“I mean anything of import,” Isobel said.
“Men talking money. Men talking women. Men talking horses. Smoking, and drinking, and shooting balls around a table. All they ever do.”
“Some men are more civilized,” Isobel said.
“A shallow pool has many appearances.”
“Then what were these men reflecting? What business? What horses?” she pressed.
“I heard many names,” Jin said.
“Do you remember any of them?”
“I remember everything,” Jin hissed.
She felt Riot’s fingers brush her elbow. A gentle reminder to tread carefully. This was about the time he should take over, before she lost patience and said something that would make Jin shut up like a clam. She glanced at him, giving him his cue.
“Jin, we’re trying to help you,” he said calmly. “The couple who took you from this mission—they used the law against you. Now you have the chance to return the favor. The more we know, the more likely we can use the same law against the men in that brick building.”
The words oiled the gears in her calculating eyes. But whereas Isobel simply moved pieces around a board, Sao Jin had a fire lit in her eyes that Isobel found disturbing in one so young.
“Do you want me to tell everything now?”
“Can you write?” Riot asked.
“Not Chinese,” Jin said. “It is very hard, but English is simple. I learned ABCs very fast.”
“We’ll get you some paper, and while you sit with Mei, you both can write down every name, every place, every conversation you can remember. Will you do that?” Riot asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Mei looked to the trio of English speakers in confusion and frustration. Riot quickly translated the gist of their conversation, and Mei glanced at her young, angry friend. She said something, and from the way Riot tensed, Isobel knew it was of import. It was her turn to wait while an incomprehensible conversation flowed around her.
When they fell silent, Riot shifted, considering what he had heard. “Mei reminded Jin that she had seen someone in the Forbidden Palace—a white man with a trim beard like mine, except blond, and longish hair. He was straight as a board, and very precise. Jin heard him referred to as Si Fu—the Master. He seemed to be the owner of the establishment.”
“A white man owns that place?”
“I doubt his name is on anything official.”
“I doubt his name is the Master,” she said. “Although maybe he’s named himself, too.”
“Far more pretentious than mine.”
“Only a pinch, Riot.” Mention of yesterday and last night distracted him for a moment, and the way he looked at her made her heart gallop with the same memories.
She cleared her throat. “Was there, uhm, anything else?” She felt suddenly breathless.
His eyes turned hard along with his voice. “When the Madam saw that Jin had seen him, she flew into a rage, and beat her.”
Emotion turned sour in Isobel’s throat. “Maybe Kau knows something more.”
“Maybe.” He sounded doubtful.
Another question to add to her growing list. Isobel felt like a fly trapped in a web that was ever expanding, and now she was waiting for the spider to make an appearance.
“I will start now,” Jin said. “How much paper do you have?”
52
The Soothing Sea
Sunday, March 11, 1900
Atticus Riot helped Mei down the plank, and lifted her into the cutter. She could walk with help. Barely. But every day her brother spent in San Francisco put him at risk. The time was now, or never.
Mei leaned heavily against Riot’s arm, and let her gaze travel over the bay. She closed her eyes, feeling the ocean air against her cheeks. Color had returned to her, and Isobel was struck by the woman’s beauty. Despite everything that had happened to her, she glowed from within.
“Your brother is in the cabin,” Riot said to her. “Are you sure you want to see him?”
“I do.”
As Isobel scurried back and forth along her cutter preparing to set sail, Mei inhaled the scent of freedom “My father and mother lived by the sea,” Mei said. “You will love it when we are back in China, Jin. When we return to my village by the sea.”
Jin crossed her arms. She sat in the cockpit, looking stubborn and angry, watching Isobel out of the corner of her eye.
Isobel surveyed the bay. It was early morning, and the sky was strangely clear. The sea was as flat as glass near the wharf. But farther out the water rippled from the constant breeze that blew in through the narrow Golden Gate.
A flood tide pushed the fenders against the wharf, and the harbor was packed full with boats. There’d be no sailing from dock.
“Jin, can you untie that dinghy?” she asked as she walked to the bow with a long line. The girl did not move. “If you can’t,” she called over her shoulder, “I understand. It’s not easy, and you don’t know a thing about sailing.”
Isobel could feel the dark-eyed glare burn into her back, and then soft footsteps vibrated her deck. Isobel smiled to herself, as she started flaking the line down the deck. When Jin had freed the dinghy, Isobel tied one end of the line to a bow cleat, and walked to the stern. Gathering the kedge anchor and its rode, she carried it back, and secured the other end of the line to the anchor rode with a sheet bend.
“Now comes the hard part,” Isobel said, lightly. “How much can you lift?”
“Anything you can,” Jin said.
“Good. Hold this.” She handed the anchor to the girl, who staggered under the thirty pound weight.
Isobel quickly directed her to the rail, and helped her rest the anchor there. Having nearly dropped it, Jin tensed, as if expecting a blow, but Isobel quickly wrapped the line around a pin, and took it from her hands, and carefully lowered the anchor, letting it dangle off the bow.
“Wait here,” Isobel said easily. She lowered the dinghy into the water, and climbed overboard. Picking up the oars, she rowed forward, and grabbed the kedge anchor. “Unwind that warp.”
Jin looked puzzled.
“The line…erm, the rope around the pin,” Isobel explained.
Jin did as she was told, and Isobel placed the anchor in the dinghy. “Do you want to come?”
Instead of answering, Jin climbed over the rail before she could stop her. Isobel quickly grabbed her around the waist, and sat her down. “Don’t get your feet tangled in the warp.”
She took up the oars, and started to row, and Jin watched, as the line attached to the cutter’s bow cleat slithered after them in the water.
“What are you doing?” Jin finally asked.
“There’s no wind, no room, and the tide is coming in, knocking the Lady against the wharf. This is called kedging. We’ll go out a good distance, drop the kedge anchor, and then go back to the Lady, and haul her out to deeper waters.”
“It is a lot of work,” Jin said. “Why don’t you take the ferry?”
“We figured Mei would like to spend some time with her brother. It might be the last time they see each other.” She did not add that the ferries were likely being watched, and that hatchet men with guns were searching for Wong Kau.
Jin wrinkled her nose. “I do not want anything to do with a highbinder. I should have let him die. I do not care what Mei says, they are bad men.” Her fingers kept plucking at her sleeve, fraying the threads. Jin always wore long ones, and Isobel wondered what those sleeves hid.
“But you didn’t.”
“Mei asked me to watch him, so I did.”
“And that was good of you,” Isobel said. “Mei seems happy.”
“Yes.”
“How do you like the mission?”
“I hate it.”
“It’s a home,” Isobel said.
“It is a cage.” Jin scowled, defying her to argue, but then she softened. “Mei is there, though.”
“I don’t much care for walls, either,” Is
obel admitted. “That’s why I love sailing.”
“Will you teach me?” It was the first hint of hope, the first stirring of interest Isobel had glimpsed in the girl. Her eyes were fixed on the anchor, though. As if that flutter of hope pained her too much.
“If you want, but you might not like it.”
Jin looked up, eyes widening in surprise. “I will like it.”
“You might get sick.”
“I will not.” The words weren’t defiant, but full of conviction. That, too, gave Isobel hope.
“There’s something I should warn you about though.”
“What is that?”
“It’s about the sea.”
Jin waited.
“Even a rotten egg can hatch out here.”
The girl cocked her head, and cast her gaze towards Angel Island, to the seagulls circling the fishing trawlers. Jin pressed her lips together, and scraped her palm across her eyes. She said nothing more.
In the hours that followed, Jin took in everything. Eager to help and learn, and haul double her weight in work. When the sails were full, and the water rushed steadily around the hull, Isobel let her take the tiller while she made adjustments to the jib sail. The girl kept her steady, as if born to the sea.
The trip across the bay was pleasant, and peaceful. Kau and Mei emerged, and sat on the cabin trunk and talked. She smiled often, and her laughter bounced across the waters.
And during that time, Riot opened the basket that Miss Lily had prepared earlier. Isobel smiled at him as he handed her a plate of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit.
“I could get used to a galley cook,” she said when he produced a bottle of red wine.
“I do a fair job of lighting fires, too.”
Isobel looked into his eyes. “You certainly do.”
Riot popped the cork, and sat beside her. Isobel basked in his company, and Jin kept the Lady steady while they ate. The girl’s hands seemed to be glued to the wood, and no matter how they tried, she would not be persuaded to let go long enough to eat, until Isobel showed her how to tie the tiller in place.
But the journey was bittersweet. When Isobel piloted her cutter into a nameless inlet near Vallejo, it was time for brother and sister to say their goodbyes. Kau handed his sister a small fortune, and left with a slight nod to Riot, who returned it just as stiffly.
Tears ran down Mei’s cheeks as Isobel pointed the Lady towards San Francisco. Riot gently coaxed the distraught girl below deck to rest.
“We made the lists,” Jin said. She had been completely silent for most of the afternoon, watching Mei with her brother. Isobel had not known what was going through her mind. She was a difficult one to read.
Jin reached into her padded jacket, and held out a bundle of folded papers. The stack was tied with twine. Isobel draped an arm over the tiller, and accepted the bundle.
Burning with curiosity, Isobel glanced towards the bow, saw a clear path, and asked Jin to hold her steady. When the girl had a firm grip on the handle, Isobel moved to the cover of the hatch, half perching on the companionway as she started to read the stack. The letters were deep and slanting, and tore through the pages in places.
“I wanted to be sure,” Jin said. It was clear as day that writing this down had not been easy for her. Her spelling could have used some work, but overall it was legible.
“I’m sure it will—” A name on the list caught her eye. She looked sharply at Jin. “This man, Lei Wok Air, what did you overhear about him?”
53
The Uncle
Monday, March 12, 1900
Cameron Fry left with a spring in his step, and a notebook clutched to his chest. An exclusive interview was reason for celebration. Sarah Byrne had turned her Southern charm on full, dazzling the young reporter. More importantly, she hadn’t mentioned a thing about her ordeal the week before. For that, Riot breathed easy. Almost.
“Sarah, can I speak with your uncle alone?” Riot asked.
Lee Walker had insisted on being present for the interview. He had put on a good performance as a concerned uncle, but Riot hadn’t bought any of it. And he still wasn’t buying it.
Sarah stood, and nodded. And as she walked out, Riot closed the doors on Tobias, who had eavesdropped on the entire interview.
Riot turned to find Walker studying the inkblots, biological drawings of animals, and human nervous and skeletal systems on the wall. Ravenwood had had an odd sense of decor, and Riot hadn’t bothered to have them taken down.
“I know Sarah isn’t keen on coming home with me today, but I assure you, Mr. Riot, she will be safe with me,” Walker said without turning to face him. His arm was still in a sling, and for some inexplicable reason, he walked with a cane now. A narrow bandage wound around his head, too.
“In fact,” Walker drawled, “she’ll live like a queen, and want for nothing.”
“If you win your case,” Riot said. “If you don’t, you’ll still be digging into your Levis.”
Walker turned from a pinned butterfly in a frame, and faced him. “I see you’ve been looking into my affairs.” His voice was hard.
“It’s a habit of mine,” Riot said easily.
“Every man falls on hard times once in a while.”
“But not every man falls into a gold mine twice.”
Walker’s hand tightened around his cane. “I don’t like your tone, Mr. Riot.”
“Of course you don’t. You prefer horse races, saloons, gambling halls, and whores.” Riot sat down in an armchair, and crossed his legs.
“I’m no different than any other man. And I don’t much like the idea of Sarah staying with you any longer. It’s clear as day from the bruises on your face that you ran into some rough trouble.”
“I fell,” Riot said dryly.
“I’ll take my leave, and I’ll take my niece.” Walker reached for the doors.
“You best stay, Mr. Walker.”
He spun. “And why is that?”
“I know about your accident in Chicago. You were hit by a rail car, and dislocated your shoulder. You sued the city for a hefty sum.”
Walker’s hand fell away from the door. “It was an unfortunate accident.”
“I don’t know about that. You were compensated well.”
“Bad luck turned good. And as before I hope to settle all my debts.”
“It never came out—during that trial—that you were an escape artist in the Ringling Circus.”
Walker licked his lips. “What do you want? Do you want a cut? Is that it?”
Riot shook his head. “I don’t care that you’re trying to get change from a silver baron. I do, however, care about Sarah’s welfare. I’m looking for information.”
“Information? I don’t follow.”
“Your name came up in another investigation of mine. In connection with a Mr. Parker Gray.”
Walker paled. He looked like a man with a gun to his head—the hammer cocked and ready, and Riot’s finger already squeezing the trigger.
“I don’t want to know any names. These aren’t the type of men you rat out.”
“I imagine not, but I’ve been hired by Claiborne’s attorney to investigate you. One word from me, and you won’t have a penny in your pocket to pay them. No more home, no more manservant—”
“Manservant?” There was genuine confusion in Walker’s eyes.
“The Chinese man who answered your door while you were in the hospital.”
“I don’t have any Chinese servants. I have a housekeeper who comes once a day, that’s it.”
“He was in your home. Maybe he was sent to collect, and you lucked out again.”
Walker shook his head. “I’m settled at the tracks.”
Riot cocked his head. “How so?”
“I had this fellow at the Palm—Freddy. He always had good advice, and never steered me wrong, but this last time… his banker turned out to be a dud. I wagered more than I had, and lost everything and then some. It was going to be my last bet—I swea
r. I wanted to set Sarah up real nice.”
Riot waited.
“I found two men waiting inside my house one night. They said if I wanted to clean my slate I had to do something for them. They knew about my past—knew about the settlement in Chicago—and they wanted me to do it again. With Mr. Claiborne.”
“Did they pick the property?”
Walker nodded.
“What did these men look like?”
“A big, pugilist-type fellow. Busted nose, big knuckles—and another fellow, black hair, a sculpted beard, and a cigar, but it wasn’t lit. He just chewed on it.”
“Have they contacted you since you pulled off the accident?”
He shook his head.
“Did they provide the attorney?”
“They gave me his card. It was his idea to leave Sarah waiting at the ferry building.”
A spineless, witless con man. And a lying one. “You’re not telling me the whole truth, Walker.”
“Why would I lie to you?”
“Because you’re scared witless.”
“They knew everything about me!” Walker hissed. “And they knew about Sarah.”
“So you were set up? How much of a cut do they get?”
“My debt at the tracks was canceled the moment I fell down that shaft,” Walker said. “And I get ten percent of what’s left after the attorney gets his retainer fee.”
“Why do you think they went to all that trouble for a settlement that might or might not be won?”
“I don’t know,” Walker said, desperate. “Like I said I didn’t ask questions.”
Riot considered the man, and he swallowed nervously under that unwavering gaze. “Here’s the thing, Walker. It only took a few telegrams to discover that you injured your shoulder in Chicago, and that you received a hefty settlement for it. Now at best, Kingston will play it off as a previous injury that you aggravated when you fell down his client’s cellar. At worst he’ll put two and two together, and dig into your past a bit more. My money is on the latter. Fraud will get you two years, but there’s a chance that Claiborne won’t want his name dragged through the papers anymore than it already has been. In fact, Kingston mentioned that very thing. If you drop the case, I doubt Claiborne will press charges.”
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