by Raven Bond
“What the devils do you think you’re doing?” Owen hissed at Foster.
The squat man startled, then snapped at Owen without turning his head.
“Checking for wards, Strong. This isn’t my first tea party, you know,” the contempt was now clear in his voice.
“You’ll trigger any wards he’s set you, fool, let alone alert him that we’re here,” Owen snapped back.
“That will be enough,” Gregg hissed. “Milord, I thought I told you…” his rebuke was cut off in astonishment as a circle of angry, pulsing red energy appeared under their feet, alive with crawling lines within it.
Quickly, Owen activated one of his tattoos, feeling it burn against his skin as he focused its energy through his cane. The three men flew backwards through the air carried by Owen’s air spell, just as the circle exploded in a fiery cloud that roiled upwards.
Landing in a tangled heap, Owen scrambled to get his feet under him.
“That’s torn it,” he exclaimed. “He knows we’re here!” He ran for the door, slamming his shoulder against it to no effect. Gregg, shaking himself off, ran up behind him.
“It seems to be metal beneath the wood,” Owen exclaimed. He stood back and started raising his cane.
Gregg tried the door with his shoulder and then roared in Mandarin.
“Mother’s sweaty arm-pits! A steel door in the Pangyaun? A steel door I don’t know about?” He moved back, raising his gun.
“Save your power, Milord,” he continued more calmly in now un-accented English. “No one sets up a steel door here without official sanction—my sanction. The bastard has made me mad now.”
Owen averted his eyes as a flash-crack erupted from the gun’s muzzle, and then another. Owen blinked away the after-spots swimming before his eyes as there came a sound of tearing metal. Gregg’s foot had kicked in the door.
It fell with a resounding crash, and both men looked into the dark cavern of the warehouse beyond.
“Where’s Foster?” Gregg turned to look about him. “Foster!” He called over his shoulder, “Get in here!”
“I, I think I’m injured,” came a weak voice from where they had fallen after Owen’s air spell. Gregg sighed loudly, the thick accent back in his voice.
“What was that at the door, Milord? I’m thinking that we definitely need more Magian help before going in after that.”
“Fire ward,” Owen replied shortly. “Sorry for the rough ride; I felt it best to get us out of the field as quickly as possible.”
A woman’s scream came from within the gloom of the building.
“There’s no more time, Gregg. We have to go now!” Owen shouted, sprinting forward. One by one Owen activated his tattoos of power as he ran. That fire ward had not been set by a dabbler, no matter how deranged. Owen feared he’d need all the power he had before all was done.
Looking about in the dim light that came through the doorway, he was confronted by tall walls of stacked crates.
The scream came again, followed by a voice pleading in Mandarin. Cursing under his breath, Owen lit the gem set in the handle of his walking stick, giving him a low light to see by. Choosing a path between the stacks, he moved on as quickly as he could.
As he threaded his way among the stacks, he felt the thrill of impending battle course through his body like an old lover. He didn’t realize he’d missed it quite so much.
Was this really why he’d gotten involved in this affair despite his own high-sounding ideals, for the hope of fighting again? Was he really that crass? He pushed aside the thoughts when he saw a stronger light around a corner of stacks. Dousing the light of his gemstone, he peered around the corner and froze before a scene from some version of a Christian hell.
In a circle of light cast by a mage lantern hung above them was a metal table with two men standing next to it. One was an older man, clad only in a rubber apron and boots, goggles with an array of lenses sprouting from his head. The other, in threadbare clothes holding a tray was clearly an Animated.
Animated were made by Necromancers from the body parts of living persons, then given a kind of false life by their creator. If Owen had any doubts about his theories concerning the disappearances, they were laid to rest by what he now saw.
A young woman lay on the table, struggling with her steel bonds. As the older man took up a thin blade from the tray and turned to lean over her, she screamed again. Time to put a stop to this, Owen vowed. Readying himself, he stepped around the corner.
“Stop!” He shouted out. “Archibald Renton, you are called to challenge!” If his theories were correct, Renton’s ego would not allow him to refuse a Sorcerer’s challenge. While they battled it out, Jinhao should be able to get the girl to safety. He had no doubts that Jinhao was even now hiding in the shadows waiting to strike. At least, that had been the plan.
The old man looked up, the light reflecting off of his lenses, making him look like some grotesque insect. Instead of showing distress at Owen’s appearance, he cackled.
“Are you the pansy-assed lording who has been dogging my steps? I’m not surprised that you showed up after that knock on the door.”
Owen stepped closer, his walking stick pointed at Renton like a gun.
“My name is Owen Strong, Renton, and I call you to challenge.”
“Challenge?” The old man wheezed, then cackled again. “You have no concept of the power I wield!” He pointed towards the shadows in a sweeping gesture first to the left, then the right with the thin blade. “Rend him, my pretties!” He waved a hand dismissively, “That for your challenge, lordling!”
Owen heard the sudden shamble of many feet. Out of the shadows emerged horrid shapes. Some were freakishly tall, while others were as small as children. Their patchwork of limbs and heads were attached to the wrong bodies, and all of them were reaching out towards him in eerie silence. There were a lot of them, closing around him in a half-circle.
Owen pulled energy from his fire bond-mark until it felt like a coal on his chest. A thread of white hot fire lanced out from his cane towards Renton. It splashed harmlessly against an invisible barrier feet from its target and was snuffed out. Owen ground his teeth in frustration.
Renton cackled again. “Oh my,” he exclaimed. “Did I forget to mention the permanent blood wards around this table?” He waved his knife hand contemptuously.
“Run away, lordling, or die; I care not. I am running out of time here.” Renton turned back to the woman strapped on the table. “Now my pretty, don’t squirm so,” he crooned, “I shall make you a beautiful part of my creations. You’ll be immortal. But you must stop squirming so!”
A black streak fell from the ceiling, twin cleaver-like blades flashing. The head rolled off one of the taller Animated, while Jinhao landed feet-first on a smaller one, crushing it under her. She rolled under the swinging arm of the one she had just decapitated and came up in a whirling vortex of destruction.
“Aim for the legs,” Owen shouted. “You can’t kill what isn’t alive!”
There were at least a dozen or more Animated boiling up out of the darkness. Jinhao had apparently heard him and was focusing on cutting the silently shambling horde off at the knees, literally.
Gregg swore, readjusting his aim. Lightning boom-cracked from his gun and another of the Animated fell, legs missing. Owen bit back his disgust as Animated began to crawl towards them, undeterred.
He focused on his aether mark, and one of those enigmatic marks he had been gifted with by those who had no name, trying to combine their energies. To his knowledge, no one had ever attempted this blending before. If it didn’t kill him, it should be rather spectacular.
He collapsed to his knees with the effort of channeling the energies, his very blood feeling as if it were boiling, and then with a great cry, slammed his walking stick upright into the floor. A sheet of purple-tinged energy flew from the jewel in the handle. Half of the Animated it touched dropped like puppets with their strings cut. Owen had the satisfaction of he
aring Renton scream as his “pretties” fell. At least the madman’s attention was on them now, the girl on the table forgotten. Renton was pointing frantically at him, screaming for his creatures to kill him.
Owen panted, leaning on his stick. Well, at least he wasn’t dead yet, although he wasn’t sure that was an improvement. He struggled to rise, every inch of his body crying out in protest. Two of the creatures were shambling towards him. He could see Jinhao fighting for her life against half a dozen of the creatures across the room.
The flash-crack of lightning over his head heralded the arrival of the redoubtable Inspector Gregg. One of the giant Animated approaching Owen crashed over on its side, with one leg missing. It was followed by the other one as the Inspector’s aether gun spoke again.
“Good advice, that, to aim for the legs,” the Inspector commented, coming up beside Owen. “How do we kill them for good?” He fired again, stopping one of the ones he’d just shot from crawling forward by shooting at its arm.
“Renton,” Owen gasped. “We have to kill Renton—only way to stop his Animated.” Gregg shifted the gun, firing at the screaming Necromancer only to have his bolt succumb to the same fate as Owen’s fire spear.
“No,” Owen said, struggling to his feet. “Shoot the other Animated first! We can only get through the wards with a physical attack. ”
Gregg promptly shifted aim again, and the Animated around Jinhao began falling and writhing around her. With a backflip through the air, she threw a stream of iron darts at Renton as she landed. The Necromancer jerked, dropping his long thin blade, as the darts struck home. Suddenly, the tall Animated that had been Renton’s attendant reached forward, pulling Renton off the ground by his hair.
Renton screamed as the Animated held him there. The scream was cut off as the creature sliced through his neck with one blow of a sickle-shaped instrument. The mage lantern went out, plunging the room into partial darkness.
Owen watched the tall Animated’s actions towards its master in some confusion. He was sure that Jinhao’s darts had been Renton’s death blow. Perhaps the creature had broken free of the evil Magian’s command at the last.
Owen shook himself. No time for speculation now. The Duchess had still to be rescued. He raised his cane, pulling on the energy in one of his tattoos. A wisp of light danced on the tip of the red-metaled stick, providing a wan illumination. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw the shadow that was Jinhao flit off in pursuit of the Animated and its grizzly trophy.
“Here, Gregg,” he said, striding into the now-dead Magian Circle. Together they unbound the weeping girl, Gregg speaking soft words of reassurance in Mandarin.
Chapter 2
Owen leaned on his walking stick as the Duke of Chu’s van rattled away, pulled by the giant Golem. It was fascinating to Owen that something that big could run so fast.
His Grace could afford to hire one of the Cabbalist Sorcerers that kept the construction of the artificial beings a tribal secret. It was a mark of cachet to be able to hire a Cabbalist and, despite their traveling ways, the Hebrew tribes were very particular who they did business with. No one would dream of crossing them either; the lessons of Prague three hundred years earlier were still remembered.
Inspector Gregg stood beside him watching the van wind its way up the street.
“Duke was grateful,” he finally said in his thick English.
“It was a touching reunion,” Owen agreed. He looked at the Inspector sideways. “Now what do we do?”
Gregg hacked and spat into the street and turned to look at the swarm of constables coming in and out of the building behind them.
“Do?” He repeated the word sourly. “I get to spend the rest of the night riding herd on this lot.” He looked at Owen “You? Maybe you should go home. The superintendent should arrive at any minute.”
Owen smiled thinly.
“And we wouldn’t want to have to answer too many awkward questions.”
Gregg nodded jerkily.
“Glad you understand.” He paused, “I have a question. Who was the person in the building who killed Renton?”
“I thought that one of Renton’s Animated went berserk and killed its creator,” Owen said blandly. “After the death of its creator, all the remaining Animated stopped. Doubtless, the berserk one ran off with the head, before the motive energy of the Necromancer fled its body.”
That was the story that Owen had come up with after the fact. It might even be true in part. The suspicion that Gregg was humoring him proved true with the Inspector’s next words.
“That’s right.” Gregg nodded. His craggy face watched the milling officers without expression. “Moves like that, could almost think it was an Adept. But Adepts are only Chinese, and they do Magia with their bodies, like what you sort do with your rods.” He sighed. “Very few Adepts. They are all either Imperial, or they follow rebels against the Empress.” He turned towards Owen. “I would hate to learn that there is an Adept in my city to make trouble with the Imperial Court, Milord.”
“I’m sure that need not be a concern, Inspector,” Owen said smoothly.
Gregg held his eye for a moment, then nodded again. He held out a bag.
“Memento of the evening. Seems someone left a handful of bloody iron darts lying around.”
Owen took the bag from Gregg’s hand.
“Why, Inspector, how very considerate of you,” he said in a delighted voice. “I shall treasure it always as a remembrance.” A fine rain began falling from the skies.
“I will remember, too,” the policeman said solemnly. Gregg hesitated. “What you did tonight, you should get the credit for it, Milord. It was you who discovered it was a Necromancer, and who it was.”
Owen turned his face up to let the rain wash over him.
“No bother, Inspector,” he said. “I didn’t do it for any credit.”
“Then why did you get involved?” the inspector demanded. “I know it wasn’t for money, and you had no personal interest that I can find.”
Owen shrugged.
“It seemed Renton needed stopping.” He shook his head like a dog, and then lowered his chin, hair a-tumble, to smile at Gregg. “To be perfectly honest,” he said brightly, “I have no idea why I did it. But it feels good, doesn’t it?”
Gregg gave a snort of disbelief. “The saying is true: you English are all mad.”
Owen spread his arms wide, smiling happily.
“Madness does keep boredom at bay, so they say.” Suddenly serious, he brought his stick up to his forehead in a salute. “Good night, Chief Inspector. And thank you.”
Gregg nodded back.
“Thank you, Milord.” He looked up at the rain. “I could arrange transport if you wish.”
“No,” Owen said cheerfully, “I believe I shall walk for a bit.” With that he turned and strolled up the street, swinging his cane, while whistling a bawdy dance hall tune.
Chapter 3
Owen had gone just around the corner when he was joined by Jinhao, who was once more wearing her night-cloak.
“Ah.” Owen said, not stopping his saunter. “There you are.” He held out the bag. “This is yours, I believe.”
The bag vanished beneath the cloak. Owen held out his arm and Jinhao placed an arm within his as the pair kept walking.
“You could have taken the carriage,” she said to him. “I would have made my way back just fine.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “Rain is invigorating. Besides, I wished to see how you’d gotten on. I assume that you heard everything between Gregg and myself.”
“Yes, he is much more intelligent than he shows, that one. I tried to follow that—thing, to end its misery,” Jinhao admitted, “but I lost it somehow.” Her shoulders moved beneath the cloak. “I am sorry. My Qi was sorely depleted by then.”
“No worries,” Owen said breezily. “As I said to Gregg, the thing was probably maddened with pain by Renton’s death wound. There is a bond between a Necromancer and its creati
ons, you know. It either tried to end Renton’s suffering, or,” he shrugged his shoulders, “the mind within broke free of Renton’s control at that moment and sought revenge. Either way, good show on ending Renton.”
“It was necessary,” Jinhao said calmly. They walked on in companionable silence for a space. Finally, Jinhao spoke again.
“You did not answer Gregg honestly, Owen. I know why you got involved in this affair. It is because you are noble, noble like a hero in a tale.”
Owen shook his head, and laughed, “Well, I do have a patent of nobility, it says so right there on the paper.”
Jinhao smiled from under her hood.
“Always the light touch with you, is it not my friend? Laugh if you wish, but I know better.”
Owen stopped swinging his cane, gripping it like a vise.
“Honestly, Jinhao, I truly do not know why I got involved. The noble-sounding words are just that, noble sounds. I can say, though, that I felt…alive, I suppose you could say.” He twirled the cane absently as they walked. “Perhaps I’m simply bored. Deuced if I know. I do know that I am eternally grateful to you for agreeing to accompany me on this mad hunt.”
“There can be no talk of debt between us, Owen Strong, as you well know,” she replied calmly. They came upon a brightly lit intersection where a single horse cab waited forlornly in the rain for a fare. Owen raised his cane in a hail, and hooves made a loud clatter as the cab man moved towards them.
“We’ve talked about that, Jinhao.” Owen said shortly. He lowered the cane and turned towards her, smiling again. “But see here. We are in deadly peril of becoming serious, when we should be celebrating a great victory over the slimy Necromancer.
“What do you say that we pop around to Mrs. Schmidt’s, and see if we may engage some company for the evening? I’m sure that there’s food and a bottle back at the house to go with it.” Mrs. Schmidt’s was the most renowned pleasure house in Hong Kong. They had each been delighted to discover the other’s appetites in such things. They had not, for various reasons, consummated such desires with each other.
