

The trio took a shortcut between some laneways to one of their favourite food stalls. As they sat down, the owner put a pot of steaming tea on the table. Romy took off her mittens and rubbed her hands together before wrapping them around her cup. Li and Jian ordered bowls of chicken broth with slivers of smoked eel, but Romy preferred the narrow noodles, served covered in a light coating of shallot oil. She ordered in Shanghainese and the hunched man gave her a gap-toothed smile as he threw the noodles into the wok and gave them a shake over the blue flame before tipping them into a cracked white bowl. She added soy sauce, pink vinegar and some fiery chilli jam from a bowl on the table.

Jian watched Romy use chopsticks to stuff noodles into her mouth and laughed. ‘It’s as if you were born using them,’ he said.

‘Eat faster, Jian,’ his sister urged. ‘I want to go see Papa and sing him my latest song.’

‘Shh,’ said Jian, waving his chopsticks at Li. ‘We need to go straight home, remember? No stopping at Puyuan on the way past.’

Romy lifted her bowl to slurp the last few salty noodles into her mouth and to hide her embarrassment.

Papa had forbidden Romy from visiting both Puyuan and Dr Ho’s clinic. Dr Ho was most gracious about the new arrangements. He greeted Papa with the same beaming smile on the stairs every day and still gave Amah brown paper parcels of herbs to boil up for Mutti. On any given day, the kitchen was filled with the musky, spicy and sometimes bitter steam of the Orient: peony tree root, star anise and orange blossom.

When they’d finished eating they set off straight home to Grosvenor House. They were only a block away from Puyuan when Romy realised something was amiss. It was quiet. Too quiet. The usual hum of traffic had stopped, the endless shrieks of vendors and beggars silenced. Ahead of them people were blocking the footpath, watching something, but Romy couldn’t see what they were looking at. When she glanced at Jian she saw that he looked apprehensive.

Romy shivered and reached for Li’s hand. Beyond the wall of people were some muffled wails and a piercing cry, quickly whipped away by the wind.

Then through a gap Romy glimpsed Japanese soldiers tipping boxes of books onto the footpath. The smell of gasoline cut through the icy air. Above the eerie silence came the scratch of a match. The piles of books started to smoulder, flames hungry for air.

A murmur swept through the crowd as people turned away, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Romy had seen such expressions before. She squeezed her eyes tight, trying to block out the memories of blood spattering her face, Benjamin’s shattered forehead.

‘We need to go!’ said Romy as she grabbed her friends by their elbows and tried to pull them back through the crowd.

‘Not until we see what’s going on,’ said Jian, taking a step forwards.

‘Jian, maybe we should do as Romy says.’ Li turned to her friend, her pale face creased with uncertainty.

The crowd was moving in a panic now, current swirling like a whirlpool.

‘We need to find Aba,’ said Jian. ‘He’s here somewhere. We need to let him know we’re safe.’

A soldier lifted the butt of his rifle and smashed a nearby window. A baby started to cry, and a second window splintered. The sound of Kristallnacht rang in Romy’s ears. They had to leave!

Romy’s stomach churned as she shoved her way through the coats, remembering all those hips and shoulders knocking her head, the smell of gasoline, urine and fear in Wipplingerstrasse.

Please! But she didn’t know what to pray for. Worse, she wasn’t sure she believed anyone was listening to her prayers.

Jian stuck out an elbow and cleared a path.

Romy took a deep breath, wanting to flee in the other direction, but knowing she must keep moving for her friends.

Li cried, ‘Aba!’ People turned in horror as they saw Li screaming for her father.

Fear flickered in Jian’s eyes and he yelled, ‘What is this?’

Two Japanese soldiers were standing to attention at either side of Puyuan’s door, bayonets clasped tight to their sides. They were as rigid as the green topiary trees beside them. A cluster of glassy-eyed coolies stood nearby, hunched in thin blue rags.

Jian pushed his way through the crowd. When he reached the front of the throng, he dropped his head into his hands and howled.

Romy’s throat went dry. She reached for Li’s hand.

Jian turned and cried out, ‘Li, Romy—go back!’ He started waving his hands at them to leave.

Li stared at Romy, eyes filled with tears. ‘What’s happening? I don’t understand—’

Suddenly Jian seemed to crumple. He dropped to his knees and let out a painful cry that ripped Romy’s heart into pieces.

Li stood on her tiptoes to see what was happening and then she too let out a cry.

‘No!’ she screamed. Wrenching her hand from Romy’s grip, she pushed through the crowd towards her brother.

When Romy saw what her friends had seen, the ground seemed to tilt beneath her.

Six bamboo stakes had been driven deep into the mud and they were dripping with crimson blood. On top of each stake was a severed head. In the middle was Dr Ho, his brown eyes propped open with matchsticks. Beside him, Mrs Ho’s head waggled slightly to one side with the wind, warm sticky blood pooling at the bottom of her stake.

Nailed to a bamboo stake in front of the line of bodies was a piece of cardboard with a message scrawled in English:

LOOK! LOOK! THE RESULT OF ANTI-JAPANESE ELEMENTS.

Romy doubled over, placing her hands on her knees as she vomited onto the footpath. She accidentally knocked a clump of mustard greens and two purple cabbages from a willow basket clutched by the woman beside her. The kindly lady transferred her basket to the other arm, bent low and held Romy tight, as if she were a child. Around them everyone had started to run, a mad stampede. But this tiny woman smelling of allspice held firm, rocking Romy and rubbing her back. A few paces in front, Li and Jian held each other.

Romy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and, turning to thank the woman, saw that she was watching Li and Jian, eyes wide with fear. Was this woman afraid of the Hos—or afraid for them?

Romy knew she had to help Jian and Li escape from this crowd before they were spotted by the Japanese soldiers, who were pushing people on the far side with their backs turned. So many dark eyes were on her friends, but who could they trust?

Out of the corner of her eye, she recognised the profile of the handsome young man from the Cathay Hotel. He was standing serenely with his hands in his pockets, chewing a matchstick.

‘Li, there’s your brother’s friend, Mr Wu—he’ll help us get away from here,’ said Romy, nodding in his direction.

Even as she said it, Chang Wu was already moving towards them. Something about his calm demeanour made Romy hesitate. If he was friends with Zhou Ho, how could he appear so unconcerned by the horrific sight of their two mutilated heads on stakes?

Romy stiffened and she started to back away, spreading her arms instinctively to shield Li and Jian.

‘We need to go. Now! We can’t trust anyone until we work out—’ said Jian. He clenched his jaw and his cheeks tightened with anger and fury but his eyes looked wild.

‘But…’ Li shifted her weight and straightened her shoulders. Her eyes flamed with fear and confusion but she cocked her head and met the eyes of Chang Wu.

Romy looked between Chang and Li, confused. Could Mr Wu have links with the Japanese? He seemed too calm, too still, as the crowd panicked and surged around him. He’d warned them that chaotic day in December 1941 at the Cathay as Japanese soldiers stormed the International Settlement. Romy had no idea if he would help now, but she agreed with Jian—they couldn’t risk staying here any longer to find out.

Li stood frozen, looking from Chang Wu to the Japanese soldiers and back. She blinked several times, dazed and uncertain. She took an unsteady step backwards.

The shadows of the afternoon were creeping along the grey bricks, the boughs of the plane trees looming over them. It was no longer clear who was friend and who was foe. Romy thought of their dear friend Herr Gruber, who’d risked his own life to help the Bernfelds escape Vienna. Now it was her turn.

Stepping between Chang Wu and her friends she whispered, ‘We need to move quickly. You can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. Do not look up. Do not stop moving. Do not make eye contact with anyone.’ The rules poured from her mouth as if that dreadful day in Vienna was only yesterday and she hurried her friends away.