Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (13 page)

Roberet laughed, if such a
tragic sound could be called that.

“Oh no. What the demons have is
much worse. They have the means to shoot projectiles at you with great speeds
over far distances. You can see the shells distort the very air in their
passing, they travel so fast. Our Sorcerers could not stop them. It is not
elemental, no. Perhaps if you Sorcerers could meld your powers all together,
instead of one by one, maybe you stop them, but I think that big
Fire
cannons are a real start to fighting the black Marian scum. Soon, not even your
mighty White Isle is safe from them. You watch, the Austrian will change
everything!”

Owen regarded him gravely. He
already knew the Austrian evil, even if his former superiors had not listened
to his warnings. “I fear you already may be right,” he said sadly.

Chapter 11

They did not see either the Pirate Queen or Captain
de Vega again
.

Instead a much closed-mouthed member of a sky ship crew,
judging by her gaudy dress, showed them out the front door. As they stood
outside the door, Owen peered at his vest watch by the lantern’s light. They
had been in there barely two hours. The din from the Street of Joy and Luck had
swelled in volume since they had entered the store.  Well, time flew when you
were busy, or so his father had always said.

Jinhao edged closer to Owen.

“There is something that I must
tell you,” she spoke low as if feared that they might be over-heard even over
the near-by street noise.

Owen smiled at her, her face highlighted
by the single lantern’s glow in their little cul-de-sac.

“Only one thing,” he remarked
with a raised eyebrow. “I believe that there are a few more than that. For
instance, I never knew you had such
interesting
acquaintances.”

Was Jinhao actually ducking her
head in embarrassment? Owen couldn’t be sure, perhaps it was merely a trick of
the uncertain light.

“Yes, that is another matter to
discuss,” she admitted. “This is much more important. Ching Shih told me that
the revolutionaries we met tonight plan to kill everyone at the trade reception
tomorrow night. They plan to start some kind of rebellion against the Chinese
Imperium, using the city as a rallying point.”

“Damn them all to the Black
Wood,” Owen said tiredly. “Did our gracious hostess also tell you how they plan
to do this? While we are on the subject, why should we believe anything the
Pirate
Queen
says to us?”

“You may believe her always. I
do.” Jinhao proceeded to relay the plans Ching Shih had shared with her. The
rebels had placed themselves as extra servants hired for the reception,
intending to smuggle in weapons. At a certain time in the evening they intended
to strike, killing everyone.

“Simple, and bloody effective,”
Owen muttered. The reception would have all the officials of the joint-city
government present, as well as all the diplomats, influential families, and
junior bureaucrats, not to mention the trade delegates themselves.

What the stupid idiots failed to
see, is that far from starting some romantic revolution against the Dowager
Empress, such a thing would call down the wrath of every powerful nation in the
world. The nations would have to retaliate to such an atrocity, likely sparking
the very world war that Partridge feared. Owen felt the weight of it settle on
his shoulders.

“Come on,” he said in a morose
tone, “Let us go home.”

“But what shall we do?” Jinhao
fell into step beside him. Together they turned out of the cul-de-sac and began
threading their way past the denizens of the alley conducting their business.
They joined the stream of the bustling profane crowds on the Street of Joy and
Luck, moving slowly towards the cross street where cabs and other conveyances
waited to ferry the revelers.

Owen gave a great sigh.

“To answer your question, Jinhao,”
he said at last, ‘I really do not have a clue.” He gripped his cane in anger by
the haft, pushing his way through the crowd, Jinhao kept to his side by the
clever use of her elbows. Others began getting out of the way of the grim-faced
Sorcerer, recognizing the red metal cane and what it meant. Sorcerers were
almost a law onto themselves in Hong Kong. While the city police would make a Sorcerer
answer for any mayhem they might do, it would be of little comfort to the victims
of that mayhem afterwards.

The threads of a simple tune
pierced Owen’s brown study. He stopped abruptly, head coming up like a hound
looking for the source of the music. Ignoring Jinhao’s question, he started
pushing through a knot of people that had clustered around one of the vagabond
musicians that littered the street. When he reached the front he stopped and
stared at what he saw.

A young Chin dancer dressed in
the popular idea of what passed for a Persian harem outfit stood stock still. Another
countryman played a British pennywhistle behind her. The tune he played was one
that Owen hadn’t heard since he was a child, only then it was played by an old,
red-haired Bard in the family great hall, when his father was still alive. The
song was called
Bridett’s Answer
, and as the tune wove its sweet
melancholy air, the woman began to dance the story that went with it. So
beautiful and precise were her movements that no words were needed. Owen would
have followed the story even if he did not know it.

Bridett’s heart’s delight, the
Lord Owen, was missing. Bridett searched high and low for him to no avail.  No
one, not King, nor Bard, nor Sorcerer could answer her as to where he might be.
Unknown to mortal ken, Lord Owen had been secretly taken by the undead servants
of the jealous Necromancer Mathin, spiriting him away to their shadowy realm,
with only the birds to witness the deed. In desperation, Bridett asked the
birds if they had seen her love.

The birds were so frightened of
Mathin that they would not tell her what they had seen, all except for one
brave wren, who told Bridett to follow him if she wished to know the truth of
her lover. The wren led Bridett to the Dark Wood’s edge, where she was met by
one of the Shining Folk, whose beauty is both awesome and terrible to those of
mortal blood. The Shining One whispered to Bridett the fate of her love,
sharing with her the secret knowledge by which he could be reclaimed, and
placing in her hands a hammer.

Armed with her love, Bridett
then went to where three streams danced in union and built there a forge, the
flame of which she blew alight by the secret art of the Fair Folk. The birds
gladly brought her the materials she asked for, being shamed by their earlier
cowardice. The hammer belled in the forge both day and night, until the moon
mother was full again. Then, with a tall thing like a staff wrapped in dark
cloth she asked the wren to take her to the hidden place of Mathin.

Bridett was challenged by the
evil Necromancer Mathin himself, at the doors of the Undead dwelling place. She
unwrapped the coverings of the staff, to reveal that it was a shining spear
made of red metal. Denouncing Mathin, she thrust the spear through him. The
doorways of the undead broke open at Mathin’s death, and Bridett pulled forth
Lord Owen. The lovers embraced.

The Chinese dancer stopped as
still as a statute once again, and the crowd sighed as one. The pennywhistle
player began a jaunty sea chantey and the dancer deftly made a motion towards
the basket set out for coin.

Owen reached for his coin purse
as if in a dream and bent to place it in the basket. He knew now what he had to
do, even though he had vowed to himself that he would never do it. He had to go
to the edge of the Dark Wood and take counsel of the Shining Folk, or of a
certain one of them at any rate.

The dancer’s eyes caught Owen’s
as he stood up from the basket. For a moment, Owen would have sworn the girl’s
eyes were as blue as Bridett’s were supposed to be in the tale. The dancer
bowed in his direction.

“You are most generous, Lord.”
When she looked up again, Owen saw that her eyes were the dark brown he
expected to see.

He shook himself and mumbled
something about the greatness of her dancing. A British demi-goddess couldn’t
really look out of the eyes of a Chinese street girl, could she? Could she? He
turned to find Jinhao looking at him. Something on his face must have drawn her
concern for her forehead creased.

“Owen,” she asked urgently, “what
is it?”

Schooling his features, Owen
gave her his best cocky smile.

“It is nothing, Jinhao,” he
assured her. “I now know what I must do next.” He began pushing through the
crowd. “Come on, let us go hire the means to be home.”

There was none of their usual
banter as the horse-drawn cab carried them across town. Owen stared out the
window while Jinhao watched Owen in silence. Finally, as they were getting close
to Owen’s house, he stirred and looked at her.

“It would seem that our unspoken
agreement regarding our separate past lives has become an obstacle.”

“You wish to know about my
relationship to Ching Shih,” Jinhao said quietly. “Very well, she is my older
sister.”

Owen leaned forward, searching
her face in the changing shadows of the cab. He was surprised by the answer.
He’d expected Jinhao’s usual dance of deflection. 

“Do you mean she is your blood
relative, or that you are both warrior women of action kind of sisters?”

“Yes,” she replied. Now it was
Jinhao’s turn to look out the window.

After a moment Owen leaned back
with a sigh. “Well,” he remarked, “that must make family gatherings
interesting.”

Still looking out the window,
she replied with a wry tone in her voice, “We have not had such a gathering in
a long time.”

Owen thought of his own family
past. What was that saying about throwing stones while living in glass houses?
Growing up the younger son in the house of the famous Lord Robert Strong,
Protector of the Realm, also had its challenges; challenges that his older
brother Richard had always been quick to point out that he, Owen, had failed
at, a point of view which Owen could only agree with.

“Still,” he said to her, “and I
apologize for being so blunt, but now I must know. Are you involved in either
her operations or the schemes of these rebels?”

“I have not seen my sister for
some time,” she answered directly. “I am sure seeing me today was as much a
surprise for her as it was for me. She has chosen a different path from mine.  As
to those fools we encountered,” Owen could almost hear her lip curl in the
shadows, “while I feel the pain that has driven them to such a place, they are
not… professional… enough for my taste.” 

A burst of light from the cab
window illuminated her face, Owen had rarely seen it so impassioned.

“If you are asking me if the
Empress should be thrown down, then yes, may boils devour her, she should! She
is a vain monster whose touch corrupts all about it, and the throne has made
her touch very long indeed.” She leaned back in her seat, composing herself.
“It is not really so different from the days of your King Richard. I have read
some of your histories.”

“Yes, well,” Owen drawled.
“Richard was an obsessive warlord and we were well rid of him. Amuiel should
never have joined with his grandfather William when he came begging across the
channel. The only good things ever to come out of Normandy are the wines and
the cooking. Still, it took Elizabeth the First most of her reign to straighten
it out. I hope we are past such foolishness now.”

“Just so,” Jinhao agreed. “We
have also had our bad rulers. However, now we must also deal with the
foreigners who support her. I doubt that we may simply send you all packing as
you did the Normans.”

“Do you wish we were gone,
Jinhao?” He asked her softly.

“Why not ask me if I wish the
sun to rise in the west, or water to flow uphill” she asked.

“You are here, and I doubt that
your country folk will go away even should Lohan allow it. What is the point of
such useless questions,” she asked, exasperation clear in her voice.

Taken aback by the strength of
her answer, Owen could only continue to seek clarity.

“I am seeking to know where your
allegiances lie, Jinhao. In what I do next, it may matter.”

“The answer to that, Owen
Strong, is very simple. My allegiance lies with you,” she said simply. “Where
does yours lie Owen? Do you even know? And what is it that you will do now?”

The cab chose that moment to
stop in front of the house. Owen smiled at her weakly.

“That last I may not tell you.
Poor return for your trust I know, but know also that I mean to not have this city
the center of a war if I can help it. As to the rest,” he shrugged. “I would
have answered that I am a subject of the Queen, but now, I honestly don’t
know.” He peered out the window.

“And unless I am much mistaken
we now have Lady Hastings awaiting our arrival home. How delightful.”

Chapter 12

It turned out not only to be a night cloaked Lady
Hastings, but her House Sorcerer as well
.

Barton, in true clank man butler mode, had offered them
hospitality, but MacAllister, the Sorcerer, had been reluctant to pass the
threshold of another Sorcerer without Owen present, which was understandable.
Not only was there ancient custom involved, but the Sorcerer might expect there
to be traps set for the uninvited Sorcerer who ventured within.

Once past the awkwardness of
Owen extending the invitation to Mistress MacAllister, which she flatly refused
with a dour face, Owen escorted Lady Hastings to the parlor, leaving the Sorcerer
outside.

Jinhao excused herself as soon
as possible, leaving only Owen and the young heiress to be served tea by a
whirling Barton.

After taking the obligatory sip
from her cup, Lady Hastings spoke.

“I must apologize for Mistress MacAllister’s
behavior, Lord Strong. She has hardly been herself since Father’s death. It is
almost as if she blames herself for it, even though she did all she could.”

“Thank you, Lady Hastings,” Owen
nodded, “but I assure you, no offense is taken. It is a trying time for you
all.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” the young
woman replied. She sat her cup down. “Now to the purpose of my visit. As father
has been properly sent on, I wish to aid your inquiry into his murder.”

“My Lady,” Owen said carefully,
“while I can appreciate your position, you must understand that there is more
at stake here than avenging your father’s death; more than that I cannot say.”

“Such as thinking that more
murders will be committed, possibly with the aim of disrupting the forthcoming
trade negotiations” she asked archly, “or that you have already formed a plan
to forestall them from occurring?” She gave a dark laugh for one who seemed so
young, as she regarded Owen’s blank face.

“Come now sir! I would be a poor
Truthsayer if I could not discern the truth of what you
do not
say as
well as what you
do
.”

Owen pulled a cigarette from his
case to hide his consternation. It was only after he had it alight that he
spoke again.

“Your Gift is truly impressive, My
Lady. Given that, I beg you to use it now when I tell you that involving
yourself with my investigations would only place you in the gravest danger.”

Lady Hastings cocked her head to
one side.

“I wonder how you do that,” she
remarked, looking at Owen. “It is as if a veil has been drawn over you. I can
sense only that you believe the Truth of your spoken words, but nothing else at
the moment. How very interesting. Everyone lies you know,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“Even when they believe what they are saying is the Truth, there is always the
tiniest voices inside them that whispers other things. But suddenly your voices
are gone.”

She shook herself as if to clean
away something uncomfortable.

“But as for your assertion, I am
well aware that it might be dangerous, yet I will not be denied my
Funath
!”
Owen regarded her while silently running the disciplines the Obsidian order had
trained him in against a Truthsayer. That she had used the word
Funath
,
the old term for a House War against a wrong done to its honor, was, he knew,
deliberate. She was appealing to his station and upbringing, a formidable
argument in other circumstances. A pretty face alone she was not.   

“Forgive me for asking, My Lady,”
he finally said, “but you are some seventeen or eighteen years of age?”

She straightened solemnly.

“I shall attain twenty summers
this year if the gods are kind.” Her cheeks colored. “I know that I should
already be hand-fasted, but besides the considerations of the House, there are
not many young men who appeal to me.”

Owen finished his cigarette,
stabbing it out on his tea saucer. Formidable indeed, he thought to himself.  Owen
could only imagine what she would be like at fifty, in the prime of her power.

“No, I imagine not. Very well, My
Lady, I cannot stand in the way of
Funath
.” He took a breath and
considered her. “Tomorrow evening, there will be a reception for the trade
delegates. I assume that you have an invitation already?” At her nod, he
continued. “What I want you to do is listen to every person that is present.
Note anything that may seem duplicitous, and signal me so.” He raised two
fingers of his right hand to his brow. “I will come as soon as I may.”

Lady Hastings frowned. “This is
hardly what I had in mind. If it is as every other reception I have ever
attended, everyone present will be duplicitous, that is practically a given.”

Owen raised an eyebrow at this.

“I did not say it would be
easy
Lady Hastings. What did you imagine, uncovering an overlooked clue, or skulking
down dim alleyways, exchanging bullets and spells as if in some cheap novel?”
The squaring of her shoulders told him that was exactly what she imagined.

“No, My Lady,” he pressed on.
“As you pointed out, this is something that only someone with your unique
talents can supply. I can think of few tasks more dangerous, or more useful
than bringing to me Truth at such a gathering.” He stood up and Lady Hastings
stood with him. “Can I count on your aid, My Lady?”

Lady Hastings squared her jaw,
looking up at him. “You may, My Lord. I would plead with you only one boon,
that I be present when the killer is denounced.”

“I cannot grant you that,” Owen
answered truthfully. “There is still much to be worked out. But I may promise
you that they will be denounced, and that you will be among the first to know.”

The woman nodded her head
sharply.

“Very well, My Lord. I will
accept that for now. I also have another oddity for you. When you asked about
the courier tube I inquired of the staff about it. ”

 Owen schooled his face at the
news.

“And was there such a tube,” he
asked.

The young heiress frowned.

“Not that anyone has found.” She
reached into her evening bag, and held out her hand. “They did find this when
they were cleaning up the area though. No one is sure what it is.”

Owen took from her a small
curved piece of metal. He also frowned at the strange thing.

“Do you believe it is
important?”

Owen smiled at her.

“I am not sure, Lady Hastings,
but it is precisely the sort of thing I had in mind for you to do. Can you keep
the news of this quiet?”

“Why yes, if you think it best.”

“That is all I can ask, My Lady,”
he replied. “As the hour is late, may I escort you out?”

As Owen escorted her out to her
coach, the House Sorcerer grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Have you
dissuaded her from this romantic foolishness of
Funath
?”

Owen looked at the older woman
coldly.

“I suggest you ask your liege
that, Mistress,” he snapped shortly.

“Don’t think I don’t know what
you’re doing,” she hissed at him as Lady Hastings called out to the coach men.
“I will challenge you before I let you take my station in House Hastings, you
nothing of a younger son!”

Owen raised his eyebrows in
surprise. Was the woman mad, he thought to himself? There was no stretch of the
imagination that would get him to consider such an idea. 

“While I am sure your station is
very fine, Mistress, I assure you I have no interest in it.” Whatever answer
the Sorcerer would have made to this was forestalled by Lady Hastings calling
for her. Mistress MacAllister climbed into the coach without another word. Lady
Hastings looked a question at Owen.

“I trust there is no
difficulty?” she asked.

“Not at all, My Lady,” Owen
replied affably. Lady Hastings smiled at his response.

“I believe that is the first lie
you have told me,” she said cheerily, “Until tomorrow My Lord!” She bounded
into the coach while Owen was still bowing. He watched as it clattered off
downhill, then turned to go back inside, where he found Jinhao picking over the
remains of the tea service.

“You did very well with her,”
she said as he entered the room. “That should keep her out from underfoot.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you
that listening in on conversations uninvited can lead to you hearing something
you don’t want to hear? Here now, that’s the last scone! I demand half.” His
hand swooped in and gathered up half of the scone she had just parted with a
knife, wolfing it down. 

“Yes they have,” the Adept
replied as she spread jam on her half scone. “And it has been my experience
that the saying is often true.” She paused to take a bite.

“That has saved my life more
than once.” She looked at Owen critically. “Has no one told you that eating too
fast will cause you to choke to death?”

Owen was unabashed as he
finished the crumbs of the very fine scone.

“Yes they have, and it hasn’t
yet,” he quipped. He held up a finger. “Wait here a moment.” He returned with a
thick scroll, that Jinhao recognized as the type that told Barton, the clank
man, what to do.

“Barton,” Owen said walking up
to the tall mechanical man, “Open for instructions please.” The metal man
shuddered in place, and a doorway unfolded in his chest. Owen threaded the
scroll through a series of rollers and pins, then nodded. “Roll instructions
and close, please.” Barton shook again as the scroll began moving and the door
closed.

Barton moved his head back and
forth, as he processed the instruction set.

“Instructions for Beth-Lous-Non
rolling Master Owen,” he crackled, “Order of particulars please.”

“The study, from one half hour
from now, until I emerge,” Owen said crisply. “All contingents are to be
applied.”

“Very good, Master Owen,” Barton
responded. “Shall I clear the service now?”

Owen smiled at him fondly.

“Yes Barton, thank you.”

The cog man began to load the
plates and cups onto the tray. Jinhao moved her legs as he did so, looking at
Owen suspiciously.

“What are you doing?”

Owen hefted his cane, looking
decidedly determined.

“Stopping a war, or at least trying to. I will retire to the study
now. No matter what you may hear or see, do not under any circumstances try to
enter it. Should Barton tell you to evacuate the house, do so at once, and do
not try to stop him no matter how strange what he does may seem. Can you do
this?”

“You are going to do some sort
of spell
working
,” she guessed, brushing the crumbs from her gown. “But
it sounds very dangerous. Should I not also accompany you? I have for other
workings
of yours.”

Owen regarded her seriously and
shook his head in regret.

“I’m sorry, really, but no, not
this time. I need to know that you will do as I ask. It will not only be
dangerous for you to do anything else, but may also be dangerous for me. Can
you do this?”

Jinhao nodded reluctantly.

“Yes, I can do as you ask, but I
feel my swords should be there at your back.”

“Believe me,” Owen said
earnestly, “There is nothing I would like more. But it simply isn’t to be done.
Do not be concerned. Most likely all this is mere precaution, and nothing will
come of it.”

“Perhaps,” she returned, “But I
do not think that you think so.” Owen bent over her hand as gallantly as if
they were at court. She felt his lips, cool and dry, against her skin.

“Oh”, he said, straightening,
“would you mind taking this to your Alchemist friend to see what he makes of
it?”  Owen held up the strange piece of metal that Lady Hastings had given him,
passing it to her.

She regarded it in her palm.

“I think you are trying to get
me away from whatever it is you’re doing.”

 “Nonsense,” Owen denied, “It
might be important. Fare you well, Jinhao, and good night,” he said softly and
turned towards the study door. Her eyes followed his back until the door closed
with a finality that seemed oddly disturbing. She was startled from her
thoughts by the voice of Barton.

“Would Mistress Jinhao like more
tea? Given the hour, I would suggest the green.” The cog man stood inhumanly
still, the filled tray poised in one metal hand.

Well, if Owen was going to do
whatever it was he was doing, the least she could do would be to wait up for
him.

“Do you know what he is doing?”
she asked the metal man.

“I am sorry, Mistress,” Barton
buzzed, “but I do not understand the question.” 

No, of course you don’t,” she
muttered darkly. She looked again at the metal shard. “I shall be going out
Barton,” she said, “however, tea when I return would be lovely. Thank you.”