by Jade Lee
"Dai-ge." A formal "yes" spoken in Shanghainese. The sound was more of a grunt than an agreement, but it answered the question well enough. Joanna had married—or at least claimed to have. But where was the girl now?
That was apparently the first thing on Miss Charlotte's mind as well, because she pushed into the house, stripping off her bonnet as she went. "I suppose I shall just have to wait for her, then. I'll be in her room. No need to send tea." She was halfway to the stairs before Mr. Yi stopped her. He rushed around to stand before her, his arthritic body amazingly fast.
"Aie, no, Miss Charlotte! She is gone."
Charlotte stopped. Even her golden hair tumbling out of its pins seemed to still. "Gone?"
"Dai-ge. She and her husband left on horses this morning." Disapproval filled the old man's tone.
"But where could they be going?"
Mr. Li didn't answer. Still, Ken Jin could see that there was more. If only Miss Charlotte would leave them alone, he could find out the truth. Instead, she remained absolutely still, looking at Mr. Yi as if he had sprouted horns.
Abruptly, all changed. Charlotte nodded and more of her hair slipped free to dance about her face. "Very well. Then I shall have to leave her a message for when she returns."
Mr. Yi nodded, gesturing to the library. Charlotte shook her head.
"No, I shall leave my message as I did when we were children. Yes," she went on, more to herself than to Mr. Yi, "just like when we were little." And with that, she dashed upstairs.
Ken Jin longed to follow. He suspected the two women each had a secret cache somewhere in their rooms. The location would be hidden from parents and servants alike, known only to the two girls who had been best friends since Joanna's arrival in Shanghai ten years ago.
Had Joanna—Shanghai's newest Tigress cub—already left a message for her best friend? What secrets might she reveal? Ken Jin could only pray that the white girl showed some sense and kept private things private. Though when had the ghost people ever been able to restrain their passions? Especially young women? Ken Jin shook his head, fearing the worst, especially since old Mr. Yi was obviously bursting with news.
Taking a cue from the aged butler, Ken Jin accepted an invitation to tea. Charlotte would not take long, he knew. She was not a woman to linger over letters, even one to her closest friend, so he had little time to learn everything.
Like all white monstrosities, the Crane home was built and run in the way of a great English house; so Ken Jin was surprised when Mr. Yi did not lead him to a private butler's sitting room. Instead, they went to the kitchen to sit at a large wooden table while water heated on the great stove. There were servants all around: the English cook, two Shanghai footmen flirting with a scullery maid clearly just in from a country farm. Two parlor maids flitted in and out, their easy manners marking them as low-class Shanghai, barely one step up from nail-shack whores.
All went silent upon Ken Jin's entrance—but only for a minute. Mr. Yi called for tea and then sat down, looking as much like a reclining mandarin as one could while sitting in a hard wooden chair in the middle of an English kitchen.
The water heated while he dropped tea leaves into a teapot on the table, and the gossip began to flow with special animation as soon as the English chef left for the wine cellar.
"I would never take my wife to Peking," said a footman. "It's too dangerous—"
"Too far away," interrupted the other footman as he rearranged the candles on the kitchen altar. "You like things quick and close. And quick."
It was a sexual joke, and it got a predictable response. The maids laughed, while the scullery girl blushed a bright red even as she shooed the two away from the altar.
"These white people are crazy," complained the first man. "Why would any father leave? Simply throw the man out—"
"He's her husband," snapped the scullery girl in her thick accent. "A father has no say anymore."
"A man has a say in his own house," replied the footman hotly. "He should have thrown them both out. Any daughter who thinks she can choose her own husband deserves no better."
One of the parlor maids moved close, tweaking the argumentative footman on the cheek. "A smart father opens the doors and learns about his new son-in-law's connections, then decides what to do. That's what the master's doing. He may be white, but he isn't stupid. The barbarians know how to use their friends."
"The whites know how to use anything and everything," muttered the second footman, clearly voicing a regular complaint.
The hot water was ready, and Mr. Yi poured according to custom. He said nothing and neither did Ken Jin. They were pretending to have a quiet tea. Obviously, the man wanted to share the newest house gossip, but as butler he couldn't give the information outright. So Ken Jin had to infer what was going on from the talk around him.
Fortunately, he had an advantage. He already knew from where Miss Crane had come, and with whom. He already knew that she had become a Tigress student, and that her partner was a former Shaolin monk. What he gathered now was that the young miss had returned home and claimed the monk as her husband. Then her father had walked out, disowning them both. Such was hardly a surprise, and certainly what the girl deserved for her disobedient actions. But where were the two lovers now?
"Think the master'll catch them?" the scullery girl asked, her voice quavering with fear. "Will he kill them and eat them?"
The others burst into mocking laughter. They had been around whites long enough to know that the English didn't eat their young as was commonly thought.
"Hai," chortled the first footman. "Mr. Crane'll find them. But it's General Kang who'll feast on their vitals." He widened his eyes and dropped his voice. "The Qing Empire has no pity on its enemies."
The girl was appropriately terrified. "But the master... What if General Kang catches him?"
The footman's answer was as clear as it was graphic. He bared his teeth and pantomimed ripping out a heart and eating it. "The master is as good as dead. Just be grateful the General was too rushed to bother with us."
The room fell into a mournful silence. Apparently, the Crane household had fallen afoul of General Kang, a powerful Manchurian officer. Which meant, of course, that the Cranes would not live long in China. Which meant the servants were all about to be unemployed.
Reality descended hard upon the poor scullery maid. "But I don't have another job!" she wailed.
Neither, apparently, did Mr. Yi, for that was the moment he began to speak, asking after the Wicks family butler. "Tell me, how is the health of Mr. Tseng? I understand he had a terrible cough last month."
Ken Jin nodded sadly. In truth, Mr. Tseng was twenty years younger than Mr. Yi and in excellent health. But who was he to brag about the Wicks family's good fortune? Or to dash Mr. Yi's hopes of a job?
"Ah," he said, "you are correct that Mr. Tseng is not as young as he once was. That cough was terrible and still lingers. The young master hides whenever he hears the hacking sound, and guests shun the house." Ken Jin paused, trying to deliver the truth in his most delicate manner. "But you have worked for the ghost people for years, Mr. Yi. You understand that they are ignorant of the true nature of things. Mr. Wicks cannot comprehend the bad fortune that comes from an ill butler."
"Of course, of course." Mr. Yi nodded, his drawn expression showing he had received the message: There would be no job opening for him in the Wicks household. "The whites are indeed a barbarian people," he rasped. Then he pushed up from his chair. "Perhaps we should see if Miss Charlotte has finished her letter. You would not want to leave her too long. Women should not have so much time alone. It damages their minds."
Ken Jin could not agree more. In his opinion, whites spent too little time controlling their daughters; but it was not his place to comment. It wasn't Mr. Yi's place either, but the old man could be forgiven his grumbling considering that he was about to lose his livelihood. Ken Jin could only pray the man had adequate savings. It would not be easy to find a new job at his
age.
They returned to the front parlor, where Miss Charlotte was slowly descending the stairs. Ken Jin waited silently, his head slightly bowed, his manner completely reserved as was appropriate to his position. But he had long since mastered the ability to observe all while keeping his demeanor subservient, and what he saw was nerve-racking. The young miss had obviously figured something out.
* * *
(A letter delivered by special courier.)
July 9, 1881
With respect, to Tigress Tan Shi Po:
Honored Tigress, I write in courtesy and with deep shame. I regret to inform you that a great evil has been sent to your home. I did not send it; it comes to you from my mother-in-law, whose age has dulled her mind. It will arrive soon: a demon in the form of a boy. His name is Ken Jin. He will tell you a sad tale with great weeping and gnashing of teeth.
He lies!
I say again, whatever words the demon speaks are ugly lies! Ken Jin is an unnatural demon of no kin to this house. Throw him from you! He carries terrible fortune. Do not under any circumstances send him back to us.
In apology,
Wen Qui Xiu
After trauma, many patients remain shaken and emotionally scattered. This is called "gall-bladder fright." Points used: GB 34 Yanglingguan [on the outside of the calf just below the fibular condyle] and LV 3 Taichong [on the top of the foot in the angle between the first and second toes].
The Encyclopedia of Chinese Medicine,
Frank WT Chung, CA, OMD
Chapter 2
Charlotte felt as if her brain were on fire. Outwardly she knew she looked composed and quiet, but inside her entire body crackled with... what? She'd found scrolls in Joanna's room. Scrolls with Chinese writing and paintings of naked men and women. And their organs! She tried to take a breath to calm herself, but her mind still crackled. The images had been large and naked. And painted in color!
Plus, they looked very similar to Ken Jin's real-life organ she'd seen just an hour ago. She wondered briefly if his penis could do some of the things she'd seen in the scrolls. And if she were his partner, would she look as serenely happy as the women pictured? And how had the painted woman put that huge thing in her mouth anyway? But she was drawn so happy—smug even. Something wonderful definitely came from the man's organ.
The satchel banged hard against her thigh as she descended the stairs, bringing her attention back to the present. Charlotte was excruciatingly aware of the three silk-wrapped bamboo cases she carried. Indeed, it had taken her nearly twenty minutes to find a bag that completely covered the naughty picture scrolls. Obviously, Joanna had meant for her to find them, because she'd hidden them in their secret hidey-hole where the two had been sharing diaries, notes, and special bits of ribbon since the beginning of time. Well, since they'd become best friends at the age of ten. It was a child's game perfect for little girls, but no little girl had put these scrolls there. No little girl could possibly understand what was written on them. And no properly bred young woman would ever read them.
Charlotte paused on the last step into the foyer. How lowering it was to realize one was not a proper young woman. She had read them. Or rather, she had read what little she could, since the scrolls were written in Chinese on fragile vellum and wrapped in costly silks.
How had Joanna come across what were obviously valuable, ancient texts? And when had Charlotte's most learned and serious friend crossed over to the side of rampant debauchery that filled the rest of Shanghai? Had she been given the scrolls by her husband? If so, why? They couldn't possibly be doing those things. But of course, they could, she admonished herself; they were married after all. And wasn't that what married people did? But was Joanna doing all of that? Everything pictured in that scroll. Everything?
For a single horrified moment, Charlotte realized she ought to return the scrolls. After all, Joanna and her husband might need them. The scrolls were clearly reference material meant to teach one how to have marital relations. Therefore, Joanna would need the scrolls, whereas Charlotte did not.
Damn, why hadn't she ever accepted a suitor for her hand? She could be married right now with scrolls of her own. But none of the sycophants and lechers she knew had ever appealed to her. And besides, one mention of William—because of course he would have to live with her—and they all ran screaming. Which meant she had no man nearby to read scrolls with. Which meant she ought to give them back.
Except Joanna wasn't here to use them, and scrolls as ancient as these shouldn't go to waste. Charlotte was sure that there were some images that did not... well, that she could perform without losing her virginity. After all, if Joanna was lost to the realm of sinful indulgences of the flesh, then... well, wasn't it time Charlotte did a little exploring on her own? Which meant she was definitely keeping these scrolls.
"Is there something wrong, Miss Charlotte?" asked Ken Jin, his voice further exciting her already jumpy nerves.
She spun back, her voice cracking. "What? Oh no! I just... I mean, I thought I'd... But of course, I can't now. I mean—" She clapped her jaw shut, forcibly cutting off her words as she gained some measure of control. "I'm fine, Ken Jin, thank you for asking." Did his organ exude a silvery mist like in the pictures? Her friends had never said so, but...
She yanked her attention to old Mr. Yi, Joanna's butler. Forcing her lips into as serene a smile as she could manage, she spoke in what she prayed was a calm, collected manner. "I have left a note for Joanna and am most anxious to see her. When will she return?"
Mr. Yi bowed deeply. "I do not know, Miss Charlotte, but I will see she receives your letter the moment she returns."
"Of course, of course," Charlotte murmured. "But where did she go? Perhaps if it is somewhere close, I could join her."
Mr. Yi shook his head. "Aie, no, Miss Charlotte, I do not know her location."
"But surely you know when she left."
He bowed again but didn't answer.
"Was she alone?"
Another bow. No answer. Damn, just how did one get answers out of other people's servants? And did all Chinese men have penises that large and red? Even old servant men? Or were the scrolls exaggerated?
"Perhaps I could speak with her father?" Charlotte squeaked out. "When will Mr. Crane return?"
Another bow. No wonder the butler was so bent with age. Were Chinese men's organs heavy? He said, "Mr. Crane is away on business. I do not know when he will return." Was there a funereal tone to that statement? Charlotte didn't know. She couldn't tell which words were significant, what was merely her imagination, and how she could find out what was written on those damned scrolls without Joanna to translate.
"Please, Mr. Yi, I must speak with Joanna right away."
Again, the deep bow. Clearly it was the Chinese version of a shrug and the old man was not going to help her.
"Oh, never mind," she snapped, her irritation getting the best of her. "Let me know the instant she returns, Mr. Yi. The very instant." Then she paused. "I will be in a most generous mood the moment I hear of her return." She stared at the old man, trying to read his wrinkled face. Did he understand what she meant—that she would tip him should he bring her any significant news?
"I am desperate for information about Joanna. And I can be generous—"
"Apologies, Miss Charlotte," interrupted Ken Jin, "but we are due to pick up William now."
Charlotte frowned at her father's servant. His penis was the same size as on the scroll. But was he unusual? "Are we supposed to pick up William now? But I thought—"
"You are probably right, Miss Charlotte," he interrupted again, his demeanor solicitous. "We should check on your brother, just to make sure no ill has befallen him."
Charlotte pressed her lips together. She wasn't fooled. Ken Jin didn't like her questioning Mr. Yi, even when she did it subtly. The Chinese were protective of each other. But this was important. She had to get Joanna to translate these scrolls! Which meant she had to make Mr. Yi understand.
&n
bsp; Abandoning subtlety altogether, she fished a guinea out of her reticule. It took a moment, and she winced at the expense, but she had to know. She pressed the coin into the old man's hand. "As soon as you know anything, Mr. Yi. I am so desperately worried about my friend."
The butler stared at her, his dark eyes watering. He nodded. "Yes, yes, Miss Charlotte, we are all most worried."
"We are very late, Miss Charlotte," Ken Jin cut in again. "Master William will be anxious."
"Master William is in Heaven right now, running around with He Be," she snapped, unable to control her frustration. Why now of all times did Ken Jin have to voice sudden concern about punctuality? Didn't he see she was trying to accomplish something with Mr. Yi? But as she turned back to the aged butler, all she received was a blank expression. She sighed. She'd just wasted a guinea.
"Very well," she said to Ken Jin. His eyes were downcast, his demeanor apologetic. Still, she knew he was not nearly as submissive as he seemed. She had witnessed his management of her drunken father on multiple occasions. Though smaller in statue, Ken Jin often strong-armed her parent to bed—and all without alerting her mother or disturbing William. In truth, she knew of no one—Chinese or English—who so seamlessly kept life's unpleasantness at bay. An extremely attractive asset in a man. Unless, of course, he began managing her.
"We may leave now, Ken Jin," she said with as much regal disdain as she could muster, given that she carried three scrolls of questionable moral content.
Mr. Yi held out her bonnet, and Charlotte grimaced as she put it on. The humid Shanghai air had already frizzed her hair into a tangled mass. Shoving the annoying knots into a hat was only going to make matters worse. But it was the custom and so she complied; it was important to observe such niceties when one was ferrying pictures of naked male organs. A hysterical giggle rose inside her chest, but she ruthlessly suppressed it. She could not start laughing like a hyena; people would wonder what she was carrying.