Wind Raker - Book IV of The Order of the Air (26 page)

"It sounds like what we need to find out is what form the curse took," Alma said briskly. "What protocol he used. Jerry, if we knew that do you think you could work something out?"

Jerry nodded. "Probably. Especially if there were material components that were left with Lily. And it would require her cooperation."

"And her belief," Stasi said. "If she believes we have the power to help her, maybe we do. It's all about what story you want to believe. If Lily wants to believe she's a tragic heroine, a wronged woman punished for her sins, then that's who she'll be. The moment you believe you're the powerless victim, that's who you are."

Lewis frowned. "Why would anyone want that?"

"Because then you're good, darling." Stasi walked around the table, stopping behind Mitch's chair, not quite touching him. "An innocent girl, the victim of cruel men! Deceived! Ruined! Her life destroyed by someone else, forever unable to make anything of herself because of the deeds of others! It's very dramatic. And it makes one virtuous, doesn't it? It's operatic, darling. Marguerite is a victim and Carmen is a bitch."

"I have no idea who those women are," Lewis said.

"They're operas," Mitch said. "But that's neither here nor there. I see your point that we can't help Lily unless she wants us to. If the curse is kind of her excuse for not getting her life together, then no, we can't break it. Not if she secretly needs it to justify — what? Freezing in the air? Not being as good as she'd like to be?"

"Maybe," Alma said slowly. "But I do think she's really scared. I'm more inclined to think that this is about her belief. She believes her former lover has power over her, and that's what keeps his malice in play. We need to show her that he can be bested."

"How do we do that when we don't know who he is?" Jerry asked.

"Cultivate her belief in us?" Mitch suggested. "But that's pretty dangerous."

Jerry nodded. "Dangerous but effective. But it won't work unless we actually have enough to go on to intervene. Right now we just don't have that."

Alma nodded. "I'll ask her about the protocol and if there were material components. It's a Golden Dawn-compatible tradition. It's not as though he worked in some system we've never heard of. And in the meantime…."

"What about the plane?" Mitch said. "Do we keep having her in the air with us knowing she's cursed?"

"It doesn't feel right to dump her," Lewis said. "It's not her fault."

Stasi's hand closed on the back of Mitch's chair. "Yes, but it's your hides."

“Ward the plane,” Jerry said. “That would protect you, and it would give her a sense of safety. Which would be a start toward dealing with the curse itself.”

Alma nodded thoughtfully. “I see that. But we can’t do it at the hangar — or out in the harbor, for that matter. Not with all of Honolulu watching.”

“We managed it at Henry’s,” Lewis said. “If you’re talking about painting sigils on the tail or something.”

“I don’t really want to do anything that visible,” Alma said. “Nothing that we’d have to explain to Finch and his men. They’re nervous enough about Lily.”

“It wouldn’t have to be big,” Mitch said, and Jerry nodded.

“I can work something out — if you want me to, Al.”

“Yes, do that,” Alma said. Jerry was good at this sort of thing, and on top of that he and Gil had written the original warding that they used on their own planes at home. It was just too bad he couldn’t be with them, but even if he could take more time away from the dig, she couldn’t see him clambering around Catalina’s hull.

“What are you thinking?” Mitch asked.

“The next part of the test is sheltered landings and take-offs,” Alma answered. “I say we pick an isolated bay, do our runs — and in between one set, we anchor and do the ritual. Anyone who sees us will just think we’re dealing with a mechanical problem.”

“That makes sense,” Mitch said. “Can you work with that, Jer?”

Jerry nodded.

“And you want Lily to be involved?” Lewis asked. He didn’t say it, but Alma could hear the unspoken question:
Isn’t that asking for trouble?

“Yes.” She ticked off the reasons on her fingers. “First, we can’t fly the Cat out there without her, not without raising more questions than answers. Second, if we’re serious about helping her, this is a necessary first step.”

“And, third,” Stasi said, “it’ll tell you if she’s willing to be helped.”

“That, too,” Alma said. “And we can work the ritual so that anything that’s wrong with and about her is nullified.”

“Ok,” Lewis said.

“I’m going to write Henry, too,” Alma said. “Ask him what he knows about all of this. What do you want to bet he can give us some background, even if it’s not his Lodge?”

Jerry grinned. “Henry does know everyone and everything. I could write Bullfinch, too, though God knows where he is these days.”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Alma answered. “So. We keep her for now, we ward the plane, and we see where that leaves us.” She looked at Stasi over Mitch’s head. “We’re not taking any crazy risks there.”

“Ok,” Mitch said. “That’s a plan.”

I
t was hot in the consul’s office in spite of the fans, the plaster holding the day’s heat. One window was open, letting in a bit of the evening breeze, but Willi could still feel the sweat crawling on his spine. He wished he hadn’t refused the offer of iced tea from Hackfeld’s secretary. Hackfeld himself was nowhere in evidence — not a particularly good sign — but the girl had promised that
Herr
Lange would be with him directly. He couldn’t think what Lange could want, not so soon after his previous report, and the possibilities flicked through his brain like a dog chasing its tail. Something to do with China? Had someone reported his reluctance to participate in certain activities? But surely if that was the problem, he simply wouldn’t have gotten the job in the first place. There had been plenty of people to tell the interested parties from the moment they returned to Hankow.

He rose to his feet as the door opened, his hat still in his hand as he turned. The tanned secretary held the door for Lange and a second man, slim and silver-haired, with a neat Van Dyke beard.

“And I will be leaving now,
Herr
Lange,” she said. “Please don’t forget to lock up.”

Lange ignored her. “
Herr
Professor. Thank you for giving us a bit of your valuable time.” He switched to English. “May I present Mr. William Pelley? Mr. Pelley is a noted writer and political thinker, who is in the islands to do a story on Hawaii’s deeper history.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Radke.” Pelley held out his hand and Willi perforce shook it, matching the manly pressure precisely.

“And you,
Herr
Pelley.”

Pelley wore the sort of smirk that Willi associated with UFA actors, condescension barely concealed by a veneer of humility. Usually Americans did that better, he thought, and knew he’d taken a dislike to the man.

“I really appreciate your being willing to give me some time this evening. I hope you’ll let me buy you dinner in return.”

It was not really a request, of course. Willi gave a polite smile. “That’s very kind,
Herr
Pelley.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of booking us a table at the Golden Grill,” Lange said. “We can talk more comfortably there.”

Willi made appropriately appreciative noises, and let himself be led back out and down the block to a building with a gold-trimmed awning stretching over the sidewalk. A uniformed doorwoman let them in, murmuring a deferential greeting to Lange, and a dinner-jacketed maitre d’ bustled up.

“Good evening, Mr. Lange. Mr. Hackfeld asked me to be sure you were taken care of.”

He led them through the main dining room, already starting to get crowded, a quartet tuning on the bandstand, and brought them to a banquette in a secluded alcove where a ceiling fan drove a steady breeze onto the immaculate linens. They ordered mai tais, and both Willi and Pelley acceded to Lange’s suggestions of steak and potatoes — so very American, the best of what the United States can do — and a decent burgundy. Cocktail in hand, Willi smiled and listened while the waiter brought a tray of canapés for the table, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

It was Pelley who spoke first, his flat accent unfamiliar to Willi. “I’m intrigued by this Chinese connection, Dr. Radke. It seems so unlikely that such a debased people could manage to cross the Pacific.”

“The Ming were very sophisticated, even by European standards,” Willi began. “The Yong-Le Emperor dispatched fleets to trade as far west as India and Africa. It is not impossible that other ships were sent to the east.” Pelley repressed a tiny smile, and Willi realized abruptly what was happening. “But, of course, there is no proof.”

“Ming dynasty porcelain in a pineapple fields sure sounds like proof of something,” Pelley said.

Willi managed a smile of his own. “Possibly only that some American missionaries had exquisite taste in souvenirs.”

Lange laughed, and Pelley joined him only a hair late. “So there’s still nothing,
Herr
Professor?”

“So far not,” Willi answered.

“Do you think you’ll find something?” Pelley asked.

“It’s possible,” Willi said. “Indeed, I still hope that something more conclusive may emerge. But so far — nothing.”

“The Ming dynasty seems to have been something quite remarkable,” Pelley said. “Unusual for China, certainly.”

Willi’s hand twitched on his fork, but he managed not to say anything.

“Is it true that there is a connection between the Ming Emperors and Tibet?”

Not Tibet again. Willi swallowed his first, regrettable answer, and said, carefully, “Like the Yuan before them, the Ming pursued good relations with Tibet, yes. As to the nature of those relations, Tibetan sources differ from the Chinese.”

“But everyone agrees that Tibetan teachers were sent to advise the emperors,” Lange interposed, and Willi nodded reluctantly.

“That is so.”

“What teachings did they bring, I wonder?” Pelley said. “That’s an inspiring idea, the sacred knowledge of Tibet finding an outlet in the activities of the Ming Emperors, leading them to send explorers across the seas in search of — who knows what wonders?”

“The western expeditions sought to arrange trade alliances,” Willi said, as pedantically as he could manage. “To collect tribute and bring back curiosities from all across the known world. For example, one expedition even managed to capture a giraffe, and keep it alive all the way back to China. Cheng Ho believed it to be a
ch’i-lin
, or Chinese unicorn —“

“And what did the eastern expeditions seek,
Herr
Professor?” Lange interposed.

He knew the story, Willi thought. He said, carefully, “Many of them, of course, sought the same things, particularly with the kingdoms to the south, like Anam. And there was also intent to suppress pirate fleets, who used Japan as their base and interfered considerably with ordinary shipping along the Chinese coast. But, yes, there is a legend that one of the treasure ships was sent into the east to search for the origin of the world.”

Lange’s face relaxed slightly.

“But that’s a marvelous story,” Pelley exclaimed. “Searching for the origin of the world — do you suppose that could be what brought your Chinese here to Oahu?”

“There is no evidence that there were any Chinese here at all in the Ming period,” Willi said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Pelley. Yes, it is a lovely story, very evocative, but — there is nothing to show that the connection is real. As I told
Herr
Lange, what we have found so far is a quite ordinary Hawaiian village, probably the home of a mid-ranking chief. There is nothing in the evidence that gives even a hint of Chinese influence.”

“Yes, of course,” Pelley said. “But, as you say — it’s evocative.”

There was a pause as the waiter brought their main course, and Willi applied himself to his steak with an effort, barely tasting it.

“Tell me more about these Chinese sailors,” Pelley said. “Who were they, where did they come from? They must have been quite extraordinary men for Chinese.”

He’s looking for Tibetans, Willi thought. Something that will bolster his Aryan theories. But… “The sailors were mostly professionals, ordinary Chinese seamen from the coastal towns, recruited among fisherman and merchants. The commanders — nearly all of them were eunuchs, boys captured in the civil wars that established the Ming dynasty and castrated so that they couldn’t follow in their fathers’ rebellious footsteps. Once their genitals were removed, they were given to the imperial bureaucracy, where they were expected to become the emperor’s loyal servants. If they survived, of course. This is not like Turkey, where only the testicles were removed. In China, it was the custom to remove the penis as well, and of course the mortality rate was quite high.”

Pelley looked nonplused, and Lange said, “Come, Dr. Radke, not all of the commanders.”

Willi shrugged. “That is what the records say.”

“Thoroughly barbarous,” Pelley said.

“It was the practice of the time,” Willi answered.

There was a little silence, and then Lange forced a smile. “But tell me, Doctor, have you found any more interesting artifacts since last we spoke?”

“Quite a few,” Willi lied. “Just today, in fact, we found an excellent example of the stones used for smoothing kapa cloth —“ This was the sort of talk he could give in his sleep, and he was meanly pleased to see Pelley’s eyes begin to glaze. He kept it up through the rest of the meal, hoping Pelley would dismiss him as a pedant, but when they had finished, and he made his farewells, Pelley insisted on leaving with him.

Outside on the sidewalk, it was cooler, all but the brightest stars drowned by the streetlights and the neon flashing from club facades, and Pelley paused on the sidewalk to offer his cigarette case. Willi shook his head, and Pelley lit his own, shaking out the match and grinding it underfoot.

“It seems you don’t set much stock in the origin of the world, Dr. Radke.”

“I’m a scientist, Mr. Pelley.” Willi straightened his spine. “Legends can — occasionally — be suggestive, but they are not scientific.”