by Beth Cato
Lee dropped to the floor near Ingrid’s legs, his eyes anxious as he studied her. “We were just as worried, you know. I wanted to fly back to Portland, but Fenris said we had to stay put or we’d end up chasing each other in circles.”
“What happened at Swan Island?” Cy asked, his eyes on the stub wing and everything else about the airship. Even to Ingrid’s untrained eye, it was obvious that the Palmetto Bug wasn’t able to fly at this point. There’d be no quick exit from Seattle.
“We were both on board when we heard the fuss. I looked out the cabin window and saw men rush the ships nearest the entrance,” said Lee. “One pilot tried to unmoor, but he was exposed at the top of the mast and he was shot. When I saw that, I yelled at Fenris that we needed to hide.”
Fenris shrugged his slim shoulders. “That’s what we did. I propped open one of the hydro tanks and we hopped in.”
“While he complained the whole time that he’d have to scrub the whole thing later so that our filth didn’t gum up the system,” added Lee.
“And I did scrub it out first thing this morning. As I was saying, we hopped into the tank. The cold water stood about waist-high. Lee pulled the dome lid so that it looked shut on the corridor side but didn’t suffocate us. A minute later, the brutes were on board.”
“Four guys. An unlucky number—for them, anyway. They unmoored within a few minutes. We couldn’t hear them talking in the cabin, but once the ship was under way, they started ransacking it.”
“Ransacking?” Ingrid asked with a pang. “I have a pine box on board from Mr. Sakaguchi—”
“It’s still there, Ing. Nothing’s gone.” The fact that Lee said this meant he had likely read the contents, too. Ingrid was all the more glad that she’d had the chance to talk with him in Portland. “They didn’t care about letters. They wanted money, food, jewelry, anything valuable.” His eyes gleamed. “That’s when they found Mr. Thornton’s scotch collection.”
Fenris’s grin was wicked. “For a brief time, they considered the value of selling those amber bottles, but in the end they decided it was prudent to taste test at least one.”
“Dear God. I see where this is going.” Cy groaned. “Don’t tell me they pickled themselves.”
“Why, of course they did!” Fenris cackled. “Men of that caliber are accustomed to watered-down swill from saloons. They discovered the majesty of fine imported whiskey! They discovered culture!”
“Soon followed by the discovery of liver poisoning?” Ingrid asked.
“Well,” said Lee, “we have three sealed bottles left. Not that they drank all the rest. A good bit spilled.”
“Three bottles left?” Her jaw dropped. “Only three?”
“The pilot partook as well,” Cy stated.
“Of course the pilot partook. You don’t expect him to abstain during such a cultural opportunity, do you?” said Fenris.
Lee leaned forward. “The pilot had the sense to set the Bug in a hover when they all decided it was time to go to the Land of Nod. We waited a little while, crawled out of the tank, tied them up, then dragged them onto the empty rack. These men were such good friends that they spent the rest of the ride retching all over each other.” His eyes sparkled with mirth. “Mind you, I wasn’t laughing when I cleaned up that area earlier, but it’s hilarious in hindsight.”
“What did you do once you landed?” asked Cy.
Fenris shrugged. “As soon as the stairs were down, I told the mast staff what happened. God’s honest truth. They were delighted to haul those foul carcasses off the ship and to the nearest police precinct. The staff’d had similar thefts at their dock, so they enjoyed a chance to witness some comeuppance.”
“We heard talk about drunken airship thieves, but I never would have connected the story to the Palmetto Bug.” Cy shook his head. “That tale’s going to become a bigger legend than those bicycle mechanics who pretended to make a flying machine powered without kermanite. I bet we’ll hear it in every port from here to the Azores in the coming years.”
Fenris didn’t seem displeased. “See, Cy? I didn’t do so badly without you, did I?”
Cy’s grin was fond. “You did just fine.”
“You never saw a thunderbird yesterday afternoon, then?” asked Ingrid.
“No. The erstwhile pilot decided to take a more scenic route toward the coast. I’m guessing we missed a bit of fun?” asked Fenris.
Cy croaked out a laugh and rubbed his face with both hands. “You might say that.”
Chapter 11
Fenris resumed work on the wing as Cy and Ingrid told their adventure of the past day. Lee expressed disappointment at missing out on the thunderbird, which earned him a solid kick in the shins from Ingrid. As if Lee needed to be present during yet another near-death scrape!
Fenris confirmed that since leaving Portland, he had still not completed maintenance work on the Palmetto Bug. The stub wing wasn’t running efficiently—perhaps due to a bird strike—which was why he was cleaning that out. Fortunately, this incident occurred on the approach to Seattle, so Fenris was at the rudder wheel and quickly brought the airship down.
“It’s late on a Sunday, but the local docks are all busy, thanks to this Baranov business. I can make a run for parts. That’ll give Fenris plenty to do overnight. I’ll haul in some food and cleaning supplies as well.” Cy stretched, his form long and lanky. “Whereas my plans for overnight involve sleep in an honest-to-goodness bed. That inn across the way was pleasant enough a few years back. I’ll see if they have any vacancies.”
“As glorious as that sounds, is it wise for us to be away from the airship overnight? We just reunited,” said Ingrid.
“I’m not leaving my ship,” said Fenris.
“I can rig up some alarms around the building as a precaution. We’d be close, Ingrid. Besides, trying to sleep while Fenris works is like trying to nap during a fairy reel, and this building gets bitter cold at night.”
Lee stood, hands in his pockets. “I need to go into Seattle to look for Uncle Moon. I know I have to be careful, Ing, so you don’t have to say it. But I’m going.”
She bit her lip. She needed to talk to Lee in private.
“The mood out there’s like the pressure before a boiler blows,” said Cy. “Scuttlebutt at the docks said that Chinatown is walled off. We saw for ourselves that the streets are guarded by local police and some militia formed out of local union workers. You know how most of them regard the Chinese.” Lee acknowledged this with a grim nod. Cy continued: “No Chinese are working or walking out in public. Any seen will be arrested for their own safety.” Distaste twisted his face.
“I can play Japanese again, at least until I’m in Chinatown.”
“But how will you even get in?” asked Ingrid. She crossed her arms and fought the urge to say more. The original goal of flying here had been to find Mr. Sakaguchi. She knew all along that would involve danger, but damn it, she had just been reunited with Lee. She wanted to keep him close and safe.
“Oh, trust me. There are ways. I’ve heard talk over the years about an underground to Seattle. The city burned and they built on top of the ruins. Besides, for a young and cocky Japanese man, there are reasons to sneak into Chinatown. Stupid reasons, sure, but at my age, that’s to be expected.”
“You’re no fool, Lee, but that’s a treacherous walk ahead of you.” Cy extended a hand, and Lee firmly gripped it. “I’ll be setting an alarm on the door here as a precaution. If no one answers at a knock, just wait around for us. Don’t make Ingrid worry too much, you hear? And thanks for taking care of Fenris this past day.”
Lee waved the words away. “Ah, he’s a good sort. I’ll see you later on.”
Cy nodded to both of them and walked out. Not far away, Fenris worked on the stub wing and occasionally groused to himself. He’d rigged a sling and pulley from the ceiling to help him haul larger parts. The whole setup struck Ingrid as haphazard and it made her nervous to watch.
“It’s actually kinda fun to
go up there,” Lee said, following her gaze to the ladder into the cabin. “It’s anchored down to the floor in about a dozen spots, you see. The airship doesn’t move around much.”
“Much.” She shook her head, a loose strand of hair lashing her cheek. “I think I prefer a standard mooring mast, thank you.”
“You have no sense of adventure!” At that, they looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Fenris began to bang on metal. Loudly. Ingrid cringed. “Maybe we can find a quieter place to talk?”
“Sure. Over in the office.” Lee picked up a kermanite lantern and turned it on as they entered the room at the far side of the rink.
Stark white walls reflected the blue-toned light of the lantern. A long wooden counter lined the wall just inside. Three wooden chairs looked as if they’d survived a vicious beaver attack. Ingrid gingerly sat down. The chair squawked a little but held her weight. Lee dropped into a chair to face her, his elbows on his thighs.
“Talk. I need to get out while there’s still daylight.”
Ingrid took in a deep breath. This close to Lee in a confined space, she could smell the vinegar that he’d used to clean the Bug. “Roosevelt knows who you are. That’s why he was willing to drop everything and escort us to Seattle.”
Lee absorbed this news with stoicism that surprised her. “You found me. Now what?”
“Roosevelt didn’t think you should try to make contact with Uncle Moon or try to—”
“Like hell. What, every Chinese person I know is supposed to think I died in San Francisco? How is that supposed to help things?” Lee shook his head in disgust. “And we leave Mr. Sakaguchi with them, too? If he doesn’t fill kermanite, they’ll kill him. And if he fills kermanite, he’s betraying everything he is. I once saw him light incense and pray after our autocar struck a cat.”
“I know, I know. He’s not going to help the Chinese. I don’t agree with Roosevelt, but I hate the risk you’re taking. Roosevelt considers you an . . . investment. He wants to keep you safe.”
“Safe.” Lee laughed bitterly. “Like how Portland and Seattle keep their Chinese safe? Lock them in jail, starve them, attack anyone who shows kindness? It’s all for the good of the Unified Pacific, right?”
“I get the sense that Roosevelt would unravel the UP if he could. I’ve heard him and Mr. Sakaguchi discuss that often enough, the steady way that Japan has integrated itself into American society. It’s a different method of invasion.” She tilted her head to one side, frowning. “Roosevelt works for what he sees as the American cause. I think he views you as an ideal mediator for the Chinese people because you’re American born, educated in a Japanese household. He just doesn’t want you to be too Chinese.”
“That sounds about right. Chinese, but not too Chinese.” Lee rolled his eyes. “Mr. Sakaguchi often told me that I had to earn my destiny. I had to live up to the promise of the qilin’s presence.”
“Lee, you were all of ten when you moved into our house. Ten.” She couldn’t disguise how appalled she was. “How could they ask you to be the representative of your people?”
“How could they not?” he retorted. “As if being ten meant that I was a child, that I was innocent. The nuns had me working the wash tubs ten hours a day when I was just four. I saw other children beaten and burned. I saw a man lynched when I was six. So yeah, when Uncle Moon told me that I was the son of Qixiang and I was destined to save the Chinese, I willingly took on that burden. I relished it. It meant that I could do something, not just wait for death to come because some angry stranger rode me down in the street or a master took a whip to me because I dared to touch his books. That maybe when I did die, it would serve a purpose.”
Ingrid bowed her head, chastened. Lee sighed, his voice softening. “It’s not as though you were given a choice either. Here you are, the woman geomancer who can talk to thunderbirds and selkies and who knows what else. We have different sorts of powers, different legacies, and we’re caught up in a war. We have to fight in our own ways.”
“Fight how?” The direction of this conversation was making her feel physically ill.
He suddenly looked much older than fifteen years. “Tactics are not that straightforward. The Chinese are at a disadvantage. We need to seize any opportunity we can, strike where the enemy is vulnerable. Somehow my people have to survive.”
“My God. You’re already planning to do exactly what Roosevelt doesn’t want you to do. Who is the enemy to you, Lee? America, Japan . . . ?”
Lee maintained an even gaze on her. “The Chinese can’t run forever as our numbers dwindle away to nothing. We have to make a stand.”
“The Chinese are being blamed for San Francisco. Would you have attacked there, if you could?” She hated using the word “you” to talk about Lee like this, as if a line were being drawn between them. She hated that he wouldn’t identify his enemies. That she might become his enemy, if she wasn’t already.
“Ing, do you really want to discuss this?”
No! she wanted to shout. Instead, she stood and paced. Her legs were rubbery, but she needed to move. “I want to understand. I want . . . I want to always be your friend, Lee. I love you. You know that, right?” He nodded, his eyes glistening. “I hate that we’re in this position, that this chaos has been engineered by people who moved us all like pawns. Mr. Roosevelt. Mr. Sakaguchi. Ambassador Blum in particular. She worked toward this war with China for centuries.”
“Hatred of Blum is something we hold in common. You said you talked to Roosevelt about her. What did you learn?”
She explained about Blum’s assumed age and might, her grudge against China, and the intention of the Gaia Project.
“A flying citadel. That would be fantastic if it wasn’t intended to kill me.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Everything goes back to Blum. It’s almost impressive, really, when you consider how women are treated in Japan. Things have improved there as more American influence has crept into society, but still.”
Ingrid nodded. Mr. Sakaguchi said it had never sat well with him, even as a child, to see women treated as objects, good only for entertainment or caring for children. She wondered how a kitsune had conquered such an insurmountable cultural wall, but for Blum, that was likely all part of the fun.
Lee continued: “Things are awful enough here in the States. I know how you’re treated a lot of the time.”
“Yes.” She thought of the old woman at the dock earlier, and suddenly was reminded of what Mrs. Stone said about Papa being from Hawaii. Natives of the vassal state islands suffered through a special sort of hell not unlike what the Chinese endured. Hawaiians were forbidden to speak or write in the native tongue. Many labored for whites or Japanese overlords on fruit and sugar plantations, or in other subservient roles.
Ingrid wasn’t quite sure how to absorb this as part of her identity yet. In a way, it was easier to accept a possible connection to Pele because of their bond through geomancy. She couldn’t relate to what Hawaiians endured on a daily basis. She’d been born in Oklahoma Territory to a mother who was blond and white, raised in San Francisco in a privileged Japanese household from age five. That place was her home; the bay fog ran in her veins as sure as blood.
Lee stood. “Ing, before I go—the guandao. It’s in the pantry near your box of letters.”
“I’m guessing you read them?” she asked, trying to reel in her wandering thoughts.
“I did. I had to distract myself somehow during the last part of the flight as those men retched. But listen. I had a lot of time to think about the guandao. The meaning of it. What it might mean going forward. I might not come back—”
“Don’t talk like that!”
“Please, Ing. Let me finish.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to expect in Seattle’s Chinatown. I don’t know which tongs are fighting for dominance here with these refugees coming in. I don’t know if Uncle Moon is there with Mr. Sakaguchi. Even if Uncle is around, my task won’t be easy. I’m trying to
bargain for Mr. Sakaguchi using myself as the chip. That . . . that’s not a very strong position to take. They’ll already have me there. It’s not as if you or Cy can do this, though. It’s on me.”
“Meaning, you walk in the door, they capture you, and there might not be a negotiation.” Roosevelt had likely already understood that. “But ‘capture’ might be too strong a word. You want to be with them.”
“It’s where I belong.”
“I guess you feel like traveling with us is too easy these days, huh?” Ingrid tried to keep her tone light, but she felt a piercing ache deep within her chest. “The Chinese are in constant peril, after all. Here, we just have the occasional riot or thunderbird attack.”
“Aw, Ing.”
She could beg him to stay. It might keep Lee there, for a while, but she didn’t want to think what the guilt and confinement would do to him.
“No. No. I get that you need to be with them, that you need to support the Chinese in a direct way.” She released a huff of breath. “It’s just, even with everything we’ve endured this week, it’s meant so much to have you here, to know you’re okay. Pure selfishness on my part, I know, but you’re my family.” She blinked back tears, and his eyes looked moist as well. “When you go to Uncle Moon . . . what kind of reception will you get?”
Would Lee risk death, even walking in the door? It was a silly question, and she couldn’t even give voice to it. These days, he risked death no matter what he did.
Lee sighed. “Uncle will be furious that I didn’t leave San Francisco with them. Some of the others will be angry, too, for other reasons. Some hate me for being too American. Others think I’m a traitor because I respect Mr. Sakaguchi as my teacher. I’m not going to be greeted with hugs.” He shrugged.
“No. That’s an American response for sure.” Her throat clenched with worry. “What about the guandao, Lee? Do you want to take it with you?”
