Hurrying past the fighting, Mr. Song and I found another corridor, leading deeper into the subterranean space, where the smoke was far thicker. I knew that was where Mr. Scant would be. Hearing the sound of metal against metal, I rushed in and, through the smoke, could dimly make out two figures locked in combat. The silhouettes charged at one another, and I could discern the claw, flashing out against a sword of some sort, twisting and jerking upward until Mr. Scant had disarmed his opponent.
Miss Cai and Miss Gaunt hurried up behind me. “Is it safe?” asked Miss Cai.
“I think so. Mr. Scant?”
The silhouette took shape as Mr. Scant came closer, his scarf covering half of his face. “Mr. Yau won’t be a problem for you.”
“And the weapons?”
“Inside.”
Miss Cai nodded and called on some men to accompany her. Pulling kerchiefs up over their mouths and trying in vain to wave the flare smoke away from their faces, they vanished into the room beyond so rapidly it was as though they had fallen into a hole.
Mr. Scant didn’t look happy. “Yau”—who must have been the man he’d disarmed—“didn’t answer any of my questions. Only ranted about his destiny as true ruler of China. I feel as though we’re meddling in things that are none of our business.”
“I just want to help Victor,” I said.
“Helping the boy is one thing. Helping secret societies steal guns from one another is quite another.”
“One wants to hurt the young emperor,” I said as if it weren’t clear, “and the other is a kind of police service.”
“Hmm,” Mr. Scant said, and left it at that.
We went outside to wait. I took the kerchief off my face, and Mr. Scant removed the travel cloak. Before long, men in green started to appear with boxes and small crates, concealing rifles with their sheets or jackets, the weapons obvious to us but probably not conspicuous to anyone who should chance upon the scene. Miss Cai and Miss Gaunt soon appeared too, uncovering their faces. Miss Cai smiled triumphantly.
“It’s a great thing you’ve done today,” she said. “There’s plenty of evidence here that they were planning something well beyond the selling of arms. We’ll get confessions out of them. And we’ve confiscated the guns, so the attack cannot go ahead. All that’s left is to find where they’ve got the young Frenchmen, but I promise we’ll make them talk soon enough.”
“Victor will be happy,” I said. “We should go and get him.” We hadn’t told a soul, not even our allies, but that morning we had left Victor in the care of the nice lady baker in the French Concession who had given him his latest hat.
“Does this mean you’ll be coming home with us?” Mr. Scant asked his niece.
Miss Gaunt sighed. “Once we find the missing citizens and I have given my report, yes, I will come back to England with you. There are people I need to talk to in Britain about the International Police Commission, in any case.”
“You’d better write a lot while you’re away,” said Miss Cai.
“I will.”
“More than you write to your parents.” Miss Cai looked to us. “You should take some time to relax and enjoy the city. Tomorrow’s festival will be happy and safe, thanks to you. If you haven’t seen it yet, may I suggest the Jing’an Temple? Any rickshaw driver will take you there.”
“Your recommendation is appreciated,” said Mr. Scant. “We’ll get out of your way.”
“Thank you for all your help,” said Miss Cai. “I mean that. It was a good plan, Master Diplexito. You must be happy it went so well.”
“I’ll be happy when we find Victor’s brother,” I said.
“We will,” said Miss Cai.
When we returned to the bakery in the French Concession, we found Victor lying flat on one of the benches, rubbing his belly and groaning softly. Even though it was not yet noon, he had apparently gorged himself with cakes. Mr. Scant explained to him that his brother had not been found yet, but that they had caught the person who had taken him away, who would soon reveal Julien’s whereabouts. Victor nodded happily and lay back down.
Mr. Scant was quiet that afternoon. We did go to see the temple, where, for a silver tael or two, a friendly young monk took us on a tour of the large and extravagant site. Our guide delighted Victor by pointing out all the little animal carvings up on the roof and taking us to see the statues of the Buddha, whose expression filled me with an odd mixture of tranquility and foreboding. Mr. Scant said almost nothing during the tour, looking with suspicion into every corner or at every passerby, and elsewise seeming lost in thought.
The evening that followed passed calmly, though Victor kept asking for news of his brother. However, no word came from Miss Cai or Miss Gaunt, and in the end, it became apparent there would be no further contact that day. Though I thought I would be too worried to sleep, I began to doze much sooner than I expected, and changed into my bedclothes unaided before getting into bed early.
“Perhaps that’s that,” I said, aloud, and smiled to myself before settling into the pillows to sleep.
Some hours later, well before morning, I was shaken awake by a wild-eyed Miss Cai, which admittedly didn’t come as a surprise whatsoever.
“What’s happened?” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Something’s wrong,” said Miss Cai, glancing anxiously back at Mr. Scant, who stood behind her. “There’s been some kind of fight at the Songs’ house. Nobody knows where they are, father or son.”
“Forgive us for waking you,” said Mr. Scant. “It seemed urgent.”
“I don’t mind.” I thought for a moment and then looked at Miss Cai. “Why did you come to us?”
“I . . .” That question seemed to take her by surprise. “Elspeth and Shu-Ming—Mr. Deng—are already out searching. Some members of the Viridian Clan are helping but most are guarding the teahouse in case of reprisals from the Star and Stone.”
“Do you think they’re behind this?”
“Of course!” Miss Cai said. “I don’t know how they found out where the Songs live, but they must have done it.”
“Okay. Let me get dressed. We’ll help.”
Miss Cai nodded and turned to take her leave, but Mr. Scant stopped her. “Just one thing,” he said. “Were there any answers about these French captives?”
“I heard one of the Star and Stone hongmen say something about the warehouses by the North Railway Station. But I don’t know if it was true.”
As Miss Cai commenced to wait outdoors and Mr. Scant helped me to dress, I asked him, “Where should we go, the station or Mr. Song’s house?”
“Neither,” said Mr. Scant. “It’s clear to me there’s only one place we should go, and that is the Hu Bao Tea House.”
Outside the clubhouse, Miss Cai looked at Mr. Scant as though he were an idiot. “Why the teahouse? I was there earlier—just after the word of the attack on the Songs’ home.”
“There are some things we need to make certain of,” Mr. Scant replied.
“What things?”
“It will be easier to show you.”
At that, I gave her a soft, hopefully disarming smile. “We’ll need you.”
Miss Cai looked at Victor, who had stepped up beside me with determination on his face. “Is it safe for the little one?”
“We’ll look after him,” I said. “If there’s a chance we’ll find his brother today, he deserves to be here.”
We left the clubhouse as a party of four, so a rickshaw was too small for our trip to the teahouse, and instead we took a cab. Miss Cai shook her head as we alighted. “This is where I started this morning,” she said. “Why are we here?”
“Because it’s where you started,” said Mr. Scant. “And where none of you intended to return during your search.”
“Zhao-Ji! Oliver!”
I turned to look who had called to us, but really, there was only one person I knew who could call out at the top of her voice yet still sound completely uninterested. Miss Gaunt was hurrying toward us. Miss
Cai stepped toward her with a frown on her face. “Why are you here?” she said.
“I assume you came to the same conclusion as I did,” said Miss Gaunt. “But how will we get in?”
“Conclusion? What conclusion?” asked Miss Cai.
“They won’t just let us inside, of course. Good morning, Uncle.”
“Elspeth,” Mr. Scant said with nod. “You realized where to come, I see.”
“Are you all mad?” said Miss Cai. “What are we doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “The Songs can’t be found because they’re in a place you haven’t been looking. A place well-guarded and newly stocked with guns . . .”
Realization crossed Miss Cai’s face, but she shook her head in disbelief. “You think it’s . . . ? No. I won’t believe it.” She stalked toward the entrance of the tearoom but was pushed away by a pair of Viridian Clan members guarding the door. An angry exchange in Chinese ensued.
“Why won’t they let you in?” I asked.
“They say they’ve been ordered to keep everyone out, but they don’t know why.”
“Can we use the alleyway behind the teahouse?” Mr. Scant asked.
“They’ll expect it,” said Miss Gaunt. “And these guards will be raising the alarm as soon as we leave.”
“So the only way—” Mr. Scant began.
“—is a frontal assault,” Miss Gaunt finished for him, then called out, “Down, Zhao-Ji!”
Miss Cai had trained herself thoroughly, so where others may have looked back or asked for clarification, she dropped down low without hesitation. Mr. Scant was already throwing something, which hit one man at the door on the forehead and sent him staggering. It was a smoke bomb of some sort. Mr. Scant was a great believer in smoke bombs.
As the projectile rebounded from the man’s skull, Mr. Scant kicked it like a sportsman, which seemed to me a most peculiar action for him. Miss Gaunt dipped and pulled out some manner of small club or cosh from her boot, which she used to upend the other doorman in one neat, precise motion.
I walked behind the others, holding Victor’s shoulders protectively. As Mr. Scant and Miss Gaunt stepped into the teahouse, closely followed by Miss Cai, who was drawing out a cosh of her own, the room erupted into chaos. The Viridian Clan rose up against its own and swarmed around Miss Cai, as well as the rest of us, but Mr. Scant had his claw on his hand and was in no mood for gentleness. A big man took a swing at him, but Mr. Scant sent him reeling and holding a bloody nose. Miss Gaunt and Miss Cai moved with grace and coordination, clubbing the nearest assailants before stepping back to back so that nobody could sneak up behind them.
Mr. Scant took it upon himself to disarm everyone who stood against him, tripping them or sending them reeling with blows to the head. Remembering my target practice, I picked up some of the rice bowls and teacups that had fallen to the floor and threw them every time I had a clear shot at someone’s head. Victor stepped forward several times, wanting to help, but I was careful to push him behind me.
“Onward!” I heard Mr. Scant yelling as he led the girls out into the alleyway. A sound like the cracking of a vast whip came from the door that led into the storeroom beyond. Mr. Scant ducked instinctively, then threw out another of his smoke bombs, waiting for the initial volley of gunfire to subside before dashing into the alleyway with the others behind him.
The three unlikely allies worked together to quickly overpower the two men who had taken up rifles before they had a chance to reload—Miss Cai throwing her cosh to disorient them before Mr. Scant swiped their weapons away, and Miss Gaunt tripping them to send them to the ground. Another man ran out of the warehouse with a rifle, the door closing quickly behind him, but before he could raise the weapon, Miss Cai surged at him and put his arm into a painful lock.
I ran with Victor into the alley, to seek refuge behind a crate, as there could still be Viridian Clan members behind us, and Miss Gaunt made sure we were safe while Mr. Scant and Miss Cai tried the large, sealed warehouse doors. Mr. Scant reloaded one of the Viridian clansmen’s rifles, then handed it to Miss Cai. With his claw, Mr. Scant pried the warehouse door open just enough for her to shoot the wooden bolt holding the door shut. As one, Mr. Scant, Miss Cai, and Miss Gaunt battered the door with their shoulders until the damaged wooden bolt split.
At the moment the door gave, Mr. Scant and the girls jumped aside. A motorcar burst out into the alley, narrowly missing them. I knew the face of the driver—squat, balding Mr. Adams from the bank. The motorcar was hauling a wagon behind it, covered in tarpaulin and tipping precariously as Mr. Adams, traveling at top speed, rounded the corner out of the alley. Following behind the motorcar was a Triumph motorcycle, and the two vehicles sped straight toward a barricade that kept the alleyway secluded from the main street. The motorcar burst through the barricade and out onto the road beyond, sending cyclists and rickshaws scattering. The motorcycle did not follow it, however. The Triumph skidded to a halt at the end of the alley, its rider dragging something along the ground so that a fountain of sparks rose up.
The man held a sword with a curved blade, and I was momentarily reminded of the first time I saw Mr. Scant fight, back in England, when a man all in black had come into our house to challenge him. But unlike that night, the rider’s face was not covered—and it was a face I knew. The elder Mr. Song, the leader of the Viridian Clan, who was supposed to have gone missing. The moment I realized this, Mr. Song raised the sword and began charging toward me and Victor, now on the wrong side of the crate and in a lot of danger.
I urged myself to jump aside and take Victor with me to safety, but at that moment, my legs felt like lead. Instead, it was Miss Gaunt who pulled us out of the path of the motorcycle. Mr. Scant, meanwhile, ran toward the motorcycle with his claw ready to strike.
“We need to get to Mr. Adams,” I said to Miss Gaunt as Miss Cai called out to Mr. Song in Chinese. “I’m sure he has the guns in that wagon.”
“First we need to deal with Song Li-Hwei,” Miss Gaunt said, looking at Mr. Song as he readied the motorcycle for another charge. “We don’t have a choice.”
“Mr. Scant can deal with him.”
“I have to keep you safe until he does.”
Until she said those words, I hadn’t realized what I needed to do.
“No. You don’t,” I said. Then I called out, “Mr. Scant! We’re going ahead. Deal with this one.”
Mr. Scant didn’t look at me, but I knew I had his attention. “Do you have a plan?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Scant.”
“Very well. Then go.”
And so, with a nod he could not see, I headed back toward the tearoom, along with Victor and Miss Gaunt. Miss Cai stayed to help Mr. Scant deal with Mr. Song and his motorbike. Although the two of them didn’t like one another much, I was confident they would fight well together.
In the teahouse, a number of the men who had been knocked down were recovering, but the fight had gone out of them, and Miss Gaunt’s cosh kept the rest at bay. Out on the streets, we looked around for a driver, but there were none. “Where are the cabs?” I asked.
“They don’t come into the French Concession,” said Miss Gaunt. “We need to go toward the main roads.”
“No need to get yourselves worked up, what?” came a familiar voice. My heart sank as I turned around slowly to see Mr. Jackdaw, who bared his strange teeth in that charming grin of his. “Hello, Master Diplexito.”
XII
Warehouse D
ou scoundrel!” I shouted. “I knew we couldn’t trust you when you disappeared. I suppose you’re going to hand us over to the Star and Stone.”
“Whoa there!” said Mr. Jackdaw, as though I were some misbehaving horse. “I think you have me all wrong. I’m not in league with the Star and Stone, my dear boy.”
“You’re not?”
“I’m with the Yard and always will be. Now, are we going to chase after that wagon full of guns or not?”
“How can we catch up wit
h the motorcar?” asked Miss Gaunt.
“It’s festival day,” said Mr. Jackdaw. “Not easy to get through the traffic, but a little easier while cycling. We can weave through the stationary vehicles that way.”
He stepped aside to reveal his bicycle, and behind it, one of the local rickshaws, only with a longer front handle, so that he could pull it along while he cycled.
“Will that work?” I asked.
“I have great confidence in my strength. I have been in training.” He turned toward Victor. “Perhaps we should leave the little one somewhere out of harm’s way.”
“No,” I said. “It’s important he comes. I think we’ll need him.”
“Are you sure? I won’t be able to stay with you all the while.”
“I’ve been training too,” I said. “I can protect him, with Miss Gaunt’s help.”
Miss Gaunt was already stepping into the rickshaw. “We have no time to lose,” she said.
“Very true,” said Mr. Jackdaw. “Away we go!”
“I . . . I suppose I owe you an apology,” I said, once we were in motion. “I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
“It’s not a bad thing to have a suspicious mind, young Master Diplexito,” Mr. Jackdaw replied.
Miss Gaunt was subdued as we began to pick up speed. “I can’t understand why Mr. Song is doing this,” she said. “He hates the Star and Stone so much. Why would he help them?”
“Perhaps he isn’t helping the Star and Stone,” Mr. Jackdaw called back. “Perhaps you should consider the Tri-Loom.”
“He was going to be chief of the new international police,” said Miss Gaunt. “Why would he aid a crime syndicate?”
“I’d like to know that too,” said Mr. Jackdaw.
Mr. Jackdaw’s powerful legs conveyed us onto a busy road. It was as crowded as he had predicted, but the traffic was in motion nonetheless, and I wondered how far Mr. Adams had gotten in his motorcar. Winding between carriages, motorcars, and rickshaws, we concentrated on trying to spot the big wagon. But as the traditional Chinese streets pushed aside the French buildings, there was no sign of the banker. I felt myself shiver.
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