by S. L. Hawke
“The business, or money from the mine, is separate, I suppose.”
“The next thing you know we will be fighting over water or coal or the right to run a railway through your back yard.” Andrew scowled, looking a bit like his father Art, but with hair.
“I’m sure the government will find a way around it.” My mare let out too loud a sound from her rear and by the way she shifted, I realized I just dirtied the streets with my mare’s opinion. Time to find food and feed this old woman of a horse, she reminded me. We moved in behind the Cavalry troops, Andrew checking his bags for the seizure writ. I took his horse and gestured for him to go find the General.
The General and Andrew found each other as the regiment set up tents for infantry and found housing in a newer three story barracks that was still partially under construction. Both men went in search of the mine manager while Fergus and I saw to the horses and men.
The Cavalry Officers got first floor billeting at three per room. They took up the whole first floor. I found a nice end room for Andrew, Fergus, and me. Fergus was pleased at the new clean iron fire stove in the corner. He opened its single window letting all manner of dust and bugs into the wooden plank room. As he left, I closed the shutters, but not before I saw that the private in charge of the horses had just let them wander into the hotel vegetable garden. Two Chinese servants were scaring them off. Shaking my head and glad it wasn’t me, I closed the shutters and was about to tell Fergus when I overheard raised voices.
Back down the hallway was the entrance to the kitchen in the basement. From the narrow stairs the voices seeped up through the floor boards. I peered down to see into the large, spotless cooking space.
The Chinese cook yelled frantically at Fergus who to my amazement yelled back in the same dialect. This went on as I stood bent over in the access stairwell that suited the staff just fine. I sat down on the well-worn fir steps listening to the sing song nature of Chinese and its dialects. Marveling at Fergus’ command of the language, I listened to it as most men would listen to fine music. Chinese and its dialects have always defeated me. It was the tonality of it and the subtlety of its writing and placement, which, though writing was easier in all the languages I had studied, in the use of Chinese was triple: Formal, reserved only for royals; Scholarly for intellectuals; Legal for notices, accounting, and informal letters. The cook calmed down when Fergus handed him a gold coin and gave him several pats on the shoulder.
“Well, that should take care of this evening. Now I need to see to the needs of the Infantry,” Fergus said more with excitement than weariness. The men, all three hundred of them, were waiting patiently for us in a variety of states: seated, standing, and some laying upon their packs with a forearm draped over their eyes. It was afternoon, and the heat was beginning to shimmer. The men wore blue wool and their discomfort showed in the worn, dirty, dusty faces that looked up at us with some hope.
“Camp alongside the river two clicks UP towards the mine. Latrine and showers in center!” Fergus boomed, a large voice for so small a man.
“Showers? Ain’ that what the river is for?” Three hundred men in silence was a sight to see.
“Who said that?” Fergus demanded with a ferocity that resembled a wolverine. The men parted like the Red Sea to reveal a young private possibly on his first deployment. Fergus leaned forward and said a few words to the private who straightened and gathered his belongings and stood at attention. “Company fall in.” Fergus addressed the crowd in a gentle casual manner. The group did so with precision and speed as if they were going to be horsewhipped. “You are to proceed up river and set up camp. I’ll be back for inspection in two hours.” The regiment saluted him. I was astounded and impressed.
“Where to now, Major?” I asked as I tried to stroll without too much gait. “What in hell did you say to that poor scab crawler?”
“Told him he’d have to explain why the rest of the unit would not be getting their pay on time.” Fergus smiled secretly to himself. “Food, letters from home, basic comforts are the true cards in this game.”
Pulling my hat down to my ears, I secretly envied Fergus’ strength of leadership. The man was destined for great things and any military man who could not see this was a fool. Where did that leave the General, I wondered.
My pace was too fast and long. I slowed, letting Fergus keep a less energetic pace beside me. Being long legged meant outpacing your compatriots, not something that encourages friendship. “So what now?”
“Medicinal supplies.”
Fitzgerald had fallen ill, with what Fergus said was opium flu. Fergus’ first priority was to get Fitzgerald more medicine. The store nearest the mine sold goods only to the miners and their servants. You needed to use their currency so outsiders like us had to use our real coin outside of the mine property or turn in our coin and only shop at the mine cooperative, as they called it. They charged a fee for the exchange of currency to mine money.
Fergus scowled at what he called an ‘outrageous exchange rate’ and decided that he would do better further away from the actual mining operations. He found a Chinese encampment that was in itself much like the Chinatown in San Francisco. There were poor and well-to-do, a temple, a produce market, stores, and especially an apothecary.
Asian style medicine and doctoring made us look like barbarians. Pain relief was done carefully without the danger of opium and its addiction by using long, sharp needles placed in areas called ‘points’. Astoundingly pain was stopped and the individual actually recovered well. Of course, cleanliness around wounds seemed to make all the difference and it didn’t take a scientist to understand that being clean also kept you healthy. After Santa Rosa, after being in Company I, it was imperative to my sanity and health that I never let myself get that dirty again. Fergus also knew this and, well, Andrew appeared to have grown up with it.
These apothecary needles were made with tensile steel of a quality similar to a katana. The knowledge of placement of these needles in and around the body and the mixing and dispensing of herbal remedies to cure internal disease took years of study and training that made our doctors look like medieval fools or superstitious savages. Never once was I ever bled by an Asian doctor. Only needled, and it was the only treatment for pain I would receive. Opium and its addiction terrified me.
When we were in the Belly of the Whale, a Chinese doctor was part of the Marshal’s medical care as was a Japanese one. The two were friends and kept one another’s company but were hesitant to share their knowledge with the Marshals. Dorcas had told me that it took a full year before either of them would admit to speaking English. Now, with Dorcas’ work with the Chinese immigrants, one of the Marshals was allowed to study under them to understand better medical aid in the field. I wish I had taken that class.
When we entered the apothecary, to my surprise, Fergus simply held out a paper written in Chinese for opium in the quantities he needed. He also bought vegetables and a fruit I did not recognize from the vendors. It looked like a parsnip with too many tails.
Fergus took a sniff of the strange looking vegetable.
“It’s a fruit!” he proclaimed. He offered it to me to smell. The fragrance reminded me of both limes and oranges. “They call it ‘the hand of Buddha’. I use it to keep the soldiers from getting bleeding gums after the produce runs out. It lasts longer than limes or lemons and makes the worst salt pork taste like heaven. I even put it in water, to freshen it.” He made sure the soldier with us would guard the supplies until we finished our entire errand.
“Never underestimate the Chinese race when it comes to new ideas. That is the real reason we treat them so badly, because they are far more civilized in the sciences than we could ever be.” Fergus’ chatter was never empty and it was a foolish man, I was starting to understand, that assumed his pretty boyish looks meant a soft body and intellect. “On that subject, Native populations are far from barbaric. They understand how the world works. We should respect them more than we do. I was wounde
d out in the Colorados on my first assignment. I spent months recovering on a pueblo, as you would call it, but it really was called a sky city. It wasn’t adobe, but rock, fused like nothing I’d ever seen. They had medicines from the local plants that helped with pain. I have some of them, but they don’t seem to help Fuzzy Fitz.”
The Chinese regarded us with caution. Quite the pair we looked, Fergus and I, him so small, and me a bit too tall, as Elena always said. In Japan it was the same way. The mostly Asian crowd let us pass but watched us with tension, waiting, they were certain, for violence. My eye caught a man following us for a minute, then, when I turned around fully, I found he had disappeared, but the feeling of being watched did not.
“Once you go down the Martial Path, you will know others who follow its road.” Master Aimen slurped his tea. “Again, think not of blocking, but of taking your opponent on another path.” We listened then tried the technique again. I fell with an undignified thump.
“If you must journey to the ground, embrace it as part of your landscape and use it to introduce your opponent to its location as well.” The samurai monk I sparred with was large like me, but wide where I was tall. He grabbed me again and I rolled down but instead of letting him sit on me, his signature move, I rolled over him and pinned him belly down. Afterwards he bowed. Master Aimen looked away. I knew now that I had understood his teaching. There was no higher compliment than a dismissive glance of a teacher.
“Ah, we go.” Fergus pointed to the brick, European style house in the center of the Chinese village and directly across it was a stall hung with foul and sweet smelling dried objects. Fergus handed its vendor another paper, worn and faded, but its ink still clear. The vendor disappeared briefly.
I took a breath and listened, then saw the man again. I turned slightly and nodded to him. He did a half smile, and then I saw the prayer beads hanging around his neck. I nodded again and smiled. Suddenly he walked over to me.
“Me help, you needa portah..you pay me hiya?” The fake Pidgeon fooled no one. But Fergus scowled with a smile.
“And you charge me wop wop highya?” Fergus replied with a shake of his head, but he was smiling.
“You big man boss. I do for free. He I charge extra big.” The accent was leaving him. Fergus shrugged.
“I think he’s for you.” Fergus smiled widely and started walking away. He saluted as he faded into the crowd. I turned on the monk.
“Nihon,” he said. I noticed we were almost eye level. Some Chinese were tall, and he was one of them. I nodded. “Shaolin,” he answered.
For a moment, I could not say a word. Then I bowed.
“Aimen-san, Shifu?” the monk continued. I wasn’t sure what to say. I felt my heart race. The Shaolin taught everyone the art of fighting and the ability to heal or even repel arrows. If I had not seen the ancient Shaolin who taught my master to pass on this secret art, I would have never believed it. The monk smirked. “Shifu means teacher in Cantonese,” the man said in perfect English. “Your teacher wrote me, said I was to look out for you in America, if you ever came here.” I was beyond speechless. I bowed again.
“Your company is welcome but, how do you know-—” I pointed where Fergus had been.
“We call him the Monkey King. He has helped our people many times over the years.”
“Years?” Again Fergus’ looks betrayed him. “What are you called?”
“Lam.” Lam smiled widely with merry eyes despite the circumstances. For some reason I felt heartened.
“Sloan, A.J.”
“Which is it? Sloan, or AyJay?”
“How do you know Aimen-sensei?” My throat was dry from nerves rather than dust. Already the sun had cleared the ridge and begun to bake the street. My coat was too heavy and hot. I began to walk, gesturing the Shaolin to come alongside.
“We both had the same master,” Lam said as he walked, upright, hands inside the sleeves of his robe. Other Chinese bowed to him as they passed. We came upon the Main Temple. Here I stopped. I knew what I had to do, but I wondered how it could fit in with the rest of the plans. Lam would be a perfect companion, invisible, and the perfect weapon against all that we needed to face.
“I will go with you,” Lam announced suddenly. He smiled, his affable face calming me, yet making me apprehensive all at the same time. I could not refuse him.
“You did what?” Andrew looked at Lam and me and back again. “How are we going to explain that?” Andrew sat down on his bunk. We could almost hear the tiny gears moving in his brain, but Lam stepped forward.
“It’s quite simple. I am your servant. No one will notice me and I can hear everything.” Lam was still as a rock, yet fluid and graceful, no energy wasted. If he had the same master as my own teacher, how old WAS he, or even more intriguing, how old was our master?
I took off my hat and ran a hand through my hair. I should be sleeping on the floor and the master sleeping in my cot. But Andrew was simply trying to figure out how to work Lam into our budget and our espionage.
“I will sleep in the kitchen,” Lam said to both of us. “Servants talk, notice things, are treated as if they are invisible. We see much and can be both eyes and ears in places you cannot be.”
“Andrew — what do you think?” I pleaded.
“Could you convince other servants to report what they see to you?” Andrew asked this carefully, but his gaze did not waver. This young man had spirit.
“You mean, could I create a spy network for you and your Marshals.”
“Yes.” Andrew straightened, tense, yet betrayed little else. Well, there was something more to this young man than met the eye. “Plus, whatever you need from us, say, in the form of passage, and perhaps, correspondence—”
“I cannot guarantee complete cooperation from the Tong.” Lam closed his eyes for a minute.
“Dialogue, then, and an understanding that if it involves whites, we take over.”
“That has always been the agreement anywhere,” he said as his voice changed. Andrew stood straight, unwavering. I was mystified. Obviously something was going on beyond the scope of the war and our mission and had everything to do with the effect the Chinese were having on our objective. Clearly I was missing a big part of the intelligence operation we were supposed to be engaged in.
“Can I be filled in?” I finally asked, aware of a stiff tension between the two men; though Lam seemed relaxed outwardly, he did not look at ease.
“We Chinese get work done that white men cannot count on other white men to do.”
“That is a bit harsh.” Andrew raised his chin.
“Truth is harsh,” Lam countered. Part of me hoped Lam was as impressed by Andrew as I was.
“Done.” Andrew nodded, then reached into his vest pocket for a small leather bag. He handed the bag to Lam who took the bag and placed it deep inside the folds of his jacket. “You are excused,” Andrew said carefully, but now I was angry. What else was being kept from me? What else would I not be told or trusted with? Worse yet, I had given them my son. I could not relax my hands. They curled tightly. Lam held up one hand, the master’s gesture for calmness to a student as he looked askance at me. Without sound he exited the room. With that I shot forward, like an angry dog.
“What the hell, Andrew. Explain. NOW.” My anger made my voice rise a little and with a lot more effort that I felt capable of, I tried to remain quiet. The shakes began, again. I walked over and slammed the shutter against the window and then sat on my cot.
Andrew was still watching the door, then he came over to me.
“Look, Dad wants you to succeed in this mission and to do so means you might have to work with the Chinese muscle.”
“He is a monk and not part of the Triad.” The vehemence with which I spat the words betrayed my fear. Shaolin were their own power, their own masters. No one knew who or what the Triad, or the Tong as they called themselves here, were or how many agents they had. In Japan, they were known by another name, yakusa, were loyal to no one, and left
behind only death. Miles had mentioned Tomiko’s brother, Lord Ikebara, as being such. They must have been the ones to alert the Shaolin to my presence. A very cold wind seemed to come into the room.
“I told Dad you knew about this.” Andrew did sound a bit remorseful.
“I know they exist. I’ve survived an assassination attempt in Japan because they let me live.”
“No shit.” Andrew took a big breath. This news seemed to unnerve him. Good. Not everything always goes according to a plan.
“They’re ancient and they call themselves by many names. Triad is a white person’s name for them.” I swallowed at the memory.
6
The sound felt more like a breath. The star shaped blade took some of my hair with it, and a small trickle down the side of my temple was blood. This seemed miraculous in its miss. It was not. The star shaped blade had embedded itself into my bed’s headboard.
“Ikebara-sama trades his life for yours. Live with honor. Betray his memory, we will collect our payment. No ocean separates us.” Hiru, who was named for the Lord who befriended and sheltered us now, was asleep in the next room. And I was on the lanai, in Kaua'i, at the house of my father-in-law, the father of Lord Ikebara.
This assassin spoke clear, perfect English. But I never saw his face. His voice was unforgettable.
The memory hit me like a powder flash. Lam was that same assassin. After all these years, I had never forgotten that particular attempt on my life. But Lam was Chinese. Rumor had it that the Chinese had helped to overthrow the ‘barbarians’ from Asian soil — but some Chinese had taken refuge in Japan, fleeing the Chinese Imperial Edict against the ‘fighting monks’. Tomiko’s grandfather never spoke about his past, his knowledge, but he was powerful, his knowledge was deep and he spoke of the Shaolin with reverence, or I began to wonder, appeared to revere them.
“Well, you don’t know for sure.” Andrew sat down on his bunk, which was directly across from mine. “Look, we know they came with the first wave, to help the others settle in, but now it’s become much more than that. There is a group that smuggles opium, and whores, and worse yet, gunpowder.”
