by Raven Bond
“If you follow through with this James,” he said wearily, “it will never go away.”
“Don’t move,” Findley said, holding the pistol more upright. He raised his voice, “We’re over here! He’s gotten wise to us! Over here!
“Oh James.” Owen shook his head. “Get down and hide!” he urged. “I can’t protect you at the same time as I’m fighting them.” Owen began to move towards the crates that were littered around.
“I will shoot, Owen!” James warned.
“No you won’t, James,” Owen replied sadly. “You really do not think that I would give a working weapon to someone leading me into an ambush, do you? Now hide!” Owen dropped into the tangle of crates and vanished. Findley tried to pull the trigger only nothing happened. He tried again, and then tossed the pistol away.
“He’s over here!” Findley yelled again. A big hand came down on his shoulders.
“Softly, Mr. Findley, softly,” The voice belonged to a dapperly dressed European with slicked back black hair and a handlebar mustache. The hand belonged to a giant of a man who had seemed, to Findley, to be the speaker’s henchman or something.
“We wouldn’t want the Bobbies to come snooping around now, would we,” The short man said rhetorically, while absent-mindedly twirling a cane. He looked about lazily. “Now where did you say he went?”
Findley pointed to the tumble of crates. The cane-wielding man nodded and then silently gestured towards the crates. A number of shapes appeared out of the gloom like rats, each hunched over, and bearing long, wicked knives. Noiselessly they padded into the tumble of crates.
Owen crouched down awaiting them. Waterside toughs, he thought. More is the pity for them. The first one came around the corner, knife held out before him. Owen popped out the tip of his cane, briefly touching the man’s chest, much as a fencer would score a hit. The man let out a short scream as the spot Owen had touched burst into flame and fell over dead. Outside the jungle of crates, the dapper European stalked back and forth listening to the cries of his thugs as they fell.
“This is untenable,” The dapper man muttered, “Completely untenable.” He turned to the giant man who was holding up James Findley like a rag-doll, his legs dangling. “And you’re sure you didn’t warn him Mr. Findley?” the air was cut by another death scream. Findley wiggled in the huge man’s grasp.
“No Mr. Victor, No I swear,” Findley gasped. “Owen Strong has always been too smart for his own good”! Another short scream rent the night, signaling the death of another one of the hired thugs.
“Completely untenable,” the man known as Mr. Victor said again. “Do you not agree Mr. Percy?” The huge man grunted his agreement. “That is what comes of hiring out these days.” The dapper man raised his voice. “Strong! Listen to me! My name is Victor, Mr. Victor, which is what I shall be this night, have no doubts of it! I have your childhood friend here. You have angered a number of very important people with your meddling and poking about. They want you dead, and I intend to fulfill their desire. But there’s no need for others to suffer from your stubbornness, like young Findley here. Throw down your cane and surrender! I promise your end will be quick!” Mr. Victor raised his cane, the electrum bands around it glowing a bright red, and pointed it slowly at James Findley.
“Otherwise, your Findley is dead first,” Mr. Victor said.
“I am so sorry James,” Owen called out.
“Owen! Owen!” Findley cried, “You have to help me!”
“Oh do be quiet,” Mr. Victor snarled, a bolt of lightning coming from the tip of his cane, aimed at Findley. It was intercepted by a lightning bolt from the crate jungle. Mr. Victor whirled, sending a sheet of fire towards where Owen hid.
“Hah! I have you now,” Victor cried out. The sheet of fire burst among the crates causing the crates and everything in the path of the fire to catch ablaze. Several cries came from the mass of crates. It appeared that Mr. Victor didn’t care if he killed his own henchmen or not. A vague man-like shape appeared in the flames, writhing in agony.
“Oh yes, you feel that do you?” Victor said savagely. As he slammed his cane into the ground, the shock wave of his strike rippled through the ground, tearing up the foundation, and exposing the waters underneath.
Burning crates and figures began to fall into the dark fathoms below, much to Mr. Victor’s surprise. The warehouse section they were standing on had been built out over the bay itself, it seemed, and his earth-slamming spell had disrupted the very decking below his quarry.
Owen struggled to keep his footing as the warehouse began collapsing beneath him. He had protected himself from Mr. Victor’s fire-strike with ease, only to be taken by surprise by the earth-slamming spell. A crate hit the back of his head, making him swoon. He felt himself falling as the darkness engulfed him.
“No!” Mr. Victor screamed in dismay, sending another bolt of lightning into the burning mess. The two villains and Findley watched as the wreckage sank into the black depths.
“Owen,” sobbed James Findley, “Oh my Lord of the Woods! Owen!”
“Shut him up, Mr. Percy,” Victor said watching the waters. The giant turned Findley’s neck as easily as he would wring the neck of a chicken. There was a snap and James Findley became limp in his large hands.
“Toss him in there with his friend,” he commanded. Mr. Victor continued to watch the water for a long time. When neither body floated up, he waited some more. Finally, he sighed and turned to the giant he had called Mr. Percy.
“It would have been nice to get the bonus of bringing in his head, but I do not feel like swimming tonight. There must be a powerful undertow beneath here.” He stared at the water.
“There is something about this that does not feel right though. It was too easy.” Victor shook his head. “We’ll keep an eye on his house and that Chinese girlfriend of his for a few days. No one could have been able to survive that.” He looked up from the dark waters of the hole in the wharf. He shook his head as if clearing it. “But something still feels odd about this. Luckily, we have the expenses purse.” The giant shuffled his feet, wordlessly.
“I know you want to go, and so do I,” Mr. Victor snarled. “I would love to be somewhere where the only thing they doesn’t eat is rice.” He raised his cane threateningly. “But we will do it anyway. Now move along!” The giant cowered in fright from his companion’s threat, and began to move towards the road.
Owen desperately clung on to a spar on the underside of the wharf as the two talked above him. Though he had lost his cane and his awareness swam in and out, he retained enough sense to follow what the assassins had been saying. He silently cried for the death of James Finley as he felt his hands slip away from the rough wet wood. The water was cold and endless as it met his face.
~ ~ ~
Owen wasn’t sure where he was, or how much time had gone by while he lingered in the dark. He only knew that he could breathe again and that he appeared to be on a hard, cold surface, alternately chilled and then burning, for what seemed like an eternity. In his hazy dream-like state his only clear thoughts where of an old man and a young girl, both Hannish, both of them standing over him. When the old man was present, he felt strange prickling at places on his body. Then he felt better, stronger it seemed. When the girl was present, she brought him delightfully cool water to drink and bathed his head when he was feeling way too warm. First by candlelight and then by bright sunlight he saw their faces.
As he didn’t see either of the gateway gods that he had visited at his Initiation into the Greater Mysteries, he assumed that he wasn’t in the land of the dead just yet, and he understood he still needed to be fighting. He began frantically feeling about for the focus of his sorcery, his electrum cane. Without it, the elemental binding tattoos on his body could not be keyed, leaving him, if not exactly powerless, than far less powerful. Hands gripped his hands to stop them from reaching for his focus, and a foul tasting liquid was forced down his throat. Dimly he heard a voice in Mandarin speakin
g,
“That should keep him,” the voice said. “Remember, I need him alive. I will take that cane of his. He mustn’t touch it.”
The darkness swooped back over him in a wave and claimed him once again.
Chapter 2
Jinhao frowned. It wasn’t like Owen to just vanish like this. It was true that she was not due back yet for a few days, but Owen had not mentioned anything that would take him away from the house. She turned back to Barton, Owen’s clockwork man, a clankman, as the Europeans would call him. The Han preferred live servants, but she understood that automata such as Barton had been the fashion among the British for some time now. Owen called him family. Skeptical, Jinhao had found a valued friend in the mechanical butler, whose responses seemed to go far beyond the slotted cards that Owen placed within his chest from time to time. Still, she had a hard time viewing him as other than a wind-up toy.
“And you are sure he left no note, no hint of where he was going, or if he was going out with anyone?” she asked him again.
“No Mistress Jinhao. He left no note.” The clankman visibly shook as his gears turned. “It is possible that he left with his friend from Britain.” The butler’s frame shook again.
Jinhao’s head jerked up at this. “What ‘friend from Britain’?”
“Master James Findley to see Owen Strong,” the butler replied in the sing song that he used when reciting a conversation. “I do not have an appointment. Tell him it is Jimmy, an old friend from Britain.”
“And did you see him go off with this Jimmy?”
“No Mistress Jinhao. Master Owen had me clear away the dishes after dinner and provide cigars from the humidor. I then retired for recharging.”
“When was this, Barton?”
“The night before last night Mistress,” Barton answered.
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” Jinhao cried.
“You have not asked if he was going out with anyone before Mistress.”
Jinhao wanted to scream. She had heard Owen tell her over and over that Barton was inhumanly literal but she had not really faced it before now.
“That means he’s been gone for the better part of three days,” she said. She herself had returned late last night only to find the place empty. Assuming that Owen was either carousing or on a case, Jinhao had gone to bed. Now it was nearly midnight again, and no sign of the dark-haired sorcerer.
That might still be the case, but Owen himself had insisted that they keep the other informed of their whereabouts. He pointed out that they were both engaged in dangerous businesses, and it might aid the one to know where to begin looking for the other. Except this time apparently, she thought to herself ruefully, which meant that Owen had thought he would be back that same night he had gone off with Jimmy, whoever he was. Jinhao nodded, coming to a decision. She quickly went up the stairs. Retuning in a concealing night cloak, she placed an envelope on the mantle. Turning to Barton she spoke.
“Command: this envelope is to be given into the hands of Inspector Gregg of the police, should he come inquiring about my or Owen’s whereabouts. Otherwise it is not to be moved.”
“Understood and logged, Mistress,” the butler clanked out.
With that Jinhao ghosted through the front door. She awaited in the nearby bushes, to see if anyone was watching the house. Yes, she thought, there he is. She watched the same mustached man that she had seen earlier in the day. His cane marked him as a probable sorcerer, and his presence marked him as a probable enemy spy. There was no reason for a well-to-do man such as he appeared to be to be wondering the street for hours.
Very well, Jinhao decided, let him watch the house. She knew where he was, and could pick him off at any time. That is, if he was involved with Owen’s disappearance. She had other ways to ascertain that. She snaked away, using the shadows to hide her until she came to the cross-street at the end of the road. Here all the rides for hire in the area would sit and rest. Here was also a small-time criminal called Jimmy the Nose. Though he was clearly of Hannish descent, he wore a threadbare European suit of dark burgundy to go with his European street name. The lower classes aped the Western ways slavishly, Jinhao thought to herself contemptuously.
Jimmy picked which cab was allowed to rest there as well who was given which fare. It made him a profitable income and kept order in the street. Thus were the customs in Hong Kong.
“Evening, Mistress Jinhao,” Jimmy greeted her warmly enough. It was easy to see why he was called ‘the nose’, His nose jutted quite prominently from the center of his face. “Fare for one? I have just the right ride for you!”
“Perhaps in a moment, Jimmy.” Jinhao discreetly held out a gold coin that Jimmy snatched from her deftly, before anyone could notice. “I want to ask a couple of questions first,” Jinhao said. Jimmy gave her a slight bow.
“Of course Mistress, how can I help?” The little man asked with a slight whine.
“Did Master Owen Strong hire a ride about three nights ago?” Jinhao demanded.
“Ah well, I couldn’t rightly say,” Jimmy replied. “That would be meddling in a sorcerer’s affairs. Nothing but trouble comes from that, even if you are his woman and all.”
“I am not ‘his woman’ nor anything else,” Jinhao allowed herself to loom over the street grafter. “And please tell your street bullies in the shadows over there to stop or I will tear their arms off, after I remove your head from your neck.” Jimmy waved his men back and gulped.
“What do you want to know? Yeah, Lord Strong and some English Toff hired a ride about this time of night. I don’t know where to. I sent them to old Hiram over there.” Jimmy pointed to a man in a blue robe sitting in the driver’s seat of a long hansom. The beast of burden appeared to be a giant man. Jinhao knew that the driver was a member of a strange Mid-east sect and the beast was really a magical construct called a ‘golem’. Jinhao tossed Jimmy another coin. This one copper.
“Next time I ask, be more polite,” she said. “That would have been a gold piece if you had.”
Jinhao drifted across to look up at Hiram. She held up another large Imperial gold piece. He glanced down at her, his face twisted up into a grimace.
“Keep your money,” the driver said to her shortly. “I will not take a female Sorcerer abroad alone.”
“I do not wish a ride, only information,” Jinhao said levelly. Owen had always stressed how important it was to be polite to these strange people, that their pride was nearly as great as their power and their customs strange.
“Many people seek knowledge,” the driver acknowledged. “What do you seek?”
“Three nights ago, do you remember a late fare, two men, one of whom carried an electrum cane?” The driver nodded quickly, up and down.
“Yes,” his voice crackled like old paper. “Two British gentlemen if I am a judge. They wished to be taken to the old warehouse district down by the water.” The driver shook his head. “I do not know of any businesses that still work out of there, let alone at that time of night. I fear they were up to no good.”
“Exactly where did you let them out,” Jinhao asked. The driver told her. She turned to go.
“There is no call to be chasing down the likes of them!” The driver called after her. “Card sharps and foreign dandies will only break your heart!”
Jinhao ignored him and went briskly down the street until she came to an alleyway that was not bathed in the brilliant light of one of the Mage globes hanging from the lamp posts that lined the street. She ducked down the alley and then stopped, awaiting pursuit.
It was a pity they did not live in one of the poorer sections in the city. The streets there were lit by gas or oil lamps and she could already have been scaling the building without being seen. When no pursuit was forthcoming, she hitched back her cloak and began scaling the wall beside her.
Chapter 3
The moon was only two days from full. Shining down from a clear sky, its misty light transformed the rooftops into a fey world of br
ight silver areas and sharp-edged darkness. Chimney stacks stood like silent sentinels, their shadows offering protection from the revealing dazzle overhead. Jinhao flitted lightly from the dark shelter of one such sanctuary to another, her whole being alive in a way that it hadn’t been since she had returned to Hong Kong.
This other world of the rooftops was called by some the thieves’ highway and she could understand why. During the day, the city was thronged with loud clumsy people, including a surprisingly large number of Peelers. The night time roof-tops, by contrast, were a quiet dark land where one’s business was one’s own, especially if one was determined and sure-footed. She had encountered only a few other travelers during her explorations, easily hiding in concealment before they were aware of her. Jinhao had to admit some of them were almost as competent at stealth and concealment as she was. Almost. She doubted that there were any in the city who could match her in either skill.
She paused, crouching, before the gap that marked some alley or side street below. Someone had conveniently placed a board across the gap to ease passage, indicating that others passed this way frequently as well. She cast her spirit senses in a wide circle, searching for the betraying aura of another life nearby. Finding nothing, she pulled energy from her center, feeling it flow through her. Still crouching, she tensed her legs and then leaped across the gap, landing silently on the other side. She swiftly moved to the shadow of another pair of chimneys and paused again, senses awake and searching. Nothing.
She continued moving, spirit and body luxuriating in the effort and the quiet. She smiled as she recalled her training games as a child at the Imperial Academy for Adepts; during trips to Bombay, they played seek and stalk through the alleys. A ‘kill’ was managing to touch a teacher without being caught first, the reward for each ‘kill’ a coconut ice, a candy treat that she was still extremely fond of. She soon had many kills, surpassing her teachers in skill even before her bleeding began. Jinhao shivered from the cold of the deep night, pulling her gloves tighter. In truth, she missed those sultry nights and the innocence of those days.