by C K Gold
He turned off all the lamps and sprawled out on the bed on his side. He never slept that way; he’d always slept on his back, ready to spring up at a moment’s notice.
Someone tapped at his door. Fang couldn’t suppress the irritated hiss this elicited. He padded up, silent but for the click of claws on tile, and cracked the door. He could see almost entirely clearly under the moonlight now. The cat eyes, he thought.
Goat was on the other side. He smelled a little sour. Uneasy, maybe.
“What is it?” Fang rumbled, conscious of his newly sibilant voice.
“I, uh, Red Hand told me to take your measurements?” Goat said, words pitching sharply upward. Neither he nor the other brothers had gotten a look at Fang, but the bodyguards had probably let something slip.
Fang slapped the door open. “Get in,” he growled, and stalked over to relight a lamp. It took several tries, but Goat wisely said nothing, trapped in the dark as he was with one of his superiors.
The kid clapped a hand over his mouth when the lantern wick caught. Fang waited for him to finish hyperventilating, rage mounting all the while. He wanted to tear everything apart. Suddenly, crushing someone’s head like a melon was the most satisfying thing he could think of.
“Did those wretched monks dream of murder all day or what?” he muttered.
“Sorry?” Goat squeaked.
“Did your balls not drop, kid? Take the measurements and get the hell out of my sight! You can tell all your brothers there’s a cursed beast lairing in these rooms now. Just let ‘em all know, because I can’t even set foot out of here until I’m back to normal.”
“Wh-what should I tell Birch?”
Fang paused, blinking all three eyelids. The effect made him and Goat both shudder. “Just whatever,” Fang said finally. “The stupid rock worked. He was right. Now I’m stuck like this.”
Chapter 9
A day after the news got out, Big Wei announced his return by throwing open the door to his old suite. Fang wasn’t sure what shocked Big Wei more: the monster in his sitting room, or the radical change in styles from rundown opulence to cushions piled up on the floor and almost no furniture to sit on.
Fang issued a long, drawn-out hiss by way of greeting. It sounded even more threatening than he’d imagined. “Showing your face again, ssstranger?” he said, and carefully put down the book he’d been paging through to climb slowly to his feet.
Big Wei smelled less confident about being on his home turf now that he faced a monster easily a hand taller than him. Fang would’ve smiled if he could’ve. But Big Wei handled uncertainty the same way many of their brothers did: by turning violent. He whipped out the sword at his hip and thrust it at Fang’s chest.
Curious and filled with hatred, Fang didn’t try to dodge. He’d had no problem crushing a blade in his hand. It hadn’t even stung. The point of Big Wei’s sword skidded over scaled muscle, slipping into the dip of Fang’s chest before it found purchase. Even with all of Big Wei’s considerable strength behind it, all he managed was a shallow cut.
Fang flicked blood off his chest. They watched it burn away in the air, and then Fang grabbed the sword and pulled Big Wei in close. “What a way to greet your new elder brother,” he said, then backhanded Big Wei.
The careless swat sent him to the floor. Fang tossed the sword away and looked down, bitterly amused. Last time, Fang had been the outmatched one, nearly undone by Big Wei’s excellent swordsmanship and well-timed ambush. This time, the same tactics found Big Wei wanting.
“What sorcery is this?” Big Wei asked, and spat blood on the cover of Fang’s book. The swordsman braced himself against the wall, clearly badly affected by the mere slap.
“Ask our father,” Fang replied. He bent to pick up the book Big Wei had spat on.
That proved to be a mistake. Big Wei hadn’t finished; he’d merely decided to take a short breather. He grabbed Fang’s head and twisted, straining to break his neck.
Fang’s stubby horns weren’t anywhere near enough to gore a man. Horns, claws, and fangs weren’t where this body’s advantage laid. Strength beyond the might of man or beast was the dragon’s blessing. With his feet under him, he charged forward, driving Big Wei back with unbelievable force. They hurtled through the wooden railing and landed in the dusty yard below with a wet crunch. Fang was the only one who rose, unharmed by the fall.
Big Wei was still, not breathing despite his open eyes. Men scattered, staring at the monster among them. Fang turned slowly around, fixing his eyes on all the brothers whose names he knew, who now looked at him like something unfathomable risen straight from hell. Smoke curled from his mouth, tasting of ash and rage. The brothers edged away, retreating from him. The poor bastards who’d attacked Red Hand had possessed more dignity in the end than the Four Winds did.
Slow clapping broke the silent stalemate. Two Coins Ranu, followed by his favored guards, walked out. Behind them was Jun, arms crossed and brows knit.
“Plan on cleaning up the rest of us the same way?” Ranu asked.
Fang noted the breastplate Ranu’d buckled on, as if that was enough protection to save him if Fang did decide to break his neck.
“An accident,” Fang said. He glanced down at Big Wei’s almost assuredly dead body. “I suppose he hadn’t heard the news. He tried to break my neck before I could explain.”
“So you broke his first. Don’t know your own strength? Is that the story we’re going with?” Ranu tutted. “If this is what we can expect, watch your back, Fang. Every monster has its weak point.”
Jun said nothing. His piercing, one-eyed gaze was enough to make Fang look away. Of all of them, he was the only one Fang felt anything like respect for. If killing Big Wei earned Jun’s enmity, then Fang did have reason to be afraid.
Red Hand walked out alone. He took in the scene with a slight smirk. “They told me Big Wei had arrived,” he said. “They didn’t tell me he’d already left. What a sorry example of a son. Doesn’t even greet his father when he comes to his house.”
“Do you really think we should leave him in charge of the new franchise?” Ranu asked. “I hate to question your decisions, but giving such responsibility to someone capable of this much destruction by mere accident seems hasty. And to wait so long before putting someone in command over there… We’ll lose our hard-won advantage.”
For once, Fang felt a spark of something like gratitude toward Ranu. “Father, I must respectfully agree with Brother Ranu. He would be a much better choice for the new house. I feel I must also make atonement for killing one of my brothers in your house. Even if we’re not bound by blood, I feel anything less would cause him to haunt this place instead of moving on.”
Ranu grunted, taken aback by Fang’s unexpected agreement.
But Red Hand shook his head. “It’s been decided. Return to your rooms. One of you, take care of this mess.” He stalked off, leaving his three remaining godsons to exchange looks.
None of them had any love lost for Big Wei. Their late brother had owned an unending appetite for trouble. He’d broken their unspoken truce first by being the first to draw blood in his previous attack on Fang. Yet Fang was now the one with blood on his hands, and their gang was down an effective, if unreliable lieutenant.
There was nothing Fang could do. He wasn’t actually sorry; his regrets had rung hollow. Even if he hadn’t wanted to kill Big Wei, he didn’t exactly feel bad about it. Big Wei had been a walking nightmare, the kind of man who happily sold his old companions out to slavers and hatchet men. No one would miss him.
Fang retreated to his room. The bloody spittle had already soaked into the book cover. Fang held the book, contemplating throwing it, but in the end put it down. It would dry eventually and fade into just another stain.
⁂
Days passed and Fang only left his room rarely. He didn’t feel hunger or thirst. He didn’t even tire, though he spent most of his time inside in a state much like sleep. He was terminally bored. Goat had brought him alm
ost everything he could find to read, and had even volunteered to steal a phonograph. Fang regretfully declined, mainly on the basis that Goat would probably be caught in the act and lose one or both hands.
Fang’s new clothes fit awkwardly, too tight in the legs and too loose at the waist. The tunics were a struggle to even get over his head, so he’d given up and gone for the robes, which, while tight in the shoulders, at least did a game job of concealing his tail. Goat reassured him that he looked pretty fearsome, but Fang mostly felt ridiculous and angry.
He certainly couldn’t be mistaken for an ordinary man no matter what clothes Red Hand dressed him in. But he already had the solution for going out to get a little air.
Goat helped him shrug into the long, dark cloak. Fang drew the hood up and gave his best leer, eliciting a shaky laugh from Goat. A long enough look or good lighting would betray Fang right away, but for a little time out in the streets, it shouldn’t matter.
Goat had brought him a message back from Birch that said nothing more than “bear with it.” Fang couldn’t see how. It was too easy for him to say when he wasn’t the one stuck like this.
Fang waited until dark. Brothers watched the gates, but Fang found it easy to climb the wall and escape. He kept to the shadows, easy enough when most of Dockside had little lighting. The streets were quiet of late. No one wanted to be caught up in the grudge between the Four Winds and the Moon Knives. Even the Rootless Society had gone quiet. Fang hadn’t told Red Hand that the man in the lead was the same as the one who’d attacked Ranu’s hall with the Society fighters. His first instinct was that Birch or one of his companions had sent the men disguised as Knives. But what if, in fact, it was the other way around, and the Knives had done their best to make the attack look like it had come from the Society?
It made Fang’s head pound to think about.
He slowed when he reached the last of the shadows near Abalone’s Tea House. Beyond his dark corner, light spilled out from the windows and doors. Here, at least, Dockside’s raucous nightlife still clung to life. Maybe there weren’t as many guests, but at least some people hadn’t shut down from fear. Fang squatted in the alley and rested his head against the wall. There wasn’t much he could do besides breathe the night air and then slip back into the compound.
Approaching footsteps caught his ear. Fang shrank back into the alley behind Abalone’s and waited for the walker to pass. Whoever was coming through was brave to go out alone.
The person turned into the alley. In the faint starlight, Fang could make out the shape of a man. He stepped back, slow and steady, willing the soft scuffs of his own movements to go unheard. What business does this bastard have back here? But the wind changed, bringing with it a familiar scent — Birch. Fang’s heart thundered.
“I know you’re back here,” Birch said.
He had to be blind back here, Fang realized. Birch was just taking it on faith. “How did you know I was here?” Fang asked, doing his best to disguise the change in his voice.
“Goat said you might be. It seemed logical enough. Orchid says hello, by the way. She’s curious about what sort of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into this time. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s spying on you right now.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” Fang clenched his fist and released it. Punching a wall solved nothing.
“I already saw you after that first night,” Birch said. “Goat said you’re not supposed to leave the compound. It’s hard to sneak into your place. How’d you get out? No, don’t tell me.” He approached Fang slowly.
Fang stepped back again, ill at ease. If Birch touched this body, that only made it more real, more permanent. But Birch caught Fang’s sleeve and pulled him in for a soft kiss, more on his nose than his mouth. He had a second to enjoy the touch of someone he cared about before the skin of his face cracked, burning from that point of contact and spreading into lines that opened up as though someone drew a razor through his flesh.
He jerked away, as much from pain as from not wanting to see what would happen to Birch if he got Fang’s burning blood on him. He couldn’t suppress the hiss of pain as the lines worked their way across his body, spreading like cracks in broken glass.
“What is this? Why is this happening?” Fang’s voice cracked as fear and frustration choked him.
Birch reached for Fang but stopped himself. A man didn’t need a dog’s nose to smell something burning. Why, gods? You take away my body, my manhood, and now I can’t even bear a touch? The cruelest part was that nothing of the sort had happened while fighting the warehouse assassins or when Red Hand had insisted on poking and prodding him. Am I cursed to never touch your hand again?
“We’ll fix this,” Birch said. “If you can’t get out of it on your own, leave it to me.”
Fang snarled. “And what can a bunch of orphans do about this?” He shook himself, casting cinders against the stone walls and dirt path. His cloak likely already had holes singed through it. Well, it didn’t need to look good, it only needed to make his unique shape a bit less obvious in the dark.
“I’ve got faith in you. Have the same in me. We won’t abandon you,” Birch promised. “I think for now, though, that you should head back. It’s risky to be out here like this.”
“Where anyone might sneak into my alley,” Fang agreed. The pain ebbed to something more bearable, like an old burn instead of standing in fire. “Be careful. Two Coin’s on the warpath now. He’s not happy about his recent losses, and he has to save face with the boss. Don’t get any more involved if you don’t have to.”
Birch gave him a curious look, but shook his head. “We’ll be fine. More importantly, I love you. That hasn’t changed. Watch yourself back there. I’m sure the boss has plans for you.” He hesitated a beat but left.
Fang took a different route back to the compound and climbed the wall again. But when he made it back to his rooms, he found Red Hand waiting for him.
“Did I not tell you to stay here?” the old man said. He fumed as he paced, kicking aside anything foolish enough to have been placed in his path.
Fang watched Red Hand systematically wreck his room with narrowed eyes. It would be simple enough to snap his neck and be done with it. Wasn’t that what Birch had wanted all along? Fang had thought Red Hand would be motivated to find a way to turn Fang back, if only so that Red Hand could claim the stone’s power for himself. But that didn’t seem to be in the cards. Red Hand had been infected by the idea of dynasty, and leaving a dragon to rule in his stead made a far greater statement than risking being an old and withered lizard himself.
“Say something!”
“Yes, father,” Fang replied dutifully. “You warned me to stay here to avoid a panic. That’s why I went out at dark, with this.” He dropped the cloak on a side table.
“What the hell happened to you?” Red Hand asked. He eyed the black lines where Fang’s hide had split and still smoldered.
Fang approximated a shrug. “A bit of moonlight, maybe.” It wasn’t much of an explanation, but neither was his body splitting apart from Birch’s lightest touch.
Red Hand spat a curse. “You’re not to leave until I say so,” he said at last. “You’ll be under guard day and night. If you try to go without my permission again, I will have you stuffed and mounted as a curiosity for children.”
Without eyebrows, Fang couldn’t betray himself with an expression that said he’d like to watch Red Hand try. “As you sssay,” he managed.
“Well, get out of the way!” Red Hand cut the air between them and Fang stepped aside, granting him more room to get through the door. The old man didn’t want to touch him any more than Fang wanted to be touched.
After Red Hand had gone, Fang kicked the cushions back into a pile and lay among them. They sizzled where fabric contacted broken flesh, but Fang had grown used to burned smells. He lay in the dark and stared through the door. Red Hand was a man of his word. Two brothers waited outside Fang’s door, nervously murmuring to
each other about their assignment.
As the night wore on and Fang failed to burst out and eat them, the brothers’ unease waned and they spoke of the plans being laid without Fang around. The old man had subordinates out on the street grabbing anyone who looked able-bodied and wouldn’t be missed. Ten Gates was starved for laborers; many had died during the siege and sack. Demand there was high for anything from the cheapest muscle to men with actual skills.
Fang dug his claws into the wooden floor to vent his rage, silently piercing the slats. He had to hear the rest. The men didn’t hear the soft sounds of claws in wood, and continued trading gossip.
There were more juniors now. Red Hand had ordered an increase in recruitment, which came with a certain loosening of standards. Taking control of Ten Gates required more manpower than they could safely commit, now that they were stuck in a war with the Knives. Fang bore an increasing amount of blame for that, though he had only acted on Red Hand’s orders. That part was conveniently forgotten. The older men feared an influx of spies from other gangs, allies and enemies alike. No organization would turn down the chance to plant extra eyes and ears within their competitors.
Fang gaped and issued a silent laugh. Spies indeed.
⁂
Fang spent days in fruitless research, tugging every last string in his network of crooks and madmen. The night of the new moon neared and he was no closer to reaching a cure. He’d ordered priests and seers brought in, doctors and sages, even crackpots and radicals. Anyone his followers could drag, threaten, or entice through the Four Winds’ gates, he saw. No one knew what to make of his condition. They knew no more about the stone than Red Hand did, and if Red Hand knew anything else, he certainly wasn’t talking.
He’d given up on practicing. Everyone was unnerved by his presence, and no one was willing to chance sparring with him, lest they wind up like Big Wei. Instead, he’d taken up meditation.