by Raven Bond
Jinhao turned abruptly down an alley way. They passed various colorful people, conducting the kinds of business usually conducted in such places. When the inhabitants saw they were neither constables nor interested, they calmly went back to their transactions.
Jinhao turned into a narrower alley way which broadened into a trash-filled area with a door lit by a single lantern. Jinhao turned to Owen.
“Roberet is a Frankman,” she said in a low voice. “He is suspicious of all the British. It may be best if you allow me to do most of the talking.” Owen shrugged.
“He’s your contact, I follow your lead. Although if he’s like most Franks I’ve met, for the Gods’ sake try to come to the point in under an hour, and remember that we are not made of money.”
The ghost of a smile touched her lips.
“He does go on, it is true. I doubt, however, that coin will be an issue.”
With Jinhao still in the lead, they entered the Alchemist shop. Owen looked around. It looked like most Alchemist shops, with tall shelves lined with bottles that were filled with mysterious ingredients. The shelves lined the walls, and an unpronounceable smell filled the close air. At the far end of the narrow shop, a bas relief of the five Chinese elements dominated the wall, with the usual stained wooden counter below it. What was unusual was the dark-haired Chinese man, in street wear, behind it. No Alchemist’s robes, or amulets on this one. He looked to Owen as if he’d be more at home in the alley they had just passed through than in the shop. He also didn’t look as if he was happy to see customers at all.
The man watched them unspeaking until Jinhao stopped a few feet away from him.
“We are looking for Roberet,” she said in lower dialect Mandarin, “Tell him it is an old friend from Barley.”
The man’s eyes shifted from Jinhao to Owen and back again.
“Roberet isn’t here now. You should come back tomorrow.”
This clearly wasn’t what Jinhao was expecting. She frowned at the man and tried again, with more force.
“Tell him it is an old friend from Barley.” She followed this with a hand gesture that was so atypical that Owen was certain it was a recognition sign of some kind.
When they had met, Owen had asked if she had any current Imperial entanglements that he should be concerned about. When she had said no, perhaps he should have asked if there were other entanglements as well.
He knew that she was an Adept, and that Chinese Adepts were under the will of the Chinese Imperial Court, on pain of death. There were no freelancers. That meant that she was a runaway, or something similar, at least.
Jinhao had hinted only that she was fleeing romantic troubles in the North. The few comments that she had given indicated she had no love for the current Imperial Court, ruled over by the Dowager Empress. At the same time, she had been scathing about the various rebel movements stirring the pot, both here and in the kingdom.
She was good company for an embittered Sorcerer, and he instinctively trusted her. He was good with his instincts. He suspected that she would say much the same about him, even though both of them clearly had secrets. Owen could be comfortable with secrets.
The man again shifted his eyes from her to Owen, and back again. This time he gave an insincere smile and wiped his hand across his forehead in a clumsy counter-sign.
“Oh,” the man said, still in gutter Mandarin, “The old friend from Barley.” Owen restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
Surly Man, as Owen had decided to call him, opened the wooden gate that guarded the back of the store and pointed through a curtain.
“He is downstairs,” Surly Man said, holding the gate open. As soon as Jinhao was through the gate, Surly Man slammed it shut in front of Owen.
“Not you,” he said in English. He gave Owen a stony stare that Owen was sure was supposed to be intimidating. “That a problem?”
Owen twitched aside his cape, revealing his cane. He adopted an attitude of casual waiting as he leaned on it. Owen watched Surly Man’s eyes flicker down to the cane, and saw his body stiffen. Owen smiled at him. Surly Man recognized the cane for what it was.
“No problem at all,” he reassured Surly Man cheerily, also in English. He looked past Surly Man to Jinhao. “Have a nice time dear. One hour please, and remember what else I said.”
Jinhao rounded on Surly Man in hissed Mandarin, “I vouch for this man! He is to come as well!”
Surly Man hissed right back,
“Things are different now! You want to see Roberet, this is how it is!”
Owen pretended not to understand a word of what they were saying. Sometimes it was a good thing to be under-estimated. Jinhao looked to Owen,
“I am sorry for his rudeness,” she said in English. “I will be back shortly for you.”
Owen waved a hand, and settled himself for the wait.
“Really, it is alright. I shall wait here. Mind what I said though!”
With a nod she went through the curtain while Surly Man held it open. Another man, big with muscle just going to fat, squeezed through from the other side, passing her by. He looked belligerently at Owen. Owen decided he would call him Burly Man. Surly Man spoke with Burly Man for a moment then Surly Man also vanished behind the curtain.
Yes, it was a good thing to be under-estimated sometimes, Owen reflected. He was certain that if Surly Man knew Owen spoke Mandarin, he would have been much quieter when ordering Burly Man to wait a count of one thousand before killing him.
Chapter 9
Jinhao had known that there was something wrong from the moment that the stranger behind the counter had tried to send her away.
Perhaps she should have left then, but she held that Roberet was a friend, and if he was in trouble, she would help. Cautiously she stepped down the wooden stairs towards what appeared to be a storage cellar, a single hanging mage light trying, in vain, to banish the murky shadows. The clerk from upstairs was behind her.
Focusing her will, she heard the breathing of six, no, seven men hiding among the crates. One of them apparently knew how to watch his breathing. Even if they all possessed guns, she judged that an encounter would be within her capabilities. She then heard the clerk draw an edged weapon, probably a knife, from inside his tunic. Instead of turning, she continued to play along as expected, pausing on the bottom step to turn back in apparent confusion.
“Where is Roberet?”
The clerk brandished his knife in her face.
“Keep walking,” he snarled. “Right out into the middle of the room.” If she took the knife away from him, broke his arm and then smashed in his ugly face, she might never learn the fate of Roberet. Instead, she remembered to look startled, and then, turning quickly, scampered to the center of the room.
Once Jinhao was under the mage light, shapes appeared from out of the shadows that resolved into hard-faced men holding weapons of different kinds, swords, knives, and clubs. One of the men in a black tunic and pants, holding a saber, stepped fully into the light, regarding her with dead eyes.
“What is this,” he asked the clerk with a jerk of his head towards her.
“She came in with a Quizi Sorcerer, and asked for Roberet shameless as could be,” the clerk replied. “I figure them both for spies.” The other men stirred at his words, muttering. “We should leave here now; they may have the place already surrounded.”
Saber wielder silenced the others with a single gesture. His saber flowed up from his side until the edge was on line with Jinhao’s neck while he edged forward.
“Is this true,” he demanded. “Have you brought the Quizi here?”
Jinhao regarded the man. Not only the leader, but he had instilled a measure of discipline in the others. She approved. From his movements, she would judge that he had some training in one of the northern sword schools, but not training in the military, and certainly not from an Adept school. She decided to stop playing the game.
“Not all foreigners are quizi,” she replied levelly. “He is a f
riend. I have already given your man here the recognition signs, which should be enough. Where is Roberet?”
The leader must have seen something in her eyes. His stance shifted from a careless ‘let’s threaten the girl’ pose to a ready fight stance. Neither his eyes, nor the sword, moved away from her. Calmly, he turned to the clerk.
“Is this so? Did she give you the recognition signs?”
“She did give me the signs for the thieves,” the clerk sputtered, “But not our signs. Why are we wasting time talking? Let us kill the spying bitch, and get out of here!”
“Wait,” the voice came from the shadows. Jinhao figured that it must belong to the one who knew how to regulate his breathing. She was surprised when a swarthy foreigner stepped into the light. He was gaudily dressed in red and green striped pants, with high boots and a black vest. A sky jack then, one who crewed a sky ship.
Around his hips were strapped two aether guns in cross-draw holsters. Jinhao took in the expensive weapons, including a bandolier of the faintly glowing reloads and revised her estimate. Not merely crew, she surmised, but most likely a captain, and a successful one at that.
“If she has the signs, then she might be one of ours,” the man said. He stopped at the edge of the circle of light, hands resting easily on his gun belt.
“Do you recognize her,” asked the leader.
“No,” the sky jack replied easily. “But that means nothing. I will call for Madame, and we should also gather in her companion. There may be a misunderstanding here.”
“Too late for the quizi, I told Fat to kill him.” The clerk snapped while hopping from foot to foot. “I tell you—Ahuggh!”
Whatever else the clerk might have told them was cut off by Jinhao’s right sword spearing into his throat. She pivoted in a blur of speed, the blade ripping free in a spray of blood, while her left blade severed the weapon hand of the man next to him. The leader was still struggling to free himself from Jinhao’s night cloak, with which she had entangled him.
The sky jack was uncommonly fast, she noticed. He had already drawn his aether-guns, though he had not yet brought them to bear. She gathered herself to execute a forward roll that would bring her upright inside his aim and within reach of her blades. Killing the surly clerk first had been an indulgence she hoped not to regret.
She was a muscle twitch from starting the roll, when the sky jack shouted in surprise and dropped his guns as if they had become suddenly too hot to hold. Around her, cries of shock were accompanied by the clatter of weapons hitting the floor.
Owen had arrived.
She spared a glance at the stairs. Owen stood on the steps, illuminated by a blue glow from his cane jewel on the one hand, and a bright, flickering of flames between the fingers of his other hand.
“No one moves unless you wish to taste the flames,” he shouted in Mandarin, fingers weaving bright patterns in menace.
No one moved.
He spared Jinhao a smile and a greeting in English.
“There you are Jinhao! It seems that your friends play somewhat rough.” He nodded towards the men still gripping their hands in pain.
Jinhao spent a heartbeat in marvel at the control he exhibited. She knew Western Sorcerers could call up elements such as fire. To direct that fearsome force such that it heated the weapons alone required discipline that was seldom seen.
Straightening up in a centering move, she flicked her blades clean of blood, allowing herself to show a smile back at him. He did indeed look like a foreign demon, standing on the shadowed stairs, with fire light flickering over his face.
Though she knew what effort it took Owen to work such Magia, he appeared completely relaxed.
“They are hardly my friends,” she replied also in English. “In fact, I have not been properly introduced to any of them.” She gestured with a sword at the defeated enemies. “Stand over there, where we can see you all,” she ordered. The cowed men shuffled obediently into a line.
The leader, who had finally freed himself from her cloak, snarled at her, spittle running down his chin as he held onto his burned hand.
“Traitorous sow,” he spat in Mandarin. “It matters not whether you are paid by that foul harridan who calls herself Empress, or by the foreign demons themselves! Your day will come! The people will be free!” He vowed.
Jinhao looked at him coolly. “I should have known that only someone as stupid as a revolutionary would seek to kill based on association alone. We care nothing for your politics, nor are we with the Pinchers.” She raised her swords slightly. “Although should you ever again imply that I am a minion of the monster that warms the throne, you shall be a head shorter, I promise you.” The man went silent, glaring hatred. “Now,” she demanded briskly, “Where is Roberet?”
“Jinhao,” Owen interrupted. “There are others entering the room from the back.”
“He is safely with me,” came a voice from the darkness. Jinhao knew that voice, though she did not expect to hear it here. A Chin woman stood at the edge of the light, a pair of sabers in her hands. She looked at Jinhao with no more recognition than Jinhao hoped she reflected back.
“It is all right Owen,” Jinhao cried out. “These are my friends.”
“I have many armed fighters at my back,” the woman said. Jinhao could hear them as they attempted to pad silently into the room, while keeping to the deeper shadows. “They will shoot you all down where you stand.” The woman looked up at Owen. “Put down your cane, Sorcerer.”
Owen grinned at her, his face shadowed like a skull. The woman was bold, he’d give her that. No Sorcerer would willingly be parted from their Focus. It didn’t matter how many elemental marks were bound into the skin, without a Focus a Sorcerer was helpless to call on them.
“Oh, I rather think not,” he returned. “You could tell your people to put down their guns. Even air rifles can be made to explode, you know.”
The woman’s head swiveled to the foreign skyjack. “I hope you can explain this Rodrigo.”
“Madame,” the sky jack began, “I was just having a discussion with Senor Liu here.”
“You were attempting to rob us in our hour of glory!” The leader of the rebels shouted.
“Be silent.” The woman had command in her voice. “You show a remarkable lack of awareness for your position. I will come to you.” She turned back to the sky jack. “Continue.”
The sky jack bowed his head to her.
“As you wish, Madame,” he acknowledged. “As I was saying, I was discussing things with Senor Liu when one of his men brought in the young woman with the swords. He said that she was a spy, even though she knew our recognition signs, and he intended to kill both her and her Sorcerer companion there.” He gestured at Owen.
“I was attempting to stop this folly when the young woman took matters into her own hands, so to speak. That is Liu’s man over there without his head.” He indicated the bloody body on the floor.
“At that point, the Sorcerer entered the discussion with the trick of making all our weapons too hot to hold.” The sky jack made a shrugging motion with his hands. “That was how things stood when Madame entered.” He looked up at Owen, “That was an impressive trick.”
“Thank you,” Owen returned with a slight bow. “I have plenty more I can show you if need be,” flames still flickering between his fingers.
“That should not be necessary,” ‘Madame’ replied. She turned towards Liu. “Is what he says true, Liu? Are you really that stupid?”
“It is true that Yang brought her down here,” Liu protested in Mandarin. “But I was still making sure of things. This was my meeting and my responsibility. We cannot be too careful when we are so close.”
“Oh shut up,” Madame snapped. “You are close to nothing. And you can speak English, it won’t sully your mouth.” She held up her free hand. “Wait, I have reconsidered that. Do not speak at all, just leave. Our association is at an end.”
Liu opened his mouth, appeared to reconsider, and
then opened it again, looking like a fish.
“Let us take our weapons at least. And there is one dead man, and one maimed one to be accounted for.”
Madame raised her sabers.
“Count yourself lucky I let you leave with your heads. As for your men, as you say, your meeting, your responsibility. Now go, before I lose all patience and forget how inconvenient killing you would be!” Madame looked up at Owen, still poised on the stairs.
“Master Sorcerer, would you, of your kindness, please come down from the stairs that these men may leave?”
At a slight nod from Jinhao, Owen snuffed the flames between his fingers.
“Of course,” he replied. He sauntered down the steps and stood near Jinhao as the woeful group of revolutionaries marched up the stairs, Madame’s men prodding them along with the barrels of their military-grade rifles.
Soon, only Jinhao and Owen faced the sky jack and the woman he had called Madame. Jinhao was very aware that at least two of her men had faded back into the shadows. It was likely that even now, Owen and she were targeted by hidden weapons.
“I understand that you are seeking Roberet,” the woman said. It was not a question, though Jinhao chose to answer it as if it were.
“Yes,” Jinhao replied. “I am called Jinhao. My friend and I need to speak with him on a matter totally unrelated to what just happened.”
The skyjack bent to retrieve his aether-guns in one fluid motion, with both guns holstered by the time he came erect. He looked at Owen.
“That was a very impressive trick. I am Rodrigo de Vega, Captain of the Windfahr. Who do I have the honor of addressing?”
Owen bowed and stood easily, facing Rodrigo.
“I am Owen Strong. I apologize if my ‘trick’ as you call it, caused you any discomfort, Captain. In my defense, I was rather hurried. I would never seek to make an enemy of so renowned a pirate as yourself.”
Rodrigo stroked his moustaches at this, nodding.
“I prefer to call myself a free trader. Likely you are confusing me with my famous cousin, Rafael.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It is a common mistake. But I assure you, no apologies are needed. There is no shame in being tricked by the renowned Lord Strong of the Britannic Empire.”