by Raven Bond
“Huh,” Will said. “Why the secretary thing then? I would think that you could just flash that shiny bauble and have the entire colony turned upside down.”
“You would think so, but there are several good reasons not to.” Bardon explained. “As a high-ranking secretary I could go anywhere and ask anything, all without arousing suspicions.” He smiled again, “Middle-aged officious busybodies are a British institution. Most importantly, any public alarm would likely cause our villains to simply kill their captives and vanish.” His grey eyes flashed in the dim cabin. “That must not happen.” Saira, like the rest of them had been looking at Bardon while he spoke.
“You are the White Tiger,” Saira said flatly. It was not a question. Will watched Bardon visibly wince. Bardon turned to face Saira.
“Legends are not always accurate, Behan,” Bardon said. He followed this with a flow of liquid words in a language Will couldn't follow.
“I would prefer that we speak English,” Saira replied coldly to him.
“As you wish,” Bardon said, spreading his hands. “It is true though.”
“Saira,” Will asked his Arms Master in a careful voice. His gun still pointed at Bardon. “What is this White Tiger business?”
“It can be told, I suppose,” Saira said with a shrug. “In my grandmother's time, a young Englishman became the only white man ever to study the ways of the Naga. He became very great in the Way. Then he was banished for reasons that are never spoken of. Some say he was a traitor to the circle, others that he abused the heart of a young priestess. There has been only one other banishment in all our history.”
“As I said,” Bardon replied. “Legends are not always truth. How is your Mother these days? You have much of her look about you.” Saira barked a laugh.
“I would not know,” Saira said. “We had a disagreement some time ago.” Bardon nodded seriously at this news.
“Your Mother always was. . .difficult,” Bardon said. “I assume then,” he asked her carefully, “that she is not involved in our present affair?”
“Not that I know,” Saira replied, “but it is Mother after all.” Saira shrugged, “I do not think so, however.”
“That is good,” the gentleman replied with a sigh. Bardon's relief was evident at hearing her words.
“So, Saira,” Will asked her gently. “Is this a problem? Do you have to kill him or something?”
“No,” Saira said, looking at Bardon speculatively, “Although the prospect would interesting.”
For the first time, Bardon laughed out loud. It was a deep laugh that Will suspected wasn't heard much. The Captain now knew more than he had, but he wasn't sure it helped him. Bardon looked at Will directly.
“Well Captain,” Bardon asked him. “What shall it be? Shall we join forces, or will you shoot me now?”
“I suspect that I ought to shoot you,” Will said to him unhappily. “Answer me two more questions.”
“If possible” the agent replied coolly. “What are they?”
“Are you armed?”
“Yes,” Bardon said blandly. When it was clear he wasn't going to say more, Will went on.
“Will you follow my orders on this job?”
“When they seem reasonable,” Bardon replied. Will lowered his gun.
“I am sure I am going to regret this,” Will said. “Understand me, Queen’s Man, if any harm come to me or mine because of you, I will shoot you.”
“Then we have an understanding Captain,” said Bardon, who nodded his head regally.
They felt the car slow and come to a stop. Guang lowered the partition between the driver’s cab and the rear.
“If the secret agent and the Captain have finished,” Guang announced through the opening, “we are here.”
Chapter 9
Peng-yeuon Road, Hong Kong
Abigail stretched her legs when she exited the steam car. She felt an odd mixture of exhausted and exhilarated, yet strangely calm. The others were milling about; Will and Madame Chang were having a low-voiced conversation that was growing very heated. It didn't seem to matter; soon they would find her father.
Abigail searched the darkness around them but could not make out much detail. The car was stopped on what could generously be called a road, if a cleared track of dirt could be called that. All around them were shadowy small boxes that were smashed up next to each other. An infrequent lantern outside a hovel did not so much banish the darkness as call attention to it. The odors of too many people too close together, with inadequate sanitation, hung over everything like a sly and malicious fog. In the distance, the city walls loomed like a black cliff, the faint rainbow shimmer of the Shield rising from it like a waterfall into the sky.
“Where are we?” She whispered to Guang, instinctively not wishing to arouse the sea of humanity around them
“This part of the city is called 'Peng-yeuon.” Guang explained. He frowned. “It does not translate well in English. Poor people built homes out of scraps of wood here.”
“Shanty town,” Saira supplied coming up to them on Abigail's right. Saira was also speaking in a low voice, as if not to awaken the mass of humanity.
“My God,” Abigail murmured. She had seen the slums of London, but this was an overwhelmingly greater order of magnitude than the Cheapside District, which was the worst she had seen until now. “How many people are there here?”
“No one knows, or cares,” Guang shrugged. “Originally this was area for war refugees. Now people come here from the country side to be safe under the Shield. The dwellings are calling 'peng', sometimes two or three generations live in same peng.”
“There are more crowded places in Bombay,” Saira remarked off-handedly. “Still, it is one of the last places that the Peelers would come looking for a British toff,” she said approvingly.
“And you are sure that my father is here?” Abigail asked Guang. He nodded.
“There are larger 'shanties', as you call them,” he smiled his thanks at Saira for the word, “that way.” He pointed towards where the dirt track narrowed, curving out of sight among the hovels. “We cannot take the car further without arousing commotion. We will have to walk there.” Will and Bardon had come up to them while Guang was talking.
“Do we know what kind of opposition we're dealing with?” Will asked, also in a quiet voice.
“There were two men outside on guard when I was here earlier,” Guang answered. “The shanty is large, but no more than two, maybe three rooms.” He gave that odd roll of his shoulders that Abigail interpreted as something like a shrug, “Perhaps six men altogether. Where is Chang?”
“She is staying here,” Will announced, “Sebastian will get the car turned around so we can leave fast, and otherwise he sits on her.” Guang puzzled this phrasing out for a moment, and then nodded in understanding.
“Good,” he said briefly. “This way,” he pointed again.
They walked carefully to one side of the 'road' as it curved around. Apparently, the residents all placed their refuse at the edges of the track. Occasionally, a lonely dog howled.
Abigail saw a hunched over figure sitting at one of the breaks in the garbage mounds. Guang motioned for them to stop. The figure stood as Guang walked forward. They talked for a moment, and then the figure shambled off into the jumble of shacks. Guang returned to them and spoke quietly.
“There has been no movement in or out of the shanty,” he reported. “They are there, where the bright lanterns are.”
Abigail looked where Guang pointed; two large paper lanterns illuminated the front of one of the shacks. She watched as a shadow crossed before one of them.
“Kind of conspicuous with all that light aren't they?” Will asked. Guang spat.
“They are arrogant in their belief that no one here would speak of them out of fear,” he replied. “They are of the same petty gang that attacked us earlier. They grow too bold.” The scorn in his voice was unmistakable.
“Are they now?” Will mused, watchi
ng the front of the shack. “Hmm, it's not going to be easy to sneak up on those two out front without they raise an alarm before we can get inside,” Will said.
“Is there a back way in?” The spy Bardon asked. Guang shook his head at the question.
“It is not usual,” Guang said. “To approach from the rear, means going through the maze of dwellings. We would have to be especially careful not to awake others as that would also raise an alarm.”
“What if we. . .” Bardon continued talking. Abigail stopped listening, as an idea occurred to her. To be more accurate she remembered an idea from the Aether-serial 'Liverpool Raiders'. If there was only. . .There! She spotted an empty bottle and picked it up, trying not to think about where it had been.
Turning to Saira, she silently outlined her plan with gestures. The Arms master’s teeth shone in the darkness. She grinned, as she nodded enthusiastically. Before Abigail could lose her nerve, she interrupted the bickering between Bardon and Will.
“Saira and I can deal with the two guards out front.” Abigail hefted the bottle, stating her idea aloud to them.
“Absolutely not,” declared Bardon flatly. Will rubbed his chin.
“That might work,” The Capitan agreed. He looked at Abigail searchingly. “You sure you can do this?”
“Yes,” Abigail swallowed hard and nodded her head. She wasn't really sure, but she had to try. Father's face was ever present in her mind.
“We can do it, Cap'n,” Saira vowed.
“If we stand here too long, that will also be noticed,” Guang warned.
“Alright,” Will said to Abigail and Saira with a nod. “We'll follow you in.”
~ ~ ~
Liu thought it was stupid for them to keep a guard out front. This was not what he had expected when he had joined up with the 186 Blue Society, one of the gangs along the wharves. Violence and killing, yes, But not freezing in this stinking hole guarding the doings of Foreign Devils. It wasn't as if any of the sheep around them would ever be a bother.
But the aide of the small Russian woman named Illiya Petrov was almost as terrifying as the woman herself. The hardened wharf gangs had nicknamed the small Russian woman, Illiya Petrov, the 'White Death' after she had slaughtered their former gang leaders in a river of blood. Liu was a lieutenant of the 186, he wasn't about to argue with the White Death's aide, who seemed like a bigger male version of Petrov, ready to kill gruesomely at a moment’s notice. So, here he stood. They'd followed the same boring routine for days now. Whoever the Britisher was, Petrov considered him important enough to keep a guard posted. Liu didn't care why. He figured that it was just more white foreigner business.
When the White Death had first approached the 186 Blue Society, she had promised that they would become the most powerful society in Hong Kong if they would join with her. After watching Petrov gut their old leader on the meeting house floor, Liu's new boss, Lee Jong, had agreed to join with her.
Liu had to admit that the foreign devil had kept her word. Before their influence had only extended over a small section of the sea docks. Now, the influence of the 186 had grown. With gifts of money and new weapons, it had reached the point where Liu heard they had challenged the might of the An family itself. The future was looking very bright indeed. The White Death and her companion were arrogant, all foreigners were. But that could be tolerated for a time, Liu's boss had allowed. Liu himself didn't care.
Liu turned towards the sound of singing from the dirt track the locals called a road. Coming into the glow of the lanterns, Liu saw two women staggering together arm in arm, clearly drunk. As they came closer, Liu could see that they were both foreign women, one holding a bottle. The white woman was dressed only in European underwear, the dark one little more than a torn sheet. Whores he decided to himself. They must have wondered over from another district. He was amused.
“Je,” he called out to his partner, “Look at this.” He knew that his partner was as bored as he was.
“Damn,” Je said with a sigh, watching the two come closer. “We should be so lucky.”
Giggling, the two whores called out to them in some language that Liu didn't know, smiling all the while. Liu smiled back, not understanding a word. The women laughed again. They turned to each other for a moment, then split up; one came towards Je and the other towards Liu, their expressions making their intentions clear.
“Hey,” Je leered, “Maybe we are that lucky!” He smiled back at the white one who was looking at him in the brazen way white women did. A bottle dangled from one hand, while the other was coyly behind her back. Je opened his arms for her.
“Do not even think it,” Liu warned Je weakly, “Karkov would have our balls.” Karkov was the White Death's aide. Still Liu couldn't take his gaze off the dark one; there was something about her eyes that held him captive. She came closer to him. Well, Liu thought desperately, maybe a quick one in the road wouldn't hurt anything. After all, they'd been standing out here forever, and it was cold. If they were quick, Karkov need not even know. The dark one shouted something Liu didn't understand. Suddenly he saw, with terror, a large knife flashed in the woman’s hand. Then he saw nothing at all.
When Abigail heard Saira give the signal, she pulled her weapon from behind her back. Leaning against the body of the guard leering at her, she dropped the bottle as she did so. She pushed the electronic pistol into his stomach and pulled the trigger. There was a muffled crack and the man's face jerked in surprise, mere inches from her own face. In what seemed to take forever, his eyes glazed over and his weight came down on her shoulders. There was the overpowering smell of burnt cloth and pork. Abigail fought back her nausea as the guard slid off her and on to the ground. Abigail fought her stomach the whole while. She heard the sounds of running footsteps and then Will was beside her, gun in hand.
“Good job,” the Captain whispered, “You alright?” She straightened up, breathing deeply, and nodded wordlessly.
Bardon leapt forward to the shack’s door, where he knelt at the lock. A flickering glow lit the door, partially shielded by his crouching body
“Damn him,” Will hissed, “I told him to wait! Come on, but stay behind me.” She followed Will backing up to the door, where Saira and Guang, with his sword out, were bathed in the flickering light. Looking over Will's shoulder, Abigail saw there was some sort of fuse burning quickly into the keyhole of the lock.
Bardon had his finger to his lips to signal silence. She saw Will's shoulders tighten with tension. Then Will was gesturing at Bardon and Saira. They both nodded. Will turned to gesture at Abigail to stay back, and indicated she should follow him when he entered. She nodded her understanding just as there was a soft pop at the lock.
Bardon hit the door with his shoulder. He followed it in as it swung open. Will came right behind him, moving to the right, Saira darting in to the left. There were shouts and a single gunshot from inside.
When Abigail entered, it took a second for her eyes to adjust to the light coming from the candle lamps on the walls. She saw two bodies lying on the floor, dark pools spreading beneath them, a table in the middle of the room. Will was moving quickly around one side of the table towards a door at the back of the room. Bardon, brandishing a sword in each hand was racing around the other side of the table towards it as well. Part of her wondered where he had gotten the swords.
The back door crashed open, revealing a snarling, broad-chested man raising a boxy pistol. He fired it, the sound thunderous in the close room. Guang spun back from where he had come to stand beside her, hitting the floor. With a rush of anger, Abigail raised her pistol to shoot the man. Dimly, she was aware of Will doing the same, while Bardon rushed the man from the side, his swords whirling faster than Abigail's eyes could follow.
Bardon's blade flashed, removing the man's gun hand. The man howled like an animal, his other arm darting out like a snake to grab the startled agent, lifting him off the floor by his suit. At the same instant, both Will and Abigail fired their weapons at the ba
rrel-chested man. The brute staggered against the wall, tossing Bardon like a doll through the air, to land on the table with a crash. It splintered beneath him. Bardon sprawled there, stunned.
The man cradled the stump of his missing hand to him as he lurched upright again. Screaming, he sprang into the air towards Will who coolly fired at him again and again. The man slammed into Will, knocking him over. They both crashed onto the floor on top of Bardon. Saira jackknifed down over them, both of her blades stabbing the neck of the implacable attacker. His body thrashed as Saira pushed down on her hilts, trying to sever his neck, and then he went still. Will pushed him off, raising unsteadily, gun still pointed at the still figure.
Having seen the violence of the downed beast, Abigail was seized by a terrible fear. “Father!” she cried out, and dashed into the next room, pistol at the ready.
The room was as spare as the other, with only a single bed in one corner with a small candle-lantern above it. In the middle of the room was a man tied to a chair. His head and face were covered by a hood. Muffled cries came from under the cloth as the man struggled to free himself from his bonds.
“Father!” Abigail cried again. Hurriedly, she sat down her gun and began to untie the hood. “It's all right, father,” she said, half sobbing, “I have come for you! It's alright.” She pulled the hood up to reveal the face of a stranger. She recoiled. “You are not my father!” She accused. The stranger blinked, and then focused his eyes on her.
“No, I should hope not,” he replied. He took in her clothing, his mustache twitching. “Although if I were your father, I am not sure I would approve of your current attire. Given that, however, would you be so kind as to finish freeing me?” Still in shock, Abigail began to work at the ropes around his wrists.
“I would not be so quick to do that, Lady Abigail. He might be more manageable tied up,” Bardon said. Despite what he had just said, Bardon gestured for her to continue what she was doing.
“Ah, Richard,” the tied man said in greeting to Bardon, “Still with the droll humor. I was wondering when you would arrive. I see you brought friends.” He nodded his thanks to her as Abigail freed one hand, and went to work on the other. “Would you mind introducing us?” Will had followed Bardon to stand in the doorway.
