Rock Bottom
They found Riot in a gutter.
Face down, stripped to his underwear and violently shivering, thieves had picked him clean. Isobel rushed to him. She slid slightly in the muck as she tried to turn him over. The instant she touched him, he groaned and tried to struggle, but fell back down, his limbs stiff and unnatural, his forehead pressed against the ground.
Isobel must have made a sound, because he turned his head to search for her. The single eye that wasn’t swollen shut rolled in its socket.
“Good God,” Lotario whispered.
“Easy,” Tim warned.
Matthew helped turn him over, but the new position on his back made him heave. It was violent, incoherent, and agonizing. Riot collapsed on his side, and Isobel steadied his head in her lap, bending over him. “You’ve certainly looked better, Riot.”
He tried to talk, but his jaw wasn’t working.
The night had a bite to it, and the closest lamppost was down the street, but she could see the uneven shadows of his face, smell the blood and feel it on her hands. She quickly shrugged off her coat and bundled him as best she could.
“Lotario, run and get a hack. Matt, fetch Dr. Wise. Bring him straight to the house,” Tim ordered.
While the two darted off, Isobel sat and smoothed Riot’s hair, whispering softly to him. “I’m here. It’ll be all right.” His spectacles were clenched in a swollen hand. The glass shattered, the frame mangled beyond repair.
Tim crouched, and struck a match, running it over Riot, who flinched at the light. Isobel sucked in a sharp breath.
“Worse than it looks,” Riot slurred. The words were painfully slow. It was likely the very first thing he had tried to say, only delayed.
“A’yup. That’s Monty’s handiwork, alright,” Tim said. “Of all the stupid, pea-brained, hell-bent ideas you’ve had, boy… this one takes the cake.”
“Tim!” Isobel cried. “Wait until he’s coherent to chew him out. He won’t remember a word of it now.” It was said lightly, but inside she was breaking. She didn’t care what had brought Riot to this point. For now, he was alive. And no longer alone.
They had gone straight to the boxing club. A wrinkled old man with a broom had confided to Tim that Riot picked a fight outside the ring, so he was tossed to the curb after. The old man returned Riot’s holster and gun, and pointed them down an alleyway where he’d been dragged by some locals. She feared they’d killed him. But no. He was breathing, if painfully.
When a hack pulled up at the alleyway entrance, Lotario hopped down, and trotted over to help move him. The three of them managed to half drag, half carry him to the hack, but when they loaded him in, the shift in movement made him retch again.
The rest of the evening was a blur. Rather than haul him up three flights of stairs with a house full of watching eyes, they took him to Tim’s rooms in the stable house. He was a swollen mess—skin split, bruised and bleeding. Isobel focused on the gash on his side. “You’ve ruined my sutures, Riot,” she said.
It took him a full minute to respond. “Sorry,” he slurred.
“You can be sorry later,” she said. “I hope you left Monty in a similar state.”
“Fairly.”
“Small victories.” But inside she was close to tears. Lotario stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Light seemed to cause Riot pain, so they kept the room dim while they waited for the doctor.
Riot placed a swollen hand over hers. His knuckles were shredded.
It seemed a lifetime before Doctor Wise arrived with his medical bags. He took one look at his patient, and sighed. “What did I tell you about blocking punches.” He looked to Isobel. “Do you want to stay?”
She nodded.
“Good. Someone get water boiling and bring clean towels.”
“I’ll tell Miss Lily.” Lotario trotted away.
Tim leaned against the doorpost of his room, smoking a pipe.
“Mr. Tim, put a kettle on. You know how to steep this, I believe. And put that pipe out.” Wise handed a paper packet off, and Tim left.
“Ice?” she asked.
Dr. Wise shook his head as he bent over Riot to examine him. “That will only delay healing. Our bodies flow with Qi, or energy along pathways. Injury causes blockages in those pathways. I’ll help restore balance so his body can heal itself.”
Isobel didn’t know about all that, but she trusted Dr. Wise enough not to question his expertise. So she stood back and watched.
“I’m fine,” Riot slurred slowly, and tried to rise—a clumsy jerk of movement. “Brandy.”
Dr. Wise snorted. “I’m no Dr. Watson.” He turned to his bag and unrolled a leather scroll-like bundle bristling with thin needles. He selected one, and with expert precision, inserted the needle at a point between Riot’s eyebrows.
That sliver of a needle seemed to pin Riot to his pillow.
When hot water and towels were brought, Isobel helped strip him down to clean away the blood and muck. Angry bruises decorated his torso that reminded her of Ella’s decomposing corpse. It made her sick.
Dr. Wise spent the next ten minutes turning Riot’s feet, hands, and ankles into pin cushions. By the time Wise sat back, Riot resembled a hedgehog. Skin was sutured, salves applied, and finally the doctor added a few carefully placed needles on Riot’s scalp.
Satisfied, Wise laid a thin blanket over Riot, needles and all. He sat back and peeled off his spectacles. “I have more work to do on him. I’ll sit with him tonight,” Wise said.
Isobel recognized the unspoken dismissal. “I can’t sleep,” she argued.
Dr. Wise reached into his bag, and handed her a paper packet of herbs. “Drink this then. He’s severely concussed, I need to watch him.”
“Prognosis?” she asked, bracing herself.
“We need to wait,” Wise said, unwilling to voice his concerns. “He’s speaking though. That’s a good sign, but I’d rather be here in case anything… worsens. His nose is broken, his jaw may be too. I’ll know for sure when the swelling goes down. One broken rib, maybe two, I think. It’s fortunate he’s a trained fencer and boxer. The muscle conditioning saved his life.”
“Bel,” Lotario said softly. “You can’t do anything more.”
“I can be here if he wakes up.”
“When,” Wise corrected. He smiled in understanding. “My people have a long history of training in the martial arts. We are very good at causing injury, and we are very good at putting people back together. I find Chinese medicine more useful in these cases than American medicine. Another physician would likely cut off his hair, give him brandy, leech his face, put ice on his head and hot water bottles at his feet. And then leave it up to time.”
You On Chung, or Ewan Wise, was a University-trained physician who combined ancient arts with modern ones in an effective combination. Riot was in good hands. Quite possibly the very best. And he had brought Riot back from near death before, nearly four years ago.
“You have daughters. Go check on them.”
“They know something happened,” Lotario said. “It’s impossible to hide anything from them. You need to tell them.”
Isobel sighed. She leaned over, and placed a soft kiss on Riot’s forehead. “If anything changes…”
“I’ll let you know immediately.”
36
A Long Road
Wednesday, October 17, 1900
For nearly two days Isobel was glued to Riot’s bedside. He mostly slept, and slowly, with Wise’s treatments, he regained more of himself. He could recall his name, where he was, and sit up without toppling over. Recovery also brought out a stubborn streak and a short temper.
“I’m fine,” he insisted. His face was still a lumpy mass of bruises, and his jaw was stiff. Dr. Wise had gently worked the dislocation back into position.
“Of course, you are. I’ve spent night and day treating you. As if I have nothing better to do,” Wise said. “You need to rest. And by rest, I mean inactivity.”
“I will.” Riot slid his feet onto the floor. He looked around with one eye, his other still swollen shut. “Spectacles?”
“They were crushed,” Isobel explained. “Your spare won’t fit until the swelling goes down.”
His shoulders sagged. “Clothes?”
“After the men at the boxing club dragged you outside, you were robbed,” Isobel explained. “The cleaner at the club gave back your revolver, though.”
Pocket watch, billfold, and Ravenwood’s walking stick were all gone. To say nothing of his hat and bespoke suit.
Riot fended off Wise’s attempts to keep him in bed. Finally the doctor threw up his hands. Riot pushed himself off the bed, and stood. His blanket fell off.
“Well, at least the important parts are intact,” a voice drawled from the doorway.
“Ari, go find him some clothes,” Isobel growled at her twin. “Riot, where are you going?”
He swayed on his feet for a moment. “To my own bed and my own bathroom. Do you have any idea what it’s like sleeping in Tim’s bed?”
Isobel glanced at Wise, who caved in with a lift of his brows.
“Fine, but if you collapse on the stairwell, I’m leaving you there.”
Riot managed shirt and trousers on his own, but he finally gave up on buttons and shoes and let Isobel help him. She rolled her eyes when he asked for a hat. “Absolutely not. You’re more likely to run off if you have a hat.”
Riot leveled a single blood shot eye at her. He was not amused.
Isobel slipped her arm through his, and, with Dr. Wise and Lotario hovering nearby in case he collapsed, she walked him into the main house.
For the past few days, they had managed to keep the children away, but Isobel was questioning her decision when they entered the main house for the first time and she witnessed their reactions: Sarah burst into tears and rushed forward, but before she could topple Riot with love, she drew up short in favor of a more gingerly display of affection.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“Can you even see?” Sarah asked.
She had a point.
Jin did not say a word, just walked to his other side and lent her shoulder as support in the guise of a hug. She stayed with him the entire walk up the stairs.
When Riot finally collapsed onto his bed, Isobel sighed with relief.
“Keep giving him these. I will return tomorrow,” Dr. Wise said, placing a number of vials and herbal packets on the bedside table. “Let me know if anything new develops.”
Sarah was busy fluffing his pillows and Jin was tugging off his shoes.
“I will. At least we have plenty of nurses,” she said with a smile. “Thank you, Doctor.”
Wise bowed slightly. “No strenuous activities, of any sort, for at least two weeks.”
Riot grumbled in return.
“And move faster next time, Atticus,” Dr. Wise crooned.
It was fortunate the girls were present and Riot’s fingers were swollen, or she was sure he’d have replied with a silent gesture.
When Wise left, Lotario turned to her. “What more can I do, sister dear?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Nothing else matters much right now.”
He gave her a small smile. “I’ll bring up a tray, then get out of the way.”
Food did help. As she picked at her plate, she watched Sarah and Jin forcing chicken broth on Riot. Apparently having his brain smashed against the inside of his skull made him irritable. The girls weren’t deterred in the least. At one point, Jin threatened to pry his mouth open if he didn’t sip his soup.
Finally, Riot closed his eyes to sleep. The girls lingered at his bedside for half an hour, but eventually got bored watching him and left.
Alone at last, Isobel slipped under the covers, and rested her forehead against his shoulder. His fingers found her own. As she suspected, he had been feigning sleep in self-defense.
“Say it,” he murmured.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
“I’ve known Monty for years. I wanted to give him a chance to explain himself.”
“Did he?”
“I can’t currently recall.”
Despite herself, she laughed. “What do you recall?”
“He blew a cloud of smoke in my face. I don’t remember much after that.”
Ah. That explained everything. The action had been as good as a trigger for him. Isobel hugged his forearm to her. But even that was bruised and swollen.
“I’m sorry about Mack,” he said. His words were still slow, and seemed to require careful forming.
“I am, too.” She was quiet for a time, listening to his breath. “Was it always like this? For you, here in San Francisco?”
“Not always. But for a good many years.”
“I can see why you wanted to retire.”
“Do you want to?” He turned his head slightly, but it wasn’t as if he could see much. Still, she raised herself on an elbow to look into his bloodshot eye.
“I can’t let Ella down. And there’s too many more like her.”
“It never ends,” he whispered before drifting off to sleep.
37
A Clue
Friday, October 19, 1900
Isobel tossed a newspaper to the floor.
Sarah stopped her sketching and turned the newspaper around to look at the front page. “What a horrible picture.”
The Morning Call featured a sketch of a man choking Ella Spencer in her bed precisely the way Sims had demonstrated. The look of terror on Ella’s face was haunting.
“It’s a good sketch though…” Sarah admitted.
The three of them lounged in front of a crackling fire, Sarah lying on the floor with her sketchpad and Riot sitting in a chair across from Isobel. He was dozing. Even that seemed to exhaust him.
“Do you think they’ll find this Hawkins?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I can’t imagine what her family is going through.”
There was a detailed article about how Mrs. Spencer had collapsed on top of the body of her daughter, after insisting on identifying her. The press had latched onto the case like vultures on a carcass. Ravenwood Agency and the police had been flooded with supposed sightings and offers from people claiming to have information: a man with a trunk whose contents could pinpoint the location of the killer, a host of clairvoyants in communication with Ella’s ghost, and even an armchair detective claiming to be Sherlock Holmes reincarnated.
“Riot was right,” she muttered.
“Of course I was,” he said.
Sarah started in surprise.
Some of the swelling had gone down, enough to put on his spare spectacles, but he didn’t reach for the glasses. He was still sensitive to light.
“And you’re not going to let me forget it, are you?” Isobel asked.
His lips moved in an attempted smile, but the bruising made it difficult. “I’ll have Sarah write down today’s date and time for my records. I know you keep tabs.”
“I don’t need pen and paper to remember.” Isobel tapped her head.
“That’s a low blow.”
Isobel stuck her tongue out at him. “You’ll get no more sympathy from me. I ran out of that yesterday.”
“What’s the score?” he asked.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “If you keep a tally both of you will lose. And I won’t write it down.”
“I suppose he’ll just have to forget this one,” Isobel said, pleased.
Riot snorted, but instantly winced. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to sleep. Dr. Wise was due back for another treatment today. He slowly reached for a mug, and with effort brought it to his cut lips, though half dripped down his beard. He grimaced at the taste of the medicinal concoction.
“Did you hear my twin is now a thirty percent partner in your agency,” Isobel said.
Riot coughed, spraying tea all over.
Sarah handed him a n
apkin.
“Did you wait until I was incapacitated to arrange that?”
“I had nothing to do with it,” Isobel defended. “Tim made the deal before you were beaten to a pulp.”
“He didn't consult me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Riot said testily.
“Well, Ari is tickled to death over the idea. He’s brought capital to the venture.”
“What does Mr. Lotario do for a living?” Sarah asked.
Isobel waved a hand. “This and that.” Before the girl could ask for specifics, she changed the subject. “Do you have any idea where Jin is today?”
Sarah looked back, innocent.
Isobel leaned forward to study the child.
“She’s probably in Chinatown again,” Sarah finally said.
“Doing what?”
Sarah paled under her gaze. “Don’t look at me like that,” she pleaded. She stood to plump Riot’s pillow.
“Don’t go to him for help,” Isobel said.
“I’d like to know, too,” Riot said.
“You mean you don’t know?” Sarah asked.
“So you do know what she’s up to?” Isobel accused.
“I don’t know for sure. I… Grimm was following her. There’s a rumor going around Chinatown that a girl and a negro robbed three men. I guess she stabbed one of them. I’m not sure what she was doing, but Grimm helped her out. That’s why he had that bruised eye.”
“She stabbed someone?” Isobel asked, stunned. “And you didn’t think to tell us?”
“You’ve both been on the busy side,” Sarah defended, looking pointedly at Riot. “I forgot all about it. And anyhow, I took care of it.”
“How? What did you do?” Isobel pressed.
“I contacted Mr. Sin, and he said he’d watch her. As far as I know he has been.”
Isobel blinked, impressed. When had Sarah done all that? But then the girl was right—they had been distracted. “Thank you, Sarah. That was wise of you.”
Sarah shrugged. “I still don’t know why she keeps going into Chinatown.”
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