The Red Heart of Jade

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “I would care,” she said, looking at Kevin as she spoke. The man’s eyes rolled around in his head; Dean did not think he would show a similar compassion for Miri, although he had given back the jade. Kevin stared at Dean; he could almost feel his eyes drilling a hole through his shirt to the scar beneath.

  Robert seemed to notice. He nudged Kevin with his foot and the man cast him a baleful glare and groaned around his gag.

  “They have not been very talkative,” Robert said mildly. “I only managed to find this place—which, I must admit, was a complete surprise—because one of their young associates was so terrified, so mistreated, that by the time I found him, he spilled out everything he knew, which had more to do with location than actual motivation. Except for one thing.” Robert smiled. “He said the second jade fragment could be found here. Imagine that. More than one artifact.”

  “And you haven’t grabbed it yet?”

  “I was waiting for the both of you to arrive, as I knew you would. Eventually. And besides, I was in no hurry. The hiding place itself is apparently … booby-trapped.”

  “Booby-trapped.”

  “Yes. My understanding of the matter is that the traps themselves are quite old-fashioned. Which, frankly, I find overdone, but I gather the devices were built some centuries ago by individuals with great imagination, much dedication, and far too much time on their hands.”

  “Right,” Dean said. “My question still stands. Why haven’t you gone after it yet? This should be a piece of cake. You can’t die.”

  “But I can become stuck,” Robert said. “Trapped.”

  “Get your men to free you.”

  Robert said nothing. Dean studied his impassive face, his gaze flickering to the two men in the corner who were pretending not to listen. It occurred to him that Robert, despite his great power, his cool, his control, did not trust the men he was with. Or rather, he trusted them to a point, but not where it counted. Not with his life. He had no real leverage over them, except, presumably, the money he was paying them.

  And money was not always enough. Dean and Miri, on the other hand …

  “Why would we help you?” Dean asked. “Why go down there and risk our lives?”

  “Because you want the jade and you want the truth,” Robert said, quiet. “You want those things as much as I do. But if you try to descend without me, I will shoot you, and while you, Mr. Campbell, might be immune to my bullets—maybe—Dr. Lee most certainly is not. At least, not if her hospital records are to be believed.”

  “And shooting you would be a waste of time,” Miri said. “Though maybe not a total waste.”

  “So spirited,” Robert said. “Oh well. Shall we go?”

  Dean looked at Miri, who met his gaze with narrowed eyes. After a moment, though, she nodded.

  “Lovely. The men will remain here and keep an eye on things. You can imagine what will happen if either of you returns without me.”

  “They’ll thank us?” Dean asked, thinking, There’s the leverage, there is why he trusts us more than his men. Because we have something to lose.

  “Maybe,” Robert said, with a thoughtful glance in their direction. “But fortunately they are paid to follow most orders.”

  “And you?”

  He smiled. “My dear Mr. Campbell. I follow nothing but my own heart.”

  Down the rabbit hole. Alice, through the looking glass, crawling through ancient tunnels, marking time beneath glittering cities, surrounded by Cheshire Cats and Mad Hatters, knights and queens, and here … here … darkness.

  The water spilled over only one side of the hole, and thankfully, that was not the side with grooves in the stone for climbing. Miri did not see them until she stepped close with her light shining.

  “You have got to be kidding,” she muttered, bending down to feel how deep the cuts in the rock were. Not deep at all. Luckily, the intervals were meant for shorter people—no long reaches. At least, not in the part she could see. And if this thing was booby-trapped …

  We’re going to die.

  She almost said it out loud, but suddenly felt suspicious that words were things, and that by saying them, she would make it happen. So she thought her fear instead, and then buried it quick, because she was not dead yet, and in this, she had no choice but to descend. Perhaps if she argued, the men would leave her behind—though Robert did not strike her as the chivalrous type. But there was Dean to think of, and she could not stand the idea of him leaving him alone with Robert. Dean was of no real value to the other man, not a tradeable commodity like herself.

  She could not stand, either, the idea of not knowing. Not after spending twenty years in that twilight state of holding on and letting go, loving and hating and wondering. She had him back. It was a miracle. She refused to let go of that.

  Dean went down first. He took a deep breath, gave Miri a look that was probably meant to be reassuring, but only made her stomach hurt, and then swung himself over the edge of the hole and began his slow vertical crawl. Miri stood on the rim, looking down. The height made her dizzy, but she gritted her teeth, lighting the way, trying to see to the bottom. Movement, maybe; water, splashing. She thought about drowning.

  Robert glanced at her. “I suspect you hate me.”

  Miri raised her eyebrows. “I don’t hate you. Not really. But you do … concern me. Greatly.”

  The corner of his mouth curved. “You are not the type to admit fear, are you?”

  Miri said nothing. Robert touched his neck. “You are a woman of constant surprises, Dr. Lee.”

  “Because a fearless woman is so rare?”

  This time Robert did smile. “Because you want to do what has to be done, no matter the consequences, no matter the horror. And that is a rare courage, Dr. Lee, in both men and women.”

  And then he sat down, swung his legs over the edge of the hole, and began climbing. Miri watched the red crown of his head and glanced at his men in the corner. They stared back. She looked away first and checked out Kevin and Ku-Ku, who still sprawled behind her like large hot dogs. She looked at them, contemplated saying a few words like “I hate your guts” and “Burn in hell, you liars,” but figured the message would be lost on them. They couldn’t give a rat’s ass about how she felt. They had their own problems now.

  Miri sat down. She took a deep breath. She hoped she did not fall. Awkward, feeling like all her coordination was fading fast, she edged herself over the mouth of the hole and lowered her legs until her feet felt the first cut in the stone. It was just large enough for her shoes. She scooted down, and found another cut. And another—until her body was all the way in and her fingers dug like a vise in the stone and there was no going back. Only down. Down and down and down. The air passing between her back and the falling water was very cold. Her fingers hurt with the chill, the unusual pressure on them.

  Below, Miri heard a loud splash. Dean said her name. Miri did not respond. Too much effort was required. One foot left the crevice and found another. Her hand followed. Then a foot, then a hand. The rock was slippery. Her breathing rasped loud and her heart pounded like the water below, drowning her ears with sound.

  Somewhere distant, another splash. Miri kept her face pressed to the rock. She stopped thinking, just moved. Moved because she had to.

  And then, quite suddenly, hands touched her ankles, her waist, and she felt herself pried off the wall and held against a warm body that smelled so good she wanted to cry. But she pulled herself together fast, and gazed up with a shaky smile at Dean, who did not smile, but looked as serious as she had ever seen him.

  They stood ankle deep in cold water, which flowed downward along another narrow tunnel, the walls black and sharp. Only one way to walk.

  Robert took the lead. He did so silently. If there were booby traps down here, then he was the best person to trip them. She simply did not understand why he was bothering. Yes, it made sense if he wanted the jade, but to have a change of heart? To go from cold to hot, in the space of hours, and all fo
r simple curiosity? There had to be more to it than that. There had to be a better reason.

  “So,” Miri said, speaking to Robert’s back. “You’re a mercenary.”

  “A mercenary,” he echoed, with a trace of amusement in his voice. “I suppose one could call me that. Among other things.”

  “And you can’t be killed,” Dean said.

  “I suppose not. I am almost unique, that way.”

  “Yeah,” Dean said. “I know another man who used to spit bullets. Just like you. Exactly like you.”

  It was a shock for Miri to hear Dean say that. Apparently, Robert thought so, too. He stumbled and turned. His eyes were flat, cold, but his voice, the tremor in it, was not so removed when he said, “You are lying to me.”

  “No.”

  “You must be.”

  “Hey,” Dean said.

  Robert drew in a slow breath. “In what way could he not die?”

  “Every way. He was indestructible.”

  “Like you, if I remember?” There was a hunger in Robert’s gaze when he asked.

  “Different circumstances.” Dean ran his fingers along Miri’s wrist, tapping. Four, and a slow draw on her skin. Weird, he said.

  Robert looked like he was going to turn away, start walking again, but he hesitated, and in a quiet voice said, “How? How was it done to him?”

  “A man cursed him,” Dean said, after a brief hesitation. “It’s complicated.”

  That was an understatement. Miri stared, trying to decide if she had really just heard correctly. Curse? Yes, very weird.

  Robert’s jaw tightened. “You said, used to spit bullets. He no longer has the gift?”

  “He broke the curse,” Dean said, and Miri looked from man to man, ignoring for a moment the craziness of what they were saying, studying instead the contrast in their faces: the terrible emotion hidden beneath the surface of Robert’s flat expression, revealed only by a tick in his cheek; and Dean, with his cool and calculating gaze, contemplative in a way that was far more remote than Robert.

  “What is this?” she asked, finally daring to break the silence between them. “What is it the both of you know?”

  Robert smiled, impossibly grim. “Men like me are not born, Dr. Lee. They are made. Made and broken and remade, again and again. And oh, what a tiresome thing that can be.”

  He gave Dean another hard look, then turned and walked away. Dean watched him, still with that unreadable expression on his face.

  “Dean,” Miri whispered.

  “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “It really is a long story.”

  Which was no comfort to her. She wanted to know now. But Dean started walking and Miri followed, sloshing silent and seething through the cold water. Someone had made Robert the way he was? Well, she had already guessed that part, though originally she had contemplated genetic engineering, some kind of government supersoldier à la the X-Files. Of course, given everything she had recently seen, maybe magic was the better answer. Magic, the bending of reality: a mysterious and inexplicable quality.

  Or not. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.

  The floor narrowed. It was difficult to walk. The ground had been worn smooth by the water, but it was still slippery, cold, and Miri clutched the walls on either side, trying to keep her balance as the water suddenly deepened.

  And then Robert disappeared.

  It happened fast: one blink, then nothing. Dean shone his light down, and there was no break in the path of flowing water, no whirlpool. The walls were solid and slick.

  Miri edged close, careful … and her toes met a dip, a drop in the ground. She teetered. Dean grabbed her shirt and hauled her back against him.

  “Hole,” she said, breathless.

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed, also unsteady. “But he didn’t pop back up.”

  “Trapped?”

  “Wait.” Dean crouched, shining his headlight on the moving water. He pointed and Miri bent close. She saw bubbles.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  Dean hesitated. “Do we really want to save him?”

  “We promised,” Miri said. “And if he can’t die, then being stuck underwater …”

  She did not need to finish. Dean stripped off his shirt and tied the end of it around his ankle. He handed the other end to Miri, who wrapped it securely around her wrist. She sat down in the water and braced her feet against the walls.

  “Be careful,” she said. Dean glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

  “If I don’t make it back,” he said, still smiling, “just think of this moment and let it keep you warm at night.”

  “Oh, brother,” she said, and tapped his backside with her foot. He ducked low, and went into the hole headfirst.

  It was a startling sight, seeing him slip under like that—another shift in her perception of reality—but she had no time to marvel because the shirt suddenly yanked so hard she almost went in after him. The pull was incredibly strong; Miri leaned backward, almost lying down in the water, groaning as her arms stretched and stretched. She felt vibrations along the shirt, movement, and then the pressure eased just slightly and a head emerged from the water. Red hair. Robert shot up, gasping, and pulled himself along the shirt until he straddled the ground, the bottom half of his body still underwater.

  “Dean!” Miri shouted at him. “Help me!”

  Robert heaved himself out and twisted, gathering up the shirt in his hands. He pulled hard, pushing backward into Miri—her legs practically in his ears—and together they hauled and hauled until Miri saw a foot—a beautiful, lovely, foot—and then a leg and a waist and finally, finally, Dean’s head popped out and all three of them lay together in an exhausted, soaked, and quivering heap.

  Robert coughed, choking up water. Dean did the same. Miri felt like she was going to have a heart attack.

  “Well,” Robert finally said. “There’s one.”

  “It felt like something was holding on to you both,” Miri said.

  Dean flopped on his side. “I think we’re walking on some kind of shelf. There’s more water running beneath us. And it’s fast.”

  “I managed to grab a portion of rock before I was sucked all the way in,” Robert said, “but the lower part of my body became trapped by the current. I couldn’t pull myself up.”

  “There must be more of these all over the place,” Miri muttered. “Good job, Robert. Glad you’re here.”

  “Oh. Thrilled to oblige.”

  All of them were soaking wet; Miri was very glad for her light jacket; she glanced down and saw her breasts clinging to the flimsy T-shirt.

  Robert stood. Dean grabbed Miri’s hand and helped her up.

  The hole in the path was not that wide—perhaps as long as a man’s shoulders turned sideways—and they were able to step over it without difficulty. They clung to the sides of the tunnel after that, trying to stay only on those parts they could see for certain beneath the water. They passed several more dark spots, places of indeterminate depth.

  Robert stayed in the lead, with Miri in the middle and Dean bringing up the rear. It was a reverse of their earlier position, but Dean kept one hand on her waist or shoulder at all times, and she thought it might be his way of reassuring himself that she was safe. It made her feel better, too, having him touching her. She tried to imagine them as children again, recalled sitting in dark corners with her braids swinging and him with some stick or piece of rope in his hand, trying to make a toy. And after movies, or after Miri had read a book and told him all about it—talking and talking about what it would be like to find the ring, the wardrobe, the magic that would lead them into a fantastic adventure away from city streets and grit and gray Philadelphia skies.

  Look at us now, she thought. It took twenty years, but here we are.

  Yes, here they were. She almost laughed. A good laugh, too, and not one tainted by irony. Even now, it seemed as though all she could do was marvel at Dean’s presence, think again how remarkable it was, how wondrous
. She could feel herself slipping into a kind of acceptance—moments taken for granted—and it was easy, because being with Dean was as comfortable as being with herself, like two peas in a pod. They had always been that way. Inseparable.

  And here, now, twenty years of the quiet life were done and gone, and maybe in an hour or a minute she would be dead, rolling away from this existence into another, but right now it was the old days, and she felt like Queen Bonnie to his King Clyde.

  The tunnel curved; around the bend, they came to a fork, a three-way split. Water flowed down all three directions. Robert sighed and leaned against the wall.

  “Suggestions?” he asked.

  Dean said nothing. He closed his eyes and Robert watched. He did not seem particularly surprised by what Dean was doing, and it bothered Miri that the man seemed to know so much about them.

  She edged close. “Just how much do you know about us?”

  Robert glanced down at her; she thought, perhaps, there was a glint of surprise in his eye. “I was given files, Dr. Lee. Very detailed files. However, seeing you with Mr. Campbell—your comfort with him—has been somewhat of a surprise. It indicates that you knew each other before last night’s events, and while Mr. Campbell’s documents indicate a childhood spent near your old neighborhood, I did not make the connection until I saw you both together.”

  “You didn’t know he would be there at the hotel, did you?”

  Robert hesitated. “No, I did not.”

  “But you had done research on him. You knew who he was when you saw him.”

  He did not answer her. Miri, forgetting all the fear she had felt for this man, all the danger he represented, pressed close. “Tell me,” she insisted. “Who gave you the information? And why? What was your next job? Going after him? One of his friends?”

  Robert finally looked at her. His eyes, even in the dim light, shone bright and pale and cold. A killing gaze, but Miri held herself steady. She did not falter. A muscle ticked in his cheek—anger, she thought—but his voice was surprisingly gentle as he said, “The files I was given do not matter, Dr. Lee. The moment I entered into a truce with you, I gave up my future contracts with this particular employer. There will be no retaliation, as long as I do not keep for myself what I was supposed to fetch, but I will no longer be trusted. Which is somewhat of a disappointment, though I have lived with worse. Either way, your Mr. Campbell is safe from me.” He smiled. “For the most part.”