by Raven Bond
Jinhao had grown up in Hong Kong. She found it cold at night now, even in what was called summer. One of Owens visitors, some professor from the University, had asserted that something was making the weather change, but what that something was, no one knew.
She had been told that now nearly two million souls called Hong Kong home; dirty, smelly, noisy people. The Europeans stank from eating too much meat and touching too little water. Jinhao found the atmosphere they created oppressive on her soul, which led her to seek the roofs at night. It was not that she was unfamiliar with large cities, far from it. She’d been to several in her travels.
She was most familiar with Shanghai and Beijing, the Imperial city, each of which claimed many more residents and were just as modern with Mage lights and clanking steam cars. But this place was as unlike the other cities of the East as an erotic dream was from a nightmare. She still wasn’t sure rather to bless or curse the vision that had led her back to the mixed free port, where Grandfather’s rule was absolute.
Jinhao had fled the bloody plans Grandfather had made for her soon after attaining her initiation as a young woman. While the parting was not what one could call amicable, Grandfather had let her go without placing the death mark upon her, in a rare show of mercy. Perhaps Grandfather thought that she would come home of her own accord if he waited. If so, Jinhao had vowed, he would have a very long wait indeed. For a time she had worked on her father’s brother’s merchant airship, learning the ways of being human, then learning their ways.
When the Old Emperor died, the Dowager Empress had seized all power. For a time Jinhao did not remark on it. After all, the Imperial bureaucracy still ran, and if the Empress and her friends got rich for a few years, well, that was how it was. There was a new Emperor growing up in the Forbidden City, and things would change again. That too, was the way of things. Being raised by a Dragon gave one a certain perspective.
But the Empress did not relinquish power. Instead her grip became even more ruthless. Injustices sprang from the Throne like weeds, choking the life from the Kingdom. Even Jinhao was forced to realize that something needed to be done.
Grandfather had contacted her with the offer of a true alliance if she would consider becoming a concubine of the Boy Emperor. This she agreed to do, only to find that the Emperor was both powerless and innocent. He was kept in splendid isolation, and when Jinhao attempted to remove him from it, she ran into a trap set by the Dowager’s lapdog of a court sorcerer, Fan Zhou. Only the powers of her heritage had enabled her to escape his wrath. The Emperor would not come with her, to her regret.
While fleeing the Imperial Court, her Powers gave to her a vision that allying with a white-skinned Sorcerer would save not only Hong Kong but the world. Her glimpses of the future came rarely, but she had learned to not ignore them.
To her surprise, she met the Sorcerer from her dreams at a rest house near the Hong Kong border. By sheer fortune, he defeated a greater demon that the court Sorcerer had sent after her. The British sorcerer’s name was Owen Strong. Even though he smelled of the Lotus drug that destroyed the mind and powers of sorcerers over time, he still had more than enough power and wit to defeat the sending. That it was impressive to her, she was reluctant to admit.
Since then, his powers of deduction as much as his powers arcane, had led her to believe that Owen Strong was indeed the man of her visions. Someone who would eventually be not only the symbol, but the truth of the good that the united peoples of Hong Kong could become. A fearless champion of every member the province. The start perhaps of an Empire neither British nor Han, but the best of both.
Jinhao turned to scramble up a sloping roof. She crouched in the shadow of the building’s chimney and looked out over the city. The bright haze of the new electric streetlamps directly below her gave way to occasional grand clusters that marked the mansions of the wealthy. Beyond that, more lights winked on the ground as far her eye could see.
She turned back and looked up the hill towards the palace her Grandfather kept. It glowed with its own magical light against the moon and the night’s stars. She sighed. It wasn’t easy being the granddaughter of the Dragon of Hong Kong. There were expectations that needed to be kept. The balance between Easterner and Westerner was their family’s obligation.
She grimaced.
Owen Strong was a large part of that responsibly for her. She admitted to herself that his wit and sense of justice was attractive, and made him easy to be around. She was sure though that her Vision was true, despite Grandfather’s skepticism. She only hoped the British fool had gotten drunk and lost in a brothel somewhere with his friend, rather than murdered or worse. If pressed, Jinhao had to admit that she was fond of him in her way.
Jinhao paused at a rooftop’s edge. She had reached the end of her sojourn. Here the buildings stopped, the road below meandering like a river through a canyon dividing the more residential buildings from the dockyards. She peered through the moonlit dazzle to see that the area was already crawling with searchers trying to be inconspicuous. Jinhao watched them move clumsily about, and decided to be patient. It would be no hardship, Adepts were trained to stalk patiently.
Gradually the figures gave up their search, walking unto the road where she could see them more clearly. The majority of figures wore some variant of the tunic and pajama pants common to the working classes. A few seemed to be crying.
Jinhao eeled her way silently down the side of the building and across the road. She paused in the shadows of a warehouse when she heard one of the searchers noisily walk towards her. Whoever they were, she thought, they had no training in being quiet.
As the lone figure passed her, she drew a dagger, springing towards their back. With a kick she knocked their legs out from under them as her arm came around their throat. A cry of surprise cut off when they felt the cold edge of the dagger at the side of their neck. They knelt very still.
“Now,” Jinhao whispered in the dialect of Mandarin used by the working classes, “we shall have a nice quiet talk. I shall release your throat. Know that I will kill you should you attempt to shout or struggle to escape. I will kill you so quickly that your spirit will barely have time to leave your body.” She eased the pressure of her arm across his throat. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes,” The trembling man wet his lips. “Have mercy mighty one! I am only a fisherman from the harbor.”
“Shh,” Jinhao soothed him. “Quietly now. What is a fisherman of the harbor doing here?”
“My mother sent me to look for the body of my cousin, Mei Pen.” The man’s voice betrayed bitterness. “He was always loitering around the docks, playing the tough. Now he is dead, and my mother’s family shall have to pay for his funeral.”
“Then you found your cousin’s body?”
The man began to shake his head, then stopped as he felt the dagger. “No, I have not. Nor did any of the others; it was likely dropped in the harbor when the Quizi Sorcerer broke the wharf decking.”
“What Quizi Sorcerer was this?” Jinhao hissed. Quizi meant “shifty dirty foreigner’ a term that was applied to most Europeans.
“They say that one came around the docks with a big foreign devil, hiring men,” the man replied. “I was on the boat, tending my nets and did not see them. They say that they were going to ambush some other Quizi sorcerer, so they say.” His voice took on a mournful tone. “I told Pei not to get tangled up in Quizi fights.”
Jinhao pressed the dagger so hard against his throat that it drew blood. “This other Sorcerer what do they say happened to him?”
The fisherman gasped, speaking in a rush, “They say that he died, Mighty One! Fell into the water and drowned after killing many of the men that were hired.”
“This Sorcerer who hired your cousin, what was his name?” Jinhao demanded.
“Please, mighty one,” the man trembled like a leaf. “I do not know his name! I swear it!”
Jinhao sighed. It was clear that she would get no more from the frighten
ed man. Aiming the pommel of her dagger at a certain spot on the back of his head, she struck firmly. The fisherman fell over like a sack of grain, unconscious but unharmed. She disliked killing unnecessarily.
Leaving the man where he fell, Jinhao carefully moved about the warehouse complex. There had been a battle right enough. She followed the traces of sorcerous fire to gaze down into the dark maw where the wharf itself had been shattered. The black depths gave up none of their secrets, no matter how long she glared into them. The waters of the bay were cold and the currents were deep.
If there was a body within, chances were it was long gone out to sea. Her heart sank, then rose again. If there was no body, then Owen Strong might still be alive, but where? Where could he be?
Chapter 4
Owen came awake as he had been taught to do under trying circumstances, with no visible signs of being conscious. His eyes were still closed, his breathing unchanged. His ears told him that there was only one other person in the room. His body told him that someone had put him into dry clothes of coarse cotton. They had tied him sitting upright to some sort of pillar, his hands bound behind him with hemp rope. He was not among friends then, he concluded.
Gradually he slitted his eyes open to see the small Han girl from his fever dreams sitting on a crate reading a book. Without looking up, she spoke.
“Good. You are awake at last.” She put down the book and looked at him. “Are you thirsty?”
Owen opened his mouth to speak, only to find it dry as sand. He contented himself with nodding.
The girl smiled revealing full white teeth. She leaped down from the crate, picking up a wooden bucket and a long-handled ladle. The youngster scooped water up in the ladle and brought it to his lips.
Owen drank greedily, feeling the cool water cutting the dryness that fouled his mouth. When he had finished the first ladle he wet his lips with his tongue.
“You know,” He said hopefully, “I could drink a lot easier if my hands were free.”
The girls face crinkled up as if he had made a great joke.
“Oh no, Mister,” The girl shook her head. “Mikey said that you would try to trick me into letting you loose. You wait until Mikey comes back with the rest.”
“I see,” Owen said. “Mikey must be very smart. Whom are the rest?” Her face lit up.
“Oh Mikey is the smartest! And the others are…” She closed her mouth, shaking her head. “Mikey said I wasn’t to talk to you either. You just want to know how to hurt us like all the rich folk do. I am just to give you water and make sure you do not choke or anything.” With that, she clambered back up onto the crate and picked up her book again.
Well, Owen thought sardonically, that went well. He tested his bonds to discover that there was no hope of loosening them. Whoever had tied the ropes knew what they were doing, his ankles were likewise bound. He had been placed on a soft mattress which kept him away from the cold of what must be an abandoned factory floor. There were plenty of those around the harbor district, remains of failed attempts to industrialize the city.
He wasn’t uncomfortable now. Both his arms and his lower back would begin to ache from his posture over time, he knew from experience. He decided that he would wait it out for the moment, until ‘Mikey and the others’ returned at least. He shared a silent look with his young captor and settled to wait. Despite himself, he dozed off.
Owen came to again to find a strange couple standing next to his young guard. The woman was Western in features, with pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair carefully curled in the latest fashion. The man was Han, or some Eastern breed, with his black hair slicked back against his skull. Their clothing spoke of middle class prosperity that would not be out of place anywhere in the city. Owen blinked as the man spoke.
“You are Owen Strong,” he said in English. Owen tried to straighten up. His arms and back had stiffened up in this position as he had feared they would.
“Perhaps I am Sir,” Owen said calmly. “What if I am?” The man smiled like a shark, reaching behind him. He pulled forth Owens electrum cane with a flourish.
“Because I assume that Owen Strong would want this back.”
Owen knew a moment of hope. He had been afraid that the cane was lost. As his magical focus, it enabled him to channel the elemental power bound in his tattoos into active manifestation.
“I am not sure if that is mine or not,” Owen said. “Perhaps if you untie me and let me examine it I can tell you more.” The man laughed.
“Oh, you are Strong,” he said definitely. “Even down here, we have heard of the Quizi nobleman poking his nose into others affairs with his magical red metal cane. But I know that you are helpless while we hold this.” He twirled the cane. “The question is what will you do for it?”
“Mikey—I can call you Mikey can I not? I believe the question is, what do you want me to do for it?” Owen replied. Mikey glared at the younger girl sitting on the crate.
“I told you not to talk to him,” Mikey growled.
“I did not, not really anyway,” She said defensively. “He asked is all.” The man turned towards Owen.
“Very well. Yes you may call me Mike. As to what I want.” He pointed with the cane at the European woman at his side. “I want you to teach her your Western sorcery.”
Of all the demands that Owen had expected to hear, that was not one of them. He looked from the Hannish thug to the Western young woman and back again.
“No,” Owen replied, “it is simply not possible. I am no teacher, and you,” he said looking at the woman, “how old are you?” He demanded looking at the woman beside ‘Mikey’.
“I be twenty this Flower Day,” the woman responded.
“She is at least ten years too old to begin training,” Owen insisted. “I started at ten. Then there are the facilities with their special wardings.” He looked around the abandoned factory house dismissively. “Which, trust me, you want to have in order to absorb any elemental mistakes.” Mikey’s face grew dark at Owens refusal.
“You mean you won’t share your holli-polli tricks with those of the wrong class don’t you? Think we’re not good enough don’t you?” He turned to the young girl sitting on the crate. “Mei, go get a candle,” he ordered. She scampered down and was off though the door to the door behind them.
“It has nothing to do with class,” Owen said with exasperation. “One of the best Air Sorceress I know started out as a Shepherd’s daughter. This is not like teaching someone their ABC’s! There is real danger in this!” Mei returned with a short candle, a metal bowl with a wick sticking up from it.
“Go ahead Mary,” she said. “Show the poofter what you’ve got!” Mary took the candle, looking at Mikey for permission. He nodded.
Mary closed her eyes for a moment, frowning in concentration. The wick burst into flame to the delighted exclamations of little Mei. Mikey leaned on Owen’s cane looking at him with a smug face.
“You see,” he boasted. “She has the spark right enough.”
“Mary,” Owen said very slowly. “Do not open your eyes. Can you make the flame go out?”
“Well, I have never tried” she said in a dreamy voice. “Why would I want to when this feels so nice?” Her hand came up, as if caressing it, and the flame danced higher in response.
“Mary,” Owen said in measured tones. “I want you to listen to my voice.” He wet his lips, guiding her through the opening trance, getting her to center her awareness to the point of her power located below her belly button in the center of her body, she swayed to his words. Mikey looked from one to the other of them, anger and suspicion knitting his brow.
“What are you doing?” He hissed at Owen.
“Do not interrupt,” Owen hissed at him. “You will break her concentration!”
Mary gave a wordless exclamation as the flame shot up from the candle in sudden violence towards the ceiling. She began to throw the candle from her. Owen’s calm voice stopped her.
“Mary,” he said. “
Do not throw the candle away. You are the master of the flame. You. Now, close your eyes again and breathe into your center. As you breathe out see the flame in your mind’s eye becoming smaller.” The tip of the flame began to ratchet lower with each one of Mary’s breaths.
“That’s very good Mary,” Owen said softly, “very good. Now with this exhale send the flame away.” As if a giant hand had snuffed it out, the flame vanished abruptly. Mary swooned and would have fallen to the hard floor save for Mikey scrambling to catch her in his arms. Mei leaped up from where she had been sitting on the crate, a large revolving air-pistol pointed straight at Owen’s head.
“What did you do to her?” Mikey demanded. “She’s never had this happen before!”
“Then you’re bloody lucky,” Owen ground out. “I did nothing to her. Look at the hem of her dress, there will be burn marks there, unless I am mistaken.”
As Mikey eased her towards the floor Mary stirred, protesting that she could stand on her own. Mikey grabbed first the cuff on her dress’s sleeve, then he bent to examine her hem. The whites of his eyes shone wide as he looked first at her then at Owen.
“There are burn marks on the cloth,” He said shakily. “What witchcraft is this?”
“Her own,” Owen replied wearily. Addressing the European woman he said quietly, “So Mary, strange bursts of fire appear around you? Clothes scorched, but you can’t remember a flat iron applied to them?”
“Only in the last day or so,” she replied meekly. Owen nodded, shifting his weight to make his bound arms more comfortable.
“Then it is still early days,” he replied. “You are a fortunate young woman indeed.” Turning to Mikey he said, “Mary has the gift of being a fire caller. She needs to learn how to manage her gift or it will consume her, and quite possibly you, in flames.”