by Emby Press
Heller resisted the urge to grimace out of politeness. Jiao had treated him with a great deal of respect and he didn’t want to be rude. He wondered if it were possible to travel far enough to escape his father’s legendary shadow. “My father killed a lot more than monsters, Jiao. It was a savage time for hard man.”
“I read the letters sent back to my village telling of his courage.” Jiao deftly poured a batch of steaming green liquid into a fancy porcelain tea cup with an engraved emerald dragon wrapped around the base reaching for the handle with a five fingered claw. “Often a son shall have difficulty truly knowing his father until many years separate them.”
His father worked the railroad for the Pinkertons most of his life and had on several occasions taken him along to learn the trade. It was a rare time alone with an absent father. He had always been fascinated with languages, even as a child, and spent hours trying to master fluency in the workers’ foreign dialect. His Cantonese was still quite strong, but the celestials of this region spoke a variation called Mandarin. Some of the words felt familiar, but he had difficulty attaching meaning to them. Learning languages was a young man’s game and Heller was started to feel age in his bones. “We have similar interests, I admit, but completely different methodologies.”
Jiao slipped the cup under a saucer and then gently offered it to Heller. “I’ve heard that you are famous in your profession. The study of minds, yes?”
“I am a doctor of the philosophy known as psychology—with a specialization in criminal behavior.” Heller accepted the cup gratefully and took a sip. It seemed to sooth his stomach almost immediately. “Sometimes, I am asked to assist police departments around the world with extreme crimes.”
“It is fascinating to think that there may be a pattern to madness,” Jiao said with great enthusiasm.
Heller tilted his head. “You speak English exceptionally well for a railroad valet.”
Jiao smiled and bowed. “Thank you. I am a student from the university studying English. I hope to travel one day to your country.”
“The world is turning into a very small place. I have no doubt of that. I’ve seen a number of your kinfolk in my country.” Heller took another drink of the warm tea. His stomach slowly relaxed. He loathed traveling by train and avoided it whenever possible. This leg of the journey was at the least comfortable. The voyage to Hong Kong from Boston required a hot and muggy week-long train ride to San Francisco and then a deep sea voyage across the Pacific on Mauretania. The last time he had taken such a voyage was his return from the Great War and at almost thirty-five, Heller had not expected to leave North America once more. “I feel better than I have in days. Where are we?”
“We are just now passing the Liáodōng Peninsula. You should consider sleeping, Mr. Heller. It will be many hours before we stop again and even a modest student knows that hunting monsters requires rest.”
Heller yawned, fighting the effects of the tea. “How long until we reach Harbin?”
“Two days at the least. Do you know much about the city?” Jiao asked. Heller shook his head. “Harbin is the fashion capital of China. We receive cloth from every corner of the world. It is very beautiful. In the winter, artists sculpt spectacular ice sculptures along the Songhua River. To appease the dragons during the long winter, it is said.”
“Dragons are an important symbol to this region.” It was a statement summing his conflicting thoughts and perhaps an insight into why the Eastern Railroad Company went to the expense of contracting an outsider. “I can’t imagine why the Board of Directors is taking this matter so seriously.”
“That a dragon would impede progress causes many to pause.”
“Thank you for the tea. Sleep might be just what the doctor ordered.” Heller turned the cup side to side in his hand studying the dragon and then passed it back to Jiao. “Strange, I imagined that your dragons only had three toes.”
“It is a matter of pride for the people of China,” Jiao explained with a smile as he piled the trash and plates from Heller’s tray onto a dish cart. “Our dragons are regal and thus have four toes as declared by the Emperor. It is said that if a dragon travels far from China, it loses its connection to the land and thus loses toes. Pity the poor dragon from Japan with only three toes.”
Heller leaned back in his seat. His muscles were already relaxed. Sleep would come quickly this night, only the conversation fascinated him. “I can’t tell if you are teasing me or not.”
Jiao only smiled mysteriously. “I am retelling the legends properly, Mr. Heller. Do you believe in dragons?”
“I’ve seen many things in this world wonderful and profane. Dragons aren’t out of the question.” Heller didn’t have the heart to go too much into detail of the horrors that existed just beyond this world waiting for egress past the Great Barrier. Let the young man have his sense of naïve mystery. “Why do you ask?”
“Our lands have warred over this very question. Men have killed for less.”
Heller thought of the Great War and couldn’t find the energy to disagree. “I believe your tea did the trick.”
“Shall I escort you to your room?”
“Please.” Heller followed the valet down the corridor to one of the nicer sleeper car with a private room complete with a bed and personal amenities. He removed his glasses, set them on the tray, and took advantage of the surprisingly comfortable bed. Jiao helped him remove his shoes. Were valets in China so personal? Or was this a special occasion? Did the Board of Directors intend for such personal service? Would that indicate that they knew more about his personal life than desirable? At the moment, Heller decided he was simply happy to not be pain. “Thank you, Jiao.”
The valet nodded and pulled a thick blanket over him. “Sleep well and should you need anything, I will be here.”
Heller mumbled a response, but quickly started to tire. It was the first moment of peace in weeks. Why did he let the Omega Watch bully him into taking this assignment? The telegram from the Eastern Railroad Company specifically asked for him by name. A number of labor and production problems had been allegedly blamed on a dragon by the workers.
The Eastern Railroad was a series of lesser railroads that connected China to Russia. It was a vital piece of the effort to modernize the Republic of China economically and the Board of Directors represented the most powerful families and businesses; some of them were even legitimate and legal. It was no more crooked than the American railroads, but thankfully the least savory elements had the curiosity to remain hidden away.
A good number of the workers had returned to China after constructing the Intercontinental Railroad in the States and some of them remembered the stories of his father. Jebbidah Heller forged his reputation on the blood soaked fields of Gettysburg and later made his fortune ensuring that Pinkertons made the railroads safe from all manner of threats from this world or any other.
The Pinkertons dismissed the claim outright, but the contract involved a sizeable amount of cash and the railroad stock had been almost impossible to resist. They wanted the son of the legendary monster hunter to solve their problem. Somewhere along the way, his father earned the respect of the workers and that went a long way to encouraging this recommendation. He had refused at first until he received a missive from the Omega Watch.
The Omega Watch was a small off-shoot of the Pinkertons; detectives and lawmen that had long ago learned of the horrors of ancient world. Something was amiss in China. Reports of activities from the Cult of Leng popped up around the world, specifically in San Francisco. It was exceptionally difficult for a Caucasian to search unhindered or unnoticed in China without an exceptional alibi.
As he finally allowed his mind to clear and sleep to ease his burden, Heller prayed gently for no nightmares.
*
The gentle touch of a soft hand stirred Heller from his sleep. A thick, bitter taste in his mouth forced him to smack his gums trying to wipe it away on his sleeve. He blinked and semi-blindly patted the end-table
for his glasses. Jiao held them in the palm of his hand. “Here are your glasses, Mr. Heller.”
“How long did I sleep?” There was light outside the window. No wonder he felt so stiff. He hadn’t slept so long since leaving the States. Was it a coincidence? The thickness of his tongue suggested that he quite possibly had been drugged. If so, that limited the suspects to the handsome face staring down at him. “What’s happening? Why did you wake me?”
The smile dropped from his lips. “There has been a murder.”
Heller removed the blanket and stood. He pulled on his shoes, dusted off his shirt, and arranged his vest to sit properly on his frame. When he was ready, he grabbed his gun belt from the hook and ensured that his father’s machete was steady in the sheath.
“Is that your father’s knife?” Jiao asked. “I’ve heard it can cut anything but an honest man.”
Heller ignored the question and asked his own, dreading the answer and his own suspicions. “Who was murdered?”
“Mr. Shihuo.”
The problem with investigating the murder of a proper bastard was that the number of possible subjects increased exponentially; labor unions, rival gangs, blood feuds, and any number of potential business deals gone wrong. In addition, there was the rumor of Shihuo’s involvement with the Cult of Leng. As the local population already believed that a dragon was angry, it wouldn’t be difficult for the killer to obfuscate his deeds unless they acted quickly. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“You’ve been waiting for Mr. Shihuo to be murdered?” Jiao asked surprised.
“I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to catch the saboteur and now we have an actively diminishing advantage,” Heller explained.
“I don’t understand.”
“The murderer is trapped on this train for several hours,” Heller stated as he finished dressing. “I’ll need my leather satchel. Where is it?”
Jiao quickly found the desired item in the upper compartment and handed it over. “There must be hundreds of people onboard.”
Heller grinned as soon as he felt the weight of the bag in his hands. It felt oddly disconnected to be excited over the death of another, even a bastard like Shihuo. He told himself it was the excitement of the chase. Maybe he was more like his father than he realized. “I like my odds.”
*
Jonathon Heller forced himself through the crowd until he reached the last car of the train. Jiao followed silently. Several servants clad in tradition grab lined the entrance of Shihuo’s car. The porter was a large man of thick muscles and equally thick neck that towered over them. “How did you find him?” Heller asked in Cantonese.
The porter blinked, confused that this man would dare to speak to him. His cheeks flushed red. “You have no authority here.”
“The Board of the Directors of the Eastern Railroad Company authorized me to act in their stead.” Heller pulled out his documentation from his jacket and presented it. “You will answer my questions or they will know why.”
Jiao tapped Heller’s shoulder. “Might I speak, Mr. Heller?”
Heller nodded and stepped aside. Jiao conversed with the servants in Mandarin for a few minutes and then turned to him. “They say that the door was locked and that Mr. Shihuo died screaming.”
“Strange that I didn’t hear it,” Heller muttered.
“You were sleeping, several cars away,” Jiao observed.
“I need to examine the room,” Heller stated. His hands were firmly on his weapons. “Now! Before anyone else contaminates the evidence.”
Jiao relayed Heller’s demands and argued with the servants for several minutes. His understanding of Mandarin was poor at best, but the majority of the argument seemed to be over Jiao. He understood only a few of the words; delicate, fragile. Clearly the political situation was worse than he knew. He turned to Heller and sighed. “They will allow you to search the room for evidence, but I must remain at the door.”
“Why?” Heller asked.
“I have not been authorized to enter Mr. Shihuo’s car.” Jiao said in English. He coughed, a bit embarrassed. “I am of low station and it would be dishonorable.”
It sounded reasonable, but there was something about his eyes that made him wonder. Heller entered the car somehow surprised at the vastness of the single room and the sheer luxury of the decor. It contained a mini-bedroom, a dining room table, and a small office with a large parchment map of China and the Eastern Railroad lines.
Shihuo’s crumbled body lay upon the floor, centered in a pool of blood, amongst a scattering of metallic springs, gears, rods, grey and white beads, and shredded paper with holes punched into it. His face still stared up in horror, his mouth twisted into a scream. His pale hand still clutched an obsidian dagger with a silver hilt engraved with the sigil of Leng; the gentle four-petal white poppy.
He set his satchel next to the body and opened it. The servants watched cautiously from the portal. “I need more light!”
Neither the servants nor the porter were willing to enter the room. Jiao pushed ahead and lit one of the large kerosene lamps bolted to the wall. “What do you see?”
Heller knelt down to examine the wounds without touching them. “Shihuo died from a good dozen or so lacerations to the flesh, specifically to the neck, chest, and limbs. At a first glance, it would appear that the cut to the throat was the lethal blow.” He pulled out a large magnifying glass and held it over one of the wounds. “The wounds match the pattern of four edged weapons approximately six inches long.”
“What could have done this?” Jiao asked.
Was that a faint hint of amusement in his voice? “Such was the nature of the attack, wild and terrible, that it could have come have come from a wild animal such as a cougar or a bear.”
“Or a dragon.”
Heller let that statement pass without comment. He reached into the satchel, produced a small glass vial, and then took a sample of Shihuo’s blood. He closed the vial with a thin cork, shook it vigorously, and then looked at it in the light through the magnifying glass. The blood was thick; appearing much thicker than hemoglobin. “Blood sample appears to have degraded.”
“What does that mean? Jiao asked.
“There is a poppy that only grows on the plateau of Leng that can be distilled into a fine powder. Some cultists smoke it with opium believing that it provides enlightenment.” Heller carefully marked the sample and stowed it away for later study. “It carries some sort of fungi that pools in the brain and releases toxins into the bloodstream. We haven’t been able to determine the effects of it.”
“How inhuman.”
Heller started to collect the metal pieces and arrange them in a circle trying to puzzle out their purpose. Shihuo had been protecting this object before he died. He refused to drop it and fight, even when his life was clearly at stake. The rounded beads made of hardwood were familiar; he had seen them in markets all over China. The abacus was used for daily transactions in markets across China.
This machine was not a mere abacus. It was five times the size with a number of moving parts and rods of which he was unfamiliar. Heller stared at one of the copper rods and was amazed at the intricate detail in the craftsmanship. “I don’t suppose you know what this device was for?”
“It would appear to be a large abacus, Mr. Heller.”
Heller continued his search through the rubble. There were a number of cards punched with perfectly circular holes in a geometric pattern. Charles Babbage had postulated a different engine that could tabulate polynomial functions. Could the Celestials have mastered a similar device of a unique design? What could Shihuo have been doing that would require such complex mathematics and why was it worth dying for?
He set aside that puzzle for a moment and examined the obsidian dagger. The blade glistened with a silver glitter. He took a sample and examined it in the light. He had never seen such a material before.
“What did you find, Mr. Heller?” Jiao asked.
“Something
I’ve never seen before.” He wrapped the blade in his wool scarf and inserted it into his satchel. “Another clue. Another piece of the puzzle.”
He scratched his head as he stood stretching his legs. What was different about this room? It was wealthy, opulent, and orderly. Everything was locked into place. Except for the table. There were two glasses and a jug of plum wine there. Would Shihuo leave two glasses there unless he had company? That suggested a woman. Yet the doors had been locked from the inside with only the porter having a key. How could that be unless the porter had been involved?
“What does it all mean?” Jiao asked.
“I don’t know. The office seems unmolested. That would seem to remove certain motives. I can’t imagine that a dragon would leave such valuable paperwork untouched if it wanted to sabotage the railroad.” Heller cleaned his glasses while glancing at the map. The current routes of the railroad were marked in black in contrast to the red lines marking the future projects, including the area marked in danger. What were the green lines? “Do you see this?”
Jiao followed Heller’s glance. “What?”
Heller traced the green lines. “These routes don’t make sense for the train. It would be a waste of time. Some of them are intersected with the red lines.”
“What else could it be?”
Heller glanced over at the small pile of metal parts and wondered what Shihuo had been calculating with the automated abacus when he died. “We have a legend in the west called ley lines. Lines of energy and power that connect the land. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that this map showed a complex understanding of geomancy using the metal rail lines to channel energies.”
“Feng shui. To use the laws of the stars and earth to channel energy and forces,” Jiao explained.
“It looks like Shihuo was trying to use feng shui to challenge the energies of this land. Perhaps that is why the dragon was angered.”
“Mr. Heller!” Jiao pointed to Shihuo’s body. “Look!”
The corpse’s hand jolted. The arm quickly followed. Yellow eyes opened with a malicious glint. Its vicious black maw opened with a ravenous hunger and it bolt upright. Heller had already drawn his machete and started maneuvering around the corpse.
