Where Cowards Tread

by Sabrina Flynn

  Jin stood, or tried to. The beggar’s cane got tangled in her feet. She stumbled forward and fell in a most anticlimactic way. It drew the attention of the smoking hatchet man.

  Face first in the mud, she looked up to see him coming their way. Jin scrambled back against the wall. The hatchet man snatched the tin cup from the beggar. “Protection money,” he said, emptying the meager coins into his palm. He pocketed the coins. Then looked down at Jin.

  She stared defiantly back. “Give the coins back,” she growled.

  The hatchet man stared at her, stunned. Then he started to laugh. But like lightning, he changed from humor to brutality. The hatchet man slammed the tin cup into the beggar’s head and the force knocked the beggar aside.

  Jin did not hesitate. She would not let herself. Not ever again. No matter the circumstance. She pulled her knife out and drove it through the hatchet man’s foot.

  The man howled a curse. He tried to kick her, but she grabbed the handle, still stuck in his foot, and wrenched it to the side. His kick went wide, the blade came out, and she rolled under his legs delivering another strike to the back of his knee. The hatchet man went down.

  The boys playing dice scattered in fear, and Jin sprang to her feet, darting after them as a gunshot rang out in the lane. Brick sprayed over her head. She rounded a corner as one angry shout joined another.

  The boys bounded up a scaffolding, and Jin followed. They knew these streets better than she did. A board stretched between two roofs. The boys balanced across it, but before Jin could follow, one of the boys yanked the board away, onto his roof.

  She skidded to a stop at the edge. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re crazy!” the boy said. “Do not follow us!” He turned, and bolted after his friends.

  Jin growled under her breath. She ran back to the scaffolding to peer down into the lane. A hatchet man was climbing up while another waited below. The one below tilted back his head, staring straight at her. He had the remnants of shaving cream on his face. Maa Min.

  The man she had stabbed was clutching his leg on the boards below. The beggar was gone.

  There was nowhere to hide. No trapdoor. The hatchet men were coming. Jin did not look down again. She ran straight across the roof, towards the edge, and leapt. She caught the edge of the opposite building under her arms. Feet scraping against the brick, she hoisted herself up. A spray of air zipped past her leg, followed by the bark of a shot.

  Jin ran towards a sloped roof. Up the tiles, she threw herself over the other side, sliding down. But it was steep. Very steep. She twisted on the clay tiles, and as her body dropped over the edge, she grabbed an iron spout. Her revolver fell from a pocket, plopping into the ichor below.

  Desperate, she searched for escape. A boarded-up window. She shimmied to the side, then swung out and back, banging her feet against the boards. She bounced off and returned with more strength. If she could just kick it open—

  A hand grabbed her wrist from above. Jin swung, and yanked downward the same instant her feet hit the boards. Wood broke. But her moment of triumph was short-lived. The hand came forward, followed by an arm, and then a man.

  The hatchet man who had grabbed her from above lost balance. He fell forward, and took Jin down with him.

  Pop! The sound shook her. Then came pain. Agony climbed up her shoulder. Jin couldn’t breathe. Her world was dark. And it smelled.

  She reeled backwards. The ground held her for a moment, then she broke free with a sucking pop. She was in the alley below, buried in mud and refuse. The hatchet man who had fallen beside her lay unmoving on the ground, his neck bent at an odd angle. She could not work her left shoulder or hand.

  Jin tried to stand, but pain pushed her towards blackness.

  A figure walked down the alley. He stopped over the dead hatchet man, and cursed softly as Jin tried to stand. She managed to get up to her knees.

  “Who paid you?” a voice demanded.

  Jin tried to focus on the face. Thin mustache, goatee, dead eyes. Maa Min. Jin spat out blood at his feet. He lunged forward and seized her by the collar. She was lifted out of the mud, off the ground. Her feet dangled and darkness closed in, but she focused on Maa Min’s face. The face that haunted her dreams.

  “Are you Hip Yee?” he demanded. There was a cigarette hanging from his lips, casually burning. “Are they so desperate that they’re sending children after me?”

  Jin wanted to spit on him. She wanted to scream at him. Instead, she dangled in his grip. “They said I could be Hip Yee if I killed you.”

  Maa Min raised his brows, the cigarette between his lips moving upwards with his amusement. “I like your spirit.” He flicked the scar on her cheek, and dropped her to the ground. Pain flared up her left side. Jin scrambled backwards in the mud as Maa Min reached inside his coat.

  “Tell you what, kid. You kill a Hip Yee, and you can join Gee Sin Seer.”

  Jin’s right hand curled around a grip. “Who do I have to kill?” Her left hand useless, she pulled the revolver to her, and held it against her body as she cocked it with one hand.

  “Any of them will do. Does it matter?”

  Jin glanced over her shoulder. Maa Min had a cleaver in hand. He was tossing it end over end and catching it by the handle.

  “It matters to me.” She turned, gun in hand, and aimed at his chest.

  She wanted to see fear in his eyes. But Maa Min started shaking with mirth. “You’re going to shoot me? How much are they paying you, kid?”

  Jin growled. “You killed my parents!” she screamed.

  Maa Min spat his cigarette on the ground. “Did I?” He looked again at the scar, and took a step forward.

  Jin blinked away pain. The gun was heavy, her hand shook badly as she fought to keep it steady. “Sao Gan and Sao Ah Lam.”

  Maa Min knocked the brim of his hat up with his cleaver. She could see recognition in his eyes. “The tailors.” He ran the blade along his cheek lightly. “I marked you, didn’t I? I’d recognize my work anywhere. I shouldn’t have let Sammy talk me out of killing you. But then… I doubt you’ll pull that trigger.”

  Jin pulled the trigger. The recoil knocked her off her feet. Her bullet hit him square in the chest and Maa Min stumbled back a step, then surged forward. Flat on her back, with only one working hand, Jin couldn’t cock the hammer for a second shot. He was on her in a blink, hand reaching for her throat.

  Maa Min picked her up, and slammed her against a brick wall until the revolver fell useless from her hand. She could not breathe. Could not scream. Fingers dug into her throat, his face inches from hers.

  Dimly, through the fog of approaching death, she could feel the metal under his clothing. Chain mail. He was wearing armor. “I will send you back to your parents a piece at a time,” he hissed. Maa Min raised his cleaver, then jerked. His hand spasmed and he opened his mouth to scream, but two hands grabbed his head and twisted.

  Snap!

  Maa Min crumpled

  Jin fell to the ground, gasping for air. Blinking away confusion, she watched as a figure in rags picked up her revolver. Maa Min lay nearby, his neck broken, blood seeping from his back.

  Police whistles filled the alley. Arms lifted her. She smelled urine and filth. Jin looked up into the face of a blind man.

  “Sarah sent me,” he whispered. “Trust me now.”

  They did not go far. The beggar turned down an alleyway, and sat in a crumbling doorway. He set her down and she swayed. “You are sick. Do not speak,” he warned.

  It wasn’t difficult. Blackness crept at the edges of her vision as she huddled against the beggar. Soon policemen flooded the alleyway.

  The beggar shook his tin cup at them. “Sick boy. Please,” he begged in broken English. “Help.”

  A pair of patrolmen backed away.

  “Please,” the beggar said.

  “Did you see anything?” a patrolman asked in a loud voice.

  “He’s blind,” the second patrolman said.

/>   The first man stepped forward and nudged Jin’s face up with his billy club. She hadn’t landed in mud, but a cesspool, and she was covered in human waste. The patrolman wrinkled his nose and stepped back.

  “Did you hear anything, old man?” the patrolman demanded.

  “Fight. Men fight,” the beggar said. “Voices.” He pointed up. “Barking gun. Please help child.”

  “Get out of here. The both of you.” The patrolman goaded the beggar with a billyclub.

  The beggar stumbled to his feet, and pulled Jin up by her right arm. Her legs gave out, but he kept her up, navigating with his cane as the patrolmen sent them out of the alley.

  “Who are you?” she whispered.

  “Justice.”

  44

  Justice

  Sao Jin was familiar with pain. She had endured most forms of it during her short life. But when Justice took her to the very shop where her parents were murdered to pop her dislocated shoulder back in place, she passed out.

  When she came to, he was gone.

  Tan Ling was kneeling by her mat. The old woman smiled kindly, and patted her arm.

  Jin’s hands, ankles and feet bristled with thin needles. She froze, too scared to move. Her feet were hot and so were her hands.

  Tan Ling said something, gesturing along with her words to demonstrate. Jin tested the woman’s suggestion, lifting her uninjured arm. The needles didn’t cause pain when she moved, though they sent twinges up her neck. She settled back down on the pillow.

  Tan Ling held up another needle. Her eyes asked permission, and Jin nodded. With a mere pinch of feeling, Tan Ling inserted the needle between Jin’s brows. The sliver of metal seemed to pin her head to the pillow. She crossed her eyes, trying to look at it, then the strangest thing happened—the tension in her head began to unwind.

  Tan Ling carefully placed a round bit of incense on one of the needles. She struck a match, and lit it. Jin watched as it burned, the aroma musky and sweet all at once. Heat spread through her body, but it didn’t burn.

  “Where is the man who brought me here?” Jin asked.

  Tan Ling shook her head.

  Bit by bit the incense burned, and as Tan Ling lit more, Sao Jin’s anger and fear bled away with the twining smoke. It should have frightened her, but it didn’t.

  Jin awoke with a gasp. She sat up, tense, her nostrils flaring, searching for a threat. She was lying on a strange mat in a crowded little room. The room smelled of herbs and spices, and incense smoke hung in the air.

  She was alone. Her shoulder ached, but it didn’t hurt anymore. It was bandaged so tightly she couldn’t lift her arm. She left it for now, and looked down at her feet. The needles were gone, and she felt surprisingly… rested.

  She wore rough cotton clothing—loose trousers and shirt. Her own clothes, she remembered, were coated in filth. Her shoes, brushed and cleaned, sat on the floor beside her along with her knives and revolver. A pang of guilt clutched her, but it was overshadowed by questions: Who was Justice? And how did Sarah know him?

  Clearly, the beggar was not blind, that much she knew for certain. Careful of her shoulder, she eased her slippers on, and checked the revolver chambers. She had four live rounds left. Jin rotated the cylinder to an empty chamber for safety as Isobel had taught her, then bundled up her weapons into an empty sack.

  Cradling her bundle, she sat and thought for long minutes. Finally, she went off to search for Tan Ling and her son.

  It was dark outside. Jin cringed, knowing she had disobeyed Atticus and Isobel, but then Isobel was gone and Atticus was too injured to notice her missing. And the time really didn’t matter; Atticus and Isobel would not want her back after today.

  She found the old woman in a small kitchen. Spices, fish, and vegetables were sizzling in a giant pan. Sammy stood over the pan, flipping its contents into the air with a flourish as flames rose and fell.

  Tan Ling smiled at Jin, and beckoned her closer. The woman looked at her appraisingly, gently patted her shoulders, then said something that sounded approving.

  “She says you look better,” Sammy said.

  “I feel better.”

  “We were wondering what happened.”

  Tan Ling looked at her, expectant.

  Jin considered Sammy’s back. “I found one of the hatchet men who killed my parents.”

  Sammy stilled, then translated.

  Tan Ling shook her head, disappointment in her eyes.

  “You’re lucky that beggar came along. He wouldn’t even take food in return.”

  “Yes, I am. But there is still one more man out there.”

  Tan Ling glanced at Sammy, but he shook his head. He transferred the pan’s contents into three bowls, then added a bowl of rice to the center of the little table. Tan Ling reached up to pat the man’s cheek affectionately.

  Without looking at Jin, Sammy sat down on a stool.

  Tan Ling nodded towards Jin’s bowl. “Eat.”

  Jin’s hand slipped into her bundle. “The third man’s name is Nin Sam.”

  Tan Ling froze at the name, and Sammy paused, chopsticks in hand. The twitch in his eye told her everything. “Do you know what the fellow looks like?”

  “I do now.”

  He set down his chopsticks.

  Tan Ling looked from Jin to Sammy, a man who was like a son to her, and finally to the bundle in Jin’s arms.

  Jin rotated the cylinder once, then eased back the hammer.

  Tan Ling placed a hand on Sammy’s shoulder, and then began to speak, a pleading in her tone.

  “Quiet,” Jin hissed. “You knew. You knew he was one of them.”

  Sammy’s eyes turned dark, even as he put a comforting hand on Tan Ling. “Do not speak to her with disrespect. She knows, yes. I was one of the three men who came into your shop that day.”

  “You patted my head like a dog before you butchered my parents,” she hissed. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Sammy.”

  Tears seeped from Tan Ling’s eyes. She got to her knees on the hard floor, and put her hands together, bowing from the waist, pleading.

  “Please, mui mui,” Sammy said, holding up a hand. Little sister. “You may kill me, but do not shoot me in front of Tan Ling. I beg you. Let me explain.”

  “There is nothing to explain!”

  Tan Ling started speaking in a rush. Her hands beseeching.

  Sammy hung his head in shame.

  The dialect sounded like nonsense to Jin. Was it Mandarin? Or some other province? Sammy translated without prompt.

  “She wants me to tell you that I also killed her daughter.”

  Jin sucked in a breath. Her eyes wide with shock. Her finger twitched on the trigger.

  “I joined Gee Sin Seer after my father, a simple laborer, was hog-tied by a group of white men and then trampled by horses for their amusement. I burned with hate for all white people. I wanted vengeance.”

  Jin was on the verge of telling him to be quiet. She wanted to march him outside and take her own vengeance. But something stopped her—a tug on her heart, a whisper in the back of her mind, a feeling in her gut.

  “Gee Sin Seer took me in. They fed me. They clothed me. They trained me. And I became like a brother to Maa Min and Niu Tou.” Sammy raised his eyes to her. “The tailors, your parents, were to be my initiation in blood.”

  Memories came and went in flashes. Blood. A smiling man and a pat on the head, and Nin Sam, this same man, had stopped Maa Min from killing her. Had he actually swung a weapon?

  “I could not do it. It was one thing to kill rival hatchet men, but another to slaughter my own people.”

  No, Sammy hadn’t struck her parents, but he didn’t stop them either.

  Tan Ling nodded to Sammy, who took a deep breath and continued. “I was caught between love for my new brothers, my family, and my own conscience. I was a skilled fighter, so they laughed and called me weak-willed, but they didn’t push me to kill innocents again. Until we came to Tan Ling’s shop. Her husb
and had just died of pneumonia. She could no longer afford the rent, so she moved the practice here. This time, Maa Min and Niu Tou tasked me with extracting the money. Only she had none. For payment, Maa Min and Niu Tou decided to take her daughter.”

  He sighed with regret.

  “I joined a tong so I could avenge my father. Not kill my own people. We were worse than the men who murdered my father. So I shot Niu Tou, and in the firefight, a bullet hit Tan Ling’s daughter.”

  Silence settled in the little kitchen as Sammy struggled with his demons. He swallowed, his voice a rasp of pain.

  “Maa Min stood and laughed while Tan Ling’s daughter bled on the floor and Niu Tou took his last breath. Then Maa Min dragged me away. I thought he’d kill me. I hoped he would, but instead he made an example of me.” Sammy stretched his legs out, and pulled up the hem of his pants. It wasn’t just his foot that was mangled; his legs were twisted and uneven, bent at odd angles. “The members of Gee Sin Seer tied me up and each took a turn swinging a sledgehammer at my legs. Then they tossed me out on the street to die.”

  Jin looked to the old woman. “And you saved him? After he killed your daughter?”

  Sammy bowed his head.

  “Why?” Jin demanded.

  Tan Ling gripped the table and made to rise. Sammy moved to help the old woman, but Jin hissed him to be still. With creaky knees, the woman gestured towards a small shrine on the far wall. There were statues of three bearded men sitting in a row, one white-haired and the other two black-haired, an incense holder, two candles, and a little lamp. An offering of fruit sat on the shrine.

  Tan Ling approached the shrine, linked her hands together in a complicated knot, and bowed deeply to the three men. She lit three joss sticks, brought them briefly to her forehead, and said “Sao Jin.” She repeated the ritual three times before placing the incense in its holder. She took a half step back, knotted her hands, and gave a half bow, bringing her linked hands to her forehead then down to her chest.

  Then she smiled at Jin. “The Three Treasures, or Purities,” Sammy translated gesturing at the altar. “Compassion, moderation, and humility.” Tan Ling put a fist to her stomach. “Hate poisons the hater, not the hated.”