by C K Gold
As expected, Goat and some other followers did appear, occupying their own tables. They took up all the space by the door, an odd detail Fang was only too keenly aware of. While everyone else swam like fish through Fang’s wine, his men seemed to pace themselves and spill even more frequently. Goat was surely up to something. Whether he meant to help Fang, though, or had finally had a change of heart, Fang wasn’t sure. He could smell both fear and something else from that table, something he couldn’t really place.
Croaker had chosen good wine, at least. His brothers likely didn’t get to drink so well very frequently, or perhaps at all. Fang laughed his way through several games, fumbling tiles with his claws, which weren’t capable of such fine manipulations. His tablemates took shameless advantage of this, more than happy to separate their senior from his money.
The wine seemed likely to outlast the men. A few nodded off, and some even stumbled out. Fang allowed himself to slow down and clumsily drop tiles more often. He’d seen enough drunkenness and taken so many trips there himself that faking it wasn’t a challenge. When his tablemates listed too hard to grab more wine, Fang took it as a sign. Swaying and lurching in his best impression of a drunken dragon-man, he rose to fetch the wine. The special box shared a table with the liquor; if anyone had looked in it, well, a man’s habits were his habits, and they’d likely tried a sample. No one noticed as some of the powder made its way into the wine, and it blended in as Fang sloshed around, pouring all his still-awake brothers a new round.
The wine and opium worked their magic on those still awake. Even his men mostly drank, but as they weren’t nearly so drunk, they faded more slowly. He chanced his escape anyway.
“Brother,” Goat said, “what are you—”
Fang, crouched and almost out the window, hushed him. “I’ll be back. Keep the door blocked and say nothing.” He sprang out, landing on the top of the wall and bounding out into the dark.
It was hard to guess where Birch might be. Fang tried the alley behind Abalone’s Tea House again, but that had been only a faint hope from the beginning. Orchid must know. And Orchid was likely working that night. It was simply a matter of finding her.
Fang tested his claws on the wall. They fit into the mortar and found purchase there. With that much guaranteed, he scurried up the wall. His new body was oddly adept, though he had to make an awkward sight, if not a terrifying one. He sought Orchid by scent and sound, sure that he’d find her playing for someone.
Thus it came as a surprise when he smelled not Orchid, but Birch. How much time do you spend here, anyway? Better yet, he was alone. A sharp undercurrent of anxiety wafted through the shuttered window. Fang clawed it open and poked his head in.
Birch yelped in surprise, but mastered himself quickly when he recognized Fang.
“For the love of — just get in here,” Birch snapped.
Fang hissed from merriment and scuttled in. At least Abalone’s had properly sized windows, not like the slits over at the Pearl. He closed the shutters behind him just in case anyone saw his silhouette from the alley; unlikely, but a man could never be too certain.
“I thought you were being held prisoner,” Birch said. He plainly wanted to reach out, but kept his hands to himself, fingers interlaced on the table where Fang could see them.
Fang was still scarred from their last touch. Despite the memory of how much it had hurt, he badly wanted that closeness again. No one else had harmed him, not from incidental contact, nor the times Fang had fought in this body. Only Birch. It had to be a sign of sorts, but Fang didn’t want to consider it too deeply for fear of what he might conclude.
“I was. Am,” he amended. “The men are asleep, but my time is limited. I must act, but I need your help. He’s gone from…” Fang took a deep breath. “The gang has taken slaves for years, but now my men are also disappearing. I won’t be sent to Ten Gates. Killing the old man is easy enough. The hard part is that the rest of the gang must be torn apart so it can’t resurrect itself. The warehouses, the safe houses, everything has to go.”
“People will die,” Birch said, interrupting.
“That’s always how the story goes. I can tell you where everything is, everything you don’t already know. Then I have to go back and get ready.”
“Everything I don’t know?” Birch sat back, smug like a cat.
Fang took a deep breath and began reciting the list of locations he’d long ago committed to heart. Birch’s smugness melted away until finally he held up a hand.
“Stop, stop,” he said. “I need to write this down. There’s no way I can memorize all this. And it’s foolish for you to go back. You’ll be mobbed as soon as you set foot outside that trap of a room. They don’t have to kill you to stop you. I’m sure Red Hand is good enough at devising punishments worse than death, even for you. Come with me instead.”
A knot formed in Fang’s throat as his thoughts instantly returned to Goat, drowsing in Big Wei’s rooms and awaiting Fang’s return. His followers had put their trust in him — they’d placed themselves as an honor guard, against his suspicions. They hadn’t sounded the alarm when he’d left, though they certainly weren’t all drugged to sleep.
“Listen to me, Fang. We can’t half-ass this. Red Hand was right, in a way. This is a golden opportunity. Let me think for a minute. You just sit and cool off. You stink of wine, anyway.”
Just like that, Birch lapsed into silence. Fang couldn’t sit, though. Anticipation animated him. Finally he’d fully taken up the burden of his purpose, and he still had to wait. This time, the delay wasn’t entirely his choice. He wanted to return to the rooms, but if Birch was right… He was the better planner usually — or at least luck turned his way more often than it did Fang’s.
Time crawled past as it always did when something huge loomed on the horizon. Fang imagined his guards waking and the inevitable finger-pointing that would soon end in blood. Red Hand would be involved as soon as everyone figured out they couldn’t cover up a problem as big as Fang escaping. Red Hand would start by chopping off fingers. The truly unlucky would be tortured to death.
But that was Red Hand’s choice, not Fang’s. He hadn’t decided that failure merited death or maiming. The gang wasn’t a real family. It was an illusion that benefited only the very few. Fang was among them. And if he stayed much longer, that time would soon end.
“Here’s what we’ll do. You are going to leave the same way you came and wait in the alley. You didn’t bring that cloak, so Orchid will bring one to you. Then she’ll lead you to a safe place. Wait there. It won’t be long. Just do what she tells you. I’m going to arrange some help.”
Chapter 11
Orchid didn’t even blink at the new Fang. She merely threw the cowled cloak around him, murmuring glad curses at him like a mother to her wayward son. The cloak was too short and the hood too shallow, but Fang supposed it was better than nothing. Orchid must have thought as much herself, because she kept them to the alleys as much as she could.
“In here,” she said, and shoved aside a stack of crates in one such alley. Behind it was a heavy wooden door. It swung open at Fang’s touch. He had to shimmy in, as his dimensions didn’t quite allow even a dignified sideways entrance.
The interior was almost like the orphanage — mattresses, bolts of cloth hung as privacy curtains, clutters of furniture. She closed the door behind them and struck flint, then watched with naked curiosity as Fang’s eyes adjusted to the sudden illumination.
“What about the crates?” he asked, and turned away.
She gave herself a little shake. “Don’t worry about it. Someone else will be by. There’s another door on the other side. That’s just our little extra in case someone needs to be discreet.” Orchid guided him to one of the curtained-off areas, one with a solid enough stool for him to sit on comfortably, and then she drew the blanket around so no one would easily see him. “Wait here for a moment. Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine,” he said. He f
elt worn all of a sudden; not physical weariness, but a fatigue of the soul. The brothers would surely discover his absence soon, and then all hell would break loose at the Four Winds’ headquarters.
“I’ll be back,” she said. She didn’t seem to quite believe him, for when she returned, she brought a cold bun, not entirely unlike what they’d shared at his canal street apartment what seemed like ages ago now. She’d lit more lamps as well, preparing the space for more arrivals. The space had to be another one of the Rootless Society’s safe houses. Fang had never tried to discover them for fear that one day he’d be forced to surrender the knowledge.
He accepted the roll but didn’t eat. His fingers left small tears in the tender bread as he turned it over and over in his hands.
“What’s it like?” Orchid asked as she sat on the pallet on the floor.
“Shouldn’t you go back to Abalone’s?”
“This is more important. What happens tonight determines everything from now on,” she said. “You’re more important. We’ve been waiting a long time to take Red Hand down. Abalone’s was just a place to play a role. Now I can move on. It’ll be a relief, honestly – I hate playing hostess. You men are unbearable.”
Fang laughed at her sniff, then quieted, aware of how strange he sounded now. “You know… I regret that I failed to…” He groped after the words, then gave up on artfulness. He was no poet, after all. “I failed you. I wasn’t kind. I was…”
“Selfish?” she supplied. “That’s true. I was hurt, though I know you didn’t intend it. We never exchanged promises. It still stung. I mean, Birch over me? I think we all know who is lovelier, and it’s not the man who thinks farts are the best punchline, and that punches settle disagreements. Though you’re not much better yourself, so you’re well-suited for him.” She glanced at the lamp. Her eyes were a little wet, and he identified the faintly bitter smell of her now as sorrow, or something like it. “And he seems happier. When this ends, I think… I know, in fact, that you’ll have a bright future together.”
“But you—”
She held up a hand to forestall him. “I can take care of myself, as I have for years. And you two are hardly going to get far in this world without me.”
Fang would’ve smiled if he could’ve. “That’s true. Orchid sees all, hears all, and is feared by all.”
“Says the great hero. We should give you a title now,” she mused. “The great dragon hero.”
“That’s been done,” he said.
“It fits. Besides, old and simple sounds more legitimate.” She gripped one of his hands between her own small, pale hands. “I’m glad you’ve returned to us. I was afraid you’d die with them, and Birch — the idiot — was afraid they’d turn you.”
“It could’ve been both.” Fang sighed.
“Oh!” Orchid looked surprised at the curl of smoke. “Can you breathe fire?”
“No. Or maybe I don’t know how.” He pulled his hand away. “I don’t know much about this curse. Not how to break it, and not how to make the best use of it. I’d rather know the first, if I had a choice.”
She traced a line from his snout. “What are these cracks? They’re much warmer than your scales. They look painful.”
Fang couldn’t suppress a flinch, even though her touch hardly felt worse than the fissures themselves. “Something about Birch,” he said.
“Maybe true love breaks the curse?”
“If so, it hurts like hell.”
“Did it hurt when you changed?”
Fang paused, remembering. “Like hell,” he repeated.
“Did you ever think that being restored might also hurt? Maybe that’s exactly what you need,” Orchid said.
“If so, then it’ll have to wait until we’re done with the Four Winds. I was stabbed right before I changed. It’d be a hell of a thing to bleed to death as soon as I got my own body back.”
She patted his snout. “Well, being a dragon can’t be all bad. There are enough songs about dragons siring children on mortal women, I’m sure you can convince Birch to give it a shot.”
Fang drew back and regarded her with a mix of renewed respect and revulsion. He didn’t mention the key detail she couldn’t possibly know. “That’s disgusting. You sound like one of my brothers. They were talking about finding women who’d—”
Orchid laughed at him, but their conversation was cut short by voices from the other end of the floor. “They’re here. Wait for now. Birch will probably want to have his dramatic moment.” She rolled her eyes but smiled. Nevertheless, Fang could smell a fresh wave of fear from her.
Of course she’s afraid. She knows as well as I do that we’re starting a war. It didn’t matter if the fight only lasted one day. People would die, and no matter who was victorious, the dead would include men who’d stood by Fang and supported him for years. Victory would be a bitter consolation.
The Rootless Society poured into the safe house, more men and women than Fang had ever suspected by the growing number of voices. He couldn’t tell if Birch had arrived. The temptation to peek through the curtain was strong, but Fang resisted. Birch wouldn’t forgive Fang for ruining a good revelation.
The man’s voice rang out at last, stilling the crowd. There were too many sounds and scents to identify any individual besides that voice, faint though it was from all the way in the back. Fang imagined Birch telling the history of injustices, the list of grievances all here shared. No one in the Society had escaped harm by the Four Winds or by Red Hand. That thread of shared loss bound them all in leaden chains.
What will the Society look like once our vengeance is had? The deciding day was near at hand. They’d either avenge themselves or die trying. Failure was less glorious when it involved peasants dying. No matter how much Birch had drilled them, the Rootless Society was only a bunch of peasants; they were laborers and tradesmen, not soldiers. And my parents were clergy, not warriors, but that didn’t protect them. I was only a child, but I’m a damned dragon now.
People changed. Fang had to remind himself of that. Men changed. He had changed in ways beyond the obvious, too.
The voices of the gathered Society members dipped. Fang heard people shifting out of the way, alerting him to a change. He stood, head bowed.
On the other side of the curtain, Birch said, “Even the ancestors have agreed that Red Hand is a disgrace too great to bear. Their wisdom produced a weapon of justice. Its bearer walks among us once again. We turned him out and scorned him, hoping all the while that he could get close to our enemy. We let him go alone. His courage made up for our weakness. Fang has returned.”
The crowd suddenly burst into shouts, some angry, some joyous, and many simply confused. Birch seemed about to lose control over them, but his voice broke over theirs again. “He is loyal and has been since the very start. He reined in the worst of the Four Winds’ excesses, and he bore the brunt of Red Hand’s rage. Fang brought us with valuable information, details on the Four Winds’ organization, and what’s more, he has the power we need to exact justice.”
Birch ripped the curtain aside. Fang raised his head in the silence, which threatened at any moment to erupt into terror.
“You might remember me as rather shorter and more handsome,” he rumbled. “And less pointy. Fang, rejected by every master in the city, who might’ve done something with himself but ran away to join Red Hand. As Birch said, I have returned.” He opened his empty hand, bun still clutched in the other. The gesture was less reassuring when he had hooked claws and a bristling maw.
“Looks a monster to me,” a woman said. Answering mutters agreed. Fang knew that voice.
Fate was an unkind master. The swordswoman had survived somehow. She had to be someone’s spy, but none of these people had any reason to believe that. Fang didn’t have a silver tongue; he couldn’t even approach Birch when it came to convincing anyone. For a spy to stir the Society into mutiny because of him – not just because of his cursed appearance, but because he was in truth a gangster. I
should’ve returned years ago. Now it was far too late.
“Listen to yourselves,” Orchid said. Her voice rang out clear and crisp like a bell. “That is Fang. Do you think we were fooled? Who knows him better than Birch and I? Do you think we lie? If so, why have you followed us all these years? Was it merely convenient? Of course not. If Birch says this dragon is Fang, then you’d best listen. And if Fang is before you and says he is your ally, and Birch agrees, then take him at his word. I’ve heard many of you praise him even while you swore he was your lifelong foe. What is luckier than having such a fair enemy? Having him as your friend. We agreed he would serve Red Hand, and he has loyally worked for years to send us knowledge we sorely needed.”
Birch spoke up as some heads nodded along with Orchid’s words. “He even intended to be the knife to Red Hand’s neck, but what kind of reward is certain death for that? I won’t abandon my brother to that fate any more than I would abandon any of you. He deserves better of us. Look at the lengths he’s gone to.”
“Fang was never cruel enough to be a good gangster,” an elderly woman said. Fang recognized her as one of the vendors, but nothing more. “I can see the same in you, even if I have to look up a bit higher.” Someone tittered nervously, but the old woman was fearless. She pushed through the crowd and patted his arm. “Besides, that’s one of my buns, and all of my customers are good people. Let’s draw up our war plan rather than bicker. That only benefits the criminals.”
“Well said.” Birch clapped his hands. “It’s time to gather all of our allies. Fang will answer your questions about the Four Winds. Let’s make good use of the night.”
Birch swiftly ensconced himself in the same curtained space with Fang. In between dispatching runners to different enclaves of the Society and to their allies, he hovered over Fang as Orchid bound the cracks in his hide.