by Raven Bond
“Like I said, he's a nice man,” Will replied. “Remember what you promised, Abigail.” The Capitan looked around the room. “And I should not have to remind anyone else.”
“Excuse me,” Rogers interrupted from where he stood by the door. “While this is all well and good, I would like to return to the questions at hand. If we agree that Guang here is to lead the search for Lord Hadley, then we are free to pursue our original purpose here until he is found. I believe that Lady Hadley is not concerned with that.”
“I would like to help you if I may,” Abigail said quickly. “I will accept Mr. Guang's help, but waiting around doing nothing would not be my choice.” Will figured that Rogers was right about Abigail and was about to say so, when Guang spoke.
“It will be very hard to reach Madame Chang,” Guang volunteered. “She in unapproachable, there is no way to get to her. She never leaves her establishment. It caters to the vices of the upper classes of Hong Kong, both white and Chinese. Drugs, unusual sexual doings, strange European music are to found there. The patrons are all very wealthy, very powerful.”
“Every organization has weaknesses,” Hunting Owl objected. He knew what Guang had done regarding speaking in front of Abagail, but figured you could not put the cat back in the bag. She had heard enough already that more wouldn't matter now. Guang shook his head at Will's statement.
“There are no pressures that can be brought to bear on either her minions or herself,” Guang said. “It has all been tried, I promise you.” Will's eyes narrowed in thought.
“How do patrons get into the place? Will asked.
“I follow your thought, Captain Hunting Owl,” Guang replied. “It is impossible to infiltrate that way. Every patron has a token that allows only the patron, and the guest they chose, are allowed to enter. It is a small white card. It cannot be counterfeited.”
“Steal one,” Saira suggested promptly.
“It has been tried,” Guang said forlornly. “Neither the thieves, nor the patrons they stole it from were ever seen again.”
“Ouch,” Will said at this news. It seemed that An Fong had been right in his cautions, he thought. “Alright,” Will said, “there has to be a way to do this. What about disguising people as Chang’s folk and getting in that way?” He noticed Abigail opening her map case for some reason. Guang shook his head again.
“That has also been tried, Captain Hunting Owl,” Guang replied. “Chang's people all live at the establishment and are known to each other.”
“Excuse me,” Abigail said, holding up her hand. “Would this token you are all talking about look anything like this one?” Everyone stopped talking to stare at the white card in her hand.
Chapter 6
Madame Chang’s, Hong Kong
Abigail accepted Captain Hunting Owls' hand as they exited the hired steam car. She was careful not to become entangled in her cloak while still having it cover her body completely from throat to ankles. It was important that her risqué costume be hidden until they entered the club. It was a skill she had honed on many trips in London to similar establishments. She briefly touched her mask to ensure that it was still in place, and smiled at Captain Hunting Owl who was playing the gallant.
His suit was an unfashionable black, as was his simple domino mask, but she had to admit he looked good in it. She had been so taken up with gathering suitable ensembles for both Saira and herself that she there had been no time to supervise his costume. She supposed that she should be grateful that he even possessed a formal suit.
After she had produced the card back in the Captain's day cabin, they had given it to Mr. McGuire to examine. He had discovered that there was a cleverly concealed metal reader-strip that could be spooled from the card, displaying both the names and pictures of her father and herself. This explained how impostors were so swiftly caught. It also shocked her. As far as she knew, her father would not go to such places, and the thought that he had planned for her attendance at one was distinctly uncomfortable. It was however, the only clue they really had, and so she must act on it. She also thought it interesting that McGuire should be so skilled in such matters, but wisely kept such an observation to herself. She had already observed that air devils were, if not outlaws themselves, were unconventional at best.
Once it was confirmed it was indeed a patron token, it was hotly debated how best to use it to gain access to Madame Chang’s. Mr. McGuire assured them that it would not be possible for him to create a duplicate or fake copy. Finally, all had surrendered to the fact that only Abigail could present the card to gain entrance. It was decided that the Captain would go as her escort, and Saira would attend as her servant. She had been required to take matters into her own hands however when she discovered how little they actually knew of such places.
“How do you know we need masks,” Captain Hunting Owl had asked plaintively. “And why do we need them?” She had merely gazed at him, reminded again of how one so apparently intelligent could be so. . .naive.
“As I mentioned before on our previous journey Captain, I am a Scholar, not a nun,” she said with great care. “This will not be my first sojourn to such an establishment. As for why we need masks, many things are indulged in that cannot be acknowledged by polite society. This is the reason such establishments exist. The rules are much the same wherever the British flag flies. If your 'World of Reeds and Air' has its own cultural rules, be assured that British Upper Society does as well. Masks provide a polite fiction that you are not really you. Trust me, you do not appear bare faced in such circumstances, not if you wish to appear of the proper class that is. Speaking of which,” she looked at Saira, “I am not even certain we have the time for us to find the proper evening wear.”
“Well, there are the ships slop chests,” Saira volunteered.
“'Slop chests',” Abigail repeated, drawling as if drawing out each syllable.
“Yes,” Saira continued, “They are full of clothes that the ship has picked up from here and there. Also, some of the others have bright things I am sure they would lend us.” Saira rose from her chair in the Captains day cabin. “Let us be about it then!”
Despite her initial misgivings, they had managed to find enough suitable items that Abigail felt confident they could appear acceptably, and provocatively, attired.
Stepping into the warm evening air behind her 'mistress' as a good servant should, Saira joined them as the steam car moved away. Like Abigail she was wearing a long cloak that concealed what she was wearing, or rather, not wearing. Whatever styles of clothing may be allowed inside, public discretion outside the establishment was an absolute must. The building itself was a large affair of three stories, decorated lavishly in what Abigail assumed to be a Chinese style, with red, lacquered wooden beams, painted panels on the walls, and slanted roof tiles. Many lanterns of different colors were hung about, and the sound of people and music within was just audible when the doors opened briefly to admit those with invitations. Given the mufti that those around them wore, Abigail was even more confident that she had made the right sartorial choices for the evening.
“Remember,” Will said. “We stick together until we get the lay of the land. Trouble happens, get out best you can and make for the car. Sebastian will know what to do next.” She nodded at this. Privately Abigail had no intention of leaving while there was a remote chance that she could learn more of her father's fate. The gang member, Guang, had left the ship while they were planning; vowing to her that if her father was in Hong Kong he would find him. She held little hope of his success.
“We should go in,” Abigail advised. “Lingering will only draw attention. After all, we are supposed to be noble jades eager to celebrate.”
“All right then,” Will extended to her his arm. “Shall we go see how the uppers do it?”
“They do it much as everyone else does, only more boringly,” Saira remarked dryly.
“Hush,” Abigail hissed at her. “You're supposed to be my subservient maid, remember?”
Saira smiled at her wickedly, and then gave a deep formal bow. Abigail sniffed at the mock subservience.
They entered the unmarked door into a sort of antechamber. Even here the smells of tobacco, hemp and opium wafted through the air like incense. Along their right side ran a high counter behind which sat a bored looking man with a reader monocle. Directly in front of them stood a living mountain of a man in an ill-fitting emerald evening suit. His scared swarthy face did not change expression as he silently held out his hand.
Abigail placed the white card in his huge paw-like hand. He glanced at it once and handed it up to the man behind the counter. Adjusting his monocle, the counter man placed the card out of sight on the table, where he must have a concealed wire reader, Abigail thought. He then looked down at Abigail, then back at the card again. Abigail held her breath.
“Patrons are allowed one guest,” the monocle wearer said.
Abigail assumed a languid pose, leaning in to Will, caressing his arm. “The woman is my servant and is the entertainment for my guest here.” After looking at them skeptically for a moment, the desk-reader wordlessly handed the card back to the man-mountain, who in turn handed it back to Abigail.
“Enjoy your evening, Patron,” the mountain rumbled.
Gripping the card, Abigail nodded at the giant as he swept back a heavy red curtain behind him with a bow.
On the other side of the curtain, they were assaulted by a wave of music along with a confusion of many voices. A woman, naked save for thigh-stockings and shoes, appeared at Abigail's side.
“May I take your cloak, Mistress?” the woman asked in a husky voice. Abigail nodded her permission, and the woman deftly removed her wrap. She noticed a man, similarly undressed, perform the same service for Saira. Taking in Abigail's attire, her coat servant bowed deeply in approval.
Abigail was dressed in 'New Woman' fashion, her outfit consisting of a black corset and a length of emerald green silk that had been gathered into a mock bustle. She was otherwise naked, save for a pair of very brief bloomers that Saira had fortunately been able to produce, along with jeweled garters for her stockings. She was the very picture of a modern woman, loudly proclaiming her freedom from the strictures of Society.
Saira was wearing two ankle length pieces of white silk, knotted together at the shoulders, and bound around the waist by a thick black leather belt. Open along the sides, her bare arms and legs flashed into view as she moved. One could easily see that she was covered in black leather bands from ankles to wrists. It was the perfect 'Grecian servant' costume. Will had refused the woman who wanted to take his coat. He leaned in close to be heard over the noise.
“While I can appreciate that you both look lovely, I thought I told you to come armed.” He said with disapproval.
“We are.” Saira replied brightly. “Abigail has her sparkie, and I my knives. Want to know where we hid them?” Abigail fought back a smile at his nonplussed look. He shook his head decisively
“Never mind,” he said with a resigned air. “I'll take your word for it. What now?”
Abigail viewed the eclectic crowd gathered in the enormous, high ceilinged room. Close by were groupings of tables with chairs where different groups sat drinking and smoking, while watching the rest of the room. Farther away stood a stage where a woman, dressed much as Abigail was attired, played madly on a cello, singing in a lilting voice. Her voice, even un-amplified, fill the space. She was surrounded by drummers and other string players.
“My God,” Abigail breathed, clutching Will's arm. “That is Jade Summer!” She started bouncing in time to the music in spite of herself. Will looked at the stage and the crowd in front of it. Tall stovepipe hats bounded up and down like pistons in beat with the music.
“Who's that?” he asked confused. Abigail looked at him, aghast
“Who is that?” she echoed. “Surely, you have heard of Jade Summer, the poetess of new beat music! She is simply swinging is all!” Much as the New Woman movement challenged society's conceptions of women and their sexuality, younger artists had begun combining rhythms and music from the world over to challenge society's conception of who they were. It was generally called 'beat music,'. The music was engaging and fun in Abigail's opinion.
Jade Summer, English poet, cellist, and social revolutionary, was one of the original figures of both movements. Leading an elusive nomad's life, Summer's art had touched many of Abigail's generation through both the broad wave and the sonograph. What the artist was doing in an establishment like this was only to be wondered at. Abigail had never dreamed of seeing the artist in person. Saira had begun to move and sway in time to the music.
“I have heard of her!” Saira shouted over the din and then bent her head towards Abigail's. “Do not mind Captain Will, he is a Proper Major in some ways!” Abigail was surprised to hear modern beat slang from the Hindu Arms master and grinned widely at her. Will shook his head at them both.
“Alright, I admit that I don't listen to the broad wave that much,” he shouted at them to be heard over the din. “Can we focus on how we find this Madame Chang, or her office?” Abigail stopped moving, feeling chagrined.
“I am sorry Will. It is just that I never thought I would see her in person. It is a pleasant surprise. I wonder what she is doing here? You are right though.” Abigail peered through the smoke haze. “We should probably move towards the back of the hall. The more private areas will be back there.”
The three of them had just begun to move through the people when suddenly the man-mountain from the front entrance appeared before them. Will's hand crept towards his gun.
“Madame Chang would like to speak with you,” the mountain growled in a deep voice. Exchanging a look with Will, who nodded, Abigail replied for them.
“Of course,” she shouted. “We would be honored to meet our hostess.” The giant looked at her impassively.
“Just you,” he pronounced. “They stay.” Will spoke up quickly at this.
“No,” he shouted over the din. “Where she goes, we go.”
“Absolutely,” Abigail agreed. “My companions must come with me.”
Still looking impassive, the mountain looked down at them for a moment then grunted.
“Follow,” he said shortly. He turned his back on them and moved solidly forward through the crowd of revelers.
The giant parted the gaily dressed crowd like a great ship moving through the waves of a strange ocean, the three of them trailing in his wake. Abigail heard Jade starting to sing “Absinthe Makes My Lover Grow Fonder” when they reached the other side of the hall.
The large man led them past a series of plush divans where masked revelers where engaged in intimate couplings in groups of three or more. Saira leaned close to Abigail.
“I have no idea that toffs had this much fun,” she said in her ear.
“It's early in the evening yet,” Abigail replied dryly. “It's sure to be livelier as the night progresses. Then there also more private rooms here I'm sure.” Saira looked at Abigail with surprise.
“And here I thought that you were shy like most English mud feet,” the Arms Master said.
“Compared to those here, I most certainly am,” Abigail retorted. “I have only been to such places with very close friends, I assure you. When not listening to the music, we used those private rooms I spoke of. Here we are, I think.”
The giant had stopped before another red-curtained alcove, flanked by two well-armed men. One of them twitched the curtain aside to reveal a door. Turning to see that they were still following, their giant escort opened the door to a landing with a tall staircase. They all began ascending the flight of carpeted stairs.
The door closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the hall. When they reached the top there was another door with two more men guarding it. These men, Abigail noted, carried large guns cradled in their arms. After exchanging nods with the men, one of whom opened the door, the giant walked though.
The room beyon
d not was Abigail was expecting at all. The walls were covered by exquisite tapestries in muted, jewel tones, some of them reminding her of the strange picture in her father's map case. The air was scented by a clean floral scent wafting from braziers. Abigail found it a refreshing change from the thick smoke below. Their strange escort stopped and with a grace surprising for his size, nimbly turned to the side, revealing a figure sitting in a chair and reading a scroll. The figure lowered the scroll and regarded them as they approached.
The woman did not appear at all as Abigail had pictured a woman crime-lord would look. She was wearing a jacket and pants similar to the style Abigail had seen common people wear, only hers were of a shining blue silk. Her face was just beginning to show the creases of age in a few lines around her eyes, mouth and throat. There were glints of grey in the hair pulled back in an elaborate twist. She looked, well, motherly to Abigail's mind.
“You should make no sudden moves,” the woman said in accent-less English. “There are weapons are aimed at your hearts as I speak.” She smiled at Abigail. “Would you remove your mask? Very slowly please.” Stiffly Abigail did so, letting it dangle from her left hand. The woman in the chair nodded as if pleased.
“You have much of your father about you,” she said with a nod towards Abigail. “I am Chang.” The woman glanced at Will and Saira, her eyes narrowing as they fell on the Arms master. “You are safe now, Abigail. These two will be dead before they can draw breath, I promise.”
Chapter 7
Madame Chang’s Rooms
Saira searched the room with her eyes while remaining still. From what the woman had said there were likely shooters hiding behind the tapestries; very difficult to counter. While the woman talked to Abigail, Saira gathered her energies waiting for the Captain’s signal. When the woman's eyes met hers, Saira felt a shock as if a strong force had brushed against her spirit. This woman was a spirit-worker of some kind!