Crimson Poison

by Susan Moore

“Ah, yes. It’s addressed to you. I’ll get it in the morning,” said Nat.

  “When I gave you the duty of managing our post box I put my trust in you to make collections on a timely basis.”

  Nat shrugged. “It’s only a parcel. Besides, they want twenty-five dollars for it because customs inspected it. I will pick it up in the morning, I promise. Now, do we really have to go to Aunt Vera and Uncle Fergal’s?”

  Jamuka put his hand on her arm, guiding her towards the gangplank.

  “Aunt Vera does not entertain excuses, unlike myself.”

  Chapter Nine

  WETLEY TOWERS

  Jamuka drove the sleek Grooverider with its blacked-out windows silently through the streets of Central to the Mid-Levels. Wetley Towers was once the newest and tallest building on Robinson Road but now it was surrounded on all sides by even taller skyscrapers, which blocked its once magnificent views.

  He swung in through the iron gates and drove up to the marble steps in front. The car door lifted up like a gull’s wing and Nat climbed out, self-consciously adjusting the hem of her skirt. She’d rather be anywhere but here right now.

  The doorman took the car. Nat and Jamuka walked up the steps and into the lobby, which housed the largest crystal chandelier in Hong Kong. Its glass crystals dripped like icicles. Nat had the same thought every time. Any moment now it would come crashing down on top of them and shatter into a million pieces. She grabbed Jamuka’s hand, yanking him towards the lift.

  “Oh, Nat, you look deeeevine!” screeched Aunt Vera, opening the door to apartment number 1187.

  Her long red talons gripped Nat’s shoulders as she pecked her on each cheek. A thick, oily cloud of Super Spice perfume made Nat choke. Over her aunt’s platinum helmet of hair, Nat caught sight of Henry’s older sister, Prissy, who had a mean scowl on her face.

  “Good evening, Vera. Our apologies for being late,” said Jamuka with a short bow.

  He presented her with the bamboo basket of dumplings. Aunt Vera gave him a curt nod, took the basket and without a second glance dumped it on the hall table. She steered Nat by the arm through to the sitting room.

  “Tiki Bar is open, Jamuka. I want to hear your racing tips!” called out Uncle Fergal, her father’s half-brother.

  He was standing in the corner of the room, behind a wooden bar that was loaded with bottles in every shape, size and colour. His meaty fingers were combing the last remaining strands of hair over his bald head.

  “A lychee fizz would be most welcome,” said Jamuka, heading for a drink.

  Quick as a flash, Prissy opened her hand to reveal her glitter cat robot sitting in her palm. Its eyes started to blink as Prissy snapped photos.

  “A photo of Nat looking like a girl! What a good idea,” said Aunt Vera.

  “I hate having my photo taken,” Nat protested in vain.

  Aunt Vera held up her hand. “Nonsense. These are special moments in your growing up, Natalie, and must be recorded.”

  “I can’t wait for everyone to see you on my Picup,” whispered Prissy. “You look so lame.”

  Prissy was a fashion victim. Her pink mini-dress had a letter “S” in gold across the front for the designer Shan-xi (Nat referred to him as Fancy Schmancy), who had a shop that ran across an entire block downtown. Prissy’s hair was fluffed up and pinned to one side with a plumage of canary-yellow feathers. The pink mules on her feet each had a matching diamanté “S” on the heel.

  Nat contemplated unleashing a swift kung fu move but she knew Jamuka would punish her. Instead, she bit her tongue at the prospect of becoming a laughing stock among Prissy’s friends.

  “Hai, Nat,” said Henry, walking in.

  His arm was freshly bandaged from shoulder to wrist like an Egyptian mummy.

  “What happened, Henry?” called Jamuka from his position at the bar.

  “A nasty chef bumped into my darling boy with a metal box,” said Aunt Vera, ruffling Henry’s hair. “He’s been so brave about it.”

  “Didn’t you tell her about Prissy dumping you off her Slider?” Nat whispered in Henry’s ear.

  He shook his head. “Prissy said she’d never give me a lift on her Slider ever again if I did.”

  Nat shot Prissy a withering look but it was met with a sly smile.

  “I’ve downloaded the new Rainskid game. Want to check it out?” said Henry, holding up NutNut.

  Nat glanced over at the Tiki Bar. Uncle Fergal and Jamuka were now in deep conversation, heads bent over a FastPad, which no doubt had the racing report loaded. Prissy had moved on to the sofa and was occupied with her glitter cat robot, and Aunt Vera had disappeared, most likely to boss around her maid, Ming, in the kitchen. Her little cousin was easily her best bet for entertainment.

  “Ku! Let’s do it,” she said.

  Chapter Ten

  REAL FAMILY

  When Aunt Vera announced that supper was being served, Nat’s stomach lurched. She remembered how delighted Prissy had been to share her mother’s notebook with Nat, when the cousins had been left alone in the apartment a few weeks earlier. It contained a collection of Aunt Vera’s recipes filed in three groups: recipes for A-list, B-list and C-list guests. At the back of the book were lists of guests. With a wicked smile, Prissy had pointed out that both Nat and Jamuka had a “C” marked next to their names.

  As well as the prospect of a terrible meal, Nat also loathed where they had to eat it – in the aquamarine dining room. Everything in it was Aunt Vera’s favourite colour. The walls, ceiling, floor, table, chairs, place settings – even the glasses matched. And to top it all Aunt Vera was wearing an aquamarine dress this evening. When she took her seat she blended in so perfectly that her head seemed to float in mid-air.

  Across the table from Nat sat Prissy. Her scowl had been replaced by another sly look of satisfaction. Her glitter cat trotted over to Nat. When it reached her, the side of its body turned into a small screen. Prissy had animated the photo of Nat so that she appeared to be dancing. Worse still, she had replaced Nat’s legs with pig’s trotters. There was a note underneath from one of Prissy’s inner circle of vile friends: LOL, wot a loser. Oink! Oink!

  Nat felt tears of humiliation welling up. She wished she had never worn the stupid skirt, and she loathed her cousin. She balled her hands into fists and glared across the table as the cat flicked its tail and trotted back to Prissy. She wished she could send Fizz over with a suitably poisonous message, but he hadn’t been upgraded to walk or flick his tail. Sometimes she hated having such an old model.

  “Loser,” Prissy mouthed.

  Ming entered carrying a large steaming silver bowl, which she set down in the centre of the table. Nat peeked over the edge to find a pool of tomato sauce. Noodles and yellow chunks of tinned pineapple bobbed on its surface. Hawaiian Tropical Sardine Delight – again.

  “Grub’s up,” said Uncle Fergal, rubbing his belly.

  Nat picked up a noodle with her chopsticks, closed her eyes and swallowed. It tasted like a sweet, slimy worm.

  The discussion turned to what was happening in Uncle Fergal’s banking world. She wondered if this was what normal families talked about around the meal table. In Flapjack Family, her favourite American TV show, they always seemed to be having a great time with lots of jokes and laughter. She wondered if that was how her mother’s childhood had been in San Francisco. Here in Hong Kong, though, it was a very different story. Supper at Wetley Towers was one big fun-sponge, soaking up joy in seconds.

  When Ming brought in bowls of lychee jelly topped with tinned, long-life cream, Jamuka excused himself to make an important call.

  “With the school holidays underway, we should take this opportunity for you to get more involved with your real family,” said Aunt Vera, turning her attention to Nat. “I think it’s high time you came to stay with us for a while.”

  Nat gulped. She had never stayed with them, and she never planned to.

  “What?” said Prissy in horror.

  “Ku!” grinned
Henry.

  “Jamuka is my real family too,” said Nat.

  Aunt Vera’s pursed lips stretched into a thin smile. She reached over, laying her bony hand over Nat’s. When Nat tried to slip hers out from underneath, her aunt tightened her grasp.

  “He’s your guardian, yes, but he’s not blood, is he?”

  Nat dropped her spoon.

  “Come on, Vera, that’s a bit strong, isn’t it?” said Uncle Fergal.

  Aunt Vera held up her hand to silence him.

  “Fergal,” she snapped. “Nat’s of an age now where she needs female guidance, and it should come from her proper family.”

  “No, I don’t,” said Nat.

  Aunt Vera leaned in close to her ear.

  “You’re fast becoming a young woman and I can help you make the most of yourself. As heiress to such a large fortune, you need to be groomed before you enter society.”

  Nat swallowed. “I’m fine as I am.”

  Sensing Nat’s growing alarm, Fizz’s eyes started to flash red. Nat glanced at the doorway. Where was Jamuka when she needed him?

  “And we’re off to Sanmen Island,” she continued. “So I couldn’t come and stay anyway.”

  Aunt Vera’s eyes narrowed. She loosened her grip.

  “Oh, I hadn’t been told,” she sniffed.

  “Yes,” Nat added quickly. “We’re leaving the day after tomorrow, after the race at Happy Valley.”

  “Well, we’ll have to do it when you return then. It’s important that we have some girls’ time together,” she said with a hideous smile.

  Nat shuddered. Whatever Aunt Vera had in mind, it was bound to be torture.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE OLD WOMAN

  Later that night Nat was back in the safety of her cabin on the Junko. She crossed the rug to a gold-lacquered chest that had belonged to her mother. Lifting the lid she carefully removed a faded lemon-yellow kimono. She buried her face in the soft silk and inhaled the faint smell of roses.

  The years fell away. She was transported back into the safety of her mother’s arms. If only she was still alive, if only she was there to offer female guidance, then Aunt Vera wouldn’t be sniffing around.

  She unfolded the kimono and wrapped it around her. Crawling into bed she waited for sleep to come, cocooned in the memory of her mother. Only a few fleeting memories remained though – her mother’s beautiful smile, her laughter and her gentle touch.

  “Fizz, play sailing movie five,” she said.

  Beside her on the pillow Fizz opened his wings. Instantly Nat’s ears were filled with the sound of ocean waves. A young woman with long blonde hair flying across her face in the breeze grinned into the camera. Behind lay a clear blue sky over a white-capped sea. She was bouncing a baby in her arms, who squealed in delight.

  “And how is Mrs Walker today?” came a man’s voice, off camera.

  “Great!” said the woman. “As is our gorgeous girl.”

  She lifted the baby up higher.

  “One, two, three, four, five, once I caught a fish alive,” she sang in her soft Californian accent.

  The baby giggled.

  “Wait, I’m coming in,” said the man. “Just let me perch Fizz on the wheel.”

  Nat smiled at her dad’s thick Scottish accent. The camera pulled back to reveal the deck of the Junko. He walked into shot wearing a white T-shirt and blue shorts. His black wraparound sunglasses were propped up on his thick dark hair. He walked over and scooped up the baby, lifting her even higher.

  Nat put her hand to the screen, her fingers tracing her mother’s face, then her father’s, and finally her own. Her parents looked so young and happy. She watched as her mother launched a kite up into the wind while her father held her, pointing up to where it bobbed and weaved. If only she could climb into the screen…

  Her eyelids grew heavy. She blinked to try and keep them open but sleep called…

  And the nightmare began.

  She was standing in a clearing in the middle of a forest, barefoot on the snow-covered ground. Giant fir trees formed a wall around her. All around was silent and still. Looking down, she saw that she was wearing her purple kung fu outfit. The cold was intense, turning her body into a block of ice. Suddenly an ear-piercing scream tore through the air as a crow-like woman in a black cloak flew out from the trees. Nat thought she looked about a hundred years old with her long white hair and leathery brown skin.

  Panic rose in Nat’s throat. She tried to move into a kung fu crouch, ready to do battle, but she was frozen to the spot. As the woman drew closer, brightly patterned red petals began to rain from the sky. The old woman opened her mouth and reached towards Nat with her wrinkled hands. Nat screamed.

  Chapter Twelve

  RED PETALS

  Nat woke up on the floor, tangled in her sheet.

  Fizz was lying at her side, the sailing movie still playing on the screen in a continuous loop.

  “Fizz, stop movie,” she said.

  He folded in his wings.

  “Time?”

  “Three twenty a.m.”

  She groaned, turned on to her side and unravelled herself. Her head was spinning. Maybe it was the revenge of the Hawaiian Tropical Sardine Delight. Getting slowly to her feet she fastened the kimono’s belt.

  “Let’s head up,” she said, picking up Fizz.

  She climbed to the upper deck and sat down in one of the blue deckchairs. Ah Wong had moored the Junko close to the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club. The mast on top of the white circular clubhouse was twinkling with Christmas lights. Behind it, Causeway Bay’s skyscrapers huddled together, their bright lights set against an inky-black night sky. Behind them, unseen, lay Happy Valley racecourse, and there in the cemetery right above it lay her parents.

  Nat closed her eyes, wishing for the millionth time that things were different – that she wasn’t an orphan and her parents were still alive. She loved Jamuka. He was her rock, her protector and sole guardian. He’d been appointed according to her parents’ wishes and was the only person they had really trusted. But he still couldn’t fill the black hole left by their absence. And now Aunt Vera was trying to step in…

  A cloud passed over the moon, accompanied by a cold gust of air that rattled through the Junko’s rigging above. Nat hunkered down in the deckchair and stroked Fizz’s scaled head. His eyes started to glow bright purple.

  “What would I do without you?” she whispered.

  A pot clattered to the floor in the galley below, making her jump. She peered over the side. Light shone through the porthole. Either Jamuka or Ah Wong was up.

  “You should be in bed, Bao Bao,” said Jamuka as Nat walked into the kitchen. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I had a nightmare,” she said, sitting up on one of the stools at the marble-topped counter.

  Jamuka was spooning ground coffee into his old-fashioned stovetop espresso pot. She spotted the coffee tin and wrinkled her nose.

  “Zoinks! Not the Vietnamese weasel coffee.”

  He smiled and held the open tin out towards her. She recoiled, nearly falling off her stool.

  “It helps me think.”

  “Don’t you want to sleep?”

  “Not tonight. I must send good thoughts to Dragon Khan.”

  “Can you send some to Aunt Vera too, and stop her bothering me?”

  “Was that what your nightmare was about?”

  Jamuka screwed the top on to the espresso pot and twisted the gas knob on the stove. A blue flame shot out, heating the water.

  “No. There was an old woman, like a crow, and red petals. It was raining red petals.”

  Jamuka looked up from the tin, his eyes widened in surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  His brow creased. He shook his head.

  “It’s nothing. You just prompted an old memory, that’s all. Hot chocolate?”

  She nodded.

  “Do not concern yourself with Aunt Vera. I will deal with her when
we are back from our trip to Sanmen. What are your plans tomorrow? I have to be up at the stables by eight.”

  Nat picked out a plum from the fruit bowl that hung from the ceiling.

  “I’ve promised to take Henry to SPIN to try out the new Octozeb goggles.”

  “Good. Now, since I sense that neither of us is tired, and there won’t be time for practice in the morning, let us fuel ourselves with our drinks and head to the dojo.”

  Nat chugged her hot chocolate, headed down to her cabin and pulled her purple kung fu suit off its peg. Her hand rested for a moment on her black sash – out of her reach until she had mastered the Five Animal Style.

  “One day,” she said, taking the brown sash instead.

  She scrunched her hair up into a topknot and ran out of her cabin to the end of the passageway where a rope ladder led down to the dojo studio.

  It was still dark outside, but inside the studio was bathed in soft overhead night-lights. Jamuka was waiting, standing in the middle of the wooden floor, his hands in prayer position. The door slid shut behind her, closing off the square room with paper screens. Nat took her place opposite him.

  “Empty your mind,” he said, bowing his head.

  She closed her eyes but the old woman’s face instantly appeared. The more she tried to block it out of her mind’s eye, the more vivid it became.

  “Warm up,” he said.

  She automatically lifted her arms to hold an imaginary ball, moving through a series of t’ai chi moves, which were as familiar to her as her own breathing, but she couldn’t empty her mind of the old woman’s face.

  “Position,” he said.

  She planted her feet hip-width apart. Jamuka gave a faint nod.

  With a left arm punch she aimed at his left shoulder, but he swiftly blocked its path with his forearm. She swivelled from the waist, throwing her right leg up into a high kick. Jamuka blocked her again. She threw another punch, this time with her right arm then the left in quick succession but he blocked her each time.