Sunday, March 25, 1900
BOWLER HATS MIXED WITH flowery ones, as well-bred women clung to the arms of their gentlemen, clogging the passageway. Isobel held onto Riot's arm to help her walk, and used Ravenwood's walking stick for additional support.
"We go to tong underground. Criminal slavers of noble women. Forcing them to life of shame," the guide announced. His accent was thick, and it echoed off the brick. Fay Chie let his gaze sweep over the women. Gasps of horror rippled through the tour group.
Looking pleased, the guide turned and held a lantern aloft, then walked down an ominous set of stairs. The group shuffled forward through dim passages. After winding through a warren of turns and twists, the guide stopped. He pressed a finger to his lips, and opened a door. A cloud of sickly-sweet smoke with floral undertones choked the passageway. Some coughed, while others inhaled the thick richness. Isobel wrinkled her nose. Opium.
The tour group pushed forward to gawk at the forbidden pleasure. Chinese men and women were draped on lounges and beds. The partakers stared in a trance, thick pipes pressed to their lips, their bodies sprawled and limp. A woman's leg was bared up to her thigh.
Something was wrong. Isobel narrowed her eyes, and then she saw it. One of the men lay on a book. A dingy laborer had pristine fingernails. The woman's body was angled wrong for the leg that extended from a silk wrap. And a ragged beggar wore silk slippers.
"This is staged," she whispered in Riot's ear.
She felt him chuckle. "Fay Chie makes a fortune from his slum tours."
"By duping gullible tourists of delicate sensibilities."
Riot nodded. "No harm done."
A loud bang echoed in the passageway, and Isobel jumped with the rest of the group. But Riot didn't flinch. Another theatric.
"Hurry!" Fay Chie said. "Police raid. Come, come quick. We go escape route."
The group pushed forward with a wave of alarm. The woman in front of Isobel tried to swoon, but her gentleman shook her arm. "Not now, Phyllis." She recovered in remarkable time.
Shouts and banging followed on their heels as the tourists ran through the dimly lit maze. Isobel and Riot strolled after them at a more decorous pace. Fay Chie stopped at an intersection. He held up his lantern and peered down the passage, listening, but the sounds were dim and faraway.
"We are safe. We are many stories under city. Six stories. Some go much deeper. Careful. Boo how doy down here. Hatchet man."
The air was wretched and cold, the darkness complete save for a single lantern on a hook. Phyllis swooned. From the way the woman fell forward, Isobel knew it was a true faint. Her gentleman failed to catch her. Another woman cushioned her fall, and the two went down in a tangle of finery.
Rather than jump to their rescue, Riot squeezed Isobel's arm. She followed the slight motion of his chin. A single ribbon hung from a peg at the edge of light. Isobel wagered it was blue.
When the women were untangled and revived, the group shuffled forward. Riot and Isobel edged back into the shadows, waiting for their footsteps to fade.
"I could swear we're only two stories underground."
"One, actually."
Isobel glanced at him in surprise.
Fresh air caressed her cheek. Without warning, Riot stepped in front of her, and drew his revolver. She squinted into deep darkness. A section of wall was missing. Feeling utterly vulnerable with her twisted ankle, Isobel gripped her walking stick, preparing for a fight.
A faint scuffing came from the passage, and a light drifted from the dark. A bent old man hobbled forward at an agonizing pace. The lantern wobbled in his hand. Isobel glanced over the old man's shoulder, expecting someone else, while Riot looked to both sides.
The old man beckoned with a crooked hand. Hardly threatening. Riot consulted her silently, and she lifted a shoulder. He uncocked his revolver and it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
As soon as they stepped into the secret passageway, a panel slid closed. The old man didn't slow, or speed up. He hobbled at a snail's pace.
"I'll die of boredom at this rate," she murmured.
"Better this than a gunfight."
Biting her tongue, she counted the twists and turns, and kept glancing over her shoulder to check their back trail. As usual, Riot was relaxed, his left hand dangling casually at his side. But she knew better. He was as alert for an ambush as she was.
One crate looked much the same as the next, and scents wafted on mysterious currents, bringing smells of incense, gunpowder, fish, flowers, and roasting pork. The press of Chinatown seeped into the tunnels.
The bent old man stopped at a dead end. Clawed fingers bumped over the brick wall, and a moment later, the wall swung inward. Isobel gaped. It seemed a portal to another world, decorated with rich carpets, tapestries, silks, delicate mahogany furniture, and warm light. And a beaming girl in loose tunic and trousers.
"Sarah," Riot breathed. Heedless of any ambush, he rushed inside, and she threw her arms around him. Isobel followed at a more cautious pace. No waiting guns, no hatchets or hot pokers.
Sarah said something, but her words were muffled by his waistcoat. Riot gave Sarah a final squeeze, then knelt, gripping her shoulders so he could search her eyes. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm all right."
"Has anyone harmed you? In any way?"
"Only scared me to death. I swear I'm fine, Mr. Riot. I knew you'd worry, but Mr. Sin said it wasn't safe to leave."
Isobel turned back to the old man. In front of her eyes, he transformed, straightening and growing until he brushed six feet. Isobel took a step back on her bad foot, and nearly fell when her ankle twinged.
"Careful, Mrs. Kingston." And then he pulled off his face.
✥
A serene man stood in front of them. He peeled away gray whiskers and the lines around his face, and even the queue that hung down his back. With shaved head and flawless skin, she estimated that Mr. Sin was somewhere between Riot's age and her own.
"Silence was necessary, I'm afraid. For Miss Byrne's safety. I am Sin Chi-Man." His words were heavily accented, and he pronounced his name as See-in Chee-mahn.
"It's you," Riot said.
"It is I." Sin gave a tight smile.
"Who is he?" she asked.
"He answered the door at Lee Walker's when I first met Sarah. I thought he was the butler." Riot kept a protective arm around Sarah's shoulders.
"I was not amused by the mess your short friend made."
"But Uncle Lee doesn't have a butler." Sarah looked from one wary man to the other. Sensing tension in the air, she blurted out, "Mr. Sin rescued me. He caught me and pulled me out through the skylight just when I was about to fall. The man banging on my door would have gotten me, otherwise."
Whomever Mr. Sin was—for better or worse—there was that. But that didn't mean Isobel and Riot entirely trusted Sin Chi-Man.
"Is Uncle Lee all right?"
Sin busied himself with his coat of rags. So he hadn't told Sarah about her uncle's death. Riot drew Sarah off to the side, and Isobel joined them. As he spoke soft words, the girl's lips trembled, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
"It was those men!" she burst out. "The men from that building by the beach."
"Did they harm you?" Riot asked again.
"They tried to." As Sarah told them what happened, Isobel wondered why she had ever felt a twinge of sympathy for William Punt.
The telling opened a dam that had been building for days. As Riot comforted the girl, Mr. Sin disappeared into the interior of his home.
Isobel studied the false door, until she spotted its mechanism. Satisfied they could escape if need be, she limped over to an archway. Harmonious. That was the word that came to mind as she looked into the adjoining room. Simple, uncluttered, with every piece of furniture at a precise angle, each complementing the next. She was drawn to an ornate chessboard. The armies were jade, the details exquisite. A game was in play, and before she could help herself she nudged the black Queen
into a better position.
Ever curious, she walked across the plush carpet, and pulled a curtain aside. A small room dominated by a dressing table. And clothes, racks of them. Wigs, makeup, and false faces atop wooden heads. She had only ever seen the like in a theatre. Lotario would be in heaven.
A soft rustle of cloth alerted her. Isobel turned to find Mr. Sin standing behind her. He had exchanged his disguise for a simple gray robe, the type that officials wore. But she wondered if it was simply another disguise. What face did Sin Chi-Man really wear?
"Tea, Mrs. Kingston?" he asked.
Isobel made an impatient sound. "Don't call me by that name. Miss Bel will do. One E and one L. I want answers. Who are you? Why were you at Lee Walker's home?"
"I find tea relaxes the mind." He glanced towards the other room, where Sarah was busily blowing her nose on Riot's handkerchief. "We have much to discuss."
When Isobel stood her ground, he extended an arm towards a nook of chairs. There was nothing for it; she was hardly in a position to interrogate him. She relented, and sat.
Soon after Riot and Sarah joined her. The girl was subdued, puffy-eyed and red-nosed. She went straight for Isobel, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Isobel stiffened in surprise. It made the girl squeeze even harder.
Sarah pulled away, concern in her bright eyes. "Did you hurt your foot looking for me?"
"It's only a sprain. I'm relieved you're safe." The words felt inadequate. And she silently chided herself—Isobel's mother had been as distant with her as she was behaving now. Determined to be as unlike her mother as she possibly could, Isobel patted Sarah's arm with what she hoped was affection. It seemed enough.
Sarah retreated, sitting beside Riot on a settee. She seemed on the verge of another breakdown, as she twisted the handkerchief in her hands. Riot placed a hand over hers, soothing her agitation with a touch. She leaned into him. A child without kin. Adrift, but not quite alone.
Sin reappeared with a tray in hand. As he poured four cups of green tea, Isobel found herself mesmerized by his movements. Fluid and precise, a sort of dance. When each of them held a cup in hand, Sin sat down across from them, cradling his teacup. Long fingers caressed the porcelain. Was he nervous? Isobel wondered how often he entertained guests.
In a rare occurrence, Riot broke the silence. "Thank you for saving Sarah. I'm in your debt."
Sin inclined his head. "Miss Byrne," he said. "Perhaps now would be a favorable time to practice your calligraphy."
"I'd rather not." It wasn't defiance, it was fear. Sarah felt safe where she was.
Riot squeezed her hands. "It'll be all right, Sarah."
"Do you swear?" There was more to that question than calligraphy.
"On my word."
Reassured, Sarah walked over to a desk, and sat. A part of Isobel wished she could believe that everything would be all right, but even as a child she had been suspicious of those words. Most especially now. She felt like a rogue queen surrounded by two armies.
"Who are you?" Isobel asked again.
"Sin Chi-Man," he repeated. "I offer you my real name. What you really ask is what I am. And why I am."
Both Isobel and Riot waited.
"Spy. Informant. Detective. Savior. Robin Hood. Or, if you prefer, Consulting Detective." He said the title with a flourish.
"Like Sherlock Holmes?" Irony dripped from her voice.
"Only Chinese." He offered her a tight smile. "But I am not so foolish as to bandy my name about in a city of enemies. Only two people know of my existence. One of those is dead."
"The second being Sarah?" There was a warning in her voice. This man was as dangerous as a person came. Isobel didn't trust him.
Sin crossed his long legs, and took a sip of his tea. "My secret is safe with the girl. Adults never listen to children."
Isobel swirled her tea in its cup. "We do."
"You are rarities."
"Who now know of your existence," she pointed out.
Sin nodded. "A gesture of goodwill on my part."
"Do you really expect a child to keep a secret?" Isobel asked. She wanted to push this man, to spark a reaction that would shatter his mask.
"What will Miss Byrne say? That a Chinese man pulled her through a skylight, flew with her over rooftops, and burrowed through the city sewers to a silken lair where he taught her the Oriental secrets of calligraphy?"
Sin had a point. People would imagine Tobias was influencing her. Last week, the boy had claimed it was Spring-heeled Jack who'd stolen his mother's pie off the windowsill.
"What were you doing at Lee Walker's home?" Riot asked.
"Investigating Sing Ping King Sur," Sin said. "It is an old case. A tedious one. The same case I was working on with Zephaniah Ravenwood."
Isobel's teacup chattered against its saucer. She quickly set it on the table, marveling at Riot's calm. Not even a flutter of lash.
"You were Ravenwood's informant—the one who visited him in the conservatory."
"Sing Ping King Sur was a whisper at the time. As it is today. Four years ago, I first heard its name on the lips of a dying hatchet man. And when no other whispers reached my ears, I started to wonder if it was a tong at all. Then came the Broken Blossom Murders, and you. And then Ravenwood."
Sin frowned into his teacup, turning it gently in his hands. The tea swirled with barely a ripple. "There have always been white men profiting from tongs, but I wondered, what if they had stepped even further into our world? Ravenwood realized this, too. The list you seized from Mr. Jones Jr. was proof."
"Jones' account book?" Riot asked. The one they'd found at the bottom of the fishing basket that was being used to transport mutilated girls.
"Yes." Sin held out his hand. "May I see his walking stick?"
Isobel glanced at Riot. He nodded. Sin took it from her hand as if it were a revered relic. He balanced it with care, studying its length. "While you were raiding tong headquarters and taking your rage out on furniture—"
Isobel stiffened with anger, but Riot gave a slight shake of his head. He might not take offense, but she could damn well be angry for him.
"Ravenwood, against my advice, took this proof to the police." Sin's long fingers caressed the silver knob. He thumbed a bit of filigree, twisted the shaft once, tapped the side, and unscrewed the knob.
Riot sat up straight, more surprised than Isobel. Twenty years with Ravenwood, and he hadn't learned all his partner's secrets. Sin dipped his finger inside and slipped out a rolled-up bit of paper. He handed it to Riot. "This is why your partner was killed."
Isobel moved to the settee to read it. "Lumber shipments?" she asked.
"I never gave this list another thought," Riot admitted. "I theorized the lumber yard was being used to legitimize profits from illegal activities. But that seemed trivial compared to catching a butcher of children."
Isobel studied the numbers. "This hardly seems like an obscene amount of money."
"Unless you move the decimal point to the right. Twice," Sin said. "The documents that Mr. Riot recovered from various tongs were maps. This is the key. Those names are beneficiaries of slavery, opium, and gambling. The lumber yard was a front, and the white men on that list were profiting from a ghastly trade."
There were powerful names on the list. Small wonder Ravenwood was killed.
"San Francisco is China's gateway to America. A direct link from Hong Kong to New York. All goods travel through here. Flesh, opium, silks, gold, gunpowder—all highly profitable."
"What did the police say?" Riot asked.
"That they would investigate the matter."
Riot gave a shake of his head. "Ravenwood knew the police were corrupt. Why would he go to them?"
"What else could he do?"
Sin's question lingered. Isobel and Riot were in that same position. How do you fight against corruption that taints the highest corners of government?
"Perhaps Ravenwood was looking for a reaction," Isobel said.
"If that was the case, he was successful. A price was put on both your heads."
"We already had a price on our heads."
"This was different," Sin said. "This reached the Barbary Coast." Guns for hire. Cutthroats. Every gunslinger in San Francisco would have been aiming for Ravenwood and Riot. "When I informed Ravenwood of this new development, he went to speak with Pak Siu Lui."
"Why?" A vein on Riot's temple stood stark against his flesh.
"I'm surprised you even need to ask."
"I'm asking it all the same."
"Siu Lui smuggles girls through customs and delivers them to the Queen's Room. She is a broker of flesh, and she knew who was killing those girls. It was a small leap of logic to conclude that she knew who was behind Sing Ping King Sur."
"Even if Siu Lui knew, she wouldn't have told Ravenwood. She walks a fine line between life and death."
"Ravenwood did not approach her for information." Sin took a sip of his tea. "He went to barter for your safety. To protect you."
I have made a deal with the devil.
"Ravenwood suspected the two of you had a history—that she cared for you, so he approached her as a mediator. That's why he told you nothing of this."
Riot stood and turned away, his gaze on Sarah.
Sin tilted his head slightly. "What is Siu Lui to you? I can think of no woman more dangerous in this city."
Silence answered. And then a soft, "It doesn't matter."
"It may," Sin said.
Riot ignored the observation. "What were the terms of the agreement?"
"That Ravenwood would hand over the names in exchange for your safety."
"But he kept the original," Isobel pointed out.
"He knew a skilled forger."
"Why didn't he barter for his own safety?" she asked.
"That was not possible. He knew too much, so he took his chances."
"I dragged him into it," Riot whispered.
"One might say he dragged you into this business."
Riot smoothed his beard. "I don't believe it."
"That he would use Siu Lui as a mediator?"
"That he would be so…" Riot trailed off. Emotional. That was the word Isobel filled in silently.
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 24