dochermes | Entries tagged with manchurian

"Destroyer of Worlds"

11/1- 11/4/2000

I.

At the end of the second day, they had still found no survivors. Nothing remained of the city of Pak Du except stone rubble and charred wood, scorched earth and blackened bodies. It was the same as it had been in the village they had first found when entering the realm. The destruction was complete.

Picking his way through the debris, even Jeremy Bane was numb with disbelief. He thought he had seen a lot of horror in decades of the Midnight War, but it had always been on a smaller, personal level. This was hard to deal with. The Dire Wolf had the visor of his helmet up, revealing his narrow face and the grey eyes were distant. What could have done this? Technology of an Industrial Age level would not function in this realm by the will of Jordyn, or else Bane might have suspected someone had detonated a nuclear device here. Yet it had been less than a week ago that a messenger from Pak Du had come to him asking for help.

As he stood over a pile of broken masonry from which a single black wooden beam stood up at an angle, Bane's horror began to give way to anger. Thousands dead. Not a single survivor. And whatever had done this was still out there somewhere, perhaps ready to strike again somewhere else. He straightened up, unaware his fists were clenched, and turned to his two teammates.

( the rest of the story )

"Bloodstained Roses"

4/14/1925

I.

"Will you stop using that stupid slang!" Bonnie yelled, making a few passers-by turn their heads.

Parker Ling Scott was hard to embarrass and impossible to deter. "Gosh, cousin, I didn't think you'd turn out to be such a flat tire."

Both were nineteen, born less than a month apart, but Bonnie Ling was an inch taller at five feet six and carried herself like an adult lady in her cotton sundress and wide-brimmed bonnet. In contrast, Parker slouched and shuffled beside her, hands deep in the pockets of his loose trousers and a straw boater pushed dangerously far back on his head. Both looked completely Northern Chinese. Parker's mother had remarried when he was three, her second husband being a white American but Parker had none of his blood.

"Your grandfather taught himself English at night after slaving on the canals long days. And he spoke better English than you do," she continued. Bonnie was carrying a round hatbox and a small overshoulder bag, while her cousin had a suitcase in each hand.

"To that, a hearty Bronx Cheer," Parker laughed. "Our folks worked so we'd have freedom to live our lives and to sling the dictionary around by its ears. My Hope Chest is busted, how's yours fixed for mooching a coffin nail?"

"You know I gave up smoking a year ago," Bonnie said. Despite the style of women having their hair bobbed to chin level, she had kept her long glossy black mane so it flowed down past her shoulders. In the clear April sunlight, it shone as she started walking down Plattner Street again. Her irises were a bright jade-green that everyone complimented her on.

"Vile habit, young man," she grumbled.

"You're sixteen days older than me, not sixteen years, Bonnie." Parker took a deep breath and swung his arms back and forward. "Mmm. Spring at last. I thought that snow would never amscray. My smeller is unplugged for the first time in weeks."

"We're almost there," Bonnie said in quite a different tone. "Next block should be the Agatha Crispell Hotel For Young Ladies."

Parker's voice got noticeably more somber as well. "Cold feet, cuz? Not too late to chicken out if you don't feel up to this."

"I'm as brave as you are, Parker, only not as reckless. We've talked this over."

Pausing on the corner of Plattner and Brook, the Chinese-American youth studied the wooden Indian chief that stood in front of a tobacco shop. "Poor chump, what did you do to deserve landing a job like that. If I had a few more pennies, I'd ankle inside and claw me some Luckies."

"Never mind, you nicotine fiend," Bonnie said, taking his arm. "Better concentrate on what we're going to do when we get to that hotel."

"We? What 'we'? You're going to flap your lips while I imitate a deafmute. Things go smoother that way."

"For once you are right," his cousin said with a smug closed-mouth grin. "Let me do all the talking."

The Agatha Crispell building was a twelve story square of dark brick with narrow ledges running around each story beneath the windows. Over the wide double doors, a stone arch read RESPECTABLE LODGINGS FOR UNMARRIED YOUNG WOMEN. Seeing this, Parker laughed, "So when you walk down that middle aisle, this dive will give you the boot."

"Marriage is low on my list of goals," she said, shifting her shoulder bag to open the door and allow Parker to enter ahead of her. The lobby had passed its glory days of newness, the carpet was slightly worn and the potted plants sagged indifferently, but the air smelled fresh and free of must. Behind the reception desk, a wide middle-aged woman stood, dressed all in black as if for mourning. Behind her a wall of pigeonholes held mail and small packages.

Under his breath, Parker Ling Scott muttered, "Face Stretcher," and received a sharp elbow in the ribs for it. But it was true, the woman's excessive face powder and tightly pulled bun indicated she was trying to appear younger than her years.

Bonnie lowered her hatbag next to the desk and used her most winning smile. "How do you do, ma'am. I'm Bonnie Ling, I registered by mail to move in today."

"Yes, of course. My name is Mrs Crispell, not the Agatha Crispell who founded this establishment but a relative. And this gentleman...?"

"Oh. My cousin, Parker Ling Scott. I asked him to help. More luggage will be arriving at the station and the dear boy is SO strong he doesn't mind giving me a hand."

"Nobody asks the mule if he wants to pull the wagon," Parker grumbled.

Seeming not to hear that, Mrs Crispell said, "As it happens, we have a number of residents of the Oriental persuasion and several of our staff hail from Shanghai, so I assure you that you will not feel out of place, miss. Your draft cleared and your paperwork is complete. All you need do is sign here. Good. Here is your key, shall I have a porter show you to Suite 418?"

"Oh, that won't be necessary, thank you so much," Bonnie replied. "I believe the supper meal is at six?"

"Yes, dear. You may arrive as late as six-thirty and still be served. Tonight we offer lamb chops with asparagus and boiled potatoes, slices of pie are also available." She smiled, showing either new dentures or well-tended teeth. "Meals are extra I'm afraid but your dollar and twenty-five a day does earn you a plate from our afternoon buffet table."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Bonnie, taking the large wooden plaque with its old style key attached. "I'm sure I will be happy here. Ready, cousin?"

"I subsist solely to serve, sahib," Parker answered but he had not been paying attention to their conversation. Gazing around the lobby, he was lost in wondering what had happened to the five young women who had been registered here and who had disappeared in the past year as if they had fallen off the planet.

( the rest of the story )

The Skull Mug of Ti-Yuan"

9/19-9/22/1988

I.

"Say, Jeremy, I was wondering why you still carry a revolver? Why not get up to date with a Glock or some other automatic?" Chen Wong-Lai passed a slow-moving delivery van and did not receive an answer for a second. Moving back into the right hand lane, he glanced over at his captain sitting in the passenger seat as they rushed through the night.

The Dire Wolf said, "Revolvers are less likely to jam than autos or semi-autos. Easier to clean and maintain."

"Yeah?" asked the Dragon of Midnight in a dubious tone. "That's the reason?"

"And I find they're more reliable in dusty or humid conditions. It's also easier to get ammo for that will fit. Since we are often in extreme environments and on the run, I find revolvers a better choice." He smiled in his barely susceptible way. People knew him for years before they could read his expressions. "What brings that to mind, Chen?"

"Hah. Nothing in particular. After driving for three hours, I'm just making conversation." Still under thirty, Chen was lean and fit, wearing a dark blue polo shirt and black trousers. He had been letting his hair grow out a little so it covered his ears and touched his collar, but an attempt to grow a mustache had been unsuccessful. Facial hair just didn't seem to be in his genes. The new Dragon of Midnight shrugged. "You seem perfectly comfortable to sit there in silence, Jeremy."

"I guess I don't talk much," the Dire Wolf admitted. As always, he was wearing what was recognized as almost his uniform in the Midnight War... black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. In the subdued backlight from the Dragonwing's dashboard, the pale grey eyes glinted. "Well, we don't have much information on the case."

"No, I guess not. We get a phone call from the Endicott chief of police and off we go. He must have given you SOME hints about what was going on, captain."

Leaning back in the passenger seat, Bane did not answer right away. This was a habit of his that many found infuriating. Finally, he said, "No. Just that there was big trouble in Endicott's Chinatown. Three weird deaths. He didn't want to say more over the phone."

"Well, we're on the outskirts of Endicott now," Chen told him. "I hope you know your way around the Chinese neighborhoods here because I have never been in this area before."

"I've been here. Just once. It's almost eight o'clock. Stay on this main drag for a while, I guess we will meet Chief Schumer at the police headquarters." Bane studied the scene as they rolled more slowly down the city streets.

"So typical!" snorted Chen Wong-Lai. "Look, two Szechuan restaurants or so they claim. A couple of gift shops. A nail salon... come on, it's so obvious."

"Well, it's a Chinatown," Bane said absently. "They give the tourists what they expect to find. Over there, Liu's barber shop really was a front for some gambling in the back room as I recall. Liu was close to seventy and that was ten years ago."

"There's the police station, captain. I'm going to park over by the exit in case we want to leave on the run." The Dragon of Midnight eased into an open slot and turned the silenced motor off. "I hope we get some answers."

It was a warm early September night, overcast and stuffy without a breeze. As they stepped away from the Dragonwing, Chen thumbed a button on his key fob and the doors of the gleaming black limo locked shut. "Alarms are set," he said.

"I'm curious about how much Len has modified that car for you," Bane grumbled. "It may have started as a Lincoln Continental but I guess there's not much left of the original car."

"Let the Dragon have his secrets," the young Chinese hero answered. He stepped up to the double glass doors of the white brick building and opened one to hold it for his captain. "Hope your friend is still here, it's getting late."

Inside was a small foyer with an enclosed booth to their right. Behind bullet-proof glass, a uniformed officer sat filling out forms. He looked like he was reaching retirement age, and he had grown more thick around the middle than should technically have been allowed. "Evening," he said in a neutral tone.

The Dire Wolf stepped up to the booth. "Chief Schumer asked us to come here. My name is Jeremy Bane. This is my friend and partner Chen Wong-Lai."

The cop did not ask for ID, evidently he had been given a description. He studied the two men for a moment, then depressed a switch on the intercom next to him. "Your visitors are here, chief. I'm sending them in."

A static-distorted voice answered, "Go ahead, Sam."

The old cop hit a white button on the counter in front of him and a buzz sounded to their left as the main door unlocked. "Go right ahead, folks. Chief's office is to your right as you enter."

"Thanks," said Bane. He opened the door and stepped through, holding it for Chen to follow. The Dragon came into the main room behind him as they were met by a short, wiry man with curly black hair and a thick mustache. Shumer had opened his shirt collar and loosened the knot in his uniform tie.

"Hi, Chief. It's been a few years," the Dire Wolf said as he shook the offered hand.

"I'm only sorry about the reason I had to ask you back here. Terrible, what has happened." The police chief smiled at Chen. "And you must be the new Dragon of Midnight? Some of the Chinese merchants here have mentioned you. You're quite a legend, son."

Chen Wong-Lai smiled almost in embarrasment. "It was my father who was the legend," he mumbled. "I'm just doing what I can to carry on."

Ushering them into a cramped office filled with detritus and equipment, Chief Shumer waved Bane and Chen to sit in two chairs facing a desk piled with loose papers and folders. "Sorry for the mess. Never enough hours in the day."

Settling in, the Dire Wolf got right to the point, "What happened that you asked us to come here?"

Shumer lowered his head and stared at his clasped hands. "Murders. Three murders so far in six weeks. Unrelated as far as I can see except what was done to the bodies. That's the bizarre part. Each of the victims had the skin on his forehead sliced so it fell down to cover his eyes."

"Ah," Chen muttered. "That is very old. It's so the victim's ghost can not identify and haunt the killer. It's a Northern belief." He met Shumer's startled expression with a wry hint of a smile. "I doubt if too many Chinese-Americans have ever heard of the custom."

Turning his head toward his partner, Bane asked, "Wu Lung back again?"

"Not Wu Lung. The Manchurian!"

( the rest of the story )