by Raven Bond
One of the leather apron clad ones spoke revealing a gap-toothed mouth.
“We wants to know what you wants with Master McDougal,” he growled ominously.
“Shouldn’t we be tending to your poor brothers instead,” Owen asked. He hefted his cane. “As you can see, I am not without resources that could save lives.”
“We sees that fancy spell stick of yours,” Toothless says, “And that gets us to wondering, perhaps you caused all this.”
“Ridiculous,” snapped Owen. “Where’s your own Magian? Surely you must have one?”
Toothless nodded towards the tumble of steel.
“He was part of the group wot got it,” he said menacingly. “Perhaps you should be getting’ it too.”
Owen pulled on his Earth rune, standing still.
“I doubt you’ll find me as easy as your last bar brawl.”
“Oh, talk it now, will you?” Toothless jeered at Owen. The others encircling Owen laughed with him. Toothless suddenly sprang at Owen, swinging a metal bar at his legs.
His face grew astonished when the bar bent, and Owen appearing to be unmoved by the blow. The others screamed, charging in. Rather than take their blows, Owen pulled on his Air rune. A stiff wind fanned out from his center, blowing them all down.
Owen dramatically raised his cane and brought it down into the ground, while calling on his Fire rune. A bolt of lightning sprang out of the clear blue sky to stop inches above his head.
“Enough,” he cried. “Are you convinced now that I could have already made life very unpleasant for you all if I wanted?”
From where he lay on the ground, Toothless looked up, dazed, at him.
“I reckon so,” he allowed. Owen smiled down at him, and offered his hand.
“Good, he said, “then let’s lend a hand to those poor brutes under the girders.” Toothless took his hand and Owen effortlessly pulled him to his feet using the Earth rune to brace himself. It jarred Owen right to his bones, but it wouldn’t do to show weakness now.
“Right then,” Owen said. “Can we get something to lift those steel beams out of the way?”
“We can rig somethin’,” Toothless replied, “But it would work better if we had one o’ them liftin’ spells to aid us.”
Owen hefted his cane, “Well, you’ve come to the right place for lifting spells’.” He grinned.
McDougal frantically keyed the lift as Jinhao closed in. She leapt, grabbing onto the lift’s cage, only to have to let go again when the lift came to a narrow passage. McDougal grinned down at her with a hoot and a wave.
Jinhao studied the girders and scaffolding that interlaced the inside of the huge building. Setting her course, she centered her energy, then began to spring upwards, leaping from handhold to planking. There was more than one way to beat him to the top.
McDougal pulled open the cage door, just as Jinhao sprang over the side of the building to land on the rooftop in front of him. He snarled, and clawed free a pepper pot pistol from his vest. The gun’s barrels flashed in the sunlight as they rotated, a small jut of air accompanied each round as he fired.
Jinhao ducked, weaved, and bent to avoid the deadly bullets, until McDougal’s pistol ran empty.
“Why are you doing this,” Jinhao asked. “We only wish to talk with you.”
“Talk, ye call it?” He spat. “That’s not what I been told. Well you won’t do to me as you done to his Lordship, not for a few thousand Guineas, you won’t.”
“A few thousand,” Jinhao repeated. “What are you speaking of?”
MacDougal laughed, throwing aside the empty gun and cocking his fists. Jinhao recognized it as that quaint martial form called boxing.
“I admit I took the money, but it would have all been repaid by the time the building was finished. I wouldna have had to take it, if the damned smuggler hadn’t asked for more money to haul my dear Sophie and Rowan here, so as we could build a new life.” He moved his fists as if pumping them. “Well, come on then,” he snarled, “Come on.”
Jinhao obliged the tall engineer, moving to put his hand and arm into a lock that still enabled him to stand while bending him half over from the pain. He screeched as she applied pressure.
“Now,” she said satisfied at last, “We will get back into the lift and descend where you will tell all this to my partner.” The big man tried to pull away and screamed as Jinhao squeezed again.
“And should you keep trying that, I will break your arm before you get free.” He stopped struggling.
“That’s better,” Jinhao purred. “Now right this way” She lead him back to the lift, never letting go of his arm or allowing him to stand up straight.
She was as surprised to see Owen with his suit coat off, covered in grime and blood as he was to see her gently leading her catch.
“Well, I see that you have caught the elusive Mr. McDougal,” Owen observed. “I’ve been lending a hand here.”
“So I see,” Jinhao replied. She applied pressure to McDougal’s arm, causing the man to groan and remain bent over. “Where do you want him?”
Owen glanced around to see that fortunately the workers were still all focused on the relief efforts, and rescuing their injured fellows.
“We need to have a quiet talk with him, but not here.” Owen pointed towards an abandoned wreck next to the construction. “Let’s go there.” Owen looked over his shoulder to make sure they still weren’t seen. “And let us go quickly.”
Once in the sheltering gloom of the wreck, Owen turned.
“Let him up please.” Jinhao allowed the Engineer to stand upright again.
“I tell you, I did not kill Lord Hastings!” cried McDougal.
Owen looked at him through hooded eyes.
“Perhaps. Then you can explain the missing money?”
McDougal pulled at his beard.
“As I told the girl, yes, I took the money, but only so my Sophie and our daughter could make the passage out here as well. The money would have been returned before the job was finished, I swear it!”
Owen raised his cane, flames licked down its length.
“I do not have time to deal with lies, McDougal,” Owen said sternly. McDougal paled. He tried to back up only to find that Jinhao’s long knives blocking his way.
“No,” he said, “I swear that it’s all true! All of it!”
Owen nodded. “I believe you.” The flames vanished. “But you still have your Mistress to answer to. What she will say, I do not know.” Owen turned, clearing the way for McDougal to leave.
“You mean you’re letting me go?” McDougal looked at Owen in astonishment.
“I am not your mistress’ agent,” Owen explained. “Perhaps this will teach you to rely on a smuggler’s honesty.”
“Gods keep you, Milord, Gods keep you!” With that he ran into the sunlight.
“Why did you let him go?” Jinhao asked.
Owen shrugged.
“As I explained, I am not Lady Hastings’ agent. The man is clearly not the killer.” He sauntered out to stare at the wreckage. He was pleased to see that McDougal had resumed his place of command, overseeing the rescue efforts. “Besides,” Owen said, “I believe that there has been enough grief here today.”
“What is it you were just saying about the warding and the power of Western Magia?”
“Well, that should have held up. Clearly the operator lost control of the safety levitation spells at the wrong time. The warding should have alerted…” Strong stopped in his tracks. “Good Goddess of the Forge,” he murmured.
“Owen,” Jinhao said, “What is it?”
“Shh,” Owen hushed her. “Give me a moment.” His fingers traced out something that only he could see. “Of course!” He turned to Jinhao. “I know who the assassin is!”
“What!” Jinhao exclaimed. “Who?”
Owen pulled out his watch.
“We still have time to get dressed and meet Gregg for the festivities! Come, I’ll explain along the way.”
/> Chapter 16
Liu tugged at the white servant’s coat as he climbed down from the delivery van. It was too small and fit like band of iron across his shoulders.
No matter, he smiled to himself. After today, all the people of Hong Kong will be free. He turned to begin supervising the smuggling of guns into the reception for the trade delegates. He was brought up short by the sudden appearance of the Quizi Magian from the shop, accompanied by an inspector from the police, both dressed for the reception in fancy clothes.
“Liu Qwan Tze,” the inspector rumbled, “You are hereby bound by the authority of the City Law. Surrender.”
Liu began to reach for the knife at the small of his back. The Magian raised his cane slightly.
“I really wish you wouldn’t.”
Liu sneered at Owen.
“I would beat you, Magian, without your tricks.”
“Perhaps,” Owen agreed easily. “But then you would have to face her.” He cocked his head towards the roof of the van, where Jinhao, dressed and masked in her black outfit, appeared. Constables sprang out as if from nowhere, seizing Liu’s people and their cache of weapons. Liu’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Here now,” Owen said cheerfully, “let’s move over here out of the way shall we?”
Together Inspector Gregg and Owen escorted the defeated revolutionary across the street.
Liu looked at them defiantly.
“No matter, place me in your worst prison. Hang me if you will. We will not be stopped.”
“Oh, you misunderstand us completely,” Owen replied. “No, no, we are not going to take you into custody. We are letting you go.”
Liu paled. “Letting me go,” he echoed. “But the others will think…”
“That you betrayed them,” Owen beamed at Liu. “It should be interesting to see how understanding your brothers and sisters are, comrade.” Liu choked.
“You know what the trouble is with you radicals…” Owen asked fiercely. “It is that to you there is always one simple answer, ‘kill off the ruling classes’. You never think about the people who depend on the order the ruling class brings. The kind of peace that allows the farmer to bring his rice to market and not be cheated; the kind that allows a little girl not to go hungry because some bandit stole her dinner. What do you have to replace that with? Nothing but slogans and violence that feed your ego.” He snorted in disgust.
“Get out of here before I forget how very elegant it will be to have the rebel leadership turn on each other.”
Liu looked franticly from Owen to Gregg. The police inspector shook his head implacably.
“Go,” was all he growled. Liu turned and ran down the street.
“You enjoyed that little lecture,” Gregg observed, looking at Owen.
“Did I?” Owen wondered aloud. “I suppose it was a bit indulgent of me. Still,” he twirled his cane, “Someone needs to speak for the ruling classes, and we usually do such a bad job of it ourselves.” He turned back towards Peachtree House, the official residence of the two governors, and site for the trade reception. “At least you can tell them to start the reception now.”
Gregg shrugged. “They already did,” he said. “Seems the ‘ruling class’ always knows better.” He smiled sourly.
“What?!” Owen exclaimed. “They were to wait!” He began running towards the building. Jinhao leaped down as he passed.
“Get into your reception clothes and find a way in. The assassin is inside!”
Owen’s heart was pounding by the time he reached the front of the august building. He slowed down under the watchful eyes of the guards, both Royal Marines and Chinese Imperial guards. It wouldn’t do to appear out of the ordinary now. Not knowing where the assassin was, raising an alarm might cause them to act, and in the commotion, the assassin may succeed in their grisly task.
Instead, Owen presented his card to the Seneschal, and entered the gaily dressed crowd that milled around the spacious great hall. He’d just spied the delegates off to a side, and had begun working his way through the crowd towards them, when a very richly dressed Chinese man appeared before him.
“Your pardon, young Sorcerer,” the old man’s white mustache quivered. He gestured towards Owen’s cane. “Is not such an overt display of one’s powers considered vulgar?”
Pulled up short, Owen studied the old man. He wore a silk over-robe so expensive that Owen was sure it would buy his neighborhood, let alone his modest house. Other than that he was unadorned. No badges of House or rank, not even a dagger.
“Some would say it is bad manners indeed,” Owen replied slowly. There was something about the old man that made you not want to dismiss him as just another rich Courtier. “But I have never found it wise to hide what you are.”
The old man smiled.
“Have you not? What a strange thing for the son of Lord Strong to say as he takes his nights among the whorehouses and lotus dens of a backwater colony.”
Owen felt his face flush. Who was this old man? He’d passed dueling with insults some time back.
“I am not hiding,” he said stiffly. “Anyone who wishes to may find me.” He should shut his mouth, but that wasn’t his style. “As for Hong Kong being a ‘backwater colony’ it is anything but. Rather it is a…a blending of the best of both our races, to our mutual benefit.” He eyed the other man’s rich arraignment. “At least you appear to know that.”
The old man smiled at him.
“You are as direct and ill-mannered as reported. I like that. More, I would talk with you on how you see this blending of our two nations.” He held up his hand. “Another time perhaps, may be more auspicious. You were going this way I believe?” he waved towards the delegation and began walking that way as well. The crowd seemed to melt before them until Owen and the old man stood near the delegate party. The assassin was just placing themselves in the impromptu receiving line.
“Excuse me,” Owen said.
“You must do as you must,” the old man said.
Owen sprang forward just as the assassin was reaching the delegates. Owen grabbed the assassin by the forearm and yanked their arm straight up towards the ceiling. There was a tinkle of the spent projectile that could be heard over the sounds of surprise coming from the crowd. Owen pulled back the sleeve of their tunic, revealing the strange tube device.
“Here is your assassin, My Lords and Ladies,” Owen cried out like a showman. He grabbed harder as she struggled, and he turned towards the snarling face of Melinda MacAllister, Sorcerer of House Hastings
Chapter 17
“But how did you know it was Mistress MacAllister” Inspector Gregg asked.
Gregg and a couple of constables had come running in while Owen was wrestling with Mistress MacAllister. They had relieved her of her wand as well, and produced a pair of specially-made manacles that made calling upon a sigil extremely painful. Now she stood quietly between the Queen’s peacekeepers. A crowd, including the trade delegates, had gathered around Owen, Gregg and the thwarted assassin, taking in every word.
“It was very simple once you really looked at it,” Owen said off-handedly. “When Lord Hastings was shot, Lady Hastings reported that she reached her father first, even though her office was on the second floor. Mistress MacAllister arrived sometime after the House physician had been called for, and Lady Hastings and the House Healer were already there.” Owen glanced around at his rapt audience.
“Why should this be? As House Sorceress, Mistress MacAllister should have been aware from the moment our assassin crossed the Wards with hostile intent that something was going on. She certainly should have been aware when the Head of the House was wounded. Her Wards would have told her at the moment he was hurt. Yet, was she about the main house on guard? Was she running towards Lord Hastings as he lay on that floor?” Owen shook his head
“No, she was running away from him. To someplace where she could remove the physical parts of her messenger disguise, and then arrive back.” Owen turned to look a
t the assassin. “I admire your resolve, there. It could not have been easy to return to bend with concern over the man you had just killed.”
“But why, Mel,” Lady Hastings cried. “He depended on you, trusted you as if you were another daughter!”
“But I wasn’t a daughter was I,” Mistress MacAllister hissed, “merely the hired help, to be tossed aside, to be ignored while that fool who called himself a Hastings threw away everything in these new Trade Talks. I was close enough to him that I heard it. By the Gods! The MacAllisters knew how to fight for what was theirs! And I’d not spent twenty years beggin’ scraps from your table to be turned out when you lost everything due to his lofty ideals.”
Owen held up the strange tube that had been strapped to her wrist, hidden by the long sleeve of her tunic.
“But you didn’t come to that conclusion entirely on your own, did you Mistress MacAllister?”
He handed the tube to Duke Caldwell.
“This fires a small needle of solidly frozen Tesarine. The Tesarine, once it penetrates the skin, vaporizes, due to the incredible speed at which it is fired. This tube fires the needle not by compressed air, or even chemical combustion, but by magnetism. I submit that its construction could not have been done by Mistress MacAllister, but only by an advanced nation state who prides themselves on making such toys.” Owen was looking directly at the Austrian delegation as he spoke this last.
The veiled leader of the Austrians shook their head.
“You have no proof of such an accusation! Even if it were to turn out to be Austrian work, the government cannot be held responsible for every watch-maker that creates something.”
Owen looked at the black-clad leader coolly. “Perhaps it’s time you did take responsibility, before someone does so for you.”
Jinhao eeled her way towards the front of the Chinese arc of the spectators. She placed herself to the left of the old man who was watching the show intently.
“So, granddaughter,” he finally said, not turning to look at her. “You were supposed to get close to the boy-emperor and bring him into the fold. Instead, I find you carrying on with an Anglo Magian even more decadent than you or your sister. You bring me disappointment as great as her own.”