Record of Blood

by Sabrina Flynn

  “Touché.”

  “I had planned on questioning him when you returned, or maybe I was hoping for a supporting arm—some ‘strength in union.’”

  “Then we might as well get it over with.” She set her glass down, and started to stand.

  “Before we go, I talked with Alex Kingston today.”

  Isobel froze, then sat back down.

  “He hired the agency to investigate Lee Walker on behalf of his client Claiborne. Demanded, more like. He wouldn’t settle for anyone but me.”

  “Ever the blunt object—that’s my poor widowed husband.” Isobel tried not to think of the blustering, bully of a man. A long drink did nothing to help. “What are you going to do? Divulge what you already know, or keep it to yourself?”

  Riot ran a hand over his beard in thought. “I’m not sure, Bel. It’s been on my mind, though. I’m hoping the inquiries that Tim sent east will turn up something decisive. On one hand, it would put me in good with Kingston, and on the other hand… it might rob a girl of her only kin.”

  “Depending on the jury, Walker might only serve two years for attempted fraud, or none at all if they’re sympathetic.”

  “It’s his collectors that I’m worried about,” Riot admitted. “There wasn’t near enough money in his bank account to pay off his debts. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he owed far more to unscrupulous parties.”

  “Parties of the dangerous sort?”

  “Danger and money usually go hand in hand.”

  “And if he’s only penniless?” she asked.

  The edge of Riot’s lip raised in a wry smile. “I’m hardly one to judge.”

  “I won’t argue that,” she said with a laugh. “A harmless con for an uncle who preys on filthy rich silver barons is spades better than a house with a prostitute, a deranged leprechaun, a cross-dressing non-lodger, and a gambler turned detective.”

  “Far from a proper environment for a young lady,” he agreed, setting his drink aside.

  “Yes, well, proper environments are also boring.”

  “Speaking of proper…” He stood, and retrieved his tie and collar. As he set about putting himself back in order (not that she minded), she debated whether to tell him about her foolish visit to Park’s Place. Jim Parks had been unnerving, to say the least.

  “I noticed that you changed the subject when I asked if you’d eaten,” Riot said from across the room. He was standing in front of the mirror, tying his tie, and he caught her eye in the mirror’s reflection.

  Isobel sighed, and drifted closer. “I think your knack for mind reading would be far more useful to a gambler than a good memory.”

  Riot arched an eyebrow, waiting.

  She took a breath, and dove in. “After I spoke with my Scotsman, I stopped by Park’s Place.”

  His fingers stilled on his tie, and he turned. Before he let the thing unravel, she stepped forward, and deftly finished the knot to buy herself some time.

  “He saw right through my male guise,” she said. Riot tensed, and worry and fear flashed in his eyes. “It wasn’t until the end of our conversation that he addressed me as miss,” she explained. “I wasn’t threatened, but it was unnerving. The thing of it was, there was a bagua hanging above the entrance, but the mirror was facing the wall instead of the room. When I asked him about it, he told me it had been a gift from his wife.”

  Riot considered her words. “I never asked where she got that thing. I assumed she bought it in Chinatown.”

  “More than likely, but it struck me as odd,” she said. “Parks is certainly uneasy about his ghosts.” Now that she’d said it aloud, she felt foolish. And Riot seemed to sense her thoughts.

  “He likes to toy with people. He was likely doing the same with you.”

  “Are you sure he was released in March of ninety-seven?” she asked.

  “By that time I was halfway to England.”

  “Could he have been released early?”

  “Meekins and Payne might know,” he said. “Abigail may have given it to him before he tried to kill her. Even after the knife attack, for whatever reason, she still loved him.”

  Isobel tried to imagine loving a man who had put a knife through her belly. She could not.

  43

  A Good Cause

  Sao Jin gazed into the night. She eyed the long pipe that Faan Tung had climbed, before disappearing into Din Gau’s window. As much as she hated to admit it, the woman was different—strange for a white woman. But she did not know what to make of the man. He was dangerous. And kind. It made no sense to her.

  It did not matter. Faan Tung had given her ideas.

  A large shadow walked slowly through the yard—a guard. This one had sharp eyes. The grocer’s door opened, and light filled the yard, illuminating the guard and two other figures—the man and woman. Faan Tung was dressed as a woman again. So strange. They walked across the yard and stopped to talk with the guard.

  Jin crept forward, darting from under the bushes to the barn, edging along until she came to the corner. She held her breath and listened.

  “I knew Parks in prison,” the big man was saying. “He tried to provoke me.”

  “What did he do?” asked Riot.

  The big man scratched his nose. “I don’t want to say in front of the lady.”

  “I’ve heard it all before,” said Isobel.

  Meekins looked to Riot for confirmation, and when he nodded, the man continued. “He started a rumor that me and Payne were… a bit closer than cell mates. The other prisoners, and even some guards, started calling us impolite terms.”

  “Stick and stones may break my bones, but words stab to the heart?” Riot asked.

  “They do, but that wasn’t so bad,” Meekins said. “He started messing with my books, though I couldn’t prove a thing. Ripping out pages…”

  Isobel made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl.

  “…and I even found one in the latrine.”

  “But you weren’t provoked?”

  “No, sir,” Meekins said proudly. “Parks was always doing things like that to others, too. It’s what finally got him put in solitary.”

  “Do you know when he was released?”

  Meekins shrugged. “March 1897, is what I heard. He’d boast to us all how he only got two years for slashing his woman good. But I can ask Payne, he was mates with some guards. I mostly kept to my books.”

  Departing words were exchanged, and the man and woman disappeared into the carriage house. Before the guard could regain his night vision, Jin darted across the yard on silent feet. She dove under a bush, and slithered to the side of the house. Crawling on her belly, she skirted the foundation until she came to a long rectangular window that was at ground level.

  The window was open, the light was on, but the room was empty. When Tobias and Sarah had shown her to the bath, the boy had given them a tour of the house, including his own room.

  “Your room stinks,” Sarah had said, with a wrinkled nose. The two had fallen into arguing, and Jin had hopped onto the bed and opened the window.

  “Problem solved,” she’d said.

  She was happy to see that Tobias had either taken Sarah’s suggestion to heart, or simply forgotten about his window.

  Jin pushed her small bag through the window, and slithered in after. Gravity pulled her down, and she hooked her feet on the sides of the window frame. For a moment, she dangled headfirst over his narrow bed, and then unhooked her feet, and fell. At the last moment, she tucked her body, hit the mattress, and rolled off, landing on her feet.

  If Faan Tung could be a man, then so could she. Jin moved over to Tobias’ chest, and opened it, pulling out trousers, shirt, and coat. She quickly slipped into the boy’s clothes, and tucked her braid under a floppy cap. His boots did not fit her feet, but his trousers mostly covered her slippers. And no one ever looked at a child’s shoes.

  Jin stole his lock picks for a second time, and added them to her bag filled with muffins, scones, an
d a clasp knife she had taken from the old man’s workshop.

  Hurried foot thuds came down the hall. Her heart leapt. She quickly stuffed her own clothes inside the bag, and stood on her tippy toes to shove it back through the window.

  “Tobias White, I’ll tell Ma!” Maddie’s voice pierced the walls. The rapid pounding grew louder, and Jin jumped, catching the edge of the window. Using the wall, she pulled, and scrambled her way up. Her belly touched the dirt that butted up against the window, and she kicked her feet, as she clawed at the ground.

  A hand latched around her ankle. “Thief!” Tobias screeched. “Maddie! Ma—”

  Jin kicked out. Her foot connected with something, and the boy cursed. Both hands latched around her foot, and he braced against the wall, yanking her back hard. She fell on top of him. Both children jumped up, ready to fight.

  “You’re lucky I’m a gentleman, or I’d punch you back.” Blood poured from his nose. Heavier footsteps hurried down the hallway, and Jin became frantic. Desperate, she grabbed the boy’s collar and hissed, “Keep quiet and I’ll let you come.”

  Before he could speak, she scrambled under his bed, and pressed herself against the far wall.

  “Tobias, what happened?” It was his mother’s voice.

  Silence answered, as a swish of skirts approached.

  “I tripped is all.”

  Jin bit her lip with relief.

  “Serves you right,” said Maddie. “You put a snake in my bed!”

  “Did not,” he said.

  “Did too,” Maddie insisted.

  From beneath the bed, Jin saw an array of feet. She recognized Sarah’s shoes, and at this distance could see the girl’s puzzled face. “It was just an itty bitty garter snake,” Sarah said.

  “Maybe she did it,” Tobias said, triumphant. “Always got to blame the negro.”

  Sarah’s mouth fell open.

  “Tobias White, I’ll have no such talk from you,” his mother said. Jin tensed. It was the kind of threat that usually was followed by a beating. But no such thing happened. “Did you put that snake in Maddie’s bed?”

  Tobias scuffed his boot on the polished wood. “No, Ma’am.”

  Miss Lily took a deep, patient breath. “Did you coax that snake into her bed?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “I’d get a strap, but God’s already punished you with that nose. Let me see that.” Tobias shuffled closer.

  “Ow, Ma!”

  “Well, it’s not broken,” Miss Lily said. “There’ll be no dessert for you, and you’ll stay in this room until morning. I want you to do your letters. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  The door closed, and Jin peeked from beneath the bed. Tobias glared down at her from behind a handkerchief.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  His face softened, and he sat on his bed. “Don’t know why I protected a thief.”

  “Because it is for a good cause.”

  He looked dubious.

  “I must go.”

  “Where to?” Tobias asked.

  “To help a friend in trouble.”

  Tobias frowned. “Mr. A.J. can help with that.”

  Jin shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.” She caught the window ledge again.

  “You said I could come,” he hissed.

  “Your mother said stay.” She pulled herself up, and slipped outside into the cool night. But before she’d got very far, she heard a faint rustling, and looked over her shoulder. Tobias was there, following in the dark.

  “I’m coming,” he hissed.

  With a sigh, Jin checked for the guard, and darted back across the yard, to the far corner. Her unwanted companion followed, but when she reached the fort, another stood in the dark. Sarah Byrne crossed her arms.

  Jin skidded to a stop. Eyes wide. “Bai!” she hissed.

  “I saw you under that bed,” Sarah said. “I knew something was happening. Where are you two off to?”

  “To find her friend,” Tobias answered before Jin could tell her to mind her own business. She shot the boy a glare.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to be out at night,” Sarah said.

  “It’s for a good cause,” said Tobias.

  Jin growled under her breath, and stalked over to the fence. Big dog or no, she intended to cross that other yard. She rested a log against the fence, and used it as a step to catch the top of the fence.

  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked, again.

  “You cannot come,” Jin whispered.

  “I traveled clear across the world on my own,” Sarah said defiantly. “And I’ll holler if you don’t tell me.”

  Jin glanced over her shoulder. “I will tell you when we get there.”

  44

  The Hatchet Man

  Every step felt like lead. His hand shook, and he gripped his stick like a lifeline.

  Click.

  The sound echoed between his ears. It sounded real. It felt real. As if he were on his back in the muck once again. He could feel his blood running over his skin. Could see the boy grin. And the ringing that followed was so loud it drowned him.

  Atticus Riot could still feel that bullet rattling around his head, slicing a path across his skull. And in his nightmares, he didn’t know what was real and what was simply terror. The lines were blurred, and that loss of control unnerved him—but not as much as walking up those stairs to Tim’s workshop.

  What would he do if Wong Kau told him who had really slaughtered Ravenwood? How would he feel knowing he had killed the wrong men?

  Thus far, Riot had avoided looking at the man—had pretended the highbinder wasn’t lying in the bed, or imagined he was simply dead. It was easier that way. But now he intended to talk with the face that haunted his nightmares. His waking hours, too. Memories exploded in his skull like a hammer hitting a primer.

  Riot stopped on the stairs, halfway to the top. He took reassurance in the cool metal and weight of his walking stick. In the months following his shooting, he had actually needed it to walk. And now it had become a mental crutch.

  “Did your knees give out on the stairs, Riot?” Isobel’s voice broke through his uneasy mind. She stood on the step below, waiting.

  “Old man that I am.” The words came out rough and shaky.

  Isobel stepped onto his own cramped stair, and placed a hand over his shaking one. There was strength in her grip. “Second thoughts?”

  “I’m only glad you’re here.”

  “Let’s face your demon, then.”

  He nodded, and the steps flew by, until he was standing outside the room. Tim leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at his recovering prisoner. He glanced over his shoulder as they approached. “Wise made me swear to keep an eye on you when you interviewed him.”

  “Was Ewan worried I’d string him up by his thumbs?” Riot asked. He kept his voice light and easy, though he felt far from it.

  “Probably wanted to give me something to do so I wouldn’t,” Tim grunted. “Anyhow, Kau is fed and watered.”

  Riot nodded, and stepped into the room. Tim and Isobel hung back, giving him space. A wave of disorientation hit him. It was disconcerting having their positions reversed, and his fear seemed a silly thing.

  The hatchet man sat upright, resting against a mound of pillows. His arm was in a sling, and his chest was heavily bandaged. Wong Kau looked straight at Riot, and he returned the stare. The cocky youth of three years before was all but gone, replaced by a grave man, who looked at him as warily as a wounded tiger.

  “You know my name, I believe,” Riot said. “But I’m not entirely sure of yours.” He was curious which name the man would use. And whether Jin had been telling the truth.

  “Wong Kau.” He was pale, and weak, but his voice was strong. “I do not regret shooting you, Din Gau. I would do it again. We are warriors. That is our way.” There was resignation rather than defiance in those words. “I will not apologize for that night, but I will beg for
your help now.”

  Riot frowned, wondering if he had heard that right. He felt rather than heard Isobel’s frustration. To stall for time, he translated. Hearing the words in English cemented them in his mind.

  “Why would you need my help?” he asked.

  Kau looked like he might be ill. Steeling himself, he raised his chin, and explained, “Four months ago, Sing Chung Lee, leader of Hip Yee, arranged a celebration in honor of his new acquisition—a beautiful new concubine from China. All of Hip Yee were invited. She was as beautiful as he boasted.

  “I admired her with the other men, at first. But whereas they looked away, I could not take my eyes from her. And when I left, I kept seeing her eyes, and the way she moved. It was like a dream; she became my obsession.

  “At first I thought it was because of her beauty and poise, and me, a man, but there was something more—as if we were connected. I began to think of excuses to visit Sing Chung Lee’s home, and one day I realized the truth. His concubine was my little sister, Mei, grown into a woman. I ask… No, I will beg, that you find her and rescue her, or permit me to go free so I can try to save her again.”

  Riot translated, but the irony was too much for Isobel. She snorted, and he didn’t blame her one bit.

  Wong Kau narrowed his eyes at her. “Fate is laughing at me, too.” His gaze dropped, his voice lowered. “How many girls, how many daughters and sisters, have I forced into a life of shame? But this is my sister, my blood.”

  “Funny how things suddenly matter when it’s your own kin,” Riot said.

  “I cannot change the past,” Kau said. The words struck Riot; he had thought the very same thing on more than one occasion. But he was wary. Hatchet men were cunning, and Kau was in a severely compromised position.

  “It was my responsibility to bring honor and money to my family, but when I arrived in the Gold Mountain, I found desperate men, back-breaking work, and a hateful city. But in Hip Yee, I found brothers.”

  “At the cost of innocent lives,” Riot bit out.

  “Now I regret it—now that my sister has been abducted from China and sold into slavery,” Kau said. “When I realized all this, I vowed to save her, even knowing that it is certain death.” The strength in his voice had fled. He looked defeated, and exhausted.