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

by Raven Bond

  “There is something that I must tell you,” she spoke low as if feared that they might be over-heard even over the near-by street noise.

  Owen smiled at her, her face highlighted by the single lantern’s glow in their little cul-de-sac.

  “Only one thing,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow. “I believe that there are a few more than that. For instance, I never knew you had such interesting acquaintances.”

  Was Jinhao actually ducking her head in embarrassment? Owen couldn’t be sure, perhaps it was merely a trick of the uncertain light.

  “Yes, that is another matter to discuss,” she admitted. “This is much more important. Ching Shih told me that the revolutionaries we met tonight plan to kill everyone at the trade reception tomorrow night. They plan to start some kind of rebellion against the Chinese Imperium, using the city as a rallying point.”

  “Damn them all to the Black Wood,” Owen said tiredly. “Did our gracious hostess also tell you how they plan to do this? While we are on the subject, why should we believe anything the Pirate Queen says to us?”

  “You may believe her always. I do.” Jinhao proceeded to relay the plans Ching Shih had shared with her. The rebels had placed themselves as extra servants hired for the reception, intending to smuggle in weapons. At a certain time in the evening they intended to strike, killing everyone.

  “Simple, and bloody effective,” Owen muttered. The reception would have all the officials of the joint-city government present, as well as all the diplomats, influential families, and junior bureaucrats, not to mention the trade delegates themselves.

  What the stupid idiots failed to see, is that far from starting some romantic revolution against the Dowager Empress, such a thing would call down the wrath of every powerful nation in the world. The nations would have to retaliate to such an atrocity, likely sparking the very world war that Partridge feared. Owen felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders.

  “Come on,” he said in a morose tone, “Let us go home.”

  “But what shall we do?” Jinhao fell into step beside him. Together they turned out of the cul-de-sac and began threading their way past the denizens of the alley conducting their business. They joined the stream of the bustling profane crowds on the Street of Joy and Luck, moving slowly towards the cross street where cabs and other conveyances waited to ferry the revelers.

  Owen gave a great sigh.

  “To answer your question, Jinhao,” he said at last, ‘I really do not have a clue.” He gripped his cane in anger by the haft, pushing his way through the crowd, Jinhao kept to his side by the clever use of her elbows. Others began getting out of the way of the grim-faced Sorcerer, recognizing the red metal cane and what it meant. Sorcerers were almost a law onto themselves in Hong Kong. While the city police would make a Sorcerer answer for any mayhem they might do, it would be of little comfort to the victims of that mayhem afterwards.

  The threads of a simple tune pierced Owen’s brown study. He stopped abruptly, head coming up like a hound looking for the source of the music. Ignoring Jinhao’s question, he started pushing through a knot of people that had clustered around one of the vagabond musicians that littered the street. When he reached the front he stopped and stared at what he saw.

  A young Chin dancer dressed in the popular idea of what passed for a Persian harem outfit stood stock still. Another countryman played a British pennywhistle behind her. The tune he played was one that Owen hadn’t heard since he was a child, only then it was played by an old, red-haired Bard in the family great hall, when his father was still alive. The song was called Bridett’s Answer, and as the tune wove its sweet melancholy air, the woman began to dance the story that went with it. So beautiful and precise were her movements that no words were needed. Owen would have followed the story even if he did not know it.

  Bridett’s heart’s delight, the Lord Owen, was missing. Bridett searched high and low for him to no avail. No one, not King, nor Bard, nor Sorcerer could answer her as to where he might be. Unknown to mortal ken, Lord Owen had been secretly taken by the undead servants of the jealous Necromancer Mathin, spiriting him away to their shadowy realm, with only the birds to witness the deed. In desperation, Bridett asked the birds if they had seen her love.

  The birds were so frightened of Mathin that they would not tell her what they had seen, all except for one brave wren, who told Bridett to follow him if she wished to know the truth of her lover. The wren led Bridett to the Dark Wood’s edge, where she was met by one of the Shining Folk, whose beauty is both awesome and terrible to those of mortal blood. The Shining One whispered to Bridett the fate of her love, sharing with her the secret knowledge by which he could be reclaimed, and placing in her hands a hammer.

  Armed with her love, Bridett then went to where three streams danced in union and built there a forge, the flame of which she blew alight by the secret art of the Fair Folk. The birds gladly brought her the materials she asked for, being shamed by their earlier cowardice. The hammer belled in the forge both day and night, until the moon mother was full again. Then, with a tall thing like a staff wrapped in dark cloth she asked the wren to take her to the hidden place of Mathin.

  Bridett was challenged by the evil Necromancer Mathin himself, at the doors of the Undead dwelling place. She unwrapped the coverings of the staff, to reveal that it was a shining spear made of red metal. Denouncing Mathin, she thrust the spear through him. The doorways of the undead broke open at Mathin’s death, and Bridett pulled forth Lord Owen. The lovers embraced.

  The Chinese dancer stopped as still as a statute once again, and the crowd sighed as one. The pennywhistle player began a jaunty sea chantey and the dancer deftly made a motion towards the basket set out for coin.

  Owen reached for his coin purse as if in a dream and bent to place it in the basket. He knew now what he had to do, even though he had vowed to himself that he would never do it. He had to go to the edge of the Dark Wood and take counsel of the Shining Folk, or of a certain one of them at any rate.

  The dancer’s eyes caught Owen’s as he stood up from the basket. For a moment, Owen would have sworn the girl’s eyes were as blue as Bridett’s were supposed to be in the tale. The dancer bowed in his direction.

  “You are most generous, Lord.” When she looked up again, Owen saw that her eyes were the dark brown he expected to see.

  He shook himself and mumbled something about the greatness of her dancing. A British demi-goddess couldn’t really look out of the eyes of a Chinese street girl, could she? Could she? He turned to find Jinhao looking at him. Something on his face must have drawn her concern for her forehead creased.

  “Owen,” she asked urgently, “what is it?”

  Schooling his features, Owen gave her his best cocky smile.

  “It is nothing, Jinhao,” he assured her. “I now know what I must do next.” He began pushing through the crowd. “Come on, let us go hire the means to be home.”

  There was none of their usual banter as the horse-drawn cab carried them across town. Owen stared out the window while Jinhao watched Owen in silence. Finally, as they were getting close to Owen’s house, he stirred and looked at her.

  “It would seem that our unspoken agreement regarding our separate past lives has become an obstacle.”

  “You wish to know about my relationship to Ching Shih,” Jinhao said quietly. “Very well, she is my older sister.”

  Owen leaned forward, searching her face in the changing shadows of the cab. He was surprised by the answer. He’d expected Jinhao’s usual dance of deflection.

  “Do you mean she is your blood relative, or that you are both warrior women of action kind of sisters?”

  “Yes,” she replied. Now it was Jinhao’s turn to look out the window.

  After a moment Owen leaned back with a sigh. “Well,” he remarked, “that must make family gatherings interesting.”

  Still looking out the window, she replied with a wry tone in her voice, “We have not had such a gathering in a
long time.”

  Owen thought of his own family past. What was that saying about throwing stones while living in glass houses? Growing up the younger son in the house of the famous Lord Robert Strong, Protector of the Realm, also had its challenges; challenges that his older brother Richard had always been quick to point out that he, Owen, had failed at, a point of view which Owen could only agree with.

  “Still,” he said to her, “and I apologize for being so blunt, but now I must know. Are you involved in either her operations or the schemes of these rebels?”

  “I have not seen my sister for some time,” she answered directly. “I am sure seeing me today was as much a surprise for her as it was for me. She has chosen a different path from mine. As to those fools we encountered,” Owen could almost hear her lip curl in the shadows, “while I feel the pain that has driven them to such a place, they are not… professional… enough for my taste.”

  A burst of light from the cab window illuminated her face, Owen had rarely seen it so impassioned.

  “If you are asking me if the Empress should be thrown down, then yes, may boils devour her, she should! She is a vain monster whose touch corrupts all about it, and the throne has made her touch very long indeed.” She leaned back in her seat, composing herself. “It is not really so different from the days of your King Richard. I have read some of your histories.”

  “Yes, well,” Owen drawled. “Richard was an obsessive warlord and we were well rid of him. Amuiel should never have joined with his grandfather William when he came begging across the channel. The only good things ever to come out of Normandy are the wines and the cooking. Still, it took Elizabeth the First most of her reign to straighten it out. I hope we are past such foolishness now.”

  “Just so,” Jinhao agreed. “We have also had our bad rulers. However, now we must also deal with the foreigners who support her. I doubt that we may simply send you all packing as you did the Normans.”

  “Do you wish we were gone, Jinhao?” He asked her softly.

  “Why not ask me if I wish the sun to rise in the west, or water to flow uphill” she asked.

  “You are here, and I doubt that your country folk will go away even should Lohan allow it. What is the point of such useless questions,” she asked, exasperation clear in her voice.

  Taken aback by the strength of her answer, Owen could only continue to seek clarity.

  “I am seeking to know where your allegiances lie, Jinhao. In what I do next, it may matter.”

  “The answer to that, Owen Strong, is very simple. My allegiance lies with you,” she said simply. “Where does yours lie Owen? Do you even know? And what is it that you will do now?”

  The cab chose that moment to stop in front of the house. Owen smiled at her weakly.

  “That last I may not tell you. Poor return for your trust I know, but know also that I mean to not have this city the center of a war if I can help it. As to the rest,” he shrugged. “I would have answered that I am a subject of the Queen, but now, I honestly don’t know.” He peered out the window.

  “And unless I am much mistaken we now have Lady Hastings awaiting our arrival home. How delightful.”

  Chapter 12

  It turned out not only to be a night cloaked Lady Hastings, but her House Sorcerer as well.

  Barton, in true clank man butler mode, had offered them hospitality, but MacAllister, the Sorcerer, had been reluctant to pass the threshold of another Sorcerer without Owen present, which was understandable. Not only was there ancient custom involved, but the Sorcerer might expect there to be traps set for the uninvited Sorcerer who ventured within.

  Once past the awkwardness of Owen extending the invitation to Mistress MacAllister, which she flatly refused with a dour face, Owen escorted Lady Hastings to the parlor, leaving the Sorcerer outside.

  Jinhao excused herself as soon as possible, leaving only Owen and the young heiress to be served tea by a whirling Barton.

  After taking the obligatory sip from her cup, Lady Hastings spoke.

  “I must apologize for Mistress MacAllister’s behavior, Lord Strong. She has hardly been herself since Father’s death. It is almost as if she blames herself for it, even though she did all she could.”

  “Thank you, Lady Hastings,” Owen nodded, “but I assure you, no offense is taken. It is a trying time for you all.”

  “Thank you, My Lord,” the young woman replied. She sat her cup down. “Now to the purpose of my visit. As father has been properly sent on, I wish to aid your inquiry into his murder.”

  “My Lady,” Owen said carefully, “while I can appreciate your position, you must understand that there is more at stake here than avenging your father’s death; more than that I cannot say.”

  “Such as thinking that more murders will be committed, possibly with the aim of disrupting the forthcoming trade negotiations” she asked archly, “or that you have already formed a plan to forestall them from occurring?” She gave a dark laugh for one who seemed so young, as she regarded Owen’s blank face.

  “Come now sir! I would be a poor Truthsayer if I could not discern the truth of what you do not say as well as what you do.”

  Owen pulled a cigarette from his case to hide his consternation. It was only after he had it alight that he spoke again.

  “Your Gift is truly impressive, My Lady. Given that, I beg you to use it now when I tell you that involving yourself with my investigations would only place you in the gravest danger.”

  Lady Hastings cocked her head to one side.

  “I wonder how you do that,” she remarked, looking at Owen. “It is as if a veil has been drawn over you. I can sense only that you believe the Truth of your spoken words, but nothing else at the moment. How very interesting. Everyone lies you know,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Even when they believe what they are saying is the Truth, there is always the tiniest voices inside them that whispers other things. But suddenly your voices are gone.”

  She shook herself as if to clean away something uncomfortable.

  “But as for your assertion, I am well aware that it might be dangerous, yet I will not be denied my Funath!” Owen regarded her while silently running the disciplines the Obsidian order had trained him in against a Truthsayer. That she had used the word Funath, the old term for a House War against a wrong done to its honor, was, he knew, deliberate. She was appealing to his station and upbringing, a formidable argument in other circumstances. A pretty face alone she was not.

  “Forgive me for asking, My Lady,” he finally said, “but you are some seventeen or eighteen years of age?”

  She straightened solemnly.

  “I shall attain twenty summers this year if the gods are kind.” Her cheeks colored. “I know that I should already be hand-fasted, but besides the considerations of the House, there are not many young men who appeal to me.”

  Owen finished his cigarette, stabbing it out on his tea saucer. Formidable indeed, he thought to himself. Owen could only imagine what she would be like at fifty, in the prime of her power.

  “No, I imagine not. Very well, My Lady, I cannot stand in the way of Funath.” He took a breath and considered her. “Tomorrow evening, there will be a reception for the trade delegates. I assume that you have an invitation already?” At her nod, he continued. “What I want you to do is listen to every person that is present. Note anything that may seem duplicitous, and signal me so.” He raised two fingers of his right hand to his brow. “I will come as soon as I may.”

  Lady Hastings frowned. “This is hardly what I had in mind. If it is as every other reception I have ever attended, everyone present will be duplicitous, that is practically a given.”

  Owen raised an eyebrow at this.

  “I did not say it would be easy Lady Hastings. What did you imagine, uncovering an overlooked clue, or skulking down dim alleyways, exchanging bullets and spells as if in some cheap novel?” The squaring of her shoulders told him that was exactly what she imagined.

  “No, My Lady,�
� he pressed on. “As you pointed out, this is something that only someone with your unique talents can supply. I can think of few tasks more dangerous, or more useful than bringing to me Truth at such a gathering.” He stood up and Lady Hastings stood with him. “Can I count on your aid, My Lady?”

  Lady Hastings squared her jaw, looking up at him. “You may, My Lord. I would plead with you only one boon, that I be present when the killer is denounced.”

  “I cannot grant you that,” Owen answered truthfully. “There is still much to be worked out. But I may promise you that they will be denounced, and that you will be among the first to know.”

  The woman nodded her head sharply.

  “Very well, My Lord. I will accept that for now. I also have another oddity for you. When you asked about the courier tube I inquired of the staff about it. ”

  Owen schooled his face at the news.

  “And was there such a tube,” he asked.

  The young heiress frowned.

  “Not that anyone has found.” She reached into her evening bag, and held out her hand. “They did find this when they were cleaning up the area though. No one is sure what it is.”

  Owen took from her a small curved piece of metal. He also frowned at the strange thing.

  “Do you believe it is important?”

  Owen smiled at her.

  “I am not sure, Lady Hastings, but it is precisely the sort of thing I had in mind for you to do. Can you keep the news of this quiet?”

  “Why yes, if you think it best.”

  “That is all I can ask, My Lady,” he replied. “As the hour is late, may I escort you out?”

  As Owen escorted her out to her coach, the House Sorcerer grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Have you dissuaded her from this romantic foolishness of Funath?”

  Owen looked at the older woman coldly.

  “I suggest you ask your liege that, Mistress,” he snapped shortly.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she hissed at him as Lady Hastings called out to the coach men. “I will challenge you before I let you take my station in House Hastings, you nothing of a younger son!”