Alien Devices: Tesla joins crew to prevent alien zombie apocalypse (The Secret War Book 2)

by Raven Bond

  Like most public rest houses, this one had a common room where travelers gathered and were entertained. As the hour was late, there were only two locals in the inn, to judge by their simple gray tunics and loose trousers. Most travelers wore either colorful travel robes, such as the Trader wore, or a mix of brown and black linens and leathers, such as those worn by Jinhao and the other guards of the caravan.

  Jinhao ate by herself in the common room as was her habit. Her traveling companions had learned that she was scrupulous about both her duties and her privacy, and gave her space to herself. She watched the pack attendants and off-duty guards at their dice game in one corner while Lee Shen coaxed the portly old Trader to take some more wine. She was glad that Lee Shen looked after the nervous old Trader; she doubted that she would have had his patience. She dug into the spicy fish stew that was common to the province, her mouth reveling in the burn of the spices, then took another mouthful of rice to cool the burn down. After the blander dishes of the northern court, it almost tasted like home. Home, as a child, had been here in the south.

  After dinner, she checked that the Trader’s strong box was secured to her satisfaction in his rooms. There was only the one way in or out of the suite. She had placed her most attentive guard, a dour Tamil named Wong, on the Trader’s room, while he and Lee Shen ate in the common room. To carry a strong box in public was tantamount to screaming “I have something you want to steal!” Luckily for Lee Shen and for Jinhao, the portly Trader was a veteran of the road, understanding the need for discretion.

  As she headed downstairs a most raucous din alerted her. Drawing twin swords from over her back, she quickly hurried down to the common room, fully expecting to find brigands forcing their way into the inn.

  There, instead of invading bandits, she saw a single Westerner surrounded by a whirlwind of the inn’s house servants bustling around and away from him with cries of distress. The man was somewhere in his thirties, clean shaven and wearing a black travel cloak with red trim. He held in one hand a walking cane made of some kind of red metal, a Sorcerer’s cane if Jinhao ever saw one. Doubtless this was what had the servants in a turmoil. Western Sorcerers were not much seen outside of Hong Kong itself, and had a reputation of being capricious. The man was pleading with them to wait and listen to him, speaking in passable Mandarin. Jinhao was impressed. Most Westerners never bothered to learn any language but their own. What the poor man did not realize was that Mandarin was as foreign to the servants as Russian or English. Lou Hu was situated in Shenzhen Province, which was largely settled by Tamil and Hakka ethnicities, rather than Imperial Han. The fact that the Middle Kingdom was composed of different peoples was largely lost on Westerners. She sheathed the swords across her back as she strode into the room.

  “What is the difficulty here?” she asked the man in English. Most foreign travelers spoke English, and he looked as if he might be British himself. He startled, then looked relieved at her appearance.

  “At last. Someone who speaks the Queen’s tongue,” he replied in the same language. “All I want is a room and a bath for the night. They,” he pointed at the fleeing servants, “took off as if I were a bandit.”

  The innkeeper chose that moment to come striding out from the back of the inn, a heavy cudgel in his hands. Jinhao quickly stepped between them.

  “What is this, what is this?” the innkeeper shouted. “Foreign devils threatening my staff?” He brandished the club in the Westerner’s direction. Jinhao spoke to the innkeeper in his native tongue, Hakka.

  “There has been a misunderstanding. This eminent person,” Jinhao said, pointing to the stranger, “simply wishes a room for the night and a bath. Do you have such available?”

  This brought the innkeeper up short. His face took on a canny look.

  “Well,” he said hesitantly, “I might. But it will cost him extra. No one will want to come near his room after he leaves. I will have to pay someone to come in from the outside to clean it.”

  Jinhao had no patience for this sort of haggling.

  “Do you or do you not?” she asked the innkeeper shortly. The man’s face took on a stubborn look.

  “He will have to pay in advance!”

  She nodded sharply and turned to the Westerner.

  “Do you have money to pay for the room?” She asked in English.

  “Well, of course,” the stranger replied. “Incidentally, what language is it that you are speaking? I am not familiar with it.”

  “Hakka,” Jinhao replied. “Most of the locals are not Han. While your Mandarin is very good, likely only he,” she nodded at the landlord, “will really understand you.”

  “Payment,” the innkeeper demanded.

  “Give the man money,” Jinhao instructed the Westerner.

  He held up an Imperial gold talent.

  “Will this be enough?” he asked. The innkeeper snatched it out of his hands, while bowing deeply.

  “Welcome,” the innkeeper said in broken, badly accented English. He bowed again. “You come this way.” The Westerner looked at Jinhao.

  “Follow him. You should have no more trouble.” She forbore from telling him that he had just likely paid enough to buy half the inn. The Westerner executed an intricate bow towards her, one worthy of the Imperial Court itself.

  “My thanks,” he said in perfect court Mandarin. “My name is Owen Strong. I am a Peer of the Realm of Her Imperial Highness, Elizabeth the Third of Britain. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, that I might make offering to the Gods?” Jinhao had to struggle not to respond in kind which would not be in keeping with her disguise of old linen and leathers. Instead, she managed a sketchy bow of the kind that an untutored guard might make.

  “Jinhao,” she said shortly. The innkeeper bobbed impatiently in the background.

  “You should go with him,” she repeated. The Westerner turned towards the innkeeper.

  “Well, lead on.” The Westerner made a hurrying motion with his hands, then picked up the single bag at his feet.

  “My thanks again,” he said with a shorter bow in her direction. Jinhao gave him a nod, watching him climb the stairs after the innkeeper.

  “You seemed comfortable with the foreign Devil,” Lee Shen remarked, appearing at her elbow.

  “I could not stand the commotion,” she replied. “Besides, he was simply a man like any other.”

  Lee Shen grunted.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Although I am not accustomed to having men nearby who can call fire like a sword. It may be different for you.”

  Jinhao thought he could have little idea just how accustomed to it she was.

  Lee Shen continued.

  “Still, it was well done,” he said. “Dealing with him calmed old Chen Lu right down. He was almost hopping with anxiety at the unlucky appearance of the Westerner.”

  Jinhao imagined the portly old Trader hopping from foot to foot, wringing his hands. She suppressed an impulse to giggle. It would not do to make fun of their employer, no matter how comedic his displays of worry had been on the road. Lee Shen nodded, as if guessing her thoughts.

  “He was ready to pull up and go back on the road,” he added. Jinhao whirled her head to look at him.

  “Surely not,” she said in surprise.

  Shen cocked his head to one side.

  “I convinced him that it was too late,” Lee Shen said. “Too dangerous to move around in the dark. Still, a quizi is an uncanny thing.”

  “You do not know that he is quizi,” she said sharply. Quizi was Mandarin slang for “Tricky Foreign Demon”, a term that had become very popular here in the south over the centuries.

  “I do not know that he is not,” Lee Shen returned. “Such a meeting is uncanny in itself, I feel it in my bones.”

  Jinhao failed to reply, suddenly feeling the crawling tingle up her neck that she felt before a premonition. Lee Shen looked at her, noticing her shiver.

  “You feel it too,” he observed.

  “Perhaps,” Jin
hao said diffidently. She had no desire to explain to him her birthright. Lee Shen nodded emphatically.

  “Damn right,” he said forcefully. “Mark my words, uncanny. Anyway, the Trader wishes to be off in the morning, as do I. Best get some sleep.”

  “Shall I post a guard at his door?” she asked.

  “No need,” Lee Shen rolled his eyes. “I shall sleep in his room on the floor. So much for a real bed tonight.”

  Jinhao allowed herself a small smile.

  “Better you than I,” she turned towards the door. “I had best see to the others in the stable.” Lee Shen grunted in agreement.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jinhao was just unrolling her sleeping blankets on the rooftop when she spotted trouble. While the trail boss had given her the preferred spot in the stable loft, she had learned that it caused much less resentment if she was generous in such small matters with the other guards. Besides, she preferred to sleep in a place that was hard for an opponent to reach, yet gave her a quick escape should she need it.

  Her adept trained eyes saw the shadowy figures steal across the main house’s rooftop. She paused thoughtfully, watching them. She should give the alarm. Stealthy figures sneaking across rooftops were up to no good. Once again though, she felt the tingly fingers of her intuition across her neck.

  Picking up her sword tack with a sigh, she gathered her Qi and leaped across the distance from the stable rooftop to the main house, landing feather-light on the slates. Keeping to the shadows herself, she spied the dark figures creep forward and silently enter a window. She counted three of them and frowned. That was too many for common thievery or killing, as one was usually enough if they were at all competent. These figures moved as if they were indeed very competent.

  She was certain from her earlier reckoning that the window did not belong to her employer. That should have been the end of her obligation in the matter. She should raise the house to deal with them by shouting the alarm. Instead she followed her intuition, drew her short swords and padded forward. A muffled cry and the flare of light from the window in question caused her to speed up, diving through the window like a dart towards its target.

  Jinhao came up in a roll inside the room, blinking at the sudden illumination. A ball of light floated in the middle of the room throwing strange shadows against the walls. She slashed out by instinct as she came to her feet. One of the shadowy figures from outside crumpled, eerily silent as it fell.

  One of the others, covered head to foot in close black coverings, turned towards her, drawing dual swords as they crept towards her. Jinhao spared a quick glance to see the Westerner she had helped out before struggling with the third assassin. Then she had no more time. Their fellow closed in on her.

  They exchanged a testing pass with their blades. Jinhao was surprised. Whoever they were they had adept training. No one else could match her speed and precision without it. Her surprise came from not being able to sense his Qi. From his movements, she was almost certain it was a man. She should have been able to do sense his Qi or energy. They circled each other, still in the same eerie silence as before. Not even the meeting of their blades produced any sound. It must be some form of quizi sorcery she decided.

  She could tell her opponent was also surprised at her abilities. She wondered who they were, and if she knew them. It was impossible for her to tell with the head covering, but whoever it was should recognize her. There were not that many adepts in the hall. If they did recognize her, they gave no indication of it. Instead Jinhao almost lost her head to a quick combination move from the monkey form. One blade sliced the air where her neck had been the moment before.

  Her opponent’s miss served like a shock of cold water might, clearing her mind of idle chatter. Gathering her Qi, Jinhao moved, blades a blur in the closing moves of the crane form. Her strike landed solidly. Her opponent’s head rolled free, severed cleanly by the sharp adept-forged blades. She turned from the kill towards the remaining assassin, snapping her swords down to clear them of blood. She paused as she saw the Westerner thrust out with his cane towards the assassin’s chest. A gout of flame sprouted from the assassin’s back where the cane touched.

  As the assassin fell, Jinhao could hear the twin blades fall to the wooden floor. Whatever the strange sorcery that had kept the deadly fight silent, it seemed to have died with him. The Westerner looked up at her with the glowing cane tip pointed towards her. He stood, she recognized, in some kind of prepared guard pose, similar to a stance she would take before engaging a foe.

  Jinhao, to her chagrin, giggled. She supposed that given the circumstances she should be impressed by the figure he cut. After all, with the sorcerous light overhead, together with the smell of human death that began to fill the room, it made for impressive surroundings. However, the Westerner was wearing some absurd white robe that flapped around his knees and made him look quite ridiculous. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Well,” he said, lowering his cane, “either you are brave enough to laugh when death looks you in the face or you are no part of whoever they were.” He gestured at the dead bodies. “In any event, I like a brave person. So, are you friend or foe?”

  Owen Strong, she remembered his name, and such a strange name it was too. She forbore from giggling again. Really, her tendency to giggle at inappropriate moments was her bane. It was simply that others didn’t see the humor that she did in life. Instead she sheathed her swords across her back, looking at him squarely.

  “I am not a foe,” Jinhao said clearly in English. “I am not certain I am a friend, but I am not a foe.” She knelt and pulled the face coverings free of the one she had beheaded. She let out a sigh. She did not recognize him, although that might mean nothing. There were whispers of disaffected recruits who had failed to complete their training. She supposed this was one such. The Westerner, Owen Strong she reminded herself, came to kneel beside her.

  “You reacted then as if you expected to know him,” he remarked. Jinhao stood abruptly.

  “You do not know anything about me,” she said shortly.

  “True,” he said rising more slowly. “In fact, I do not even remember your name from earlier. And do you?” Jinhao frowned in confusion. Was he asking her if she remembered her own name?

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Do you know him?” he asked patiently, leaning on his cane. “And also, what is your name?”

  The frown lifted from her face as she nodded in understanding.

  “No, I do not know him,” she said. She tossed her head. “You may call me Jinhao.”

  He bowed.

  “Well, Jinhao,” he said, “it seems I owe you again for help.” She waved his comment away.

  “I needed the exercise,” she said. “And what made the silence around them?”

  “Ah,” he raised a finger. “That I may have an answer for.” He knelt again by the man he had been fighting and felt around the corpse’s chest. He gave an exclamation, gingerly holding out a piece of chain. At the end of it was a melted bit that might have been a medal at one point before his fire had struck the man.

  “I suspect that this was the culprit.” He frowned as he examined it. “It was made by a powerful Sorcerer too. It is too damaged to discover who it was though by its resonance alone.” Jinhao nodded.

  “So this is a Western magic thing that is in the possession of expensive Han assassins,” she said darkly. “Do you have such persons come after you often?”

  He grinned at her ruefully as he stood up.

  “Not really,” he said. “In fact, this is the first time.” He looked down at the dead man contemplatively. “If I did not know better, I would think this Uncle Stephen’s handiwork.”

  He shook his head at her questioning regard. “Oh, he isn’t really an uncle, that’s just what we called him.” He stopped whatever he was about to say and looked attentively at the wall as if seeing something there invisible to anyone but himself.

  “Hmm …” he said sharply. “Did
you bring a guest?” Jinhao frowned, trying to see what he meant. All she could see was the wall and the open window she had come through.

  “I do not know what you mean,” she replied. Owen Strong cocked his head to one side as if listening to something. He made an arcane pass with his cane. A line of red light no thicker than a thread came from out of the window to touch her on the head.

  “Yes …” he said absently. “Definitely a sending, definitely not European, and just as definitely aimed at you.” He looked at her quizzically. “Have you run afoul of a Sorcerer? I do not even know if the Han have Sorcerers? Do you?”

  Jinhao’s eyes narrowed in thought. It must be the slimy court Sorcerer, Xu, who was a pet of the Empress. She had no idea that her rejection of his amorous advances would lead to his sending some evil magic after her though. If he had sent a Court Demon, it was most serious.

  “Come, come,” Strong said impatiently. “You clearly know something. Out with it. I cannot help you if you will not share what you know!”

  “Yes, Han do,” she said hesitantly, “Very rare. The Imperial Court employs one such. His name is Xu. He will have command of the Imperial Demons. They are very dangerous.” The man, Owen Strong, rubbed his hands together smiling. Surely he could not understand the danger they were in!

  “Demon, eh?” he nodded briskly towards the window. “Well, my wards should keep it out.” As if to underscore his statement, a very brief flash of light came from the window. “Well, at least for a while,” he amended.

  Jinhao thought that she could faintly hear the snarling of some beast like thing. She shivered despite herself.