Shanghai Sparrow (39 page)

“Who are they?” she said, gesturing at one group.

“Americans,” Holmforth said. “Vulgar people, as a rule, with more influence than they deserve. Ah, here we are.”

The hotel was not unlike the one he had taken Eveline to in London, but distinctly more luxurious. All the staff were Chinese; white-jacketed, soft-footed, and so extremely deferential that it made Eveline uneasy.

She felt wound to a twanging tension. Here she was, thousands of miles from home, with her mother’s life, and Beth’s too, in her hands, and who knew how many others, if anything Liu had told her was true.

They reached their room.

“Mama! Are you all right? I’m so sorry!”

Madeleine leapt from her chair and embraced Eveline, then turned to Beth. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I’m Beth Hastings,” Beth said with a curtsey.

“So you see,” Holmforth said, “your mother has come to no harm. I am going to leave you ladies while I arrange transport, and then we must be off.” He closed and locked the door.

“Are you well, Eveline?” Madeleine held her at arm’s length and looked her over. “That man – was that Holmforth?”

“Yes. Bastard.”

“
Eveline Duchen!
”

“Sorry, Mama. But he is. I mean, actually, as well. Not that that part’s his fault.”

“So what are we going to do?” Beth said.

“I’m getting an idea. I think. But I gotta talk to Holmforth.”

“Mrs Duchen?” Beth said. “Please, could I talk with you? I saw your notes and I think I have an inkling about a few things...”

“You do?” Eveline said. “Why didn’t you
say?”

“Because I’m not sure and I might be wrong. And you wouldn’t know if I was.”

“True enough,” Eveline said.

A
S SOON AS
Holmforth returned, Eveline confronted him.

“What happens after?”

“What do you mean?”

“I show you this machine works. What happens to me, and to my mama?”

“Oh, I’m sure we can find somewhere comfortable for your mama, maybe even some sort of pension. You...” He looked her up and down. “Depending on what results we achieve with the machine, you will be required to help me find more people with Etheric potential, train them if that is possible.”

“I want a promise. For Mama, and for me, when you’re done with me. In writing, all legal and proper.”

“You really are in no position to make demands, but as a gesture of goodwill I am happy to do so.”

“Now. Before we go. And signed. And addressed to whoever you answer to, back home. And money and papers so we can
get
home.”

“Whoever
I
answer to? Now why would you think that necessary?”

“This machine, if it works – there’s other people might be interested in it, ain’t there? I en’t missed
everything
in the lessons. You never let on when you’ve got a big prize up; you do that, every thief for a mile around’s going to see if they can get there first. And that’s when things are like to get nasty. And what happens to us if you should get murdered? Stuck here without papers and no way of getting home?”

“Now, Miss Duchen. You need not think I am foolish enough to provide you with the means to run off!” He smiled. “I will, however, write the letter you require, to provide you with peace of mind.”

“’Slong as you give me that, then.”

“Now, shall we get on?” Holmforth said.

“Not till you’ve writ that letter.”

She stood over him while she did it, watching every word. Without a lawyer of her own, she’d no idea if the language meant much. But it was his handwriting and his signature she wanted.

“Shall we go?” He offered Madeleine Duchen his arm, and she took it.

T
HERE WAS NO
rickshaw this time; instead, a more luxurious sort of steam hansom. The body was glossy and black, the wheels bright scarlet, the three sets of seats of plushly padded, deep-buttoned leather. Holmforth handed them all in as though he were escorting them to a tea-dance. The driver wore a dark blue suit with brass buttons and a peaked cap pulled low over his eyes.

“Very fancy, I must say,” Eveline remarked. “Flunkies, too. Your tumbler, is it?”

“If by
tumbler
you mean vehicle, no, it belongs to the Consulate. If your worst fears are realised, Miss Duchen, you must make your way there. They will be able to assist you.”

Worst fears, my foot,
Eveline thought. ’
Fyou were to meet a sticky end, Mr Holmforth, I’d be jumping like a Jack-in-the-box.

Holmforth handed them each into the car with perfect courtesy, and got in after them.

“Oh,” Holmforth said, “please do not attempt to jump out, or anything of that sort. I have a gun. I would be reluctant to use it, but I’m afraid I cannot allow anything to jeopardise this.”

Eveline felt her mother stiffen with fear and gave her hand a reassuring pat, thinking of Ma Pether.
I don’t like guns. They change things, make everything much more dangerous than needs be.
She couldn’t help wishing they had Ma Pether along now.

There was a sack lying across the rearmost set of seats. It had a disturbing shape.

“What’s that?” Madeleine said.

“Material for the demonstration.”

“But it looks like a
person
.”

“It’s not a person,” Holmforth said. “Little more than an animal, really.”

Eveline felt the nape of her neck shiver. He was half-Folk himself. And he still thought of them, of people like Liu, as animals.

What did that mean for how he saw himself?

Beth craned her neck to see what the driver was doing, and, after watching him for a few minutes, sighed, and looked around her instead. “What’s that building?”

“A factory. Part of the French Concession.”

“I can hear machinery. What does it do?”

“Oh, some form of manufacturing, probably. Shanghai is the province of business, far more than of good government.” Holmforth frowned. “It has been poorly handled. Far too many concessions have been made to the demands of other countries, and to financial interests. One can hope that the same mistakes will be avoided in future.”

He means when we invade the Crepuscular,
Eveline thought.
If Liu’s right, he really doesn’t have the slightest idea how big a mistake that would be.

The streets grew more and more narrow; brilliantly coloured banners of cloth and paper fluttered from the houses cramming the streets. They passed through layers of smells – vile, delicious, simply odd. There were shops full of tiny embroidered shoes with pointed toes that looked as though they were made for children. Shops full of strange vegetables, pallid long ones like the fingers of drowned giants, fat hairy ones, and great piles of leaves spilling out onto the floor. Little dark caves of shops lined with boxes and bottles and jars of dried stuff. Rickshaws scurried and bounced along the streets, full and empty. The driver leaned on his horn and yelled them out of the way. Poor people huddled in doorways here as they did everywhere.

Eveline could see Holmforth’s hands whitening on his cane. She felt for her mother’s hand and clutched it. Madeleine pressed her fingers.

T
HE HOUSES BEGAN
to thin out, the road roughened. The landscape spread out around them, green and grey beneath the grey sky. Flat fields glittered with water, trees here and there stood sentinel. A few figures in wide, pointed hats moved along hidden paths, their heads turning at the noise of the engine to watch the car puff and rumble past.

“Oh, look!” Beth pointed. “What is that?”

It was about the size and shape of a pheasant, but its body was scarlet, its head and back bright gold splashed with brilliant blue and bronze. It seemed more like jewellery than a living thing, but just like a pheasant back home, it ran, neck stretched with panic, in front of the car for a few feet before remembering its wings and taking off, scolding loudly.

“A golden pheasant,” Holmforth said. “The shooting is quite good here.”

The further they moved from the city, the more nervous Eveline became. Even if they could get away from Holmforth, where, in this flat, sparsely-populated landscape, could they hide?

The house stood in isolation, surrounded by a high wall of yellowed bricks. Above the wall, the black roof-corners curved up like the prows of boats.

The gate set in the wall was of red-lacquered wood, studded with brass bosses in the shapes of snarling creatures.

It was the sort of gate, in the sort of wall, that indicated strongly that the occupant desired privacy.

It was standing slightly ajar. Eveline’s few nerves that weren’t already singing joined the chorus.

She looked at Holmforth. His mouth tightened. “Get out of the car, ladies, and stay close,” he said. “You! Driver! Stay with the vehicle, and keep your eyes open. Should any of these women be foolish enough to try to run, they are to be stopped,
alive
, please.”

The driver nodded. Eveline shot a glance at him; he was Chinese, or perhaps a mix of Chinese and English – his face, in any case, was impassive. The gun he raised looked unpleasantly large and efficient.

Holmforth heaved the sack out of the rearmost seat and slung it over his shoulder.

Holmforth gestured to the women to follow him through the gate, and into the courtyard. A statue of a snarling thing that looked to Eveline like a cross between a lion and one of the school’s dogs stood there, and beyond was the house, presenting them with a blank wall. “The entrance is around the side,” Holmforth said. “That way.”

“Mr Holmforth, what
exactly
are we doing here?” Madeleine Duchen said.

Holmforth jolted, as though he had not expected her to be able to speak. “You, madam, are here to provide insurance that your daughter will do what is required of her. Neither she nor you nor this other young lady will come to any harm, if all goes as planned.”

“No harm?” Madeleine stopped, holding Eveline’s arm. “To make a weapon of something that was only ever intended for good? You don’t think that doing that, being made to do that, is harmful? That it is a dreadful thing to ask of someone?”

No, Mama!
Eveline’s gut clenched. Now Holmforth knew what Mama knew, he would see her as a risk.

Holmforth sighed. “This is hardly the time. Something is wrong here, and I am asking that she serve the best interests of the British Empire. Now please, stay close, and keep moving. There should be servants, a houseboy at least, Wu Jisheng... oh.”

The women caught sight of the foot at the same time. It was a very small foot, in an embroidered, point-toed slipper. It was attached to a slim white-clad leg, lying on the floor. The rest was hidden behind the partly-open door.

Holmforth nudged it open.

A young woman lay there, her mouth open, her eyes wide, and a dark pool of blood spreading from beneath her, across the smooth grey stone floor.

Eveline clutched her mother’s hand, and with the other felt for the small, reassuring lump that was the jade fox.

Beth swallowed. “She’s... dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Be quiet,” Holmforth said. “Come with me, quickly.”

“But what if someone’s...” Eveline said.

“Quiet, I said!” Gesturing with the gun, Holmforth hurried them forwards, past the dead woman, through rooms painted with strange birds and beasts, filled with odd ornaments and brilliantly coloured statues and, strangely, great glittering clocks that ticked and chimed, European clocks adorned with fanciful shepherds and shepherdesses and pink, puffing cherubs.

Not a robbery,
Eveline thought.
All this stuff, even the little light things, still here. That, or the robbers are still here, and working their way through.
She tugged at her mother’s hand, and when Madeleine looked at her, she mouthed –
If you get the chance,
run
.

Madeleine shook her head, and held her hand tighter.
Not without you.

They reached a door that was bigger than the gate, at least twenty feet high. Heavy wood furnished with formidable iron bolts – all of them now open.

“
No!
” Holmforth said. He shoved the door open, and almost pushed the women through it.

The room was huge, and full of things that glittered and ticked and gleamed.

And a dragon.

It was made of brass and bronze, copper and iron, it glowed in the dim light like treasure. Its head alone was as big as the car they had arrived in. Collapsed across one of its great clawed feet lay the body of an elderly Chinese man with eyeglasses and a long wispy beard.

Holmforth gave a sigh of relief. “Untouched.” He dumped the sack on the floor.

“Look, Mr Holmforth, I know this machine’s important to you,” Eveline said, “but maybe you ain’t noticed that’s the second bit of cold meat we’ve come across, and being as I don’t think they died of the pleurisy, maybe whoever done for ’em’s still here and
maybe
we should make ourselves scarce?”