then?”
“The Ripper
showed what a man could do if he just had the will to see the thing through.”
Howard’s eyes were bright, and he breathed louder. “D’Onston’s power would
multiply with his harvest. All
London would be grist to that mill, all flesh living and dead, what
transmutations might he not do…” He
seemed excited and appalled at the same time.
“I see.”
Howard kept
looking at me expectantly, but after a minute, when I said nothing more, he
nodded, interpreting my silence as the stoicism of a military man faced with a
new mission.
“You know
what to do, don’t you?” He slid a small key across the table. “There, that’s
the back door key to Maycot. If you strike suddenly, you’re sure to
win—physically, she’s just a weak woman. But you mustn’t let her speak.
One word, one look could be fatal. Now, I’ve already stayed too long. I must
fly!”
With no
more ado, he drained his glass and marched off, plucking his coat from the rack
and flinging it around his shoulders as he passed—an exit worthy of the
West End. It left me quite overwhelmed. Howard was not at all the man I had
taken him to be.
“Evening,
Harry.” It was Reg, holding a glass and a bottle of Bass. The remnant of froth
on his moustache indicated this was not his first beer. He nodded at the empty
chair. “Mind if I…?”
I was
grateful to see him, as he was someone who I could discuss the matters of the
day with. I hoped he might help me get my muddled thoughts in order and make
some sense of it all.
“I hear
you’ve been chasing around the East End,” he said, pouring his ale carefully. I
have observed this eccentricity—of wanting to pour your own from the
bottle—among several who have served overseas for long periods. “And Yang
came to some harm in the process.”
Arthur’s
spies had been keeping tabs on us. I gave Reg a brief account of the day. He
nodded at parts of it, frowned at others.
“That
sounds like the Wu brothers,” he said, when I described the three members of my
inquisition. “They deal in tea and silks coming one way, cotton and gin the
other—a very prosperous business, by all accounts, and a noble family,
too. Their father was the Emperor’s cousin. That’s why he had to go into
exile.”
“Exile—why?”
“Hardly
germane to our present inquiry. What happened then?”
When I got
to the scarred man sticking skewers into Yang and the fight with the wrestler,
he let out a low whistle.
“That’s a
turn up for the books.” Reg slapped me on the shoulder. “And you beat him
man-to-man! Well, I never did… I’d heard stories, but never knew anyone who’d
actually seen them. Xiongshoo Mang, the blind assassins, the
death-dream-walkers! Good grief, Harry. “
He insisted
in buying me a drink and explained that the blind men were a sort of mythical
Thuggee sect that Chinese used for dirty work. These night stranglers were
consecrated to an idol from childhood. They built up the strength in their
wrists, and their tolerance for pain, by hanging from a bar for hours every
day. They always carried out their killings under cover of darkness. They moved
noiselessly, navigated by touch, finding their victims by the sound of their
heartbeat and the warmth radiating from them. They could strangle a man and
slip away without waking his sleeping wife next to him.
“That’s a
vile way to use blind children.” I often passed the Normal School, where they
taught the blind to be piano tuners.
“They’re
not blind when they start,” said Reg. “It’s an evil cult. They say no man ever
faced the Xiongshoo Mang and lived. That may be an exaggeration, but still, you
are a very lucky man, Harry. Or a very valiant one, I should say.”
“Why did
they need someone like him to apprehend a little fellow like Yang?”
“Never try
to figure the Chinese out, Harry,” Reg advised. “East is East…They’ve got
wheels within wheels, and you’ll always end up behind them.
“The Ripper
showed what a man could do if he just had the will to see the thing through.”
Howard’s eyes were bright, and he breathed louder. “D’Onston’s power would
multiply with his harvest. All
London would be grist to that mill, all flesh living and dead, what
transmutations might he not do…” He
seemed excited and appalled at the same time.
“I see.”
Howard kept
looking at me expectantly, but after a minute, when I said nothing more, he
nodded, interpreting my silence as the stoicism of a military man faced with a
new mission.
“You know
what to do, don’t you?” He slid a small key across the table. “There, that’s
the back door key to Maycot. If you strike suddenly, you’re sure to
win—physically, she’s just a weak woman. But you mustn’t let her speak.
One word, one look could be fatal. Now, I’ve already stayed too long. I must
fly!”
With no
more ado, he drained his glass and marched off, plucking his coat from the rack
and flinging it around his shoulders as he passed—an exit worthy of the
West End. It left me quite overwhelmed. Howard was not at all the man I had
taken him to be.
“Evening,
Harry.” It was Reg, holding a glass and a bottle of Bass. The remnant of froth
on his moustache indicated this was not his first beer. He nodded at the empty
chair. “Mind if I…?”
I was
grateful to see him, as he was someone who I could discuss the matters of the
day with. I hoped he might help me get my muddled thoughts in order and make
some sense of it all.
“I hear
you’ve been chasing around the East End,” he said, pouring his ale carefully. I
have observed this eccentricity—of wanting to pour your own from the
bottle—among several who have served overseas for long periods. “And Yang
came to some harm in the process.”
Arthur’s
spies had been keeping tabs on us. I gave Reg a brief account of the day. He
nodded at parts of it, frowned at others.
“That
sounds like the Wu brothers,” he said, when I described the three members of my
inquisition. “They deal in tea and silks coming one way, cotton and gin the
other—a very prosperous business, by all accounts, and a noble family,
too. Their father was the Emperor’s cousin. That’s why he had to go into
exile.”
“Exile—why?”
“Hardly
germane to our present inquiry. What happened then?”
When I got
to the scarred man sticking skewers into Yang and the fight with the wrestler,
he let out a low whistle.
“That’s a
turn up for the books.” Reg slapped me on the shoulder. “And you beat him
man-to-man! Well, I never did… I’d heard stories, but never knew anyone who’d
actually seen them. Xiongshoo Mang, the blind assassins, the
death-dream-walkers! Good grief, Harry. “
He insisted
in buying me a drink and explained that the blind men were a sort of mythical
Thuggee sect that Chinese used for dirty work. These night stranglers were
consecrated to an idol from childhood. They built up the strength in their
wrists, and their tolerance for pain, by hanging from a bar for hours every
day. They always carried out their killings under cover of darkness. They moved
noiselessly, navigated by touch, finding their victims by the sound of their
heartbeat and the warmth radiating from them. They could strangle a man and
slip away without waking his sleeping wife next to him.
“That’s a
vile way to use blind children.” I often passed the Normal School, where they
taught the blind to be piano tuners.
“They’re
not blind when they start,” said Reg. “It’s an evil cult. They say no man ever
faced the Xiongshoo Mang and lived. That may be an exaggeration, but still, you
are a very lucky man, Harry. Or a very valiant one, I should say.”
“Why did
they need someone like him to apprehend a little fellow like Yang?”
“Never try
to figure the Chinese out, Harry,” Reg advised. “East is East…They’ve got
wheels within wheels, and you’ll always end up behind them.
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