Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (9 page)

Owen nodded resignedly.

“Right then. Well, there is
nothing for it. We will have to examine the other bodies.” He pointed forward.
“We’ll need to go down to Fei Street to catch a cab.”

As they walked through the crowd
Owen said casually, “You know, I don’t believe that you have ever mentioned
what you did before we met.”

Jinhao turned her body to avoid
a clank man as he rolled by her.

“That is correct, I have not,”
she remarked. “It has not seemed relevant. No more than your Order has, yes?”

Owen winced inside. She had him
there. After avoiding a rather large North man dragging a wheeled cart that was
loaded down with lumpy sacks, he spoke again.

“Right. Well, allowing as how we
both have things in the past we would prefer not to speak of, I must observe
that you were as good as any confidential agent back there.”

A group of priests in red and
orange passed Jinhao, chanting and waving censers from which came clouds of
fragrant incense.

“Thank you,” she acknowledged.
“The skills of dissembling have proved useful.”

“As is your knowledge of
poisons,” Owen said off-handedly.

Jinhao shrugged her shoulders,
“Those skills have also proved useful.”

They reached the corner of Fei
Street through which ran another river of humanity. This one was composed of
conveyances of all types, everything from rickshaws drawn by weary runners, to
hansom cabs and carriages drawn by every beast known to man. There was even a
steam car, moving slowly through the flood, a dark skinned padjum seated
majestically above the crowd on the back of the contraption.

After considering the options, Owen
hailed a horse-drawn coach.

“I do wonder sometimes why you
continue to stay with me,” he remarked, as the coach began to pull over to the
curb.

Seeing the rich dress of his
fare, the coach man simply opened the carriage door and pulled down the
attached step. Owen held out his hand for Jinhao who took it to climb within.

“Really, Owen, we discussed
this,” she said serenely. “After you saved my life at Xiopling, I owe you a
life debt, and must honor my duty. Where are we bound?”

“Hastings Trading and Shipping,”
Owen called up to the driver, before swinging into the seat beside her. He
placed his cane upright between his legs, hands restless on the handle.

“We will see if we can find a
way to examine the body of Sir John Hastings, although Gods alone know what
they have done to it after a week. If they follow the Old Ways, it’s likely
already burned, but we should at least try.” He turned in the cab to look at
her seriously.

“As for this ‘life debt’
business, need I remind you that I have already said you don’t need to follow
it? I release you and all that.”

“Yes, I do,” Jinhao said in the
same unruffled voice, “And no, you cannot.”

Owen looked out the window,
watching the crowd pass by, while images plagued his mind of what a
Disintegrator would do to the busy crowd he was seeing.

“This may become an ugly
business before it’s over,” he muttered. “Still, I am glad of your presence,
Jinhao.”

Jinhao allowed herself a small
smile.

“I know,” she said simply.

Chapter 7

Hastings Trading and Shipping

As luck would have it, they arrived at the offices of
Hastings Trading and Shipping to find that a ceremony honoring Sir John
Hastings was just finishing
.

Owen glanced at the white bunting that hung from every possible
surface of the huge interior, as he took a flute of mead from a white-clad
server. The ceremony seemed to be a peculiarly Hong Kong mix of British and
Chinese. Both cultures shared white as the color of death. However, the
musicians who were playing drums and flutes in the background were definitely
Chinese, while the drinking and the singing Bard moving among the many guests
was decidedly British. Everywhere there were billowing clouds of incense.

The guests were likewise a mix.
While there were many dressed in white British suits and dresses or Chinese
robes of the same color, there was also more than a sprinkling of rich jewel-toned
clothing of varying extravagance. Owen’s stomach clenched as he spied a small
cluster of Austrians standing by themselves, their black face-scarves matching
their uniforms. The Austrians were a small black cloud in a sea of white and
color.

“Well,” he murmured to Jinhao as
he sipped. “At least we don’t have to worry about Sir John’s body being burned
up.” He inclined his head towards the far end of the room, where a golden bier
lay on a raised pedestal. A cluster of priests and priestesses of various
Deities stood around it.

“Yes,” Jinhao replied. As was
her want, she had refused the proffered mead. “However, I doubt that we can
simply walk up and start examining the body.”

Owen smiled at her, then he
drained the flute, placing the empty on a passing tray.

“We should pay our respects at
least,” he said. “You never know what opportunity may present itself.”

Jinhao rolled her eyes slightly.
She knew that smile.

“We should,” she agreed, “Although
if you get us arrested or worse, our ‘opportunities’ will be somewhat
restricted.”

Owen clutched his chest dramatically.

“You wound me,” he said as they
moved towards the bier. “When have I ever led you astray?”

“That night at the Boar’s Head,”
she replied mercilessly.

Owen waved her comment aside.
“They were sore losers. You can hardly blame me for that,” he protested.
“Besides, I thought in this case that we would try the honesty tactic.”

“Honesty,” Jinhao looked at him
and raised an elegant eyebrow. “This will be interesting.”

Suddenly, a large, swarthy man
was standing in front of them with a drink in his hand, blocking their path.
His stark white tunic and trousers were relieved by a deep purple sash covered
in badges and colored ribbons. On his right hip rode a black-hilted knife.

“Owen Strong,” he smiled
expansively. Oiled ringlets framed a dark face in which white teeth gleamed. “I
had heard that you had retired here in this interesting city, but did not
credit such a thing.”

“Susa,” Owen nodded warily in
greeting. “It is true. I am retired, and living here now. What brings you to
our lovely city?”

The large man spread his hands,
careful not to spill his drink.

“Bah. I am stationed here to be
a consultant to our glorious embassy, for my sins.” He turned to Jinhao with a
bow worthy of a royal court.

“But Owen, it is most unfair
that you have already found the most beautiful jewel in the country! Do you
know, O Fair One, what a dangerous reprobate you have taken up with? You should
come with me, and I will shower you with precious stones that, although they
will pale beside your beauty, shall assist you to outshine the stars
themselves.”

Jinhao smiled at him.

“And if I should run off with
one whose name I do not even know, what would you think of me?”

“Jinhao,” Owen said dryly, “This
giant who fancies himself a poet is Susa Sassanid. Susa, this is Jinhao. Susa
is one of the Ten Thousand Immortals of the Persian Empire, as well as one of
the best agents the All-Seeing Eye has ever had.”

The whole world knew of the
Immortals, the famed Sorcerer-warriors of the Persian Empire. Some even hinted
that it was the Immortals, rather than the Dynasty, who ruled the Empire.

“Please, Owen,” Susa said with
wry grace, “Modesty requires that I correct you, the
best
agent of His
Divine Majesty, Cyrus, may Zoroaster light his name.” He smiled at Jinhao.

Jinhao inclined her head,
clasping her hands together in front of her.

“I am honored. I have never met
a member of the Persian Immortals before, let alone the
best
secret
agent of the Empire.” The slight inflection she gave to the word
best
hinted
that she doubted the truth of it.

Susa’s eyes widened and he let
out a great hoot.

“I like her, Owen! She is much
better than your usual fluff.” His eyes narrowed slightly, “But, Lady Jinhao
—
it is Jinhao, yes? There is no second name?”

“Jinhao is sufficient,” she
responded indifferently.

Susa smiled again, teeth agleam.
“You see, Lady Jinhao, I am only a humble consultant for our embassy these
days, despite what our mutual friend may say. Much as our friend here is
retired
,
yes?” 

“Susa,” Owen pressed. “I truly
am retired.” Susa’s eyebrows shot up at this assertion.

“Truly?” Susa’s arms waved
around, gesturing to encompass the room.

“And I suppose that you are a
friend of Sir John Hastings come to pay your respects?” Susa nodded as if
answering his own question. “There is no retiring for such as us, my friend.”
He drained his glass and set it on the tray of a passing servant, snatching up
a full one to take its place in the large paw of his hand. He quaffed a good
portion of the glass and sighed.

“There is so much tragic death
lately,” Susa rumbled. “First the Austrian official. May Ahriman eat their
hearts. Then Sir John died.” He looked meaningfully at Owen. “And now I hear
that the British head of the Trading Board has also passed beyond the veil.” He
drank again. “It is seeming not so good to be a trader these days. It is fortunate
that my family is forbidden the filthy occupation.”

“And what is Persia’s interest
in all these tragedies, Susa?” Owen asked quietly.

The giant spread his hands
again.

“As I say, Owen, I am only a
humble hanger-on at the embassy.” He placed one finger along his nose. “But if
I were to guess, I would say that even in the glorious Empire of my king there
are those who do worry about such filthy things as trading and gold. Such a
number of tragedies would not, cannot, go unmarked. Mind you, I believe my king
is satisfied with what he has, but there are always others, yes?”

Owen nodded.

“Especially with the new trade
talks starting in a couple of days,” he ventured.

Susa returned the nod, taking
another quaff of his drink.

“As you say, my friend.” The big
man looked up and smiled again. “But I see that my lord is signaling for his
faithful hound again.” His ringlets quivered as he inclined his head towards a
group of Persian diplomats. “My work is never done.”

“I hope that you enjoy your
retirement, my friend,” Susa’s voice dropped to a low basso. “While the waters
are lovely here about, be careful. I fear that they may be unaccustomedly deep
for one swimming alone.” He bowed to Jinhao. “When you are ready to leave this
northern bandit, come to me and I will treat you like a queen!”

“But what would your other wives
say?” Jinhao asked innocently. “After all, I am sure that a man of your many accomplishments
must have seven or eight already?”

Susa hooted again. “Actually it
is six, pretty lady!” He looked at Owen again. “I do like her!” With that, the
giant moved through the crowd with a grace that belied his size. 

“That was interesting,” Owen
remarked thoughtfully, watching the man go.

“I take it that you are old
acquaintances?” Jinhao asked.

“Oh, yes,” Owen said absently.
“The last time we saw each other was Tunis I think. We tried to kill each other,
while hanging from a sky ship.”

Jinhao turned to look at him.
“And what happened?”

Owen shrugged.

“We’re both still here. More
importantly I wonder why Susa is here in Hong Kong.”

“Doubtless, he is wondering the
same thing about you,” Jinhao remarked dryly. “I am wondering why he felt it
important to tell you that his government has nothing to do with the deaths,
and that they also think someone committed murder.”

Owen grunted and frowned
thoughtfully.

“Caught that, did you? I am
wondering the same thing.” He tapped his cane on the floor. “Well, we should
still pay our respects.”   

To the right of the steps
leading up to the bier stood a richly dressed entourage, centered on a
strikingly pretty young woman. Her upright bearing and shoulder crest marked
her as the new Head of House Hastings.

If anyone personified the
British Empire, it was its trading families. For centuries, the brave had
ventured away from the home Isle and, by skill, wits, and sometimes outright
piracy, returned home with wealth and honor to found their own dynasties.

Some, like the Hastings, had
chosen to settle in the countries where they made their wealth. Still, they
sent their children to schools back “Home,” they toasted the Monarch every
Birthday, and had planted the British flag from the windswept plains of America
to the southern bays of Australia. They were the Empire’s lifeblood, its modern
nobility, and they knew it.     

Owen approached the group, and
stopping the correct distance away, bowed with his right hand over his heart
towards the upright woman. “Lady Hastings,” he said, “Please allow me to convey
my sorrow at your loss.”

The young woman acknowledged him
with a regal nod. The only signs of distress were the dark rings under her eyes
that even cosmetics could not hide. 

“My thanks to you, Sir, on
behalf of my House and myself,” she said in a clear voice. “I must confess that
you have me at a disadvantage. I see what I believe is the colors of House
Connolly, as well as your
Rod of Art
, but I know of no Sorcerers of that
House currently in the city.”

Owen straightened up from his
bow.

“Ah, yes, well I can see where
the confusion may arise; forgive me, Milady.” He bowed again, “My name is
Strong, Owen Strong of House Strong, at your service and at the service of your
family.” He flourished a hand towards Jinhao.

“This is my noble companion,
Jinhao.” Jinhao affected a short bow of equals before returning to stand silently
behind him. The news of this announcement was electric in the group before
them. Those that didn’t straighten up in surprise took their cue from their
mistress and reluctantly bowed in response.

“My Lord,” Lady Hastings said
without a trace of surprise in her voice. “It is I and my family that stand at
your service! Truly you do honor to both my father, and to his House.” There
were advantages to having a famous name, Owen reflected. It was not the first
time he had taken advantage of his Father’s shining glory.

“I only wish it could be under
kinder circumstances, Lady Hastings,” Owen said soberly. “I must plea for
private speech with you concerning your father’s untimely fate.”

Before Lady Hastings could
respond, a dignified, but younger and male version of Lady Hastings stepped
forward.

“Now, see here, My Lord,” he
began stormily, “If indeed you are who you say you are, this is hardly the time
or place for such words, let alone a plea for a private audience!”

He was stopped by Lady Hastings’
hand on his arm.

“You forget what I am, John,”
Owen heard her say to him. “I would speak to this man. You stand in my place to
the guests until I return.” Raising her voice she spoke to Owen.

“Please forgive him, My Lord. I
plead the circumstance of grief.”

“Of course, Lady Hastings,” Owen
said with another bow. “As a guest, there is nothing to forgive.”

She nodded her thanks, and turned
away from the entourage.

“This way, My Lord,” she said,
moving towards a doorway along one wall. An older woman with a rod sheath at
her waist followed determinedly behind her, glaring distrustfully at Owen. He
judged she must be the House Sorcerer. He would be distrustful as well in her
place.

He was frankly amazed that the
Lady Hastings had agreed so readily. While the Strong family name carried a
certain honor, he doubted that his word alone would grant them such an
audience. With a nod at Jinhao to come along as well, he followed the two women
towards the door.

The doorway led them onto a long
covered veranda that held a breathtaking view of the harbor. Lights of
different colors began winking and glimmering on the waters as the sun sank in
the sky. Overhead, a sky ship silently floated by, the tips of its spines
faintly gleaming in the gathering dusk. Lady Hastings rounded on Owen, the
pinch-faced Sorcerer at her right shoulder.