Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica)

by Raven Bond

  STRONG MYSTERY

  BY

  RAVEN BOND

  IMPISH PRESS

  SHORELINE WASHINGTON, USA

  COVER SUMMARY

  An omnibus edition combining Book 1, 2 and 3 of the Owen Strong and Jinhao Steampunk Magica series.

  BOOK ONE - STRONG ADEPT

  In Strong Adept, Raven Bond has created an inventive and highly mystical world, where East and West, the ancient ways and the Age of Steam intertwine. Murder and magic are at the heart of the first meeting of Owen Strong, Master Sorcerer, and the mysterious Imperial Adept, Jinhao.

  BOOK TWO – STRONG MAGIC

  The year is 1885. The city is an alternate Hong Kong. Some of the city’s most powerful men are dead from what appear to be heart attacks. Though no evidence points to foul play, members of the British Crown’s secretive Obsidian Order know something is amiss. Owen Strong is a former member of the secret sect and a Master Sorcerer who no longer has any interest in the Order—or its rules. He’s recruited by the Order to come out of retirement to investigate the mysterious deaths and save his island city. When Owen and Jinhao discover that there are radicals in Hong Kong who are planning to assassinate key delegates to disrupt upcoming trade negotiations, it’s not just Hong Kong that they must save: if they do not succeed, a world war will be imminent.

  BOOK THREE – STRONG JUSTICE

  In an alternate Hong Kong, Owen Strong is in trouble. He meets with an old friend from his school days in Britain who asks for his help in a personal matter, only to betray him. When Jinhao, Owen’s mysterious Chinese companion, returns early from a visit with a sister who is a notorious pirate, she finds Owen missing. She will search for him with all her considerable martial and investigative skill, even if that means calling on the help of the Dragon ruler of Hong Kong. Nothing and no-one is going to stand in her way.

  “A solid, fun romp reminiscent of a good BBC/SYFY crossover original show. Fast-paced and witty, Bond has created a detailed world filled with vibrant characters.”

  Raven Bond's author blog is located at ravenbond.com

  COPYRIGHT

  Published by Impish Press

  P.O. Box 65198

  Shoreline WA 98155, USA

  http://impishpress.com

  Strong Mystery, Copyright © Raven Bond, 2015. All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Mystery, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Alternate History, Steampunk / Raven Bond, Author

  Cover & Book Design – Ria Loader

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  This book is lending-enabled.

  DEDICATION

  To the amazing steampunk community

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  What you have in this book is a collection of my early adventures with the Sorcerer Owen Strong and his mysterious companion, Jinhao. While it has become almost cliché to say that writing is a solitary art, after the writing phase, revising and publishing a book requires the work of many. I wish to recognize some of the many contributions that have made the current volume possible.

  To my beta readers, thank you for your time and honest feedback. I would especially like to thank Josh for his insights, and for making of himself a sounding board for my strange ideas. To my editor and publisher, thank you for believing in the world of Owen and Jinhao, and for polishing my words. This work is truly beyond my dreams. To everyone who has bought the stories, written to me, shared reviews and expressed your enthusiasm—thank you. You have kept the creative energy going, and continue to do so.

  Finally, and most importantly, I would like to thank my beautiful alpha reader and red-haired muse Ria—not only for her insights and patience, but also for her love—love is the wind beneath my wings. Thank you.

  BOOK 1

  STRONG ADEPT

  CHAPTER 1

  The Resting Lion Inn, Lou Hu,

  China, 1884 A.M. (After Mithras)

  “The Trader has decided that we shall stay the night here and go on in the morning,” Lee Shen said to Jinhao. “You can take first place in the stable loft. I shall lodge in the main house.”

  Jinhao nodded wearily at the old trail boss. He was looking particularly tired this evening. It had been a long day of travel that started at dawn in their last camp. Everyone was ready for the ease and relative safety of an established rest-stop.

  She had examined the ancient inn with approval in the flickering light of the oil lanterns. It had seen better days but was still respectable, with a strong wall around it and plenty of oil lanterns to banish the darkness from the main areas. Shadows still lingered in the corners of the warren of buildings. She dismounted, handing her reins to the stable boy who stood attentive in the courtyard.

  She turned, giving the dismount order to the other caravan guards, together with their individual special tasks for the evening. The more routine tasks would take be taken care of without her supervision. The pack attendants began unloading the Trader’s boxes under the watchful eyes of the guards who would see the goods placed safely in the stables.

  She doubted, however, that anyone would be interested in the Trader Chen Lu’s dyed silks, which made up the bulk of their cargo. To her eye the tightly packed bales looked much the same as a hundred other such parcels. However, she set a careful watch over the travel cases in the same way as she had on the long road journey, more in an attempt to assuage the nerves of the old Trader than out of necessity.

  Chen Lu, Master Trader from the Imperial City, had assured her during a long night-watch that the dye patterns were exceptional enough to command very high prices among the foreigners and should be guarded with particular care. As those were anonymously rolled up and out of casual view, she took precautions but was not particularly concerned. The guards knew their job and she could leave them to it. The few pieces of silver and fine amber jewelry the Trader carried were in a small strong box that rarely left his side.

  The merchant caravan had traveled many miles over the last five days, traveling down the Imperial Road from the capital to the border town of Lou Hu, stopping at camp sites along the way. The town of Lou Hu was regarded as the gateway from the Middle Kingdom of Han to the outlying province of Hong Kong.

  Hong Kong was its own special city. It was the demesne of the Great Dragon Lohan, who in his wisdom, and for his amusement, allowed a mixture of government. The Government comprised both Chinese lords and the foreign British, all advising, and definitely answering to the Dragon, rather than the Imperial Court. It was said that many years ago the Dragon had greeted and allowed the British Traders to enter the covered bay because of their Magia and their sorcery, both of which made for shiny things to intrigue him. The Dragon had then, it was said, ordered the Imperial Emperor to open the area to the British. Whatever the truth of it, Hong Kong province was the only Imperial sanctioned
Trading Port for foreigners in all of China. It was also true that Hong Kong was ostensibly administered by a joint Government of the Han and the British Empires and had been so for many years. Jinhao knew of the Dragon.

  In the distance Jinhao heard the whistle of an approaching steam train. The train would travel all the way to the city of Hong Kong. The Trader Chen Lu, not being wealthy enough to make use of the steam railroad, still led a trade caravan down to the province of Hong Kong every spring, as did many others. This meant pack horses, attendants, and, in these uncertain times, more guards than was usual to protect against bandits. The increased requirement for experienced guards afforded Jinhao the perfect disguise for her to flee the Imperial City. After all, she reasoned, who would remark on one more sword woman caravan guard?

  She had quickly displayed the acumen and discipline that had caused Lee Shen to appoint her guard leader. Unknown to Jinhao, the canny old trail boss had recognized in her the training of an Imperial Adept. Despite her best attempts, Jinhao stood out like a wolf among the sheepdogs. The Trader intended to have a smooth trip with no dominance issues among the guards, and he had readily appointed her to ensure that none occurred. Jinhao had picked up the reins of authority without any difficulties. Given that Imperial Adepts were usually held close to the Throne as bodyguards, he wisely said nothing of his suspicions. He was simply glad that she was along. If she was pursuing her own clandestine interests at the same time, he could respect that. Should bandits attack the caravan, he was sure that Jinhao would deal with them in short order.

  Adepts channeled a mystic force into martial prowess beyond the capabilities of ordinary folk. Surely everyone knew that. Aside from that, he did not care if he inconvenienced the Dowager Empress by borrowing her Adept. His disregard for the feelings of the Dowager Empress was a sentiment that, if Jinhao had known it, would have caused her less worry on the journey. Although he had accorded her the loft sleeping space, as befitted her rank as guard boss, rather than accept it, she would keep her usual practice and take her sleep in a place where making a quick response to danger was assured.

  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 she took another mouthful of rice to cool the burn down. After the bland 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. They were 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.