22 | Ching Shih
The pirate queen was beautiful, although it wasn’t so much evident in more conventional measures such as her face and figure. She had an agile frame, and a pleasant enough complexion, but these were largely indistinguishable from any other woman of above average attractiveness.
What set her apart was her voice and air, which displayed a driving force of will that Keene had yet to witness in another human being. The liquid, sanguine confidence flowing from her figure was like a jaguar slinking through the jungle, in complete control of its domain, seeing thirty variables before its prey noticed one.
The effect of this focused presence was remarkable.
Keene felt himself being pulled into her orbit, even though Ching Shih was threatening to execute him—and that was among the better alternatives she was offering. The two guards who flanked the regally dressed woman showed no emotion as she verbally dressed down the prisoners.
“My sister said you made a deal for our safety.”
“But not all the facts were disclosed,” Ching Shih replied, her strong voice sailing through the air like daggers on the wind, “these facts change the balance of the transaction.”
“It’s your fault if you got ripped off.”
Ching Shih’s arms shot up and gripped the bars, rattling the rusted iron with surprising force. Both Keene and Strike took a step back, as if the woman’s maelstrom of energy would consume them.
“I do not get ripped off. Understand?” Her grip loosened from the bars, but the smoldering fire remained. “Therefore, the deal has changed.”
“What was the deal originally?”
“I suspect you understand more than you let on,” Ching Shih said. “Thus I will not insult your intelligence with a summary of the proceedings.”
“I’m flattered.”
“The terms have changed. Your release is contingent on the Pendulum coming into my possession.”
“How’d you figure out what the ship does?”
“There are rats in every ship’s midst,” Ching Shih said. “You must only find them before they scurry to the shadows.”
“Right,” Keene said. “I don’t think Lorelei will go for this.”
“But she can’t leave. For I have this.” Ching Shih beckoned with her two fingers towards one of the guards. He stepped forward bearing an object wrapped in silk. “My rat has also brought me this as a token of good will.”
Keene’s stomach twisted in knots. It was the 24 karat gold key that Fox had left behind with the other objects. Lorelei had stolen it, and now Ching Shih had seen it stolen from her. A poetic justice, but Keene felt, on some level, he would prefer to have it in his sister’s hands.
“What is that?” Keene said, his throat dry.
“The Chronos Key,” a familiar voice called from the end of the hall. Captain John Reynolds, clad in his auspicious crimson coat, strode before Keene and Strike, a look of smug satisfaction painting his lips. “I’ve picked up a little Chinese in my time here.”
He took the key from Ching Shih’s hand and held it up.
Keene glanced between Ching Shih and Reynolds, noting the pirate queen’s look of incredible annoyance at being interrupted. Still, she didn’t order the guards to skewer Reynolds on the spot—much to Keene’s dismay—because, apparently, this man had provided something of value.
“I assume you’ve met Mr. Reynolds.”
Reynolds beamed when he heard his name, like a dog who only recognized a few words in its master’s sprawling vocabulary.
“Yes, we’re acquainted,” Keene said with a grimace. “Your rat, I presume.”
“A terrible man. Dishonorable. But useful. In the past few hours, Mr. Reynolds became increasingly concerned with his level of compensation—or lack thereof, to this particular point— and alerted me that, perhaps, this ship I so willingly bartered in exchange for amnesty possessed more power than I could ever imagine. Naturally, I was angered by Lorelei’s betrayal. This barter is no barter at all, but outright thievery.”
Keene glanced over his shoulder at Strike, who shot him an annoyed look. Her face looked sallow and pale, like she’d been fighting off a bad flu and just started to get over it. Keene had significant doubts about her effectiveness, but it was looking like that might not matter.
There were other complications, such as the implication that they would soon be walking the plank.
Strike nudged him, bringing Keene out of his thoughtful daze. “What’s she want?”
“I don’t know. Lorelei took her to the cleaners for that ship. Ching Shih needs the Pendulum. Revenge, too, maybe.”
“Smart woman.”
“Crazy.” Keene frowned. “Either of them controls the Silver Songbird, it’s bad news.”
“What’s with the key?”
“It must be required to activate the ship somehow,” Keene said. “Reynolds stole it.”
“Figures it was him,” Strike said, pointing at the smirking Reynolds. “She should’ve known better.”
“He just wants money.”
“He’s a snake.”
“Rat,” Keene said. “We’ve all agreed on rat.”
“Same thing.”
Ching Shih cleared her throat, and Keene redirected his attention back to his captor. “Your sister has now left me with some leverage.”
“That so?” Keene said, his knees wobbling a little bit as he began to get the gist of where this conversation was really headed. “She locked us up. Can’t like us too much.”
“Between this key and you, I suspect our impasse can be resolved.”
“Debatable,” Keene said.
“By now, she has surely found out that the Chronos Key and Mr. Reynolds have disappeared. She will be back to Guangzhou shortly to rectify this. I suspect she is already on the outskirts of the port.” Ching Shih smiled for the first time, her eyes twinkling with a calculated glow. “And then we shall find out what she values.”
Tendrils of ice lapped at Keene’s heart. The words were not what bothered him so much as the coolness of the pronunciation. It suggested that Ching Shih had contingencies, alternatives to get what she wanted.
With or without Keene and Strike still breathing.
The pirate queen gestured towards her guards, who quickly took to unlocking the cell. One grabbed Keene, the other Strike, and dragged them into the hall.
As they were led towards the light at the end of hall, Keene asked, “What happens if she doesn’t want us?”
“Then,” Ching Shih said, pausing for a moment with great dramatic flair, “I’m afraid you will perish.”
23 | Walk the Plank
After a night spent in almost complete darkness, the mid-morning sun felt like being stuck in a broiler. Keene tried to shield his eyes, but the thick iron chains around his wrists restricted his movement. Searching the pastel blue horizon for any sign of Lorelei, he came up empty.
Maybe his sister was out there somewhere. Or perhaps this little dog and pony show would be for no one at all. Keene shuffled his feet, his ankles also weighed down by heavy shackles, spurred onward by the tip of a sabre.
“It’s not like I was gonna run,” Strike said. She gave her cuffs a half-hearted shake. “Seriously, look at me.”
Reynolds, who had taken over for the other guard, got in her ear and said loudly, “Oh, I’ve been looking at you.”
“Don’t do that again,” Keene said.
“What you gonna do about it, space man?” Reynolds said. He directed a cocky gaze towards Keene. “Huh?”
Keene met his eyes and repeated, “Just don’t do it again.”
Reynolds gave a short laugh, but he didn’t say anything else to Strike.
They reached the side of the boat overlooking Guangzhou’s harbor. The two pagodas stood out amongst the landscape, but for the most part the tall boat t
owered over the city, allowing Keene a tremendous view.
“Should’ve brought my camera,” Keene said with a grim smile. “Great memories.” He watched Reynolds pull out a walkie-talkie with a strangely long antennae.
That would be nice to have, here in the nineteenth century.
The device crackled as Reynolds turned it on and said, “Lorelei. There’s a new deal. Over.” He waited for a few moments, then said, “I know you read me. Over.”
Half a minute later, the speaker buzzed and Lorelei’s voice said, “Stop saying over, you dumb prick.”
So she was out there, lurking somewhere on the sea.
Reynolds turned red, but hid his embarrassment over the radio by amping his voice up into a nasty snarl. “Look here, you dumb sod, we got your precious brother and his little tart friend here, and we’re gonna make ‘em bleed good, you don’t know what’s good for you.”
“What’s good for me?”
“You give us the Pendulum and you won’t find out what’s not.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I chop blondie’s head off and make a nice parcel outta it, yeah?”
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
“Should’ve made a plan for that.”
“I did. Check the key.”
Reynolds gave a puzzled look at the black plastic device. He scrounged in his pocket for the large key, holding it up to the light as if to ascertain its authenticity. His mouth went to form syllables, but no sound came out. He paced the decks, talking in fractured Chinese to the deckhands. They all made gestures and shook their heads with vigor.
Finally, Reynolds returned with a self-satisfied grin. “Ah, you almost had me. No one’s switched the key here. I have the real deal.”
“Goodbye, John. And Kip?”
“Yeah,” Keene said, calling out to be heard.
“Duck.”
A large blast shook the hull of the ship, a series of cannons firing in rapid succession. Ching Shih’s majestic ship sagged in the water, seemingly about to fall over. Then the tall ship righted itself, bobbing in the harbor as the shots were followed by frantic war-cries from the crew.
Apparently someone was attacking the ship.
Someone insane, with a death wish.
Keene wondered if it was Lorelei’s contingency plan.
Then a huge orange fireball erupted on the deck, lapping at the red sails. Keene flung himself to the ground, heavy chains flailing, and clenched his eyes shut. Heat waves buffeted his face, and a distinct smell—that of torched flesh—whipped across the salty breeze, then dissipated.
Keene blinked and opened his eyes.
Where Captain John Reynolds had stood only moments before, a scorch mark sat on the deck. Gold leaf sprinkled down amidst the black ash. A tiny piece of charred crimson fabric fluttered in the wind, landing on Keene’s shoulder.
The battle cries were growing more pitched, small arms fire beginning to ring out. Keene’s head swiveled about the deck. All the men were concentrated on the threat. The guards had abandoned their posts as prisoner watchdogs, instead choosing to join the melee.
Keene dragged himself off the deck and began to move towards the ship’s edge.
He heard chains rattling behind him.
“We gotta jump,” Keene said. With an unknown reservoir of energy, he vaulted the low wooden railing, staring at the inviting blue water for only a moment before his head plunged beneath the surface.
24 | Underwater
Keene drew in a breath, sucking in briny water. He choked, but there was nowhere for the salty liquid to go. Instead, his world began to darken as the iron shackles dragged him down towards the sea bed.
He saw shadows in the water moving past him. Something tumbled and somersaulted by him, like in slow motion, followed by a plume of bubbles.
Strike wasn’t faring any better.
Keene struggled to lift an arm, but the lack of oxygen and heavy shackles kept him headed towards the floor. The little flashes of light at the surface grew dimmer.
What a stupid idea.
He could’ve at least taken a breath before leaping.
His heels collided with something soft. It barely registered in his mind. Anxiety began to flood through his body, uncontrollable and primal. He didn’t want to die, but drowning looked like the only option. And maybe, just maybe, it was better than whatever Ching Shih had in store.
Then again, Keene had always read that drowning was the worst way to die.
He wasn’t going to dispute that, as his lungs involuntarily forced another breath of seawater into his chest without his permission. Everything burned and the world grew darker. He sank deeper into the ground.
The ground.
Soft, almost like a mattress. No wonder they called it the sea bed. In the swirling haze, Keene made out a body lying there, chains wrapped around its chest.
Strike was doing a lot worse than him.
He reached out, then jumped back—or what seemed like a jump, in his delirious state.
A weighted rope came rocketing down, propelled down by a large ball of iron that nearly crushed Keene’s foot as it landed. Keene blinked and instinctively grabbed hold of it, giving it a weak tug. It began to move.
With his free hand, he floundered for Strike, fingertips brushing against her leg, searching for a hold. She was nonresponsive and seemingly uninterested in her own rescue. As the weighted rope rose, Keene extended his arm and grabbed her ankle just in time, the lifeline beginning to rocket towards the surface.
The burn and pain began to give way to a certain serenity. The whole experience had only lasted a minute, perhaps two, but it was one of the lengthiest and most vivid of Keene’s life. And now, his senses finally failing, his muscles giving in, he found himself closing his eyes and floating.
Keene didn’t remember coming up for air. Instead, he found himself on the deck of a small, nimble junk hauling ass away from the docks. He rolled over into a puddle of foul smelling seawater.
When he breathed, his chest protested. But it felt good to be drawing in air. Water, despite its chemical consistency, lacked the level of accessible oxygen he’d become accustomed to as land-dwelling mammal.
He blinked and brought his neck off the wood to take a look around. After a brief scan he slumped back, deciding instead to stare at the sun. That was all the effort he could handle. Ever moving again seemed like an insurmountable challenge.
His head nodded to the side, his gaze falling on Strike. Someone pounded her chest and shouted encouragements at her. The sounds warbled in and out of focus.
Keene closed his eyes, trying to make the pounding in his head stop. It didn’t help. He heard some gagging, then a torrent of puke hit him in the side of the face. Keene opened one eye and looked at the culprit.
Strike was bolt upright, heaving, her blonde hair stuck against her pale face like a mask. Then she heaved even more seawater out, all over the kid standing in front of her.
“Linus…” Keene said, his voice cracking and croaky, unable to finish the thought.
“Aww, come on,” Linus said, “I don’t have a change of pants, dude.” Keene saw the kid back away, shucking slimy water off his oversized jeans. A smile came across Keene’s lips, but he quickly stopped, because it hurt to even move the muscles in his face.
Then Strike collapsed against the deck with a loud thud. Linus got on his knees and shook her, coming in close to listen to her breathing. Keene watched him nod, then give Strike a reaffirming pat.
The kid got up and walked over to Keene.
“You’re lucky I saw you jump.”
“…thanks.” Keene struggled to sit up, but found that it was impossible. “The boat.”
“The boat what?”
“The boat…goes?�
� Keene shook his head, trying to form the correct sentence. The brightness of the outside world and the army beating inside his head prevented him for making cogent thoughts.
“Hong Kong,” Linus said. “Just rest.”
“Gray Isle,” Keene said. “We have to go to the Gray Isle.”
“It’s all you’ve been talking about for the past half hour.”
“Gray Isle,” Keene said, unsure whether the point was clear, or had come across properly.
“Got it, dude.”
The kid’s footsteps sounded like gunshots as he disappeared into the galley.
Keene closed his eyes and slept.
It was the only thing that didn’t hurt.
25 | Blood
Lorelei let the binoculars slip away from her face and bounce off the string hanging from her neck. Ching Shih’s ship was in utter disarray from the strange assault. The sudden immolation of Captain Reynolds hadn’t helped, either.
Remote detonated C4 having not been invented in the nineteenth century, the pirates probably thought it was magic or evil spirits. This was entirely plausible, given that Reynolds was such a piece of shit. No doubt if spirits existed, and they were just creatures, they would choose him to torture.
She had planned for his inevitable greed. His silver tongue had been useful for impersonating a high ranking officer and brokering a deal between the state and the pirate queen. The abilities he had displayed—and in such a short time, too—were nothing short of extraordinary, a gift. In another life, he could’ve put such talent to tremendous use—perhaps as a professional swindler, of the corporate or financial persuasion.
Instead, Ching Shih’s men would have to clean up off the decks. The fake key had made quite a mess.
She looked at her watch. Behind schedule. Surely she could’ve reached the Gray Isle before Ching Shih could get word to her men and call off the deal. But now, after turning around to make sure Kip and blondie were okay, that seemed unlikely.
Her conscience had cost her the element of surprise.
Lorelei chewed on a piece of jerky and leaned against the rickety balcony overlooking the port. The normally clockwork function of the port had been disrupted by the outburst. This was, after all, a neutral zone. Enemies were enemies and dislikes were dislikes. But money was money, and it trumped all.
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