"He's not very friendly, is he?"
"You don't happen to have some food with you?"
"Actually…" Sarah opened her basket, and pulled out a freshly baked lemon square she had secreted away during lunch. She started to hand it over, and stopped. With a decisive click, she closed her basket, walked around the cat, grabbed the gray wool and yanked. Watson yowled with indignation as he was rolled to the side. Four sets of claws dug into wood. His hackles raised and he fluffed to double his size. Sarah ignored his low growl and handed the garment to Riot.
"Careful, Watson, she's not near as polite as I am." Riot's warning seemed to get through to the feline. Midway through a growl, it turned to a purr, and Watson began threading himself between Riot's legs, leaving orange hairs on his tailored trousers.
Sarah laughed. "I think he wants his bed back."
Riot shook out his bed.
"I'm surprised someone didn't at least make rags out of that. It's a waste to toss away good wool."
"It's a prison dress." Riot turned on his heel and stalked to the watchman's tower. The silver knob of his stick shuddered the wood. A snore stopped short, and footsteps stumbled to the door. It cracked opened, and a squinty eye peeked out. "What's this?" the watchman demanded.
Seeing the watchman's lack of attire, Riot stepped squarely in front of the door, blocking Sarah's view. "The Pagan Lady. Where is she?"
"I dunno." Mr. Covel started to exit his shack, saw Sarah, and quickly snatched a long coat. He stuffed himself into it and padded out on bare feet. "Well, looks like she's gone."
Sarah rolled her eyes.
"It does appear so, doesn't it? Do you happen to know where the captain of the vessel took her?"
"I don't rightly know." Mr. Covel picked at his teeth. "Capt'n Morgan is always comin' and goin'. He specified to me that he didn't want to be bothered. So I don't bother him. I told that other fellow what come by that he shouldn't bother him either. I'll tell you the same."
"What other fellow?"
Mr. Covel rubbed at a spot on his forehead. "Did you not hear the part about botherin'?"
Riot smiled. "I did, as a matter of fact. But my daughter and I chartered the Pagan Lady for the day. Captain Morgan was supposed to meet us here."
Mr. Covel glanced at Sarah, who looked as innocent as could be.
She folded her hands in front of her. "I really wanted to go sailing, Pa."
"There you have it," Riot said. "A disappointed young lady."
"'Ave you seen the weather today?"
It was trying to tear Riot's fedora from his head. He pulled down the brim, and smiled at the man. "You once told me that Captain Morgan could handle a cutter in any weather."
"I did?"
"Yes. The last time I chartered this boat."
"I suppose I did. But I'm sorry, I don't know where he mighta sailed off to in weather like this."
"This other man you mentioned? Did he sail away with Captain Morgan?"
"Oh, no. No, that fella come by this morning. The Lady was still in her berth. I can guarantee you that."
"What did this fellow look like?"
"Average."
"Average?"
"Sure, like any other fella." The watchman shrugged. "Brown hair, mustache, longish chops, square jaw, black suit. We menfolk don't come in so many varieties. Not like the womenfolk."
"Was it a bespoke suit?"
"No, it didn't say nothin'. Why the hel—blazes would it?"
"Tailored. Was it well made?"
"I don't know."
"Did he leave a name?" Sarah asked.
"If he did, I don't recall it." Mr. Covel snapped his fingers. "Smith. His name was Smith."
The most common name in the United States, and the one generally adopted by anyone who didn't want his name known.
"Did he ask any questions?"
"He asked me if Captain Morgan was expected back. I said I don't know. Then he asked if the Captain ever entertained ladies aboard. And I says that yes, he has a sister—nothing at all improper there." Mr. Covel gave Sarah a pointed look.
"Did he leave a calling card so you might hand it off to Captain Morgan?"
"No, he just wandered away."
17
Wild Chant
Jones Jr. was in fact rescuing slave girls from Chinatown. But only to ease his conscience. While not directly involved with the brutality, he certainly was profiting from it.
—Z.R. Journal Excerpt
THE WORLD HOWLED, AND Isobel Kingston howled right back at it. Sharp wind beat against her face, stinging her cheeks. She squinted through the sea spray, gauging her speed as the Lady sliced across the bay. The bowsprit dipped, and reared upwards, tossing seawater over the deck.
"You are crazy!" Sao Jin shouted. The rope that Isobel had tied around the girl's waist was the only thing keeping her in place. A roar of water silenced Jin's next insult, and she braced herself in the slanted cockpit like a cat over a sink.
The wind had caught the Lady's sails and wouldn't let go. Isobel tightened her grip on the tiller. Endless. Relentless. Merciless. All the power of man and beast amounted to a pinch of dust compared to the force of nature. It echoed her life. Isobel steered true.
Jin shivered, her teeth chattered, and fear widened her eyes. "I am sorry I took your boat!" The wind snatched the words from the girl's lips, but Isobel caught the gist of her sentiment.
"Why are you sorry?" she hollered back. "Isn't this what you wanted? Can't you feel it? This is fury." Isobel showed her teeth at the girl—a wide grin full of life. "You want to rage, Jin? Here's where to do it! Add your weight to the rail, hold on, and join its fury."
Jin looked over her shoulder, up the heeled deck, to a rail that nearly touched the blue sky.
Isobel began chanting a wild song into the wind, a song of the Azores—her mother's people. "High are the waves, fierce, gleaming. High is the tempest roar! High the seabird screaming! High the Azore!" The ancient words rose and fell with the crashing sea.
Jin clenched her jaw, pulled herself up to sit on the side of the rail, balancing precariously on the edge with legs dangling over air. With the wind snatching at her braid and clothes, she screamed until she went hoarse.
As the sun dropped, so did the wind. And soon the Lady glided into a sheltered cove near a cliffside. Bone-weary and soaked, Isobel could no longer feel her fingers. The cold, and two nights without sleep and little food had taken their toll.
"We'll anchor here," she croaked. "Will you help me with the mainsail?"
"Yes, Captain."
Working silently, they furled the mainsail and tied it in place. Jin dropped the anchor when ordered to, and Isobel lashed the tiller, then took one last look at the shoreline. The sun had fallen, and the moon was glowing. A light breeze was rustling through the leaves of a nearby Eucalyptus grove. Isobel climbed below deck, and eyed the chaos in her cabin.
"I will clean this," Jin said to her back.
"Don't worry about it tonight. It's nothing a good storm wouldn't have done."
"That was a storm." Jin's teeth chattered so violently that her words were slurred.
Isobel chuckled, as she crouched in front of the Shipmate stove. "No, that was just a bit of wind." Although her back was to the girl, she could feel her gawk. "There's a saying—if you can sail San Francisco Bay, you can sail anywhere." She glanced over her shoulder. "I grew up sailing these waters, and outside the Golden Gate, too. That wasn't a storm."
Jin picked up a pot, and placed it back on its hook. "Father used to carry me on his shoulders. He always bought me balloons from the toy merchant, and we would go to see the ocean. But mother never let me near the water." Her voice was faint, cracked from wind and emotion.
"The waves at Ocean Beach are treacherous." Isobel tried to keep her voice casual. She didn't want to press the girl. If she backed Jin into a corner, she'd bite. "How often did your parents take you there?"
Jin picked up a book, and held it in both hands, as if it
held the answer. "It doesn't matter." She shoved the book back into the chest.
"Leave the mess until you get warm. A crew with pneumonia isn't much help. There's dry clothes under the berth bunk. Grab a fresh set for me, too."
Jin didn't argue. As the girl pulled out clothing, Isobel busied herself with lighting the fire. She scrubbed her hands on her trousers, and debated heating water, but in the end the only thing she wanted was sleep. And to eat. Besides, the ocean had practically washed her clean.
She glanced at the brass kettle, and saw Jin's reflection. The girl was folding a pile of clothes. She set the pile on Isobel's berth, and then pulled off her soaked jacket and tunic. Isobel's breath caught. All muscle and bone, the girl's thin back was puckered with angry scars—round burns and long lashes.
A muscle in Isobel's jaw twitched. She could not take the girl's past away, but she could give her warmth. The wood caught, and she closed the stove door.
Isobel peeled off her own damp clothes, hung them to dry, and turned to the galley. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jin working to clean the saloon. The girl was stubborn, and an efficient worker. Quick and thorough—so unlike any child Isobel had ever encountered. But then the scars crisscrossing the child's body were a stark reminder that efficiency had been beaten into her. Sao Jin had been Mui Tsai—a house slave. Too young for brothels, she had been sold to a cruel woman.
Isobel rummaged through the ship's stores. She sighed at the meager pickings. In the end, she gathered enough cheese, jerky, and apples for two. Sinking into her berth, she gulped down a jug of water, and applied herself to eating.
After awhile, Jin sat across from her, toying with a beaded bracelet, turning it over and over on her thin wrist. The string was frayed and stained, the beads blackened by time. Her gaze was far away.
"Eat, Jin. We still have to sail back in the morning."
The reminder seemed to snap the girl out of wherever she had been. Jin picked up the plate, and did as she was told, but it was more out of habit than want.
When the child had eaten every crumb, Isobel cleared their plates and set them in the small galley sink. "Why did you leave the mission?"
Only the lap of waves and the gentle shift of rigging answered. Finally Jin spoke, her voice hoarse and low. "Mei is going back to China."
"I thought she was planning on taking you, too."
"I don't want to go."
"Why not?"
"This is my home. I'm American like you."
"You were born here?"
Jin nodded.
Only two years before, the Supreme Court had decided the fourteenth amendment did, in fact, apply to Chinese. Jin was right, she was American.
"If I go to China with Mei, I will be a slave."
"Mei cares for you. She won't make you a house slave."
"Her father will marry her off to a rich man. Even if I am treated like a daughter, I will be married off when I am older, too."
Isobel sighed. In China, Britain, Japan, and in most of the world, there weren't many choices for women. And those choices were shaved even further for a Chinese woman. California was Jin's best chance.
"Then stay at the mission."
"No." Jin tucked her legs on the berth, and curled against the pillow. She swam in the oversized sweater and long johns. "A doctor tried to poke me with a needle. I did not want the medicine."
Isobel frowned. "What did they try to give you?"
"Halfkeen."
"Haffkine," Isobel corrected. "It's a vaccine to help protect you from bubonic plague."
Jin crossed her arms. "I did not want it, so I climbed out the window."
"And tried to steal my boat. Where were you planning on sailing?"
"Away," Jin said quietly. "I am sorry, Captain. I will not do it again."
"Just don't insult her. All right?" Isobel ran her fingers over the sleek wood. "She's a special lady."
"It is only a boat."
"To you maybe, but not to me. This is my home."
Jin cocked her head and gently touched the hull.
"Will you go back to the mission if I have Riot talk with Miss Cameron?"
The girl's shoulders tensed. "I do not want to go back."
"Do you have any family?"
Jin gave a jerk of her head.
Isobel ran a hand through shaggy hair. It needed another cut, but she had been putting it off. Delaying the inevitable. With that thought, she decided to take the approach she was best suited for—a blunt one. "Miss Cameron told Riot that you came to the mission some years before. But a woman came with the police and took you away. She said she was your aunt. Was she?"
"No."
"Who was she?"
Jin shook her head. The girl's fingers went back to her bracelet, twisting the beaded string around and around. She wouldn't look at Isobel.
"What happened to your parents?"
Jin's nostrils flared. And her head snapped up. Her lips were a thin line, and her eyes blazed. "Why do you care? You have a home." She turned, hugged her knees to her chest, and curled into a tight ball. Her body shook with cold.
Isobel wished Riot were there. She was no good with distraught children, or distraught adults for that matter. She watched the girl's back, willing her to speak. But Jin remained tight-lipped. After awhile, Isobel pulled a spare blanket from storage and laid it over the girl. Bone-weary, she retreated to her own berth and fell onto it. For tonight at least, they were both free.
18
The Gift
A pattern emerged. Easily recognized once observed.
—Z.R. Journal Excerpt
Wednesday, March 21, 1900
INFORMANTS WERE A DOUBLE-EDGED sword. It meant Riot could use Tim's contacts in the Coast Guard to inquire after a red-masted cutter, but it also meant someone else could find the Pagan Lady. That someone had known enough to ask after the cutter, and even more alarming was the inquiry about Captain Morgan's 'lady friends'.
Riot could think of a number of possibilities, some mundane and others not. Either way, all those theories pricked his instincts.
These instincts had sent him once again to the Folsom Street Pier. He sat against the cabin wall of a steam trawler shuffling his preferred deck. His movements weren't smooth. With his index and middle fingers bandaged, he found it hard going. But he managed. It helped distract him from the knot between his shoulders.
"So…we just sittin' here?" Tobias White asked at his side. The boy drummed his heels against a crate in the universal tune of a bored child.
"I do not recall inviting you along, Tobias." The child had followed him from Ravenwood Manor. While his execution had not been skillful, Riot admired his determination.
Tobias artfully ignored his observation. "I thought we were gonna do something exciting."
"I am."
"What's that?"
"I'm thinking."
The boy looked to the fluttering cards. "Do you want to play Old Maid?"
"I don't recommend playing cards with me."
Tobias rolled his eyes, and hunched down into his coat.
Blue skies and a brisk breeze made for crisp air. Fishermen and crabbers tended to nets and traps on the dock, while junks and swift Feluccas with raked sails headed out to deeper waters. It was an excellent day for sailing. But Riot barely glanced at the waters. Leaning against the cabin wall, legs crossed, his gaze was fixed on the docks.
After awhile, Tobias' tongue became restless. "Is this your boat?"
"It is not."
The boy squirmed on the crate beside him. "You stealin' it?" The question was close to a stage whisper.
"Only using it to think."
"What if the owner catches us here?"
"Then we'll politely tip our hats and leave."
"Maybe that works for you. It don't work for me."
"Why's that?"
"I don't have a fancy suit."
"Would you keep a suit clean?"
Tobias thought about this for a time.
"I'd do my best."
Riot looked down at Watson. The big Tomcat was using his leg as a rubbing post, and leaving white and orange hairs all over the dark fabric. "I rarely manage to keep my own suits clean. Would you like a job?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hunker down in the bow and watch for a gaff-rigged cutter with crimson sails."
"I knew we were waiting for Miss Bonnie."
"Captain Morgan," Riot corrected.
"Are you sweet on her?"
Riot glanced at the boy. "What do you think?"
Tobias White flashed his teeth. "I figured." Without another word, he bolted to the front of the boat, leaving Riot with his thoughts.
In under an hour, Tobias thudded back with a sighting. The Lady was on a direct course for her berth. Riot watched the wharf, but no one appeared to be interested in the cutter.
As the Pagan Lady drifted closer, the knot between his shoulder blades eased. Riot could see Isobel moving over the deck. The mainsail dropped, and she and a smaller figure began working to furl the sail. Just when he thought the boat would collide with the wharf, Isobel dropped into the cockpit and gripped the tiller. The cutter turned, and glided gently to a stop alongside the dock.
"Impressive, Captain," Riot called. Isobel was in her Captain Morgan guise: cap, peacoat and duckcloth trousers. As he had suspected, the runaway Sao Jin was with her.
"Ahoy, there," Isobel called.
"Before you drop anchor, I was hoping to charter your services."
The two sailors looked beaten around the edges, but Isobel caught the underlying message. "Jin, climb up and hold the line for our guests."
"Yes, Captain."
At the honorific, without spite or anger, Riot raised his brows. The girl looked as though she had survived a squall. Given the wind yesterday and Isobel's haggard appearance, perhaps that wasn't far from the truth. Jin wrapped the line around a pylon, and held it fast.
"Come aboard," Isobel called. As if the invitation were for him alone, Watson trotted past Riot, and jumped from dock to boat.
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 10