by Raven Bond
He'd considered using his Preemus identity to get the Shield station manager to open a portal. That would have led to awkward questions, which would have necessitated him killing the entire night watch to be sure nothing was revealed. Not only was the idea messy and inelegant, but he couldn't be sure of killing them all before one escaped. Bardon hated loose ends. Then he'd noted where the car was, and remembered what night it was. A more elegant solution presented itself.
He stopped before a door set in the wall, and rapped the prescribed number of knocks. Above the door burned a red shaded gas lamp, the time-honored sigil of all such establishments. A view slit in the door opened, and after a moment's scrutiny, closed again. The door opened, and Bardon stepped into a bare front room in which stood a tough looking Oriental man in evening clothes. Bardon kept his face mask on.
“I'm sorry Sir,” The man grumbled, “But this club is for members only.” His voice trailed off as Bardon held up a hundred pound note where he could see it.
“I wish to speak to Madame, please,” Bardon said in a muffled voice. “Take me to a room with a working Aetherwave, and have her join me there.” He snatched the bill away from the man's reach. “Alone,” he emphasized, before letting him take the notes. The door guard bowed wordlessly and pulled a bell cord. A young woman dressed in a passable European nanny ensemble appeared in the far doorway.
“Take him to the private parlor, and then notify Madame”. The guard spoke to the nanny in Cantonese, which Bardon understood quite well. “I think we have a visiting noble here. He's already dropped fifty pounds.” The man hid the true amount as a matter of self-interest.
Bardon followed his escort down a narrow hall to a very European parlor. He looked around in distaste. You could find the same furnishings in any middle class home from Ipswich to Blair Street. There was no hint of the Orient in the room at all. At least there was an Aetherwave in a glass-fronted cabinet. Doubtless it was locked. He sat down on the overstuffed settee and sighed.
While Hong Kong was a very open city in many respects, there were some sexual tastes that a man in government service simply couldn't afford to be linked to. He supposed that the furnishings were in keeping with serving that clientele, invoking boyhood memories and all that. Still, he found the room depressing. More and more he was seeing the worst of British bland taste creep in everywhere he traveled. They were in the middle of one of the most glorious cities in the Orient, and you would never know it. Where was the romance, he thought in despair? Where was the adventure?
Bardon snorted to himself. Was he really getting that maudlin? Seeing Saira Brighton really had stirred up old things. He had wistful thoughts about the girl’s quite terrifying and exhilarating mother. He sighed. It was time to get his head in the game, he thought with resignation. For Queen and Country.
The door opened, and in swept an older European woman in the long dress of a schoolmarm, complete with ruler. That the dress was made of shiny rubber indicated that the woman was probably not with St. Mary's Academy, Bardon observed wryly.
His time with the Naga had taught him not to be judgmental about how people reached sexual ecstasy. The Naga taught that there were 129 ways to obtain sexual bliss, and all could be a way to enlightenment. What bothered Bardon was his society's hypocrisy on the subject, and the need to hide harmless activities in the shadows. He looked at the hard face of 'Madame'. He was also bothered by those who exploited the situation He judged this woman to be one who did so.
The woman slapped her ruler against her other palm and glared at him. “I am not in the habit of dealing with naughty boys in face masks,” She proclaimed. “Take that off at once!”
“No,” Bardon replied, “I am not here for your services.” He opened a wallet and began dropping hundred pound notes on the end table while watching her face. He stopped at four. The average worker in Hong Kong earned perhaps one pound in a year. He knew that he was tossing around what the members of this sorry little establishment would consider a fortune. He was counting on their greed as part of his plan.
“I want to see Sir Percy White,” Bardon ordered through his mask. “I want him in this room. I also want the key to your Aetherwave.” The woman froze for a moment, and then moved towards the money on the end table. Bardon quickly place his hand over it.
“Aetherwave key,” he said calmly. Bardon watched greed and wariness war across her face. It was a quick battle. The woman pulled out a key on a chain from inside her bodice and held it out to him, wordlessly. As he took the key, he removed his hand from the end table, leaving two of the hundred notes on the table. 'Madame' snatched them up.
“You get the other two when Sir Percy is here,” Bardon said to her frowning face.
“Sir Percy is being entertained,” Madame explained, her eyes never leaving the notes in Bardon's hand. “It is not our custom to interrupt our patrons.”
“Here, in five minutes, appropriately dressed,” Bardon took the bank notes between his two hands and snapped the paper once. Madame jerked her head in agreement and exited the room as if pursued by the fiends of hell itself.
When he had first assumed the role of Preemus, the governor’s secretary, Bardon had made it his business to learn all he could of the various officers of the colony, their positions, their uses, and their weaknesses.
Sir Percy White was perfect for his needs tonight. As head of Colonial Technology, both the Port Authority and Shield Management were within his purview. He was the one man who could order the Shield opened on his own without additional bureaucratic nonsense. Even the Governor would have had to go through Sir Percy. God bless British bureaucracy, he thought. Bardon didn't have long to wait. Sir Percy stormed into the room in less than five minutes, fully dressed in evening white tie, followed closely by Madame.
“See here sir!” White bellowed, “What is the meaning of this outrage? A man has a right to privacy at his own club!” Bardon handed the two bills to Madame who left without a word. Sir Percy's head swiveled around trying to follow the exchange. Sir Percy was clearly not the sharpest pencil in the box, Bardon observed.
As the door closed behind him, Sir Percy turned back to Bardon, preparing to launch another tirade. Without a word, Bardon pulled down his mask.
“Preemus?” Sir Percy gasped. “What the devil are you doing here?” His face was growing redder as he spoke. Bardon imaged that it must be quite embarrassing for the man at this moment.
“My name is not Preemus,” Bardon said coldly. He turned over his lapel and activated his Eye badge. All the wind seemed to go from Sir Percy at once as he stared at the glowing badge. The man sank into the chair across from Bardon.
“My God, I knew it,” Sir Percy croaked. “I knew that you were something other than a secretary. You've been investigating me. I am ruined, aren't I?” He buried his face in his hands.
“That remains to be seen,” Bardon replied coolly. He didn't bother to say that the Queen's Eyes would hardly be interested in his banal sexual peccadilloes. “I require you to contact Port Authority and open a portal in the Shield at the commercial tower district. I require it now!” Sir Percy looked up at him. Bardon pointed to the Aetherwave cabinet. “I assume that you can do this?”
“Well, yes,” Sir Percy stammered, “But why?”
Bardon wordlessly tapped his badge with a finger in answer. Bardon walked towards the cabinet.
“Yes, right,” the old man said. “That was stupid of me to ask wasn't it?” Sir Percy lumbered up, and followed unsteadily to the cabinet, which Bardon had unlocked.
Sir Percy pulled out a thin case and started fumbling through the Farley crystals within it. Bardon knew that like most senior civil servants, White would carry the Farley crystals that would allow him to communicate securely over the Aetherwave with different people within his department. Bardon turned on the wave, and set it for a Farley transmission. The crystal carousel popped up and Bardon turned aside for Sir Percy to enter the crystal that would be a match to one in the set of a sub
ordinate.
“Sorry,” the man said, holding up a crystal between trembling fingers. “Groves is much better at this sort of thing than I am.” Sir Percy reached forward to insert the crystal, when Bardon stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Keep it simple,” the agent directed. “The portal must be open for at least twenty minutes, clearance given to any ship that undocks. Do not mention me at all.”
“Well, what reason do I give then?” White asked crossly.
“You don't need one. Are you the Director of Colony Technology or not?” Bardon replied archly.
“Of course I am,” Sir Percy growled. “Still, there will be a bloody lot of paperwork over this tomorrow.”
“You won't have to worry about that,” Bardon assured him.
“All very well for you to say,” Sir Percy set the crystal and pushed buttons. The carousel lowered, whirling, and a small bell began chiming. The wave was answered by the third chime. A tinny voice came from the speaker, “Port Authority and Shield Control, Barnes speaking.” Sir Percy brought the speaking horn up to his lips.
“Barnes!” Sir Percy bellowed. “This is White on a Farley connection!”
“Director!” the voice replied surprised. After a pause the voice spoke again, “Yes, I confirm that you are on a Farley connection.”
“Barnes,” Sir Percy bellowed into the horn. “I need you to open the commercial tower portal for thirty minutes. Grant clearance to any ship that undocks. I need you to do it now, if you please.”
“I'm sorry director, but I don't see that on my schedule,” the voice replied nervously.
“Of course you don't, Barnes! “Sir Percy gave Bardon a sly sideways glance. “This is a surprise evaluation test! Just do it, man!”
“Surprise test?” the voice hesitated before continuing, “Very good Director. Per regulations, I must ask for your code to authorize the operation sir.”
Sir Percy rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, his lips moving quietly as he thought. Bardon's heart almost stopped, afraid that the old fool had forgotten his code. Percy finally spoke a string of numbers and letters into the horn. There was a pause that seemed to last forever before the voice spoke again.
“I confirm your code, Director. One ship has already undocked from the tower. We are granting clearance. Portal opening commencing, now,” the voice announced.
Bardon let out his breath, and signaled for Sir Percy to close the connection. With a smug smile, the old man closed it, and then turned towards Bardon.
“By God, that was exhilarating!” Sir Percy crowed, as Bardon lead him back to the settee, “Covert openings in the dead of night! Not bad eh? Perhaps there's a place for me in the Queen's Eyes!”
“You did very well, Sir Percy,” Bardon said. “Remember, not a word to anyone about this.”
“You can count on me, sir!” Percy laid a finger along the side of his nose. His face took on that sly look again. “Um, of course, your discretion about my visiting this, ah, club would also be appreciated.”
“Naturally sir,” Bardon replied. He held out his hand. “You have my word on it.” He turned a ring on his other hand, releasing a small needle.
“That's very good of you!” Sir Percy took the offered hand, shaking it gratefully. “We're both men of the world, now aren't we?” He choked as Bardon pressed his other hand to the old man's neck, the needle sending its special poison into his carotid artery. Sir Percy's body shuddered quietly while Bardon eased him to rest against the arm of the settee. Sir Percy White was dead within moments.
Bardon adjusted the body until he was satisfied that it appeared the old man had fallen asleep and had a heart attack. Surveying his work, he nodded to himself. Neither the Madame nor the servants had seen Bardon's face. They would most likely to flee with their new fortunes when they discovered the body anyway, instead of calling the authorities.
He took one last turn around the room, removing Percy's crystal from the Aetherwave and replacing it in his case. After returning the case to White's inner coat pocket, Bardon looked down on the old man sadly. Sometimes the dead appeared to be merely sleeping. He patted the body briefly on the shoulder in apology. It had to be, Bardon explained to the departed shade, there can be no loose ends, no questions. For Queen and Country. It had been the epitaph of many over the years. Looking down on the old man, Bardon allowed himself the luxury of a moment's weariness. Then he straightened and moved towards the door. His work here was done.
Chapter 12
Commercial Air Tower, Hong Kong
Will entered the main lobby of the air tower, with the others close behind him. He frowned at the wooden barricades that blocked off the lifts. On one side of the barricade stood a very harried-looking constable. His two fellow-officers gripped their short-barreled shotguns a little too tensely for Will's peace of mind. On the other side stood a small group, whose motley clothes and goggles identified them as air devils. A stocky woman with short, gray hair, wearing denim pants and a sleeveless shirt, was haranguing the constable.
“What do ya mean we can't use the lifts?” She roared at the constable. The way she leaned against one of the others to remain upright told Will she had made a good night of it. He glanced at the patches sewn on sleeves and vests. He didn't recognize the dove and cup ensign, but it did tell him that they were all from the same ship, most likely a liberty party making their way back shipside. The woman turned to her companions with a slight weave.
“This monkey thinks we're going to climb all those steps up to the ship!” She shook her head and spoke to the room at large, “I don't think we're gonna do that are we boys?” A low growl of agreement greeted her words, as the others fingered knife hilts menacingly.
“The lifts are closed for repairs!” His voice shaking with frustration, the constable shouted at the group. “Very dangerous! You must take the stairs!” Seeing Will and the others enter the lobby, his dark face paled at seeing still more air devils wanting to use the lifts. “The lifts are closed!” he shouted again at Will, gesturing to the side door frantically. “You must use the stairs!”
The woman turned to see who he was talking to, and staggered towards Will. The younger man she had been leaning against following helplessly behind her.
“Ahoy there!” she greeted Will. Hunting Owl could smell the grog on her from a distance. He noticed the captain’s stars on her shirt. “This monkey says that we have to climb all the way up on our shanks! I think he's lying! Who ever heard of all the lifts being out at once? What do you think there, dark and handsome brother?” She leered at him.
Will hid his revolver against his leg, keeping his body between the gun and what the constable could see. The others also hid whatever weapons they were carrying, except Guang, who carried his sheathed sword openly in his left hand. Will had counted on being able to whisk right into the lift. Up to the Dancer with, at most, a bored port constable, who probably wouldn't look too closely. Instead, they'd walked right into a budding riot with armed constables and drunken air devils. This day just kept getting better and better, the Captain thought to himself.
“Well, sister,” Captain Hunting Owl grinned at the woman, hoping to defuse the situation. “I think that a walk won't hurt any of us that much. Besides, it'll do to show the monkeys that we can still out do them. I doubt that there's a one of them that's ever climbed up one flight of those stairs, less six or ten, am I right?”
“Ya hear that, Yates,” she crowed. Slapping her younger companion hard enough to stagger him. “I like the way this one thinks! Guess we could do with the exercise at that! Wouldn't do to let some punk monkey in a uniform show us up would it?” She turned her head and spat on the floor.
“As you say Cap'n,” the younger man said weakly, casting a grateful look at Will.
“Don't let Bates here bother ya,” the woman said. “He thinks that his captain has had one too many, is all!” She stuck out her hand towards Will, “Maggie O'Malley, Captain and Owner of the Mary's Deliverance!”
“William Hunting-Owl,” he replied, taking her hand with his free one. “Captain-Owner of the Wind Dancer.”
“ That the warship at berth ten?” Captain O'Malley looked at Will knowingly. “I can see why you'd come in all tooled and that.” Her eyes traveled down his leg to where he held the revolver. She laid a finger aside her nose, “Don't worry, none of us'll say a word to the monkey suits,” she stage-whispered.
“Thank you, Captain, “Will stage whispered back. He noticed her look over her shoulder at Tesla, a puzzled frown beginning to crease her brow. Needing to distract the woman before she recognized him, Will held out his arm to her. “Shall we climb those stairs, Captain? Where are you coming in from?”
“We're coming in from San Francisco with a load of machine parts and rich folks’ laundry,” O'Malley gave a little grin and drunkenly placed her arm through his. “We'll be makin' the loop back with rubber and more laundry,” she said dryly.
Will signaled to Saira to get guard Tesla. They all began walking to the well-marked stairs, Stearns crew trailing along behind the tight knot formed by Saira, Tesla, and Abigail. Guang brought up the rear, scabbarded sword still in his left hand.
Will turned his attention back to the drunk woman on his arm. “Laundry? That seems a peculiar thing to carry.”
“Aye, that it is,” O'Malley gave a body shaking sigh. “I landed a contract with the Prentice Laundry Company. They ships all their customers' linens over here to the big laundries. Seems the Chinee gets the starch right in the collars,” she said with an angry spit to the side. “Durin' the War I skippered the best supply ship in the Quartermasters Corps. Took fire from a Spider we did while landing at Philadelphia. Kept right on flyin' we did.” She spat again. “Now I'm a laundry maid.”
The stairwell was more dimly lit than the main floor. Upright light tubes along the inner wall were spaced far enough apart that they barely illuminated the worn wooden stairs as they curved upwards. The talkative O'Malley was still chattering on Will's arm. He suppressed a sigh. It was going to be a long slog up ten levels. Still, he was a warrior of the Wovoka, and had endured worse. Besides, anyone passing them on the stairs would see a large drunken group coming back from liberty, not a small group with an English lady and the most famous man in the world. O'Malley and her group were cheap camouflage to his way of thinking.