Dragon by the Bay Page 4

  "Uncle Wei turned a hundred-fifty last spring."

  Carson waited for him to say he was kidding. He didn't. Instead, he loaded a slender pipe with tobacco. "For a white man, you speak good Cantonese."

  "My parents were missionaries to Kwangchow."

  "And yet you gamble like a man possessed. I thought Christians frowned on that."

  "I'm afraid I disappointed my parents. But look here—are we going to swap stories about our families, or are you going to tell me how you can leap around like a goddamn grasshopper? I saw some strange things during my time in China, but nothing like that."

  Manny took a long puff. "It all has to do with qi."

  "Qi?"

  "Vital breath-essence, regulated by the liver. With correct breathing, I can lighten my body while making the muscles in my legs stronger."

  "What about the cape, then? Why did the joss sticks shatter against it instead of tearing through?"

  "Ah, you saw that as well. The Iron Cloth technique. I sent qi from my fingertips into the silk, strengthening it for a moment."

  Carson poured himself another cup of fragrant tea. "This isn't making a lick of sense, but it sounds reasonable enough when you explain it."

  "There's a logic to everything."

  "And that Nine Serpents fella, he can do tricks with qi, too. That's why you freed him."

  "Though he chooses to pervert his training by associating with criminals, Hsien is a master of Chinese boxing. Every year there are fewer and fewer true practitioners. I've made it my life's work to try and preserve as much of the art as possible."

  "Why were you wearing a disguise? It can't be easy fighting in a mask."

  Manny waved his pipe at their surroundings. "I didn't want to call attention to my family. Not with the sort of people Hsien claims as friends. I don't know if he got a good look at me or not, after he kicked off the mask."

  "I hate to break this to you, but you might've freed a kidnapper."

  "I'd heard the charges. I didn't choose to believe them. We Chinese don't get justice in this country. But if Hsien could betray his word like that, there's not much I'd put past him."

  They sat in silence for a moment, Carson shoveling down dumplings while Manny puffed. Now that the night was drawing to a close, the depressing prospect of returning to Constance again loomed. Carson was about to tactfully ask Manny if he could borrow some money for yang root, when he heard a commotion from beyond the peacock screen.

  A woman's voice, calling out his name.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was Pearl, the walleyed redhead. When Carson came around the screen he saw her frantic face in the doorway. The Mongolian held her back. There were only two other customers at the tables, both bleary-eyed gamblers taking a tea break.

  "Carson," Pearl called again, jostling against the doorman.

  "Let her in," Manny said.

  She slipped inside. "What's got you all riled?" Carson said.

  "It's Constance. You didn't come back after several hours, so she figured you must've given her the ditch. She started drinking, and then she swore she was going to find Anna herself. Took one of her husband's big guns. I've been a-combing all of Chinee town, trying to find you."

  "Well, calm down. You found me."

  She shook her head. "Carson, she thinks a rival brothel took Anna. A Chinese one. The House of Blue Lanterns—"

  "Hush," Manny said, looking around to see if she'd been overheard. "Come with me."

  He rushed her behind the screen. Carson poured her a cup of tea, but she spat it out after the first sip. "Don't you got nothing stronger?"

  "Not now. Tell us what happened again."

  She did so.

  "How long ago did Constance set out?" Carson said.

  "Couple hours. She had murder in her eyes. I'm afraid she's going to shoot the first Chinaman she sees."

  Manny's brow furrowed. "The House of Blue Lanterns is owned by Twin Fury Xue. It's the most dangerous place in Chinatown. I can't imagine a lone woman going in there, armed or not."

  "You don't know Constance. She probably figured Hsien was the one who took Anna. Hell, I'm beginning to think so myself."

  "All I wanted to do was preserve the Golden Bell technique," Manny said, looking down at his hands. "So much for good intentions. Honor demands I go with you to help find your friend."

  "Whoa, now. Find her? I never said …"

  Pearl was giving him her divergent stare.

  "Look, Constance is a full-growed woman. She knows her way around a gun, I'm sure, and she wouldn't take any guff from—hey! What're you doing?"

  Pearl had tugged Carson's shirt free and lifted it. "I'm looking for the yellow spot on your belly, you lowdown snake. Turning tide after all the things Constance's done. Why, this heathen here has more guts than you do. Makes me ashamed of the white race."

  Carson felt himself flush. Manny was giving him a look, too. "Alright, alright, I'll go and pull Constance's bacon out of the fire. Probably get myself killed in the process, but hell, I'll have met my obligations, right?"

  "That's better," Pearl said.

  "Now go back to the telegraph office. Tell the other girls to keep their britches on. So to speak. We'll all have us a nice drink when I bring Constance back."

  Pearl's mouth quivered. "And what if you don't come back?"

  "Wire the president."

  * * *

  Manny and Carson left the restaurant via the back alley, Carson wearing an old bowler set low and Manny a red silk handkerchief he could pull up over his face if needed. Both men moved with purpose. On the way out of the alley they passed a beggar slumped against the wall. His left foreleg was missing below the knee and he presented a bowl as he bowed his head.

  "Good fortune to you, brother." Manny clinked a few coins into the bowl.

  "You ever get tired of being such a do-gooder?" Carson said, as they made their way down the fog-shrouded street.

  "A kuo shu practitioner strives to lead a just life."

  "Christians do too, but trust me, they don't always succeed."

  "It's the striving that's important."

  Half a block later Carson said: "You keep going on about this Twin Fury fella. Who is he, anyway?"

  "Great granduncle Wei could tell you the whole story, but for now suffice it to say he's a crime lord. Both Nine Serpents Hsien and the Green Turbans serve him."

  "And he runs this brothel, right?"

  "Among other things. His headquarters connect to the House of Blue Lanterns. We must try to avoid him, at all costs."

  "I've had to slip into places before, but among Chinese I'm going to stick out like a dick in a pickle barrel."

  "We'll have to improvise." Manny tapped at his chin. "There are many entrances, but the path through the opium den is the least auspicious. It's not far from here."

  Manny led him to the enormous laundry he had glimpsed on his way into Chinatown. A side door had been left open a crack, streaming light onto the darkened streets. Inside the dusty room beyond stood a row of wooden vats for washing, all empty. Manny counted three down and grabbed the slat-sided tub.

  "Help me with this," he told Carson.

  They both pushed. The vat slid backwards on rusted casters, revealing a hole in the floor with a ladder.

  Carson peered over the rim. "This place is underground?"

  "Half of Chinatown's underground. Or the more interesting parts, I should say. My countrymen were first brought here to work in the goldmines, and they used those skills to dig tunnels."

  "Is it safe?"

  "As long as we don't get any earthquakes. And no gas-lines leak. And there aren't any major fires …"

  "Never mind." Carson grabbed a rung.

  He descended some fifteen feet into a whitewashed chamber, lit by hanging lamps. Manny jumped down beside him. The air had a burnt, sickly-sweet smell, thick as incense.

  "This corridor," Manny said, nodding towards a tunnel. "Most of the customers are too lost in the lotus worl
d to be trouble, but we'll have to watch for Green Turbans. If we see any, follow my lead."

  Carson felt in his scorched pocket for the derringer. It still had a round loaded, but the treacherous thing gave him no confidence.

  They followed the tunnel into a larger room arrayed with wooden bunks. Strong as the poppy smell was, it couldn't conceal the rankness of unwashed bodies. At least two dozen opium smokers lay sprawled, most fast asleep. A few took languorous puffs from pipes like the one Manny had used, but with a fat silver bowl at one end. The scene looked like some lurid illustration from a Yellow Menace pamphlet. Carson's scalp itched; he reached up to crush a louse that had crawled there.

  "Such dissipation," Manny said, shaking his head.

  No one paid them any notice as they threaded past the bunks. A second, better-lit corridor led to a beaded curtain, and a sinewy Green Turban stood at attention before it. The hilt of a knife protruded from his knotted sash.

  "Pretend you're drunk," Manny whispered in Carson's ear, and the two staggered forward, laughing and joking. The Green Turban's hand shot to his knife-hilt when they drew close.

  "This white dog here's drunk as a Manchu," Manny told him in Taishanese, "and about as randy, too. You help me find a couple girls for him and I'll give you a cut."

  "How much is a 'cut'?" the guard said.

  "Well, let me see …" Manny leaned close as if to present money. His hand blurred out. The guard's eyes bugged before he folded like a towel.

  "What'd you do to him?" Carson said.

  "Nothing as esoteric as this." Manny jabbed a finger between the man's neck and shoulder. "There. He'll be out for hours."

  "Now what?"

  "Now I take his clothes. Warn me if you hear anyone coming."

  Manny stripped off his tunic and slipped into the guard's black changshan. He had to uncoil his hair to get the skullcap on. "You want the knife?" he said, tying the sash around his ample waist.

  Carson tucked the blade under his coat. Together, they dragged the unconscious guard back to the opium room and laid him on a cot. The lost souls there could have cared less.

  "Once we get beyond that bead curtain it's not going to be so easy," Manny said. "The Green Turbans frequent the brothel when they're not on duty. And we'll be very close to Twin Fury's quarters."

  "How do you know so much about this place? You got a map tattooed on your hand or something?"

  Manny flushed. "I suppose I'm not as virtuous as I claim. Your country prohibits bringing women in from China, so …"

  They parted the beads. A set of steps led further down, and Carson's nose caught the tang of saltwater. Here? But he saw why when they reached the landing. A natural grotto stretched in three directions, low-ceilinged but with an impressive girth. Eponymous blue lanterns burned in every crevice, filling the chamber with unearthly light. Walkways arched over the water to connect with small 'islands,' each a pavilion screened with blue gauze. Carson glimpsed hazy, feminine shapes behind the fabric. Some reclined, while others swayed to the ghost-like strains of a lone flute.

  "The cavern's fed by inlets from the bay," Manny said. "At high tide—"

  He broke off. Trooping across a walkway came a half-dozen Green Turbans. Behind them, sipping absently from a teacup, strolled Nine Serpents Hsien.

  "Crap." Manny grabbed Carson by the elbow and pushed him towards the shadows. They almost collided with a plump painted woman Carson took to be a madam. Silver pins jangled in her hair as she stepped aside, fixing both of them with a suspicious look.

  "You come with me," Manny said to Carson, his voice berating. "I told you I don't want to see your kind down here, at this hour."

  He hustled him into a nearby tunnel. Carson expected the woman to cry out behind them, but Manny's strong-arm act must've fooled her. The tunnel continued for some twenty feet before making a sharp turn into darkness.

  "Do you think Hsien saw us?" Carson whispered.

  "Not sure. Wait."

  A gabble of excited voices broke out from the direction they'd just left. Hsien was asking questions, and a woman answered.

  Carson didn't need any further prompting. They scurried around the bend.

  "I don't suppose Chinese boxers can see in the dark?" Carson said.

  "No."

  "Hold on a moment."

  He fumbled a match out of his pocket and struck it. They were in a dead-end corridor. Flickering light shone off the statue of a pot-bellied demon, cast from bronze. Idiotic eyes glared out over a fanged mouth. Carson doused the match.

  "We're trapped, if they decide to come this way."

  "I can see that," Manny said.

  Carson felt in the darkness until his hand rested on the reassuring bulk of the demon's belly. He reached with his other hand for the derringer. Going out like a cornered rat wasn't his idea of a good death, but …

  The bronze stomach shifted under his fingertips.

  "Manny," he said, striking a second match, "I think we've got another secret entrance."

  Sure enough, the demon had pivoted. Manny seemed more concerned than intrigued by the narrow space now revealed.

  "If that leads us closer to Xue, we might be better off here."

  "Nonsense. I know the hand of providence when I see it. Come on."

  He squeezed through the opening. Manny had a bit more trouble, but the demon rotated back into place easily enough. Carson took a look around and felt his optimism flag.

  They were in a hallway, lit by diffuse gray light. He couldn't see where it was coming from. The brick walls had been painted dead black, and covered with red, Asiatic characters that squirmed from floor to ceiling.

  "Those aren't Chinese," Carson said.

  "It's Hindi, I think."

  Farther down the hall split into branches, and rooms opened off those. Storage chambers. Or they had served as such until recently. The various shelves and racks were empty, but stacked crates, fresh lumber, and nails gave evidence their contents hadn't traveled far.

  "Whoever's here plans on moving," Carson said.

  Manny pried the boards off a nearby crate. Inside lay moldering scrolls and books. "I suspect these are Xue's things," he said, frowning. "But where else in Chinatown would he go?"

  "I don't like it here. Let's go back through the demon-door and take our chances with Hsien."

  "Agreed."

  They retracted their steps. The demon's bronze form had disappeared.

  "Did we take the right hallway?" Carson said.

  "We must have."

  "Maybe we got turned around in that last storeroom."

  "Impossible."

  Manny rapped his knuckles against the wall. Solid. While he checked, Carson went to the opposite end of the corridor. It terminated in a door covered with peeling red paint. A familiar sound came echoing through the wood; the lap of water. He cracked the door and peered out.

  Into overcast daylight.

  Although he didn't have a watch, he reckoned the time around 2 a.m. The sun shouldn't be up, behind clouds or otherwise.

  But that wasn't the strangest part.

  The door opened onto an alley between two warehouses. Not another hallway, or underground chamber, but an alley, with a large river flowing in the near-distance. Large enough to have wharves and cargo ships docked along its length. Chinese longshoremen were wrestling barrels out of the ships' holds and rolling them towards the warehouses.

  Carson blinked. Rubbed his eyes. Over the river-breeze floated voices, snatches of conversation in the thickest cockney he'd ever heard.

  "… so I tells the chinky, I've got ten bob if you've got the girl, and he has the cheek to tell me it'll be twelve. Old son, says I, you'll take my ten and my good word, or so help me …"

  The voices drew close, causing Carson to jerk back and shut the door lest he be seen. Why he did so he couldn't say, other than it felt wrong to be discovered in that particular time and place. For a full minute he caught his breath and listened to Manny tap bricks.

 
"Carson, what are you doing back there?"

  "You've got to come see this."

  Manny approached, looking annoyed. "You're in a daze."

  Carson pointed towards the door. "Open it."

  "What'd you see?"

  "Just open it. But brace yourself, first."

  Manny turned the knob. Beyond stretched another corridor, identical to the one they occupied.

  Carson stuck his head through. No riverfront magically appeared. "But there was … I know it's not possible, but I could've sworn I saw the Limehouse district of London."

  Manny surprised him by nodding. "In this place, I'd say anything is possible."

  * * *

  They'd stumbled into a labyrinth. To avoid getting any further lost, Carson used his knife to scratch marks on the bricks as they wandered.

  "I should've never let you and Pearl talk me into this," he said.

  "We shouldn't have gone through the secret door. 'Providence,' you said."

  "More like Hell."

  "At least it's a well-lit Hell."

  Something acrid floated on the air. Manny caught the smell, too. It came wafting from an archway of malachite columns several paces ahead. Carson looked a question at Manny, who only shrugged. They dropped into a crouch and crept up to the black-banded stone. Fumes stung Carson's eyes and throat. He fought the sudden need to cough as he peered around the column, into an octagonal chamber lined with heavy tapestries. More demons, some multi-limbed, some grossly obese or emaciated, danced and writhed within the bordered fabric. Carson thought he was having another vision, before realizing it must be the haze floating through the chamber that made the figures appear to move.

  But what he saw in the room's center was no illusion. A large iron cauldron with a fire blazing beneath. Viscous silver liquid roiled and bubbled within. A man's bald head, white as bone china, protruded from the boiling surface, giving the impression he was bathing in the stuff. His unlined face looked serene as a pond on a windless day. Wisps of thick white curled from his nostrils and open mouth, to wreath in serpentine shapes above the quicksilver fumes.

  "Sweet Jesus," breathed Carson.

  He leaned back for a conference with Manny. There was a sharp, barking cry. His friend's limp form went hurtling past.