“Starts with the same letter. Close enough.”
The wagon rolled to a stop, and Tobias watched from under the tarp as the driver talked to the police in front of a barricade. There were barrels with flames spouting off foul smoke. It smelled like they were burning rotten eggs.
Money passed between driver and police, and the barricade was moved to let the wagon through. As it rolled past, Tobias shot daggers at the police from his concealment. But that glare widened into amazement and fear as the streets transformed. Burning barrels of rotten eggs were interspersed with paper lanterns and golden braziers. Chinatown. Tobias had been there once, the year before, for New Year’s celebration, but that festive atmosphere was a dim memory compared to the somber mood on the streets tonight.
Men milled past the wagon, looking grim and angry, roaming with nowhere to go. The wagon stopped in front of a narrow lane. Red lanterns cast sinister shadows on the surrounding bricks. The driver hopped down, and Tobias quickly climbed out the back and slipped underneath the wagon.
He watched the driver knock on the door of a building with a balcony and curling gold eaves strung with a whole row of lanterns. The door opened, and the driver spoke to the man inside. A minute later, a large Chinese man came out the front. He stomped over to the wagon, and threw back the tarp. Tobias heard the big man dragging Jin over the bed.
With the slight load on his shoulder, he walked down the narrow lane and disappeared into darkness. The wagon rolled forward, and Tobias lost his cover. Exposed in the middle of the street, Tobias had no choice—he darted after the big man, keeping low and to the shadows like a mouse darting between legs.
The lane cut through a building, making it more like a tunnel. Stairs dropped at the end of the passageway. A man in a wide hat stood at the end of the passage, watching as other men walked past. A moment of panic took over Tobias, and he dropped to his belly, pressing himself against the wall. A man stumbled over his foot, and another nearly stepped on him, but no one looked down. They were swaying gently with drink and singing under their breath.
The big man stopped to talk with the guard, and while the guard reached for a cigarette, Tobias scrambled forward, nearly tripping down the stairs.
There was an entire courtyard down those stairs. A sea of laundry lines and smoke filled the night sky, and a warren of doors lined the four walls. Men in broad-brimmed hats came and went from doors with barred windows that circled the courtyard. Tobias slipped through a broken railing slat, and dropped to the hard-packed earth.
A woman looked out from one of the barred windows. She looked straight at him, and Tobias tensed, ready to run. But the woman didn’t make a sound. She only sucked on a long, thin pipe as if bored.
Tobias watched as the big Chinaman walked across the courtyard. The other men scrambled out of the way as he neared, and he stopped in front of a door that looked like the entrance to a bank vault. He knocked once on the iron. Waited. Knocked three times, and waited again. Another two knocks opened the door.
The man stepped inside, and the door slammed shut. Tobias blew out a sharp breath. He had never felt so hopeless and small in all his life. The man had taken Jin in there, and Tobias White didn’t know what he should do next.
48
The Angry Angel
“Why are we stopping here?” Isobel eyed the solid brick building on the top of the hill. 920 Sacramento Street. She knew it from Riot’s past, and little more.
“Chinatown is surrounded by barricades and police,” Riot reminded.
“Is there an entrance into the Quarter through here?” They had stabled the horses in a nearby corral, and walked up to the mission.
“No, a guide.” He lifted the knocker, and banged it against the plate three times. Minutes passed while Isobel shivered, listening to the echo of distant voices and watching smoke drift over buildings. It smelled of sulfur.
A slat opened, and a light illuminated them. Isobel shielded her eyes, blinking as the door opened. A tall, sturdy woman in a blouse and skirt ushered them inside. Tendrils of auburn hair hung limp around her face, dark circles ringed her eyes, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows.
“What is it, Atticus?” There was a note of exhaustion in her voice.
Riot didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Two girls are being held in the Dog Kennel behind an iron door. We need to get into the Quarter.”
Donaldina Cameron glanced at Isobel as she dried her hands on a towel.
“This is Mr. Morgan. He’s as trustworthy as me.”
“High praise. A pleasure, sir.”
Isobel nodded.
“I know that den, Atticus. It’s very secure.” Even as she spoke, she tossed down the towel, and rolled down her sleeves.
“I don’t plan on bashing down the door with a sledge,” he said. “It’s Mei and Jin.”
“I thought Jin was with you?”
“She was,” he said. “Not anymore.”
“You can tell me over a cup of tea later.”
“I can see you’re in the middle of something. You don’t have to accompany us, I only need a route.”
“I know a way in. I used it yesterday to rescue a sick girl, but I have to go along, too. Wait here a moment.” Donaldina walked from the front hall, and disappeared down a hallway. A face peeked from behind a corner. A tiny Chinese girl in a wide-sleeved tunic watched them with curious eyes.
“Kay, go back to bed,” Donaldina’s voice drifted from the hallway. The girl darted across the front hall to a stairway, and hurried upstairs with a giggle. Donaldina marched back into the front hall with hat, coat, and gloves. A delicate young woman followed in her wake.
“Do not worry, Lo Mo, I will nurse her.”
“You can only try.”
Ling nodded, and smiled at Riot as he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Without a word, Donaldina charged into the night. For a missionary woman in skirts, she moved quickly down the steep hill, and Isobel was hard-pressed to keep pace.
Donaldina turned a corner, and hurried towards the thick smoke that hung over buildings like a persistent cloud. The moon shone dimly through the haze, and scents of rotten eggs, incense, and too many humans living too close wafted down the street.
Even as an adolescent, Isobel had been wary of the narrow alleys that led off the main streets of Chinatown. Men in broad-brimmed hats had watched her every move, as they stood smoking, guarding narrow lanes with unknown names. Isobel had boldly entered a few, but for the most part she had steered clear of the more dangerous-looking men. Yet there she was, being led by a missionary woman in a skirt towards those very same alleyways.
They shot straight down Sacramento, past two police barricades on Stockton and Waverley Place, and stopped in front of a Chinese herbalist, sandwiched between a white grocer and a saloon.
Donaldina knocked on the door, and they waited in front of the store, listening to music and laughter drifting over from the saloon. A face appeared in a window behind Chinese characters, and a moment later the door opened. Isobel was hit with the scents of earth and spices as a man ushered them inside. The front of his head was shaved, and the rest of his hair was gathered in a long braid down his back. He wore a spartan silk robe that clung to his torso.
The man offered a low bow. “Miss Cameron.”
“I’m sorry to bother you a second night in a row, Mr. Woon, but I need to make use of your closet and skylight again.”
He smiled, and extended his arm towards the back of the store. “I am happy to help.” From what Riot said, every time residents aided Donaldina, they were putting their necks on the chopping block.
Isobel followed the others through the narrow shop. Cabinets with small drawers lined the walls, each drawer meticulously labeled in cryptic lines.
“How is the girl from last night?” Woon asked.
“Not good, I’m afraid. It wasn’t the plague after all, but appendicitis. The health officials were very disappointed. I don’t think she’ll survive the night—t
he doctor can’t do anything more.”
Woon frowned, and nodded. “At least she will die with her sister by her side, and not in the gutter where you found her.”
“There is that.”
He escorted them upstairs, into a simple room. A woman waited there, with an infant on her hip, and a small boy stared bleary-eyed from his room. The woman beamed at Donaldina and the two greeted each other with a hug. Woon spoke to his wife, and she considered Riot and Isobel with thoughtful eyes. More words flew back and forth, and she and her husband hurried off to another room.
Woon soon appeared with clothes draped over his arm. He issued each an outfit. “The same as you wore yesterday, Miss Cameron.”
“It suited me fine.”
“I will say again, things are very bad in the Quarter. There is little food, no one can go to work—many men are becoming desperate, and desperate men have no fear.”
“That didn’t stop me before.”
He chuckled. “All of Chinatown is talking of you bullying the ambulance past the barricade.”
“I do not bully, Mr. Woon.” But she said it with a wink, and he chuckled again, gesturing towards a room.
“Do you happen to have padding or a chain shirt?” Riot asked.
The question took Woon aback. “No, nothing like that, sir.” Woon looked thoughtfully at Riot as he exchanged jackets, but said nothing more.
Isobel turned, and shrugged out of her jacket, donning the quilted one with wide sleeves and toggles. It was dark enough not to worry about trousers and shoes. At least she hoped so.
As they placed the stiff, broad-brimmed fedoras on their heads, Donaldina emerged in a similar outfit, though she had retained her skirt and had an umbrella in hand.
Woon led them to an upper story, and opened a skylight to the roof. “May your God watch over you.”
Isobel glanced at Donaldina, wondering if they’d have to lift the woman, but once again she surprised Isobel. Donaldina pulled herself through, and Isobel followed.
A sea of sloping angles, chimneys, and flat roofs stretched in smoke and moonlight. Ominous red light glowed from cracks between buildings. It looked like a scene from Dante’s Inferno.
As soon as Riot joined them on the rooftop, Donaldina hurried through the maze, hopping over gaps, and balancing along narrow edges with admirable speed. The journey was dizzying, and Isobel lost all sense of direction in the murk and smoke.
Donaldina stopped on a roof that looked no different than any other. She bent, and wrenched open a hidden hatch. Riot dropped inside, and Donaldina followed. Isobel braced herself on the opening, legs dangling, and grabbed for the hatch. As she fell, it closed.
The space was cramped and dark, but their guide moved with confidence. A voice called out, quick and threatening in Cantonese.
“It’s me, Chu,” Donaldina whispered into another trapdoor.
“Ah, come, come quick.” A man with a cleaver ushered them into a room.
“I’m afraid I’m making use of your home again.”
“No problem,” he said in broken English. “Happy to help. Please, whatever you need. You bring girl back this way?”
“I’m not sure.”
He nodded profusely as he led them to a stairway. “I help hide if you need.”
“Thank you, Chu.” She opened the door quickly, ushered Riot and Isobel out, then closed it. The second Donaldina’s feet touched the muddy ground, she opened her umbrella and hunched down. It gave her the appearance of a bent old woman.
“Do you know where you are?” Donaldina asked.
Riot nodded.
“The guard won’t let me into the Kennel, but I’ll go around back, and see if I can find an alternate route.”
“I wouldn’t mind some help from the Police Squad.”
Donaldina nodded. “I’ll get Price, then.” The mission woman didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped out of the lane into a stream of people, hobbling over the boardwalk under her umbrella.
Riot pulled up his collar, and kept his chin down, hiding his beard as they walked. Barrels of sulfur smoldered in the streets. Red lanterns lined the murk, shining dimly in the smoky air. They did little to press back the night. The entire Quarter seemed to be holding its breath, and men roamed the larger streets looking restless and angry.
“I have no idea where I am,” Isobel whispered in Riot’s ear. It was an admittance. She hated not knowing, and prided herself on her sense of direction, but she was only familiar with the main streets of Chinatown, where toy merchants entertained children in bright silks, and lanterns and festive banners decorated the shops. This was not one of those streets.
“West.” He inclined his head in that direction, and she felt instantly grounded. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone, and keep your head low.”
She had been planning on doing just that. As they walked through the streets, towards an unknown goal, Riot started singing, low and slurring, in Cantonese. He staggered here and there, and Isobel followed suit, adopting the gait of a slightly tipsy man.
No one paid them any mind.
“There it is,” Riot murmured under his breath.
A highbinder lounged in the front of a lane, smoking and watching a brothel across the way. The place was bright and ornate, and looked like paradise on earth compared to the dismal wooden rookeries surrounding it. Isobel would wager her cutter that it was the Forbidden Palace.
Singing under his breath, Riot turned into the narrow lane. The lookout hardly glanced their way. They were in more of a tunnel than a lane, passing beneath two buildings whose balconies were intertwined. Stairs led down into a courtyard ringed by leaning rookeries and basement-level cribs. Men milled in the courtyard, talking, smoking, and perusing flesh.
A low, discreet door disappeared down another series of steps, and another lane across the alley cut through the buildings. The sky was a smoky mixture of sulfur, incense, and laundry lines, and foul air nearly choked Isobel. She eyed the plank and iron door as Riot walked across the courtyard, towards the other lane. Only when they’d turned the corner did they discover the lane was a dead end, leading to a cesspit. Rats scurried on the edges. Considering the entire Quarter was barricaded due to a suspected plague death, Isobel was hard-pressed not to recoil.
“Damn,” she whispered. And then turned to survey the mix of brick and wood. “I can make it to the roof.”
“I’m not sure that will lead into the den,” Riot said, gazing out into the courtyard.
“What else are we supposed to do? Knock?”
“It’s worth a try.”
“So is climbing.” San Francisco had burned numerous times, and the builders were fond of reusing melted brick. The misshapen bricks made for convenient handholds and footholds. But a small sound off to the side interrupted her inspection.
Isobel drew her gun, but Riot beat her to it. His gun was already cocked and aimed at the moving pile of refuse on the ground. A pair of eyes opened, and the outline of a boy took shape.
“Tobias,” Isobel breathed.
He scrambled forward, eyes darting to the open courtyard. “I knew you’d both come!”
Isobel hissed at him to be quiet.
He lowered his voice. “Please don’t tell my mother about this.”
“Did you see where they took Jin?”
“Through that iron door. I don’t know how to get in though. A big man carried her inside. I was going to try and knock like the rest of them do, but I didn’t know what to do after I got inside. And I don’t much look like a Chinaman.”
“How do they knock?” Isobel asked.
“Once. Then they wait for five seconds. I counted. And then three times, real quick. Then wait again. Then twice, and the door opens. It’s kind of like the special knock I use with Grimm so Maddie won’t bother us.”
“You’re a genius, Tobias,” Riot said.
The boy beamed. “I’m not in trouble?”
“We’ll talk about that later.” Riot pulled out a police w
histle, and handed it to the boy. “Do you think you can sneak out of this courtyard?”
“I’m coming with you.”
“It’s too dangerous—more dangerous than you sneaking out of this courtyard alone.”
It was a dilemma, but Isobel had to agree. She didn’t want to leave Tobias there anymore than she wanted to take him inside.
“I don’t know where I am,” Tobias said.
“Head straight out those stairs, take a left, and keep going until you hit a street. Turn right at the street, then the first left you come across. That’s Dupont Street. Keep going until you hit the police barricade on Sacramento. Tell them you’re on an errand for Donaldina Cameron and that she’ll be furious if they don’t let you through. If you can get past, head straight up the hill. There’s a big brick building at the top. Tell them you’re a friend of mine.”
Tobias looked at the whistle. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“If someone starts chasing you—run and blow it like your life depends on it. The police should come. And if you throw around Donaldina Cameron’s name, they should at least take you to a cell, if not the mission.”
Tobias snorted. “They took money from the wagon driver, and let him right in. I don’t trust the police.”
“There’s a lot of men who’ll do things for money, but there are good ones, too. Same goes for the police. Not all are corrupt.”
Tobias looked dubious.
“Get going. We’ll make sure you get out all right.”
Tobias nodded, and, keeping to shadows and ducking under crib grates, he skirted the courtyard as swiftly as a mouse. He climbed up the stairs, and Isobel held her breath, listening. But there were no shouts, or sounds of a scuffle. With the barricade in place, the guards weren’t very vigilant.
Riot looked at her. “Ready?”
“I’m never ready for any of the trouble I get into, Riot.”
49
Rats and Ruin
Surprise was everything. At the first pounding of a sledge on a door, the highbinders would scatter with their cash, opium, and women through a warren of secret passages. It was far simpler to pose as natives.
Record of Blood (Ravenwood Mysteries #3) Page 36
