"Don't Drop My Coffin"
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dochermes"Don't Drop My Coffin"
8/17/2010
I.
Descending silently from the overcast night sky, Megan Salenger touched down nimbly in an alley between two buildings on lower Canal Street. She was certain she had not been seen by any civilians. In her black field suit complete with helmet, she was hard to spot on a night like this, and her landing had been very quick. It had been an unbearably hot muggy August day. Even after two in the morning, the temperature remained at eighty and humidity was high. Few people were on the streets. Watching and listening for any passers-by, she shut down the gravity shield disc between her shoulder blades and unfastened her helmet to hold it in the crook of one arm.
As she stepped out onto the sidewalk and passed under a streetlamp in the haze, she was revealed to be a slim young woman with short tousled black hair, a pointed nose and alert dark eyes. Just thirty, she appeared considerably younger and would likely have been asked for ID in a bar. The Trom Girl strode quickly toward the building on the corner. A blue-topped taxi rolled past without pausing. Megan studied the scene before proceeding further, having been in the Midnight War for a decade had only increased her innate wariness. A few lights were on in windows on the fourth and fifth floors, where Sheng had told her were apartments occupied by elderly pensioners. The lobby was also illuminated, but what interested her was that one window on the third floor was lit.
On the frosted glass of that window, the words 'ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS' could be seen from the street, as well as 'CHUAN LO TSING,' which she knew meant either 'Hard-Working Fist' or 'Fist For Hire.' Sheng's new detective agency, opened only two weeks earlier. Megan was not aware of the faint wry smile which turned up the corners of her lips. Her teammate had been talking for years about someday starting his own agency and now he had finally done it. He kept the unusual hours of twelve midnight to nine in the morning because he expected that would be when most of his clients would need help most urgently.
The lobby was surprisingly unlocked. As she moved through the tiny foyer and up the wide wooden staircase beyond, Megan felt again a twinge of worry that Sheng had not answered his Link. It was not like him to ever forget the communicator or to not respond. Too serious for her own good under the best circumstances, the Trom Girl was now anxious to see if her teammate was in trouble. She trotted up the stairs quicker than most people could walk on a level surface. Her free hand dropped to clasp around the beam projector held on her belt.
On the third floor, a door stood open to her right and light spilled out over the bare wooden floorboard of the hall. She could see the same information about the agency repeated on the glass panel of the door as well as a phone number. Megan hurried through the doorway, calling "Sheng? Are you there?" as she entered the one large high-ceilinged room.
There was a bathroom door in one corner and a large closet, but most of the office was taken up by a substantial desk with a swivel chair behind it, a couch along one wall and four straightback wooden chairs with red leather seats. There were two hanging plants behind the desk and a big calendar on the wall with photos of sunsets. What took her by surprise was an elderly Asian man sitting in one of the chairs next to the desk and reading a newspaper which he rustled indignantly at her entrance.
All of her training told her that he could present no threat to her. His body language, the way his clothing hung and the way he was seated, all indicated he was unarmed. Nor did he seem imposing in a physical sense. She estimated his age at seventy-two or seventy-three, a fragile one hundred and fifteen pounds at about her own height of five feet three. The man was wearing slippers, baggy tan trousers and a white T-shirt with an open cloth vest over it. His white hair stuck out wildly as if he had never entertained the thought of using a comb. Behind the thick lenses of his old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes could not be seen clearly. From his skin tones and facial bone structure, she thought he was likely to be Southern Chinese.
His greeting to her was, "Go eat something and come back! You are too skinny."
Megan was at a loss how to respond. Brought up from infancy by the cold analytical Trom, she knew her social graces remained unpolished but that sentence seemed unwarranted. Now, she almost stammered but managed to say, "Excuse me, I am looking for Sheng Mo-Yuan."
"Are you now? And what would you want with my nephew?"
"Your... nephew?" The Trom Girl felt increasingly confused. Sheng had come from the adjacent realm of Chujir and he certainly had no relatives in this world. This man could not possibly be his uncle.
"Do you suspect your boyfriend of cheating on you because you cannot cook?" the old man demanded. "Does your boss think you steal change from the cash register? Have you been seen kicking dogs in public? Bah. Begone. Sheng has no time for such trifles." Despite his words, he folded up his newspaper and leaned over to drop it on the desk to his right, giving her his full attention. "Or perhaps you are here on more serious matters, though I doubt it."
"Hmm. My name is Megan Salenger. I am Sheng's teammate in the Kenneth Dred Foundation. He hasn't returned calls from myself or from our captain. Do you know where he is?"
"Hah! You should have said so. Why waste so much of my time? My nephew has mentioned his friends in the KDF. Ghostbreakers and bandit slayers, I take your team to be. I am Sheng Pao-Wang, I suppose you might as well call me 'Uncle Pao,' which most of you white people mistakenly feel is appropriate. I can tell you my nephew is not here. He is on a case."
"Oh. That is some relief." Megan placed her helmet on one of the chairs and unfastened the front of her field suit jacket. "I am less surprised that he does not respond to our calls if he might need to be quiet."
For the first time, Uncle Pao's gruff manner faltered. A glimpse of anxiety and even fear could be seen. "Sheng is investigating a most dangerous crimelord, Miss Salenger. He is treading into the kingdom of the infamous Tzing-Dao Wang, the Spinner of Webs... and Wang's daughter Olivia, who is if anything even crueler and more insidious than her father."
II.
Megan's response was to pick up her helmet again, taking a step back toward the door. "I must see what I can do. Is there any information you can give me to help?"
"Are you high on drugs?" demanded Uncle Pao. "How do you think you can move among my people? The walls of Chinatown will not open to you. How will you even make yourself understood without speaking real language?"
>"I know a few phrases,<" she replied in Cantonese. >"I should be able to get by.<"
He stuck to English, but his voice was rising. "With that accent?! You sound like you are yodeling!"
"Uncle, will you help me? We both are concerned about Sheng's safety."
That approach worked. The old man glared down at the floor, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, "The boy is brave and honest. But he lacks prudence. He has no common sense. He would slap a tiger across the face if he had the chance. I do not think you are a timid little flower, Miss Salenger. Sheng has told me some tales about his exploits with you."
"I welcome your guidance, uncle," the Trom Girl said. Inwardly, she was rather proud of how well this was going. Perhaps she was finally getting to understand people. "Where must we go?"
"Not far. We can walk. Tell me, miss, do you carry a gun like most Americans? Perhaps a bazooka up your sleeve?"
"No. I have a few defensive devices, though." She opened her mouth to explain about her beam projector but then decided otherwise. Trom policy restricted her from letting civilians know about the advanced tech available to her. "That's all I can say."
Pao moved toward the door with one bony finger raised. "Oh I can guess. My nephew has dropped a few hints about your ability without meaning to. Heh, when I listen to his stories about fighting the creatures of the night, I reduce his heroism by half and increase that of you and your friends by half. Hee hee."
Despite herself, Megan smirked at that. She followed Uncle Pao out into the hall, watching as he reached back in to turn off the ceiling light and lock the office door. "I have read a file of this Spinner of Webs," she said. "He is an Alchemist, well over a hundred years old. He fought in the Boxer Rebellion and helped resistance against the Japanese invaders. For the past twenty years, Tzing-Dao Wang has escaped every attempt by the FBI's Department 21 Black or the Mandate to capture him."
Uncle Pao made a derisive snort and headed down the street at a smart pace. He strode with confidence and purpose that a younger man would not be ashamed to display. Megan followed, keeping just a tiny bit behind him on his right side so that he might lead the way.
"You know nothing of the Spinner of Webs, young lady," the elderly man grumbled. "But then, even the Chinese who were unfortunate enough to be born in this raw land have learned little of our people's secret history. We endured the tyranny of Wu Lung, of the Manchurian, of the Golden Crane. Warlocks of their type have trod on our necks all down the ages! Why, I could tell you tales of terror that would make you empty your bladder..."
As he launched into an unnecessarily detailed description of the hideous tortures which Wu Lung reserved for those who had betrayed him, the Trom Girl listened but at the same time she wondered how Sheng had met this old man. For that matter, why had Sheng allowed this 'Uncle Pao' to take part in Argent Investigations to the point of watching the office? It was unexpected. Pao was trying to shock her with the method which used a live rat inside a copper bowl strapped to the victim's stomach. When Megan stopped short, he thought it was his story bothering her. Actually, she was staring at the corner street sign.
Coronet Street? They should be crossing Mulberry at this point. With her eidetic memory, the Trom Girl had memorized street maps of Manhattan and it bothered her that she could be mistaken. Had the street been renamed recently? That was possible.
"I'm sorry to have upset you," Uncle Pao said, sounding more gleeful than regretful.
"No. I do not recognize this intesection."
"Ah, Chinatown is full of surprises," he chortled. "In some ways, it is a timeless limbo. Come. The funeral home is only a few blocks away."
Traffic was conspicuous by its absence. Even in the middle of the night, even with the uncomfortable muggy conditions, there should have been some vehicles rolling past and a few passers-by on their own missions, but the streets were deserted. Megan had noticed this before on nights when Midnight War activity was high. People felt on some instinctive self-preservation level that there was danger out there in the dark. It would be better not to go out for cigarettes or beer, better to stay inside and check again that the door was locked and the windows firmly closed. Midnight War events often had that surreal empty feeling because Humans sensed it was wiser to avoid those areas at that time.
Uncle Pao took her arm and drew into the doorway of a darkened store. "There. One web of the Spinner of Webs, Miss Salenger."
Ahead of them, sitting by itself next to a vacant lot strewn with debris, sat a three story building that had once been white brick but which now was an off-tan color after decades of city air. No lights showed in any windows. On a post before the front porch was a sign reading FINAL REST FUNERAL HOME - Z. CARLEY AND SONS, and two boards had been nailed across the front door in an X shape that make it clear the place was out of business. And yet, parked in the tarmac lot behind the funeral home was a long black hearse and a dark Mercedes beside it.
"Give me a minute," the Trom Girl said, placing her helmet on and lowering its visor. The heads-up display began showing numbers and graphs in luminous green on the inside of that visor. Megan pressed her left ear pod inward and turned it one click clockwise, then made a thoughtful hmmm noise.
"Ah, the notorious gadgets and gimmicks that the Trom are famous for," Pao grumbled. "When my nephew annoyed me with wild stories about your devices, I thought he was talking about some science fiction television series he wasted time watching."
"Infra-red scanning shows six Human-sized heat sources moving in that building," she answered as if she had not been listening. "Another one is standing outside, at the rear of the structure. I must neutralize the sentry first, of course."
"Oh well, naturally...." Pao muttered. He began clenched and unclenching his gnarled fists. "I am not as young as I was once, but my Hung Gar boxing is still dependable."
Megan had unclipped a flat metal device from her belt and adjusted two dials on its surface. The beam projector was designed to fit easily in her hand with the bulb at its end pointed forward. "I will use the neural shock at medium. Wait here, please." With that, she rose silently straight up into the air and was gone from sight in an instant. Pao's mouth fell open as if the muscles had given way.
III.
Less than a minute later, Megan plunged down from the darkness and landed on her toes as casually as if she had stepped down off the bottom step of a staircase. Uncle Pao made a noise that might be rendered as "Awrrk!" and nearly fell down backing away from her sudden re-appearance.
The Trom Girl did not seem to notice his consternation. She thumbed an earpod to raise the visor on her helmet and announced, "The sentry will be unconscious for the next fifty to sixty minutes. I also took the precaution of disabling his pistol, but I replaced it in his belt. If we happen to be in a position where he attempts to fire at us, do not worry."
"Don't DO that!" Pao squawked. "Make a whooshing sound when you fly or shoot some exhaust or something!"
"I must apologize for startling you," she said politely enough while not sounding at all sorry. Megan realized she had deliberately given Uncle Pao a slight jolt to repay him for trying to horrify her with tales of Chinese torture. That was an unworthy gesture, not up to Trom standards of behavior. I have been spending too much time with Unicorn, Megan thought, she is rubbing off on me and I am not having any similar effect on her....
Aloud, she went on, "I deactivated the rather basic security system as well. When we enter, no alarms will be triggered. Forgive my boldness, I assumed that you wanted to enter that building with me but perhaps you would prefer to wait outside in case we need help?"
"What?! Of course I will be going with you. I already know what I will say if we are stopped, that I ordered my own coffin weeks ago and have not heard from them, so decided to see what they had done with my money. These are Chinese. They will understand."
Walking quickly through the sullen night heat, Megan led the way. "Let me take the lead if there is danger," she said back over one shoulder. "I wear armor under my field suit and I have my beam projector."
"You were an orphan," Uncle Pao said without build up to the remark.
That made her falter. The Trom Girl slowed almost to a halt as they reached the macadam parking lot behind the funeral home. "Yes," was all she said.
"And raised by a stiff-necked council of the bloodless Trom, who could neither laugh nor cry if their lives depended on it. You never had a real family. Neither did my nephew."
That made Megan come to a stop and swing around to face the old man. "Sir, this may not be the best time for these insights."
"I am trying to say I see a link between the three of us. Sheng lost his parents in a flood in Chujir when he was a toddler, I was separated from my father and mother when the Communists took power and I was smuggled into Kowloon without so much as a spare shirt. I never found out what happened to them, I became a live-in servant for a wealthy magazine publisher. When... when Sheng and I met, it was not only that we shared the same name that connected us."
"I think I understand, uncle." Uncomfortable with emotional interplay, Megan did not know how to respond. She thought this was Uncle Pao's way of hinting that he knew perfectly well Sheng was no flesh and blood relation of his. The two men had bonded because they were both looking for some kind of family, even if subconsciously. "You have given me much to think about, but I am afraid now is not the right moment to discuss it further."
Stepping up to the rear of the funeral home, with its wide segmented steel door that slid up to give the hearses access, they found the sentry propped up on a lawn chain against a wall, hands clasped over his abdomen. This was how Megan had left him. He looked as if he had simply dozed off. With her power source at the ready, Megan opened the back door and led Uncle Pao through a foyer with chairs and coatracks and rubber floor mats that ironically read WELCOME. They passed a bathroom and a janitorial closet into a prep room stocked with embalming pumps, cosmetic supplies and smocks hanging on wall hooks. Boxes of blue latex gloves sat five high on a shelf. In one corner was a pile of rolled up rubberized sheets and several three-legged stools. On a raised platform in the center space rested a plain pine coffin with brass handles.
The Trom Girl tensed visibly. She pressed one hand back against Pao's bony chest, indicating he should stay put. She herself hesitated for a long moment before stepping up to the coffin and raising the heavy lid on its hinges. "Don't look," she warned but of course Pao was already crowding up next to her. The old man cried out as if stabbed in the heart when he saw the body of Sheng Mo-Yuan lying before him.
IV.
Pao was not able to speak. His breathing was quick and shallow as he sank down to kneel next to the coffin. His head lowered until he was pressing his face against the edge of the open section. Sheng looked different than he normally had, his tawny skin had a waxen surface and the thick black hair was lifeless. For once the mocking dark eyes were peacefully closed and the mouth was frozen in a satisfied smile.
But Megan reached down and grasped Pao's upper arm, gently drawing him back up to stand. She had clipped her weapon to its plate on her belt and had been using the sensors in her Link instead. "Wait," she said. "This may not be as final as it seems."
"Oh please, no sermons at a time like this..."
She took his hand and pulled it down to close his unwilling fingers around Sheng's wrist. "Wait. Be patient."
The stricken expression on Pao's face eased into one of uncertainty. "Was that... No, it can't be."
"He has a pulse, four per minute. I believe that is barely enough to keep the blood from settling and coagulating. My readings show that his skin is two degrees above room temperature. One complete breath every ninety seconds. See those tiny circular holes in the lid? This coffin is not airtight."
Pao was fighting against the hope that rose inside him. "But this... can't be enough to keep him alive. I don't understand."
"The sensors detect some substance in his circulatory system that I cannot identify," Megan said. "Since we know Tzing-Dao Wang is an Alchemist, it seems likely that he has drugged Sheng with one of his Velkanu potions. Sheng is in suspended animation. He appears dead but his functions have been slowed as much as possible."
>"Then he's alive? He's going to be all right?"< asked Pao in Cantonese. >"Thank God. He means more to me than life itself."<
"I can't be certain, of course. Remaining in such a state for more than a few hours would cause increasing deterioration and damage." Megan thumbed one of Sheng's eyelids up and saw the pupils were dilated. "Hmm. My conjecture is that Wang intends for Sheng to recover, otherwise he would simply kill him outright. I have better news for you, uncle. Sheng seems to be recovering quickly."
"It is his Tel Shai training, I think," Uncle Pao said with some excitement. "Kumundu, whatever style that might be, seems to enhance his Chi. I have seen myself how he shrugs off damage that would kill a horse and how he heals wounds overnight. I can well believe that this Alchemical serum would not keep him under for long."
Finished with her readings, Megan snapped off the Link and returned it to her belt. She could not tell even Sheng's close friend the secret of the Tagra tea. It was Tel Shai's strictest taboo.
"Imagine his health if he stayed away from bacon double cheeseburgers," Pao muttered. He took a deep breath and exhaled with relief. "Shouldn't we be getting him out of there? Imagine waking up in a coffin!"
"You are quite right," she began but froze as they heard a car door slam outside. In a blur, the Trom Girl lowered the coffin lid and hauled Uncle Pao down behind the pile of rubberized sheets in the corner, nearly picking him up off the ground as she did so.
>"My word, you are strong for such a little..."< was all he said before she clamped a hand over his mouth and hissed for silence.
They heard excited voices chattering from the parking lot, then a single commanding voice was cut them short. Silence followed. The door to the prep room swung inwardly violently and five big men in full business suits surged inward. Each was holding a pistol, one with a big .357 Magnum and the other two gripping Glock 19s. The men were Asian but uncharacteristically tall and brawny, evidently chosen for their size. Forming a semi-circle facing outward, guns ready, they stepped further into the room.
"Stay still," hissed the thin small man behind them. Tzing-Dao Wang wore yellow silk pants and long-sleeved shirt but over those clothes was wrapped a heavy dark wool robe with voluminous sleeves. Even on this muggy summer night he bundled up. He leaned lightly on a slender black cane with a silver pommel. The Spinner of Webs had a long somber face with a prominent beaklike nose and deepset eyes of the true jade green. Every inch of skin that showed was covered with fine, closely-set wrinkles which gave away his true age. Alchemy might extend life and vitality, but it could not restore youth once lost.
"We better look around..." began one of the thugs.
"You were not given leave to speak," Wang cut him off. "First, I want everyone to load that coffin into the hearse and then Gan will drive it to my secondary headquarters. Yeung is waiting in the Mercedes, he will drive me but only after the rest of you search this building for intruders. Bringing our prisoner to a safe place is of paramount importance."
The man who had spoken out of turn now bowed and kept his head down. "To hear is to obey, sir."
"You do not understand yet, Lieh," the mastermind continued in a gentler tone. "That man's body is saturated with the essence of the Tel Shai potion. If I can isolate it, reproduce it, the benefits will be beyond price. Lieh, you and the others take the coffin. Yeung, stay alert. Intruders are likely in the building even now."
Dutifully, four of the henchmen placed themselves around the pine box and grasped the brass handles. Glancing at each other to be sure they worked at the same time, they lifted the heavy coffin up to shoulder level and took a few tentative steps toward the opened door where the hearse waited outside.
"The horse with eight legs," mused Tzing-Dao Wang. "Taking a man on his final ride. The ancient symbolism is poignant."
From behind the pile of rubber sheets in the corner, a small hand poked out and pointed its flat metal device. The neural shock beam was invisible and the beam projector made no sound, not even a click as the button was pressed. Instantly, the Chinese thug holding one lower handle of the coffin sagged and fell face down on the cold concrete floor. The other three gangsters were taken by surprise and although they didn't let go completely, the bottom end of their burden did fall and hit the floor with a thud.
"Hey!" came a muffled voice from within. "Watch it. Don't drop my coffin."
V.
With the last word, the lid slammed open and Sheng Mo-Yuan tumbled out. He stumbled unsteadily, but swung around to connect a wide roundhouse swing that lifted one gangster up off the floor entirely. Sheng had evidently focussed his gralic charge into enhanced strength. When the nearest goon grabbed him from behind by the arms, the Chujiran adventurer easily shrugged free and whirled on one foot with a backfist that spun the gangster halfway around and dropped him senseless.
The remaining man in Tzing-Dao Wang's employ was already stretching out on the floor as if he had suddenly become unbearably sleepy. Megan Salenger wriggled out from behind the pile of rubber sheets, pointing her beam projector at the Spinner of Webs with a steady hand. "Sheng, do you feel alright?" she called.
"Huh? Oh, hi, Megan. Hi, Uncle. Good to see you. Yeah, I'm a little woozy but I'll be alright." He slowly turned around, taking in the situation. "I could hear you and Uncle Pao talking about me but I couldn't manage to move just then. I was afraid at first you were going to start doing an autopsy on me, Megan."
"Do not take your eyes off your enemy," Pao snorted. "We must deal with the Spinner of Webs now!"
The ancient Alchemist had taken a few steps toward the open door to outside during the brief tussle. He was holding up both bony hands at chest level. "As you can see, I am unarmed."
"Watch him," Sheng warned. "He's a got a hundred potions hidden on him. You know what Alchemists are like, they're tricky."
"Tzing-Dao Wang, I place you in our custody," the Trom Girl announced as she stepped closer. "You are wanted by the police of several nations for many offenses, including human trafficking, slavery, smuggling, sale of narcotics and running illegal gambling dens. I intend to turn you over to the FBI's Department 21 Black."
The Spinner of Webs laughed out loud. "Oh, my dear, you have the untroubled confidence of youth. Heh. I can escape as easily as snapping my fingers." And he did just that, producing a flash of blinding white light and a thunderclap that echoed in the room.
For only three or four seconds, everyone was dazzled and deafened by the unexpected blast but that was enough. Megan recovered first and zoomed across the room at chest level with her gravity shield but unfortunately, the motorized steel door had lowered. She slammed her head right into it with a dull clunk and bounced back to land in a seated position. Rushing past her, Sheng squatted, seized the bottom of the door and wrenched it upward despite its resistance. The hearse still sat out in the parking lot but the Mercedes was long gone.
"Oww." Megan got to her feet, pressing gingerly with her fingertips to a fresh bump on the top of her head.
>"Your friend has learned that steel is harder than even her American skull,<" Uncle Pao confided to Sheng.
>"I understood that,"< Megan snapped, also in Cantonese. "Sheng, did you plant a tracer on Wang?"
"No, I didn't get a chance. As soon as he saw me, he sprayed me with one of his Alchemical serums. The next I knew, I was waking up insde a coffin, of all places."
Still rubbing her dome, the Trom Girl came over to stand next to her teammate, giving him an analytical look. "Do you feel back to normal yet? Any after-effects?"
"Oh, I'm okay. At least we can question these henchmen on the floor before handing them over to 21 Black. We might get information about Wang that'll be useful. That way the whole case isn't a complete loss. How did he make that explosion anyway?"
Uncle Pao raised a thin finger. Aha. That is an old trick that Alchemists use. They coat their fingernails with two different potions and when they snap their fingers, the potions react with each other to make the flash. You have much lore to learn, nephew. You should not go out into danger without an adult to watch you."
"That reminds me," Sheng said. "When I was in the coffin, I could hear you and Megan talking but I couldn't move yet." He grinned at the old man. "What was all that about me meaning more to you than life itself?"
"Feh. In your drugged state, you must have misheard me," Uncle Pao began to protest, but he gave in and went over to hug Sheng. "I admit, it is good to see you alive and well. Come. We will take your friend here to the Red and Green Pepper restaurant and introduce her to braised chicken feet.. with the toenails clipped off, of course."
8/26/2019
8/17/2010
I.
Descending silently from the overcast night sky, Megan Salenger touched down nimbly in an alley between two buildings on lower Canal Street. She was certain she had not been seen by any civilians. In her black field suit complete with helmet, she was hard to spot on a night like this, and her landing had been very quick. It had been an unbearably hot muggy August day. Even after two in the morning, the temperature remained at eighty and humidity was high. Few people were on the streets. Watching and listening for any passers-by, she shut down the gravity shield disc between her shoulder blades and unfastened her helmet to hold it in the crook of one arm.
As she stepped out onto the sidewalk and passed under a streetlamp in the haze, she was revealed to be a slim young woman with short tousled black hair, a pointed nose and alert dark eyes. Just thirty, she appeared considerably younger and would likely have been asked for ID in a bar. The Trom Girl strode quickly toward the building on the corner. A blue-topped taxi rolled past without pausing. Megan studied the scene before proceeding further, having been in the Midnight War for a decade had only increased her innate wariness. A few lights were on in windows on the fourth and fifth floors, where Sheng had told her were apartments occupied by elderly pensioners. The lobby was also illuminated, but what interested her was that one window on the third floor was lit.
On the frosted glass of that window, the words 'ARGENT INVESTIGATIONS' could be seen from the street, as well as 'CHUAN LO TSING,' which she knew meant either 'Hard-Working Fist' or 'Fist For Hire.' Sheng's new detective agency, opened only two weeks earlier. Megan was not aware of the faint wry smile which turned up the corners of her lips. Her teammate had been talking for years about someday starting his own agency and now he had finally done it. He kept the unusual hours of twelve midnight to nine in the morning because he expected that would be when most of his clients would need help most urgently.
The lobby was surprisingly unlocked. As she moved through the tiny foyer and up the wide wooden staircase beyond, Megan felt again a twinge of worry that Sheng had not answered his Link. It was not like him to ever forget the communicator or to not respond. Too serious for her own good under the best circumstances, the Trom Girl was now anxious to see if her teammate was in trouble. She trotted up the stairs quicker than most people could walk on a level surface. Her free hand dropped to clasp around the beam projector held on her belt.
On the third floor, a door stood open to her right and light spilled out over the bare wooden floorboard of the hall. She could see the same information about the agency repeated on the glass panel of the door as well as a phone number. Megan hurried through the doorway, calling "Sheng? Are you there?" as she entered the one large high-ceilinged room.
There was a bathroom door in one corner and a large closet, but most of the office was taken up by a substantial desk with a swivel chair behind it, a couch along one wall and four straightback wooden chairs with red leather seats. There were two hanging plants behind the desk and a big calendar on the wall with photos of sunsets. What took her by surprise was an elderly Asian man sitting in one of the chairs next to the desk and reading a newspaper which he rustled indignantly at her entrance.
All of her training told her that he could present no threat to her. His body language, the way his clothing hung and the way he was seated, all indicated he was unarmed. Nor did he seem imposing in a physical sense. She estimated his age at seventy-two or seventy-three, a fragile one hundred and fifteen pounds at about her own height of five feet three. The man was wearing slippers, baggy tan trousers and a white T-shirt with an open cloth vest over it. His white hair stuck out wildly as if he had never entertained the thought of using a comb. Behind the thick lenses of his old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses, his eyes could not be seen clearly. From his skin tones and facial bone structure, she thought he was likely to be Southern Chinese.
His greeting to her was, "Go eat something and come back! You are too skinny."
Megan was at a loss how to respond. Brought up from infancy by the cold analytical Trom, she knew her social graces remained unpolished but that sentence seemed unwarranted. Now, she almost stammered but managed to say, "Excuse me, I am looking for Sheng Mo-Yuan."
"Are you now? And what would you want with my nephew?"
"Your... nephew?" The Trom Girl felt increasingly confused. Sheng had come from the adjacent realm of Chujir and he certainly had no relatives in this world. This man could not possibly be his uncle.
"Do you suspect your boyfriend of cheating on you because you cannot cook?" the old man demanded. "Does your boss think you steal change from the cash register? Have you been seen kicking dogs in public? Bah. Begone. Sheng has no time for such trifles." Despite his words, he folded up his newspaper and leaned over to drop it on the desk to his right, giving her his full attention. "Or perhaps you are here on more serious matters, though I doubt it."
"Hmm. My name is Megan Salenger. I am Sheng's teammate in the Kenneth Dred Foundation. He hasn't returned calls from myself or from our captain. Do you know where he is?"
"Hah! You should have said so. Why waste so much of my time? My nephew has mentioned his friends in the KDF. Ghostbreakers and bandit slayers, I take your team to be. I am Sheng Pao-Wang, I suppose you might as well call me 'Uncle Pao,' which most of you white people mistakenly feel is appropriate. I can tell you my nephew is not here. He is on a case."
"Oh. That is some relief." Megan placed her helmet on one of the chairs and unfastened the front of her field suit jacket. "I am less surprised that he does not respond to our calls if he might need to be quiet."
For the first time, Uncle Pao's gruff manner faltered. A glimpse of anxiety and even fear could be seen. "Sheng is investigating a most dangerous crimelord, Miss Salenger. He is treading into the kingdom of the infamous Tzing-Dao Wang, the Spinner of Webs... and Wang's daughter Olivia, who is if anything even crueler and more insidious than her father."
II.
Megan's response was to pick up her helmet again, taking a step back toward the door. "I must see what I can do. Is there any information you can give me to help?"
"Are you high on drugs?" demanded Uncle Pao. "How do you think you can move among my people? The walls of Chinatown will not open to you. How will you even make yourself understood without speaking real language?"
>"I know a few phrases,<" she replied in Cantonese. >"I should be able to get by.<"
He stuck to English, but his voice was rising. "With that accent?! You sound like you are yodeling!"
"Uncle, will you help me? We both are concerned about Sheng's safety."
That approach worked. The old man glared down at the floor, shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, "The boy is brave and honest. But he lacks prudence. He has no common sense. He would slap a tiger across the face if he had the chance. I do not think you are a timid little flower, Miss Salenger. Sheng has told me some tales about his exploits with you."
"I welcome your guidance, uncle," the Trom Girl said. Inwardly, she was rather proud of how well this was going. Perhaps she was finally getting to understand people. "Where must we go?"
"Not far. We can walk. Tell me, miss, do you carry a gun like most Americans? Perhaps a bazooka up your sleeve?"
"No. I have a few defensive devices, though." She opened her mouth to explain about her beam projector but then decided otherwise. Trom policy restricted her from letting civilians know about the advanced tech available to her. "That's all I can say."
Pao moved toward the door with one bony finger raised. "Oh I can guess. My nephew has dropped a few hints about your ability without meaning to. Heh, when I listen to his stories about fighting the creatures of the night, I reduce his heroism by half and increase that of you and your friends by half. Hee hee."
Despite herself, Megan smirked at that. She followed Uncle Pao out into the hall, watching as he reached back in to turn off the ceiling light and lock the office door. "I have read a file of this Spinner of Webs," she said. "He is an Alchemist, well over a hundred years old. He fought in the Boxer Rebellion and helped resistance against the Japanese invaders. For the past twenty years, Tzing-Dao Wang has escaped every attempt by the FBI's Department 21 Black or the Mandate to capture him."
Uncle Pao made a derisive snort and headed down the street at a smart pace. He strode with confidence and purpose that a younger man would not be ashamed to display. Megan followed, keeping just a tiny bit behind him on his right side so that he might lead the way.
"You know nothing of the Spinner of Webs, young lady," the elderly man grumbled. "But then, even the Chinese who were unfortunate enough to be born in this raw land have learned little of our people's secret history. We endured the tyranny of Wu Lung, of the Manchurian, of the Golden Crane. Warlocks of their type have trod on our necks all down the ages! Why, I could tell you tales of terror that would make you empty your bladder..."
As he launched into an unnecessarily detailed description of the hideous tortures which Wu Lung reserved for those who had betrayed him, the Trom Girl listened but at the same time she wondered how Sheng had met this old man. For that matter, why had Sheng allowed this 'Uncle Pao' to take part in Argent Investigations to the point of watching the office? It was unexpected. Pao was trying to shock her with the method which used a live rat inside a copper bowl strapped to the victim's stomach. When Megan stopped short, he thought it was his story bothering her. Actually, she was staring at the corner street sign.
Coronet Street? They should be crossing Mulberry at this point. With her eidetic memory, the Trom Girl had memorized street maps of Manhattan and it bothered her that she could be mistaken. Had the street been renamed recently? That was possible.
"I'm sorry to have upset you," Uncle Pao said, sounding more gleeful than regretful.
"No. I do not recognize this intesection."
"Ah, Chinatown is full of surprises," he chortled. "In some ways, it is a timeless limbo. Come. The funeral home is only a few blocks away."
Traffic was conspicuous by its absence. Even in the middle of the night, even with the uncomfortable muggy conditions, there should have been some vehicles rolling past and a few passers-by on their own missions, but the streets were deserted. Megan had noticed this before on nights when Midnight War activity was high. People felt on some instinctive self-preservation level that there was danger out there in the dark. It would be better not to go out for cigarettes or beer, better to stay inside and check again that the door was locked and the windows firmly closed. Midnight War events often had that surreal empty feeling because Humans sensed it was wiser to avoid those areas at that time.
Uncle Pao took her arm and drew into the doorway of a darkened store. "There. One web of the Spinner of Webs, Miss Salenger."
Ahead of them, sitting by itself next to a vacant lot strewn with debris, sat a three story building that had once been white brick but which now was an off-tan color after decades of city air. No lights showed in any windows. On a post before the front porch was a sign reading FINAL REST FUNERAL HOME - Z. CARLEY AND SONS, and two boards had been nailed across the front door in an X shape that make it clear the place was out of business. And yet, parked in the tarmac lot behind the funeral home was a long black hearse and a dark Mercedes beside it.
"Give me a minute," the Trom Girl said, placing her helmet on and lowering its visor. The heads-up display began showing numbers and graphs in luminous green on the inside of that visor. Megan pressed her left ear pod inward and turned it one click clockwise, then made a thoughtful hmmm noise.
"Ah, the notorious gadgets and gimmicks that the Trom are famous for," Pao grumbled. "When my nephew annoyed me with wild stories about your devices, I thought he was talking about some science fiction television series he wasted time watching."
"Infra-red scanning shows six Human-sized heat sources moving in that building," she answered as if she had not been listening. "Another one is standing outside, at the rear of the structure. I must neutralize the sentry first, of course."
"Oh well, naturally...." Pao muttered. He began clenched and unclenching his gnarled fists. "I am not as young as I was once, but my Hung Gar boxing is still dependable."
Megan had unclipped a flat metal device from her belt and adjusted two dials on its surface. The beam projector was designed to fit easily in her hand with the bulb at its end pointed forward. "I will use the neural shock at medium. Wait here, please." With that, she rose silently straight up into the air and was gone from sight in an instant. Pao's mouth fell open as if the muscles had given way.
III.
Less than a minute later, Megan plunged down from the darkness and landed on her toes as casually as if she had stepped down off the bottom step of a staircase. Uncle Pao made a noise that might be rendered as "Awrrk!" and nearly fell down backing away from her sudden re-appearance.
The Trom Girl did not seem to notice his consternation. She thumbed an earpod to raise the visor on her helmet and announced, "The sentry will be unconscious for the next fifty to sixty minutes. I also took the precaution of disabling his pistol, but I replaced it in his belt. If we happen to be in a position where he attempts to fire at us, do not worry."
"Don't DO that!" Pao squawked. "Make a whooshing sound when you fly or shoot some exhaust or something!"
"I must apologize for startling you," she said politely enough while not sounding at all sorry. Megan realized she had deliberately given Uncle Pao a slight jolt to repay him for trying to horrify her with tales of Chinese torture. That was an unworthy gesture, not up to Trom standards of behavior. I have been spending too much time with Unicorn, Megan thought, she is rubbing off on me and I am not having any similar effect on her....
Aloud, she went on, "I deactivated the rather basic security system as well. When we enter, no alarms will be triggered. Forgive my boldness, I assumed that you wanted to enter that building with me but perhaps you would prefer to wait outside in case we need help?"
"What?! Of course I will be going with you. I already know what I will say if we are stopped, that I ordered my own coffin weeks ago and have not heard from them, so decided to see what they had done with my money. These are Chinese. They will understand."
Walking quickly through the sullen night heat, Megan led the way. "Let me take the lead if there is danger," she said back over one shoulder. "I wear armor under my field suit and I have my beam projector."
"You were an orphan," Uncle Pao said without build up to the remark.
That made her falter. The Trom Girl slowed almost to a halt as they reached the macadam parking lot behind the funeral home. "Yes," was all she said.
"And raised by a stiff-necked council of the bloodless Trom, who could neither laugh nor cry if their lives depended on it. You never had a real family. Neither did my nephew."
That made Megan come to a stop and swing around to face the old man. "Sir, this may not be the best time for these insights."
"I am trying to say I see a link between the three of us. Sheng lost his parents in a flood in Chujir when he was a toddler, I was separated from my father and mother when the Communists took power and I was smuggled into Kowloon without so much as a spare shirt. I never found out what happened to them, I became a live-in servant for a wealthy magazine publisher. When... when Sheng and I met, it was not only that we shared the same name that connected us."
"I think I understand, uncle." Uncomfortable with emotional interplay, Megan did not know how to respond. She thought this was Uncle Pao's way of hinting that he knew perfectly well Sheng was no flesh and blood relation of his. The two men had bonded because they were both looking for some kind of family, even if subconsciously. "You have given me much to think about, but I am afraid now is not the right moment to discuss it further."
Stepping up to the rear of the funeral home, with its wide segmented steel door that slid up to give the hearses access, they found the sentry propped up on a lawn chain against a wall, hands clasped over his abdomen. This was how Megan had left him. He looked as if he had simply dozed off. With her power source at the ready, Megan opened the back door and led Uncle Pao through a foyer with chairs and coatracks and rubber floor mats that ironically read WELCOME. They passed a bathroom and a janitorial closet into a prep room stocked with embalming pumps, cosmetic supplies and smocks hanging on wall hooks. Boxes of blue latex gloves sat five high on a shelf. In one corner was a pile of rolled up rubberized sheets and several three-legged stools. On a raised platform in the center space rested a plain pine coffin with brass handles.
The Trom Girl tensed visibly. She pressed one hand back against Pao's bony chest, indicating he should stay put. She herself hesitated for a long moment before stepping up to the coffin and raising the heavy lid on its hinges. "Don't look," she warned but of course Pao was already crowding up next to her. The old man cried out as if stabbed in the heart when he saw the body of Sheng Mo-Yuan lying before him.
IV.
Pao was not able to speak. His breathing was quick and shallow as he sank down to kneel next to the coffin. His head lowered until he was pressing his face against the edge of the open section. Sheng looked different than he normally had, his tawny skin had a waxen surface and the thick black hair was lifeless. For once the mocking dark eyes were peacefully closed and the mouth was frozen in a satisfied smile.
But Megan reached down and grasped Pao's upper arm, gently drawing him back up to stand. She had clipped her weapon to its plate on her belt and had been using the sensors in her Link instead. "Wait," she said. "This may not be as final as it seems."
"Oh please, no sermons at a time like this..."
She took his hand and pulled it down to close his unwilling fingers around Sheng's wrist. "Wait. Be patient."
The stricken expression on Pao's face eased into one of uncertainty. "Was that... No, it can't be."
"He has a pulse, four per minute. I believe that is barely enough to keep the blood from settling and coagulating. My readings show that his skin is two degrees above room temperature. One complete breath every ninety seconds. See those tiny circular holes in the lid? This coffin is not airtight."
Pao was fighting against the hope that rose inside him. "But this... can't be enough to keep him alive. I don't understand."
"The sensors detect some substance in his circulatory system that I cannot identify," Megan said. "Since we know Tzing-Dao Wang is an Alchemist, it seems likely that he has drugged Sheng with one of his Velkanu potions. Sheng is in suspended animation. He appears dead but his functions have been slowed as much as possible."
>"Then he's alive? He's going to be all right?"< asked Pao in Cantonese. >"Thank God. He means more to me than life itself."<
"I can't be certain, of course. Remaining in such a state for more than a few hours would cause increasing deterioration and damage." Megan thumbed one of Sheng's eyelids up and saw the pupils were dilated. "Hmm. My conjecture is that Wang intends for Sheng to recover, otherwise he would simply kill him outright. I have better news for you, uncle. Sheng seems to be recovering quickly."
"It is his Tel Shai training, I think," Uncle Pao said with some excitement. "Kumundu, whatever style that might be, seems to enhance his Chi. I have seen myself how he shrugs off damage that would kill a horse and how he heals wounds overnight. I can well believe that this Alchemical serum would not keep him under for long."
Finished with her readings, Megan snapped off the Link and returned it to her belt. She could not tell even Sheng's close friend the secret of the Tagra tea. It was Tel Shai's strictest taboo.
"Imagine his health if he stayed away from bacon double cheeseburgers," Pao muttered. He took a deep breath and exhaled with relief. "Shouldn't we be getting him out of there? Imagine waking up in a coffin!"
"You are quite right," she began but froze as they heard a car door slam outside. In a blur, the Trom Girl lowered the coffin lid and hauled Uncle Pao down behind the pile of rubberized sheets in the corner, nearly picking him up off the ground as she did so.
>"My word, you are strong for such a little..."< was all he said before she clamped a hand over his mouth and hissed for silence.
They heard excited voices chattering from the parking lot, then a single commanding voice was cut them short. Silence followed. The door to the prep room swung inwardly violently and five big men in full business suits surged inward. Each was holding a pistol, one with a big .357 Magnum and the other two gripping Glock 19s. The men were Asian but uncharacteristically tall and brawny, evidently chosen for their size. Forming a semi-circle facing outward, guns ready, they stepped further into the room.
"Stay still," hissed the thin small man behind them. Tzing-Dao Wang wore yellow silk pants and long-sleeved shirt but over those clothes was wrapped a heavy dark wool robe with voluminous sleeves. Even on this muggy summer night he bundled up. He leaned lightly on a slender black cane with a silver pommel. The Spinner of Webs had a long somber face with a prominent beaklike nose and deepset eyes of the true jade green. Every inch of skin that showed was covered with fine, closely-set wrinkles which gave away his true age. Alchemy might extend life and vitality, but it could not restore youth once lost.
"We better look around..." began one of the thugs.
"You were not given leave to speak," Wang cut him off. "First, I want everyone to load that coffin into the hearse and then Gan will drive it to my secondary headquarters. Yeung is waiting in the Mercedes, he will drive me but only after the rest of you search this building for intruders. Bringing our prisoner to a safe place is of paramount importance."
The man who had spoken out of turn now bowed and kept his head down. "To hear is to obey, sir."
"You do not understand yet, Lieh," the mastermind continued in a gentler tone. "That man's body is saturated with the essence of the Tel Shai potion. If I can isolate it, reproduce it, the benefits will be beyond price. Lieh, you and the others take the coffin. Yeung, stay alert. Intruders are likely in the building even now."
Dutifully, four of the henchmen placed themselves around the pine box and grasped the brass handles. Glancing at each other to be sure they worked at the same time, they lifted the heavy coffin up to shoulder level and took a few tentative steps toward the opened door where the hearse waited outside.
"The horse with eight legs," mused Tzing-Dao Wang. "Taking a man on his final ride. The ancient symbolism is poignant."
From behind the pile of rubber sheets in the corner, a small hand poked out and pointed its flat metal device. The neural shock beam was invisible and the beam projector made no sound, not even a click as the button was pressed. Instantly, the Chinese thug holding one lower handle of the coffin sagged and fell face down on the cold concrete floor. The other three gangsters were taken by surprise and although they didn't let go completely, the bottom end of their burden did fall and hit the floor with a thud.
"Hey!" came a muffled voice from within. "Watch it. Don't drop my coffin."
V.
With the last word, the lid slammed open and Sheng Mo-Yuan tumbled out. He stumbled unsteadily, but swung around to connect a wide roundhouse swing that lifted one gangster up off the floor entirely. Sheng had evidently focussed his gralic charge into enhanced strength. When the nearest goon grabbed him from behind by the arms, the Chujiran adventurer easily shrugged free and whirled on one foot with a backfist that spun the gangster halfway around and dropped him senseless.
The remaining man in Tzing-Dao Wang's employ was already stretching out on the floor as if he had suddenly become unbearably sleepy. Megan Salenger wriggled out from behind the pile of rubber sheets, pointing her beam projector at the Spinner of Webs with a steady hand. "Sheng, do you feel alright?" she called.
"Huh? Oh, hi, Megan. Hi, Uncle. Good to see you. Yeah, I'm a little woozy but I'll be alright." He slowly turned around, taking in the situation. "I could hear you and Uncle Pao talking about me but I couldn't manage to move just then. I was afraid at first you were going to start doing an autopsy on me, Megan."
"Do not take your eyes off your enemy," Pao snorted. "We must deal with the Spinner of Webs now!"
The ancient Alchemist had taken a few steps toward the open door to outside during the brief tussle. He was holding up both bony hands at chest level. "As you can see, I am unarmed."
"Watch him," Sheng warned. "He's a got a hundred potions hidden on him. You know what Alchemists are like, they're tricky."
"Tzing-Dao Wang, I place you in our custody," the Trom Girl announced as she stepped closer. "You are wanted by the police of several nations for many offenses, including human trafficking, slavery, smuggling, sale of narcotics and running illegal gambling dens. I intend to turn you over to the FBI's Department 21 Black."
The Spinner of Webs laughed out loud. "Oh, my dear, you have the untroubled confidence of youth. Heh. I can escape as easily as snapping my fingers." And he did just that, producing a flash of blinding white light and a thunderclap that echoed in the room.
For only three or four seconds, everyone was dazzled and deafened by the unexpected blast but that was enough. Megan recovered first and zoomed across the room at chest level with her gravity shield but unfortunately, the motorized steel door had lowered. She slammed her head right into it with a dull clunk and bounced back to land in a seated position. Rushing past her, Sheng squatted, seized the bottom of the door and wrenched it upward despite its resistance. The hearse still sat out in the parking lot but the Mercedes was long gone.
"Oww." Megan got to her feet, pressing gingerly with her fingertips to a fresh bump on the top of her head.
>"Your friend has learned that steel is harder than even her American skull,<" Uncle Pao confided to Sheng.
>"I understood that,"< Megan snapped, also in Cantonese. "Sheng, did you plant a tracer on Wang?"
"No, I didn't get a chance. As soon as he saw me, he sprayed me with one of his Alchemical serums. The next I knew, I was waking up insde a coffin, of all places."
Still rubbing her dome, the Trom Girl came over to stand next to her teammate, giving him an analytical look. "Do you feel back to normal yet? Any after-effects?"
"Oh, I'm okay. At least we can question these henchmen on the floor before handing them over to 21 Black. We might get information about Wang that'll be useful. That way the whole case isn't a complete loss. How did he make that explosion anyway?"
Uncle Pao raised a thin finger. Aha. That is an old trick that Alchemists use. They coat their fingernails with two different potions and when they snap their fingers, the potions react with each other to make the flash. You have much lore to learn, nephew. You should not go out into danger without an adult to watch you."
"That reminds me," Sheng said. "When I was in the coffin, I could hear you and Megan talking but I couldn't move yet." He grinned at the old man. "What was all that about me meaning more to you than life itself?"
"Feh. In your drugged state, you must have misheard me," Uncle Pao began to protest, but he gave in and went over to hug Sheng. "I admit, it is good to see you alive and well. Come. We will take your friend here to the Red and Green Pepper restaurant and introduce her to braised chicken feet.. with the toenails clipped off, of course."
8/26/2019
