"Ivory Crowns"
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dochermes"Ivory Crowns"
2/27/1986
I.
"How'd you get in here?" squawked Joey Albertini in alarm. "Hell, how do you get in anywhere? You look about twelve."
At midnight, Tang Ming was keeping her rendezvous with one Joey Albertini, a borderline character of the underworld who served his purpose as a messenger and courier who was no threat to anyone. The dive was almost empty on this freezing winter night where few went out unless compelled to. Two sots at the bar were arguing with the bartender about some sporting event on the tiny black and white TV up by the ceiling. None of them even noticed the young Chinese girl walk in from the cold.
In her loose white windbreaker and black pants, Ming did indeed look even younger than her eighteen years. The glossy black hair was cut short to her jawline, and the huge dark eyes were never still. The newest KDF member and Tel Shai knight, she had a quiet confidence that even hardened old thugs recognized.
"Timing and precision," she answered with the faint British accent of her Hong Kong childhood. "I am ready to listen, Mr Albertini."
Joey Albertini was never an impressive figure but he looked even more insignificant than usual. His skin was an unhealthy hue from the dehydration of longterm alcohol abuse. His eyes were bloodshot and his bony fingers shook as he fumbled with a bit of paper on which was drawn a peculiar design.
"Somebody planted it on me," he chattered. "Right after I phoned you. In the crowd on the uptown train, someone stuck it in my coat pocket. Me, Joey Albertini! They plant it on me and I don't even know it. Only one gang in this town handles dips that slick, as if I didn't know already. Look! It's the three toed bird foot! The symbol of the Red Crane! They're after me! They've been shadowing me, tapping wires, watching at windows. They found out I know too much..."
"First, tell me about George Murray" demanded Ming "You said you had a tip about the thugs who tried to eliminate on George Murray. Come right out and tell me."
"The gang behind it is led by Choy Sing, also called Red Crane."
Ming raised one eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't know they had made it to America."
"Wait!" Joey babbled, so terrified he was scarcely coherent. "Choy Sing is head of the branch of the Red Crane establishing themselves in this country. He's not Chinese-American, though."
"He is from Chujir," Ming said, folding her arms across her chest. "The adjacent realm. You know about Chujir?"
"Aw, it's some crazy legend. Supposed to be a magical dimension or something where the ancestors of the Han people came from. I don't have time for that stiff. Listen, have you heard about Richard Keller?"
"Yes. He died in an auto wreck by a hit-and-run a week ago," said Ming. "Keller stayed unidentified in the city morgue all night before they confirmed who he was. The rumor is someone tried to steal his corpse right off the slab. What's that got to do with Murray?"
"It wasn't an accident." Joey was fumbling for a cigarette. "They meant to kill him, that is Red Crane did. It was their assassins after the body that night—"
"How do you know this? Chinese Tongs don't take Americans like you into their confidence."
"I got my sources!" insisted Joey. "It's how I make my living if you can call it that. I tell you, Red Crane was after Richard Keller's corpse, just like he's sending his mob after Albert Harman's body tomorrow night—"
"What?" Ming responded despite herself. She had shown no inclination to sit in the empty chair at Albertini's table in that dim far corner.
"Don't rush me," begged the messenger, striking a match with unsteady hands. "Gimme time. That death notice has got me jumping sideways. I'm jittery—"
"I'll say you are," observed Ming. "Your heartbeat is dangerously fast. Your sweat is heavy with adrenalin. I can tell. Why is Red Crane commiting these crimes? That's all I want to know. Calm down and give me facts."
"Alright," promised Joey, sucking avidly at his cigarette. "Lemme have a drag. I been so upset I haven't even smoked since I reached into my pocket and found that damned notice. This is straight goods. I know why they want the bodies of Richard Keller, Job Travers and James Murray—"
With appalling suddenness his hands shot to his throat, crushing the smoldering cigarette in his fingers. His eyes distended, his face went purple. Without a word he swayed and fell face down on the table. Tang Ming bent over him and ran skilled hands over his body. Her gift of enhanced perception constantly fed her information not available to normal Humans.
Poisoned, she thought, and not any conventional poison known to the badlands of crime and espionage. She lifted the half-finished cigarette and took a cautious sniff. It was an Alchemical scent she had detected before. The assassin who slipped that death-notice into his pocket must have switched packs on him at the same time, she thought. He was well known for chain smoking Lucky Strikes and bumming cigarettes off anyone in sight. Preparing a seemingly unopened pack would not be hard for an Alchemist.
Glancing around, she watched the three men at the bar. None seemed interested in the little drama in the rear of the dive. Albertini was slumped forward with an empty shot glass near at hand and he had been drinking for hours. Even when the bartender spotted him, it would not be an immediate cause for concern that needed checking.
The argument over a boxing match was still going on. As the bartender strode over to the little TV and rapped angrily on its screen to make a point, the full attention of all three men was focused. Tang Ming drifted silently past them and out the door without being noticed. As far as she could tell, no one had even known she had been in the bar except Joey Albertini. And he would never tell.
II.
A few minutes later she was at a telephone booth on the corner. "Is that you, Wollheim?"
A voice booming back over the wires assured him that the chief of police was indeed at the other end. "Who do you think is up at this hour waiting to hear from you?"
"What killed Morris Travers?" Ming asked abruptly.
"Why, heart attack, I understand." There was some surprise in the chief's voice. "Passed out suddenly, day before yesterday, while smoking his after-dinner cigar, according to the papers. Why?"
"Who's guarding Murray?" demanded Ming without answering.
"Four men including Hanson and Harper. But I don't see—"
"That is not enough," replied Ming. "Hurry over there yourself with three or four more men."
"Say, listen here, little girl!" came back the irate bellow. "Whether the Dire Wolf vouches for you or not, who are you to be telling me how to run my business?"
"I am someone with information you do not yet posssess." Ming's self-asssurance was difficult to shake. "This happens to be in my particular domain. We're not fighting mundane gunmen. It's a cult of Chujir assassins who have put Murray on the spot. I won't say any more right now. There's been too much wire-tapping in this city. But you must rush over to Murray's as fast as you can get there. Don't let him out of your sight. Don't let him smoke, eat or drink anything till I get there. I'll be right on over."
"Okay," came the answer over the wires. "You've done good work, Tang Ming. I'll go along with you...this time!"
Ming snapped the receiver back on its hook and strode out into the misty dimness of River Street, with its furtive hurrying forms going about questionable errands.
The young Chinese woman walked with an easy stride that ate up distance without efort. She knew that she was a target herself, since her connection with Joey Albertini had become known to the underworld. But as a KDF member, she had earned the hatred of many deadly enemies. She knew that if there was one person in the city capable of dealing with Red Crane, it was herself with her uncanny perception.
"Taxi?" A cab drew purring up beside the curb, anticipating any summoning gesture. The driver did not lean out into the light of the street. His cap seemed to be drawn low, not unnaturally so, but, standing on the sidewalk, it was impossible for his identity to be discerned.
"Sure," agreeed Ming, swinging open the rear door and climbing in. "540 Park Place, if you will."
The taxi roared through the crawling traffic, down shadowy River Street, wheeled off onto 35th Avenue, crossed over, and sped down a narrow side street.
"Taking a short cut?" asked Tang Ming innocently.
"Yes, miss." The driver did not look back. His voice ended in a sudden hissing intake of breath. There was no partition between the front and back seats. Ming brushed her left hand against the driver's left ear and distracted him for the instant she needed to dart her right hand down and snatch his .32 revolver from his waistband. Before he could understand what had happened, he felt the barrel press against the back of his neck and heard the hammer cock.
"Take the next right-hand turn and drive to the address I gave you," he said softly. "You give off a dozen clues you're from Chujir. Drive carefully. Live to see a beautiful dawn."
The driver twisted his head slightly but could not see the face of the girl who had turned his own weapon against him.
"Joey was right," muttered Ming between her teeth. "I don't know your name, but I've seen you hanging around the Green Pepper gambling joint more than once. You are so obvious. You'd have a flat, or run out of gas at some convenient spot. Any excuse for you to get out of the car and out of range while a hatchet-man hidden somewhere shoots me down. You had better hope none of your friends see us and try anything, because this gun is cocked. I don't like firearms but that doesn't mean I won't use one when it's practical."
The rest of that grim ride was made in silence, until the reaches of the Park rose to view, darkened except for a fringe of subdued lights around the boundaries.
"Swing into the park," ordered Ming, as they drove along the street which passed the park, and, further on, James Murray's house. "Cut off your lights, and drive as I tell you. You can feel your way between the trees."
The darkened car glided into a dense grove and came to a halt. Ming fumbled in her pockets with her left hand and drew out a pair of plastic zipties. In climbing out, she was forced to remove the muzzle from close contact with her prisoner's back, but the gun menaced the Chujiran in the gloom.
"Climb out," ordered the Tel Shai knight. "Yes, take it slow and easy. You're going to have to stay here awhile. I didn't want to take you to the station right now, for several reasons. One of them is I didn't want your friends to know I turned the tables on you. I'm hoping they'll still be patiently waiting for you to bring me into range of their sawed-offs..."
The Chujiran whirled with sheer desperation and seized Ming's gunhand as hard as he could. In a flash, he was down on his back, struggling to remain conscious.
Tang Ming had no illusions when fighting men a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than she was. She could not match their strength. Wrestling or trading punches would only get her killed. Instantly, she released the gun, hooked a foot around the man's ankle and kicked it out from under him while jabbing stiffened fingers into the soft area below his windpipe. Off balance, gagging and confused, he fell heavily backwards. Ming deftly caught the discarded revolver before it touched the ground and cracked it down hard against the Chujiran's right temple two inches above his ear.
Her perception and training enabled her to move as smoothly and precisely as if the two of them were carrying out a routine they had practiced together.
Not even out of breath, Ming stuck the revolver in the back of her belt and set to work securing her prisoner. The Chujiran was dazed and helpless but not completely unconscious. It would have been much easier for Ming to have simply used a killing blow. Stunning an opponents took greater judgement and accuracy than most martial artists could manage.
Cuffed with the stiff zipties, gagged with strips torn from his own coat and his feet bound with the same material, the Chujiran was rolled out of sight behind the car. Tang Ming turned and strode through the shadows of the park, toward the eastern hedge beyond which lay James Murray's estate. She hoped that this affair with the fake taxi would give her some slight advantage in this blind battle. While the Chujirans waited for hder to ride into the trap they had undoubtedly laid for her somewhere in the city, perhaps it would give her an opportunity to do a little scouting unmolested.
As she walked, she unloaded the revolver and tossed it deep into the bushes to her left, then discarded the bullets some distance further along. Guns annoyed her. She knew that logically they were useful and even vital in dangerous situations but sh did not want to become dependent on carrying one. Her faith was in her own skills and gifts.
III.
James Adelbert Murray's estate adjoined Merton Park on the east. Only a high hedge separated the park from his grounds. The big three-storied house towered among carefully trimmed trees and shrubbery, amidst a level flat lawn. There were lights in the two lower floors, none in the third. Tang Ming perceived that Murray's study was a big room on the second floor, on the west side of the house. From that room no light issued between the heavy shutters. Evidently curtains and shades were drawn inside. The new Tel Shai knight smiled in approval as she stood looking through the hedge.
She sensed that a plainclothes man was watching the house from each side, and she marked the bunch of shrubbery amidst which would be crouching the man detailed to guard the west side. Craning her neck, she saw a car in front of the house, which faced south, and she knew it to be that of Chief Louis Wollheim.
With the intention of taking a short cut across the lawn she slid through the hedge, and, not wishing to be shot by mistake, she called softly: "Hello, Detective Harper!"
There was no answer. Ming strode toward the shrubbery. "Asleep at the post?" she wondered. She had found something in the shadows of the shrubs. Ming kneeled and saw the white, upturned face of a dazed man. Blood dabbled the features, and a crumpled hat lay near by, an unfired pistol near the limp hand.
"Struck down from behind!" whispered Ming. She found his pulse was strong and his breathing free, but her perception warned her that the man needed serious medical attention.
Parting the shrubs she gazed toward the house. On that side an ornamental chimney rose tier by tier, until it towered above the roof. And her eyes widened as they centered on a window on the third floor within easy reach of that chimney. On all other windows the shutters were closed; but these stood open.
With brisk strides she tore through the shrubbery and ran across the lawn, amazingly light on her feet. As she rounded the corner of the house and rushed toward the steps, a man rose swiftly from among the hedges lining the walk, and covered her, only to lower his gun with an exclamation of recognition.
"Where's Wollheim?" asked the young woman with quiet authority in her voice.
"Upstairs with old man Murray. What's up?"
"Harper's been slugged," explained Ming. "Hurry out there. You know where he was posted. Wait there until I call you. If you see anyone you don't recognize trying to leave the house, stop them. I'll get Wollheim to send out a man to take your place here."
She raced in through the front door and saw four men in plain clothes lounging about in the main hall.
"Detective Jackson," she ordered, "take Hanson's place out in front. I sent him around to the west side. The rest of you stand by for anything."
Mounting the stair in haste, she entered the study on the second floor, breathing a sigh of relief as she found the occupants apparently undisturbed.
The curtains were closely drawn over the windows, and only the door letting into the hall was open. Murray was there, a tall spare man, with a Roman beak of a nose and a bony aggressive chin. Chief Wollheim boomed a greeting, "Ah, there you are."
"All your men downstairs?" asked Ming.
"Sure; nothin' can get past 'em and I'm stayin' here with Mr. Murray—"
"You are placing yourself in a killing box," said Ming. "Didn't I tell you we were dealing with experts? You concentrated all your force below, never thinking that death might slip in on you from above. But there isn't time to turn out that light. Mr. Murray, get over there in that alcove. Chief, stand in front of him, and watch that door that leads into the hall. I'm going to leave it open. Locking it would be useless, against what we're fighting. If anything you don't recognize comes through it, shoot to kill."
"What the devil makes you think you can give orders to US, Ming?" demanded Wollheim.
"Because you know I've always been right so far. I know one of Red Crane's killers is in this house," snapped Ming with uncharacteristic emphasis. "There may be more than one. Anyway, he's somewhere upstairs. Is this the only staircase, Mr. Murray? No back-stair?"
"This is the only one in the house," answered the millionaire. "There are only bedrooms on the third floor."
"Where's the light switch for the hall on that floor?"
"At the head of the stairs, on the left; but you aren't.."
"It's best that you all take your places and do as I said," repeated Ming, gliding out into the hallway.
She stood gazing at the stair which wound up above her, its upper part masked in shadow. Somewhere up there lurked a Chujir assassin, trained since childhood in the art of murder, who lived only to perform his master's will. Ming started to call the men below, then changed her mind. To raise her voice would be to warn the lurking murderer above.
In absolute silence, she glided up the stair. Aware that she was outlined in the light below, she realized the desperate recklessness of this action but thought it best. She did not fear a bullet as she charged up, since the Chujirans preferred to slay in silence. But their experise in throwing knives could kill as promptly as any gunslinging. Her best chance lay in the winding of the stair.
IV.
She ascended the final steps with a gliding rush and, not needing a flashlight, plunged into the gloom of the upper hallway. Ming's perception worked beyond what normal Human senses could match. She could locate hidden objects, spot deception or weakness and find her way unerringly even in complete darkness. Even as she knew there was life and movement in the darkness beside her, she hopped back a step. Something whizzed past her breast and thudded deep into the wall. Finding a switch on the wall beside her, Tang Ming flooded the hall with the overhead fluorescent lights.
Almost touching her, bent over, a massive Chujiran with a shaven head wrenched at a curved knife which was sunk deep in the woodwork. He jerked up his head, dazzled by the unexpected light.
Taking advantage of the assassin's crouching pose, Ming hopped to one side and whipped out a straight side kick which connected squarely to his jaw. She had not had much Kumundu training at that point, but she had been raised on the Fu Jow Pai style by her father and she had mastered both focus and precision. The man dropped limply to the floor, not even trying to catch himself. Ming had raised a stiffened hand, ready to chop down at the base of his neck, but she saw it would not be needed.
Wollheim was bellowing questions from below. "Hey! What the devil is going on up there?"
"Hold everything," called down Ming. "Send one of your men up here with the cuffs. I'm going through these bedrooms."
Ready for any attack, she moved through the rooms, switching on the lights but finding no other lurking slayer. Evidently Red Crane considered one would be enough and so it might have been, if the intended victim had been other than a Tel Shai knight.
Having latched all the shutters and fastened the windows securely, Tang Ming returned to the study where the prisoner had been taken. The man had recovered his senses and sat, handcuffed, on a divan. Only the dark eyes seemed alive in the stoic face.
"Classic Chujiran," Ming said. "One of the Eight Faces."
"What is all this?" complained Wollheim, still upset by the realization that an invader had slipped through his cordon.
"It seems clear. This fellow sneaked up on Harper and struck him cold. These Red Crane assassins are stealthy. With all those shrubs and trees outside, sneaking by was no challenge. Oh, send out a couple of the boys to bring in Harper, will you? Then this Red Crane climbed that fancy chimney. That was easy, too. I could do it in seconds. Nobody had thought to fasten the shutters on that floor, because nobody expected an attack from that direction. Mr. Murray, do you know anything about Red Crane?"
"I've heard of them. Some Chinese Tong or gang," declared the philanthropist, and though Ming's perception scanned him narrowly, she felt the taint of insincerity in Murray's voice.
"He's not really Chinese," said Ming. "It's hard to explain. Think of him as comig from a remote part of China, like Mongolia or further. The Chujirans have their own culture and the Red Crane cult is an old tradition."
"Why don't we just go grab him?" demanded Wollheim.
"Because we don't know where he is. He suspects that I know he's mixed up in this. Joey Albertini spilled it to me, just before he died. Yes, Joey's dead by poison. It was more of Red Crane's work. By this time Red Crane will have deserted his usual hang-outs, and be hiding in some secret underground dive that we couldn't find in a hundred years."
"Let's sweat it out of this Chinese crook," suggested Wollheim.
Ming smiled wryly. "You'll be old enough to retire before you manage to make him talk. These are religious fanatics. There's another tied up behind a car out in the park. Send a couple of your boys after him, and you can try your hand on both of them. But I'm afraid you'll get nothing useful out of them. Come over here, if you will."
Drawing him aside, Ming said: "I'm sure that Travers was poisoned in the same manner they got Joey Albertini. Do you remember anything unusual about the death of Richard Hayward?"
"Well, not about his death exactly but that night somebody apparently tried to steal and mutilate his corpse..."
"What do you mean, mutilate?" demanded Ming.
"A watchman heard a noise and went into the room and found Lynch's body on the floor, as if somebody had tried to carry it off, and then maybe got scared off. And a lot of the teeth had been pulled or knocked out!"
"That detail about the teeth intrigues me," admitted Ming. "Maybe they were knocked out in the wreck that killed Hayward. It could be Red Crane is stealing the bodies of wealthy men, figuring on screwing a big price out of their families for their return. When they don't die quick enough, he finishes them off."
Wollheim sighed in shocked horror."But Murray hasn't any family."
"Perhaps they figure the executors of his estate will kick in. It's a tentative idea. Now listen, I'm borrowing a car for a visit to Travers' vault. I received a tip that they're going to lift his corpse tomorrow night. I believe they'll spring it tonight, on the chance that I might have gotten the tip. I believe they'll try to get ahead of me. They may have already, what with all this delay. I figured on being out there long before now."
"Look here, young lady! You are pushing your luck big time. I know the KDF gets a lot of leeway from the force because of their success record. But you are not Jeremy Bane." Wollheim got hold of himself. "Orders are we're supposed to let you move about freely but I'm going to send a pair of officers with you."
"No, I don't want any company. Your men would be more of a hindrance than a help in a task requiring stealth. Stay here with Murray. Keep men upstairs as well as down. Don't let Murray open any packages that might come, don't even let him answer a phone call. I'm going to Travers' vault, and I don't know when I'll be back. It just depends on when they come for the corpse."
A few minutes later, Ming was speeding down the road in one of the detectives' cars on her grim errand. The small graveyard which contained the tomb of Travers was an exclusive site where only the bones of rich men were laid to rest. The wind moaned through the cypress trees which bent shadowy arms above the gleaming marble.
Ming approached from the back side, up a narrow, tree-lined side street. She left the car, nimbly climbed the head-high wall, and stole through the gloom under the cypress shadows. Ahead of her Travers' tomb glimmered whitely. And she stopped short, crouching low in the shadows. She saw a a spark of light that was quickly extinguished. Through the open door of the tomb trooped half a dozen shadowy forms. His hunch had been right, but they had gotten there ahead of him. Unexpected outage angering him at the ghoulish crime, she leaped forward and charged them.
They scattered in panic at the unexpected rush of a stranger, and she did not pursue them. She came into the tomb, and winced at what she saw. The coffin had been burst open, but the tomb itself was not empty. In a careless heap on the floor lay the embalmed corpse of Travers, badly mutilated. The lower jawbone had been sawed away and was missing.
"This I did not expect!" Ming stopped short, bewildered at the sudden disruption of her theory. "They didn't want the body at all. What did they want his teeth for? And they also stole Richard Hayward's teeth...."
Lifting the body back into its resting place out of respect, she hurried forth, shutting the door of the tomb behind her. The wind whined through the cypress, and mingled with it was a low moaning sound. Her perception extended in all directions, she followed the groan.
The sound seemed to emanate from a bunch of low cedars near the wall, and among them he found a man lying. The beam revealed the stocky figure of a Chujiran. The dark eyes were glazed, the back of his coat soaked with wet blood. The man was gasping his last, and Ming sensed his life force flicker and go out. Between his shoulder blades stood the hilt of a long-bladed icepick-like knife. The fingers of his right hand had been horribly gashed, as if he had sought to retain his grasp on something which his slayers desired.
"Running from me, he bumped into somebody hiding among these cedars," pondered Ming. "But who? Are there two gangs at work? By Cirkoth, I haven't learned half of what I need to know."
She stared thoughtfully at the encrouching shadows. No stealthy shuffling footfall disturbed the sepulchral quiet. Only the wind whimpered through the cypress and the cedars. The Tel Shai knight was alone with the corpses of rich men in their ornate tombs, and with the assassin from Chujir whose flesh was not yet cold.
V.
"You're sure back in a hurry," said Wollheim, as Ming re-entered the Murray study. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you everything. First, did the prisoners talk?" countered Ming.
"They did not," growled the chief. "They sat there like they were deaf. I sent 'em to the station, along with Harper. He was complaining of a headache, but he seemed okay otherwise."
"Mr. Murray," Ming sank down rather wearily into an arm-chair and fixed her thoughtful gaze on the philanthropist, "Am I right in believing that you and Richard Hayward and Morris Travers were at one time connected with each other in some way?"
"Why do you ask?" parried Murray.
"Because somehow the three of you are tied up in this matter. Lynch's death was not accidental, and I'm pretty sure that Morris Travers was poisoned. Now the same gang is after you. I thought it was a body-snatching racket, but an apparent attempt to steal Richard Hayward's corpse out of the morgue, now seems to resolve itself into what was in reality a successful attempt to get his teeth. Tonight a gang of Mongols entered the tomb of Morris Travers, obviously for the same purpose..."
A choking cry interrupted him. Murray sank back, his face livid. "My God, after all these years!"
Ming stiffened. "Then you do know Red Crane Tong? You know why they are after you?"
Murray shook his head. "I never heard of Red Crane before. I have no idea why they killed Hayward and Travers."
"You're lying. And you'd better enlighten us," advised Ming. "We're working entirely in the dark as it is."
"There's nothing to tell!" The philanthropist was visibly shaken. He mopped his brow with a shaking hand, and reposed himself with an effort. "Yes, I had a few business deals with those two but they all fell through. I haven't seen Hayward or Travers in years. You have to believe me."
"I don't," observed Ming. "Did you ever see a dagger like this?" she presented the weapon that had killed the Chujiran.
"No, never" answered Murray promptly. "It looks like an old-fashioned icepick, to be honest."
"Hmmm!" Ming sat scowling, chin on fist, idly tapping the blade against her low slipper, lost in meditation. Admittedly, she was more at a loss than she would have liked, trapped in a bewildering tangle. To her companions she seemed like an all-knowing figure of retribution, brooding over the fate of the wicked. In reality she was cursing her doubts.
"What are you going to do now?" demanded Wollheim.
"Only one thing to do," responded Ming. "I'm going to try to run down Red Crane. I'm going to start with River Street. That won't be easy, it'll be like looking for a rat in a swamp. I want you to contrive to let one of those Mongols escape, Wollheim. I'll try to trail him back to Red Crane's hangout..."
The phone tingled loudly. Ming reached it with a long stride.
"Who speaks, please?" Over the wire came a voice with a subtle but definite accent.
"This is Tang Ming."
"This is a possible friend, Tel Shai," came the bland voice. "Before we progress further, let me warn you that it will be impossible to trace this call, and would do you no good to do so."
"So you say."
"Mr. Murray," the suave voice continued, "is a doomed man. He is as good as dead already. Guards and guns will not protect him, when the Red Cranes are ready to strike. But you alone can save him, without firing a shot!"
"How so?"
"If you were to come alone to the House of Blue Dreams on Dulwich street, the Red Crane would speak to you, and a compromise might be arranged whereby Mr. Murray's life would be spared."
"Compromise?" scoffed the Tel Shai knight. "What child do you think you're talking to? You think I'd fall into a trap like that?"
"You have a hostage," came back the voice. "One of the men you hold is Red Crane's brother. Let him suffer if there is treachery. I swear by the bones of my ancestors, no harm shall come to you!"
The voice ceased with a click at the other end of the wire. Ming wheeled. "Red Crane must be getting desperate to try such a child's trick as that!" she swore. Then he considered, and muttered, half to herself: "By the bones of his ancestors! Never heard of a Chujiran breaking that oath. All that stuff about Red Crane's brother may be a ruse. Yet.. well, maybe he's trying to outsmart me and draw me away from protecting Murray. On the other hand, maybe he thinks that I'd never fall for a trick like that. But this is circular thinking! I must trust my instincts."
"What do you mean?" demanded Wollheim.
"I mean I'm going to the House of Blue Dreams, alone."
"You're crazy!" exclaimed Wollheim. "I'm getting tired of your stubborness, Ming. You're bending regulations way too far. We'll take a squad, surround the house, and raid it!"
"And find an empty rat-den," retorted Ming, "They will have escaped through tunnels and passageways only they know."
VI.
VI.
Dawn was not far away when Tang Ming entered the low brick structure near the waterfront which was known to locals as the House of Blue Dreams, and whose dingy exterior masked a subterranean drug house. It was not mere opium but the more seductive and inescapable Blue Thrill that was sold here. Only a pudgy Chinese lad nodded behind the counter. He looked up with no apparent surprise at this young girl entering alone in the middle of the night. Without a word he led Ming to a curtain in the back of the shop, pulled it aside, and revealed a door.
The Tel Shai knight breathed slowly and deeply to calm her nerves, taut with the agitation that must come to anyone who has deliberately walked into a death-trap. The boy knocked, intoning a sing-song phrase, and a voice answered from within. Ming started. She recognized that voice. The boy opened the door, bobbed his head and was gone. Ming entered, pulling the door closed behind her.
She was in a room heaped and strewn with divans and silk cushions. If there were other doors, they were masked by the black velvet hangings, which, worked with gilt Imperial dragons, covered the walls. On a divan near the further wall squatted a stocky, pot-bellied shape, in black silk, a close-fitting velvet cap on his shaven head.
"So you're here, after all!" said Ming. "Don't move, Red Crane. You have much to explain."
"Why do you threaten me, Tel Shai?" Red Crane's face was expressionless, the square, tawny-skinned face of a Chujiran, with wide thin lips and glittering black eyes. His English was perfect. "See, I trust you. I am here, alone. The boy who let you in said that you came alone. You kept your word, I keep my promise. For the moment there is truce between us, and I am ready to bargain, as you suggested."
"As I suggested?" demanded Ming.
"I have no desire to harm Mr. Murray, any more than I wished to harm either of the other gentlemen," said Red Crane. "But knowing them all as I did from report and discreet observation, it never occurred to me that I could obtain what I wished while they lived. So I did not enter into negotiations with them."
"So you want Murray's tooth, too?"
"Not for myself," disclaimed Red Crane. "There is a strange story behind three ivory crowns. Twenty years ago, before you were born in fact, a Chujiran Alchemist named Wing Cha was murdered by three white Americans. They stole a scrap of parchment on which he had written down the formula for his mind-control serum. The murderers had to flee the vengeance of Wing Cha's clan, my own Red Crane society. They came up with a most ingenious method of hiding the secret formula."
"Of course!" Ming blurted out. "The teeth. They each had a portion of the formula inscribed on a tooth. What a strange idea."
"Ah, your wits are not dull, miss. Yes. In fact, they had a craftsman create three ivory caps, one for each of them, each cap carrying a portion of the formula. And the murderers went their separate ways, intending to meet again after Red Crane had given up the search for them."
The young woman nodded. "Oh, this trick has been done by others. Criminals have hidden maps in tattoos, they had concealed messages in tapestries. But to go about for years wearing a secret on a capped tooth, that is remarkable. And of course, your society has finally tracked down the three men."
"The secrets on that ivory caps rightfully belong to us," declared the fat man. "We have one ivory crown, procured from that unfortunate person, Richard Hayward. Now if you will hand over that belonging to Travers as you promised, perhaps we may reach a compromise. Mr Murray will be allowed to keep his life in return for a tooth, as you hinted."
"As I hinted?" exclaimed Ming. "What do you mean? I made no such promise and I certainly do not have Travers's tooth. You've got it, yourself."
"All this is unnecessary," objected Red Crane, an edge to his tone. "Tel Shai knights have a reputation for veracity, in spite of your rash nature. I was relying upon your honesty when I accepted this appointment. Of course, I already knew that you had Travers' crown. When my blundering servants, having been frightened by you as they left the vaults, gathered at the appointed rendezvous, they discovered that he to whom was entrusted the jaw-bone containing the precious tooth, was not among them. They returned to the graveyard and found his body, but not the ivory crown. It was obvious that you had killed him and taken it from him."
Ming was so taken aback by this new twist, that she remained speechless for the moment.
Red Crane continued tranquilly: "I was about to send my servants out in another attempt to secure you, when your agent phoned me. How he located me on the telephone is still a mystery! And he announced that you were ready to meet me at this House of Blue Dreams, and give me Travers' tooth, in return for an opportunity to bargain personally for Mr. Murray's life. Knowing Tel Shai to be honorable, I agreed, trusting you—"
"There is deceit and deception here!" exclaimed Ming "I didn't call you, or have anybody call you. You, or rather, one of your men, called me."
"I did not!" Red Crane was on his feet, his stocky body under the rippling black silk quivering with rage. His eyes narrowed to slits until they seemed to be mere horizontal lines. "You deny that you promised to give me Travers' tooth?"
"I certainly do," replied Ming without becoming heated herself. "I haven't got it, and I'm not 'compromising' as you call it—"
"Liar!" Red Crane spat the epithet like a snake hissing. "You have tricked me. I was a fool to believe the reputation of Tel Shai knights."
"Stay calm and keep your head," advised Ming. "We are both being manipulated."
"Be still!" retorted Red Crane. "I do not know what your game is, but I will endure it no longer. Fool, do you think I would keep my promise to a deceitful Chinese maiden? Behind this hanging is the entrance to a tunnel through which I can escape before any of your stupid police can enter this room. You have been covered since you came through that door, by a gunman hiding behind the tapestry. Try to stop me, and you die!"
"I believe you're telling the truth about not calling me," said Ming slowly. "I believe somebody tricked us both, for some reason. You were called, in my name, and I was called, in yours."
Red Crane halted short in some hissing tirade. The first hint of doubt entered his voice. "Do you still attempt to trick me?" he demanded uncertainly.
"No. I think somebody in your gang is double-crossing you. Stay calm, I'm not pulling a gun. I'm just going to show you the knife that I found sticking in the back of the fellow you seem to think I killed."
She drew it from her coat-pocket with her left hand and tossed it on the divan.
Red Crane pounced on it. His slit eyes flared wide with a terrible light and his face paled. "Of course. Only one mastermind has henchmen with such weapons. We have both been used by a mind with the cunning of two hundred years behind it."
In a torrent of hissing sibilances, he lapsed briefly into English: "I see it all now! This was too subtle for a Western barbarian! Death to them all!" Wheeling toward the tapestry behind the divan he shrieked, "Attend me!"
There was no answer, but Ming thought she saw the black velvety expanse billow slightly. Openly furious, Red Crane seized the tapestries and tore them aside. A puff of white mist encircled his head. Red Crane's scream broke in a ghastly gurgle. His head pitched forward, then his whole body swayed backward, and he fell heavily among the cushions, clutching at his throat. The Chujiran's hands fell away from the crimsoned hilt, spread wide, clutching at the thick carpet; a convulsive spasm ran through his frame, and those long fingers went limp.
Gun in hand, Ming took a single stride toward the tapestries but then halted short, staring at the figure which moved imperturbably through them: a tiny, bent man in brocaded silk robes, who smiled and bowed, his hands hidden in his wide sleeves. Weirdly enough, his wrinkled skin was a bright lemon-yellow no natural skin tones could match. It was skin tinted by decades of Alchemical potions.
"You killed Red Crane!" Ming accused.
"The wretched one indeed has been sent to join his ancestors by my hand," agreed the elder. "Be not afraid for yourself. The Chujiran who covered you through a peep-hole with an abbreviated shotgun has likewise departed this uncertain life, suddenly and silently. My own people hold supreme in the House of Blue Dreams this night. All that we ask is that you make no attempt to stay our departure."
"Who are you?" demanded Ming.
"Some call me the Manchurian. When it was learned that these unworthy ones sought a formula that revealed secrets of Alchemy, word reached me almost too late. Two men had already died. The third was menaced.
"I sent my servants instantly to intercept the evil Red Crane at the vaults they desecrated. But for your appearance, frightening the Chujirans to scattering in flight, before the trap could be sprang, my servants would have caught them all in ambush. As it was, they did manage to slay the one who carried the ivory crown Red Crane sought, and this they brought to me."
"I took the liberty of impersonating a servant of the Red Crane in my speech with you, and of pretending to be a Chinese agent of yours, while speaking with Red Crane. All worked out as I wished. Lured by the thought of the ivory crown, at the loss of which he was maddened, Red Crane came from his secret, well-guarded lair, and fell into my hands.
"I brought you here to witness his execution, so that you might realize that Mr. Murray is no longer in danger. Secrets of Alchemy are best kept closely guarded. The Manchurian has no ambitions for world empire. I wish but to hold what is mine. That I am well able to do, now that the threat of the devil-gas is lifted. And now I must be gone. Red Crane had laid careful plans for his flight out of the country. I will take advantage of his preparations."
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ming. "The law requires me to detain you for the murder of this man. Let the police read you your rights."
"I am sorry," murmured the Manchurian with wry amusement. "The Great Work is far from completed. I swore that you would not be injured and I have no intention of being injured myself, ha ha."
As he spoke, there was a blinding flash of intensely bright light, followed by darkness. Ming sprang forward nonetheless, clutching at the tapestries which had swished in the darkness as if from the passing of a large body between them. Her fingers met only solid walls. Extending her awareness, Ming perceived the pivot on which a door panel swung but she could also tell it was bolted from the other side.
Crestfallen at the unsatisfying conclusion, the Tel Shai knight crossed over in the darkness and clicked the light back on again. She was alone in the room, of course. On the divan lay something that glinted in the lamplight, and Ming looked down on a curiously carven ivory crown.
Glancing around, she spotted a heavy iron lamp standing in the corner. Without hesitation, she brought it over and stamped it down heavily until the ivory cap was mere dust. Let that secret be lost, she thought. Tang Ming turned on her heel and strode out of the chamber, through the entrance and out onto a mundane city street where dawn had broken.
4/1/2023
2/27/1986
I.
"How'd you get in here?" squawked Joey Albertini in alarm. "Hell, how do you get in anywhere? You look about twelve."
At midnight, Tang Ming was keeping her rendezvous with one Joey Albertini, a borderline character of the underworld who served his purpose as a messenger and courier who was no threat to anyone. The dive was almost empty on this freezing winter night where few went out unless compelled to. Two sots at the bar were arguing with the bartender about some sporting event on the tiny black and white TV up by the ceiling. None of them even noticed the young Chinese girl walk in from the cold.
In her loose white windbreaker and black pants, Ming did indeed look even younger than her eighteen years. The glossy black hair was cut short to her jawline, and the huge dark eyes were never still. The newest KDF member and Tel Shai knight, she had a quiet confidence that even hardened old thugs recognized.
"Timing and precision," she answered with the faint British accent of her Hong Kong childhood. "I am ready to listen, Mr Albertini."
Joey Albertini was never an impressive figure but he looked even more insignificant than usual. His skin was an unhealthy hue from the dehydration of longterm alcohol abuse. His eyes were bloodshot and his bony fingers shook as he fumbled with a bit of paper on which was drawn a peculiar design.
"Somebody planted it on me," he chattered. "Right after I phoned you. In the crowd on the uptown train, someone stuck it in my coat pocket. Me, Joey Albertini! They plant it on me and I don't even know it. Only one gang in this town handles dips that slick, as if I didn't know already. Look! It's the three toed bird foot! The symbol of the Red Crane! They're after me! They've been shadowing me, tapping wires, watching at windows. They found out I know too much..."
"First, tell me about George Murray" demanded Ming "You said you had a tip about the thugs who tried to eliminate on George Murray. Come right out and tell me."
"The gang behind it is led by Choy Sing, also called Red Crane."
Ming raised one eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't know they had made it to America."
"Wait!" Joey babbled, so terrified he was scarcely coherent. "Choy Sing is head of the branch of the Red Crane establishing themselves in this country. He's not Chinese-American, though."
"He is from Chujir," Ming said, folding her arms across her chest. "The adjacent realm. You know about Chujir?"
"Aw, it's some crazy legend. Supposed to be a magical dimension or something where the ancestors of the Han people came from. I don't have time for that stiff. Listen, have you heard about Richard Keller?"
"Yes. He died in an auto wreck by a hit-and-run a week ago," said Ming. "Keller stayed unidentified in the city morgue all night before they confirmed who he was. The rumor is someone tried to steal his corpse right off the slab. What's that got to do with Murray?"
"It wasn't an accident." Joey was fumbling for a cigarette. "They meant to kill him, that is Red Crane did. It was their assassins after the body that night—"
"How do you know this? Chinese Tongs don't take Americans like you into their confidence."
"I got my sources!" insisted Joey. "It's how I make my living if you can call it that. I tell you, Red Crane was after Richard Keller's corpse, just like he's sending his mob after Albert Harman's body tomorrow night—"
"What?" Ming responded despite herself. She had shown no inclination to sit in the empty chair at Albertini's table in that dim far corner.
"Don't rush me," begged the messenger, striking a match with unsteady hands. "Gimme time. That death notice has got me jumping sideways. I'm jittery—"
"I'll say you are," observed Ming. "Your heartbeat is dangerously fast. Your sweat is heavy with adrenalin. I can tell. Why is Red Crane commiting these crimes? That's all I want to know. Calm down and give me facts."
"Alright," promised Joey, sucking avidly at his cigarette. "Lemme have a drag. I been so upset I haven't even smoked since I reached into my pocket and found that damned notice. This is straight goods. I know why they want the bodies of Richard Keller, Job Travers and James Murray—"
With appalling suddenness his hands shot to his throat, crushing the smoldering cigarette in his fingers. His eyes distended, his face went purple. Without a word he swayed and fell face down on the table. Tang Ming bent over him and ran skilled hands over his body. Her gift of enhanced perception constantly fed her information not available to normal Humans.
Poisoned, she thought, and not any conventional poison known to the badlands of crime and espionage. She lifted the half-finished cigarette and took a cautious sniff. It was an Alchemical scent she had detected before. The assassin who slipped that death-notice into his pocket must have switched packs on him at the same time, she thought. He was well known for chain smoking Lucky Strikes and bumming cigarettes off anyone in sight. Preparing a seemingly unopened pack would not be hard for an Alchemist.
Glancing around, she watched the three men at the bar. None seemed interested in the little drama in the rear of the dive. Albertini was slumped forward with an empty shot glass near at hand and he had been drinking for hours. Even when the bartender spotted him, it would not be an immediate cause for concern that needed checking.
The argument over a boxing match was still going on. As the bartender strode over to the little TV and rapped angrily on its screen to make a point, the full attention of all three men was focused. Tang Ming drifted silently past them and out the door without being noticed. As far as she could tell, no one had even known she had been in the bar except Joey Albertini. And he would never tell.
II.
A few minutes later she was at a telephone booth on the corner. "Is that you, Wollheim?"
A voice booming back over the wires assured him that the chief of police was indeed at the other end. "Who do you think is up at this hour waiting to hear from you?"
"What killed Morris Travers?" Ming asked abruptly.
"Why, heart attack, I understand." There was some surprise in the chief's voice. "Passed out suddenly, day before yesterday, while smoking his after-dinner cigar, according to the papers. Why?"
"Who's guarding Murray?" demanded Ming without answering.
"Four men including Hanson and Harper. But I don't see—"
"That is not enough," replied Ming. "Hurry over there yourself with three or four more men."
"Say, listen here, little girl!" came back the irate bellow. "Whether the Dire Wolf vouches for you or not, who are you to be telling me how to run my business?"
"I am someone with information you do not yet posssess." Ming's self-asssurance was difficult to shake. "This happens to be in my particular domain. We're not fighting mundane gunmen. It's a cult of Chujir assassins who have put Murray on the spot. I won't say any more right now. There's been too much wire-tapping in this city. But you must rush over to Murray's as fast as you can get there. Don't let him out of your sight. Don't let him smoke, eat or drink anything till I get there. I'll be right on over."
"Okay," came the answer over the wires. "You've done good work, Tang Ming. I'll go along with you...this time!"
Ming snapped the receiver back on its hook and strode out into the misty dimness of River Street, with its furtive hurrying forms going about questionable errands.
The young Chinese woman walked with an easy stride that ate up distance without efort. She knew that she was a target herself, since her connection with Joey Albertini had become known to the underworld. But as a KDF member, she had earned the hatred of many deadly enemies. She knew that if there was one person in the city capable of dealing with Red Crane, it was herself with her uncanny perception.
"Taxi?" A cab drew purring up beside the curb, anticipating any summoning gesture. The driver did not lean out into the light of the street. His cap seemed to be drawn low, not unnaturally so, but, standing on the sidewalk, it was impossible for his identity to be discerned.
"Sure," agreeed Ming, swinging open the rear door and climbing in. "540 Park Place, if you will."
The taxi roared through the crawling traffic, down shadowy River Street, wheeled off onto 35th Avenue, crossed over, and sped down a narrow side street.
"Taking a short cut?" asked Tang Ming innocently.
"Yes, miss." The driver did not look back. His voice ended in a sudden hissing intake of breath. There was no partition between the front and back seats. Ming brushed her left hand against the driver's left ear and distracted him for the instant she needed to dart her right hand down and snatch his .32 revolver from his waistband. Before he could understand what had happened, he felt the barrel press against the back of his neck and heard the hammer cock.
"Take the next right-hand turn and drive to the address I gave you," he said softly. "You give off a dozen clues you're from Chujir. Drive carefully. Live to see a beautiful dawn."
The driver twisted his head slightly but could not see the face of the girl who had turned his own weapon against him.
"Joey was right," muttered Ming between her teeth. "I don't know your name, but I've seen you hanging around the Green Pepper gambling joint more than once. You are so obvious. You'd have a flat, or run out of gas at some convenient spot. Any excuse for you to get out of the car and out of range while a hatchet-man hidden somewhere shoots me down. You had better hope none of your friends see us and try anything, because this gun is cocked. I don't like firearms but that doesn't mean I won't use one when it's practical."
The rest of that grim ride was made in silence, until the reaches of the Park rose to view, darkened except for a fringe of subdued lights around the boundaries.
"Swing into the park," ordered Ming, as they drove along the street which passed the park, and, further on, James Murray's house. "Cut off your lights, and drive as I tell you. You can feel your way between the trees."
The darkened car glided into a dense grove and came to a halt. Ming fumbled in her pockets with her left hand and drew out a pair of plastic zipties. In climbing out, she was forced to remove the muzzle from close contact with her prisoner's back, but the gun menaced the Chujiran in the gloom.
"Climb out," ordered the Tel Shai knight. "Yes, take it slow and easy. You're going to have to stay here awhile. I didn't want to take you to the station right now, for several reasons. One of them is I didn't want your friends to know I turned the tables on you. I'm hoping they'll still be patiently waiting for you to bring me into range of their sawed-offs..."
The Chujiran whirled with sheer desperation and seized Ming's gunhand as hard as he could. In a flash, he was down on his back, struggling to remain conscious.
Tang Ming had no illusions when fighting men a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than she was. She could not match their strength. Wrestling or trading punches would only get her killed. Instantly, she released the gun, hooked a foot around the man's ankle and kicked it out from under him while jabbing stiffened fingers into the soft area below his windpipe. Off balance, gagging and confused, he fell heavily backwards. Ming deftly caught the discarded revolver before it touched the ground and cracked it down hard against the Chujiran's right temple two inches above his ear.
Her perception and training enabled her to move as smoothly and precisely as if the two of them were carrying out a routine they had practiced together.
Not even out of breath, Ming stuck the revolver in the back of her belt and set to work securing her prisoner. The Chujiran was dazed and helpless but not completely unconscious. It would have been much easier for Ming to have simply used a killing blow. Stunning an opponents took greater judgement and accuracy than most martial artists could manage.
Cuffed with the stiff zipties, gagged with strips torn from his own coat and his feet bound with the same material, the Chujiran was rolled out of sight behind the car. Tang Ming turned and strode through the shadows of the park, toward the eastern hedge beyond which lay James Murray's estate. She hoped that this affair with the fake taxi would give her some slight advantage in this blind battle. While the Chujirans waited for hder to ride into the trap they had undoubtedly laid for her somewhere in the city, perhaps it would give her an opportunity to do a little scouting unmolested.
As she walked, she unloaded the revolver and tossed it deep into the bushes to her left, then discarded the bullets some distance further along. Guns annoyed her. She knew that logically they were useful and even vital in dangerous situations but sh did not want to become dependent on carrying one. Her faith was in her own skills and gifts.
III.
James Adelbert Murray's estate adjoined Merton Park on the east. Only a high hedge separated the park from his grounds. The big three-storied house towered among carefully trimmed trees and shrubbery, amidst a level flat lawn. There were lights in the two lower floors, none in the third. Tang Ming perceived that Murray's study was a big room on the second floor, on the west side of the house. From that room no light issued between the heavy shutters. Evidently curtains and shades were drawn inside. The new Tel Shai knight smiled in approval as she stood looking through the hedge.
She sensed that a plainclothes man was watching the house from each side, and she marked the bunch of shrubbery amidst which would be crouching the man detailed to guard the west side. Craning her neck, she saw a car in front of the house, which faced south, and she knew it to be that of Chief Louis Wollheim.
With the intention of taking a short cut across the lawn she slid through the hedge, and, not wishing to be shot by mistake, she called softly: "Hello, Detective Harper!"
There was no answer. Ming strode toward the shrubbery. "Asleep at the post?" she wondered. She had found something in the shadows of the shrubs. Ming kneeled and saw the white, upturned face of a dazed man. Blood dabbled the features, and a crumpled hat lay near by, an unfired pistol near the limp hand.
"Struck down from behind!" whispered Ming. She found his pulse was strong and his breathing free, but her perception warned her that the man needed serious medical attention.
Parting the shrubs she gazed toward the house. On that side an ornamental chimney rose tier by tier, until it towered above the roof. And her eyes widened as they centered on a window on the third floor within easy reach of that chimney. On all other windows the shutters were closed; but these stood open.
With brisk strides she tore through the shrubbery and ran across the lawn, amazingly light on her feet. As she rounded the corner of the house and rushed toward the steps, a man rose swiftly from among the hedges lining the walk, and covered her, only to lower his gun with an exclamation of recognition.
"Where's Wollheim?" asked the young woman with quiet authority in her voice.
"Upstairs with old man Murray. What's up?"
"Harper's been slugged," explained Ming. "Hurry out there. You know where he was posted. Wait there until I call you. If you see anyone you don't recognize trying to leave the house, stop them. I'll get Wollheim to send out a man to take your place here."
She raced in through the front door and saw four men in plain clothes lounging about in the main hall.
"Detective Jackson," she ordered, "take Hanson's place out in front. I sent him around to the west side. The rest of you stand by for anything."
Mounting the stair in haste, she entered the study on the second floor, breathing a sigh of relief as she found the occupants apparently undisturbed.
The curtains were closely drawn over the windows, and only the door letting into the hall was open. Murray was there, a tall spare man, with a Roman beak of a nose and a bony aggressive chin. Chief Wollheim boomed a greeting, "Ah, there you are."
"All your men downstairs?" asked Ming.
"Sure; nothin' can get past 'em and I'm stayin' here with Mr. Murray—"
"You are placing yourself in a killing box," said Ming. "Didn't I tell you we were dealing with experts? You concentrated all your force below, never thinking that death might slip in on you from above. But there isn't time to turn out that light. Mr. Murray, get over there in that alcove. Chief, stand in front of him, and watch that door that leads into the hall. I'm going to leave it open. Locking it would be useless, against what we're fighting. If anything you don't recognize comes through it, shoot to kill."
"What the devil makes you think you can give orders to US, Ming?" demanded Wollheim.
"Because you know I've always been right so far. I know one of Red Crane's killers is in this house," snapped Ming with uncharacteristic emphasis. "There may be more than one. Anyway, he's somewhere upstairs. Is this the only staircase, Mr. Murray? No back-stair?"
"This is the only one in the house," answered the millionaire. "There are only bedrooms on the third floor."
"Where's the light switch for the hall on that floor?"
"At the head of the stairs, on the left; but you aren't.."
"It's best that you all take your places and do as I said," repeated Ming, gliding out into the hallway.
She stood gazing at the stair which wound up above her, its upper part masked in shadow. Somewhere up there lurked a Chujir assassin, trained since childhood in the art of murder, who lived only to perform his master's will. Ming started to call the men below, then changed her mind. To raise her voice would be to warn the lurking murderer above.
In absolute silence, she glided up the stair. Aware that she was outlined in the light below, she realized the desperate recklessness of this action but thought it best. She did not fear a bullet as she charged up, since the Chujirans preferred to slay in silence. But their experise in throwing knives could kill as promptly as any gunslinging. Her best chance lay in the winding of the stair.
IV.
She ascended the final steps with a gliding rush and, not needing a flashlight, plunged into the gloom of the upper hallway. Ming's perception worked beyond what normal Human senses could match. She could locate hidden objects, spot deception or weakness and find her way unerringly even in complete darkness. Even as she knew there was life and movement in the darkness beside her, she hopped back a step. Something whizzed past her breast and thudded deep into the wall. Finding a switch on the wall beside her, Tang Ming flooded the hall with the overhead fluorescent lights.
Almost touching her, bent over, a massive Chujiran with a shaven head wrenched at a curved knife which was sunk deep in the woodwork. He jerked up his head, dazzled by the unexpected light.
Taking advantage of the assassin's crouching pose, Ming hopped to one side and whipped out a straight side kick which connected squarely to his jaw. She had not had much Kumundu training at that point, but she had been raised on the Fu Jow Pai style by her father and she had mastered both focus and precision. The man dropped limply to the floor, not even trying to catch himself. Ming had raised a stiffened hand, ready to chop down at the base of his neck, but she saw it would not be needed.
Wollheim was bellowing questions from below. "Hey! What the devil is going on up there?"
"Hold everything," called down Ming. "Send one of your men up here with the cuffs. I'm going through these bedrooms."
Ready for any attack, she moved through the rooms, switching on the lights but finding no other lurking slayer. Evidently Red Crane considered one would be enough and so it might have been, if the intended victim had been other than a Tel Shai knight.
Having latched all the shutters and fastened the windows securely, Tang Ming returned to the study where the prisoner had been taken. The man had recovered his senses and sat, handcuffed, on a divan. Only the dark eyes seemed alive in the stoic face.
"Classic Chujiran," Ming said. "One of the Eight Faces."
"What is all this?" complained Wollheim, still upset by the realization that an invader had slipped through his cordon.
"It seems clear. This fellow sneaked up on Harper and struck him cold. These Red Crane assassins are stealthy. With all those shrubs and trees outside, sneaking by was no challenge. Oh, send out a couple of the boys to bring in Harper, will you? Then this Red Crane climbed that fancy chimney. That was easy, too. I could do it in seconds. Nobody had thought to fasten the shutters on that floor, because nobody expected an attack from that direction. Mr. Murray, do you know anything about Red Crane?"
"I've heard of them. Some Chinese Tong or gang," declared the philanthropist, and though Ming's perception scanned him narrowly, she felt the taint of insincerity in Murray's voice.
"He's not really Chinese," said Ming. "It's hard to explain. Think of him as comig from a remote part of China, like Mongolia or further. The Chujirans have their own culture and the Red Crane cult is an old tradition."
"Why don't we just go grab him?" demanded Wollheim.
"Because we don't know where he is. He suspects that I know he's mixed up in this. Joey Albertini spilled it to me, just before he died. Yes, Joey's dead by poison. It was more of Red Crane's work. By this time Red Crane will have deserted his usual hang-outs, and be hiding in some secret underground dive that we couldn't find in a hundred years."
"Let's sweat it out of this Chinese crook," suggested Wollheim.
Ming smiled wryly. "You'll be old enough to retire before you manage to make him talk. These are religious fanatics. There's another tied up behind a car out in the park. Send a couple of your boys after him, and you can try your hand on both of them. But I'm afraid you'll get nothing useful out of them. Come over here, if you will."
Drawing him aside, Ming said: "I'm sure that Travers was poisoned in the same manner they got Joey Albertini. Do you remember anything unusual about the death of Richard Hayward?"
"Well, not about his death exactly but that night somebody apparently tried to steal and mutilate his corpse..."
"What do you mean, mutilate?" demanded Ming.
"A watchman heard a noise and went into the room and found Lynch's body on the floor, as if somebody had tried to carry it off, and then maybe got scared off. And a lot of the teeth had been pulled or knocked out!"
"That detail about the teeth intrigues me," admitted Ming. "Maybe they were knocked out in the wreck that killed Hayward. It could be Red Crane is stealing the bodies of wealthy men, figuring on screwing a big price out of their families for their return. When they don't die quick enough, he finishes them off."
Wollheim sighed in shocked horror."But Murray hasn't any family."
"Perhaps they figure the executors of his estate will kick in. It's a tentative idea. Now listen, I'm borrowing a car for a visit to Travers' vault. I received a tip that they're going to lift his corpse tomorrow night. I believe they'll spring it tonight, on the chance that I might have gotten the tip. I believe they'll try to get ahead of me. They may have already, what with all this delay. I figured on being out there long before now."
"Look here, young lady! You are pushing your luck big time. I know the KDF gets a lot of leeway from the force because of their success record. But you are not Jeremy Bane." Wollheim got hold of himself. "Orders are we're supposed to let you move about freely but I'm going to send a pair of officers with you."
"No, I don't want any company. Your men would be more of a hindrance than a help in a task requiring stealth. Stay here with Murray. Keep men upstairs as well as down. Don't let Murray open any packages that might come, don't even let him answer a phone call. I'm going to Travers' vault, and I don't know when I'll be back. It just depends on when they come for the corpse."
A few minutes later, Ming was speeding down the road in one of the detectives' cars on her grim errand. The small graveyard which contained the tomb of Travers was an exclusive site where only the bones of rich men were laid to rest. The wind moaned through the cypress trees which bent shadowy arms above the gleaming marble.
Ming approached from the back side, up a narrow, tree-lined side street. She left the car, nimbly climbed the head-high wall, and stole through the gloom under the cypress shadows. Ahead of her Travers' tomb glimmered whitely. And she stopped short, crouching low in the shadows. She saw a a spark of light that was quickly extinguished. Through the open door of the tomb trooped half a dozen shadowy forms. His hunch had been right, but they had gotten there ahead of him. Unexpected outage angering him at the ghoulish crime, she leaped forward and charged them.
They scattered in panic at the unexpected rush of a stranger, and she did not pursue them. She came into the tomb, and winced at what she saw. The coffin had been burst open, but the tomb itself was not empty. In a careless heap on the floor lay the embalmed corpse of Travers, badly mutilated. The lower jawbone had been sawed away and was missing.
"This I did not expect!" Ming stopped short, bewildered at the sudden disruption of her theory. "They didn't want the body at all. What did they want his teeth for? And they also stole Richard Hayward's teeth...."
Lifting the body back into its resting place out of respect, she hurried forth, shutting the door of the tomb behind her. The wind whined through the cypress, and mingled with it was a low moaning sound. Her perception extended in all directions, she followed the groan.
The sound seemed to emanate from a bunch of low cedars near the wall, and among them he found a man lying. The beam revealed the stocky figure of a Chujiran. The dark eyes were glazed, the back of his coat soaked with wet blood. The man was gasping his last, and Ming sensed his life force flicker and go out. Between his shoulder blades stood the hilt of a long-bladed icepick-like knife. The fingers of his right hand had been horribly gashed, as if he had sought to retain his grasp on something which his slayers desired.
"Running from me, he bumped into somebody hiding among these cedars," pondered Ming. "But who? Are there two gangs at work? By Cirkoth, I haven't learned half of what I need to know."
She stared thoughtfully at the encrouching shadows. No stealthy shuffling footfall disturbed the sepulchral quiet. Only the wind whimpered through the cypress and the cedars. The Tel Shai knight was alone with the corpses of rich men in their ornate tombs, and with the assassin from Chujir whose flesh was not yet cold.
V.
"You're sure back in a hurry," said Wollheim, as Ming re-entered the Murray study. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you everything. First, did the prisoners talk?" countered Ming.
"They did not," growled the chief. "They sat there like they were deaf. I sent 'em to the station, along with Harper. He was complaining of a headache, but he seemed okay otherwise."
"Mr. Murray," Ming sank down rather wearily into an arm-chair and fixed her thoughtful gaze on the philanthropist, "Am I right in believing that you and Richard Hayward and Morris Travers were at one time connected with each other in some way?"
"Why do you ask?" parried Murray.
"Because somehow the three of you are tied up in this matter. Lynch's death was not accidental, and I'm pretty sure that Morris Travers was poisoned. Now the same gang is after you. I thought it was a body-snatching racket, but an apparent attempt to steal Richard Hayward's corpse out of the morgue, now seems to resolve itself into what was in reality a successful attempt to get his teeth. Tonight a gang of Mongols entered the tomb of Morris Travers, obviously for the same purpose..."
A choking cry interrupted him. Murray sank back, his face livid. "My God, after all these years!"
Ming stiffened. "Then you do know Red Crane Tong? You know why they are after you?"
Murray shook his head. "I never heard of Red Crane before. I have no idea why they killed Hayward and Travers."
"You're lying. And you'd better enlighten us," advised Ming. "We're working entirely in the dark as it is."
"There's nothing to tell!" The philanthropist was visibly shaken. He mopped his brow with a shaking hand, and reposed himself with an effort. "Yes, I had a few business deals with those two but they all fell through. I haven't seen Hayward or Travers in years. You have to believe me."
"I don't," observed Ming. "Did you ever see a dagger like this?" she presented the weapon that had killed the Chujiran.
"No, never" answered Murray promptly. "It looks like an old-fashioned icepick, to be honest."
"Hmmm!" Ming sat scowling, chin on fist, idly tapping the blade against her low slipper, lost in meditation. Admittedly, she was more at a loss than she would have liked, trapped in a bewildering tangle. To her companions she seemed like an all-knowing figure of retribution, brooding over the fate of the wicked. In reality she was cursing her doubts.
"What are you going to do now?" demanded Wollheim.
"Only one thing to do," responded Ming. "I'm going to try to run down Red Crane. I'm going to start with River Street. That won't be easy, it'll be like looking for a rat in a swamp. I want you to contrive to let one of those Mongols escape, Wollheim. I'll try to trail him back to Red Crane's hangout..."
The phone tingled loudly. Ming reached it with a long stride.
"Who speaks, please?" Over the wire came a voice with a subtle but definite accent.
"This is Tang Ming."
"This is a possible friend, Tel Shai," came the bland voice. "Before we progress further, let me warn you that it will be impossible to trace this call, and would do you no good to do so."
"So you say."
"Mr. Murray," the suave voice continued, "is a doomed man. He is as good as dead already. Guards and guns will not protect him, when the Red Cranes are ready to strike. But you alone can save him, without firing a shot!"
"How so?"
"If you were to come alone to the House of Blue Dreams on Dulwich street, the Red Crane would speak to you, and a compromise might be arranged whereby Mr. Murray's life would be spared."
"Compromise?" scoffed the Tel Shai knight. "What child do you think you're talking to? You think I'd fall into a trap like that?"
"You have a hostage," came back the voice. "One of the men you hold is Red Crane's brother. Let him suffer if there is treachery. I swear by the bones of my ancestors, no harm shall come to you!"
The voice ceased with a click at the other end of the wire. Ming wheeled. "Red Crane must be getting desperate to try such a child's trick as that!" she swore. Then he considered, and muttered, half to herself: "By the bones of his ancestors! Never heard of a Chujiran breaking that oath. All that stuff about Red Crane's brother may be a ruse. Yet.. well, maybe he's trying to outsmart me and draw me away from protecting Murray. On the other hand, maybe he thinks that I'd never fall for a trick like that. But this is circular thinking! I must trust my instincts."
"What do you mean?" demanded Wollheim.
"I mean I'm going to the House of Blue Dreams, alone."
"You're crazy!" exclaimed Wollheim. "I'm getting tired of your stubborness, Ming. You're bending regulations way too far. We'll take a squad, surround the house, and raid it!"
"And find an empty rat-den," retorted Ming, "They will have escaped through tunnels and passageways only they know."
VI.
VI.
Dawn was not far away when Tang Ming entered the low brick structure near the waterfront which was known to locals as the House of Blue Dreams, and whose dingy exterior masked a subterranean drug house. It was not mere opium but the more seductive and inescapable Blue Thrill that was sold here. Only a pudgy Chinese lad nodded behind the counter. He looked up with no apparent surprise at this young girl entering alone in the middle of the night. Without a word he led Ming to a curtain in the back of the shop, pulled it aside, and revealed a door.
The Tel Shai knight breathed slowly and deeply to calm her nerves, taut with the agitation that must come to anyone who has deliberately walked into a death-trap. The boy knocked, intoning a sing-song phrase, and a voice answered from within. Ming started. She recognized that voice. The boy opened the door, bobbed his head and was gone. Ming entered, pulling the door closed behind her.
She was in a room heaped and strewn with divans and silk cushions. If there were other doors, they were masked by the black velvet hangings, which, worked with gilt Imperial dragons, covered the walls. On a divan near the further wall squatted a stocky, pot-bellied shape, in black silk, a close-fitting velvet cap on his shaven head.
"So you're here, after all!" said Ming. "Don't move, Red Crane. You have much to explain."
"Why do you threaten me, Tel Shai?" Red Crane's face was expressionless, the square, tawny-skinned face of a Chujiran, with wide thin lips and glittering black eyes. His English was perfect. "See, I trust you. I am here, alone. The boy who let you in said that you came alone. You kept your word, I keep my promise. For the moment there is truce between us, and I am ready to bargain, as you suggested."
"As I suggested?" demanded Ming.
"I have no desire to harm Mr. Murray, any more than I wished to harm either of the other gentlemen," said Red Crane. "But knowing them all as I did from report and discreet observation, it never occurred to me that I could obtain what I wished while they lived. So I did not enter into negotiations with them."
"So you want Murray's tooth, too?"
"Not for myself," disclaimed Red Crane. "There is a strange story behind three ivory crowns. Twenty years ago, before you were born in fact, a Chujiran Alchemist named Wing Cha was murdered by three white Americans. They stole a scrap of parchment on which he had written down the formula for his mind-control serum. The murderers had to flee the vengeance of Wing Cha's clan, my own Red Crane society. They came up with a most ingenious method of hiding the secret formula."
"Of course!" Ming blurted out. "The teeth. They each had a portion of the formula inscribed on a tooth. What a strange idea."
"Ah, your wits are not dull, miss. Yes. In fact, they had a craftsman create three ivory caps, one for each of them, each cap carrying a portion of the formula. And the murderers went their separate ways, intending to meet again after Red Crane had given up the search for them."
The young woman nodded. "Oh, this trick has been done by others. Criminals have hidden maps in tattoos, they had concealed messages in tapestries. But to go about for years wearing a secret on a capped tooth, that is remarkable. And of course, your society has finally tracked down the three men."
"The secrets on that ivory caps rightfully belong to us," declared the fat man. "We have one ivory crown, procured from that unfortunate person, Richard Hayward. Now if you will hand over that belonging to Travers as you promised, perhaps we may reach a compromise. Mr Murray will be allowed to keep his life in return for a tooth, as you hinted."
"As I hinted?" exclaimed Ming. "What do you mean? I made no such promise and I certainly do not have Travers's tooth. You've got it, yourself."
"All this is unnecessary," objected Red Crane, an edge to his tone. "Tel Shai knights have a reputation for veracity, in spite of your rash nature. I was relying upon your honesty when I accepted this appointment. Of course, I already knew that you had Travers' crown. When my blundering servants, having been frightened by you as they left the vaults, gathered at the appointed rendezvous, they discovered that he to whom was entrusted the jaw-bone containing the precious tooth, was not among them. They returned to the graveyard and found his body, but not the ivory crown. It was obvious that you had killed him and taken it from him."
Ming was so taken aback by this new twist, that she remained speechless for the moment.
Red Crane continued tranquilly: "I was about to send my servants out in another attempt to secure you, when your agent phoned me. How he located me on the telephone is still a mystery! And he announced that you were ready to meet me at this House of Blue Dreams, and give me Travers' tooth, in return for an opportunity to bargain personally for Mr. Murray's life. Knowing Tel Shai to be honorable, I agreed, trusting you—"
"There is deceit and deception here!" exclaimed Ming "I didn't call you, or have anybody call you. You, or rather, one of your men, called me."
"I did not!" Red Crane was on his feet, his stocky body under the rippling black silk quivering with rage. His eyes narrowed to slits until they seemed to be mere horizontal lines. "You deny that you promised to give me Travers' tooth?"
"I certainly do," replied Ming without becoming heated herself. "I haven't got it, and I'm not 'compromising' as you call it—"
"Liar!" Red Crane spat the epithet like a snake hissing. "You have tricked me. I was a fool to believe the reputation of Tel Shai knights."
"Stay calm and keep your head," advised Ming. "We are both being manipulated."
"Be still!" retorted Red Crane. "I do not know what your game is, but I will endure it no longer. Fool, do you think I would keep my promise to a deceitful Chinese maiden? Behind this hanging is the entrance to a tunnel through which I can escape before any of your stupid police can enter this room. You have been covered since you came through that door, by a gunman hiding behind the tapestry. Try to stop me, and you die!"
"I believe you're telling the truth about not calling me," said Ming slowly. "I believe somebody tricked us both, for some reason. You were called, in my name, and I was called, in yours."
Red Crane halted short in some hissing tirade. The first hint of doubt entered his voice. "Do you still attempt to trick me?" he demanded uncertainly.
"No. I think somebody in your gang is double-crossing you. Stay calm, I'm not pulling a gun. I'm just going to show you the knife that I found sticking in the back of the fellow you seem to think I killed."
She drew it from her coat-pocket with her left hand and tossed it on the divan.
Red Crane pounced on it. His slit eyes flared wide with a terrible light and his face paled. "Of course. Only one mastermind has henchmen with such weapons. We have both been used by a mind with the cunning of two hundred years behind it."
In a torrent of hissing sibilances, he lapsed briefly into English: "I see it all now! This was too subtle for a Western barbarian! Death to them all!" Wheeling toward the tapestry behind the divan he shrieked, "Attend me!"
There was no answer, but Ming thought she saw the black velvety expanse billow slightly. Openly furious, Red Crane seized the tapestries and tore them aside. A puff of white mist encircled his head. Red Crane's scream broke in a ghastly gurgle. His head pitched forward, then his whole body swayed backward, and he fell heavily among the cushions, clutching at his throat. The Chujiran's hands fell away from the crimsoned hilt, spread wide, clutching at the thick carpet; a convulsive spasm ran through his frame, and those long fingers went limp.
Gun in hand, Ming took a single stride toward the tapestries but then halted short, staring at the figure which moved imperturbably through them: a tiny, bent man in brocaded silk robes, who smiled and bowed, his hands hidden in his wide sleeves. Weirdly enough, his wrinkled skin was a bright lemon-yellow no natural skin tones could match. It was skin tinted by decades of Alchemical potions.
"You killed Red Crane!" Ming accused.
"The wretched one indeed has been sent to join his ancestors by my hand," agreed the elder. "Be not afraid for yourself. The Chujiran who covered you through a peep-hole with an abbreviated shotgun has likewise departed this uncertain life, suddenly and silently. My own people hold supreme in the House of Blue Dreams this night. All that we ask is that you make no attempt to stay our departure."
"Who are you?" demanded Ming.
"Some call me the Manchurian. When it was learned that these unworthy ones sought a formula that revealed secrets of Alchemy, word reached me almost too late. Two men had already died. The third was menaced.
"I sent my servants instantly to intercept the evil Red Crane at the vaults they desecrated. But for your appearance, frightening the Chujirans to scattering in flight, before the trap could be sprang, my servants would have caught them all in ambush. As it was, they did manage to slay the one who carried the ivory crown Red Crane sought, and this they brought to me."
"I took the liberty of impersonating a servant of the Red Crane in my speech with you, and of pretending to be a Chinese agent of yours, while speaking with Red Crane. All worked out as I wished. Lured by the thought of the ivory crown, at the loss of which he was maddened, Red Crane came from his secret, well-guarded lair, and fell into my hands.
"I brought you here to witness his execution, so that you might realize that Mr. Murray is no longer in danger. Secrets of Alchemy are best kept closely guarded. The Manchurian has no ambitions for world empire. I wish but to hold what is mine. That I am well able to do, now that the threat of the devil-gas is lifted. And now I must be gone. Red Crane had laid careful plans for his flight out of the country. I will take advantage of his preparations."
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Ming. "The law requires me to detain you for the murder of this man. Let the police read you your rights."
"I am sorry," murmured the Manchurian with wry amusement. "The Great Work is far from completed. I swore that you would not be injured and I have no intention of being injured myself, ha ha."
As he spoke, there was a blinding flash of intensely bright light, followed by darkness. Ming sprang forward nonetheless, clutching at the tapestries which had swished in the darkness as if from the passing of a large body between them. Her fingers met only solid walls. Extending her awareness, Ming perceived the pivot on which a door panel swung but she could also tell it was bolted from the other side.
Crestfallen at the unsatisfying conclusion, the Tel Shai knight crossed over in the darkness and clicked the light back on again. She was alone in the room, of course. On the divan lay something that glinted in the lamplight, and Ming looked down on a curiously carven ivory crown.
Glancing around, she spotted a heavy iron lamp standing in the corner. Without hesitation, she brought it over and stamped it down heavily until the ivory cap was mere dust. Let that secret be lost, she thought. Tang Ming turned on her heel and strode out of the chamber, through the entrance and out onto a mundane city street where dawn had broken.
4/1/2023
