The Kip Keene Box Set: Books 1, 2 & 3

by Nicholas Erik

  “Nevermind.” Keene took a look at the desk, spotting an ink well in the corner. The hefty porcelain piece would do fine. He chucked it through the air, droplets of black spiraling all over the room before it crashed through the glass.

  Keene took his billowy shirt off and wrapped his hand in it to clear the rest of the shards. He wouldn’t miss the stupid thing. It was like wearing a sheet.

  Gunshots rang out down the hall, filling the enclosed space with echoing booms. Screams and shouts flooded out from behind closed doors, the customers and girls perturbed by yet another violent interruption.

  Men charged through the thick plumes of gun smoke—the owners proper of this establishment, or at least those tasked with protecting it.

  “I owe them money,” the madam said, her cool voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. “Hurry.” Then with an almost languid flair, she defied her own words, sauntering beneath the bed to procure a large black pouch, the bottom sagging towards the ground.

  “Well I can see why they might think that,” Keene said. He did a final sweep of the pane with his protected hand, then gestured towards the window. “Let’s go.”

  The three hurried through the opening, on to the sidewalk. Keene vaulted out behind them, a gunshot glancing off the wall.

  “Find him,” a gruff voice said in Chinese, “Ching Shih will have our heads!”

  Keene hurried to catch up with his friends.

  This pirate queen was relentless.

  And somehow, with Lorelei on the loose, the least dangerous of their current problems.

  27 | Everywhere

  The madam led them in a circuitous route back to the docks.

  Always the docks. Everything and everywhere began and ended with water, the endless flow of infinitely mutable and shapeless matter.

  “Money,” the woman said, after speaking to the captain of a small ship, the whole while Keene threw hurried glances about, waiting for Ching Shih’s men to rise out of the depths and snatch him forever. And the giant bag of money was tiresome to carry.

  “Just wait a minute,” Keene said.

  “It is my money.”

  “We don’t even know your name.”

  The woman held up a hand to the captain, indicating she had another matter to attend to, then turned her full attention to Keene. She brushed her lengthy black hair back behind her neck, and pointed at the scar on her face.

  “I’ve dealt with far tougher men than you.”

  “Probably,” Keene said. “I try not to cut girls up.”

  “Girls,” the woman said with a snort. “Is this the way he talks to you?” She gave Strike a look, like she was searching for comradery. She received nothing but a brushoff.

  “So that name,” Keene said. “You were saying?”

  “And my life story, too?”

  “I got an idea on the life story. But we can start with a name.”

  “You’ll forget it as soon as we’ve parted ways. What’s the point?”

  She placed her hands on her slender hips, a move of empty defiance. Keene knew that it wasn’t strictly necessary—or pressing—to know anything about this madam who had insisted on being rescued from her lot in life.

  But it might help him understand her just a little better. And maybe to make a determination, since Ching Shih’s goons were crawling all over the place. They seemed to own every port, be involved in every seedy enterprise within a stone’s throw of water.

  “I’m Keene.” He waited, then added, “This is Strike. And Linus. Don’t worry about him. He’s harmless.”

  “That’s what the worst ones say.”

  “Sometimes it’s true.” Keene stared at her, then shifted towards the captain, who was quickly losing interest in this conversation. With a shrug, Keene reached into the black bag and extracted a handful of coins. He stepped forward and put them into the man’s hand. “She told you where to go?”

  The man gave a quick nod and said, “Only enough for one way. And we leave now, with the tide and winds.”

  “Make it two,” Keene said, returning to the bag. Despite the transference of coins, the sack didn’t feel any lighter. He had never known having too much money to be a problem, but that was in the age of digital accounting.

  “That’ll do.”

  Keene pushed past the madam and boarded the small merchant vessel. He had no idea where he was going, or even who he was making this trip with.

  The largest of leaps.

  The rest of the group filtered in behind him, and the captain took up the anchor. As the wind carried them out of the port, on to the open water, the madam sidled up next to Keene.

  “What do you want?”

  “Theodora.”

  Keene nodded, and said nothing.

  He knew her name.

  But still, that left a lot of unanswered questions.

  Those would have to wait.

  28 | Going Home

  “Ching Shih will be waiting,” Theodora said. “You understand this?”

  Keene watched the full sail catch a strong gust in the open water. Hong Kong had disappeared behind them, leaving nothing but the placid sea and the dying glow of the day’s final night glinting off the waves.

  “You’re the one who wanted to tag along.”

  “What is it you seek on the Gray Isle?”

  “I’m not sure,” Keene said. Nominally, he was going to save the world from destruction—again. But it was more his world, rather than the entire world. A new one that would replace his own, overwriting the events of his past, present and future like a computer file being updated. Would he feel anything? Would he know?

  Would his sister even know what she’d done? Or would everything simply fade—the memories of this planet, of Strike, of Linus, of everything that had happened, all gone, dissolving into cosmic dust?

  “For an uncertain man you are determined.”

  “I always considered myself rambling and misguided.”

  “Improvisational. Like a pianist outside the orchestra,” Theodora said. “Allowed to make music by instinct.”

  “You sound like you’re writing an article for a magazine.”

  “A what?”

  “Newspaper.”

  “Do not think me foolish, filling your ears with melodious nothings.”

  “I don’t.” Keene stared at the chop the small junk left in its wake. “I’m looking for a way home.” This had always been the case. Ever his lot on this Earth, no matter the time. Always searching.

  In that way, he was little different than anyone else on the planet.

  “There is a home in freedom.” Theodora’s gaze settled on the horizon, seemingly looking through all the houses, the entire landscape, to what that meant. “Perhaps you have already acquired what you seek. It is not unusual.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “My business is men. What they think that they lack is often not so.”

  “And what they believe are virtues are in fact weaknesses.”

  “Exactly,” Theodora said. “A home, I do not believe you lack. Nor freedom.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I want to come with you. To this place which has allowed you to choose.”

  Keene laughed. “It takes a little getting used to.”

  “Anything is better than here.” Theodora brushed the scar on her face with absent fingers.

  “How’d it happen, anyway?”

  “All stories are about two things,” the madam said with a grim smile, still rubbing the scar, “freedom and revenge.”

  “Is that why you’re helping me?”

  Theodora didn’t answer, just looked out at the business. Keene understood. Ching Shih’s men had done this to her, and now she would escape—with payback. That worked for Keene. Linus tapped him on the shoulder.

/>   “We spotted the Gray Isle.”

  “Strike around?”

  “Yeah, she’s getting pissed at the crew, telling them to go faster.” Linus leaned in close, to whisper. “I think she might shoot them.”

  “I guess they’ll have to learn,” Keene said.

  He gave a shrill whistle, placing two fingers in his mouth to make the sound. The entire deck stood at attention, the makeshift crew of vagrants, third-tier sailors and lost souls seeking adventure stopping their preparations.

  “Ready for battle, men. The Gray Isle awaits.”

  The captain approached Keene. “Sir, we’re coming in on the western shore. It’s uninhabited there.” The captain gave him a salute and ran to give the rest of the orders.

  “You could’ve told me about that,” Keene said.

  “A woman can’t reveal all her secrets,” Theodora replied. Her hair waved in the wind, the strands blowing loosely across her neck.

  Soon, the small junk was pulling into port—this one crafted by nature from boulders and rough sand—for what Keene hoped was the last time.

  And not too late. For if either Lorelei or Ching Shih put the pieces together before him, the consequences would be dire indeed.

  29 | Ching Shih’s Mansion

  The Gray Isle might have been an appropriate moniker for the natural habitat of the island—which mostly consisted of rocks and sand the consistency of roadway gravel—but it didn’t address the man-made improvements Ching Shih had brought.

  In contrast to the stormy seas and overcast skies, a glittering pagoda sat in the middle of the island, taking up almost a third of the real estate. To the east of this monument was a large chasm, edging the sea, which seemed to drop into nowhere.

  “Nice ambiance,” Keene said. He pressed the eyeglass closer to his cheek, feeling the cool metal dig into his skin. The magnified terrain didn’t look much more inviting than it had under normal vision.

  No one made a move to disembark from the ship. The small junk was hardly cozy, and featured terrible amenities, but it seemed downright inviting by comparison to the foreboding isle.

  “If I was a pirate, I’d go somewhere warm. With palm trees, dude,” Linus said.

  “Then why the hell did you move to Boston after you stole my money?”

  “I didn’t steal it.”

  “Right,” Keene said. The ship rocked gently as it brushed up against the sandy beach. A few crew members hurried to drop the anchor, so that the boat wouldn’t drift away in the storm. “You think she saw us come in?”

  “I look like a nautical expert, dude?”

  “Way to grow a pair Linus,” Keene said. He scanned the grim surroundings. The lack of trees, wildlife or flowers made him shiver. Just rocks and a beautiful monument of red and gold.

  But what a magnificent piece of architecture it was. Not that it had a lot of warmth or life, but it certainly made up for it in ostentatious bombast. Perhaps ten stories tall, a large fire burning at the top of the structure. It occurred to Keene that the pagoda might double in function as a lighthouse.

  Although the height was, in all likelihood, more a testament to Ching Shih than any sort of concern for safety.

  Tall columns lined the front, the entire structure painted a bright, seamless shade of bright crimson. Gold leaf accentuated important features, such as the animal ornaments attached to the masonry.

  The entire kingdom was represented, both mythical and real—snakes, rams, oxen, horses, turtles, tigers, and something that looked like a giant clam.

  “What’s with the clam,” Keene said, pointing towards the top. Despite the gray pall and overcast skies, visibility was surprisingly high. The Gray Isle was the type of secluded hermitage that one would expect to be covered in fog. But instead it was clear, the entire island illuminated in a haunting glow by the many lanterns hanging from the pagoda’s eves.

  This added to its discomfiting aura.

  “The shen?” Theodora said.

  “Shen?”

  “It’s a shapeshifting monster,” Theodora said. “A transformative clam-monster.”

  “Of course,” Keene said. He scanned the pagoda from top to bottom, noting that the entrance appeared unguarded. It couldn’t be that easy. Torches even hung from the columns, casting an inviting glow. “Must’ve missed that in biology class.”

  The pagoda was little more than a half mile walk away.

  “The men are all set,” Theodora said. “We leave now.”

  “They’re not coming along?”

  “They refuse to set foot on the island. Claims of evil spirits.”

  “You’ll be safer with them.”

  “No. I will accompany you.” Theodora had apparently spent enough time in the company of sailors and come away unimpressed by their mannerisms.

  Keene shrugged. He rounded up Linus and Strike, told the crew to look out for any attackers and signs of Ching Shih, and then threw a rope over the junk’s side.

  Sliding down the rough braid, he wondered if the stories were true about spirits.

  Anything seemed possible after traveling through time.

  The entrance to the island pagoda was abandoned. No guards, no tripwires, no makeshift nineteenth century alarms. Maybe the stories of curses and evil spirits were enough of a security system.

  Or maybe Ching Shih and her men were busy tending to other problems elsewhere on the isle—like Lorelei.

  Keene lifted one of the torches out of its wrought iron holder. His companions did the same. He waved the light in front of him, as if trying to fend off a pack of wolves. Shadows flitted across the red walls.

  The pagoda’s tall bamboo doors lead into a magnificent room carpeted with ornate rugs and stocked with furniture burnished to a gleam.

  “Pirating pays well,” Strike said as the group entered the chamber.

  Keene looked up. The room was not so much an entrance as an atrium, its ceiling stretching all the way to the top of the pagoda, where a floor fashioned of glass sat. Light refracted off the snowy glass at odd angles, throwing strange shadows across the top levels. He slowly turned, examining the spiraling walkways at the outskirts of the room that lead to the apex.

  “All this, and only two rooms?” Linus said. “I don’t see any ship.”

  “The ship’s not here, dummy,” Strike said. “Which begs the question about what the hell we’re doing wasting our time in this dump.”

  Keene held up his hand, and silence fell over the group. He cocked his head, listening to the rhythmic padding of feet. Someone was coming down the walkway. But from where? His eyes crisscrossed all over the building, but he couldn’t see where this mysterious person was located.

  In each corner were tall bamboo plants.

  Keene pointed at them, and the group dispersed, hiding behind the massive vases.

  The quiet padding grew closer, if not louder. An old barefoot man came down the ramp and walked into the center of the room. He stared up and mumbled something to himself.

  Any excitement Keene felt dissipated. This was not Ching Shih, nor Lorelei.

  Strike burst from cover, running into the middle of the room with her pistol drawn.

  “Hey.”

  The man turned and said in Mandarin, “Hello, traveler. I have come to welcome you.”

  “Save it,” Strike said. “We know you’re a pirate.”

  Keene stepped out from his own hiding spot. Theodora and Linus followed. They formed a circle around the old man, who seemed surprisingly calm despite the sudden appearance of four armed strangers.

  His hands were well-worn, covered in strong calluses. Beneath the weathered appearance, a strong vitality thrummed.

  “We’re looking for pirates,” Keene said.

  He gave them a quick bow, and said with a smile, “Yes, Ching Shih.”

  “You know
her, then,” Keene said.

  “A lost soul. She has found this lighthouse. And the ship.”

  “The ship?”

  “The one of silver. Placed deep in the heart of the island, for it has no use. Others do not believe so.”

  “It has a lot of use,” Keene said.

  “A misunderstanding, for even when it travels, it will not get you where you seek to go.”

  It was difficult to tell by the man’s koan-like speech if he understood the true implications of the Silver Songbird. Keene shrugged and decided to try a different tact.

  “How did Ching Shih find the ship?”

  “Pirates travel easily across water,” the man said with a smile. His long beard moved along with his lips. “It is no stretch of the imagination how they stumbled upon this small isle.”

  “They don’t bother you?” Keene said.

  “People such as they cannot harm anyone but themselves.”

  “I see,” Keene said. “And where might I find Ching Shih?”

  The old man rubbed his beard thoughtfully, his dark eyes shining like little balls of jet. He adjusted his robe and stared at the ceiling.

  The long pause allowed Keene to examine him closely. Indeed, this old man was not one of Ching Shih’s hardened pirates. The sea had not lashed lines into his face, the strenuous nature of sea travel hadn’t toned his muscles. Instead, the years etched into this man’s body were the product of passionate devotion to craft. A radiant, certain calm emanated from the man’s being.

  Here was a Zen master, living in isolation on the island, in this magnificent pagoda.

  Waiting for lost souls.

  “You resemble a young girl who passed through here not long ago,” the man said.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “I believe you are both searching for the same thing.” The man walked out of the circle, towards one of the walls of the pagoda. No one attempted to stop him. He took a piece of parchment hanging from a hook, and returned to the center of the circle. “The ship.”

  He handed it to Keene. The picture was a replica of the blueprint he had discovered in the back room of the Jade Dragon opium den.