The Library of the Dead

by Brian Keene

  Ming looked up and imagined a fleet of his boats fishing the waters. Dealing with the Westerner had its downside but not for long. Ming planned to outsmart them all. Once Lew signed over the ironworks, everything would be his. Why should he care if the white devils reclaimed Chinatown in San Francisco? Better success awaited them across the bay in Oakland. Lew would eventually see it and be forever grateful. Or join Xi at the bottom of the bay.

  New business, a wife, wealth, and many sons would soon be his. He’d build his own Nob Hill to entice the other rising entrepreneurial Chinese.

  Soft coughing came from nearby.

  He looked over his shoulder. White, silky air stirred to his right. A petite shadow emerged from the fog in a slow twirl. The most beautiful woman Ming had ever seen. She stopped with one foot forward and bowed.

  “Jiu wei,” she said.

  “Jiu … wei?” He gasped. The Fox Demon?

  Bright red lips exposed an impish smirk across her perfect face. She nodded and he backed away.

  “I know what you want, demon. Go away.”

  “I can be your new wife. Give you many sons.” Jiu danced toward him. Pink lotus petals flowed from her imperial robes to cushion every step she made.

  “You will take all my money.”

  “And your soul.” Two fans appeared in her hands. She flicked them open and continued to dance. After a slow pirouette she held them side by side. “Look.”

  Watercolor scenes moved across the folds. A blurred image rode atop ocean waves toward Chinatown, to the ironworks building, and at the end, Ming’s body lie in a widening pool of crimson.

  “I know your tricks, demon!”

  Jiu giggled. “Marry me, and I’ll save you.”

  “Never.”

  Childish whimpers came from behind the fan to echo through the fog, but Ming couldn’t look away. The blood from his body in the pictures spread, spilled off the sides, and trickled down Jiu’s hands and arms.

  “As you wish,” she said.

  The fans closed, spurting blood in all directions, forcing Ming to close his eyes. When he opened them again, a blast of seawater sprayed him. Jiu and all her vibrant colors vanished. Overcast skies hung low as far as he could see.

  The ferry bumped the slip several times before docking. He used a sleeve to wipe his face and smiled. A good life must be in store if the Fox Demon chose to visit him. The old legends said she sought the riches and protection of men by seducing kings and emperors. Indeed, he would soon be the royalty of a new Chinatown—in Oakland.

  Lew kept busy inspecting the work and safety of the employees. The factory specialized in working iron anchors and link chains. Generations of his family had a formula and techniques Lew brought with him from mainland China. With population increases forcing San Francisco to become a large port city, their small business quickly grew.

  He always believed too busy paralleled good fortune and less time to squander. The workers seemed to appreciate their jobs and never complained about toiling too hard and past their time to keep up with demands. He felt they wanted the factory to be as successful as he did, and this gave him a great sense of pride—of family.

  Chen stood atop a high ladder against a water-cooling vat, shouting orders to men working pulleys below. A large anchor moved overhead, inching toward the foreman as he yelled directions and climbed down. The workers slowly lowered the warm iron. Steam billowed up to the ceiling as a soft burble and hiss came from the vat.

  “Nice work,” Lew shouted. He walked over to his dear friend. “You make it look easy.”

  “It is.” Both men laughed.

  “Where’s Ming?” Chen said.

  “I told him I didn’t want to be far from home. He offered to check the Oakland factory.”

  Chen looked away, stared at the evaporating steam. “He spends a lot of time there.”

  His foreman had never been the kind of a man to speak lightly of anything bothering him, which made the muscles between Lew’s shoulders tense. “Someone has to monitor the progress…what do you mean exactly?”

  “Every chance he gets, like when you go home for lunch to spend time with Yu, Ming leaves and doesn’t always return.”

  “Maybe it upsets him that I go home to my wife when his left him only a short time ago.”

  “Even before that.”

  “I’ve known him a long time. We’re like brothers, and I trust him. So unless you have some evidence he’s been up to something, I think you should keep quiet about this.”

  Chen lowered his eyes and looked at Lew. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  “Enough. I’ll be in the office.” He walked away, conflicting thoughts chasing each other in circles around his head like too many fish in a pond.

  Lew rounded a corner and saw Ming shouting and running toward him. His partner came up then hunched over to catch his breath.

  “What is it?” Lew said.

  “On my way back …” Ming gasped for air. “It’s Yu.”

  Lew put his hand on Ming’s shoulder. “Is she all right?”

  Ming nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m sure she’s fine. A neighbor of yours asked if you would come see her before your usual lunch time.”

  “Ah, I should probably go, then.”

  “First, please sign some important papers for the Oakland factory.”

  “Okay, but let’s do it now, so I can go to Yu.”

  Both men stepped into the office. While Ming went to his desk and rifled through papers, Lew went over to his and picked up a pen.

  “What are these?” Lew said.

  “Dock rental agreement.”

  “But—”

  “Just sign. I’ll take care of the rest. Your neighbor seemed a little upset when she told me Yu sent for you.”

  “You should have said that before.” Lew signed the papers, and rushed out of the office.

  As he sprinted the two blocks to his home, he prayed for everything to be all right. The concerned looks on the neighbors’ faces who’d gathered outside his house only made his anxiety worse. Lew barreled through the door and saw Yu lying on their bed mat, her sweaty face twisted in a grimace of pain. A Chinese apothecary from across the street sat beside her. The man stood up and shook his head when he saw Lew.

  “You must take her to the Western hospital. Something isn’t right.”

  He looked at his wife. “How will we get there?” Lew said.

  “My son will pull her in the rickshaw we use for deliveries. Don’t worry, he’s young and fast, but you’ll have to meet them there.”

  “No. Please, don’t leave,” Yu said. She reached out to him.

  Lew took her hand and knelt on the edge of the mat. Blood seeped from underneath her onto his knee. He fought back a wave of panic and spoke in a calm voice. “I must go now, but I’ll be there soon, or maybe even before you.” He forced a smile.

  She nodded.

  “You know I can run fast,” Lew said.

  “Yes. Run with dragon’s breath behind you.”

  He kissed her hand then released it and looked up at the apothecary.

  “Go now,” the man said. “My son will be back any minute.”

  “Please, take care of—”

  “Just leave,” the apothecary yelled.

  Lew bolted out the door.

  Crowds blurred as he flew past Portsmouth Plaza, his long braid tapped his back in rhythmic thumps. Yu’s words carried him. He prayed a dragon followed close behind and blew strong winds.

  Lew had waited near the hospital’s reception desk for over an hour when he saw a Chinese man pushing Yu in a wheelchair toward him. A Western doctor wearing a white coat walked alongside them.

  “She’s your wife?” he said.

  The Chinese man translated the Westerner’s words.

  Lew nodded. He understood English better than he could speak it, but having the translator made things easier.

  “She needs to see a specialist south of here. We’ve done what we can for now, but if yo
u don’t leave soon it could be too late.”

  “South of here?” Lew scratched his head. “How far?”

  “Several hours away.”

  His heart sank when the doctor told him. “But how will we get there?”

  The Westerner shrugged his shoulders and left.

  The Chinese man spoke up. “I know a way.”

  “Please, tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  “You know the Tongs,” he whispered.

  “No. I, I can’t. They’re criminals. It’s too dangerous to ask.”

  “Then your wife and baby will die.”

  Lew thought for a moment. “What do I have to do?”

  “I know a Westerner who’s a soldier from the Bo Sin Seer Tong group that owns a motorcar. You will have to pay him a lot. You have any sycee? He likes to collect our things.”

  Yu gripped the sides of the wheelchair and groaned.

  “Yes, I have one. A gold one saved for—”

  The man’s eyes lit up. “He’ll want it before.”

  “Just get him here.”

  “Meet us out front in an hour. I’ll keep your wife safe until you get back.”

  Lew nodded and ran for home. What had he done to deserve this? He and Yu had survived the plague that had killed so many in Chinatown. He thought for sure this meant they should live. Not once did he ever think he’d have anything to do with the Tong gangs, and now he’d made a deal with the devils. With no other choices, perhaps he should feel lucky the translator had a connection to someone with a motorcar. Yes. It had been fortunate.

  “Thank you,” he said aloud.

  Yu’s pale face haunted his vision as he hurried down streets. On his return, the small sycee boat of gold with a dragon carved on the side, all his earned savings, weighed heavily on his mind as well as in his hand. Lew’s other treasure, his first son, Bao, lightened his heart as he pulled the three-year-old along with his other hand.

  Ming got up and closed the door after Lew left. He separated the signed papers from the dock receipts he’d had on his desk and slid them inside his robe pocket. Maybe he should go find Worthington. No. It’s better to make him wait. Feeling satisfied, he walked over to Lew’s desk, sat back in the chair and put up his feet.

  Chen peered in through a window. His eyes opened wide, and then he came around and entered the office. “Hey, what are you doing? So disrespectful to put those there.” He tsked and pointed to Ming’s dirty shoes.

  “Get back to work and mind your own business.”

  The foreman scowled.

  “You know, you’re right,” Ming said. “I’ve had a long day and should have my feet up at home. I’m certain you’ll keep that watchful eye of yours on the factory while I’m gone.” He got up and bumped Chen on his way out.

  Dreaming of riches, Ming napped for an hour until clapping sounds woke him. He sat up and patted his robe for the signed papers. Although he wanted to make the Westerner wait, unease and restlessness nibbled the edges of his confidence. His decision to bring the contract to Worthington after opening the factory tomorrow morning gave him relief.

  More claps came from outside. After putting on his slippers, Ming went to the door, opened it and looked out. Low clouds on the horizon glowed soft pinks above the setting sun. They reminded him of the beautiful Fox Demon. He stepped down and walked to the front of his apartment building.

  Twilight faded to darkness as Ming stood and gazed out. Peripheral movement made him turn to the right. He gasped. A woman who could have been his wife’s twin sat in a chair.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman smiled, raised her hands and clapped three times. Her head fell off and landed into her open palms.

  Ming’s eyes widened. She held up her hands and the head flew at him.

  “Headless demon!” he said.

  It circled him several times in the air, chomping its teeth while lunging for his face.

  “Why are you afraid?” she said. “You are the one who called me here.”

  “I did not.”

  “You killed your wife and the bugs come. I’m here to eat them.” She cackled then darted at him again.

  He waved his arms to keep the gnashing maw away. The head landed on the pavement in front of him with a wet smack, eyes focused on the ground. An elongated, pointy tongue stretched out of its mouth and lapped at a trail of ants, inching the disembodied head forward with every swallow.

  Ming ran back to his apartment and bolted the door. That hungry thing out there and the rest of the headless demon would leave when the ant supply ran out. Plenty of bigger bugs could be found elsewhere. He’d cleaned up good after strangling Xi. Ming had always taken pride in keeping a tidy abode. Still, little sleep would be had until it left. He lay back on his mat and listened to the moist, sticky sounds outside.

  After several hours tossing and turning, Ming got up and washed his face. He didn’t remember when the noises had stopped, not that long ago he guessed, but his body needed the hour of sleep it got when the Fei Tou Bie finally left. These supernatural visits had to end. He’d find a shaman to cleanse the way and lessen the demons’ dark natures after he handed the papers over to the Westerner.

  The sun wouldn’t rise for a couple hours, but Ming couldn’t wait. Outside, a fog had rolled in. The demon’s body no longer sat patiently waiting for its head. Even the chair had disappeared. Wary, Ming watched his steps until he felt the familiar sidewalk underfoot.

  Chen showed up fifteen minutes after Ming opened the factory doors. Ming wondered if the foreman had followed him in. He walked over to secure a pulley then went into the office. Moments later Chen yelled to Ming.

  “What is this?” he shouted.

  Ming looked through the office windows and saw Chen holding up papers. He patted his jacket and felt nothing. They must have fallen out! He opened the door and ran to Chen.

  “Give them to me!”

  Chen held the papers out of Ming’s reach. Ming lunged at him, and the men fell to the floor, wrestling for the contract. Ming landed two hard punches to Chen’s chest. The foreman let go. While Chen gasped for air, Ming grabbed the papers and climbed to his feet.

  “Traitor,” Chen said.

  Before he could fully regain his balance, Ming rushed Chen, pushing him hard. The foreman stumbled and then let out a choked cry as the point of an unfinished anchor tore through his chest from the back. Blood dripped off shredded flesh that hung from the curved barb.

  “Traitor,” he muttered once more, blood running from his mouth. Then his eyes closed.

  A loud crack sounded, and the floor between them split open. The deceased Chen, the anchor, worktable and its vice fell into the widening fissure. Everything rumbled, shook and swayed. Ming lost his footing and fell. With his free hand, he clawed at the floor and rolled over.

  An ancient warrior dressed in full Chinese armor stood at Ming’s feet. Maggots filled the sockets of the decayed warrior’s head, giving him writhing, white eyes. The foul worms wriggled across his face in a pulsing trail.

  “General Lang!” Ming said. Every muscle in his body trembled.

  The warrior raised a massive sword engraved with a long list of names on both sides. A forged dragon decorated the hilt and part of the blade, one of its ruby eyes twinkled. Ming watched as his name appeared on the blade. He knew the names carved there had been traitors of the Chinese people.

  Ming lay paralyzed on the factory floor. Lightning bolted from the tip of the general’s blade and blasted through the ceiling. Burning pieces of the roof crashed down. Ming’s body buckled, and he screamed as falling debris landed on top of his body. He gasped for air but his breath became blood. It seeped out around the brick pile that now covered him into a widening pool of crimson.

  Pinned to the ground, he could do nothing but watch as General Chi Lang drifted upward, his vengeance done. Ming looked away and saw his hand catch fire. The skin bubbled and melted off the bones—bones that clutched an unharmed contract. A deal he never should
have made with the white devils.

  That morning, sunrise brought no light to Chinatown. Thick layers of smoke darkened the skies and black clouds massed overhead, circling into vortices of soot and ash that dropped toward Ming. Behind them, two dragons breathed fire.

  The Western Tong soldier slid the sycee into his coat pocket and glanced at Yu.

  “Let’s get,” the Westerner said, hurrying them into his motorcar.

  The man raced south in silence, looking back occasionally with concerned expressions. Bao leaned against Lew’s right arm and slept. Yu held his left hand and wrenched it when she felt pain. Several hours had passed since his upper extremities went numb. The Tong soldier dropped them off at the hospital entrance, nodded once to Lew, and sped away as the sun set. His wife gave birth to their second son Feng soon after. She didn’t return from surgery for several hours. The Western doctors had stopped the bleeding but had to remove her womb.

  Lew struggled with mixed feelings of loss and gratefulness until he saw Feng. One look at his son, and he’d never been so thankful. He watched over his family as they rested then fell asleep in a chair.

  Thunder rolled through and woke him. He stood and quietly left the room. Outside, dawn never came. Black clouds hung low in the sky. Lew thought he saw dragons behind them. He yawned and rubbed his eyes.

  Lew left his family in safety and headed back to Chinatown. It took two weeks for him to get through the carnage. He crawled over bricks and twisted metal that filled the streets ten feet deep in some areas. Thick, dirty air choked his every breath. Decaying bodies lay strewn among layers of rubble across miles of wasteland.

  The entrance and one side wall of the ironworks remained erect. Lew had passed the collapsed building several times without recognition. He spent countless days moving debris, his hands raw and bleeding.

  He climbed toward folded white papers jutting from a mound. Bricks slid underneath him as he scrabbled up. They fell away and left him looking down at charred remains. Skeletal fingers clutched the papers. Lew tugged on them and the tiny bones fell apart. He sat back, read the papers, and wept with joy and sorrow.