Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (21 page)

Since then, his powers of deduction as much as his powers
arcane, had led her to believe that Owen Strong was indeed the man of her
visions. Someone who would eventually be not only the symbol, but the truth of
the good that the united peoples of Hong Kong could become. A fearless champion
of every member the province. The start perhaps of an Empire neither British
nor Han, but the best of both.

Jinhao turned to scramble up a sloping roof. She crouched in
the shadow of the building’s chimney and looked out over the city. The bright
haze of the new electric streetlamps directly below her gave way to occasional
grand clusters that marked the mansions of the wealthy. Beyond that, more
lights winked on the ground as far her eye could see.

She turned back and looked up the hill towards the palace her
Grandfather kept. It glowed with its own magical light against the moon and the
night’s stars. She sighed. It wasn’t easy being the granddaughter of the Dragon
of Hong Kong. There were expectations that needed to be kept. The balance
between Easterner and Westerner was their family’s obligation.

She grimaced.

Owen Strong was a large part of that responsibly for her. She
admitted to herself that his wit and sense of justice was attractive, and made
him easy to be around. She was sure though that her Vision was true, despite
Grandfather’s skepticism. She only hoped the British fool had gotten drunk and
lost in a brothel somewhere with his friend, rather than murdered or worse. If
pressed, Jinhao had to admit that she was fond of him in her way.

Jinhao paused at a rooftop’s edge. She had reached the end of
her sojourn. Here the buildings stopped, the road below meandering like a river
through a canyon dividing the more residential buildings from the dockyards.
She peered through the moonlit dazzle to see that the area was already crawling
with searchers trying to be inconspicuous. Jinhao watched them move clumsily
about, and decided to be patient. It would be no hardship, Adepts were trained
to stalk patiently.

Gradually the figures gave up their search, walking unto the
road where she could see them more clearly. The majority of figures wore some
variant of the tunic and pajama pants common to the working classes. A few
seemed to be crying.

Jinhao eeled her way silently down the side of the building and
across the road. She paused in the shadows of a warehouse when she heard one of
the searchers noisily walk towards her. Whoever they were, she thought, they
had no training in being quiet.

As the lone figure passed her, she drew a dagger, springing
towards their back. With a kick she knocked their legs out from under them as
her arm came around their throat. A cry of surprise cut off when they felt the
cold edge of the dagger at the side of their neck. They knelt very still.

“Now,” Jinhao whispered in the dialect of Mandarin used by the
working classes, “we shall have a nice quiet talk. I shall release your throat.
Know that I will kill you should you attempt to shout or struggle to escape. I
will kill you so quickly that your spirit will barely have time to leave your
body.” She eased the pressure of her arm across his throat. “Do you believe
me?”

“Yes,” The trembling man wet his lips. “Have mercy mighty one!
I am only a fisherman from the harbor.”

“Shh,” Jinhao soothed him. “Quietly now. What is a fisherman of
the harbor doing here?”

“My mother sent me to look for the body of my cousin, Mei Pen.”
The man’s voice betrayed bitterness. “He was always loitering around the docks,
playing the tough. Now he is dead, and my mother’s family shall have to pay for
his funeral.”

“Then you found your cousin’s body?”

The man began to shake his head, then stopped as he felt the
dagger. “No, I have not. Nor did any of the others; it was likely dropped in
the harbor when the
Quizi
Sorcerer broke the wharf decking.”

“What Quizi Sorcerer was this?” Jinhao hissed.
Quizi
meant
“shifty dirty foreigner’ a term that was applied to most Europeans.

“They say that one came around the docks with a big foreign
devil, hiring men,” the man replied. “I was on the boat, tending my nets and
did not see them. They say that they were going to ambush some other Quizi sorcerer,
so they say.” His voice took on a mournful tone. “I told Pei not to get tangled
up in Quizi fights.”

Jinhao pressed the dagger so hard against his throat that it
drew blood. “This other Sorcerer what do
they
say happened to him?”

The fisherman gasped, speaking in a rush, “They say that he
died, Mighty One! Fell into the water and drowned after killing many of the men
that were hired.”

“This Sorcerer who hired your cousin, what was his name?”
Jinhao demanded.

“Please, mighty one,” the man trembled like a leaf. “I do not
know his name! I swear it!”

Jinhao sighed. It was clear that she would get no more from the
frightened man. Aiming the pommel of her dagger at a certain spot on the back
of his head, she struck firmly. The fisherman fell over like a sack of grain,
unconscious but unharmed. She disliked killing unnecessarily.

Leaving the man where he fell, Jinhao carefully moved about the
warehouse complex. There had been a battle right enough. She followed the
traces of sorcerous fire to gaze down into the dark maw where the wharf itself
had been shattered. The black depths gave up none of their secrets, no matter
how long she glared into them. The waters of the bay were cold and the currents
were deep.

If there was a body within, chances were it was long gone out
to sea. Her heart sank, then rose again. If there was no body, then Owen Strong
might still be alive, but where? Where could he be?

Chapter 4

Owen came awake as he had been taught to do under
trying circumstances, with no visible signs of being conscious
.
His eyes were still closed, his breathing unchanged. His ears told him that
there was only one other person in the room. His body told him that someone had
put him into dry clothes of coarse cotton. They had tied him sitting upright to
some sort of pillar, his hands bound behind him with hemp rope. He was not
among friends then, he concluded.

Gradually he slitted his eyes open to see the small Han girl
from his fever dreams sitting on a crate reading a book. Without looking up,
she spoke.

“Good. You are awake at last.” She put down the book and looked
at him. “Are you thirsty?”

Owen opened his mouth to speak, only to find it dry as sand. He
contented himself with nodding.

The girl smiled revealing full white teeth. She leaped down
from the crate, picking up a wooden bucket and a long-handled ladle. The
youngster scooped water up in the ladle and brought it to his lips.

Owen drank greedily, feeling the cool water cutting the dryness
that fouled his mouth. When he had finished the first ladle he wet his lips
with his tongue.

“You know,” He said hopefully, “I could drink a lot easier if
my hands were free.”

The girls face crinkled up as if he had made a great joke.

“Oh no, Mister,” The girl shook her head. “Mikey said that you
would try to trick me into letting you loose. You wait until Mikey comes back
with the rest.”

“I see,” Owen said. “Mikey must be very smart. Whom are the
rest?” Her face lit up.

“Oh Mikey is the smartest! And the others are…” She closed her
mouth, shaking her head. “Mikey said I wasn’t to talk to you either. You just
want to know how to hurt us like all the rich folk do. I am just to give you
water and make sure you do not choke or anything.” With that, she clambered
back up onto the crate and picked up her book again.

Well, Owen
thought sardonically, that went well
. He tested his bonds to
discover that there was no hope of loosening them. Whoever had tied the ropes
knew what they were doing, his ankles were likewise bound. He had been placed
on a soft mattress which kept him away from the cold of what must be an
abandoned factory floor. There were plenty of those around the harbor district,
remains of failed attempts to industrialize the city.

He wasn’t uncomfortable now. Both his arms and his lower back
would begin to ache from his posture over time, he knew from experience. He
decided that he would wait it out for the moment, until ‘Mikey and the others’
returned at least. He shared a silent look with his young captor and settled to
wait. Despite himself, he dozed off.

Owen came to again to find a strange couple standing next to
his young guard. The woman was Western in features, with pale skin, blue eyes, and
blonde hair carefully curled in the latest fashion. The man was Han, or some
Eastern breed, with his black hair slicked back against his skull. Their
clothing spoke of middle class prosperity that would not be out of place
anywhere in the city. Owen blinked as the man spoke.

“You are Owen Strong,” he said in English. Owen tried to
straighten up. His arms and back had stiffened up in this position as he had
feared they would.

“Perhaps I am Sir,” Owen said calmly. “What if I am?” The man
smiled like a shark, reaching behind him. He pulled forth Owens electrum cane
with a flourish.

“Because I assume that Owen Strong would want this back.”

Owen knew a moment of hope. He had been afraid that the cane
was lost. As his magical focus, it enabled him to channel the elemental power
bound in his tattoos into active manifestation.

“I am not sure if that is mine or not,” Owen said. “Perhaps if
you untie me and let me examine it I can tell you more.” The man laughed.

“Oh, you are Strong,” he said definitely. “Even down here, we
have heard of the
Quizi
nobleman poking his nose into others affairs
with his magical red metal cane. But I know that you are helpless while we hold
this.” He twirled the cane. “The question is what will you do for it?”

“Mikey—I can call you Mikey can I not? I believe the question
is, what do you want me to do for it?” Owen replied. Mikey glared at the
younger girl sitting on the crate.

“I told you not to talk to him,” Mikey growled.

“I did not, not really anyway,” She said defensively. “He asked
is all.” The man turned towards Owen.

“Very well. Yes you may call me Mike. As to what I want.” He
pointed with the cane at the European woman at his side. “I want you to teach
her your Western sorcery.”

Of all the demands that Owen had expected to hear, that was not
one of them. He looked from the Hannish thug to the Western young woman and
back again.

“
No,” Owen replied, “it is simply not possible. I am no
teacher, and you,” he said looking at the woman, “how old are you?” He demanded
looking at the woman beside ‘Mikey’.

“I be twenty this Flower Day,” the woman responded.

“She is at least ten years too old to begin training,” Owen
insisted. “I started at ten. Then there are the facilities with their special
wardings.” He looked around the abandoned factory house dismissively. “Which,
trust me, you want to have in order to absorb any elemental mistakes.” Mikey’s
face grew dark at Owens refusal.

“You mean you won’t share your holli-polli tricks with those of
the wrong class don’t you? Think we’re not good enough don’t you?” He turned to
the young girl sitting on the crate. “Mei, go get a candle,” he ordered. She
scampered down and was off though the door to the door behind them.

“It has nothing to do with
class
,”
Owen said with exasperation. “One of the best Air Sorceress I know started out
as a Shepherd’s daughter. This is not like teaching someone their ABC’s! There
is real danger in this!” Mei returned with a short candle, a metal bowl with a
wick sticking up from it.

“Go ahead Mary,” she said. “Show the poofter what you’ve got!”
Mary took the candle, looking at Mikey for permission. He nodded.

Mary closed her eyes for a moment, frowning in concentration.
The wick burst into flame to the delighted exclamations of little Mei. Mikey
leaned on Owen’s cane looking at him with a smug face.

“You see,” he boasted. “She has the spark right enough.”

“Mary,” Owen said very slowly. “Do not open your eyes. Can you
make the flame go out?”

“Well, I have never tried” she said in a dreamy voice. “Why
would I want to when this feels so nice?” Her hand came up, as if caressing it,
and the flame danced higher in response.

“Mary,” Owen said in measured tones. “I want you to listen to
my voice.” He wet his lips, guiding her through the opening trance, getting her
to center her awareness to the point of her power located below her belly
button in the center of her body, she swayed to his words. Mikey looked from
one to the other of them, anger and suspicion knitting his brow.

“What are you doing?” He hissed at Owen.

“Do not interrupt,” Owen hissed at him. “You will break her
concentration!”

Mary gave a wordless exclamation as the flame shot up from the
candle in sudden violence towards the ceiling. She began to throw the candle
from her. Owen’s calm voice stopped her.

“Mary,” he said. “Do not throw the candle away. You are the
master of the flame. You. Now, close your eyes again and breathe into your
center. As you breathe out see the flame in your mind’s eye becoming smaller.”
The tip of the flame began to ratchet lower with each one of Mary’s breaths.

“That’s very good Mary,” Owen said softly, “very good. Now with
this exhale send the flame away.” As if a giant hand had snuffed it out, the
flame vanished abruptly. Mary swooned and would have fallen to the hard floor
save for Mikey scrambling to catch her in his arms. Mei leaped up from where
she had been sitting on the crate, a large revolving air-pistol pointed
straight at Owen’s head.

“What did you do to her?” Mikey demanded. “She’s never had this
happen before!”

“Then you’re bloody lucky,” Owen ground out. “I did nothing to
her. Look at the hem of her dress, there will be burn marks there, unless I am
mistaken.”

As Mikey eased her towards the floor Mary stirred, protesting
that she could stand on her own. Mikey grabbed first the cuff on her dress’s
sleeve, then he bent to examine her hem. The whites of his eyes shone wide as
he looked first at her then at Owen.

“There are burn marks on the cloth,” He said shakily. “What
witchcraft is this?”

“Her own,” Owen replied wearily. Addressing the European woman
he said quietly, “So Mary, strange bursts of fire appear around you? Clothes
scorched, but you can’t remember a flat iron applied to them?”

“Only in the last day or so,” she replied meekly. Owen nodded,
shifting his weight to make his bound arms more comfortable.

“Then it is still early days,” he replied. “You are a fortunate
young woman indeed.” Turning to Mikey he said, “Mary has the gift of being a
fire caller. She needs to learn how to manage her gift or it will consume her,
and quite possibly you, in flames.”

“I do not believe you,” Mikey said angrily, his face a study in
disbelief. “You westerners have many people that can call the fire, and they do
not cause everything to burn down. You even hire them to start the street
lamps, and they do not cause the street to burn down!”

“That is because they went to school,” Owen shot back. “Where
they learned the basic skills to be able to control their gift. We have an old
saying, ‘fire is the easiest to call, the hardest to control.” I am willing to
bet that you do not teach that in your knock shop school!”

“Here now,” Mei said in Mandarin. “Mary isn’t like that! Nor is
Mikey! You apologize for that!”

Mary laughed like a scarred bird. “I am you kind’s refuse, Lord
high and mighty! Mikey here,” she laid a hand on his arm tenderly. “Mikey saved
me from what you call the ‘knock shop school’.

“He saved me too!” Mei said still holding her gun at Owen, “not
to mention that he only wants Mary to learn so that she can!”

“Mei—that is enough,” Mikey said more calmly than before. “We
do not need to justify ourselves to his kind.” He turned to Owen, “So, Owen
Strong, will you teach her?”

“An untrained Sorcerer is a danger to everyone, including
themselves,” Owen replied automatically with the old proverb. He looked
absently at Mary. His mind had been working all along. Perhaps this was the
answer to his problems too. He needed someplace to hide from ‘Mr. Victor’ if
that was his real name. It was clear from what he’d over heard that Owen had
offended the wrong people in power back home. They had sent this contract
killer and his giant thug after Owen like predatory birds with cries of ill
omens.

He could not return to home or even contact Jinhao, he decided.
To place her in that sort of danger was not simply not done, not until he had
dealt with these hired assassins at least. It was enough that Findley had been
caught in their spiders’ web. His death weighted on Owen heavily. Fine, he
decided, perhaps he could made a refuge here. The girl clearly needed looking
after. He looked up at Mary and spoke the old ritual words.

“Do you want to learn of these Mysteries, and in time, have the
Greater Mysteries unfold for you? Do you promise to obey me in all things
unquestioningly, from this moment onward?”

Mary looked at Mikey who nodded permission to her. Mary nodded
at Owen in turn. “I do,” she said solemnly.

“I cannot promise to teach her to be a full sorceress,” Owen
said to Mikey. “That is beyond my skill. But I can promise to teach her how to
control her gift of fire calling.”

“That will do for a start,” the gang leader said.

“You also will have to follow my instructions if you want this
hare-brained scheme to succeed” Owen continued. “I will require the return of
my focus cane, and I want little Mei there to stop pointing that very big gun
at me. I also need to be untied right now.”

Mikey got a determined look on his face and advanced towards
Owen, a wicked curved knife in one hand and Owen’s cane in the other.

“I do not think it will be necessary to agree to all of that,”
he said to Owen grimly.