by Raven Bond
To the right of the steps leading up to the bier stood a richly dressed entourage, centered on a strikingly pretty young woman. Her upright bearing and shoulder crest marked her as the new Head of House Hastings.
If anyone personified the British Empire, it was its trading families. For centuries, the brave had ventured away from the home Isle and, by skill, wits, and sometimes outright piracy, returned home with wealth and honor to found their own dynasties.
Some, like the Hastings, had chosen to settle in the countries where they made their wealth. Still, they sent their children to schools back “Home,” they toasted the Monarch every Birthday, and had planted the British flag from the windswept plains of America to the southern bays of Australia. They were the Empire’s lifeblood, its modern nobility, and they knew it.
Owen approached the group, and stopping the correct distance away, bowed with his right hand over his heart towards the upright woman. “Lady Hastings,” he said, “Please allow me to convey my sorrow at your loss.”
The young woman acknowledged him with a regal nod. The only signs of distress were the dark rings under her eyes that even cosmetics could not hide.
“My thanks to you, Sir, on behalf of my House and myself,” she said in a clear voice. “I must confess that you have me at a disadvantage. I see what I believe is the colors of House Connolly, as well as your Rod of Art, but I know of no Sorcerers of that House currently in the city.”
Owen straightened up from his bow.
“Ah, yes, well I can see where the confusion may arise; forgive me, Milady.” He bowed again, “My name is Strong, Owen Strong of House Strong, at your service and at the service of your family.” He flourished a hand towards Jinhao.
“This is my noble companion, Jinhao.” Jinhao affected a short bow of equals before returning to stand silently behind him. The news of this announcement was electric in the group before them. Those that didn’t straighten up in surprise took their cue from their mistress and reluctantly bowed in response.
“My Lord,” Lady Hastings said without a trace of surprise in her voice. “It is I and my family that stand at your service! Truly you do honor to both my father, and to his House.” There were advantages to having a famous name, Owen reflected. It was not the first time he had taken advantage of his Father’s shining glory.
“I only wish it could be under kinder circumstances, Lady Hastings,” Owen said soberly. “I must plea for private speech with you concerning your father’s untimely fate.”
Before Lady Hastings could respond, a dignified, but younger and male version of Lady Hastings stepped forward.
“Now, see here, My Lord,” he began stormily, “If indeed you are who you say you are, this is hardly the time or place for such words, let alone a plea for a private audience!”
He was stopped by Lady Hastings’ hand on his arm.
“You forget what I am, John,” Owen heard her say to him. “I would speak to this man. You stand in my place to the guests until I return.” Raising her voice she spoke to Owen.
“Please forgive him, My Lord. I plead the circumstance of grief.”
“Of course, Lady Hastings,” Owen said with another bow. “As a guest, there is nothing to forgive.”
She nodded her thanks, and turned away from the entourage.
“This way, My Lord,” she said, moving towards a doorway along one wall. An older woman with a rod sheath at her waist followed determinedly behind her, glaring distrustfully at Owen. He judged she must be the House Sorcerer. He would be distrustful as well in her place.
He was frankly amazed that the Lady Hastings had agreed so readily. While the Strong family name carried a certain honor, he doubted that his word alone would grant them such an audience. With a nod at Jinhao to come along as well, he followed the two women towards the door.
The doorway led them onto a long covered veranda that held a breathtaking view of the harbor. Lights of different colors began winking and glimmering on the waters as the sun sank in the sky. Overhead, a sky ship silently floated by, the tips of its spines faintly gleaming in the gathering dusk. Lady Hastings rounded on Owen, the pinch-faced Sorcerer at her right shoulder.
“Now, My Lord, what word have you to say about my father’s death?” she rapped out in a voice like steel. She crossed her arms over her stiff white dress and awaited Owen’s reply, a determined fire in her face.
Owen straightened his shoulders, noting that the noblewoman before him was a far cry from the demure lady in mourning she had appeared inside.
“I am investigating the deaths of Sir John and some others, My Lady. I believe that your father may have been the victim of malice.”
The older woman behind Lady Hastings stirred as if to speak. Lady Hastings held up a hand to stop her.
“A moment if you please, Melinda,” she ordered the Sorcerer, never taking her eyes off Owen. “Are you a member of the police?”
“No, My Lady, I am a private agent,” Owen replied, matching her matter of fact tone.
“I see,” said the Head of House Hastings. “Do you know how my father was killed?”
Owen shook his head. “We have some theories, My Lady. That is why I am speaking to you.”
“I see,” the young woman repeated. Her face and voice could have been carved from granite. “What do you require of me?”
Owen attempted to look apologetic. “I’m sorry for this, My Lady, but we need to examine his body—that is to physically examine it.”
“This is outrageous, My Lady!” the Sorcerer burst out from behind Lady Hastings. “Both Doctor Syn and myself did all that we could to save your father. As we have both stated, it was a heart attack that killed him! There was nothing anyone could have done! That you should even listen to this—this stranger and his ravings, is an insult to your father’s memory, especially on this day of all days! I shall call the guards.”
“You will do no such thing, Melinda,” Lady Hastings ordered, turning to the older woman. “You forget both who and what I am. I am the Head of House Hastings now, and I know he is speaking the truth. I shall avenge my father as is my right as Head of House. You may leave us, Melinda.”
“My Lady,” the Sorcerer rocked back as if slapped. “He is a Sorcerer,” she protested.
“I am aware of that,” Lady Hastings said. “My Lord Strong,” she asked raising her voice. “Do either you or your companion intend me either harm or compulsion of any kind?”
“No, My Lady,” Owen replied calmly. It appeared that Lady Hastings was establishing herself as no one’s figurehead. Owen was too familiar with the power plays that bedeviled great families, and said nothing more.
“Leave us,” Lady Hastings repeated. The House Sorcerer moved past her mistress, her gaze shooting figurative daggers from her eyes at Owen as she left.
Lady Hastings turned back to Owen, speaking as if nothing had occurred.
“And if you are wondering if this is simply a young woman’s fancy, My Lord, you should know that I am True Born. Naturally, that is not commonly known, and I trust to your discretion. If, however, your beliefs are borne out, I shall see my father avenged, I so swear it.”
Owen nodded. If one person out of a hundred had some talent for using Magica, perhaps one in a hundred thousand was born with the gift of divining the Truth of a person’s words when they heard them. Owen had some sympathy for her. If anyone was looked at more warily than Sorcerers, it was the True Born. Normally the bearers of such a gift were dedicated to some priesthood at an early age. That someone with the ability was Head of a Great Trading House would make them very formidable indeed.
Owen bowed his head at her declaration.
“As is your right, of course, My Lady. It is those beliefs we intend to test, in the hopes that they will lead us to those who are responsible.”
“And how do you propose to test them?” she demanded. “My father shall be consigned to the flames by nightfall.” She glanced out at the fading light, “Which is not far off. Even I cann
ot stop the ceremony now, and he lies in full view until the torches are lit.”
Owen gave her the smile that had caused Jinhao to roll her eyes earlier.
“I have a thought on that, if My Lady is willing?”
The Priestess of the Goddess of the Cauldron gave a start as the new Lady Hastings climbed the steps to the bier with two strangers, and then resumed her chanting. If the Lady Hastings wanted to say her farewells personally, it was none of her concern.
The trio stood before the cloth-of-gold covered body. Owen arranged both Lady Hastings and himself to screen Jinhao from the view of the surrounding priests.
“It has to be now, Jinhao,” he muttered under the chanting. Quickly Jinhao pulled back the cloth to reveal the face and upper body of Sir John Hastings. Wordlessly, she pointed to a tiny fading red mark on the dead man’s chest.
Chapter 8
Lady Hastings stood with them outside the building that was Hastings Shipping and Trading while a footman ran to flag down a cab for Owen and Jinhao.
“I still fail to see what a tiny mark on father’s chest proves,” she demanded. “It is smaller than a flea bite. In fact at this time of year, it probably is a flea bite.”
Owen looked to Jinhao, who had stayed curiously silent through the whole affair, then turned back to the young heir.
After the discovery on Sir John’s chest, Owen had attempted to extradite himself and Jinhao from the ceremonies, only to find that Lady Hastings had attached herself to them like a burr to their sides. Weaving in and out of the well-wishers that stopped them every few feet, Owen had hoped that Lady Hastings would finally leave them at the door. Instead she doggedly followed them outside. Lady Hastings leaving the ceremonies was, in all likelihood, causing a scene, or at least some consternation within.
“We believe that the assassin somehow introduced a poison through that wound, My Lady,” Owen explained briefly.
“Wound?” Lady Hastings face showed her surprise. “That tiny mark? But how?”
“When we know that My Lady, we will be one step closer to finding the killer,” Owen replied. He decided to take advantage of their relative isolation to question her further. “Forgive me, but were you present when your father collapsed?”
“No,” she answered. “I was in the building of course, as it was a business day, but I was upstairs. I came as soon as I was called down, with Lady Ap Rhys and the House Sorcerer.”
“So you and the House Sorcerer arrived at the scene at the same time? What did you see?”
Lady Hastings nodded, clearly thinking back to that day.
“Yes. One of the clerks came to get Lady Ap Rhys, the House Healer, to see if she could help my father.” Her face briefly twisted. “When we reached him, he was lying on the floor. Dr. Syn was bent over him. Lady Ap Rhys began the laying-on of hands immediately, but it was already too late, he was just…gone. Mistress MacAllister, the House Sorceress, arrived just as we were closing his eyes. She tried to help also, but it was to no avail.” The heiress dabbed at her eyes for a moment, then looked at Owen dry-eyed.
“I am sorry to have you recall this Lady Hastings,” Owen said sympathetically. “You are doing splendidly. Was there anything, or anyone that seemed out of the ordinary? Think carefully.”
She frowned in concentration.
“No, nothing. There was just father on the floor, with the courier tube lying beside him. Everyone was running about, it was a scene of madness, as you may imagine.”
“Courier tube,” Owen pounced on the anomaly. “What courier tube was this? Was your father expecting a courier? Is that not normally something that someone else would handle?”
Lady Hastings shook her head. “He was not expecting a courier that I know of. It was his habit to ‘stretch his legs’ as he put it about that time of day. He would step outside the front door for a time.” She smiled. “I believe that he often indulged in a drink of brandy while he was outside. He kept a flask on him. I am sure that he thought no one knew. It would not have been the first time that he had intercepted a courier while he stood outside. He usually simply took the tube from them.”
“I see,” Owen said. “And what happened to this courier tube?”
She startled at that question.
“Why I have no idea, now that you mention it. I simply assumed it was some routine thing. People are always sending contracts and such through the couriers. It must happen a dozen times a day.” She looked at him. “Do you think this is important?”
“It could be,” Owen temporized, “Or it might be nothing. Would you, of your kindness, enquire about it and let me know the answer?” He produced a card with his address on it.
Lady Hastings clutched the card.
“Of course,” she said, “Anything that might be helpful. But I shall have to give the task to another. I am coming with you.”
Owen struggled not to allow his dismay show at her pronouncement. He looked to Jinhao for support, and saw the same silent, inscrutable face.
“I am sorry Lady Hastings,” he said as gently as he may, “but that simply isn’t possible. We work best on our own, and we know not where this inquiry may take us. Besides,” he continued, “you have a duty to your guests and your father still.”
She clenched her hands into fists at this.
“But this is my duty! You cannot simply leave me here after such pronouncements as you have made. I may be useful in your inquiry with my truth talent!” Owen was saved from further awkwardness by the arrival of both the coach, and the younger male version of Lady Hastings, who was running up to them.
“Sister.” he panted, out of breath. “We are almost at the raising of the cup speeches! You are needed! Mr. Richards told me to come and find you!”
Lady Hastings swiveled from Owen to what was clearly her brother then back to Owen again.
“My Lord Strong,” she said desperately, “I plead with you!”
The footman opened the coach door, and Jinhao climbed inside without another word. Owen sketched Lady Hastings a bow.
“I promise that I shall inform you of our results, Lady Hastings. Rest assured that you have already been of enormous aid. Please,” he said climbing up into the coach, “see to your guests.”
Owen watched Lady Hastings reluctantly enter the building as they drove away.
“Well…” he declared as he sat back in the padded seat. “That was decidedly awkward at the end there.” He turned towards Jinhao. “You might have been of more help you know. What’s come over you?”
“You were doing fine,” she replied absently. “I saw no need to interfere. I am now thinking of couriers.”
“Yes…” Owen breathed. “Courier would be a perfect disguise for our killer. They are everywhere in this correspondence happy age we live in, or so it seems. And the disguise would only take a messenger bag, really.”
Couriers were ever present in modern cities, carrying everything from messages across the street to state documents for officials. Most couriers worked for established companies that were trusted and bonded, but in Hong Kong there was nothing like unions or guilds to prevent anyone from picking up a bag to earn a few bob.
After a moment’s thought, Owen shook his head. “It is not enough,” he declared. “The delegates arrive tomorrow for the reception at Government House, before the talks start. There must be what, a dozen, legitimate courier companies in the city? And that does not count the independents and more questionable actors. We do not have time to chase down every courier in the city.”
“Perhaps we could approach it from the other side, so to speak?” Jinhao stirred in her seat. “The poison would require an Alchemist, to make it in the strength we are thinking of. I know of one that may have heard of something. What time is it?”
Owen took out his pocket watch. He peered at it in the gloom of the cab.
“Just on seven of the clock.”
“Excellent.” Jinhao nodded. “He should just be opening for the night.”
Owen s
napped shut the watch,
“An Alchemist who keeps night hours? Very good, let’s go pay her a visit.”
“Him,” Jinhao corrected. “We should stop at home first, and change into clothing that is a bit less…respectable. His shop is in Joy Luck Street.”
Owen pursed his lips.
“In that case, much less respectable, I should think.”
The Street of Joy and Luck was only a short distance away from where they had started their day at the embassy on Main Street, but the contrast could not have been greater. Just as the dignified stone buildings along Main Street were turning off their lamps and emptying out, the less grand wooden facades on the Street of Joy and Luck were opening.
By the time Owen and Jinhao disembarked from their cab, anonymous in hooded night cloaks, the street was bustling with people seeking various vices and pleasures, as well as the swindlers, pickpockets, and toughs who preyed on them.
The crowd was from a dozen nations and empires. As Owen followed in Jinhao’s wake, a group of uniformed Russian sailors staggered past, roaring out a song which they marked time to by waving bottles in their hands, splashing the unwary with spirits. A pair of Azteca nobles stalked the street, resplendent in bright colored feather capes and tall headdresses; those passing by gave them plenty of space.
Another group of high-fashion British ladies flounced by in daring costumes, laughing, all of them wearing little more than body paint, together with the many-tiered skirts inspired by the recent excavations on Minos. Owen thought he even spied a live snake on one lady’s arm.
From overhead, the paper lanterns shone in the open fronts of buildings, spilling light in an array of different glowing colors across the pedestrians, while barkers vied with street musicians for the attention of passers-by.
Some of the more expensive establishments had hired freelance Sorcerers, who filled the air in front of their doors with moving illusions that beckoned people to come within.
A rich fog of incense, hemp and tobacco mixed with alcohol and perfumes hung over the street like a fragrant cloud.
