Record of Blood (Ravenwood Mysteries #3)

by Sabrina Flynn

  “When did Jim Parks get out of prison?”

  “He was set to be released in March of eighty-seven.”

  “Maybe a friend of his found out?”

  Riot shifted. “Maybe so, but why not kill me? A pillow over my face would have done the job, nice and quietly.”

  Isobel pursed her lips in thought.

  “Park’s Place isn’t on the best side of town,” he pointed out.

  “No, you’re right, it isn’t,” she conceded. “It’s likely nothing more than my suspicious mind. After dealing with Kingston for months, I’ve begun to see connections everywhere.”

  “It happens to the best of us.”

  Isobel tapped her fist against the armrest. “I should have chased Jin down. If Kau dies, she’ll be our only chance to discover the truth of what happened that night.”

  “You did the right thing, Bel,” he said quietly. “These girls are wounded badly. Trust is scarred, and it doesn’t come back easy. The slave girls that Donaldina rescues are distrustful of everyone. And they have every right to be. The worst thing you can do is corner them. That’s why Miss Culberston stopped snatching them straight out of a brothel—it’s best to give them a say in the matter. Otherwise they fight like cornered wildcats, and it only makes things worse. Jin will come around when she’s ready.”

  “If she finds her way back.”

  “She might not have gone far,” he said. “Jin appears to be attached to Wong Kau in some way—seems to care about whether he lives or dies. Maybe she’s waiting to question him, too.”

  “It’s possible,” she agreed.

  “I’ll send a telegram to 920. Miss Cameron’s network of informants will be our best chance of finding her, if she ran to the Quarter.”

  Isobel looked to the small room, to the hatchet man fighting for his life on the cot. “I doubt there’s much information flowing through the quarantine barricades.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Do you think Kau is the one who wrote the note to 920?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around.” Her hand tightened around her glass—the frustration plain in her voice. “I’ve been resisting the urge to shake Kau awake and demand answers.”

  “Time and patience, Bel.”

  “You know I hate waiting.”

  “You’re not waiting—you’re on guard duty. And I’ll leave you to it.”

  Isobel glared; he smiled.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going to plumb the depths of Ravenwood’s attic.”

  “Oh, in that case,” she wrapped her blanket around her, propped her feet on a stool, and settled into the plush chair, “I think I’ll make a sacrifice, and continue guarding our prisoner.”

  “Always the hero, Bel. Can I get you a fortifying brandy before I leave?”

  “I’d best keep my wits about me,” she said with a sigh.

  “In case you change your mind, Tim keeps a medicinal bottle in that cabinet over there.” He stood to leave, gathering his hat and stick.

  “Riot.”

  The sound of his name stopped him at the stairs.

  “I can’t remember the last time I slept so well,” she said softly.

  It took him a few moments to find his voice. “Neither can I.”

  39

  Pirates and Indians

  A sharp scraping came from the ceiling, and then thudding footsteps. A moment later, a voice shouted, Argh! followed by a rapid bang bang bang. The noise shook the plaster from the ceiling. Riot paused, eyeing the blossoming crack. The wall shuddered, and Riot hurried to the end of the hallway. He opened the wide access hatch, and climbed the narrow staircase.

  “I’ll get you, Savage!” a growl filled the attic space.

  Riot glanced through the railing slats to find a cowboy, an Indian, and a pirate. Maddie wore a feathered headdress and warpaint, and she wielded a broom like a spear, thrusting it towards a sloped ceiling and brandishing a feather duster as a shield in the other hand.

  A pint-sized cowboy appeared, swimming in a Stetson and wearing an old leather holster on a belt that wrapped around his waist three times. Tobias waved a rabbit shooter at her.

  Before Riot could react, a pirate leapt into the fray. Sarah Byrne had a prospector’s hat turned sideways, an eyepatch, and a rusty sword.

  Broom handle and saber clunked together.

  From the disarray and opened crates, it was clear this battle between Indians, cowboys, and pirates had been raging for days.

  Riot stepped fully into the attic. Sarah saw him first. The momentary surprise distracted her from the fight. Her inattention earned her a smack on the arm from the broom. “Ow!”

  Tobias pointed his rifle at his sister, and Riot hastened forward, snatching the gun from his hand. He quickly checked the chamber. It was empty.

  Natural selection, Ravenwood said with a chuckle.

  “Put that saber down, Sarah,” he barked.

  The sword clattered to the ground, nearly taking off a toe. Riot closed his eyes, briefly, wondering how children ever managed to reach maturity with fingers, toes, and limbs intact.

  The children stood stone still for a second. Sarah blinked innocently. Maddie started shaking with fear, and Tobias bolted.

  “Tobias White, get back here, or I’ll tell your mother.”

  The boy stopped dead in his tracks, eyes rolling like a panicked horse.

  “You mean you’re not going to tell her?” Tobias asked.

  “It depends,” Riot said. “Go stand next to the pirate.”

  Tobias darted over to the other two, half hiding behind his quivering sister. She put her arm in front of the boy, as if preparing to shield him from whatever was to come. Her reaction did not escape Riot’s notice, and he was careful to keep his voice low and calm.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Riot,” Maddie said. “I know we ain’t supposed to be up here. It’s my fault. Tobias and Sarah don’t know any better.” The words came out in a rush. Her usually careful pronunciation flew to the winds in her panic, but despite her fear she stood as proud and straight as her mother.

  “I don’t mind you three playing up here,” Riot said. “But leave the blades, knives, guns, and whatever other weapons you find alone. Is that clear?”

  Three heads nodded as one.

  “And you, young man.” He pointed at Tobias, who had his hands thrust into his pockets and had developed a pronounced slouch. “Never point a gun at someone unless you intend to kill him. That goes for all of you.”

  “I wasn’t trying to kill her. It was empty.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Empty or not, don’t point a gun at someone.”

  “But you pointed one at me,” Tobias said, indignant.

  Riot looked at the boy; Tobias went instantly still. “And it’s fortunate you’re still alive, young man. Do you all understand?”

  There was a trio of ‘Yes, sir.’

  “Maddie, Tobias, don’t you two have school?”

  Brother and sister glanced at each other. Maddie spoke up. “Ma teaches us, sir.”

  “And Mr. Tim,” added Tobias.

  “I mean a real school.”

  “Ma don’t want us going. She says it’s too easy for someone to find children there,” Tobias said.

  “Doesn’t want us going,” Maddie corrected. Her poise was nearly restored, but she kept a white-knuckled grip on her broom. The girl, like her older brother Grimm, had likely dealt with her share of angry men.

  Riot gently rested the rifle against a nearby crate. “Why’s that?” he asked, sitting on the crate.

  Tobias shrugged.

  “There are a lot of houses in the city, sir. But not many schools,” Maddie said.

  Riot understood everything she wasn’t saying. If he were looking for a specific child living in a large city, he’d go straight to the schools. It would be far easier to locate a child there.

  Let one child in, and they multiply
like rats. Insufferable children, Ravenwood grumbled. The voice of memory was gruff, but there was little bite to the words. Riot resisted the urge to point that out to his dead partner.

  “I’ll speak with your mother,” he said instead. “Perhaps we can arrange a teacher to come to the house.”

  Tobias groaned, Maddie brightened, and Sarah looked suddenly sad. No doubt she missed her own school and friends.

  “Right now, I need your help,” he said, giving the three a distraction. “I’m looking for notebooks, journals, anything that has writing inside it.”

  Sarah brightened. “There’s a few crates full of books and things.”

  “That’s a good place to start. Bring all the books you can find, and stack them here.” He pointed to the center of the attic. “There might be some hidden inside clothing, too.”

  The children scattered, and Riot took a moment to put the headdress respectfully back in its place. Too many memories lurked in this attic.

  In less than ten minutes a large stack of books filled their pretend battlefield. Riot looked at the growing stack, and blew out a long breath. He pulled over a chest, sat down, and picked up the first leather-bound journal. A lifetime of case notes, research notes, and diary entries awaited his perusal.

  “Mr. Riot?” Tobias still wore the over-sized Stetson.

  “Hm?

  “You ever shot an Indian?”

  Riot looked up from the journal. “When they’ve shot at me,” he said truthfully. “But that goes for any man.”

  “The Chickasaw slaughtered my grampa,” Sarah said. “You can’t trust an Indian.”

  “Is it fair to lump them all together?” Riot asked.

  “‘Course it is, else you’ll be scalped,” Sarah said.

  Tobias nodded sharply. “That’s right.”

  “I’ve known plenty of Indians who I counted as kin. A person should be judged by his actions, not by the color of his skin.”

  “But they’re savages,” Tobias argued.

  “Some people say that about negroes,” Riot reminded.

  “My gramma said that all the time,” Sarah confirmed.

  “We are not!” Tobias seethed.

  “Ma says you are sometimes,” Maddie said.

  The boy ignored his sister, and looked at Sarah. “Anyway, we’re not near as bad as the Irish.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. The prim young lady looked about to charge the boy.

  Riot held up a calming hand. “When the debate is lost, slander becomes the tool of the loser. So let’s be civil about this. If people say negroes and the Irish,” he looked pointedly at Sarah, “are savages, and you both know you’re not—why doesn’t the same apply to Indians?”

  Sarah looked at Tobias. The children didn’t say a word.

  “Even your silence holds a sort of prayer,” Riot quoted in Apache. The children’s eyes went wide.

  Tobias was the first to react. “You speak Indian?”

  “A little Apache, a good deal of Miwok. And a few words from some other tribes as well.”

  “You know a lot,” Maddie said.

  He smiled. “Not near enough.”

  “But… Indians aren’t the same as us, are they?” Tobias blurted out.

  “Aren’t they?”

  “Well, they’re not as smart,” Tobias said.

  Riot glanced at Sarah and Maddie. “Are women as smart as men?”

  “They sure aren’t,” Tobias said.

  Both girls glared. Maddie slapped the back of her brother’s head. “You’re not even half as smart as Ma.”

  “He said girls—not Ma.”

  “Would you say your mother is as smart as a man?”

  “Yes,” Maddie said.

  Sarah appeared skeptical. “Wouldn’t it depend on the man?”

  “And there you have it,” Riot said. “People, no matter their color, education, or gender, all have their strengths and weaknesses. But in general, most everyone can learn anything given a chance.”

  “You have a funny way of thinking, Mr. Riot,” Tobias said.

  “It’s the detective in me.” He wasn’t about to explain to the trio that since his mother was a crib whore, he didn’t know the race of his own father. So he could be mixed with just about anything.

  “I want to learn about detecting,” Sarah said.

  Tobias’ chest swelled. “Sometimes I help Mr. Riot.”

  “That you do, Tobias. And a fine job you’ve done. Detective work only takes a keen eye and the ability to work your way through a problem. Along with the patience to wade through an ocean of old journals,” he added dryly.

  The children leapt back into their scavenger hunt before he could rope them into that task. When every crate, nook, and cranny had been checked, they left him to the tedious task of sorting. He piled Ravenwood’s journals into a neat stack. They were all the same—slim, leather notebooks filled with the man’s neat, precise hand. The penmanship made Riot’s hands cramp just looking at it. And worse, it made his head ache. Ravenwood’s writing was a mixture of short hand, code, and cryptic symbols.

  With a grimace, Riot turned the journal sideways. It didn’t help. A ghost from his past chuckled into the dusty space.

  “Mr. Riot?”

  The intrusion brought him around. He searched the dimness, looking for the source of the voice. He hadn’t realized Tobias and Sarah were still in the attic. They were lying on their stomachs in the far corner, looking out the top of a rounded window that was halfway between floors.

  “Call me A.J.,” he said automatically.

  “My Ma wouldn’t approve,” Tobias said.

  Sarah made a frustrated noise. “There’s someone hiding in the bushes.”

  Riot dropped the journal, and hurried over to the two. He got right down on his belly between them. The decorative glass was colored, save for a few small panes that Tobias was peeking through.

  “In the corner there, under the willow, by my fort.”

  “You have a fort in the corner of the yard?” Riot asked.

  “Ma said it was all right.”

  “Personally, I’d aim for a tree house.”

  Tobias stilled in deep thought.

  Don’t encourage the child, Ravenwood grunted.

  Nothing moved down below in the yard, but the trees and bushes offered ample cover. He needed a better perspective. Riot hopped to his feet, and hurried down the stairs with Sarah and Tobias on his heels. On his way to the grocer’s door he stopped by the kitchen and snatched up the latest offering of muffins from the stove, then shot outside.

  Riot walked through the drape of drooping vines, and passed into the clearing under the willow’s branches. A curved bench hugged the trunk—a cool spot for the rare San Francisco heat wave. Faint prints confirmed his suspicion, and he followed them towards the far corner of the yard, behind the carriage house.

  Tobias darted to his fort. “Someone pinched my things!”

  Bushes rustled, and a swift form leapt from behind shrubs, grabbing the top of the fence, feet braced to fly right over the top.

  “There’s a large, hungry dog on the other side of that fence,” Riot said calmly in Cantonese. It was a ten pound Chihuahua. The most ferocious kind of dog there was.

  Jin froze, caught with indecision.

  “I, on the other hand, have a plate full of hot muffins. They’re like sticky buns without the sticky part.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, gaze darting to the two children at his side, and finally the plate in his hand.

  “You know Chinese, too?” Tobias asked.

  “Cantonese,” Riot corrected.

  “Who is he?” Sarah asked.

  “A guest.” He emphasized the last.

  “Well, he stole my lock picks,” Tobias said.

  “You are not supposed to have lock picks,” Riot said, firmly.

  Tobias shut his mouth.

  He was going to have to have a talk with Tim. Riot shoved that thought aside, and focu
sed on the escaping girl. “If I were you, Jin, I’d play nice, and take a muffin to bribe your way past the feral beast waiting to devour you on the other side of the fence. But that’s just me,” he said, taking a bite of a muffin. They truly were divine. “Or you could try a muffin. It’s your choice.”

  Jin ground her teeth. With a growl, she dropped to the dirt, crawled through the bushes towards them, and stood. She was still as dingy as when they’d found her.

  Keeping a suspicious eye on Riot, she edged forward, and snatched a muffin from the plate. Riot handed the plate to Sarah, and walked over to inspect Tobias’ fort. An old blanket served as a bed. It was neatly folded, and in need of a wash. A crude shelf took up one side of the wall, filled with a child’s prized collection of discoveries: shells, rocks, an old key, a rusty spring, and various animal bones.

  “You’re a regular magpie, Tobias.”

  “None of it’s stolen,” Tobias said.

  Sarah joined them, and wrinkled her nose. “It smells.”

  “It needs a woman’s touch,” Riot agreed. “Maybe some flowers.”

  “No, it does not,” Tobias said. “It only smells to girls. And they’re not allowed inside.”

  As the children fell to arguing, Riot glanced over his shoulder. Jin had cupped her muffin in both hands, and was nibbling the top off, as she watched his every move. She was likely wondering why he hadn’t grabbed her and marched her straight back to the carriage house.

  “I hope you’ll make an exception for our guest,” Riot said. “I think she feels more comfortable in here.”

  Tobias frowned at her. “He isn’t a girl. He’s a boy.”

  Sarah cocked her head, as if another angle would help her decide on Jin’s gender.

  “What happened to his face?” Tobias traced his own cheek, mimicking the scars that marred Jin’s. “How’d he get those? And why do Chinese wear that funny braid?”

  Jin took a step back.

  “I’ve always wondered that, too,” said Sarah between mouthfuls.

  “It’s called a queue,” Riot explained. “The Manchu forced the Han to wear them as a sign of submission. Now it’s a source of pride.”

  “Well, it’s funny,” Tobias said. “What’s his name?”