by Raven Bond
Jinhao hesitated. To acknowledge that she owed a debt to the Dragon was a chancy proposition. She had worked hard to be free of the Dragon’s sphere of power.
“I shall not serve you as I once did,” she declared.
“Nor would I ask that you do,” the dragon replied with a strange smile. “Still, you have acknowledged the debt. I shall call upon you sometime in the future. See that you remember it.” He waved a hand. “Now you may go.”
She startled at the abrupt dismissal, until she recalled that this was Lohan’s way. She bowed the bow of child to elder.
“Grandfather,” she murmured. Then turned away to thread her way back though the wilderness to the city that surrounded the park. The old man, who was anything but a man, remained behind.
Chapter 11
“You did not practice your lessons last night!” Owen Strong looked at the girl and sighed. “How do you ever expect to succeed at this if you do not do them?”
“But it’s only been two days!” Mary protested. “So I didn’t do the stupid exercises last night! It shouldn’t matter that much!”
“You think not?” Owen twirled his cane. “Do you really believe that you are ready to face the energies your blood can call forth? That you can control them? Make them do your bidding?”
“I managed just fine without you and your stupid exercises before!” Mary cried. Between her clenched fists a glow and the flicker of firelight began to grow.
“Then look to your hands, girl” Owen snapped.
Mary held up her hands. Her face was a study in shock as the flames pooled in her palms. She screamed and tried to fling the flames off her hands. Fire dripped off them in globules. Owen quickly called on his own affinity for the water element through his tattoo and channeled it down his electrum cane, dousing the flames.
“No, no,” he cried. “Center yourself, Mary! Breathe from the center point of your belly, breathe!” The girl did so, the flames in her hands gradually dimming back to flickers, then stopping as if blown out by some wind. Mary stood up straight, eyes closed, hands at her side.
“That is the way of it Mary,” Owen crooned at her softly, almost hypnotically, watching her very closely. “Breathe in, and as you breathe out see the fire run down into the earth, harmless and inert. You are the master of the fire, the fire is not the master of you!”
The girl had both power and the will to harness it, Owen had to admit. She belonged in a school with a Master of the Elements to aid her in learning true sorcery, not in an abandoned warehouse learning a fire caller’s tricks. Still, he knew that if he had not come along Mary might well now be dead, the Fire turning inwards and burning her alive. He promised himself that he would see her to a true school. In the meantime, it wouldn’t do to let up on her . . . she could still harm herself or those around her.
“That’s right, Mary,” Owen directed in the same soothing voice, “and now you can open your eyes and still be centered.” The young woman opened her eyes.
“But I didn’t do anything,” she cried. The flames licked up around her head like a halo. She bit her lower lip and concentrated. The flames dropped away harmlessly.
“Still think that you can ‘manage just fine’,” he asked sardonically. “Your power will not let you be lazy on this you know. It will manifest whether you wish it or not. I warned you of this,” he said gravely.
“Am I to understand that being a Sorcerer means that you hold all five elements in your body? How do you ever, manage?” she asked, with a quiver in her voice.
“You learn,” Owen replied. He shrugged, “Control becomes second-nature to you with time and practice. I do not even think on it these days. It is much like the muscles you use to walk, or to pick something up with. The muscles are always there, but you are not constantly running.” He pulled back the sleeves of his right arm. Mary gasped at the line of scar tissue that ran ruler straight down it. “I began as a fire caller. This is the result of not practicing my lessons. You must learn.”
“But you told me that you needed your focus,” she nodded towards his cane, “to make the elemental energies manifest. How can I do that without one?”
“Most simple talents do not require that one undergo Sorcery training to master them. Your connection to the Source of All is limited, as is the power that you can manifest, whereas mine is not.” Owen smiled at her. “It would not do for me to immolate my cab driver just because he drove recklessly, no matter how angry I get at him.”
“Then the Focuses and the Tattoos and all that are just mental tricks?” she asked.
“No,” Owen shook his head vehemently. “They are real tools that enable sorcerers to wield the unthinkable power of the elements without harm. You are not surprised when a train driver wears thick gloves and goggles to protect his hands and eyes, are you?” Mary shook her head mutely. Owen nodded.
“Well, the same thing is true of Sorcerers,” he said. Your gift, and it is a gift never doubt that, is simply the birthright that we all share. It does not require the specialized technique of the Sorcerer to use. Very few people have the Gifts to that degree.” And those that do usually belong to one of the Noble families, he thought to himself. That Mary was some by-blow of the branch of a great tree, he had no trouble believing.
He was under the impression that Mary had been abandoned as an infant as had the rest of Mike’s little gang, left to die on the streets. That the Han still practiced such cruelty towards their own children was not really surprising to Owen. That solid Englishmen had taken the practice up made him quite literally see red. He kept his outrage to himself. Such would butter no parsnips as his nurse used to say. He gestured towards the makeshift chairs of over-turned buckets that served as his sitting parlor.
“But enough of that,” he said, flicking the cuffs of his black peasant tunic, his cane upright between his knees. “Now recite for me the Five Elements of Sorcery.”
“Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Spirit,” she chanted promptly.
“Very good,” Owen said. “Now what are the properties of each Element?”
“Fire, that’s my element,” Mary said shyly, “is the easiest called and the hardest to control. It warms us from the sun and the fire in the earth. Water is its opposite.” As Mary droned on Owen tried to look attentive. He had learned these things in common school when he was seven.
When Mike came to get them for the communal supper, Mary skipped ahead while Owen hung back to walk with Mike. When Owen had learned that Mike took in the girls abandoned to death as infants or very young girls, his attitude towards the young man had shifted somewhat. Granted, he was teaching them how to steal, but at least he was teaching them how to steal well and survive. Still they did not end up in some crib used for some person’s foul lust, a practice that Owen knew occurred often enough in Hong Kong. This was a source of relief to Owen as he needed a refuge to hide out in, and he had worked hard to cultivate his captors towards that end.
In the same way, Mike’s attitude towards Owen had shifted. Once Owen had convinced him that he really intended to stay and cause no trouble, Mike had given him back his cane, furnishing Owen with another set of clothes, the tunic, coat, and loose pants that everyone seemed to wear. He even began calling him Sha-Tui, which Owen understood to be a sort of nick name meaning ‘tall man’. Although Owen barely stood five foot eight inches in height, compared to the rest of them he was indeed a ‘tall man.’ That Mike had some ulterior motive Owen had no doubt—that was the way the game was played. Still when his purpose was revealed, it was a bit of a shock.
“So, tell me Sha-Tui,” Mike said looking up at Owen, “Can she be ready to fight with the fire in two days?” Mike mimed throwing a firebolt.
“Fight?” Owen repeated blankly. He nearly stumbled. “No one ever mentioned anything about fighting! Perhaps in two months, she might be able to light a candle and not set the building on fire,” Owen pronounced. “But fight with fire?” Owen shook his head firmly, “No, absolutely not!” Mike’s face turned
cold upon hearing this
“Do not give me that, Foreign Devil,” he hissed. “If she can’t fight then all your fancy learning is useless to me!”
“It is not useless to her,” Owen shot back. “You cannot expect Mary to develop skills overnight, these things take time!” Owen gave him a sideways glance. “And do not give me that Quizi manure!”
They had been talking in the slang ridden dialect of what passed for Mandarin among the lower classes. Owen switched to English as his vocabulary failed him. “Why do you need her to fight with fire? Thinking of expanding your territory?” Owen guessed slyly.
“No!” Mike waved his hands, then lowered his voice as they neared the dining hall. His walk slowed to a stop. “There is another gang. Jimmy the Horse’s gang. They are expanding their territory. Jimmy has a, what you call fire caller. Evil brat. We will go to a meeting, supposed to work it out. Jimmy will use him then. Kill people and take our territory.” Mike shrugged. “I do not suppose that you upper crust types would understand.” Owen also stopped moving, and leaned on his cane as he addressed the ganger.
“Let me see if I have this right,” Owen said. “An ambitious rival wants to expand into your territory. You suspect that he will kill your representatives at a peace summit using forbidden magic to do so.” Mike nodded solemnly. Owen smiled at him dryly.
“That is positively refreshing in its simplicity,” Owen said. “You should see some of the plots we have to deal with among the Noble Houses back home.” He frowned, then looked down at the smaller man. “Mary still cannot hope to hold her own, let alone be an effective fighter by that time.” Mike pulled himself up regally.
“Then you had better see to it that she is!” He strode into the mess hall to many smiles and cries of greeting. Owen had to allow that the affection that the women and girls showered on him was clearly given freely. He gestured at Owen to be seated at his right.
The woman everyone called Guan placed a fresh roast chicken in front of them. Owen had been pleasantly surprised at not only the western style tables and chairs, but at the quality of the food as well. Owen suspected that there was more to Mike than met the eye. In fact, he was certain of it. He was just unsure how to use the knowledge to the best advantage. Jinhao would no doubt call that his British snobbery, but Owen was certain that Mike was not street-raised despite what Mike might claim.
“There is only one thing for it then,” Owen said to Mike as he took his seat. “I shall have to go as a counter to any Magian threat.” Mike narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.
“Why would you do that? We are only street scum to you. And what happened to that ‘I am in hiding’ idea? Why risk your life for us?” At that moment, little Mei, the girl with the big gun who had first tended Owen, came dancing into the hall.
“Oh,” she burbled seeing the feast laid out before them. “Guan got us chicken!!”
For a time everyone ate in companionable silence. In addition to the roast chicken, there was plenty of vegetables and rice served in wooden bowls that matched the drinking bowls that everyone held. The drink in question was clean water garnished with some citrus fruit that Owen could not recognize, there was no alcohol, not even rice wine. He had to admit that his recovery was going much faster due to the simple diet.
After dinner when the bowls and eating implements were cleared away, the leaders of the various groups stood at the front of the room and reported on the activities of the day, especially the loot they had stolen. Little Mei, gave a humorous report of the swarm of small girl urchins who pickpocketed the rich crowds at the markets that had everyone laughing. Even Owen chuckled.
“What will happen to her, if Jimmy the Horse wins?” Owen asked Mike quietly while Mei carried on. He looked around at the girls laughing, and if not care-free than at least free of care for the moment. Mike puffed out his chest.
“I would not let that happen,” the gang leader said. Owen nodded solemnly at this.
“Spoken like a true leader,” Owen replied. “To answer your question, I am going for Mei and the other girls’ sake. You may not be the best refuge they could have, but you are a refuge.”
Mike frowned, as if turning over what Owen had said. His English was good, but there were still places for misunderstanding. Finally Mike nodded as if understanding that it was a compliment.
“No, Jimmy would be bad for us all,” Mike confirmed. “You can go,” he said after a long pause. His eyes narrowed again as he looked at Owen. “But I am still in charge—still the boss.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Owen replied breezily. “I would not dream of interfering with your authority.” He hefted his cane. “As for hiding, I can paint this I suppose, and no one will be the wiser.” Mike looked at the cane and then at Owen.
“I believe we can do better than that,” the gang leader said with a smile.
.
Chapter 12
Jinhao turned the corner making sure that she was not being followed. In her persona of ‘Lady Jinhao’ she had to be more circumspect than if she appeared as the Claw. Her inclinations to simply ransack the dockside areas would not do under the circumstances.
She knew two things. One, that the mysterious Quizi Sorcerer thought that he had killed Owen, but appeared not to be sure; two, that Owen was most certainly alive. Lohan was never wrong about such things, and for Jinhao to raise a hue and cry now might lead this Mr. Victor straight to Owen. What irked her most was that Owen had not seen fit to get a message to her. Jinhao shrugged mentally. She would forgive him as he had no way of knowing that she had returned from her trip early. Mei, the Emperors Concubine, was safe now. It had taken much less time than she had planned for that to be true. Still, if it turned out that Owen was attempting some sort of protective gesture, she would kick him herself.
The dockyards district was full of sailors and merchants from every corner of the globe. Jinhao threaded her way through the throng, passing giant laborers from the ice fields to the far North, their bright golden hair and pale skin marking them, as did their height. She passed small dark porters with copper-skin and ink black hair from the Americas. Jinhao paused as a litter bearing a fat mandarin, resplendent in her silks, pushed its way through the crowd going the other direction.
Not only was Hong Kong a trans-shipment point serving the routes from Asia to Europe, it also was the only port that allowed Europeans to trade with the Kingdom of Han, which the foreigners called China. The city was jointly ruled by the British Empire and the Han Imperium. This was only allowed by the Imperium because the Dragon Lohan ruled over the coast where the city was placed. If you said that the Dragon forced the Han throne to accept the arrangement, you would perhaps be more accurate. That is, if Jinhao knew the Dragon at all. She turned down a relatively quiet alleyway, risking a quick glance over her shoulder to see if her paid informant was still following.
Behind her came the marketplace storyteller. Besides making a living telling tales in the streets, the unsavory man also made coin telling those who wished it news of the underworld of the docks. She steeled herself to face the smell of rancid oils and opium that clung to him like a mist as he leaned towards her.
“I hear that you seek knowledge of the under-docks,” he said in the deep voice of a trained speaker.
“The Sage says that to seek knowledge is the best of all pursuits,” Jinhao temporized. “I am interested in only certain types of knowledge, however.”
“Ah, then you have inquired in the right quarter,” he said hopping from foot to foot. “I possess only the most discerning of information.”
“I shall be the judge of that,” she said, holding up a small silk purse. The man’s eyes widened. The purse alone would be the equivalent of a days’ take for him. His hand reached for it. Jinhao quickly snatched it back.
“After I hear the knowledge, I shall judge if it is worthy,” Jinhao held the purse just out of his grasp.
“What is it that the Noble Lady wishes to hear?” he rasped.
“Tell
me of Quizi Sorcerers that have recently appeared on the docks.” She demanded. The storytellers head bobbed up and down in agreement.
“The noble lady wishes to hear of the short man named Victor and his tall mountain of a henchman,” the storyteller said with a shake of his head. “They are very bad joss,” he pronounced. “They have the ill-eye of the Dragon upon them it is said.”
“Have any other Quizi appeared lately?” She demanded.
“There have been no other foreign devil Sorcerers dockside lately,” he replied mournfully at Jinhao’s frown. She held the purse before him again. “There is the Englishman named Thomas but he has been at Jasmine’s more than a year.”
“No, I am not interested in Thomas,” Jinhao affected a bored tone in her voice. “They would have appeared in the last week or news of them would have.”
“There have been no appearances of the foreign devils that recently,” he said. “Nor has there been talk of such down here.”
“Are you certain?” the purse jingled.
“Yes,” he said. Then his face brightened. “Perhaps the noble lady seeks knowledge of those who practice the foreign devil magic.”
“Perhaps,” Jinhao replied. “But I grow impatient. What do you know?”
“There are many who seek the illicit power that the Devil Magic makes,” he said hurriedly. “The latest I have heard of is Mike’s gang down in Factory Street just this last week. They tell of an old relative who has appeared to aid Mike in his fight against Jimmy the Horse. He carries the walking stick of the Devil Magic.”
“I see,” Jinhao murmured, “and how does this old relative appear?”
“I have not seen him myself,” the storyteller allowed. “But he has long whiskers and is quite tall, though stooped with age, or so they say.”
Jinhao frowned. It could be Owen, the whiskers and the stoop were easy enough to fake. But why would Owen ally himself with a street gang?
“Tell me more about Mike’s gang,” she ordered.
