by Gaie Sebold
When Holmforth arrived with a tray of food, she couldn’t even contemplate eating any of it, fancy though it looked. “And how are you finding your first flight?” he said.
“Wonderful!” Beth beamed at him, then glanced guiltily at Eveline.
“You don’t agree?” Holmforth said. Eveline gripped the table with both hands and hunched her shoulders. “This is an opportunity few will ever have. You should make the most of it. This is a British ship, one of the best in the world, you know.”
“I’m sure,” Eveline gritted out, wishing he would go away.
“Well, here is your lunch. I shall check on you again in an hour or so.” He went out, locking the door behind him.
“Do try a little,” Beth said. “It’s very good.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry I sounded so... but I am excited, even if it is all...”
“Oh, I know, and I don’t care. I mean, I don’t mind.”
THEY STOPPED IN Africa to refuel. Eveline was barely aware of the descent, the bustle, the brilliant light, the heat that seeped through the window, though Beth moaned with frustration. “Oh, I want to see. Africa! The colours... Oh, it’s so unfair, not to be able even to step outside. There might be lions!”
“Good reason not to step outside, then,” Eveline said absently.
“Evvie, do look!”
“Later.”
“We won’t be here later.”
“If I don’t get this right, we won’t be anywhere later.”
Eventually they set off again, into the darkling sky. Even Beth finally had to abandon her post at the window and sleep, though she left the curtain open so that she could look at the stars. Eveline huddled in the bed, trying not to think about the thousands of feet between her and solid ground, gnawing and gnawing over what she was to do, worrying about Mama, incarcerated somewhere in this blasted unnatural beast of a thing.
Shanghai
WHEN SHE WOKE, Beth, already up and dressed, was at the window. “I was about to wake you. I think we’re coming in.”
“Is it Shanghai?” Eveline said.
“It must be. But I can’t see a great deal, the fog is almost as bad as London. Oh, there’s another airship! That must be the aerodrome!”
Holmforth came to fetch them, looking as quietly dapper as ever, the velvet collar of his grey overcoat turned up around his neck, his hat at a precise, gentlemanly angle. “You’re ready? Good. Come with me.”
“Where’s Mama?”
“She has gone ahead to the hotel,” he said, with a slight air of impatience, for all the world as though Madeleine Duchen was a normal traveller, instead of a hostage.
He had someone with him, Eveline thought. He must have, to deal with Mama. Unless he was simply paying people both in London and here – but surely that would risk drawing attention? He was immensely secretive, after all; he still hadn’t told her what he wanted. She must remember not to let slip that she knew anything.
Shanghai turned out to be cold, and grey, and thick with rain – much like London, in fact, except for the rickshaws, which were everywhere, and smell, which was slightly different from Limehouse.
Now and then she thought she caught a glimpse of Liu; of course, there were Chinese everywhere, though none of them turned out to be him.
You’d better do what you’re supposed to, Liu. She’d ended up relying on him for a big chunk of the plan, and now she wished there’d been another way.
Holmforth raised his cane. Instantly they were surrounded by eager rickshaw drivers clamouring for their business, claiming how fast, how clean, with what astonishing speed they would reach their destination... Eveline realised she could follow the pidgin quite well, and even the few words of Chinese that she caught. That was Liu’s doing, too. Now she knew he was Folk (half-Folk, yes, all right, half, she’d allow him that much), she wondered if that had something to do with how quickly she’d learned a language that was, after all, far harder to pick up than French.
The rickshaw drivers were all terribly thin, and woefully underdressed for the weather in ragged cotton trousers and shirts worn to transparency. Only one of them had a thick quilted jacket for the cold, and even that was so dirty and faded its original colours could scarcely be guessed at. Apart from the cast of their features, there was little to choose between them and the factory workers at home.
Holmforth made his choice and settled the girls in, one hand firmly on Eveline’s arm. He didn’t seem nearly as troubled about Beth running off.
Their driver bent to the shafts, the knobs of his spine clearly visible through his rain-dampened shirt, his queue a poor straggly thing, nothing like the glossy thickness of Liu’s. Eveline wondered however he was supposed to pull the three of them, but somehow he managed, though his ragged breathing was audible even over the noise of the crowds.
“What’s that sound?” Beth said. A rising roar could be heard from somewhere beyond the vast buildings of the Bund.
“The racetrack. Racing is very popular here,” Holmforth said. “I have never understood the appeal, myself. But then, many of the European population have a great deal of both leisure and money at their disposal, which they choose to fritter away in such pursuits. Not a good example. But then, you will be unlikely to meet them.”
Eveline thought wistfully of the races she had attended at Alexandra Palace, and the excellent pickings they had offered. If only a sharp-eyed peeler was the worst she had to worry about now.
Yet, like Beth, she could not help staring at the hundreds of ships drawn up along the waterfront, the great cargo steamers and tiny fragile junks, the huge warehouses and businesses with their elaborate classical frontages. Hundreds of people, Chinese and European and a great multiplicity of others of all types and shades and costumes, more variety than she had seen even in London. Men in long, loose white robes over white trousers, in square-jacketed suits of silk, in frock-coats and brightly coloured robes. Round black hats, hats with tassels, hats with buttons, stovepipe hats and flat caps and turbans. There were women, too, though far fewer out on the streets among the men. Perhaps they were all hidden away. There were Chinese women with babies or baskets strapped to their backs who walked in the strangest way, swaying from side to side, as though on tiptoe, European women in nip-waisted dresses with tiered skirts and fantastical hats with flowers and birds and veils, holding fringed umbrellas painted with Chinese characters. Everywhere the snapping rhythms of pidgin and the slip-slide musicality of Chinese, but also the quick liquidity of French, and the clatter and twang of a dozen other languages she knew not at all. Even some of the English was strange to her ears, with drawn-out vowels and odd rhythms.
“Who are they?” she said, gesturing at one group.
“Americans,” Holmforth said. “Vulgar people, as a rule, with more influence than they deserve. Ah, here we are.”
The hotel was not unlike the one he had taken Eveline to in London, but distinctly more luxurious. All the staff were Chinese; white-jacketed, soft-footed, and so extremely deferential that it made Eveline uneasy.
She felt wound to a twanging tension. Here she was, thousands of miles from home, with her mother’s life, and Beth’s too, in her hands, and who knew how many others, if anything Liu had told her was true.
They reached their room.
“Mama! Are you all right? I’m so sorry!”
Madeleine leapt from her chair and embraced Eveline, then turned to Beth. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“I’m Beth Hastings,” Beth said with a curtsey.
“So you see,” Holmforth said, “your mother has come to no harm. I am going to leave you ladies while I arrange transport, and then we must be off.” He closed and locked the door.
“Are you well, Eveline?” Madeleine held her at arm’s length and looked her over. “That man – was that Holmforth?”
“Yes. Bastard.”
“Eveline Duchen!”
“Sorry, Mama. But he is. I mean, actually, as well.
Not that that part’s his fault.”
“So what are we going to do?” Beth said.
“I’m getting an idea. I think. But I gotta talk to Holmforth.”
“Mrs Duchen?” Beth said. “Please, could I talk with you? I saw your notes and I think I have an inkling about a few things...”
“You do?” Eveline said. “Why didn’t you say?”
“Because I’m not sure and I might be wrong. And you wouldn’t know if I was.”
“True enough,” Eveline said.
AS SOON AS Holmforth returned, Eveline confronted him.
“What happens after?”
“What do you mean?”
“I show you this machine works. What happens to me, and to my mama?”
“Oh, I’m sure we can find somewhere comfortable for your mama, maybe even some sort of pension. You...” He looked her up and down. “Depending on what results we achieve with the machine, you will be required to help me find more people with Etheric potential, train them if that is possible.”
“I want a promise. For Mama, and for me, when you’re done with me. In writing, all legal and proper.”
“You really are in no position to make demands, but as a gesture of goodwill I am happy to do so.”
“Now. Before we go. And signed. And addressed to whoever you answer to, back home. And money and papers so we can get home.”
“Whoever I answer to? Now why would you think that necessary?”
“This machine, if it works – there’s other people might be interested in it, ain’t there? I en’t missed everything in the lessons. You never let on when you’ve got a big prize up; you do that, every thief for a mile around’s going to see if they can get there first. And that’s when things are like to get nasty. And what happens to us if you should get murdered? Stuck here without papers and no way of getting home?”
“Now, Miss Duchen. You need not think I am foolish enough to provide you with the means to run off!” He smiled. “I will, however, write the letter you require, to provide you with peace of mind.”
“’Slong as you give me that, then.”
“Now, shall we get on?” Holmforth said.
“Not till you’ve writ that letter.”
She stood over him while she did it, watching every word. Without a lawyer of her own, she’d no idea if the language meant much. But it was his handwriting and his signature she wanted.
“Shall we go?” He offered Madeleine Duchen his arm, and she took it.
THERE WAS NO rickshaw this time; instead, a more luxurious sort of steam hansom. The body was glossy and black, the wheels bright scarlet, the three sets of seats of plushly padded, deep-buttoned leather. Holmforth handed them all in as though he were escorting them to a tea-dance. The driver wore a dark blue suit with brass buttons and a peaked cap pulled low over his eyes.
“Very fancy, I must say,” Eveline remarked. “Flunkies, too. Your tumbler, is it?”
“If by tumbler you mean vehicle, no, it belongs to the Consulate. If your worst fears are realised, Miss Duchen, you must make your way there. They will be able to assist you.”
Worst fears, my foot, Eveline thought. ’Fyou were to meet a sticky end, Mr Holmforth, I’d be jumping like a Jack-in-the-box.
Holmforth handed them each into the car with perfect courtesy, and got in after them.
“Oh,” Holmforth said, “please do not attempt to jump out, or anything of that sort. I have a gun. I would be reluctant to use it, but I’m afraid I cannot allow anything to jeopardise this.”
Eveline felt her mother stiffen with fear and gave her hand a reassuring pat, thinking of Ma Pether. I don’t like guns. They change things, make everything much more dangerous than needs be. She couldn’t help wishing they had Ma Pether along now.
There was a sack lying across the rearmost set of seats. It had a disturbing shape.
“What’s that?” Madeleine said.
“Material for the demonstration.”
“But it looks like a person.”
“It’s not a person,” Holmforth said. “Little more than an animal, really.”
Eveline felt the nape of her neck shiver. He was half-Folk himself. And he still thought of them, of people like Liu, as animals.
What did that mean for how he saw himself?
Beth craned her neck to see what the driver was doing, and, after watching him for a few minutes, sighed, and looked around her instead. “What’s that building?”
“A factory. Part of the French Concession.”
“I can hear machinery. What does it do?”
“Oh, some form of manufacturing, probably. Shanghai is the province of business, far more than of good government.” Holmforth frowned. “It has been poorly handled. Far too many concessions have been made to the demands of other countries, and to financial interests. One can hope that the same mistakes will be avoided in future.”
He means when we invade the Crepuscular, Eveline thought. If Liu’s right, he really doesn’t have the slightest idea how big a mistake that would be.
The streets grew more and more narrow; brilliantly coloured banners of cloth and paper fluttered from the houses cramming the streets. They passed through layers of smells – vile, delicious, simply odd. There were shops full of tiny embroidered shoes with pointed toes that looked as though they were made for children. Shops full of strange vegetables, pallid long ones like the fingers of drowned giants, fat hairy ones, and great piles of leaves spilling out onto the floor. Little dark caves of shops lined with boxes and bottles and jars of dried stuff. Rickshaws scurried and bounced along the streets, full and empty. The driver leaned on his horn and yelled them out of the way. Poor people huddled in doorways here as they did everywhere.
Eveline could see Holmforth’s hands whitening on his cane. She felt for her mother’s hand and clutched it. Madeleine pressed her fingers.
THE HOUSES BEGAN to thin out, the road roughened. The landscape spread out around them, green and grey beneath the grey sky. Flat fields glittered with water, trees here and there stood sentinel. A few figures in wide, pointed hats moved along hidden paths, their heads turning at the noise of the engine to watch the car puff and rumble past.
“Oh, look!” Beth pointed. “What is that?”
It was about the size and shape of a pheasant, but its body was scarlet, its head and back bright gold splashed with brilliant blue and bronze. It seemed more like jewellery than a living thing, but just like a pheasant back home, it ran, neck stretched with panic, in front of the car for a few feet before remembering its wings and taking off, scolding loudly.
“A golden pheasant,” Holmforth said. “The shooting is quite good here.”
The further they moved from the city, the more nervous Eveline became. Even if they could get away from Holmforth, where, in this flat, sparsely-populated landscape, could they hide?
The house stood in isolation, surrounded by a high wall of yellowed bricks. Above the wall, the black roof-corners curved up like the prows of boats.
The gate set in the wall was of red-lacquered wood, studded with brass bosses in the shapes of snarling creatures.
It was the sort of gate, in the sort of wall, that indicated strongly that the occupant desired privacy.
It was standing slightly ajar. Eveline’s few nerves that weren’t already singing joined the chorus.
She looked at Holmforth. His mouth tightened. “Get out of the car, ladies, and stay close,” he said. “You! Driver! Stay with the vehicle, and keep your eyes open. Should any of these women be foolish enough to try to run, they are to be stopped, alive, please.”
The driver nodded. Eveline shot a glance at him; he was Chinese, or perhaps a mix of Chinese and English – his face, in any case, was impassive. The gun he raised looked unpleasantly large and efficient.
Holmforth heaved the sack out of the rearmost seat and slung it over his shoulder.
Holmforth gestured to the women to follow him through the gate, and into the courtyard. A stat
ue of a snarling thing that looked to Eveline like a cross between a lion and one of the school’s dogs stood there, and beyond was the house, presenting them with a blank wall. “The entrance is around the side,” Holmforth said. “That way.”
“Mr Holmforth, what exactly are we doing here?” Madeleine Duchen said.
Holmforth jolted, as though he had not expected her to be able to speak. “You, madam, are here to provide insurance that your daughter will do what is required of her. Neither she nor you nor this other young lady will come to any harm, if all goes as planned.”
“No harm?” Madeleine stopped, holding Eveline’s arm. “To make a weapon of something that was only ever intended for good? You don’t think that doing that, being made to do that, is harmful? That it is a dreadful thing to ask of someone?”
No, Mama! Eveline’s gut clenched. Now Holmforth knew what Mama knew, he would see her as a risk.
Holmforth sighed. “This is hardly the time. Something is wrong here, and I am asking that she serve the best interests of the British Empire. Now please, stay close, and keep moving. There should be servants, a houseboy at least, Wu Jisheng... oh.”
The women caught sight of the foot at the same time. It was a very small foot, in an embroidered, point-toed slipper. It was attached to a slim white-clad leg, lying on the floor. The rest was hidden behind the partly-open door.
Holmforth nudged it open.
A young woman lay there, her mouth open, her eyes wide, and a dark pool of blood spreading from beneath her, across the smooth grey stone floor.
Eveline clutched her mother’s hand, and with the other felt for the small, reassuring lump that was the jade fox.
Beth swallowed. “She’s... dead, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Be quiet,” Holmforth said. “Come with me, quickly.”
“But what if someone’s...” Eveline said.
“Quiet, I said!” Gesturing with the gun, Holmforth hurried them forwards, past the dead woman, through rooms painted with strange birds and beasts, filled with odd ornaments and brilliantly coloured statues and, strangely, great glittering clocks that ticked and chimed, European clocks adorned with fanciful shepherds and shepherdesses and pink, puffing cherubs.
