The Shanghai Incident

by Bryan Methods

“You’re my apprentice,” said Mr. Scant. “I should hope by now you’ve learned to keep yourself alive.”

  “Did you set off the fireworks?” I said. “I don’t know where those came from.”

  “Well, I helped a little. But I didn’t have the time to set anything off. The older of the Songs proved to be a most formidable opponent. I prevailed only thanks to a most splendid throw by Miss Cai, catching the old man on the back of the head at just the right moment. She has him restrained and is trying to figure out what to do with him. Until today, Mr. Song was the person she would have gone to with a prisoner, as it would happen.”

  “So who did you help?”

  “Me, of course,” Mr. Jackdaw said, appearing from behind Mr. Scant. “Incidentally, I’d say I’m also the person who ought to take custody of our Mr. Song. And Mr. Song Junior, to boot. I had a bit of time left over after dismantling rather a large bomb, and I thought it would be nice to contribute something to the local celebrations, what? Unlike you, I didn’t really have the means to stop a small French army, so this was my modest contribution. Now, would you be so kind as to lead me to Miss Cai’s prisoner?”

  In high spirits, we walked back through the crowds toward the small park where Miss Cai would be waiting for us with the restrained elder Mr. Song. Mr. Deng followed us, with the younger Mr. Song on his shoulder. The display drew some odd looks from passersby, but nobody made any comment.

  “This is it,” Mr. Scant said as we reached the park’s entrance. The grounds were surprisingly quiet, given the nearby crowds, but I supposed everyone was watching the festivities at the river.

  “Wait,” I said. “Isn’t that . . .?”

  I didn’t need to finish my sentence. We had forgotten about Mr. Adams, and there he was, across the park, slipping away.

  “He’ll have freed Song,” said Mr. Scant. “This is bad.” With a look at Miss Gaunt and Mr. Jackdaw, he began to run, with the rest of us close behind.

  XIII

  The Message

  Song, though free of his restraints, did not run from us. In fact, he was waiting calmly as we reached the open courtyard at the center of the park. The courtyard had stone tables with chessboards built into them, and he was inspecting the pieces with his back to us. Slumped on the table across from him, as though she had fallen asleep whilst playing a game with Mr. Song, was Miss Cai. Blood pooled around her head, running down onto the floor beneath her.

  Mr. Adams was whispering in Mr. Song’s ear, and then, with a fearful look at us, he crept away. “I’ll go for him,” Mr. Jackdaw said, and set off in pursuit, giving the elder Song a wide berth.

  “Zhao-Ji!” called Miss Gaunt. “Are you all right?”

  “I would not describe her as all right. Nor is she dead,” Mr. Song said in an uninterested tone. “She would make a poor bargaining chip if she were.”

  “Bargain?” said Miss Gaunt. “If you’ve hurt her, there won’t be any bargaining, Song Li-Hwei, mark my words.”

  That made Mr. Song turn around for the first time, with a look of amusement. “You won’t call me shīfu anymore? I am no longer your teacher? I suppose I deserve no less. But Cai Zhao-Ji is hurt already. She is hurt badly. Yet still you will bargain with me, because she is still alive, and you want her back. And I want my son—and safe passage for us out of China.

  “The Tri-Loom won’t overlook my failure here,” he continued, “and they do not forgive easily. We should never have joined, but Yu-Sheng, he’s so ambitious. And so now, I want the airship you arrived in.”

  I looked back at Mr. Deng, who had put the younger Mr. Song’s feet back on the ground but was still supporting his former friend’s unconscious form.

  “This isn’t a game you can win,” said Mr. Scant. “We outnumber you and you have nowhere to go. Even if we accede to all your demands, what prevents us from breaking our word as soon as Miss Cai is in our custody? You don’t have your motorcycle to run away with now. I know how you fight, and there are more of us than there ever were before.”

  Mr. Song placed his hands on his knees. He almost looked like a kindly schoolteacher. “Of course it’s too much to hope that your word of honor would be enough.” He leaned back and picked up some of the chess pieces, the kings and queens. “Are you familiar with Chinese medicine? We have—what’s the word in English? Potions? Tinctures?—that are capable of remarkable things.” He held up the red queen. “This, to put an enemy to sleep. She has drunk this one.” Next was the red king. “This to waken them.”

  He unscrewed the crown of the chess piece and shifted to sit beside Miss Cai, before abruptly pulling her upright by her hair. Miss Gaunt stepped forward but hesitated. A deep wound ran down Miss Cai’s face, from her forehead and down across the bridge of her nose. The heavy bleeding had stained her face and neck red.

  Inside the chess piece was a kind of smelling salt. Mr. Song held it under Miss Cai’s nose. She stirred and then winced. She was not really awake but in a kind of daze.

  Mr. Song then showed us the white queen. “This one is a poison,” he said matter-of-factly. “Fast-acting and debilitating. This, too, she has taken. Here, in the white king, is the antidote. But first, I would have assurances of what I asked for, starting with my son.”

  A breeze tugged at the trees behind Mr. Song, scattering a few blossoms that danced their way down to the ground.

  “She adored you!” Miss Gaunt yelled at Mr. Song.

  “And she was an excellent student. In another life, we would have been able to form our international police and do a great good for the world. No longer in our reach, I think.”

  “You’re a monster,” I said.

  “Not a monster, my boy. No, no. I’m afraid I’m an ordinary man with few choices left. The Tri-Loom will come for me—if not here, anywhere I run to in China, even in your English jail. My only chance is a new start in a new country, for my son first and for myself second. Probably even then we will be found and punished, but it’s at least a chance.”

  “Give her the antidote!” cried Miss Gaunt.

  Mr. Song’s voice became vicious. “Give me my son and take us to your airship.”

  “What have you done to me?” came Miss Cai’s voice.

  “Ah, sweet child,” Mr. Song said, letting go of her hair and even flattening it. “I’ve given you poison. You are my leverage. I can only thank you.”

  “I trusted you,” Miss Cai managed, opening her eyes with a wrench of effort.

  “I know. And you weren’t wrong to trust me. If today had been different, we would have gone ahead as we had always planned. We would have become an intelligence network, spanning the whole world—with the Tri-Loom behind it all.”

  “The Tri-Loom executed my father,” Miss Cai growled. With that, she moved, much faster than it had seemed she would be able to. Her hand shot out, and she grabbed the white king from its place on the board. She had unscrewed the crown by the time Mr. Song grabbed the chess piece, but rather than struggle to wrest it from the old man’s grasp, she upended it. The antidote spilled out across the ground.

  “I will not be your leverage,” she growled.

  “You lunatic!” Mr. Song cried. But Mr. Scant had taken the moment of distraction to make his move. He charged forward, his claw drawn back, and swiped right at Mr. Song’s torso. Mr. Song had seen him coming at the last moment and narrowly escaped the blades, but Miss Gaunt had reached the table too. She hurried Miss Cai to safety, by a nearby bush, as Miss Cai put a finger deep into her mouth, trying to rid herself of the poison she had swallowed.

  “Give up,” Mr. Scant said to Mr. Song, who had drawn out his knife again. “You have no chance now.”

  “You mean I have nothing to lose,” said Mr. Song. He pulled out one more vial, uncorking it and swallowing it himself. “Another poison, but this one will at least help me take my revenge on you. Ah, I already feel the strength returning to me. Don’t think this will be as easy as when you had Cai Zhao-Ji’s assistance.”

  With that, he lung
ed at Mr. Scant with the knife. Mr. Scant twisted so that the thrust went past his shoulder, and then grabbed Mr. Song by his olive-colored jacket. Mr. Song aimed another stab at Mr. Scant’s wrist, forcing him to let go.

  Mr. Song continued his offensive with remarkable speed, stabbing again and again in the direction of Mr. Scant’s chest, forcing Mr. Scant back, with the claw flashing out again and again to deflect the blows. Whatever Mr. Song had swallowed, it was giving him an abundance of energy, and even Mr. Scant barely had a chance to counterattack. The two circled one another, each man searching for an opening, but whatever Mr. Scant tried, Mr. Song was prepared for him.

  Both men were clearly experienced fighters, and they tested one another, trying a number of feints but failing to catch the other man off guard. Mr. Song sidestepped one of Mr. Scant’s thrusts and managed to wrap an arm tight around his neck, then pinned Mr. Scant’s claw to his hip. For a few long moments they struggled, and Mr. Scant’s face began to go red. I knew I had to do something. Without thinking, I stooped to pick up a small stone, and then, remembering all those hours spent practicing my aim, I threw it with all my strength. It flew in a perfect arc, striking Mr. Song on the side of his head and distracting him long enough for Mr. Scant to flip him onto his back. The claw flashed out to pin Mr. Song down, but Song was too fast, rolling away and getting to his feet in an instant.

  “He may not have Miss Cai, but he has me!” I called out. Mr. Song met me with only a sneer—but I was not Mr. Scant’s only ally. After setting Miss Cai down safely, Miss Gaunt ran to my side, and Mr. Deng stood with us too, having laid Mr. Song’s son down behind us. Miss Gaunt had her cosh and gave Miss Cai’s to me. I still didn’t want to go near Mr. Song’s whirling knife, but holding a cosh was better than being empty-handed. The three of us tried to surround Mr. Song and Mr. Scant, but Mr. Song only grinned and rushed my way. However, that gave Miss Gaunt a chance to strike the old man on the back of his leg, and he stumbled onto one knee. Mr. Deng prepared a mighty punch, but Mr. Scant stopped him.

  Whatever concoction Mr. Song had swallowed, it was running out. He was breathing very heavily and didn’t seem able to get off his knees. He put one hand on the ground before lowering himself down onto the flagstones. The poison had done its work, and without another word, Mr. Song gave in to its inevitable pull.

  The sky had darkened just a little, and from the riverside, fresh fireworks went up, changing the gray flagstones to red and green for a few fleeting moments. After a time, I felt I should speak.

  “What should we do?” I said.

  “What do you think we should do, Master Oliver?”

  “I suppose we need to find Jackdaw and tell him what happened here. And then we’d better go back to Victor and Julien.”

  “There’s something in his hand,” I said. The fallen old man held something between his fingertips. “I think it’s a business card.”

  “Whose is it?” asked Miss Gaunt.

  I looked at her and then at Mr. Scant. “Someone’s written, Best regards. But the name . . . It says Aurelian Binns.”

  Epilogue

  the end, we did not return on the airship. Mr. Jackdaw booked passage for himself, Mr. Scant, Miss Gaunt, Miss Cai, Victor, and me on the Orient Express, but learning that Julien would not be traveling with us, Victor refused. A large barge had been arranged for all the young Frenchmen, and so Victor was determined to go by sea. But I sent a telegram to Father, who decided to pay a visit to the French embassy, and in the end, Diplexito Engineering and the French government jointly paid for one hundred and fifty four young Frenchmen to have passage back to Paris by train. This was in fact a smaller number than anticipated, as several of the youths opted to stay in Shanghai to pursue prospects in the French Concession.

  The Orient Express was a truly luxurious way to travel, though a smattering of regular passengers complained that the French boys enjoying their first days of freedom were acting indecorously.

  Victor’s brother Julien was so grateful when he heard all we had done for Victor that he knelt and tried to kiss our feet, and we had to beg him to stand up again. Victor was the happiest he had ever been. He regaled his brother with tales of hats and Hotchkiss guns and the divine substance that was custard, a wholly different order of foodstuff from crème anglaise. Julien, who stood much taller than me and had skin tanned a deep brown, clearly loved his brother dearly. I could tell that the reunion after such a difficult time apart had only brought them closer. At first Julien looked wary, perhaps even envious, when Victor showed me affection, but we soon warmed up to one another.

  The journey was not a short one, and Mr. Scant and I devoted a lot of our time to the question of what to do with Victor and Julien. I didn’t want to leave Victor behind after becoming so fond of him, and after all, the brothers didn’t have a home to go back to. I proposed finding the two of them work at Father’s factory, but Mr. Scant suggested one of Father’s French contacts might be able to offer a position in Paris. But of course that was before we spoke to the brothers themselves.

  Through Miss Gaunt, Victor told me he wanted to be a policeman like Mr. Jackdaw and Mr. Scant—though where he had gotten the impression Mr. Scant was a policeman, we weren’t sure. Julien thanked us for our offers of help but said he would look after his brother from now on. Mr. Jackdaw promised he would arrange for lodgings for the boys for three months, during which time Julien could find a job and thereafter pay his own rent. I instructed Mr. Scant to buy them smart new clothes and to leave them with contact details for Father. The brothers agreed and promised they would always try to help other children whose only home was the streets.

  “You understand I can’t offer the same for the other hundred and fifty-two?” said Mr. Jackdaw.

  “I suppose not.”

  “Are they less deserving because they are not your friends?” Mr. Jackdaw continued. “What about that one boy who helped carried your bags? Does he deserve special attention?”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “I want to help them all. And I can’t—I can’t even help one of them, only ask for Father to do it. But after all we’ve been through together, it really doesn’t feel right to leave Victor with nothing.”

  “What a pity for the other boys, that they didn’t get so much time with you.”

  “It could have worked out much worse for them,” I said sadly, to which Mr. Jackdaw just smiled.

  Miss Cai was not in good health. Along with her new scar, the poison had taken its toll, and though she hadn’t died, the effects were severe. She had developed problems hearing, and her eyesight had deteriorated. Her legs didn’t move as she wanted them to either, necessitating use of a wheeled chair. Nobody knew how long the effects could last, and doctors warned her new condition might be permanent.

  Nonetheless, she had come to some sort of arrangement with Mr. Jackdaw on the Orient Express, and she had earlier made some contacts in Scotland Yard she now wanted to meet. She seemed excited about the prospect of organizing something new, but felt the best place for herself was with Mr. Jackdaw at the Yard.

  As the two of them took their leave of us in Paris, Mr. Jackdaw intoned, “I promise this won’t be the last we’ll see of one another. I’ve taken rather an interest in you all and this whole idea of an international police. The Tri-Loom will probably pursue some action in response to your actions in Shanghai, so we’ll be sending some men to look after you for a while. From afar, of course. Chin up! The way to deal with powerful enemies is to make even more powerful friends, what?”

  He and Miss Cai bade us farewell, Miss Gaunt bowing very deeply to her friend and partner, who she had been tending to every day since Miss Cai’s injuries. While her eyes remained dry, Miss Gaunt once again looked as though she were making a thousand different calculations when she raised her head. Miss Cai laughed and beckoned her over for a brisk hug before Mr. Jackdaw wheeled her away down the platform.

  Saying good-bye to Victor was difficult. He gave me such a tight hug I couldn’t b
reathe, and everybody laughed. Of course, I gifted him my cap, taking his bicorn hat to remember him by, promising we could swap again any time he came to see us.

  During the ferry ride back to England, I kept looking at Aurelian Binns’s card. Why had Mr. Song seen fit to produce the card with his last breaths? Was it defiance? A warning? If he and Aurelian had met, what might the two of them have said? There was no way I could know, and when I noticed a little loose part in the corner of the card, pulling at it, I yelped in surprise as the whole calling card incinerated itself.

  Back in Tunbridge Wells, Elspeth Gaunt reunited with her father, who was now using a cane to walk about. Uncle Reggie gingerly hugged his daughter, who patted him on the back without much enthusiasm. I thought being reunited with her father would have brought out Miss Gaunt’s hidden emotions, but this was not to be. The emotion instead came from her mother, Mrs. Gaunt, who was there too with her cat, Lady Hortensia. She shed tears of joy as she embraced her daughter, squashing the unfortunate cat between them.

  Father heard the full account of everything and promised to find Julien work if he needed it. He reprimanded Mr. Scant for being away for so long, as, after all, a man needs his valet, and Mr. Scant apologized sincerely. “It’s good things went your way, but we mustn’t forget the Binns lad,” Father said. “I don’t think we’ll have heard the last of him.”

  Mother told me I looked like I’d grown an inch or more and booked me an appointment to have my hair neatened by the barber the very next day. At dinner, we talked about the idea of an international police force.

  “There are some countries that will never trust others,” Dr. Mikolaitis said in a low tone.

  “It’s a fine idea nonetheless,” Mother replied, wholly unaware the conversation was not purely hypothetical. “Perhaps something you could be involved in when you’re older, Oliver.”

  “I wonder,” I said. “I should certainly like to help others. But I still have so much to learn.”