by Raven Bond
Jinhao looked at him with something akin to respect.
“If you wish,” she said, “I shall speak to him for you.” Owen smiled at her.
“That would be most helpful,” he said cheerily. He gestured to the blood-soaked white robe that he wore. “I don’t suppose that he would have a spare nightgown as well.”
Jinhao gazed at the offending garment with bemusement.
“Is that what it’s called? Why do you wear it?”
“Well, it is what one wears to bed,” Owen said. “At least if one does not have companionship to keep one warm.”
Jinhao shrugged. Different peoples had different customs. Why bother to sleep in clothing at all? Surely the British were no stranger than the northern hill men who covered their bodies in the fat of yaks.
“I shall ask him,” she promised. She waved her hand in front of her face. “I suspect that the stink shall cause him trouble enough though.”
Owen shrugged his shoulders, obviously not concerned.
“Can’t be helped,” he said shortly. “It’s what the air is like in their world. When you invite one to come to our world you have to expect that to happen.” She looked at him quizzically.
“Have you visited the Demon world then?” she asked incredulously. Again the shrug of shoulders.
“I like to be well traveled,” Owen replied blandly.
She blinked at his calm acceptance of such strange things.
“I see. I shall go then and talk to the landlord.” She gazed again at the curious white garment. “I shall also see if he has any ‘night gowns’, although I feel that you should be prepared for disappointment.”
Owen cocked an eyebrow at this statement.
“Do you mean that he will not have any night gowns or that I will not have any company in bed?”
“Yes,” Jinhao replied, smiling sweetly. “Best be prepared to do without.”
It took Jinhao some time to arrange things to her liking and required Owen Strong to open his purse again to soothe the aggrieved landlord. Finally, though, Jinhao got to clean up and return to her sleeping place on the roof of the stable.
She knew that the dawn could not be far off. Deciding that sleep would not be hers this night, she settled to gaze at the stars from her lofty resting place.
As she absently looked at the starry pageant above her, she saw a falling star streak across the sky. The brilliant streak of light morphed in her sight into a line of light across a dark velvet cloth. Jinhao knew that she must be seeing a vision. She knew these occasionally occurred in her family.
In her vision, the line was connected to the Britisher, Owen Strong. As was the way of such visions, the cloth had vanished. Strong stood against the skyline of Hong Kong, holding one end of the brilliant line. The other end was held by a mass of people, some Han, and some European. Together they held the line against a swirling mass of dark clouds that threatened Hong Kong. The clouds broke against the bright line as they advanced, Strong and the others standing firm against the storm.
The vision was shattered by one of the caravan guards poking his head through the trapdoor of the roof and calling her name. Jinhao came to herself and absently answered him.
“Ay, Jinhao,” the man replied. “It is as well that you are dressed already! That old woman of a Trader wants us to go quick like. Seems there is some rumor about the Quizi that has him scared to stay a moment longer.”
The Quizi, the foreign Demon, she thought. No, his name was Owen Strong, and he had proved last night that he was no evil Demon. She remembered his stand against the true Demon.
Perhaps, she thought, the plan that Grandfather had sent her north to carry out simply needed a remake. Yes, she thought, eyes still spinning with the aftermath of vision. Perhaps he could be the one they were waiting for. It seemed unlikely, given that he was not only foreign, but a Sorcerer as well, but there was no arguing with vision. One either followed vision when it came, as Grandfather had always said, or let it go by. Jinhao shook herself and hurried to the ladder that led to the main house of the inn.
Lee Shen met her as she was descending from the loft. He turned from directing the loading of the pack horses and raised a hand to call her to him. He appeared to be more worried than usual.
“Ho Jinhao,” he said, a look of concern on his face. “There are wild rumors going around among the inn staff about your behavior with the Quizi last night.” Jinhao blinked at the outrageousness of this remark.
“My behavior?” she asked incredulously. “What in the nine hells does that mean?” Lee Shen’s face became crestfallen at her tone.
“Then it is true,” he said almost sadly. “You were with the foreigner last night.”
Jinhao placed her hands on her hips.
“What if I were?” she challenged. “I did nothing to endanger either the caravan or any member of it. My off-duty time is my own, as we agreed.”
She forbore from mentioning the Court Demon as that would lead to all kinds of questions that she would prefer not to answer. If the Demon had caught her out in the wilds, as would have happened the night before last, likely every member of the caravan would be dead, and she would be dead along with them. The old trail boss looked even more uncomfortable.
“Do not misunderstand me,” he said almost pleadingly. “I have any number of friends who are British or, hells, worse in Hong Kong. It is that he is a Sorcerer too!” He looked at the ground, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“What are you trying to say?” Jinhao pressed.
“Chen Lu asked that I release you from your employ with us,” Lee Shen said miserably. He produced a small coin bag, holding it out to her. “Here are your wages.”
Jinhao almost sighed in relief. Now she was completely free to follow the path of the vision. She took the small bag from his hands.
“May you have a safe journey to the city,” she said to him gently. The poor man looked as if he had been asked to kill his dog.
“It is unjust,” he insisted to her. “I almost quit in protest, but I have a wife…” Jinhao held up her hand, stopping him from making more apologies.
“It is as it is supposed to be,” she said. “I hold you blameless in this.” The old man bowed to her.
“Should you wish it, I shall be at the Electric Eel wine house. I shall be hiring for a caravan going north, and I would like to hire you to go along with it.” Jinhao smiled at the old man.
“Perhaps,” she said easily. “I shall certainly come and raise a cup of wine with you.”
With that they parted, expressing many further sentiments of respect and admiration between them.
Jinhao walked out the door of the stable into the mild morning sunlight, her slight tension easing as she allowed the responsibility for the trade caravan to fall from her shoulders.
~ ~ ~
Owen Strong was just entering the courtyard wearing his red-trimmed black travel cloak. Jinhao noticed that he openly carried the cane made of red metal. She may not be as well-versed in esoteric matters as others in her family, but even she knew that the red metal was the mark of someone powerful, or at least someone quite wealthy. Jinhao also noticed that his eyes were constantly moving, analyzing and judging. All the while he affected the air of the dissolute young nobleman. She nodded to herself, recognizing the pattern. He was no dandy, whatever he might play at. This insight gave her renewed resolve. She strode up to him purposefully. He gave her a wan smile in return. He was clearly not a person who enjoyed mornings, or at least not a morning after the magical exertions of the previous evening.
“Good morning, Jinhao,” he said in High Court Mandarin. “I hope that you are none the worse for our little adventure last night?”
She bowed to him right hand over left fist, as one would to a comrade in arms. She was not surprised when he returned the gesture.
“I am well, Owen Strong,” she replied. “It seems that I owe you a life debt for saving me from the Demon last night.”
Strong raised an eyebrow at this.
<
br /> “I would think that the debt goes both ways,” he replied, “as your intervention with the assassins was most fortuitous.”
Jinhao bowed her head at this statement.
“Perhaps,” she replied looking directly at him. “None the less, as is our custom, I must accompany you under the terms of the life-debt.”
“What?”
“Do not be alarmed,” she produced the coin purse that Lee Shen had given her. “I come with my own source of funds.”
“It is not that,” Strong protested. “It is simply that I travel alone.” Jinhao nodded at this.
“Under the life debt, I must accompany you or forfeit my life in shame,” she said sadly, shaking her head.
“Well, we cannot have that,” Strong replied. “Damn Mandarin,” he muttered in English. “I thought that you just said that you would have to kill yourself if you couldn’t come along with me.”
“But I will have to,” Jinhao protested in the same language. “If I do not, and it becomes known, then anyone may end my life who finds out!” She looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. “May one ask where you are bound this day?”
The Britisher shrugged in his cloak.
“I have a fancy to see Hong Kong and perhaps settle there,” he said brightly. “I have been traveling around a fair bit, and heard that the city is an interesting place for the unconventional. Do you know it?”
Jinhao smiled at him.
“Then we are both in luck,” she replied. “For I know the city well, and I, too, am—how did you say?—unconventional, also.”
Strong regarded her for a handful of heartbeats.
“You are an Imperial Adept,” he stated baldly. Adepts only came in two types; those who were under Imperial authority, and those who were rebelling against the Throne. To not be of the first was to be an outlaw.
“No longer,” Jinhao replied. “You have seen the trouble I am in at Court.” She regarded him levelly. “You are followed by expensive assassins that seek your death. You are no common British nobleman.”
Strong looked nonplussed at this statement.
“Well, yes,” he admitted, “but I am retired from all that.”
“Yes,” she replied calmly. “Much as I am retired from being an Adept I think.”
He laughed at that.
“Very well,” he said gaily. “Let us both keep our secrets, and stop this talk of life debts and the like. Together we shall see what diversions this Hong Kong has for us, shall we?” He stuck out a hand. “Deal?” Jinhao looked at his outstretched hand. She took it firmly in hers.
“Deal,” she said, trying not to smile. Owen Strong released her hand. He pulled a watch on a chain from within his cloak.
“I was contemplating taking the morning airship south to the city,” he explained. “We still have time to make it. I trust you are not afraid of flying?” This time Jinhao allowed herself a smile.
“I enjoy it immensely,” she said with a secret smile. “Although it has been some time since I flew.”
“Very well,” Strong replied. “Let us be about it then!”
Jinhao smiled even more broadly. There was no need for him to know that there was no life debt custom among the Han. He was British, after all. And there was her vision to follow.
BOOK 2
STRONG MAGIC
Chapter 1
Hong Kong 1885 A.M. (After Mithras)
Owen Strong leapt down from the carriage, his nostrils flaring as if he were hunting. The scent of the yellowish night fog almost reminded him of London, a bit less sulfuric perhaps, but coal was expensive here in Hong Kong. The air carried wisps of incense and strange musk, scents that Owen found oddly exhilarating.
Behind him stepped Jinhao, hooded and enigmatic in her dark night cloak. The evening was merely cool to Owen, being used to colder climates. However, he’d been told that it was actually considered cold by local standards, the weather having become unpredictable almost everywhere these days.
Owen noted Jinhao edging up behind him, but kept his focus on the gray building that loomed before them, with its single, dark door.
Delicately, he spun out his awareness, honed as much by his time in the Crimean War as it was by his tutors in sorcery. Briefly, he touched a powerful focus of man-made energies, withdrawing as quickly as he could to avoid the other Magian detecting him. He felt a surge of excitement. Their information had been correct. The old warehouse did conceal their quarry. Now, if only they were still in time to save the Duke’s niece
Owen heard the nearby carriage springs creak, as it released the burden of Inspector Yu-An Gregg and the chief Magian of the constabulary, Sir Charles Foster. Gregg came to stand beside him, looking at the warehouse building with distaste.
“You sure that’s it, Milord?”
Owen was only the second son of the late Duke Harold Strong—may his memory endure. The title counted for little here. British younger sons had been coming to this bewildering city, a city that was neither British Colony, nor Chinese fief, for nearly a hundred years seeking their fortunes. Owen’s purse, which his older brother filled regularly, commanded more respect than the title.
Gregg however, was a class snob, one who would never let Owen forget his place in society, not even for a moment. Gregg hawked, and spat onto the sideway, then looked at the building again.
“I don’t like it,” he said in his thick English. “I don’t like it at all.”
“He’s there, Gregg, never doubt it! And if we’re lucky, so should be the Duchess,” Owen said to the detective. He squared his shoulders as if readying for a battle. “Can you not feel the evil radiating from it?”
Gregg hawked again.
“I leave that to you Magian types,” he said shortly. “What do you say, Sir Charles?”
The mutton-chopped Official Sorcerer waddled forward and peered through his thick eye glasses at the building. He sniffed dismissively.
“I suppose it’s possible. This is the Pangyaun District, however,” he pronounced with disgust, looking around at the dilapidated buildings that flanked their target, “and the miasma could have any number of causes.” He clicked his tongue.
“It is a rather large building, Inspector. We should wait for the reinforcements. Even if Strong is correct,” his voice left little doubt about what he thought of that possibility. “I doubt that running around in there will profit us more than bruises.”
Owen had found the little man’s arrogance and, he now suspected, his cowardice, insufferable even before this pronouncement. He checked a retort, and turned back to Gregg, speaking in as reasoned a tone as he could manage.
“I tell you, Inspector,” Owen pressed, “I sense the same aura in that building as I did before. Our villain is in there, and, almost as certainly, so is the Duke of Chu’s niece. We must hurry. As I said before, given the astrological timing, there may be only moments to save her.”
Gregg squinted at Owen, saying nothing. Finally, he sighed.
“You’ve been right so far, Milord.” His hand reached under his coat and emerged with a long barreled pistol, the short charge tube at the butt end glowing balefully.
“Foster,” he ordered wearily, “we’re going in.”
Owen raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw the weapon in Gregg’s hand.
“An aether gun, Inspector?” Owen had seen few of those since leaving the army. He knew that such weapons were severely restricted in civilian use by the Crown. The glow of the aetheric fluid in the handle told his practiced eye that it was probably charged with lightning.
Alchemical artificers had learned to fashion devices that could manipulate the elemental powers in much the same way as the power Owen could wield with his mind and body as a trained Sorcerer. Magian was the term in polite society these days for one who could use Magia. Some insisted on the term to denote modern scientific methods as opposed to the hedge witchery of olden times. Owen personally didn’t care what they called him. He’d learned that power spoke more loudly
than a dictionary, and he doubted that Sorcerers would be replaced by machines anytime soon.
Gregg gave a half-embarrassed shrug.
“Special issue. If this madman is as powerful as you say, it seemed warranted.” He fixed Owen with a stony look. “Mind you, Milord, you best be right. I have to answer to the superintendent himself just for drawing this from the armory.”
Owen gave the Inspector a short nod of respect. Gregg was a good sort for a policeman, he’d found, for all his avowed cynicism. He seemed as honest as the police ever were here, and he truly seemed to care.
Being the only half Chinese Chief Inspector in the city’s department couldn’t be easy for him. Their doings tonight could easily see Gregg’s career broken, just for following the word of a civilian such as Owen.
Rather than acknowledging any of that, Owen simply replied.
“Let us be about it then.” He hefted the electrum walking stick that was far more deadly in his hands than Gregg’s gun.
“You’re not going,” Gregg said bluntly. “I’ll not be responsible for a civilian, let alone a noble one. Wait here for the reinforcements. Sir Charles,” he hefted the gun, addressing the older man, “let’s go.”
Foster pulled an electrum wand from his sleeve.
“Very well,” he harrumphed, “but this is foolishness.” The clear crystal on one end of the wand began to softly glow, while the black crystal on the other end seemed to swallow the light around it. The two began walking towards the door without another word to Owen.
Rather than protest, Owen passed a meaningful look to Jinhao over his shoulder. She nodded silently. Her cloak flowed from shoulders to the ground, revealing a loose black tunic and pants with a close-fitting hood of the same color that left only her eyes visible. Over her shoulders, Owen could glimpse the hilts of twin blades. The woman moved in a silent blur, vanishing around the corner of the building.
Owen silently wished her well, and then ghosted up behind the two men who were now standing before the door. Sir Charles Foster’s wand glowed against the shadowed doorframe; Owen sensed the working. He swore softly, hefting his cane.