“A debt? My God, did you help him stow away?”
“No! I swear to you, I did not.” Aiden pushed back the urge to vomit up the brandy. “Jian was always scheming how to escape. I only suspected at the last minute that he might try to hide aboard the Raven.”
“You never told me any of this before.”
“I haven’t. I’m sorry.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Aiden said. “At first I doubted his story myself, then there didn’t seem to be anything I could do anyway. And I—I didn’t want to risk—” The words closed his throat. “Everything.”
“What does she want from you now?” Christopher said.
“Nothing!” Aiden said. “We’re in love. Only that.”
“Nonsense.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Be serious.” Christopher got up from his chair and paced over to the window and back. The room was still mostly empty, though men were starting to come in for the lunch buffet. “It isn’t hard to sort these things out,” he said quietly. “Most men keep a mistress. There are apartments for them. It will be harder with a Chinese girl, of course. But I will ask around discreetly.”
“I don’t want her as a mistress in some apartment,” Aiden said. “I want to marry her.”
“You can’t,” Christopher said. “Besides all the obvious social reasons, it isn’t legal.”
“Somewhere it must be.”
“Perhaps, but you would still be shunned from any decent society. You’d have no opportunities at all.”
“Your world isn’t the only world.”
“Don’t throw your life away, Aiden,” Christopher said seriously as he sat back down in the plush chair. It was spooky how much he suddenly resembled his father: in posture, in tone and in sentiment. “My father has embraced you like a son. I have embraced you like a brother. We have taken you into our family and our empire. You have a future now—you cannot just throw that away! You might even be allowed to marry Elizabeth someday.”
“I like Elizabeth very much,” Aiden said. “But it is not a marriage affection. And she knows this,” he added urgently. “It is her understanding as much as mine. I have never been false in my affections to her!”
“Still,” Christopher said. “Even if this Ming were a white girl, you hardly know her! Good, well-bred girls are villainous enough when they sniff fortune—how much more so for a Chinese girl? There are plenty of ways to arrange for her.”
“I don’t want to arrange for her.” Aiden looked down at the newspaper on the table, and through the tornado now swirling in his brain, he realized an awful possibility. The Chronicle was everywhere. It was dropped in stacks at every cheap saloon, then urchin boys gathered them up and sold them off again in bundles for toilet paper. Aiden remembered the stack of papers on the narrow shelf in the room. He pictured Ming in the little room, no one to talk to, nothing to do, taking down that stack of papers to pass the time.
“Oh shit!” Aiden grabbed his coat and started for the door. “I have to go.”
“Where?” Christopher said. “We haven’t sorted this out yet. And your clothes—” Christopher grabbed the bag of clothes and followed Aiden outside. They nearly collided with Fish in the street.
“Hello,” he said. “Where are you going? Your note said noon.”
“Sorry!” Aiden said. “I can’t explain now.” He took off running as fast as he could.
“Explain what?” Fish said. “What’s going on?”
“A mess,” Christopher replied. “Come on before he ruins his life.”
The lunch buffet at Paradise was meager, but with beer only ten cents and a clientele unwelcome in the nicer places, it attracted a big crowd. Aiden had to shove his way through to the back stairs. It could all be fine, he thought, trying to calm his racing heart. Even if Ming had read the story, she wouldn’t necessarily have realized that her own brother was the coolie, or that Aiden was the one who had killed him. He had told her only the barest details. He knocked on the door, then pulled it open, his heart pounding. She was waiting for him, sitting in rigid dread, but with a soft tilt of hopefulness in her shoulders, waiting to be told it was all a mistake, wanting to believe a better truth. The paper was on the bed beside her. Her pants were dry and brushed free of mud clumps but were stained at the bottom. She had smoothed and braided her hair, though little snarls frizzed from the lack of a real comb. The ancestors looked grim and sleepy. The cherubs gazed indifferently in their frozen innocence.
“This is the story you told me last night.” Her voice was toneless and steady. She pressed her palm upon the newspaper. “This is my brother.”
“Yes,” Aiden said.
“You did not tell it like this.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You lied to me!”
“No!” Aiden said desperately. “I never did. I—I just thought…you didn’t need to know it all…so harshly. It wouldn’t change anything.”
He stepped into the room, but his shoulder knocked against the shelf and he stumbled into the edge of the bed. Ming recoiled. He wanted to smash this room now, break out the walls and put them both alone in the middle of the prairie, with nothing but horizon. He was such a coward. He could fight men and shoot wolves, swim a raging river and walk two thousand miles, but in this most important test he had failed utterly.
“I am so sorry.”
Ming smacked Aiden across his face. He wanted a thousand more smacks—the sting meant something.
“The money you say you have,” she went on. “The money for our life together—it comes from this? From the guano?” She held the paper up with a shaking hand. “From ‘conditions unfit even for the yellow man’?”
“I am out of the business now,” Aiden said.
“From my own brother’s blood?”
“I have nothing more to do with it.”
There was a scuff of footsteps behind them on the stairs. Christopher appeared on the tiny landing, with Fish right behind him. Ming did not seem to notice or to care who they were.
“It is the truth,” Christopher interrupted. “Sorry, um, excuse me for intruding—I could hear on the stairs. But it is the truth, what Aiden is telling you. I was there. I’m Christopher—I met you briefly at my house.…”
“Christopher, leave us—please!”
“I’m trying to help!” Christopher leaned around Aiden. “Forgive me for intruding,” he said to Ming. “He did give up his half of the ship! And he did not want to shoot your brother. There was just nothing else to be done!”
“Stop!” Aiden whispered urgently.
But Christopher yanked the confused Fish forward into the doorway. “This is the captain of our ship. He will confirm that!”
The little room went deadly silent, the only sound the click of a latch and squeak of a door as someone, curious about the commotion, peeked out onto the tiny landing from one of the other rooms.
“You killed my brother?” Ming whispered, her voice tight. She stood up so she was only inches away from Aiden. “You yourself?”
The world stopped. Aiden said nothing, but Ming searched his eyes and saw the truth. She gave one angry sob, then pushed past them all and ran down the stairs.
“Ming, wait!” Aiden shouted. He ran after her, his feet hitting barely enough steps on the narrow stairway to not fall. She ran into Paradise and darted easily through the crowd, though she jostled one man enough to spill his beer. Aiden pushed his way after her, but the man who had been bumped was angry and swung at Aiden. The blow caught him across the chest.
“Sorry!” Aiden held up his hands and tried to pass, but the man swore and flailed at him. Aiden punched the man in the stomach. The crowd cheered. A brawl was even better than a free lunch. But Aiden did not want a fight—just escape. He simply jabbed and ducked, kicked and shoved, his way through the crowd. He was almost at the door when a man threw a chair at his legs and tripped him. Aiden tumbled forward, bounced off a table and slid i
nto the wall. The floor was slippery and gritty from wet boots, but he managed to get to his feet and shove his way the last few yards to the door. He burst outside and searched the street for Ming. He saw nothing but the usual drab men in their dirty brown clothes. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was indeed looking for drab, dirty clothes, not her blue silk skirt. But finally he saw her, running fast, already a block away.
He ran after her, down the sloggy street, straining to keep sight of her. As he neared, he saw two Chinese men run toward Ming from a side street. One of the men caught her arm and yanked her. Aiden dashed the last few yards and tackled the man, slamming him to the ground, then punching him so hard he knocked him out cold. Ming was flung to the ground. The second man, only a few steps behind, pulled a short club from the loose sleeve of his tunic and swung. Aiden raised his arm just in time to break the blow. He heard a loud crack but couldn’t tell if it was wood or his own bone. He rolled away and kicked the man’s feet out from under him. But the attacker was nimble and sprang up immediately. Two more Chinamen were running to the scene. Gouzhi had sent a small army; they must have followed Christopher from his home. Aiden launched himself on both of the men with a fury, but they knew how to fight the same way Aiden did. The fight was fast and brutal. His right arm was still numb from the blow.
The air was full of dirt and shouting, then Aiden saw with relief that Fish and Christopher had come to his aid. Fish, a good foot taller than the Chinese men, got one of them around the neck and wrenched him away. Christopher managed to distract the other. A crowd of men had gathered as well, giving Aiden hope. On the Barbary Coast, a fight was always entertainment, but no one would let Chinese beat white men for long. Aiden felt a kick to his knee, then one of the men grabbed his injured arm and spun him to the ground. Through the dust and chaos, Aiden saw Gouzhi. He had hold of Ming, twisting her arm behind her back, a dagger pressed hard against her cheek. He was not about to lose Silamu Xie’s prize again. He bellowed a command in Chinese, and all his men immediately stopped fighting and came to his side.
“Don’t hurt her.” Aiden raised his hands. Fish let his captive go, and he and Christopher stood beside Aiden, a determined but futile phalanx. The men in the crowd fell quiet—no one knew what was going on now, and no one wanted to get involved in Chinese business, especially when there were knives involved. Gouzhi barked something. Ming translated, her voice quavering with terror.
“He says that—that Silamu Xie will not care if his—his pet dog—has an ugly face.”
Gouzhi would not kill Ming, Aiden realized, but he could scar her cruelly with just a few slashes. She would still be useful for producing sons.
“Tell him all right,” Aiden said steadily to Ming. “Go with him. Don’t be afraid. Tell him not to hurt you. We won’t fight.”
He wanted to tell her more—that he would come for her somehow, that she should never stop believing that, that he loved her. He just held her gaze and hoped his eyes could say enough. Hoped to see forgiveness in return.
Then a shot cracked out. People immediately began to scatter, ducking into saloons or behind wagons. Gouzhi looked surprised. He dropped the knife. He looked down at his chest with puzzlement. A dark stain of blood was spreading across the front of his coat. Then his knees buckled and he fell forward into the street. Ming screamed and darted away. Another of the Chinese men grabbed her, but Aiden sprang immediately and wrestled the man away. They both tumbled to the ground, fighting savagely. Fish ran over and grabbed Gouzhi’s knife. Aiden punched and kicked, but the man drove a knee into his stomach, then straddled him, wrapped thin, steely hands around his neck and began choking him. Another shot sounded—so close Aiden could smell the gunpowder. The Chinese man screamed and twisted away, clutching his side and falling in a cringing agony. Aiden squirmed out from under him. He saw all the other Chinese attackers running away up the street. He saw Fish standing a few yards away, next to Gouzhi’s body, holding the man’s knife. His other arm was wrapped around Ming’s shoulders. She was safe.
“Aiden, are you all right?” Christopher knelt beside him. It was only then that Aiden felt a burning pain in his thigh and noticed the sticky flow of blood. The world went very quiet and slow.
“Good God!” Christopher flinched. “I think she shot you!”
Aiden saw Blind Sally standing a few yards away. Her giant pistol was still smoking. The sunlight glinted off the gold braid of her tattered military coat. The Moon stood by her side, his back in a ridge of aggression, watching the crowd, growling at anyone who moved.
“Did I hit you, boy?” Blind Sally said. “Sorry for that. That big one was the easy one.” She nodded at Gouzhi. “This one—” She waved her pistol toward the man who had been choking Aiden. “Skinny little man and moving fast as he was—well, sorry. Guess the bullet went clean through.” She tucked the pistol into her belt. “You learn that today, boy—always hold still when a blind woman shoots.”
’m sorry, Aiden,” Fish said. “She still doesn’t want to see you.”
“But she’ll go with you?” Aiden asked weakly. He had lost a lot of blood, and everything was melting in and out of foggy noise. The doctor had bandaged his leg but was impatient to do surgery while they still had good daylight.
“Yes,” Fish said. “She will stay with my mother tonight. We will sail in the morning. I will take care of her. I promise.”
Aiden nodded. “Thank you.”
Fish would take Ming to Jefferson J. Jackson’s compound north of Seattle. The old man, retired now from leading wagon trains, had a large extended family of half-breed Indian and Mexican children and grandchildren. He would not object to sheltering a Chinese girl. And it would only be for a little while, Aiden thought. Ming would come to understand. She would forgive Aiden, and they would get married and find a place in the world where they could live together. Aiden pulled the envelope of cash from his jacket pocket. Surprisingly, it had not fallen out during all the fighting.
“She will need clothes. Practical things, but a dress too. A nice one. And good boots and—”
“We’ll take care of it,” Fish said, taking the money. “Don’t worry.”
“She needs painting things—an inkstone and brushes for her painting. There is special paper too.” Aiden winced with pain. “It’s called the four treasures.”
“Be quiet,” Christopher said. “Will you just lie still?”
“Get some presents too—toys and sweets. Jackson has dozens of children there.”
“I need to operate now,” the surgeon said crossly. Christopher frowned. He had wanted to send for their own family doctor, but Aiden pointed out that high-society doctors didn’t tend to have much experience with gunshots. Dr. Patrick was well regarded on the Barbary Coast, when he was sober, and his table looked clean. His assistant, a light-skinned Negro man with short gray hair, set a little bottle of chloroform and the mask on the tray and rolled up his sleeves.
“Tell Mr. Jackson I will write to him soon,” Aiden said. “And please, Fish—you can explain it all to Ming—tell her I’m sorry.”
“Help get him on the table,” the surgeon said to Christopher and Fish. “Then stay or go as you like, just shut up and stay out of my way.”
When Aiden woke up, he was lying on a canvas cot with a coarse blanket over him. He felt cold as a stone. The room was dark, except for the light of the moon, just one day past full, shining in through the bare window. It gleamed on the white enamel operating table nearby. His head ached and his leg throbbed. He couldn’t move. His right arm was splinted snugly between thin boards. The room smelled of blood and carbolic soap. He turned his head and saw a single candle on a table across the little room. Christopher was sleeping in the chair beside it.
The next time he woke, it was morning. The sky outside was gray and foggy. He tried to sit up, but the world spun. For a minute, Aiden thought he was on the lumber boat, the morning after the shark, a lifetime ago at the beginning of it all. He lay back and lifted the blanke
t. His leg was swathed in bandages. Blood had soaked through, but there was no smell of rot, so Aiden felt relieved. But the fog worried him. Would it be too dense for Fish to sail? He almost hoped for that, for then he could go himself to see Ming. She had had a whole night to soften her heart. Christopher, roused by Aiden’s activity, sat up in the chair.
“You’re still alive,” he said sleepily.
“Yes,” Aiden said. “Is there water?”
Christopher got up and poured him a glass from a tin pitcher. Aiden drank the whole thing down.
“Does it hurt awfully bad?”
“No,” Aiden lied.
“You can’t get up. There’s a jug there if you need to piss.” He refilled the glass.
“Thank you for staying with me.”
“Oh, well.” Christopher shrugged. “I wasn’t about to go walking home alone through the Barbary Coast after dark.” He stretched and slapped his face, then walked over to the window and peered out. “She disappeared, you know,” Christopher said. “Your crazy lady.”
“Blind Sally?”
“Just vanished! Shoots two people in broad daylight—well, three people, in fact—and then walks off.”
“I’m sure she’ll turn up again,” Aiden said.
“The bullet is enormous,” Christopher said, retrieving a jar from a shelf near the washstand. “And it wasn’t smashed, which the doctor said was good.” He shook the jar and Aiden heard the metallic clank. “Will you put it in your pouch?”
“I don’t know,” Aiden said. What sort of token would that be except a reminder of his own stupidity?
“The doctor said he would come by this morning to check on you. He couldn’t really tell if your arm is broken—it’s not bad enough for him to feel anything anyway, but he splinted it to be on the safe side. He says you must not be moved for a day or two, but I think if we use Mother’s new buggy, it would be all right. It has marvelous springs and is very smooth. You can’t stay in this wretched place. That cot doesn’t even have a mattress.”
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