by Raven Bond
“You are generous Captain,” Owen replied. “But I fear that you may be confusing me with my brother, who is Lord Strong of Strong. I have little renown compared to either my brother, or my late father.”
De Vega smiled at him.
“Ah, it can be so confusing who is who in these strange lands, yes? Still, I am honored to make your acquaintance, Lord Strong.”
“The honor is mine, Captain de Vega,” Owen returned with a similar smile.
“If you two peacocks are quite finished shaking your tail feathers, perhaps you, Rodrigo, could show Lord Strong to Roberet,” the regal woman ordered. “I wish to have discussion with this Jinhao for a moment.”
“Forgive me,” Owen said to her before the Captain could respond. “But I wish to thank you for your intervention. I believe you know who I am, but I have not had the pleasure…”
The woman’s face broke into what may have been a smile.
“Have you not? Well, know that I am called Ching Shih. Perhaps you have heard of my renown?”
Owen bowed to her deeply.
“Everyone has heard of the renown of Ching Shih, even in distant London. The Captain of a Thousand Ships is the most renowned, ah, free trader in the world.”
Ching Shih laughed out loud at this.
“I am called pirate from Vladivostok to Siam, Lord Strong. I have no fear of the word, or little else. Still, I thank you for your manners. Now, please Lord Strong, go with Rodrigo. We shall follow presently.” Jinhao nodded at Owen.
“It is all right, Owen,” Jinhao said. The Sorcerer raised an eyebrow at her, but simply nodded. Jinhao knew by the light in his eyes that there would be questions later.
As the two men went off, escorted by the men hidden in the shadows, Ching Shih cradled her swords in her arms and regarded Jinhao.
“You are supposed to be at the Emperor’s Court, last I heard. Now I find you here with a foreign Sorcerer. Grandfather must be beside himself.”
Jinhao sheathed her own swords in the scabbards across her back. She bent to retrieve her night cloak. She examined it, finding it still wearable.
“Listen to you,” Jinhao retorted. “As if you ever cared what Grandfather thinks, O Pirate Queen.” She fastened the cloak around her shoulders, adjusting it so that she could draw the blades easily.
“The Emperor is a boy in a man’s body. The Dowager has seen to that,” Jinhao stated. “I doubt that there is much I could do there, as a mere bodyguard and concubine. I have had another idea. Grandfather will have to come up with something else if he does not agree, as he always does.”
“True,” Ching Shih sighed. “That is why he is Grandfather. Still, it is good to see you, it has been too long…” The older woman shifted her sabers to the crook of one arm, holding out her other towards Jinhao. “Come, I will take you to Roberet. He has been working on something for me.”
Jinhao smiled back, taking her sister’s arm.
“It is good to see you as well, my sister. But seriously, working with political revolutionaries?”
Ching Shih sighed again as they walked arm in arm.
“It seemed a good idea. But I fear there will only come trouble from those fools. I will tell you more about it.” The two women leaned their heads together as they walked towards the hidden entrance. “But first, tell me more about this foreign Sorcerer,” Ching Shih said.
“Ah, I believe our meeting was guided by Heaven’s Fortune, and the seed of my idea,” Jinhao replied. “He is most impressive and agreeable. I have convinced Owen that I must repay a life debt for his saving me by killing a Demon. I believe it was sent by someone in the Dowager’s Court.”
“He killed a court Demon? That is impressive,” Ching Shih agreed. She frowned. “But there is no life debt custom among us, and certainly not with foreigners.”
“He doesn’t know that,” Jinhao replied blandly. “He is a foreigner.”
The older sister looked at her for a moment in surprise, and then they both burst out laughing.
Chapter 10
The Frank Alchemist Roberet droned on and on in his terrible Anglic. He waxed on about what prominent Alchemists his family had been in Paris, how the tragedy of the Austrian invasion had forced him to flee to this forsaken place, and how impossible it was to find a decent wine, let alone a good cup of coffee.
Owen pretended to listen to this monologue while nervously watching the little man bustle from one glowing glass vial to another.
The sky ship captain, de Vega, had left in a great hurry after depositing Owen in a chair at the Alchemist’s laboratory. Owen wished he could have gone with him. The little Alchemist, Roberet, was clearly in the midst of a working, moving from one task to another. Occasionally he would interrupt his own monologue to lift a beaker of swirling colors, sniff it, and then dump it into a larger container floating over a blue flame. Owen tugged at his collar nervously.
Magica was generally divided in the West into Sorcery and Alchemy. Both required an inborn Talent, but otherwise they were governed by different principles. While Sorcery required that the Talented create a blood-bond with an elemental power, and use an external Focus such as his cane to manifest those powers, Alchemists could use their Talent in combination with various ingredients to create manifestations that were more or less permanent. The manifestations created by Alchemists could then be used by anyone, whether or not they were Talented themselves. Alchemical elixirs, for example were in high demand both to cure diseases and improve health.
Others in the Alchemical discipline had begun branching out, creating new materials, such as the super strong and light materials that the bigger sky ships were made of. They even created the aetheric fluids that enabled a weapon to shoot an elemental force, rather than depend on compressed air to fire a projectile.
Alchemists kept their processes a closely guarded secret, and shared those secrets only with each other.
Owen knew that Alchemical Workings required as much, if not more, concentration as spell work did. He also knew that disrupting the Will of an Alchemist during a working courted catastrophe. The few times Owen had seen Alchemists at work, they had all been very silent, intensely concentrated and precise. Roberet was not at all like that.
Roberet splashed another vial into his floating container, sending glowing globules everywhere. The ugly little man looked more like a mad baker mixing a cake, than like someone altering the physical structures of the material world. He could only hope the Frank wouldn’t combine the wrong things, while talking incessantly, and blow them sky high or worse. It had been known to happen.
When the door opened again, Ching Shih, the Pirate Queen as she was called in the broadsheets, entered side by side with Jinhao. Owen noticed that the two seemed very comfortable together, as if this was not their first meeting. He filed that information away for the moment, but he vowed that he and his companion would have words later.
Roberet looked up at the intrusion, and slammed a beaker down on his worktable, approaching Jinhao with a wide grin on his ugly face.
“My little flower,” he exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. “Don’t touch the apron dear, the mess on it might turn your skin green,” he warned. Jinhao returned his smile and the two carefully exchanged kisses on both cheeks.
“Roberet,” Jinhao said lightly, “It has been too long.”
“It has indeed,” the Frank replied. “Oh,” he said holding up a gauntleted finger, “Give me a moment to take this off the boil.” He shuffled back to the work table and glanced into the floating container.
“Yes,” he muttered to it, “We’ll just let you cool now for a time” Picking up a pair of tongs he moved it off the flame, where it continued to float in the air over the table.
“Your aetheric fluid should be ready in a day or so now, Mistress Ching,” he said. “I have created a new method that will allow me to mix the base into a larger matrix, which should be enough for that big cannon of yours.”
“Pardon me,” Owen said through a
tightened throat. “Did you just say that you were creating enough aetheric fluid to power a cannon?” So far as Owen knew aetheric weapons were limited in size by the amount of Fluid they required. While he’d seen pistols and rifles, common wisdom held that anything bigger was simply too costly and unstable to fuel. Not even the British Navy had aether cannons; Battle Sorcerers had compressed air cannon, clockwork ballistae and catapults, but not aetheric cannons. The implications were as unsettling as the monstrous weapons of the Austrians.
“Oh yes, Mistress Ching Shih had been most generous in funding the experiment,” Roberet said, peeling off his heavy gauntlets. “It is only a Fire manifestation you know, and that is only the concentrate there,” he nodded towards the container. “You could simply load it into a big gun and get nothing more than a burp at the moment.” He paused, as if realizing the growing silence in the room. “Oh, perhaps I should not have said anything?”
“It is alright Roberet,” the Pirate Queen, Ching Shih said, “Although we can talk more of this later.” She fixed her gaze on Owen. “Jinhao and her friend are not here about that. I am certain Lord Strong here is aware that one little experiment with one little gun is not worth mentioning.”
Owen nodded slowly. The British military would dearly love to know about such a capability he was sure.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. If you can answer my condition I can perhaps be a gentleman about it.”
Ching Shih’s lips tightened at his words.
“You are bold for one whose life is in my hands.”
Owen smiled at her from where he sat.
“I’ve been told that before. Yet, here I am. While I don’t work for Her Majesty’s government, that does not mean I am not still a loyal subject.”
Ching looked at Jinhao with a grim smile.
“I may like him, if I do not kill him first.” Turning back to Owen she frowned at him. “Very well, state your condition.”
“I want your word that you do not plan to use this thing either to aid the rebels in disrupting Hong Kong, nor that you plan to use it against Her Majesty’s armed forces.”
“That is two conditions,” the Pirate Queen corrected. “As to the first, I have no plans to aid those bumbling fools you met earlier today. That was a miscalculation I will not repeat. As to the second,” she shrugged. “I do not plan to ever attack anyone’s Navy. If they are stupid enough to get in my way, I will fight them however I must. Does that word of a yellow-skinned woman meet your conditions, Lord Strong?”
Owen bowed in agreement at her words.
“Then I think I will be a gentleman about it. That is, if you can trust the word of a pale skinned foreigner,” he replied archly.
The Pirate Queen threw back her head and laughed. “I think I will like you and not kill you!” She turned back to Jinhao, “I leave you to your business.” With that, the woman swept from the room, leaving the three of them alone.
Roberet motioned Jinhao to take the other chair in the room.
“Well, that was uncomfortable,” he remarked with concern. “I hope it does not lose me Mistress Ching as a client. She pays so well.” He looked at Owen with suspicion. “Are you really here with this Britisher, little flower?”
“Yes,” Jinhao replied as she settled into the chair. “We are looking into a number of deaths that we believe were caused by application of Tesarine oil. I thought you would know which Alchemist in the city could make something strong enough to do this.” Jinhao described the nature of the wounds they had found, together with their suspicions.
Roberet stared into space for a moment, then shook his head.
“No, that makes no sense. Tesarine is too weak on its own to do what you describe. Mostly it is the by-product of refining the curie plant from Southern Azteca, which is then sold to duelists seeking an advantage.” He smiled at them both.
“Alchemists like to squeeze every drop, so to speak, from everything. The curare plant is both difficult to obtain and very expensive.” He frowned. “The main product of the plant is deadly enough when rendered, although it has a short life, and must be entered into the blood stream to work.” He frowned again, “But, if you have the plant itself why not simply use that, or pick something else entirely?”
“How would one use this plant rendering?” Owen asked curiously. Using poisons was forbidden among the various operatives in the Great Game of Nations including his old Order. It was one of the unspoken agreements that Owen had never really understood; dead was dead as far as he was concerned. You could kill a target any number of ways, from Sorcery to a knife, to tricking someone into falling off a cliff. However, using a poison would call down such retaliation on the agent and their colleagues that it wasn’t worth it. Owen had not realized that the custom left such a gap in his knowledge of dealing death.
“The usual means is to dip a dart or other projectile in the rendered liquid, and then use the implement to pierce the skin. Poison will not work unless it enters the blood,” Roberet mused. “The little people of the Azteca rain forests use it this way with their blow guns. You can put it on a blade, but it does not last long when exposed to air or water.”
Now it was Owens turn to frown, “There were no darts or projectiles found either in or near the bodies.”
“Perhaps a needle of some kind,” Roberet suggested. “Something attached to a ring perhaps?”
“No,” Owen objected forcefully. “Think about it. Our killer has a very thin needle in his hand which is awkward enough. They must then either thrust it into the chest,” Owen gestured. “Or if it is on a ring, they have to do either this,” he made a slapping motion, “or this,” he punched with a fist. “All the while in public, with no one remarking on such extraordinary actions. In the case of Sir Hastings, they would not only have to strike him, but then Sir Hastings carries a courier tube into the foyer, without raising an alarm, before collapsing. No,” Owen shook his head, “there is something we are missing here, something clever and diabolical.”
Roberet made a very Frankish gesture with his hands. “I can tell you that very few private Alchemists could afford such a substance, and my—sources—would have advised me if they were bringing any curie plant into the country, if only to see if I would out bid their original order maker. There is little honor among such people.”
“I presume by sources you are referring to smugglers,” Owen said.
“Think of them rather as free traders,” Roberet suggested. “While the trading companies do some—extra cargo—they do not carry such things, as a rule.”
“Then we are back to the beginning,” Jinhao remarked.
“Perhaps not,” Owen said. “Roberet, is there anything that makes this Tesarine oil different from the more powerful rendering, whatever you call it?”
“In the Frank lands, we call it curare,” the Alchemist replied. His frown turned his ugly features even more demonic. “Unlike curare, Tesarine can be made into a salt form, as it does not lose efficiency if you either boil or freeze it, but no one has found a use for the salts yet.” He shook his head. “That is the only difference I can think of, besides it being much less potent than curare.” He turned to Jinhao, “I am sorry I cannot be of more help to you and your friend, little flower.”
Jinhao rose, and Owen followed her lead, also standing.
“You have helped greatly, old friend,” she said to him. “I shall come again when I may.”
The answering grin cracked the ugly mask into something that seemed more humane.
“You are always welcome here, little flower, even if you bring the stinking Britisher.” He swiveled towards Owen. “You think what I do in my experiments with Mistress Ching is evil, Britisher?”
“I think that we have enough ways to kill each other in job lots as it is, yes. If you wish to call that evil then you may do so,” Owen replied.
“You will have cause to thank Roberet, before long, Britisher,” the Alchemist grimaced. “You think what I do is evil? You did not see the black Austr
ians destroy my beautiful Paris. Their weapons lit the sky day and night, causing such great explosions that whole blocks were wiped from the ground in the blink of an eye.”
Owen had been in Hong Kong when the Austrian armies had marched into the Frank lands, supposedly to spread their Marian faith. Unfortunately for the Franks, that meant you either accepted their religion, or you died. He’d heard little about it, save what the regular news sheets reported, which he largely ignored as unreliable.
“Then you are saying that the Austrians already have these aether cannon you are creating,” Owen ventured.
Roberet laughed, if such a tragic sound could be called that.
“Oh no. What the demons have is much worse. They have the means to shoot projectiles at you with great speeds over far distances. You can see the shells distort the very air in their passing, they travel so fast. Our Sorcerers could not stop them. It is not elemental, no. Perhaps if you Sorcerers could meld your powers all together, instead of one by one, maybe you stop them, but I think that big Fire cannons are a real start to fighting the black Marian scum. Soon, not even your mighty White Isle is safe from them. You watch, the Austrian will change everything!”
Owen regarded him gravely. He already knew the Austrian evil, even if his former superiors had not listened to his warnings. “I fear you already may be right,” he said sadly.
Chapter 11
They did not see either the Pirate Queen or Captain de Vega again.
Instead a much closed-mouthed member of a sky ship crew, judging by her gaudy dress, showed them out the front door. As they stood outside the door, Owen peered at his vest watch by the lantern’s light. They had been in there barely two hours. The din from the Street of Joy and Luck had swelled in volume since they had entered the store. Well, time flew when you were busy, or so his father had always said.
Jinhao edged closer to Owen.