by H L Stephens
When I got back to the warehouse, I sought out the guys to tell them about what happened at the restaurant. Somehow Dú jiàn had figured out who I was and what I had done and was now offering herself as an ally for all eternity. It was important the crew knew it. They were still gathered in the Ops room where I had left them. First thing I did when I entered the room was drop the wrapped box on the table.
"What's that?" Avery asked. He never could resist a package.
"It is a present from Dú jiàn," I said. "Part of a series of 'thank you's' for saving her granddaughter."
"A series of 'thank you's'?" Oz said. "What are the other parts?"
Nothing ever got past Oz.
I launched into the narrative of my time away and told them all about what happened at the restaurant, focusing on the juicy bits right before I left.
"Holy crap on a tin shingle," Marcus said. I loved the way he cursed. It was always so inventive and child friendly. "She knows you and YanMei are one and the same?"
"Apparently so," I said. "She was the one who gave YanMei the name White Lotus in the first place. It saved me with some of the more trigger happy Triad when we were at the plant."
Avery, Oz, and Jameson all nodded in agreement.
"Of course those triggers saved my bacon enough times that I am not going to complain," Jameson added.
Avery kept staring at the package.
He jerked his chin at it and said, "What's in the box?"
"I have no idea," I replied. "Dú jiàn wouldn't let me open it until I got home. The thing is pretty heavy, whatever it is."
"Well, open it already," Avery exclaimed.
I didn't need any more prompting than that. I ripped through the brown paper to reveal a beautiful, antique box, intricately carved with lotus and koi fish in the center of the box and dragons parading along its perimeter. Set into each corner of the box was a carved jade black bear. The fish scales were inlaid with gold, as were portions of the dragons' heads and bodies. Precious stones were imbedded throughout the box's surface to help create the overall motif, offering a richness to the images that can hardly be described in words. It was exquisite.
Oz let out a long whistle when the box was unwrapped.
"No wonder that thing weighed so much," Oz said. It made me laugh.
"That is an odd combination of images," Marcus commented, as he took a closer look at the details on the box itself, ignoring the finery and focusing on the images.
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Well, over the years, I spent quite a bit of time studying the Chinese motifs and their meanings," he said. "Generally, when you see the fish and the lotus together, it is a wish of perpetual affluence. To simplify the connotation, it's a blessing that good things will happen to you. The bear represents death with a sense of honor, but here it has a dark aspect to it. The dragon, though often benign, is also the symbol of the Emperor. Basically you have good luck, honorable death, and the Emperor all on the same box. I will be interested to see what is inside. Whatever its contents, it is very old."
Marcus was right about the age. The lacquer was well-aged, and the box itself had an ancient smell to it as if the dust of a thousand years had settled upon its surface and been cleared off again. The quality of the craftsmanship was unlike anything I had ever seen, except perhaps in pictures or in a museum.
Everything about this box spoke of ages past. Elegance was its mantel as was the feeling of eras gone by. I was flooded with a sense of awe each time I ran my fingers along the polished wood. How many others in generations past had touched this box in such an intimate way? How many centuries had graced its surface with their weathering embrace?
The key to the box had been taped to the lid, and as I set it into the lock, a thrill ran through me as to what I might discover inside. The crew crowded around me as I lifted the lid to reveal the Holy Grail within.
"Holy crap," Avery cried. His face was beaming as he gazed down at the contents of the box.
Oz groaned.
"You are such a girl," Oz said. "I can't believe you are wetting yourself over women's hair decorations and fancy doodads. Hell, I don't even know what half that stuff is. What is that? Is that a fan? Yeah, Avery. Get excited over a fan."
Avery punched Oz in the arm, hard.
"It must hurt to be such a know-nothing asswipe," Avery said. "Don't you know what this is?" His voice was filled with wonder. "It's an assassin's war chest from the Qing Dynasty. They look like ordinary items a woman would carry or wear as decorations, but hidden within them are the means of killing or defending, depending on the need. Based on the finery, I would say this may have originally belonged to one of the Red Lotus. My God, Jane. This is a treasure."
"Who were the Red Lotuses?" I asked.
Avery's eyes sparkled.
"They were the most beautiful of the Emperor's concubines and his deadliest assassins, or so the legends go," Avery said. "Few historical accounts have survived to chronicle their existence, but the manuscripts that have been found speak of their immense skills."
"In killing?" I asked.
Avery cleared his throat. His face flushed several shades as he said, "In all duties they were called upon to engage in. The point is each Red Lotus was given a war chest like this, with accouterments that had two purposes; one to enhance their beauty, and one to enhance their death craft. Allow me to demonstrate. Follow me please."
Avery picked up the chest and carried it up to Oz's sparring ring with the rest of us in tow. Once there, he dragged over one of the dummies we used when practicing strike techniques and placed it in the opposite corner.
"Watch and learn White Lotus," Avery said as he began decorating his person with the various bracelets, hairpieces, fans, and other decorations that were contained inside the chest. Oz burst out into a booming round of laughter.
"You are the ugliest concubine I have ever seen," Oz said, wiping the laugh-induced tears from his eyes.
"Laugh if you will," Avery said, "but you wouldn't be laughing if this was you."
Avery then began to trigger the deadlier side of the ancient beauty ornaments.
Poisoned darts, hidden blades, and needles of every kind went flying at the unfortunate dummy. The final humiliation came when it was decapitated by the fan that Oz had scoffed at just a moment before. The laughter died, leaving an awkward silence with a bejeweled Avery grinning in its midst.
Everything within that chest had a lethal purpose, and Avery had gracefully displayed what a deadly dance a concubine of ancient China could fashion from her implements of beauty and desire. It made my flesh crawl and turn cold, yet part of me was fascinated that such menace could be hidden beneath the trappings of desire. It was a gift I would treasure always.
Ciphers and Tea
The gift of the assassin's war chest reminded the crew that my birthday was imminent, and on the day in question, I found myself shuffled out of the warehouse to "run errands". I was in terrible pain from all the fighting, covered from head to toe in bruises, and wrapped like a mummy from my chest to my rear-end thanks to several severely bruised ribs. I didn't want to go gallivanting all over town. I wanted to rest and forget that my birthday altogether.
The crew on the other hand wanted to celebrate just as Dorthia had intended, and they needed me out of the way to get things set up. I protested that we should wait until we got Dorthia back. My objections were ignored. The crew said Dorthia would have wanted us to continue with the plans.
"Besides," Avery said at one point, "the cake has already been ordered and is due for delivery today. None of us know where Dorthia ordered it from so we can't cancel it. Face it kid, like or not, you get a celebration."
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked. "I mean during this errand run."
"It doesn't matter," said Avery as he gently pushed me out the door. "Just make yourself scarce for a few hours, but not too scarce. You don't want to make us nervous."
"Fine," I groaned. "I'll go over to Henry's place
and hang out there."
Henry's place was a used bookstore called Dusty Pages in an old section of Brooklyn. It was one of my favorite places. It smelled like antiquity, and walking through the door of Henry's bookstore was like walking back in time.
Henry was a million years old. I figured he was an old man when Methuselah was still skinning his knees as a little boy. He had snow white hair and a face that looked like a pleasant, old timey map, browned and weathered by age, full of lines and gorges. His eyes were a deep, robin's egg blue and as kind as a kitten's. I don't think Henry had ever spoken a cross word in all of the many years he had walked the earth.
No matter what Henry was doing, he always smiled when I walked through the door. He said the first day we met, he saw an old spirit in me. I didn't know what that meant at the time, but I liked old Henry. He felt safe, and that was something I needed in my increasingly chaotic world.
Henry and I got along instantly, and I could always count on him for a cup of tea and a great story from when he was young. His stories reminded me of my mom and of home, when my life felt gentle and uncomplicated. After all of the gore I had witnessed, I could use a few hours of gentleness and uncomplicated peace.
As always, Henry was glad to see me. He encouraged me to look around while he put on a kettle to boil.
"I just acquired a new box of treasures yesterday," he called out as he shuffled towards the back. "I put them aside in case you came in."
Henry said he liked to give me first dibs on the new stock before he put things out on the shelves. It was a kindness he granted me. Henry didn't have any family of his own so he sort of adopted me along the way. He said I was the first person he had met in years who had the same passion for the written word.
"The last true booklover to walk through these doors was a young whippersnapper from Harlem, but he moved to Tuscaloosa back in 1967. Can you believe that?" Henry had said with a wheezy chuckle. "Tuscaloosa. Who would want to move to Tuscaloosa?" Henry had clacked his teeth together when he said that. He had all of his natural teeth; each one as white as his hair.
I dug through the box of books had indicated, looking for anything that interested me. I grabbed a few titles I hadn't read before. Most of the books were leather bound and as supple as a baby's bottom. They had been well-loved making them all the more appealing to me. I could feel the history of the previous owners pour from each volume as I thumbed through their delicate pages.
I was just getting ready to take my selections over to my favorite overstuffed chair when a title caught my eye. Wildflowers of New England. It was printed back in 1914 and had a beautiful cover with gold embossing and painted flowers.
My mom would love this book, I thought as I thumbed through the pages, admiring the soft pastel-colored plates of various wildflowers found throughout northeast. I was just about to put the book back when a thought crawled across my mind. It was more than a thought. It was the delicate workings of a plan.
When Henry returned, he smiled to see my small pile of books.
"I see you found a few treasures in that box," he said balancing his old tray piled high with a box of cookies and fixings for tea. I jumped up and helped him carry everything to our little nook in the corner of the shop.
"Just let me know what I owe you for them Henry," I said. I figured it would be a lot because of how fine the books were.
"Not a cent, Jane," Henry said. "They're my birthday present to you. Dorthia called me last week and told me it was today. I figured next time I saw you, whatever you picked out would be my gift to you."
"But Henry, these books are so beautiful," I protested.
"All the more reason they should be your gift," Henry said.
"Oh, Henry, thank you," I said, giving him a big hug and a kiss. "I will cherish them. I insist on paying for this one, however," I added, lifting up the wildflower book. "I want to send it to a friend, if that is okay. I promise you, they will cherish the book forever."
Henry studied my face for a moment. He never asked me who the friend was. Somehow, he didn't have to. All he said was, "I have some brown paper under the register we can wrap it in. There is tape under there as well. Oh and if you are sending it to someone special, don't forget to inscribe something inside. That's what we used to do in the olden days before all those electronic contraptions."
"Oh trust me Henry, I plan on writing an inscription, but I want to do it in pencil like they did in the old timey days," I said.
Henry smiled at me. His eyes sparkled in the dim lighting.
"There's an old timey number two pencil under the register as well," he said. "If you bring it over here, I can gnaw off the wood for you with my teeth." Henry clacked his teeth at me as he said it and made me laugh.
We packaged up the Wildflowers of New England in brown paper, and I wrote the address in black marker.
"Ironco, Texas," Henry read aloud. "Where on earth is that?"
"Somewhere near Tuscaloosa I would imagine," I said.
I gave Henry a big smile.
My plan was in place. All we needed to do was wait for the postman to arrive. We did our waiting over a hot cup of tea and one of Henry's stories.
Epilogue
Succulent drops of moisture coursed down the tall glass of lemonade as Irene sat upon her porch staring off in the distance at nothing at all. Jane's birthday had come and gone, yet still there had been no word from the FBI on the whereabouts of her daughter. Irene and Julian's calls remained unanswered, buried beneath what Julian called the weight of bureaucratic bullshit.
Irene had still gone shopping for Jane's birthday on the off chance her angel appeared in time to celebrate. Iggie had even come over to help blow up balloons and pin streamers to the ceiling, while Irene made all of Jane's favorite foods. They all hoped and prayed as they worked to bring life back into the MacLeod home that some miracle would bring Jane back to them safe and sound. As the hours ticked by, they had watched the door like junkies waiting for their next big fix. But just as the junkie is doomed to letdown, so were the MacLeod's and Iggie bound to fall from their high hopes. Jane never came home.
The balloons now hung deflated upon the wall; as limp and lifeless as the hope that rested within the breasts of everyone who had put them there. No one had the heart to remove them and admit the possibility that Jane might never return.
Irene took a sip of lemonade, savoring the epic battle between sweet and sour. She had let the ice melt just a bit too long, but enough of the pure flavor was left to shock her senses back to life. It was Jane's favorite drink, and Irene found herself sipping it every chance she got just to remember her child.
"You're gonna give yourself an ulcer and cavities because of eroded tooth enamel," Julian kept saying, but he drank the tangy yellow elixir just as much as his wife and for the same sad reason. Neither of them could stop thinking of Jane; not for one second of the day. Not since they got the call from the FBI and were told the truth about Agent Howard and his betrayal. Not since their house was swept and searched by an army of agents looking for bugs and evidence and whatever else it was they had hoped to find. Not since the MacLeods had finally learned that Agent Howard was found dead.
"What if she's dead Jules?" Irene had asked once the FBI had vacated their home and left them once more to the horror that was to become their every waking moment.
"Don't even go there in your heart, Irene," Julian had said. "The FBI said they found one body in the burned up wreckage, and it wasn't Jane's. Maybe she got away. We must have faith."
"Why?" Irene asked. Tears coursed down her face.
"Because woman, sometimes that is all you have left to hold onto."
The FBI had found Agent Howard's burnt out car. Little was left of the vehicle but ash and metal. What they did find was enough to let them know that Jane wasn't in the car when it went up in flames. The agency had been keen enough to do some digging and discovered Howard had begun working for the same organization that had murdered Jane's family. When he wa
s flipped was unclear, but it had happened.
The FBI refused to give the MacLeods any further details beyond Agent Howard's demise. They played their cards close to their chests but not before they proceeded to shred what was left of Irene and Julian's life, looking for what they couldn't find on their own - Jane.
Jane was the key to understanding what had happened, they had said, and it was imperative she be found. When it was obvious Jane was not in touch with her parents, the FBI packed up their tea party and went home, leaving the MacLeod's' utterly devastated.
Irene took another sip of her lemonade. She was so focused on the sweet and sour that danced upon her tongue. She didn't notice Mr. Saunders from the hardware store approaching the porch with a parcel under his arm. She didn't notice him raise his hand in a friendly hello.
"Howdy Mrs. MacLeod," Mr. Saunders said once he reached the shade of the porch. "Mind if I come and sit a spell?"
Mr. Saunders' sudden appearance startled Irene, but she never forgot her manners when guests arrived. She smiled at the elderly gentleman and invited him up for a glass of lemonade.
"Sorry I didn't see you, Vernon," she said. "My mind was elsewhere."
"That's alright Irene," Mr. Saunders said. "I know her birthday was this past Saturday." It was a small town, and nothing happened in dusty old Ironco without the whole town knowing. They had all celebrated Jane's birthday enough times in the past to know its date by heart. "I brought you something," he continued, switching the subject from one he knew would bring nothing but pain. "This package came to me by mistake. Must be one of your books by the feel of it. Came all the way from some bookstore up north."
Irene wrinkled her brow. She hadn't ordered anything; not in a long time. She kept that thought to herself. She kept much to herself anymore since Jane disappeared. It was safer that way.
