Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (22 page)

Chapter 5

Owen was given a surprising amount of freedom
following the so-called negotiations with the street leader called Mike,
although Owen would be surprised if that was his birth name, given those
Hannish features
. Owen had agreed to be the girl’s teacher only
because the arrangement gave him a place to hide while he recovered from the
attack on the wharves.

That the man who called himself Mr. Victor had been a
headhunter Owen had little doubt. Headhunters were a part of British society,
sorcerers who were really little more than hired killers. When deeds of Magia and
necromantic revenge had become part of your culture for hundreds of years,
headhunters such as Mr. Victor would always arise, Owen reflected.

Headhunters were called that because of the vogue for British
Nobles to hire sorcerer-assassins who would cut off the head of their target,
thus stopping the distressing tendency for victims of assassination to rise
from the dead and seek out their killers. As most Nobles were also sorcerers of
some sort, this fashion kept down the number of revenants.

Even with necromancy outlawed throughout the Empire, most
Nobles were not above a little necromantic revenge. Headhunters were very
expensive and very ruthless. Whomever Owen had upset must be reasonably
wealthy, but that hardly narrowed the field of possible persons, let alone
accounted for the organizations who would doubtless like his head. Eventually
he would have to find Mr. Victors’ employers, but first he would have to defeat
the assassin himself.

Headhunters tended to follow certain habits and traditions,
habits that Owen could exploit. Victor and his giant thug would doubtless be
watching the house; one of those traditions was the destruction of the target’s
household. If that had truly been what Victor’s employer had paid for, the
assassin would have used some other stratagem, so Barton and the house should
be relatively safe. Given that Jinhao would not be returning for a few days,
and would thus be away from the danger, this opportunity seemed ready made for
him to out-flank the headhunter.

Of course the fact that Mike still held his Electrum cane was a
consideration, but not as great a hold over Owen as the street leader figured.
He could always create another focus, although that would take a great deal of
time as well as energy, and he would hate it. Owen had lost enough in this
little adventure already.

He kept seeing James’ face over and over again in the grips of
that huge creature accompanying Victor. Owen fiercely clenched his hands
together at the memory. He had never felt as helpless as he did when he saw
James in danger. Then he heard his childhood friend call for his help. Victor was
a powerful sorcerer, Owen couldn’t deny that. Most headhunters were. The man
would face justice for James all the same, Owen vowed.

“Hey Mister, you alright?” asked the girl Mei who was behind
him. Owen came to himself to find that he had stopped in the passageway down
which he and the girl had been walking. Mei was the price of Owen’s apparent
freedom. The little girl with her big pneumatic pistol was his constant shadow
as well as his guide.

“Yes,” Owen said, “I am fine.” He pointed towards the room
ahead of them. “What room is that just ahead of us again?” Mei sighed in the
weary manner that was the habit of children everywhere when confronted by
clueless adults. Owen had to admit though, that she seemed sharper in wits than
many adults he dealt with.

“That’s the big eating hall, the re-fac-tory” she replied, stumbling
over the English phrase. “You know, where we all eat and tell stories about the
day.”

“The refectory I presume you mean,” Owen said simply. Mei gave
an exaggerated shrug or grimace, Owen wasn’t sure which, at his reply.

“Yeah,” she agreed, that word. What is it with you British
anyway? Why can’t you just say
big
eating hall
?”

“That would make things too simple,” Owen explained. “We
British have never shied away from the complex and the convoluted. In fact, we
positively embrace it. Why call something one thing that everyone knows when
you can call it six different things that only a few can understand?” Mei looked
at him puzzled.

“You people are crazy,” Mei pronounced. Owen nodded in
agreement.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said. He walked into the large hall,
looking around. He was pleased to find it both clean and ordered, with long
tables and benches that would not be have been out of place at his boarding
school. To continue with the boarding school theme, he realized that he had
only seen women and young girls wherever he went in to factory

“This is amazing,” he said to Mei, “but where are any boys?”
The girl looked up at him.

“Boys don’t get left out by their families to die,” she
explained. “This is all Mike’s doing. Some of us he takes in as small babies,
others when they’re older. The babies all live upstairs,” she continued. “Once
you’re old enough though, you have to go out and nick things to keep the babies
fed.” She expanded her chest proudly. “I am the leader of the pick-pockets,
because I’m the best.”

“I am sure you are,” Owen murmured while thinking. Abstractly,
he knew about the custom of exposing infants, especially unwanted girls, but to
his chagrin had never really thought about it, or about what happened to the
abandoned. Suddenly the room swam in front of his eyes.

“Hey Mister,” Mei called to him. Her voice sounded as if it
came from down a well. Owen felt for the closest of the benches.

“I believe I shall just sit down for a moment,” he remarked.
The floor came up to meet him.

Chapter 6

When he came to, at least he wasn’t tied up anymore
.
He opened his eyes to see his little guardian sitting on her packing crate. She
tossed him a large bun.

“About time you woke up,” Mei said to him. “Eat that and get
ready to go out.” Owen groggily bit into the bun to find it stuffed with
curried vegetables that exploded with flavor in his mouth. He wet his lips.

“Any chance of a cup of tea?” He asked. Mei snorted at him.

“It’s a working day,” she said. “You should feel grateful for
what we have.”

“Working day?” Owen asked, hungrily eating the last of the
stuffed bun. “What does that mean?”

The girl pulled herself off the crate, brandishing her rather
large air pistol. Owen noticed the bulging gas chamber with some
disappointment. If it had been a gunpowder weapon he might have been able to
ignite the cartridges with his Fire talent, but it seemed that even among
ruffians and street urchins that trick was too well known these days. Not, he
reminded himself, that he wanted to.

“It means that Mikey wants you to come outside as we can’t be
bothered to watch over you anymore. Get up,” Mei said grimly, training the
weapon on Owen. Owen stood, considering whether to fight. At least he wasn’t
swooning anymore when he stood up. The strange old man they all called the
Doctor had come, Owen vaguely remembered him holding Owens wrist while clucking
his tongue, then sticking Owen with needles in various places. Owen had heard
of this form of Hannish Medicine, though he had never experienced it before.

To his surprise, the needles didn’t hurt, and he did feel quite
better than he had. While he wasn’t sure about it replacing a good old
fashioned Western Healer laying on their hands, then giving him alchemical
potions, he had to admit the man’s ministrations seemed to work. Owen flexed
his legs, regarding Mei and the distance between them.

The Western woman Mary came in through the double factory doors
behind them at that moment. She was wearing what Owen judged to be a
middle-class Western dress of lavender and sky blue complete with a feathered
hat and large matching bag. A far cry from the grey pajama pants and tunic she
normally wore. She stopped, taking in the sight of Owen and the little girl
facing off.

“Mei!” Mary said in a tone kept for scolding children who were stealing
sweets, “Where did you get that pistol? And why are you pointing it at Owen?” Mei
tossed her head, black curls swirling. Owen noticed that the pistol remained
rock steadily aimed at him.

“Ah, Mary,” Mei whined, “I was just doing what Mikey said. He
told me to scare the
Quizi
so that he wouldn’t run off when we take him
out.”
Quizi
was slang for ‘tricky foreign demon’, a term Owen had often
heard used in reference to Western sorcerers. Mary frowned at this and strode
over to Mei, hand outstretched.

“Give me that gun! You are not to refer to him as a tricky
demon! He’s my teacher! Am I a demon?” The little girl seemed to deflate under
this scolding, and meekly handed Mary the pistol.

“Aw, no Mary,” Mei protested. “You know that you’re not!” She
nodded in Owens direction. “But he’s a rich
Magia
user, and English, not
to mention a
guy!”
Owen could not decide from this if Mei’s main
objection to him was his sex, his sorcery, or his birth. While he was still
puzzling this out, Mike the gang leader came through the doors. He looked at
Owen

“Good you are awake,” he said crisply. He turned to Mei. “Get
him up and ready to go out the door.”

Mei looked between Mike and Mary. “Mary took my pistol,” she
said glumly. Mike whirled on Mary.

“What did you do that for?” He snapped. Mary frowned, the gun
held loosely at her hip by the barrel.

“Mei was threatening Owen with it. That is no way to treat a
house guest!” Mike answered her with a frown of his own.

“‘House guest is he?” Mike looked at Owen. “You had better be
worth it,
quizi,”
he said. Mary stamped her foot at this.

“He is no quizi, he is my teacher!” she objected.

“Fine,” Mike snapped. “Then you can be responsible for him
today! That is, if I can trust you to shoot him for the safety of the gang!”
Wordlessly, Mary aimed the pistol in Owens direction and pulled the trigger,
while still staring at Mike. There was the
whish
of displaced air,
followed by the
thunk
of a bullet hitting the wooden pillar behind him.
Owen ducked down as sharp splinters flew around him.

“I can shoot him just fine,” Mary retorted. “But you had better
be willing to get me a new teacher!”

“You!” Mike whirled on Owen, who was still brushing off chips
of wood from his shoulders. “This is all your fault! Just do as you’re told and
there should be no trouble! Mei,” he ordered, “go round up your crew and get to
the streets. Do the usual plays, I will meet you at noon.” The girl nodded
sharply, ringlets flying.

“Got it, Mike.” She turned towards Owen. “Mind you do what Mary
says, foreign devil!” With that admonishment, she swaggered out the double
doors behind her.

“I would be happy to follow whatever directions you have,” Owen
said calmly. “Just what are we about? What is a
working day
?” Mike grinned at Owen savagely.

“We’re running low on supplies,” he explained. “So we’re all
going out stealing. I can’t spare anyone to watch you here. Besides Doctor says
that you should get out in the fresh air.” He held up a warning finger. “Mind
you if you try to run or tip off the constables to us, you’ll be the first to
die!”

“It would be to my advantage to not draw attention to myself I
assure you,” Owen said dryly. “I cannot be recognized.” Mike narrowed his eyes
at this.

“You are on the dodge from someone,” he guessed. “The people
who put you in the water.” Owen shrugged.

“Perhaps,” he replied. “I promise you that you also do not want
to come to anyone’s attention.” He gestured to the clothes he was wearing, grey
Hannish tunic and pajama pants, then towards Mikes suit. Like Mary he was
wearing the epitome of middle-class Western apparel with dark charcoal pants,
maroon embroidered vest and an ink-blue suit coat. “Should I not be dressed
more as you are?” Owen asked. Mike squinted at Owen.

“Your clothes were torn up for scrap,” the young ganger said.
“They were too burned and soggy to save.” He shook his head. “No I think that
what you are wearing will do just fine. We’ll get you a bamboo hat and no one
will know that you are a foreigner. Mary here will keep you in line. Just do as
she says.”

“Well,” Owen replied with a bow towards Mary, “Let us be about
it by all means.” Mary’s face colored at him. She hid the handgun under an
embroidered shawl that she wore over her bare shoulders. She glanced warily at
Mike, then faced Owen with a determined set to her jaw.

“Just remember,” she said fiercely. “I have this and know how
to use it, so you just mind what I say.” Owen raised his hands in a gesture of
surrender.

“I promise, I shall be the epitome of obedience,” he murmured.
Mike pointed that he should go first, followed by Mary and then Mike himself.
He walked forward without a backward glance. If they had intended to kill him
they could have done so any time before this. Besides, it was clear that Mike
truly needed a teacher for Mary, a fact that Owen still wasn’t sure about in
his own mind. Once through the double doors, he was greeted by a swarm of
youngsters running about, all headed towards what he presumed was the doors to
the outside. Owen looked around with interest as this was the first chance that
he’d had to see the home of his erstwhile rescuers.

To his eye it appeared clear that the gang had been here for
some time. He found himself in what appeared to be some sort of common room
filled with benches, only guttering candles in mirrored holders vainly chasing
away the gloom. Makeshift stairs ran up the walls to other rooms, the stairs
all full of scampering youths in various modes of dress. Some in pants and
tunics much like his own, others barefoot in smocks or shifts. The only common
denominator again was that they appeared to Owen to be all female, most
Hannish, although a few of the younger ones looked to be mixed blood of some
sort.

Studded throughout the running stream were a few older women,
dressed much as Mary was, in western dress, wearing stylish bustles and elegant
hats. This mode of dress was very fashionable among the middle-classed Han, and
Owen was surprised to see it here. The other thing that surprised him was the
cleanliness that greeted him wherever he looked. While the ragamuffins might
sport an artfully applied smudge of dirt on cheek or nose, their home was
cleaner than any foundry had a right to be.

“There isn’t any escape,” Mike remarked from behind him, “You
might as well stop looking for one, and march on out the doors there.” Owen
realized that he had stopped walking and turned his head. Mike and Mary looked
the very picture of a respectable Hong Kong couple, he wondered what they were
about. Doubtless, he would find out.

“Sorry,” Owen said innocently. “I am simply not used to going
out minus my cane. I do not suppose that I could have it?” Mike laughed, and
shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I’ve heard plenty of stories
about what you sorcerers can do with things like that. This way you stay
powerless.” Owen frowned at this statement. While it was true that he could not
conjure the strongest manifestations of his powers, he could still do some
small parlor tricks, which he was sure would catch them off guard. He could
understand the natural reluctance Mike had to giving him a tool of escape. The
fact was, he did not want to escape. Somewhere out there lay the assassin, Mr.
Victor, as well as whoever had hired him. Returning home would have to wait
until the situation had been dealt with. Fortunately, Jinhao was not due to
return for a few days yet. That should give him enough time to sort things out.

“It is not that,” Owen said to the gang leader. “You are
correct in your surmise, I am hiding. The ones who are seeking me are a Western
Sorcerer like myself, and a rather tall brute of a man who is accompanying him.
Have you heard of anyone like that?” Mike frowned in thought.

“No, I can’t say that I have,” he answered slowly. “What does
that have to do with your magic cane?” The heavy front doors were held open by
a couple of small children. Owen stepped through quickly to find he was in a
small alleyway. He followed the stream of young women while still talking to
Mike, who walked behind him.

“Only that you are correct, in that it can be a powerful weapon
in my hands,” Owen confessed. “Should we meet these assassins while about your
business, I cannot protect you unless I can bring all my powers to bear.” Mary
frowned at this, while Mike laughed.

“Oh, I don’t think that you will trick me that easily,” he
said. “I think that your precious cane will remain here.” He flicked his
fingers towards the doors. “Now go.” Owen went.

Going outside turned into a walking excursion that resulted in
them emerging onto Main Street with the constantly- moving sea of humanity. The
vanguard of young street urchins melted into the throngs and were soon lost.

“The young’uns are honing their pickpocket skills,” Mike
explained cheerfully. “Mei is the leader of them. We’ll meet her at noon and
see how the take is doing.” He nodded as the older western-dressed young women
clustered around them. “Meanwhile, we’ll go shopping. Come along.”

Owen held his tongue as the group of gaily dressed young women
sashayed down the street. They turned onto a narrow alleyway that Owen knew
held shops that catered to the city’s upper class. At some unspoken signal from
Mike the women turned as one and entered a store, suddenly laughing and
giggling as any group of modern young Hannish women were wont to do. The
doorman held open the door for the group and bowed as they passed. He came
upright and blocked Owen’s entrance with an upheld hand. Owen placed the man’s
accent as having come from within the sound of Bow Bells in London, which
marked him as an immigrant.

“Here now mate,” the man said to Owen in his thick voice. “This
fine establishment is too rich for the likes of you.” Before Owen could speak,
Mike turned back, addressing the doorman.

“Excuse me,” he said to the cockney. “This man is with me. Is
there a problem?”

“Oh well, if he’s with you,” the man pulled back his arm and
bowed towards Mike. “Sorry sir, it’s just that he’s not dressed proper, you
see. But if you vouch for him I’m sure it must be alright. Mind you, watch him
as you’re responsible.” Mike gave Owen a look that was at once smug and
condescending as he addressed the doorman.

“Oh, I shall see to it that he stays out of trouble,” he said
to the man. Owen smile wanly back at them both while gritting his teeth.

Once inside Owen was taken by the décor of the establishment.
It was as if London’s Mayfair District had been transported to Hong Kong. The
walls were of polychrome flecked gold against a royal purple back round, the
lighting of very expensive
mage light
spilling from gilded sconces. A
tasteful montage of portraits showing the royal family of Britain took pride of
place on the wall. Everywhere was the glitter of gaudy bejeweled creations, ranging
from tiny diamond covered bracelets to amethyst encrusted goblets. A florid
Englishman in the same livery as the doorkeeper was trying in vain to keep
track of the fluttering flock of well-dressed women that had descended on his
glittering realm, chattering and picking up this or that glittery bauble.

Owen suddenly figured out why the gang had come to this
establishment when he saw Mary quickly palm a necklace of emeralds and hide the
string under her shawl. Apparently she wasn’t quick enough as the store clerk must
also have seen her. His head snapped to fix Mary with an unwavering gaze as he
closed the distance separating them.