by Beth Cato
“After you get your water, miss. Let’s keep up the pretense for our errand.”
They returned to find Mr. Roosevelt speaking of the situation in Seattle and how effectively the crises had been contained. Ingrid smiled in relief to hear that more geomancers had been brought in to stabilize the flow in the region. She waited for a pause in Roosevelt’s tale and looked across the table to Cy.
“While we’re all together, it’s only right that we tell your father about the engineer behind Excalibur,” she said firmly, before he could continue.
“Miss . . . !” Roosevelt flushed.
“What is it you’re supposed to tell me?” Mr. Augustus asked, perplexed.
Cy assessed the situation, looking to Ingrid and Reddy, then crouched before his father again. “Father. I know this is going to be hard for you to hear . . .” He took a deep breath. “Maggie didn’t die in a laboratory accident. She’s alive.”
“Alive?” George Augustus gripped Cy by the shoulders. “What do you mean? She’s been alive all this time? How—”
Cy didn’t give him time to finish another question. “She is the one who created Excalibur, the capstone of the Gaia Project. They didn’t need your help anymore because they had her.” He glared over his shoulder. Roosevelt glowered at him, red-faced. “Mr. Roosevelt has known all the while, but kept the secret on her behalf.”
“I—Maggie—Theodore?” Mr. Augustus’s jaw fell slack. No more sounds emerged as he slumped forward in a dead faint.
“That,” growled Ambassador Roosevelt, “was poorly done. You had no need to deal the man such news—”
“You had no need to playact as his good friend while hiding from him the information that his daughter was still alive.” Ingrid flushed with rage. If she had held any power, she likely could have shattered anything in hand.
They stood together on the front porch of the domicile. Siegfried lurked mere steps away, his back to the wall and eyes closed as if he dozed; she knew better. Roosevelt’s other men sat on the ground and used a stump as their card table.
Cy and Reddy were tending to Mr. Augustus in the bedroom. His fainting episode had lasted mere seconds. Cy had caught him as he slumped toward the ground.
“This life of mine involves a constant struggle between loyalties. Moral lines are not as clear as they once were.” Roosevelt didn’t look at her, instead gazing over the rail to the sprawling farmland and distant derricks. She didn’t think she had ever seen him appear so weary.
“The truth was going to come out soon,” Ingrid said. “Excalibur is garnering incredible attention. Someone will let it slip—in a derisive way, I’m sure—that a woman is the lead engineer. Mr. Augustus needed to know while all of us were here to support him. What if he had found out from a paper?”
“You are not wrong.” His tone was quiet. “In a way, I am relieved. Since George and I found each other in San Francisco, I have debated the time and place for the telling. I had thought today would work, but on the way here, I decided against it.”
“Hence your not-so-subtle glare toward us when you arrived.”
He acknowledged that with a tilt of his head.
Ingrid reached out with her senses to check on the sylphs. They were still resting in a walnut tree. Fenris lurked beneath those branches as well. He had sworn that he needed air, but she figured he simply could not bear being around so many people in tight confines.
“Have you heard from Lee Fong and Mr. Sakaguchi?” Roosevelt asked.
“I don’t know where they are. I don’t even know if they’re alive.” Not lies.
“You should know that the missing kermanite was intercepted by soldiers in Texas. As of yesterday, it’s aboard Excalibur. The crystal will return to California, where its future usage will be a subject of great debate, and hopefully, innovation.”
The innovation of another dreadful war machine. Her lip curled in disgust.
“The kermanite had been in the possession of British nationals, two with known associations with the Thuggee movement in India. I will be flying to Texas next to interrogate them myself, though their testimony already clears Mr. Sakaguchi of complicity in the stone’s theft.”
“I’m glad.” She wanted to say more, but couldn’t manage words.
“I had best leave. I don’t want my presence to further trouble George.” Sincerity softened his tone. “Will you be staying in Los Angeles for a while longer?”
“For the next week, at least. With her after us, we’re afraid to stay anyplace for long.”
“That’s wise.” He motioned to Siegfried, who stepped forward. “Here are the funds that you requested, and more. I understand that George will be reluctant to ask for anything from me right now, but perhaps he’ll accept aid from his son.”
Siegfried pulled a sealed packet from his back pocket, and then a billfold. He slipped out several bills and passed them to her with the envelope.
Ingrid glanced at the billfold to find several hundred-dollar bills; the thick envelope remained sealed in her grip. She thought of the metal they’d taken from the Chinese storehouse and felt almost sick. They could have bought some orichalcum, had they only waited.
Mr. Roosevelt was right. Moral lines were foggy indeed.
“I hope this will suffice for a while. If not, you know where to reach my contacts both here and abroad.” T.R. adjusted his bowler hat, and gesturing for her hand, planted a quick kiss on her knuckles. The steps groaned in the wake of his quick footsteps. The card game on the stump immediately concluded, and a minute later, the sales truck rumbled back up the drive.
The door clanged a minute later as Cy joined her on the porch. For a moment, they simply stood together, watching the truck vanish from sight, a dust cloud in its wake.
“He gave us money. A lot of money.” She passed the wad of cash to him. “He wants us to help your father as well.”
He flipped through the bills. A low whistle escaped his lips. “Of course we’ll help him—and Father wants to help us, too. He asked to return to Los Angeles with us. He wants to assist us in regard to Maggie, and lend a hand with your braces.”
“What did you tell him about why I need leg braces?”
Cy cleared his throat. “He came right out and asked me if you were a geomancer. He heard kermanite clinking in your pocket, and recalled that we spoke before about deviant geomancy. He connected that with the intensity of the UP’s interest in you and . . . well . . .”
“I suppose it’s just as well that he knows. We’re all family now, aren’t we?”
Cy’s smile was both tired and happy. “We are. I’m going to get that autocar in the barn functional right fast. Reddy’s going to drive us to the Bug. He’s staying here to run the farm. You don’t figure that . . . thing will return to this area, do you?” He studied the sky.
“I can’t say for certain, but if it did, it’d only be looking for me. Your father’s probably more at risk being in my proximity.”
Cy offered a grim nod. “Where’s Fenris?”
“Here he comes. He must have heard us talking.” She pointed toward Fenris, who approached with his head down and hands tucked in his trouser pockets. That wasn’t his usual demeanor at all. “Fenris?”
He glanced up. His pale brown skin was flushed, his eyes glassy. “I’m not feeling particularly well. It may be best for me to take a nap.”
Chapter 16
“Fenris doesn’t get sick.” Cy’s already pale face appeared ghastly in the dim light of the cabin. Beyond the glass, the hills were cast in gray as twilight descended.
“Everyone gets sick a few times a year. It’s normal.” She tried to keep her tone light because she knew Cy needed it, but she was worried, too. Fenris didn’t nap. He defied slumber, period.
“Even when he was injured so badly back in Chinatown, he only slept extra due to pain and drugs. Back in our academy days, if he slept three or four hours a night, that was an extraordinary event.”
“I must ask as a precaution: Do you h
ave his wig and clothes aboard?” She kept her voice especially low. George Augustus didn’t know all their secrets, nor should he.
“Yes, they’re packed with his things, always.”
She nodded, relieved to know that. “Fenris barely ventures out in public, but he has in recent days. He must have contracted influenza somewhere.”
“I hope Father doesn’t catch it. He’s much more frail than he used to be.” His brow was troubled. Mr. Augustus had also lain down for a nap soon after they took off. “But, Ingrid, what if this isn’t influenza? What if it’s a side effect of the injection?”
Ingrid had wondered that, too. “Then you would also be coming down with symptoms, wouldn’t you?” She paused, head tilted in thought. “I’ll be right back.”
She patted his shoulder as she stood. She had removed the alpha brace upon their return. Unsurprisingly, the skin of her left foot and calf had broken out in a rash, with large welts marking her where the creased cloth and brace plates had continually rubbed. She’d need to buy some soothing balm in Los Angeles, and hope that her skin healed before she tested the next iteration.
She returned to the cockpit with a handful of newspapers. Cy focused on piloting but she caught his curious glances her way. After a few minutes she had culled several sheets from the past week.
“The influenza outbreak started in Atlanta. Papers only began to mention it after Excalibur left. As of yesterday, Atlanta is in quarantine because the death toll has mounted so quickly. Maybe we’ve been thinking about this all wrong.” She sidled up to the other copilot’s seat to better talk to Cy as he flew. “We know the Chinese have some weapons, and training in their use, illegal though that is—but they certainly don’t have the means to adequately defend themselves. They need a different tack to fight the UP. To fight America.”
“My God.” Cy breathed out the words. “The laboratories. They created influenza as a weapon.”
“If it is influenza. Don’t a number of digestive illnesses display similar symptoms? The papers have latched on to that label, but I’m not sure if it should be trusted.”
“That’s a valid point.”
“I’d bet you a dragon’s hoard that Lee immunized me back in San Francisco, and since he befriended the two of you, he wanted you to stay safe amid this attack, too. That’s why he sent us to that basement.”
“It’s brilliant. These laboratories were probably in sizable Chinatowns across the country.” His expression was pained. “This was planned for a long time.”
“As an awful necessity.” She blinked back tears. “Lee must have known for months. No wonder he grieved over how the war would develop here.”
Both of them remained lost in thought for several minutes. “We dare not tell T.R. I don’t trust how he’d use this information,” said Cy.
Ingrid sucked in a breath. “Cy. The focus of the attack must be Excalibur. But the papers haven’t mentioned any sickness there.”
“If the influenza truly is on board, the UP would try to keep it secret as long as possible. That’s helped by the fact that Excalibur is under way. It’s essentially a vessel under quarantine, except for some supply drops. But they wouldn’t be able to keep it hidden forever. Their flight path would have to change. They surely couldn’t stop in Los Angeles and expose soldiers and civilians there.”
Out of nowhere, the soft chime of a bell rang in Ingrid’s ears, followed by the divine scent of apple pie—the fruity freshness of the apples, the magical melding of butter and flour in the crust. For a moment, she expected to hear the heavy clatter of the oven door in Mr. Sakaguchi’s kitchen, for Mama to hum as she pulled forth her glorious creation, like an angel on high heralding a miracle.
“I smell horses and leather,” Cy whispered, longing in his words.
Ingrid pivoted quickly in her seat and found herself face-to-face with the qilin.
The celestial being stood in the doorway not a half foot away, its head as high as Ingrid’s knee. Its body was covered by shimmering gold scales licked by flames that caused no damage to the mat beneath its delicate cloven hooves. The dragonlike head with its two small antlers angled to consider her.
“Ingrid Carmichael.”
The invocation resonated through her body as if she stood near taiko drummers. She felt a brief spike of panic at the sound of her full name spoken aloud for the first time in weeks, but she reminded herself that not everyone could hear this being’s words. “Qilin.” Gripping the seat, she awkwardly slid to the floor.
“Great qilin, I beg your pardon,” said Cy. “If you’ll grant me a few minutes I can get us in a place to safely stay at a hover—”
“Bartholomew Cypress Augustus. Please continue to pilot. I know you intend no disrespect, and your mission is indeed one of urgency.”
Ingrid bit her lip to contain a gasp. Cy could hear the qilin this time?
“I’m honored, Great One,” he said in a reverent tone.
“I’m honored, too,” Ingrid said, lowering her face to the tatami. “I’ve been trying to communicate with you—”
“You have always communicated with me. I reply as I will.”
Humbled, Ingrid pressed her face lower, nose almost on the floor. Her legs pulsed with agony in this position, but she dared not move. She had begged and pleaded for the qilin to come, and it had. She had to be thankful and grit her teeth.
“How may I serve you?” Ingrid asked. A sentence she’d willingly say to very few beings in this world.
“Lee Fong.” The name emerged with infinite tenderness. Ingrid imagined Lee somewhere, hundreds of miles away, shivering and looking around with a puzzled frown. “His life will remain in immense peril for as long as he breathes, but we come again to a juncture. A point when you can channel the water’s flow of his existence and ensure that it does not evaporate.”
She recalled the metaphor the qilin used during its last visit, about fate as a flash flood, difficult to direct. “I love Lee. I’ll do anything I can to help him.”
“You must walk in the coming days, and then you must confront the orichalcum island where it stops. Lee and his companions will be there, hiding in the most obvious and clever place.”
Ingrid waited, wondering if a living map would come to life in her mind as it had when the qilin directed her before. After long seconds of nothing, she spoke. “Those are . . . minimal directions. Can you be more specific? Great qilin?” Her nose bumped the matting.
A sense of amusement flowed through her, along with a whiff of blooming jasmine. “You possess the power of the earth itself in your frail form, but you are so very human. I have told you enough. The variables, the possibilities, are myriad. A mother with a young child cannot govern how her offspring places each foot, nor can I direct your steps. Nor do you truly wish for me to do so.”
Ingrid couldn’t deny that.
“We’re honored you’re helping us as much as you are,” said Cy, his voice a low rumble. “Thank you.”
“Ingrid Carmichael.” The qilin’s voice was a breathy whisper. Ingrid took that as a cue to raise her head. Its wide amber eyes were inches away, its curved lashes as long as her fingers. “You are entrusted with the guandao blessed by green dragon’s blood. You must know when the moment is right to hand it to Lee Fong.”
With that, the celestial being bowed, one foreleg extended. Ingrid froze. The two antlers grazed her cheeks, gentle as the brush of sun-warmed grass. As the qilin righted itself, it offered her a slight nod, and then blinked out of existence. Gone, as if it’d never been there at all.
A full sense of reality returned. She pushed herself to sit and groaned as she used her hands to adjust her legs. “I guess you heard the whole conversation that time?”
“I did. I am . . . in awe. I wish I could’ve done more to show respect.”
“Keeping us from crashing was adequate, I think.”
“I’m all the more glad we have Father with us now. We’ll get you walking in the next few days.” His grim tone left no room f
or failure.
Ingrid bit back a whimper as she edged back into her seat, still rubbing her left calf. Beyond Cy, the glass revealed that stars had begun to emerge, their sparkles hesitant and shy.
“As if there wasn’t pressure on us already. How long did that conversation last, all of two minutes? There’s so much else I wanted to ask about. Lee’s health. If Mr. Sakaguchi is still with him. About the sickness spreading around the country. How badly off Fenris is right now.”
Cy glanced back. “Ingrid, would any of its answers truly satisfy you?”
“No, damn it.” She blinked back tears. If her ojisan and Lee were separated, they’d be so much harder to find. “But a few enigmatic hints might have been better than nothing.”
“The qilin is ultimately a being of peace. Everything it says and does is to assist the survival of the Chinese people.” Cy was quiet for a long moment. “I wish I’d thought to ask how many of the Chinese were inoculated, to get even a hint of that truth. That might make all the difference right now.”
“Oh?” She was only half listening, distracted as she massaged her leg.
“If this sickness is as virulent as the papers make it sound, the Chinese may actually win the war after all,” Cy said softly. “They’ll be the ones who remain healthy and alive.”
Ingrid limped to her cot and listened to the sounds of sleep from the racks above and across from her. Fenris rustled and whimpered in his sleep. Ingrid hoped he didn’t experience fever dreams, but she had a hunch that he already frequently battled nightmares. He often bolted from his cot as if he were being chased.
How was Lee sleeping these days as he recovered from his brush with death? She wanted to hug him and ruffle his hair, pretend things were as they always were. What a mirage that would be.
She reached to the back corner of her bed and found the plaque gifted to her by Fenris. He’d removed the qilin carving from the wall and mounted it on a polished piece of wood. She stroked the divots carved by Lee’s hand. Tears came to her eyes.