Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (16 page)

Chapter 16

Liu tugged at the white servant’s coat as he climbed
down from the delivery van
. It was too small and fit like band
of iron across his shoulders.

No matter, he smiled to himself.  After today, all the people
of Hong Kong will be free. He turned to begin supervising the smuggling of guns
into the reception for the trade delegates. He was brought up short by the
sudden appearance of the
Quizi
Magian from the shop, accompanied by an
inspector from the police, both dressed for the reception in fancy clothes.

“Liu Qwan Tze,” the inspector
rumbled, “You are hereby bound by the authority of the City Law. Surrender.”

Liu began to reach for the knife
at the small of his back. The Magian raised his cane slightly.

“I really wish you wouldn’t.”

Liu sneered at Owen.

“I would beat you, Magian,
without your tricks.”

“Perhaps,” Owen agreed easily.
“But then you would have to face her.” He cocked his head towards the roof of
the van, where Jinhao, dressed and masked in her black outfit, appeared.
Constables sprang out as if from nowhere, seizing Liu’s people and their cache
of weapons. Liu’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Here now,” Owen said
cheerfully, “let’s move over here out of the way shall we?”

Together Inspector Gregg and
Owen escorted the defeated revolutionary across the street.

Liu looked at them defiantly.

“No matter, place me in your worst
prison. Hang me if you will. We will not be stopped.”

“Oh, you misunderstand us
completely,” Owen replied. “No, no, we are not going to take you into custody. We
are letting you go.”

Liu paled. “Letting me go,” he
echoed. “But the others will think…”

“That you betrayed them,” Owen
beamed at Liu. “It should be interesting to see how understanding your brothers
and sisters are, comrade.” Liu choked.

“You know what the trouble is
with you radicals…” Owen asked fiercely. “It is that to you there is always one
simple answer, ‘kill off the ruling classes’. You never think about the people
who depend on the order the
ruling class
brings. The kind of peace that
allows the farmer to bring his rice to market and not be cheated; the kind that
allows a little girl not to go hungry because some bandit stole her dinner.
What do you have to replace that with? Nothing but slogans and violence that
feed your ego.” He snorted in disgust.

 “Get out of here before I
forget how very elegant it will be to have the
rebel
leadership turn on
each other.”

Liu looked franticly from Owen
to Gregg. The police inspector shook his head implacably.

“Go,” was all he growled. Liu
turned and ran down the street.

“You enjoyed that little
lecture,” Gregg observed, looking at Owen.

“Did I?” Owen wondered aloud. “I
suppose it was a bit indulgent of me. Still,” he twirled his cane, “Someone
needs to speak for the ruling classes, and we usually do such a bad job of it
ourselves.” He turned back towards Peachtree House, the official residence of
the two governors, and site for the trade reception. “At least you can tell
them to start the reception now.”

Gregg shrugged. “They already
did,” he said. “Seems the ‘ruling class’ always knows better.” He smiled
sourly.

“What?!” Owen exclaimed. “They
were to wait!” He began running towards the building. Jinhao leaped down as he
passed.

“Get into your reception clothes
and find a way in. The assassin is inside!”

Owen’s heart was pounding by the
time he reached the front of the august building. He slowed down under the
watchful eyes of the guards, both Royal Marines and Chinese Imperial guards. It
wouldn’t do to appear out of the ordinary now. Not knowing where the assassin
was, raising an alarm might cause them to act, and in the commotion, the assassin
may succeed in their grisly task.

Instead, Owen presented his card to the Seneschal, and entered
the gaily dressed crowd that milled around the spacious great hall. He’d just
spied the delegates off to a side, and had begun working his way through the
crowd towards them, when a very richly dressed Chinese man appeared before him.

“Your pardon, young Sorcerer,”
the old man’s white mustache quivered. He gestured towards Owen’s cane. “Is not
such an overt display of one’s powers considered vulgar?”

Pulled up short, Owen studied
the old man. He wore a silk over-robe so expensive that Owen was sure it would
buy his neighborhood, let alone his modest house. Other than that he was
unadorned. No badges of House or rank, not even a dagger.

“Some would say it is bad
manners indeed,” Owen replied slowly. There was something about the old man
that made you not want to dismiss him as just another rich Courtier. “But I
have never found it wise to hide what you are.”

The old man smiled.

“Have you not? What a strange
thing for the son of Lord Strong to say as he takes his nights among the
whorehouses and lotus dens of a backwater colony.”

Owen felt his face flush. Who
was this old man? He’d passed dueling with insults some time back.

“I am not hiding,” he said stiffly.
“Anyone who wishes to may find me.” He should shut his mouth, but that wasn’t
his style. “As for Hong Kong being a ‘backwater colony’ it is anything but.
Rather it is a…a blending of the best of both our races, to our mutual
benefit.” He eyed the other man’s rich arraignment. “At least you appear to
know that.”

The old man smiled at him.

“You are as direct and
ill-mannered as reported. I like that. More, I would talk with you on how you
see this
blending
of our two nations.” He held up his hand. “Another
time perhaps, may be more auspicious. You were going this way I believe?” he
waved towards the delegation and began walking that way as well. The crowd
seemed to melt before them until Owen and the old man stood near the delegate
party. The assassin was just placing themselves in the impromptu receiving line.

“Excuse me,” Owen said.

“You must do as you must,” the
old man said.

Owen sprang forward just as the
assassin was reaching the delegates. Owen grabbed the assassin by the forearm
and yanked their arm straight up towards the ceiling. There was a tinkle of the
spent projectile that could be heard over the sounds of surprise coming from
the crowd.  Owen pulled back the sleeve of their tunic, revealing the strange
tube device.

“Here is your assassin, My Lords
and Ladies,” Owen cried out like a showman. He grabbed harder as she struggled,
and he turned towards the snarling face of Melinda MacAllister, Sorcerer of
House Hastings

Chapter 17

“But how did you know it was Mistress MacAllister”
Inspector Gregg asked.

Gregg and a couple of constables had come running in while Owen
was wrestling with Mistress MacAllister. They had relieved her of her wand as
well, and produced a pair of specially-made manacles that made calling upon a
sigil extremely painful. Now she stood quietly between the Queen’s peacekeepers.
A crowd, including the trade delegates, had gathered around Owen, Gregg and the
thwarted assassin, taking in every word.

    “It was very simple once you
really looked at it,” Owen said off-handedly. “When Lord Hastings was shot,
Lady Hastings reported that she reached her father first, even though her
office was on the second floor. Mistress MacAllister arrived sometime after the
House physician had been called for, and Lady Hastings and the House Healer were
already there.” Owen glanced around at his rapt audience.

“Why should this be? As House
Sorceress, Mistress MacAllister should have been aware from the moment our
assassin crossed the Wards with hostile intent that something was going on. She
certainly should have been aware when the Head of the House was wounded. Her
Wards would have told her at the moment he was hurt. Yet, was she about the
main house on guard? Was she running towards Lord Hastings as he lay on that
floor?” Owen shook his head

“No, she was running
away
from him. To someplace where she could remove the physical parts of her messenger
disguise, and then arrive back.” Owen turned to look at the assassin. “I admire
your resolve, there. It could not have been easy to return to bend with concern
over the man you had just killed.”

“But why, Mel,” Lady Hastings
cried. “He depended on you, trusted you as if you were another daughter!”

“But I wasn’t a daughter was I,”
Mistress MacAllister hissed, “merely the hired help, to be tossed aside, to be
ignored while that fool who called himself a Hastings threw away everything in
these new Trade Talks. I was close enough to him that I heard it. By the Gods!
The MacAllisters knew how to fight for what was theirs! And I’d not spent
twenty years beggin’ scraps from your table to be turned out when you lost
everything due to his lofty ideals.”

Owen held up the strange tube
that had been strapped to her wrist, hidden by the long sleeve of her tunic.

“But you didn’t come to that
conclusion entirely on your own, did you Mistress MacAllister?”

He handed the tube to Duke Caldwell.

“This fires a small needle of
solidly frozen Tesarine. The Tesarine, once it penetrates the skin, vaporizes,
due to the incredible speed at which it is fired. This tube fires the needle
not by compressed air, or even chemical combustion, but by magnetism. I submit
that its construction could not have been done by Mistress MacAllister, but
only by an advanced nation state who prides themselves on making such toys.”
Owen was looking directly at the Austrian delegation as he spoke this last.

The veiled leader of the
Austrians shook their head.

“You have no proof of such an
accusation! Even if it were to turn out to be Austrian work, the government
cannot be held responsible for every watch-maker that creates something.”

Owen looked at the black-clad
leader coolly. “Perhaps it’s time you did take responsibility, before someone
does so for you.”

Jinhao eeled her way towards the
front of the Chinese arc of the spectators. She placed herself to the left of
the old man who was watching the show intently.

“So, granddaughter,” he finally
said, not turning to look at her. “You were supposed to get close to the
boy-emperor and bring him into the fold. Instead, I find you carrying on with
an Anglo Magian even more decadent than you or your sister. You bring me
disappointment as great as her own.”

“Ching Shih sends her love and
respect Grandfather, even as I do,” Jinhao replied with a bowed head. They were
talking in an old way familiar to them both, a way that outsiders could not
overhear. “Your plan for the Emperor is too late, I fear. The Dowager Empress
has long-since crushed from him all that remained of human feeling.”

The old man hissed between his
teeth at the unwelcome news.

 “Then you feel we must replace
the line? I dislike having to do that.”

“Perhaps,” Jinhao allowed. “It
was while I was coming to relay such unhappy news that I came across another
plan that unifies us with the Anglos.” She nodded towards him, “Owen Strong.”

“The Magian?” The old man
finally looked at her. “I like his spirit, but I fail to see it.”

Jinhao’s lips made a small moue,
as she offered her thoughts to her grandfather.

“He only requires a small bit of
guidance, grandfather, and he could be the name that both Han and Anglo would
raise up as a shield against any evil.”

The old man grunted in reply.
There appeared to be some contention from the Europeans below, something about
a correct challenge to legal dueling. Even the Austrian leader was shouting.
Jinhao found the English tongue confusing when speakers started shouting at
once.  Quickly Jinhao told the old man about the Austrian threat of war, and
their powerful vibration weapon.

He listened to her report
impassively, only stopping her when the Imperial Governor whispered in his
other ear. She could see him straighten up at the news.

“It would seem that your
intelligence is correct,” he murmured. He straightened the crease of first one
sleeve then the other. “Your sister sends that there is a European fleet
sailing towards the city, and it is flying the Austrian flag.” He turned,
looking at his youngest grandchild, who saw the red glowing in the back of his
eyes.

“You understand that I cannot
let this go unchallenged,” he said sternly.

Jinhao again bowed her head.

“Of course not, Grandfather,”
she answered. The old man’s glance lingered for a moment at her bowed head.

“Do not try to follow me. Your
sister shall provide what help I require. That is a command, do you
understand?”

“Yes, Grandfather,” she replied,
head still bowed.

He nodded in some private
satisfaction, turned and ghosted from the room. Jinhao raised her head, looked
below and frowned. She had missed something. The officials were marking out the
boundaries of a Western dueling circle. It appeared that Owen Strong was in
trouble.