Who the hell were these women? Did they not know he was here because of Fu?
He felt around the perimeter of his cell, feeling in every corner, but he was alone. His satchel was gone. “Damn it,” he muttered.
He had barely finished that thought when the door was flung open. Max blinked despite the fact that he hadn’t been in total darkness. There’d been pinstripes of light that had streaked the floor and lightened the gloom.
“Out.”
It was one word, spoken in a tone that gave nothing away about the speaker’s gender. Yet it was a voice, from everything he knew, that must be female.
His first thought was to overpower her and escape, but she was armed and she wasn’t alone. The excitement of resurrecting Nushu, of meeting Andra—and yes, even of the mystery itself—had him forgetting the cardinal rule of the language. Nushu belonged to women. If he’d been on top of his game he would have remembered that it was of and for women—insulated, protected. If he’d been thinking clearly, he would never have come here. Nushu was a language of protection and communication created in a world where a woman had no trust for a man. And in their world, he was the enemy, and he was outnumbered.
• • •
His hands were tied behind his back. Max couldn’t see how many there were but what he did see was the barrel of a shotgun aimed at his gut. He remembered Jeff Xiu’s words that they had needed no weapons. He wondered what had changed and realized it didn’t matter. They were just being prepared, for even they must know that discovery was only a news story away.
A thirtyish woman with a grim yet determined look jammed him in the stomach with the gun. A gut shot—these women knew how to take someone down in one of the most painful means possible. That alone told him everything. A silken bag was put over his head and his world dropped into darkness.
He stumbled on his first steps out of his prison. Around him there was silence, none of the excess chatter that men always joked was standard among women. It was interesting that here, in an environment untouched by men, that wasn’t the case. The only sound was the tread of footsteps and the whisper of their skirts as they marched him along in silence and darkness.
Were they taking him to Andra? Was she all right? He wanted so much to ask those questions, to demand that they rip the cover from his head, but instinct told him to remain quiet. Whoever these women were, they weren’t in charge. Like him, they were only following orders. He knew that as surely as he knew his own name. He also knew that his life hung on a scale of justice that was skewed heavily against him.
If he died, what would become of Andra? He couldn’t bear the thought, not of his own death but of her alone, in danger among these rabid she-bitches. He didn’t know what else to call them. He hated them all because they endangered the one woman he loved. He stumbled as he realized that and something heavy, the handle of the rifle, he imagined, clipped him on the ear. It was all he could do to remain upright.
And he tried to think against the pain and ringing in his ear.
Andra—he had to get her out of here and he had no idea how.
Chapter Nineteen
It was a kangaroo court. There was no other way to describe it. On one side of the long table were their accusers. Exactly one dozen women in black skirts and dark tunics, their dark hair pulled back in austere buns. Their outfits, their sameness, were slightly reminiscent of nuns or even female monks. On the other side were Max and Andra—thirty feet away, as if their captors weren’t armed, as if proximity were an issue.
They stood in a room that might be an auditorium. There was no seating of any kind. It was just a big room, chilly as such rooms are.
“Only one man has seen this village.”
Another shook her head. “That is different.”
“He won’t leave alive.”
Andra lurched to her feet. “No!”
She was pulled back by a woman who stood behind them. The women in front of them gathered in a circle that reminded Andra of a coven. The gun had been transferred to another woman and its aim had never wavered from Max.
“He’s here because . . .” she began, desperate to save Max.
The gun swung in her direction, cutting off her words.
“Andra, it makes no difference. Not now.” Max’s voice was calm and steady even as the gun swung back to him. “This has to go forward as it’s planned.”
Andra was stunned, for Max spoke as if he understood these proceedings. And more confusing than that was that there was no fear in his voice and certainly none of the desperation she felt. What did he know that she didn’t? Or was he only bluffing?
“You cannot leave this place. You.” The tallest of them pointed at Max. “Cannot leave alive.”
Andra opened her mouth to speak, to defend him, to insist that this was ridiculous, an alternate reality that could not be happening. She glanced at him, saw the slight motion of his head in the negative and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. The rope chafed her wrists and she welcomed the discomfort. She would only keep quiet for so long. Going with the flow was going to lead to disaster. They had to defend themselves, and in another minute, if he didn’t, she would.
Max—he had been sentenced to death. Impossible! She almost lurched forward again but was stopped by hard fingers digging into her shoulder. She twisted and met the grim and unyielding dark eyes of another of the women in black. She glanced over at Max. Positions had changed. These women moved on feet that were as silent as that of prowling cats. And now another woman held a shotgun to the back of his head, and the look on his face was like he faced a classroom rather than a jury that had just pronounced his death.
“Who are you?”
And it was ridiculous that the question regarding their identity followed Max’s sentence and not the other way around, but she suspected that there was no point in addressing any of that.
“Max True, a—” he began.
“Silence!” The small woman in front of them didn’t shout but the power of her voice filled the room. “Let her speak.” The word her was emphasized.
Max looked at Andra and mouthed one word, Fu.
“Fu. We’re here because of Fu.” Those words were rushed, for she knew that they might be the words that would save them.
“Liar!” the tallest woman spat.
“I have proof.” She willed her hand from trembling. “In my pocket.”
There was a moment of whispering before the woman with the rifle came over and put a hand in Andra’s pocket. She withdrew the note and took it to the others.
“Fu.” The name was said in an almost collective sigh. And then the ones who seemed in charge, a half dozen of them, gathered in the far corner of the room. Time ticked by slowly.
Finally the women faced them again and the smallest among them spoke.
“You endangered us all by coming here.”
From somewhere outside the courtyard a door slammed and Andra jumped. A girl appeared carrying Max’s satchel—she handed it to one of the women with whispered words before she scurried off. As the satchel was unzipped and passed to the smallest woman, the doll slid out of the bag and there were excited whispers as the core group of women gathered around the doll.
“You should never have come here unannounced,” one woman proclaimed as they all finally looked up. And then she turned to Max. “And you shouldn’t have come at all.”
Another woman walked past them and motioned for them to follow.
“Go,” the first woman said.
They were led through a narrow corridor with creamy walls barren of pictures. It was a hundred feet, maybe more, before they emerged into another room not quite as large as the first and light flooded in from a skylight. The room was rich with antiques and dense with rare woods and gold gilding that at another time would have all combined to be breathtaking.
A picture of a woman in a long burgundy robe dominated one wall. Her dark hair hung long and silken well down her back and her face, although not youthful, w
as that of a not-quite-classic beauty.
“Fu?” Andra whispered to Max.
“Fu,” the woman agreed and then slipped quietly away.
Andra’s heart thumped as she looked at the picture of a woman who had thrown their lives into a tailspin—a woman who was exactly like her image on the computer screen. The creator of an empire of dolls and of the heart of our dream website.
A picture rested on the table of the woman on the wall and a small girl. In the girl’s arms was the doll Max had carried across an ocean.
“She was given away many years ago.”
They swung around to face a woman who had entered without a sound. She was one they had never seen before and one who communicated an air of authority in her posture and in the purple sash she wore over her otherwise black dress. “The child that began all of this.”
“One of the lost girls,” Andra said in a whisper.
“Fu’s marriage was arranged, her husband cruel. She had only one natural child, a girl.”
“What of Bao?” Andra’s bound wrists ached even as she asked the question. “Who is he?”
“Her nephew. He came to live with them as a small boy. Her husband took him as his own. There was no room for another child. Her husband gave the girl away,” the woman said. “Bao was a difficult child. He didn’t love nor bond with Fu. In fact, he became dangerous. Fu bore emotional and physical scars—where he attacked her. Eventually, when the husband died, he was sent away.”
“That was another place and time, before this village. How did it all come to this?” Max asked.
The woman shook her head. “Those secrets died with Fu. I can’t tell you much about the girl but of the empire that Fu built, of this. That I can tell, at least of what I know.”
“Manufacturing the dolls is what sustains you,” Max said.
“It does. Fu and her sworn sister invented the doll. It was Fu who held the reins of it all. None of us know either the finances or the details of manufacture but we are all responsible for one part or another. I believe the details will transfer intact to Fu’s daughter.” She sighed. “I suspect there is a fortune invested somewhere waiting for her.”
“Why didn’t she search for her daughter herself?” Andra asked. “Surely she would have wanted to meet her.”
“Bao assumed he would inherit. She didn’t want him to be forewarned that it would be otherwise. Searching too soon would have done that. Unfortunately, she waited until it was too late.” Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes. “Apparently, she went about sending out subtle clues to both of you. Experts in the language she revered and the codes she used to protect her empire, and us.” She smiled sadly. “She was a brilliant woman.”
“The doll was ingenious,” Max said. “Did she leave anything else?”
The woman nodded. “I have a note that she said I was to give to either of you.” She reached into the folds of her tunic and pulled out a parchment-thin sheet of paper, cleared her throat and read.
“One number leads to another. Give the doll to my heart.” She looked at both of them.
“Her daughter is her heart,” Andra replied. “Easy enough. If only the rest of this was.”
“Come, I will show you what she has built so that when you find her girl you will know what to tell her.” The woman led them outside.
“Can you untie us first?” Max asked as they followed her.
The woman shook her head. “No.”
“No?” Andra whispered. What the hell was this?
Outside, the pristine park was no longer empty. A group of children played and a few women sat on a nearby bench.
“Adopted,” Andra verbalized her earlier guess.
“The lost girls,” Max realized, referring to the many girls left at orphanage doors as a result of China’s one-child policy.
“Fu’s empire. It was about women controlling their own destiny and shaping the future.” Andra’s voice held the excitement of discovery.
The woman cleared her throat. “There is more. I have memorized it as Fu instructed.” Her fist pressed against her heart. “My daughter is truly my heart and the answer to her identity is in that.” She held up one slipper-clad foot. “Fu, as do we all, had a heart on the insole of her foot.”
“It’s as if everyone closest to Fu is connected by that one tattoo,” Max said thoughtfully.
“Indeed,” the woman replied as she led the way back inside to the room that housed Fu’s picture. “Including Fu’s sworn sister, who died attempting to accomplish her part of this mission.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was a sad day when we got news from Beijing that she was killed. I can only hope that she carried out her task.”
Andra looked at Max and a feeling of awe passed between them, as if for a brief moment they were allowed a window into a world that had mostly disappeared. It was an ancient tradition, no longer practiced, where young girls were assigned to other girls based on a number of factors, including age, astrological signs, and appearance. Sworn sisters pledged lifelong fealty and friendship and communicated in the women’s language of Nushu, sending notes to each other over time and distance while often tolerating life in a frequently, loveless marriage. They became soul mates, often closer to their sworn sisters than any other person. The practice had obviously been the seed for the village Fu would create so many years later.
“What is in Beijing?”
“I cannot say. Fu was too wise to entrust such secrets to one such as me.”
She nodded to a younger woman who had slipped silently into the room. The other woman came over and unknotted the rope that bound each of them.
“I will leave you to find your own way back. It would be best if you didn’t stay much longer. And you will tell no one of our existence.” She shrugged. “The women are used to neither men nor strangers.”
“I’d kill them, myself.” It was a man’s voice, full of authority and with an edge of amused arrogance.
Andra jumped and Max’s hand tightened on her shoulders as they both turned at the sound of the new voice.
An elegantly dressed Asian man, average height and maybe in his mid-forties, stood with his legs slightly spread and his upper body held military straight, yet there was a languid ease about him as if it all came too easily.
He took a step closer. The Armani suit jacket swung open, in what Andra suspected was a deliberate movement, as a handgun was momentarily visible. She shivered and Max put his arm around her and pulled her next to him.
“Especially the man.” He held out his hand in a brief wave to the woman who had never revealed her name. A small blue tattoo of a heart appeared on his arm and then disappeared as his sleeve slid back over his wrist.
Andra’s throat seemed to close and she reminded herself to breathe at his last statement. “No.” The word was just a whisper but enough to get Max’s attention. The look he gave her was clear—whatever was going on, whoever this was, they needed to let it play out.
“Le, I thought never to see you.” The woman held out her hand and then dropped it.
“You mean you hoped.”
“And that,” she agreed. “You are only another complication.”
Andra felt the urge to grab Max’s hand and run but was deterred by the handgun that showed so subtly beneath the newcomer’s sports jacket.
As if he could read her thoughts, Le turned. “I am sorry if the gun frightens you, my dear.” His shrewd dark eye held hers for a minute, as if assessing who and what she might be. “Unfortunately, as long as you do what Fu wants I am here to protect you. How do you think you escaped Aberdeen?”
“Escaped? I would hardly call that an escape.” Andra laughed, but it was really no laugh at all, etched as it was with nerves rather than humor.
“The plane is waiting for you.” He eyed them with clear dislike. “You will be silent of what you have found. The village will remain secret.”
“Of course.” Andra shivered and remembered the stories of Le—of the heart that Jeff Xiu now perman
ently wore and the unspoken threat he had alluded to. Max squeezed her arm and pulled her closer.
“We have no time to waste. Let’s move.” Le nodded once at the woman. “I presume you’ve imparted the information they need.”
“I have,” she replied.
“Why should we trust you?” Max asked.
“You shouldn’t. But if you stay here”—he motioned to the woman—“they will kill you.”
And it was only minutes later when they emerged from the village and from one nightmare into another.
They walked in silence along a trail that was now familiar.
“I would not return. This trail will be dead to you by morning,” Le said starkly.
“I don’t understand,” Andra said.
“Explosives,” he replied shortly. “The women have no need of society and society has no need of them.”
“You’d blow up the village?” Andra’s voice was shocked.
“He’d blow up the path, Andra. Isolating the village,” Max said gravely.
They walked for minutes in silence. At first it was no different than their walk in, but after five minutes something seemed to shift. She glanced at Max—he was tense and watching Le. Her gaze followed his and she watched as Le’s hand now brushed the handle of his revolver. Max took her hand as they both scanned the woods that encroached on both sides.
A bird chattered and then shrieked and Andra jumped as something crackled to their left.
“What was . . .” Andra began.
“Get down,” Le hissed, and Max pulled her with him as he followed Le and they dove off the path, rolling to the edge of low-growing brush.
“Stay here,” Le ordered as he stood up and slipped into the trees that bordered the path before disappearing.
From somewhere deep in the pine-scented darkness something whistled a warning. It sounded oddly inhuman and completely unidentifiable. It was followed by a strange and heavy silence. Then a shot exploded through the forest. It seemed to come from ahead of them. Max’s arm was across her shoulders, keeping her down. She could only raise her head a few inches with her body pressed to the ground. A flock of birds seemed to have come from nowhere and lifted into the air, then warbled and shrieked directly overhead. Footsteps crashed through the underbrush, and it was unnerving to be unable to pinpoint where it was all coming from as another shot echoed through the confusion of sounds.
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