MILLY TAIDEN
You’re Lion to Me
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
CONTENTS
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Milly Taiden
Also by Milly Taiden
Also by Milly Taiden
Also by Milly Taiden
Also by Milly Taiden
YOU’RE LION TO ME
PARANORMAL DATING AGENCY
NEWYORKTIMESandUSATODAYBESTSELLINGAUTHOR MILLY TAIDEN
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From planet Aurora, lioness shifter, Dalissa Furr, wants to explore new places before she goes insane from boredom. So a trip to Earth is a must. Finding her mate in the process would be great too, if Gerri Wilder can make it happen. But according to her parents, her smaller than normal size and delicate features make her undesirable to a shifter.
Azai Whittip, alpha of the White Tip wolf pack, will only accept his true mate for a life-long partner, to the dismay of the females in the pack. When Gerri asks him to take her friend sightseeing, he doesn’t expect this friend to be gorgeous and smell so damn good. Oh, and bonus, she’s his mate.
As far as Azai is concerned, life’s perfect now that he found Dalissa. But someone in his pack or the neighboring lion pride think wolves and lions don’t mix. When both alphas and the male wolves come up missing, it’s up to Dalissa to figure out what’s going on and how to stop the one person set on destroying both packs and dominating the human world. Talk about an adventure!
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By
Latin Goddess Press, Inc.
Winter Springs, FL 32708
http://millytaiden.com
You’re Lion to Me
Copyright © 2019 by Milly Taiden
Cover by: Willsin Rowe
Edited by: Tina Winograd
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Property of Milly Taiden February 2019
Created with Vellum
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GERRI WALKED into her office and sat at her desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her communicator light up. Incomingcommunication,ready.Proceed?
“Yes, computer.” Gerri figured it was Zaria calling to check in but could be anyone on planet Aurora. This was the only way they communicated. A moment later, a 3D image popped up of Zaria.
“Hello, Zaria, I have your mail. The only thing important I see is a letter from the management company about your apartment. It appears they have someone interested in subleasing. If you’re ready, just have someone pick up your personal belongings and drop off this signed release to their office.” Gerri looked up to the screen in front of her. Zaria's smiling face beamed back at her.
“Oh, that would be great. I was actually contacting you today because my friend Dalissa Furr wants to come to Earth, explore, see what shifters are like there and just see my world. You could even look into setting her up or something. She needs a good man in her
life. Maybe I can have her drop off the paper and grab anything from my former apartment I might want.”
“Dalissa? Yes. A lioness, if I recall correctly. Yes, that would be perfect. I have a friend who I'm sure would be happy to lend a paw, and he would be happy to show her Earth and our local shifters. This will work perfectly.”
“I know that smile, Gerri,” she exclaimed excitedly. “You’re already plotting to set her up, aren't you?”
“Of course. It's what I do best. When should I expect the little lioness to join me? I will take her to your apartment and get that settled before her escort arrives.”
“How about tomorrow? I will talk to Dalissa right now and make sure she’s good with this. Is that enough time for you to get your plan set up? I mean get your escort on board.”
“Don't be cheeky, Zaria. Look how happy you and Quint are. And Bella and Alyx. Should I go on?” Gerri arched an eye at Zaria and waited.
“I’m thankful to you as is Quint. We praise you at least once a day,” she giggled. “I was just teasing and having some fun. Thank you for grabbing the mail for me. It should be about done now. Only junk should arrive so the new tenants can deal with it.”
“You’re welcome, love. Now I must go. I have a lioness to get set up. With an escort, and I mean for town not the other kind. I will meet you at the palace tomorrow morning.”
Gerri hung up and sat back in her chair. Now to call in a favor from that pesky wolf. He was going to hate it. Gerri smiled. Oh, yes. This was going to be a lot of fun. She picked up her cell phone.
After a few rings it went to voice mail and Gerri left a message for Azai Whittip. “Azai, it's Gerri Wilder. It's been a while since we spoke, but I need a favor from an old friend. For old times’ sake. A friend of mine is coming in from Aurora and I need you to show my friend the sites on Earth and shifters here. It's very different than Aurora. I expect to see you in two days at my apartment. No excuses.”
She wished she could see his face as he listened to her message; he would not be happy. He spent a lot of time with her while he was
growing up, so she knew he’d never say no to her request. Oh, he would want to, but he wouldn't dare.
GERRI SMILED when she heard her cell ring. She knew who that would be. This was going to be a fun call. “Hello, Azai. I do appreciate you calling me back.”
“Gerri, how are you this evening?”
Gerri laughed. She heard the growl in his voice. He wasn’t happy, but he was too polite to say anything without the proper greetings first. Well, at least polite to her, not so much with others. He was a bit on the grouchy side.
“Now, that you decided to call me back. I'm doing well. I just need you to do me a favor for a few days. My friend is coming to Earth from Aurora to close up an apartment for another friend. While here, I was hoping you could take some time out of your busy schedule to show Dali your pack. Dali wants to see how shifters act, how they live and all that on Earth. If you could throw in a few Earth sites while you’re at it, I would appreciate it.”
Gerri grinned, Dali—it was a good nickname. If Azai knew it was a female, he would absolutely refuse.
He mumbled and then sighed. “All right. Fine. I can be there Saturday morning to pick up this Dali. How long is this going on for?”
She picked up a cookie and took a nibble. “Let's play it by ear. No reason to rush. You never know, Dali might be able to help you with your lion issues.”
“I assume you aren't going to explain and just be vague as usual? You never change.” Gerri pictured Azai in her mind. He was probably banging the back of his head against his chair, with his eyes closed. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.
“Nope, but Dali can be your help in any manner of ways. You just have to be willing to give it a shot.”
He growled softly. “Good night, Gerri. I have a few things to take care of before I get this Dali from you.”
“Lovely to hear from you again. Good night, Azai.” Gerri hung up with a satisfied smirk.
Azai Whittip hung up the phone and slammed it on the table in front of him.
“Whoa, boss, what happened?” He looked up to this best friend and pack beta, Jed.
“Sometimes the past comes calling and you have to answer. Mine just called.” Azai hung his head and laughed softly. “I'm sure you heard of Gerri Wilder, of the Paranormal Dating Agency? Well, she’s my unofficial aunt. I grew up with her nephew and spent a lot of time hanging around her place. She just called in a favor.”
Jed sat across from Azai and stared at him. “Of course, I’ve heard of her, but I don't understand why you’re upset she asked for a favor.”
Azai shoved back from his chair and stalked to the front door. “Are you coming? I have stuff to take care of before this Dali shows up.”
Jed jumped out of his chair and followed him outside.
“So, a guy named Dali is coming and Ms. Wilder wants you to do what with him? Who is Dali, anyway? Do you have any more information?”
Azai growled his impatience. “Dali is from Aurora. The shifter planet. He's never been to Earth and wants to see how different our shifters are compared to them back home. It's my job to show him around and play nice basically.”
“Seems simple enough. I mean, I know it's not great timing. With the pack females trying to get you to pick a mate. Not to mention the issues with the lions.” Jed shrugged like it was all no big deal. He stomped outside, growling. “Exactly. The last thing I want is to escort some random person around. I’ve got bigger problems than playing tour guide. Unfortunately, with Gerri nothing is as simple or easy as she says. She matches everyone! So, this Dali will be a mate to someone in our pack.” Azai growled again.
Fuck! She didn't care if the other person was ready for their mate; she just sent them over and let the cards fall where they may. When he was younger, it used to amuse him but now when it was his pack on the line. Well, that was another story. “You know we should welcome Dali to the pack. Don't you know how to short sheet a bed?”
Jed barked out a laugh and froze in his tracks. “Are you being serious?”
Azai smirked at Jed. “Why the hell not, if he’s someone's mate. We can have a little fun and maybe Gerri will think twice next time she asks me to escort someone around.”
“Whatever you say, boss, but here comes the daily parade. Smile and play nice.” Azai could hear the laughter in Jed's voice and he really wanted to hit him. It was ridiculous the mommas in the pack gallivanted their daughters in front of him every day.
Shit, it appeared the single wolves had joined in too. Why they thought walking in front of him, literally, in a line like a fashion show, would suddenly entice him to pick one he had no idea. It wasn't like his wolf would suddenly sit up and say, “Hey, yesterday we weren't mates, but today you’re mine.”
Azai tried and failed to keep the grimace off his face as he politely watched the females go by. None held his interest and he had better things to do. Though this daily parade might make Dali find his mate that much faster. Which would get him out of Azai's hair that much faster.
When he suddenly smiled, the female in front of his squealed and started jumping around. Azai looked around trying to figure out what
just happened. “I can't believe you picked me. I will make you happy even if we aren't mates. I swear!”
Azai glanced at Jed and then back at the wolf in front of him. “Valerie, I will only take my mate as my partner. I'm sorry, but I won't settle for less than what this pack deserves.”
Valerie and the other women stomped off. He could hear them muttering and ignored it. He didn't want to know what they were calling him. Jed waited until they were out of earshot and burst into laughter. “You smiled and she thought you picked her! That's epic. You need to smile more often. She wouldn't have gotten the wrong impression if you weren't such a surly bastard.”
Jed had a point, but there was too much going on. The lion pride that moved onto the land next door shouldn't have been a problem. They all were animal and human, so why couldn't they coexist? He hoped it was just settling in problems but two packs of hunters so close together made his hackles rise.
He had to come up with a way to keep the peace and the fighting from escalating. Nothing had happened so far, but words exchanged. The younger wolves were testing the boundaries and soon something would erupt.
“Jed, go set up the guest room for me. I can't ask one of the females because they will think I am inviting them into my bed. Don't forget to short sheet the bed too. I have another idea to set up a welcome for our new guest.”
Azai marched off in search of the biggest gossip among his pack. If Dali was out for a mate, then Azai would make sure every eligible female stopped by. This was going to be fun, and he could pass off all the female attention to someone else for once. He had a few minutes before he had to meet the lion alpha to see what today's talks could do.
He headed toward the stream that ran through his land. The females liked to sit on the bank. He was sure he could stop by and spread the word about the eligible new bachelor coming to the pack. He had to assume the women would want a shifter that was bigger, stronger than most they encountered.
Dalissa ate lunch at the picnic tables in the center of the town square, where most of those who lived in her village ate. Every day it was the same old shit, different day. She longed to travel and see new sites. She was tired of just watching everyone else have adventures and find love. Fuck this!
“Hey, stranger, are you moping again?” Dalissa rolled her eyes at Zaria, then jumped up to hug her.
She said, “I haven't seen you much lately, though the sounds coming from your place have kept most of us away. Is the honeymoon finally over?”
She loved how happy Zaria was, truly, but she was also a little jealous. She wanted to have hot and kinky sex all hours of the night with her own mate. Hell, she’d settle for a one-night stand. The shifters around her thought of her as their little sister. None were her mate, that was for sure.
“Well, I wouldn't say over,” she giggled. “But that's not why I’m here. I got a letter from the company who owns my apartment on Earth. They have someone to finish out my lease and want me to get anything I want to keep.” She shuffled and gave her a pleading look. “I suggested to Gerri that I ask you to go. She agreed to meet you when you get to Earth and take you over. Then she offered to find you a tour guide so you could see Earth while you’re there. What do you think?”
Dalissa leaped toward Zaria and tackle hugged her. “Are you serious? You know this is what I have always wanted. Hell, yes, I will go!”
Zaria laughed and stepped back. “Can you get time off from work?”
“Are you kidding?” Dalissa said. “For this, I’d get time off from anything.”
“Great. Grab anything from my apartment that has sentimental value like pictures and stuff like that. I will ask Gerri to open a storage unit for me. You need to pack some clothes. I guarantee nothing in my closet will fit you, girl.”
Dalissa glanced down her body. She was a bit shorter than most shifters on Aurora, but she was still taller than Zaria. But Dalissa envied Zaria's curves. Zaria was gorgeous and Dalissa couldn't compare her body to that. She had curves but nothing as beautiful. Shifters liked big woman, maybe that was why they avoided her. She was a big girl but not big enough maybe? Dalissa sighed and shook her head. Those thoughts didn't matter right now. She had more important things, like a trip to Earth!
“I'll grab some clothes. Will my stuff from here stand out too much?” Clothes that morphed to fit your needs weren't available on Earth so she would have to be careful.
“It's not like you will be undressing and dressing in front of people, so you should be fine.” Zaria cocked an eyebrow at Dalissa. “And if you do, I want details all about him and what happened.”
Dalissa shook her head. “Does Quint know he mated a pervert?” Dalissa hoped she would find her mate, but it was unlikely. Her luck just didn't seem to allow it.
Zaria’s smiled faded to her doasIsaylook. “You should call your parents to let them know you’ll be gone for a few days. I don’t want them freaking out and calling me again because you didn’t call them back soon enough.”
Dalissa blew out a breath. “I can take care of myself. Why don’t they see that?”
Zaria smiled. “Because they love you and don’t want you to get hurt.”
“But I’m not that little kid anymore,” Dalissa said. “I really need to break away. How can any mate take me seriously when my mom constantly calls to make sure I’m safe?”
Dalissa's parents had coddled her too long. They claimed she was fragile because she wasn't the typical shifter. She was too short. She looked too delicate. They didn't care she was as strong or as fast as anyone else. Maybe if she did something to prove to them she was just as good, it would help.
“Come over tomorrow and we’ll go to the palace to meet up with Gerri. Thank you for doing this for me. I really appreciate it.” Zaria waved and headed back to her place. Dalissa sat on the bench and watched her go.
She really didn't want to make the call to her parents, but there was nothing else to do. After getting approval from her boss to leave, it would only take a few minutes to pack and there was no one else who would care if she disappeared.
She pulled out her com unit and punched in the code. After a few minutes of no answer on their side, she decided to leave a message. Maybe they would view it and see she was doing well.
“Hey, Mom, Dad. Just wanted to let you know I’m doing great. I'm actually heading to Earth to help a friend out and sightsee. If you want to contact me, you can call Gerri Wilder, the matchmaker. She can reach me. Hope you’re well.”
Dalissa closed the link and sighed. Nothing would change with them, but she had better things to dwell on. Like her trip to Earth. Oh god, a trip to Earth! She could barely stop herself from bouncing on her heels. So many possibilities, she couldn't decide what she wanted to do or see first.
Dalissa was up early the next morning eager to get to Zaria's and on to the palace. She knocked on the door, despite the moans and groans she heard inside, and quickly stepped back, her cheeks flaming. She’d better sit and wait. It might take them a few minutes to climb out of bed and be decent. Yeah, she wasn't envious at all.
As she waited, Dalissa started daydreaming about what she would see on Earth. The colors, the clothes, the buildings. Everything she heard about Earth was so different from Aurora. Her thoughts were interrupted by her com ringing, Shit! Her parents werecallingback!
“Hello? Dalissa, we got your message.” She heard disapproval and disdain dripping from her mother’s voice.
“Yes, I wanted to let you know I wouldn’t be around for a little bit.” She tried to ignore the hope that filled her, but it happened every time she wanted to do something on her own.
“We forbid you to go to that disgusting planet. It’s full of humans and nasty creatures who could easily harm you. You can find someone here to be your mate. There are plenty of shifters willing to overlook your…weaknesses.”
Dalissa’s hope drained. Her family always made her feel like shit, like she was less than them. She didn’t know why she put herself through this time and again. She counted to ten, back and forth, and
tried to keep her emotions from erupting, breathing and voice even. The last thing she needed was her mother commenting on that too.
“I’m not going to Earth for a mate. I’m going to help a friend and look around a bit. It’s not a big deal. I just want to have an adventure.” She watched the 3D image of her mom.
Her mother rolled her eyes and sighed. “Aurora isn’t good enough for you then? Now you’re better than the shifters here?”
“Moooom,” Dalissa said. She knew what was coming next—the guilt trip.
“Well, you will do whatever you want regardless of what we say. Just know that you are disappointing your parents. We worry so much about you.”
Oh brother. What else was new? She had a lifetime of memories where she disappointed her parents. Her tongue hurt from biting it. “It has nothing to do with upsetting you, Mom, but you wouldn’t understand.”
“No,” her mother spat. “You’re the one who doesn’t understand how difficult it is to have a child that’s different. That doesn’t measure up.” She rubbed a hand on her temple as if the conversation were giving her a headache.
“I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mom. It’s a short trip, so I’ll call you when I get back.”
The line was cut short so quickly, Dalissa was left staring at nothing. She willed herself not to cry. She could handle their disappointment. She was used to it. Fuck! It never got easier to deal with them.
She sat there, her mind consumed with memories of letting her parents down and being told what a disappointment she was. God. She wished she could give herself amnesia.
“Dalissa, I called you three times. Are you okay?” Dalissa jumped up and spun around, her hand smacking her chest as she took a quick draw of breath to calm her racing heart. “So much for shifter hearing. I almost had a heart attack. I'm sorry. I was thinking about Earth and got lost in my head. Then my mother called and how much of that did you hear?”
Zaria sighed and Dalissa could see tears in her eyes. “I heard more than I like.” Zaria leaned in and hugged her, then headed back inside. “You’re here early, eager to go on your adventure? Give me a few minutes to get dressed and we can head to the palace. I'm sure Gerri will be here shortly.”
Dalissa rocked back and forth on her feet. “Can I ask you some questions about Earth? I want to be prepared. I mean, I know I can eat anything there and all, but still. I'm a bit nervous and so excited.” Plus, it was a good way to keep her mind off her conversation with her mother.
Dalissa realized she sounded as timid as the lion her parents thought she was, but this was a huge experience and she was going on her own. What could go wrong with a matchmaker as your guide? Dalissa froze and looked at Zaria. “Holy shit! Is Gerri planning to match me with a human? I mean, that's what she does, or is this purely a favor to you?” Shit, her parents would keel over if they thought she was being set up.
Dalissa watched Zaria's face. “If she set you up, would it be so bad?”
Dalissa frowned. “No, but a human male is never going to be seen as my equal,” she sighed. “I’d have to leave him behind on Earth or stay there with him.”
Zaria waved a hand as if that wasn’t a big deal. “I accused Gerri of setting you up, but I don't know for sure. She’s a really lovely woman, so she could just be doing us a favor. She wouldn’t match you up with anyone weak, either. Human or shifter. Just go, have a good time and see where fate takes you.”
Azai practically ran from the women. They were acting like leeches instead of wolves. He really didn't understand why they thought he would take just any female to be his. That place was reserved for one special person, and she better be ready to handle that gaggle of estrogen.
He looked forward to meeting with the lion king, if only to not hear one simpering giggle.
Azai approached the copse of woods they had been meeting at the last two weeks and slowed his steps. Something smelled off. He couldn't place it, but it made him nervous. He heard movement coming from the lion's territory and he stepped out of sight behind a tree to observe who came into the clearing. After a moment, he saw Remy, the lion alpha.
“Remy, I'm here. Watch your step. Something’s wrong, but I haven't had a chance to look around yet and see what it is.”
Remy sniffed the air and snarled. “You're right. I smell it. Some chemical, strong and harsh in my nose.”
They both turned and started walking the area trying to identify what it was. “Azai, come over here. You need to see this.”
There was raw anger in Remy's voice. Azai hoped it wasn't trouble caused by his pack.
Burned into the tree in front of Remy were the words Lions and Wolves,Ohmy...
Azai stared at it for a moment and then walked around the tree to see if there was something they were missing.
“Remy, any idea what could have done that and caused this odor?” Remy frowned and leaned in to sniff the tree closer.
“I can't place what was used, but it's the cause of the odor. What do you think it means?”
Azai didn't see anything on the other side of the tree and moved to look at the ones around it. “I don't know, but my guess is there’s more whoever wrote that wanted to say.”
Remy nodded and glanced around, surveying their surroundings and searching for anything strange.
After a few minutes, they met by the first tree. “I didn't see anything else or smell more. What about you?”
“Nothing. Someone’s playing a game with us. I don’t like it. I don’t like not knowing what this shit is about. I definitely don’t want it to escalate. Any rumbling about us talking that you heard?”
Azai ran his hands down his face and sighed. “Just the kids we knew about. Nothing new from my wolves. What about you?”
“Same. The younger lions are being assholes, but no one else has said anything. I thought we could get this cleared up soon, but apparently someone wants us to have anything but peace.”
He tensed, his shoulders tight with frustration. He’d been working hard to make peace so everyone could get along. Why did there always have to be some jackass looking to fuck up everything for everyone else? “It seems so. How about we take turns with patrols around the area to see if we can figure out who left the message. I have a feeling this isn’t the end of it.”
Remy nodded and stuck his hand out to Azai. Azai shook it and each turned back to the direction they came from.
“Oh, Remy.” Azai rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed at what he was about to ask. “I'm stuck showing a tourist from out of town around Earth and seeing shifters from here. My honorary aunt is Gerri Wilder and I have a feeling this Dali person has a mate around here. Would you mind helping me mess with him?”
Remy whistled. “Gerri Wilder? Of the PDA? Damn, boy, you’ve got some good friends.” Remy laughed. “What did you have in mind for your guest?”
He shrugged, his lips rising in a slight grin. He shuffled his feet in the leaves on the ground of the woods around him.
“If Dali wants to find his mate, I figured I would have the females up close and personal. Would you mind setting up a little demo with your lionesses?” Azai hoped they didn't get offended, but what better way to help a guy find a mate. Not to mention get Gerri off his back if he helped. Besides, he really wanted to have some fun. Azai glanced around the trees, he was embarrassed and hoping no one was around to hear him.
“You're evil. I’ll explain and see what I can get lined up for you. At least old Bertha is always up for a joke, so I can send her over if nothing else.” Remy paled a little bit. “She’s a scary one.”
“You call me evil? I heard rumors about Bertha. Are you sure it's safe to involve her?”
Remy grinned and waved over his shoulder as he walked away. Azai sighed and headed back to his cabin, a walk in the woods always cleared his head, but not today. He had a few things to take care of before heading to Gerri's place in a couple hours. Starting with food, he was sure the ladies in the pack would be happy to feed them both, but he didn't want to take a chance one would try to drug him and slide into his bed.
Okay, so he was exaggerating, but they would take advantage of any crumb he sent their way. Keeping a distance was the smartest move.
Azai marched into his cabin and straight into the guest room to check it out. He inspected the bed closely to see if he could see any difference. Either Jed didn't do it or it looked completely normal. He smiled to himself and headed to the kitchen to take stock of his inventory. Feeding two shifters would require an abundance of food and his cupboards were quite bare.
Dalissa walked to the palace grounds with Zaria by her side.
“I'm a bit nervous about going to Earth. What if it's nothing like I built it up in my head?”
Beside her Zaria laughed softly. “You’ve seen videos, right?”
“Yeah, but-”
“Nothing ever lives up to the expectations we have for them. You just have to suck it up and enjoy it for what it is.”
Zaria and Dalissa jumped back when Gerri stepped out of trees in front of them. “No need for fear, girls. It’s only me. Zaria, that was insightful. But you’re quite right.” She grinned widely and hugged each of them. “Dalissa, don't worry. You’ll love Earth. I found the best possible guide to show you around. Are you ready to begin your adventure?”
Dalissa turned to Zaria and squeezed her hands. “Anything you forgot to tell me? Anything last minute from your apartment?”
Zaria laughed and shook her head at Dalissa.
“Quit stalling,” she chided and gave her a quick hug. “I'm sure you will take care of everything. I love you, girl, now go see my world and enjoy it.”
Dalissa turned to Gerri. “Do I need to hold your hand or something?”
Behind her, she could hear Zaria laughing.
“Not unless you want to, of course. Just step through the portal with me and you will be on Earth.” Gerri’s smile soothed some of her anxiety. Nothing to it. Just step in and go to another world. Shit, this was creepy and exciting.
Dalissa smiled over her shoulder at Zaria and stepped through with Gerri. The air moved around her and suddenly she was in a room, staring at a wood door and gray walls. A screeching and deep thumping vibrated her body. “Well, this is interesting. Gerri, are we on Earth? Is it always this loud?”
She was confused. They had transported into some type of room with a constant humming noise. Was all of Earth like this? Where the hell was she? She spun in a circle inspecting every inch of the room they stood in.
“The power for the portal is hard to hide on Earth so it's in a power plant. I have a room with my name on it. I’m sure the human employees are confused as hell, but that's part of the fun.”
Gerri headed for the door and Dalissa followed, eager to see the rest of the place they landed in.
“A power plant is not the best representation of Earth, but it suits our needs. Just keep following me and you will see your first glimpse of the sky. Unlike Aurora, Earth’s is a beautiful blue with pillow thick clouds.”
Dalissa craned her neck back and forth trying to see as much of the power plant as she could as they walked. Gerri stepped into a box and smiled at her. “Come inside. It's an elevator. I’m sure you’ve seen it in Earth movies. It’ll take us to the higher floors so we can leave the building.”
Seeing something in a movie was another story than living it. Her nerves started to get the best of her. Bile hit the back of her throat. Maybe this trip wasn’t all she’d hoped. Shifters weren’t meant to be in boxes.
She eyed the elevator warily. It was small. In Aurora, they traveled by all manners of technology, but never a metal box like this. Fuck it. She stepped in and spun around as the doors shut behind her. She stared at her reflection in the shiny metal and gasped when the box moved quickly.
A couple moments later, the doors opened again. She rushed out and glanced around.
She couldn't explain what she saw. Disappointed they were still inside, she sighed. Where were all the people? The buildings? The lights and colors?
She was eager to get out and see everything. Gerri kept walking and she eagerly followed. When they got to another door, Gerri turned to her. “I'll let you do the honors.”
Dalissa pushed open the door and walked out. A gasp fell from her lips. “Shit, they weren't kidding,” she said in awe. “So much green! I don't know why I didn't believe them when they said everything was green. I always thought the movies were retouched, but it's so pretty.”
Across from the power plant, she saw trees and grass. Then she looked up at the sky.
“Oh my god, Gerri. The sky is blue. You said it, but I didn’t believe it. And the sun’s yellow?” She stared up at the sky, her body vibrating from all the excitement. “Wait, how many moons do they have and what color is it?”
Gerri laughed and hugged Dalissa to her side, squeezing her arm. “You’re a delight. You’re making me see everything as if for the first time. It's refreshing. But we should head to Zaria's apartment before people begin to wonder why you’re gawking around. Plenty to see on the way.”
She nodded, her smile unwavering. “Good point. So, when do I meet this guide who will be showing me around the area?”
Dalissa was getting a sore neck from the constant swiveling she was doing. Earth had so much to see, so little of it was nature! She was in awe of how much city they could pack into a small area.
The air was different. Metallic. She wondered what Gerri had planned and what she was going to see.
“Azai is the alpha of the White Tip Pack. He’s going to show you his land so you can see shifters here and how they interact. Things are a bit different than back home. He grew up with my nephew and was around constantly, so I called in a family friend favor.” Gerri smirked as she said the last part.
Dalissa figured that meant he wasn't happy about it but would do it anyway. She sighed and ignored it for now. There was too much to see and do to worry. Gerri waved to a car and it stopped next to them. She opened the door and gestured for Dalissa to climb in.
“You want me to get in this thing? Is it safe? I think I prefer our transportation at home.”
Gerri’s tinkling laugh sprinkled the air. “It’s safe. It’s just a car and similar to our bikes at home. We just travel on the ground here versus hovering above it.”
Dalissa glanced around and then climbed in. She was surprised to find the seat comfortable. After a few moments, she forgot her fear and enjoyed the view from the passing scenery.
Sooner than she would’ve liked, they were at Zaria’s place. It didn’t take much time to collect her friend’s things.
“That was kind of weird. I mean going through Zaria's apartment kinda felt like invading her privacy. I'm glad it's done though.” Dalissa stared at Gerri's apartment building as they walked up to it.
“So, this is where you live? Earth is really different, but I am enjoying it so far.” A chill traveled up Dalissa’s spine. She felt as if someone was watching her. Ridiculous. So few even knew she was coming.
They didn't have apartments on Aurora, so the concept was interesting but scary too. Who would want that much metal and material over their heads all the time? Did they not crave the sunshine and fresh air?
Gerri led the way into her apartment unit. “Feel free to look around. I'm going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
Gerri headed into the kitchen and Dalissa looked around the room then replied, “I would love one, thank you.”
She walked down the hall and explored Gerri's bedroom, and then into the bathroom. She was curious how different it was on Earth.
“It's weird that nothing changes to suit my needs. I think I would miss that the most.” For the most part, the building was similar to what she found on her planet.
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“Right you are; but I have no ship at present. You might call me a tourist.”
Paddy Blake briskly led the way to a cubby-hole of a room with a very strong door, which he made fast with a bolt. There was a window whose shutters were of iron. O’Shea suspected that fuddled seamen might be tucked in here for safe-keeping when the occasion required. The two Irishmen studied each other with a kind of cheerful, candid appraisement. Each recognized in the other certain qualities to be admired. Paddy Blake was a hardened old ruffian, but he was a two-fisted little man with the courage of a terrier.
“I have come a long way to find you,” said O’Shea. “And it was imparted to me that the business that has brought me to China had best be discussed in whispers. ’Tis a mighty queer yarn——”
“Ye need not fill and back. Steam ahead. I like your looks,” broke in Paddy Blake. “Whatever passes bechune us stays inside the door. Are ye in throuble?”
“Not me. This is about a friend of mine. Tell me, Paddy Blake, and think hard. Do ye recall a strappin’ big man with red hair and blue eyes and a deep voice that used to roll the dice in your place? Hold a minute; I have not done with him. One front tooth was broken so you would notice it when he talked. And he had a crooked little finger that must have stuck out when he held a glass or waved his hand about.”
Paddy Blake puckered his brows and pinched his long upper lip between a grimy thumb and forefinger.
“What was he—a Yankee?” he asked, sitting straighter in his chair and gazing at the shipmaster with puzzled, groping interest.
“He was an American seafarin’ man—a mate most likely. You could not forget him if you cast eyes on him only once. Yankee sailors are scarce in deep-water ports. This one should stick out in your recollection like a light-house in a fog.”
“A whale of a man with a red head and an eye as blue as a bit of the Inland Sea!” vehemently exclaimed Paddy Blake. “And when was he in me place? How long ago was it?”
“’Tis yourself that must answer that question. At a guess, it was more than a year ago.”
The spry little man bounded to his feet and clutched the tails of his coat with both hands as he bent forward with his face close to O’Shea’s and rasped out:
“He has popped into me head like a flash. And a mushy-brained dunce I was not to know him at once. Eldridge ye mean—Jim Eldridge, that was mate in the China Navigation Company’s steamer Tai Yan, chartered to run coastwise. A whoppin’ big beggar he was, but mild-mannered and good-hearted, the quietest red-headed man that iver I saw in me life.”
“Are you sure of that?” demanded O’Shea. “Could you swear to it?”
“I remimber him as plain as I see you,” testily returned Paddy Blake. “He was not in me place often. ’Twas too rough for him.”
“And did you ever chance to hear what had become of him?”
The little man tapped O’Shea’s arm with an eloquent finger and replied in lower tones:
“It comes back to me that there was a yarn about him. ’Twas gossip, ye understand, nawthin’ that ye could put your finger on. Shanghai is a great place for wild stories. The Shanghai liar is a special breed, and he is famous all over the world. Annyhow, there was a voyage of the Tai Yan steamer when he didn’t come to port in her. Shortly after that she broke her back on a reef in the Formosa Channel and all hands was lost, so I never heard anny news from her people about this Jim Eldridge.”
“That was most unfortunate,” said O’Shea; “but I am in great luck to get track of the man at all. And have you anybody in mind that might have known Eldridge when he was sailing on this coast?”
The volatile Paddy Blake who saw so many mariners pass through his place during the year was mentally sifting his recollections which were many and confusing. The big red-headed man had steered clear of rum and riot and was no steady frequenter
of this unholy resort. Obviously he had made no more than a passing impression on Paddy Blake, but the old man was honestly anxious to splice the broken ends of the story, and after painful cogitation he broke out again:
“There is one man that ye should find by all means. He may be dead by now, for the liquor had harrd hold of him. I have not seen or heard of him in a long while, but he wint north from here. I mind the last time he come in me place. Pretty well pickled he was, and some o’ the lads were yarnin’ with him, and there was talk of this Jim Eldridge. Be gob! ’twas then I heard the queer gossip, in bits, d’ ye see? There had been a ruction somewheres up beyant”—and Paddy Blake waved a hand to the northward—“and this man I mintion had been mixed in it with Jim Eldridge. But when they would urge him to unwind the story he would turn ugly and shut up like an oyster, halfseas-over though he was. He was a great one for messin’ about among the Chinese, and could patter two or three dialects. A scholar and gentleman was McDougal.”
“McDougal!” roared O’Shea, taken all aback by the coincidence. “Why, man alive, this same McDougal was in your place to-night and left not an hour ago. He has just come down the coast, from Tientsin and Che-Foo.”
“’Tis a pity ye let him get away. If he wanders into the Chinese city amongst some of thim native friends of his ’twill be the divil and all to find him again. So he’s still alive!”
“I sat and talked with him and he discoursed nightmares.”
“He has lived thim,” said Paddy Blake.
“I had him and I lost him,” was O’Shea’s melancholy exclamation. “An oakum-whiskered Dutchman by the name of Spreckels breezed in under full sail and welcomed this McDougal like a long-lost brother, and carried him off to sea before ye could blink. It was comical. And I sat there like a wooden figure-head and let him go.”
“In the Wilhelmina Augusta—four-masted steel bark bound out to Hamburg. It was a lucky stroke for McDougal.”
“And most unlucky for me,” sighed O’Shea. Then he pulled himself together, and spoke in his hearty, masterful way. “Come along, Paddy Blake, and find me a tug. We will chase McDougal down river for the sake of a conversation with him.”
“Captain Spreckels had the Arrow, and she’s fast,” said Paddy Blake. “He has a good start of ye, and his bark will be ready to sail as soon as he boards her.”
“Then we’ll chase him out to sea. I have come too far to lose McDougal by letting him slip through me fingers,” and the demeanor of Captain Michael O’Shea discouraged further argument.
Paddy Blake jammed the tall hat on the back of his head, unbolted the door, and whisked through the bar-room with such speed that the shipmaster’s long strides could hardly keep up with him. They turned into the street that led to the water-front and hastened to a lighted corner of the bund where stood several ’rickshaws. Paddy darted at the drowsy coolies who were squatted on the pavement, cuffed a couple of them, and gave an order in pidgin English. They jumped into the shafts, the passengers climbed aboard, and the vehicles went spinning along the thoroughfare.
As they drew abreast of the lights of the anchored shipping, Paddy Blake looked along the landing-berths of the smaller steamers and exclaimed with an explosion of profane surprise:
“There’s a tug in the pocket where the Arrow ties up. I can’t see to make her out in the dark, but we will stop and take a look. Something or other may have delayed Captain Spreckels. I hope to blazes thim seamen I sint him has not hooked it before he got ’em safe aboard the bark.”
Leaving the ’rickshaws to wait orders, they footed it down to the wharf and were convinced that they had found the Arrow even before she could be clearly made out. The darkness was shattered by the troubled accents of Captain Spreckels, who was proclaiming to the skipper of the tug:
“By Gott, I cannot wait for McDougal no longer. The tide ist turned already My wessel must go to sea mit the morning flood. It
gives me sadness to lose dot scalawag, but he has runned away mit himself.”
O’Shea climbed over the guard-rail and cried:
“How are you again, Captain Spreckels? What’s this I hear about McDougal? I am after finding him meself.”
The master of the Wilhelmina Augusta swung his arms and made answer:
“McDougal was a slippery customer, so? I haf a immense fondness for him. By the landing here he left me to go in a ’rickshaw, sehr schnell, to a room what he haf hired for to-night und fetch some little t’ings what belonged to him, mostly books und some papers mit writings on ’em. He haf come to Shanghai, he tells me, mit a small bundle which he never loses, drunk or sober. While the tug is makin’ steam und haulin’ her lines aboard he will do his errand. It vas an hour ago. I do not understand, but I must not wait.”
“Changed his mind,” suggested Paddy Blake. “Sorry ye are shy a shipmate, but the news will please me friend Captain O’Shea here. You lose. He wins.”
The hull of the Arrow was trembling to the thresh of the screw, and her skipper was bawling the order to cast off. Captain Spreckels shouted farewell as the two visitors jumped ashore, and the tug moved astern into the fair-way. As they walked toward the ’rickshaws O’Shea remarked:
“’Tis no use to go rummagin’ around to-night in search of McDougal, I suppose.”
“No, but I will find him for ye to-morrow,” replied Paddy Blake. “If he has a room in the English quarter ye can gamble he will drop into my place. If he don’t I will sind a bright lad to round him up. ’Tis easy findin’ him as long as he is not livin’ in the native city. What do ye suppose become of him, annyhow?”
“Maybe he flinched from the notion of quitting the East. When it gets in the blood of these tropical tramps, the grip of it is not easy to break.”
“And he lost his nerve at the last minute,” said Paddy Blake. “I’ve seen cases like it. I’m that way meself.”
Declining a cordial invitation to have a “nightcap,” O’Shea told his ’rickshaw cooly to take him to the Astor House. It seemed extraordinary that his quixotic pilgrimage should have so soon disclosed the identity of the derelict who had drifted into the comfortable haven of Johnny Kent’s farm. This, however, did not greatly astonish O’Shea, who knew that the steps of sailormen in alien ports are not apt to stray far from the water-side. The singular feature of the business was that he should run across the sodden beach-comber, McDougal, who was the needle in a hay-stack of prodigious size. The hand of destiny was in it.
At breakfast next morning Captain O’Shea enjoyed overhearing the talk of a party of American tourists at a near-by table. In their turn the younger women did not fail to observe with interest the clean-cut, resolute shipmaster smartly turned out in fresh white clothes. After they had left the dining-room he picked up a copy of The Shanghai Mercury and carelessly turned to the shipping news where these lines caught his eye:
Bark Wilhelmina Augusta, Spreckels master, cleared for Hamburg with general cargo. Sailed Woosung this A. M.
This turned his thoughts to McDougal and he was impatient to find Paddy Blake and begin the search. He was about to toss the newspaper aside when a paragraph seemed to jump from the page and hit him between the eyes. He read it slowly, his lips moving as if he were spelling out the words:
UNKNOWN EUROPEAN MYSTERIOUSLY KILLED
Late last night the body of a middle-aged man was discovered in the Rue Pechili by an officer of the French municipal police. The place was only a few yards from one of the gate-ways of the native city wall in a quarter which is largely populated by Chinese who have overflowed into the French
quarter The man had been dead only a short time. He is supposed to have been an American or Englishman, although his identity was unknown at the hour of going to press. He was clothed in gray tweeds badly worn and had the appearance of one who had suffered from dissipation. He had been stabbed from behind, in addition to which his body was savagely gashed and mutilated. The British police were notified and Inspector Burke immediately took charge of the case.
Captain O’Shea’s second cup of coffee stood cold and neglected while he continued to gaze abstractedly at the front page of The Shanghai Mercury. He was reading between the printed lines. His sun-browned face had paled a trifle. He was not afraid, but he was conscious of that same feeling of physical abhorrence which had taken hold of him when he first beheld the scarred and branded back of the man dubbed Bill Maguire.
He was absolutely certain that he could identify the “unknown European” found dead near a gate-way of the native city. It was McDougal, and he had been slain because in some manner, as yet unrevealed, he had played a part in the tragic mystery of the redhaired sailor. Intuition welded the circumstances together. With this premise O’Shea framed one swift conclusion after another. McDougal had suddenly veered from his purpose of going to sea with Captain Spreckels. With the morbid impulse of a man whose nerves were shattered by drink, he had been afraid lest the German skipper might find him and carry him off whether or no. Therefore he had fled to cover, making for the native city where he doubtless had Chinese friends. Perhaps he had been watched and followed by hostile agents from the moment he landed in Shanghai.
“I have seen others like him,” said O’Shea to himself. “They will run from their own shadows, and their friends can do nothing with them. And I must be getting a bit flighty meself or I would not sit here and take for granted things that are no more than guesswork. How do I know that the dead man is McDougal? The answer is this: ’Tis one of me strong hunches, and they seldom go wrong.”
He passed out of the dining-room and delayed in the office of the hotel to ask a question of the clerk. The atmosphere of the place was so wholly European that the China, with which O’Shea had come darkly, gropingly in touch, seemed almost as far away as when he had been on the farm in Maine. The clerk went to the porch and gave instructions to a ’rickshaw cooly, and Captain O’Shea rattled off to the headquarters buildings of the English police. A Sikh orderly conducted him into the small room where Inspector Burke sat at a desk scanning a file of reports. He was a tall, dark, soldierly man of about forty The slim-waisted khaki tunic, the riding-breeches, and the polished brown puttees gave him the air of a dashing trooper of light-horse. Glancing at O’Shea’s card, he nodded pleasantly and said with a singularly winning smile:
“And what can I do for Captain Michael O’Shea, of New York? I am very much at your service.”
“’Tis about the man that was found murdered close by the native city last night,” was the reply.
“Ah, by Jove!” exclaimed the inspector, and his pencil tapped the desk with a quick tattoo. “An odd case, that! Most unusual. I was potterin’ about on it a good part of the night. My men report that he was in Paddy Blake’s place during the evening, but the old rip denies knowing him, of course. He wants to steer clear of the case. I’m rather stumped so far. You are at the Astor House? I fancy I saw you there at dinner last night.”
“Right you are, sir. I am more than a little interested in this dead man,” pursued O’Shea in a straightforward manner. “And I will first describe him to ye,” which he proceeded to do with the detail of an observer whose eye was keen and memory retentive.
“That’s the Johnny, to a dot,” cried Inspector Burke, alertly interested. “And when did you last see him?”
“I talked with him last night, but before we go further I will prove an alibi,” hastily answered O’Shea, suddenly realizing that his position in the matter might look compromising.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” was the easy assurance. “You are jolly well out of it and satisfactorily accounted for. This was a native job, not a bit of doubt of it. Suppose we take a look at the body. It is packed in ice in the go-down just back of this building. Your identification must go on the records, you know. Then we can have a chin-chin, and I hope you’ll be good enough to stay for tiffin with me.”
O’Shea took from an inside pocket of his coat a leather bill-case and drew therefrom a sheet of heavy paper folded several times. Spread out, it covered half the desk. Upon it he had drawn with a brush and stencilling ink a life-size reproduction of the great Chinese character that scarred and discolored the back of the red-haired sailor.
Inspector Burke flung his cigarette aside with a quick gesture and stared first at the desk and then at O’Shea. His pleasant composure was evidently disturbed, and he spoke abruptly.
“My word! You know a lot more about this job than I do. Where the deuce did you get that? The poor beggar that was butchered last night had the mark on him.”
“I know he did, Inspector Burke. I was sure of it when I read about the thing in the newspaper this morning.”
They went into the shed and viewed what was left of the ill-fated McDougal, who had tried, too late, to throw all regrets away and make a new start at the difficult business of existence. O’Shea was keenly distressed. The man had won his sympathy. He would have liked to befriend him. Inspector Burke said kindly:
“Did you know him at all well? He must have amounted to something once. Was he ever a chum of yours?”
“I never laid eyes on him till last evening in Paddy Blake’s,” answered O’Shea. “And now I will sit down with ye and spin the yarn of the sailorman that I called Bill Maguire for convenience.”
The inspector listened gravely, nodding comprehendingly now and then as if his own experience might have crossed the trail of the same story. When O’Shea ceased talking, his comment was as follows:
“Most extraordinary! I fancy we can help each other a bit. But, mind you, I don’t pretend to know much about this mysterious murder society that goes about choppin’ people up. I have heard of it, of course, but until now its activities have been confined to the Chinese. We don’t pretend to police the native city. The Chinese governor runs his own show. There are native detectives on my staff, but their work is mostly in the foreign municipality. The case of this McDougal is the first of its kind. And I rather think you have supplied the motive. He knew too much.”
“But what did he know?” demanded O’Shea. “There was this sailor by the right name of Jim Eldridge, ye understand. He got his in the same way. They were mixed up together at one time or another.”
Inspector Burke withdrew from a drawer of his desk a large envelope and emptied out several torn sheets and fragments of paper which looked as though they had been trampled underfoot. Some were covered with handwriting in English, while others held columns of Chinese characters. They were so mud-stained and crumpled, however, that only a few lines here and there were at all legible. O’Shea gazed at them eagerly, surmising what they were before the inspector explained:
“My men picked them up in the street where McDougal’s body was found.”
“Yes. He must have had a bundle of books and papers under his arm, for I heard mention of the same,” cried O’Shea. “Like enough, it was ripped apart in the scrimmage and the blood-thirsty heathen made off with whatever they could lay their hands on in a hurry. If they spied any Chinese writing they would grab at it. What do ye say, Inspector Burke?”
“There are bits of some sort of a diary here, Captain O’Shea, and odds and ends that only a native could make head or tail of. I looked them over early this morning, and one of my Chinese did what he could to help. It is impossible to arrange the fragments in any sequence, but the story you tell me dovetails rather curiously with some of the sentences.”
“There was many queer things stowed away in that noddle of his,” said O’Shea, “and he was an educated man, so he would be apt to make notes of them. And does he make any mention at all of this Jim Eldridge, alias Bill Maguire?”
Inspector Burke carefully smoothed a torn sheet of paper and laid a finger on a few lines scrawled in a shaky hand. They held no reference to the sailor, but several phrases were startlingly familiar to Captain O’Shea. The mutilated passage ran thus:
Very horrid dreams last night—brandy failed to drive them away. Was in a steamer on the Stinking River—the Painted Joss came through the cabin port-hole, squeezing itself small as if made of rubber, and then expanding to gigantic size. It strangled me slowly, making hideous faces. This is a warning—When I dream of the Painted Joss, I am on the edge of seeing things while awake. The fear of violent death is....
Captain O’Shea was vividly reminded of the disjointed monologue of Bill Maguire, who had shown symptoms of a similar antipathy to the “Painted Joss.”
“McDougal wrote down the Stinking River as if it was a real name,” he said to Inspector Burke. “I thought Maguire called it that because it smelled bad. If it is on the map, can ye locate it, and is there by any chance a town with the title of Wang-Li-Fu on the banks of the same?”
Inspector Burke summoned a fat, drowsy-looking interpreter and put several questions to him. After poring over an atlas for some time, this owlish Chinese gentleman vouchsafed the information that a navigable stream known as the River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells did indeed flow through a coastwise part of Kiangsu province, emptying into the wide estuary of the old mouth of the Yellow River. There was a city in that region which had been great and flourishing until the Tai-Ping Rebellion laid it in ruins. It was now no more than a wretched hamlet, although in local usage it had retained the name of
Wang-Li-Fu, the last syllable of which signified a chief city of a province.
“I say, this is interesting,” exclaimed Inspector Burke. “I am inclined to think that you and I have picked up a warm scent, Captain O’Shea. And here’s another bit of paper we can manage to read.”
They pored over a muddy page of McDougal’s diary and discovered, alas! that it was no more than a fragment of a little Chinese farce called “The Mender of Broken China-ware.” McDougal had picked it up from some troupe of strolling players and jotted down a rough translation of his own, beginning:
“Seeking a livelihood by the work of my hands, Daily do I traverse the streets of the city. Well, here I am, a mender of broken jars, An unfortunate victim of ever-changing plans. To repair fractured jars is my sole occupation. ’Tis even so. Disconsolate am I, Niu-Chau.”
The two investigators laid this page aside and scanned the remaining scraps of paper The Chinese writing consisted almost wholly of quotations, lines from the classics, racy proverbs of the common people, and so on. They contained nothing whatever that might throw more light on the mystery of McDougal. In much the same way, what he had written in English concerned itself with his wanderings from port to port and his pitiful failures to hold a position.
“What we want most was lost in the scuffle,” said O’Shea. “The earlier part of this diary may have told the story that you and I are anxious to know.”
“I fancy we know more than any other two white men in China,” drawled Inspector Burke. “If a chap is really keen to find out something about this blackguardly organization, he will make a voyage to the River of Ten Thousand Evil Smells and go pokin’ about the ruined town of Wang-Li-Fu. It’s out of my bailiwick. Now, whether
I ought to lay this information before the Chinese officials of the provincial government——”
“Excuse me for meddling,” O’Shea broke in with a boyish, eager smile, “but I have come a long way to go rummagin’ about in this mess on me own hook. And do ye think the Chinese government could be trusted to go ahead and accomplish anything at all? This evidence of ours is no more than guesswork.”
“I have thought of that, Captain O’Shea. And the thing would not be done quietly. There would be a lot of chin-chin and clumsy preparation, and a gun-boat and pig-tailed soldiers, and Shanghai getting wind of the expedition. It would be better to do the trick off one’s own bat.”
“My friend, the sailorman with the cracked top, remarked most emphatic about the ‘Head Devil’ when he was spillin’ disconnected language,” thoughtfully observed O’Shea. “’Tis me strong opinion that he tangled himself with the main works of this busy fraternity of man-killers.”
“What are your plans, may I ask? You are welcome to all the information my men may pick up in the native city. What a lark! I wish I might get a leave of absence and go with you.”
“I would ask no better partner,” warmly returned O’Shea. “Well, I will buy charts and study the coast of this Kiangsu province and learn what I can about the inland waters. And then I will find a few good men that will go to hell for wages, and fight for the love of it. And I will charter a steamer that is fit to navigate rivers and we will be what you might call an expedition.”
Inspector Burke gripped the hard hand of Captain O’Shea and exclaimed with a laugh:
“Here’s luck to you! My word, but you’re the most refreshin’ man I’ve met since I came off frontier service in India! I will help you find your men. Nothing easier. Shanghai can furnish you gentlemanly remittance men from England, stranded American soldiers from Manila, time-expired bluejackets from Hong-Kong, broken
shipmasters from God knows where, and assorted scamps who will follow any one that will buy the drinks.”
“’Tis cheerful news, Inspector Burke. I will have a council of war with you to-morrow at this time. I wish that you would see that poor McDougal is buried decent in a Christian church-yard and I will be glad to pay the bills. He was a good man once.”
IV
That same evening Captain O’Shea remained in his room at the hotel until after nine o’clock. For one thing, he wrote a long letter to Johnny Kent, acquainting that doughty farmer with the encouraging progress of the enterprise, which promised “to deal out enough trouble to satisfy any reasonable man.” Then he took his letter of credit from the leather bill-book and made sundry calculations. After leaving Inspector Burke he had rambled along the water-front and made random inquiries concerning charter prices. Freights were low and the river trade was dull. His funds could stand the strain. Fighting men of the kind he wanted were cheap and he would ship coolies as stokers and deck-hands. However, O’Shea was ready to see the thing through if it took his last penny. What man with blood in him wouldn’t be glad to pay the price of such a picnic as this?
Having jotted down his estimates of the cost of coal, stores, wages, arms, and so on, he cocked an eye at the total and said to himself:
“’Tis the first time I ever backed an expedition of me own, and was not pulling some one else’s irons out of the fire. I feel like the minister of war of a revolutionary government.”
Gathering up his papers, he was about to restore them to the leather wallet when he caught sight of the folded sheet containing the great Chinese character which he had displayed to Inspector Burke. It was not a thing to be carried about carelessly and perhaps exposed to view in the course of his business dealings with banks or
shops or shipping agents. Some association with this sinister symbol had cost poor McDougal his life. And Chinese were to be found everywhere in the European settlement. With an unusually prudent impulse, Captain O’Shea thrust the folded paper between the layers of clothing in his trunk and put the key in his pocket.
The night was young, the air warm and close within doors, and he felt not in the least like turning in. Strolling through the wide corridors, he passed into the street and moved idly in the direction of the Bund, attracted by the music of a band which was playing in the park near by. The place was like a lovely garden with wide areas of lawn and a profusion of foliage. The large number of men and women who walked to and fro or chatted in groups were, for the most part, English, American, and German; exiles of a fashionable and prosperous air who appeared to find life in the Far East quite endurable and success in their commercial enterprises not harassingly difficult.
Captain O’Shea found a seat on a rustic bench and watched the passing show. Presently he smiled as he descried the incongruous figure of a wizened little elderly Irishman in a black frock-coat with a rusty tall hat firmly jammed on the back of his head. In this smart company Paddy Blake was a fish out of water, but he had lost not a bit of his brisk, devil-may-care demeanor which dared any one to tread on the tail of the coat aforesaid. O’Shea hailed him, and he halted to cackle cordially:
“I was lookin’ for ye to drop into me place all day. There was a magnum on ice and a brace of cold roast Chinese pheasants that ’ud make a king lick his chops. I had something important to impart to ye in th’ back room.”
“’Twas about McDougal, no doubt,” said O’Shea. “I found him, and dead as a mackerel he was.”
“I had the same news this mornin’,” exclaimed Paddy Blake. “One of me Chinese bar-boys lives in the native city forninst the French Gate. He was bound home last night whin the body was found, but the likes of him ’ud scuttle away and say nawthin’ to the police.”
“Inspector Burke tells me that you were not too free with information yourself,” dryly observed O’Shea.
Paddy Blake vehemently thumped his knee with his tall hat and returned:
“Me place has a bad enough reputation, God knows, and the damned British police is biassed agin me. Would it do me anny good to be dragged into court as witness in a murder case and th’ inspector makin’ out that the man got drunk on my booze? Which is wrong entirely, for McDougal was sober when he went off in tow of Captain Spreckels, as ye well know But ’tis no use holdin’ postmortems. Thim Chinese divils done for McDougal same as he was afraid of. And are ye makin’ anny headway in the matter of the big red-headed man that I informed ye was Jim Eldridge, mate of the Tai Yan steamer?”
“I will not find easy weather of it without McDougal,” said O’Shea, who had no intention of showing his hand to Paddy Blake.
An electric lamp illuminated the path in front of them, but a large tree cast a shadow past one end of the bench, which was why they did not sooner perceive a young man who stood scanning the crowd as if he had nothing more to do than listen to the music. Now he stepped into the light and was about to move on when he caught sight of the tall hat of old Paddy Blake. As though recognizing this ancient landmark, he made a mock pass at it with his lacquered stick and exclaimed in accents easily familiar:
“Hello, old sport! I was betting you the price of a new hat on the arrival of the German mail-boat last week. You won, Paddy, but why do you not wear the new hat?”
O’Shea was surveying the jocular young man with considerable interest. Here was a type new to him—the dapper, blasé, slangy Chinese of Shanghai, wearing European clothes and manners, ardent patron of the club and the race-track, and forsaking his countrymen to live in a foreign-built villa on the Bubbling Well Road. An English tailor and an English haberdasher had adorned this young man regardless of expense, but O’Shea surmised that he was
something more than a gilded rounder He looked quick-witted and efficient and very wise in worldly knowledge. Moreover, there was an odd quality of respect in the manner of the unterrified Paddy Blake as he replied to the greeting.
“An’ what’s the good worrd, Charley? Can I do annything at all for ye? I am waitin’ to buy a hat with your money whin this one wears out. ’Tis a shame to toss it away. I want ye to know Captain O’Shea, a seafarin’ friend of mine from New York. Captain, this is Misther Charley Tong Sin, comprador for Jordan, Margetson & Co., an’ the smartest comprador that ye will find between Tientsin and Singapore, if I do say it to his face.”
O’Shea shook hands with the affable young man, who laughed and retorted:
“Paddy is a great chap for the blarney, a first-chop jollier, you bet. We do some business together when my firm wants sailors for its ships. Sometimes Paddy beats me; not so often I skin him.”
“Listen to him,” chuckled the old man. “If iver I got the best of him just once, it ’ud make me too proud to live with. Well, I must be trottin’ along to me own dump. I wandered to th’ park on the chance of pickin’ up a couple of stray sailors. If ye can be of anny service to Captain O’Shea I will count it as a favor, Charley. He’s a stranger and he’s Irish, and he has made a hit with me.”
Paddy Blake departed in great haste, and Charley Tong Sin offered O’Shea a cigarette from an ornately jewelled case, remarking:
“You are in Shanghai for business or pleasure? It is a bully good town for fun; not as swift as New York, but not so slow either. I went to college in America.”
“Which is more than I did,” confessed O’Shea. “Oh, I am just looking about Shanghai, not to find out how swift the town is, but to invest a bit of money, maybe. Jordan, Margetson? That is a big shipping house?”
“The same. I am in charge of the native business,” chirruped Charley Tong Sin. “Anything in the shipping line you want, you come
to see me and I will put you wise. You have done business in these ports before, captain?”
“No; mostly in the Atlantic trade. I was in the office of your firm this afternoon, asking some information about a possible charter.”
“Ah, but you did not see me. Too bad,” and the comprador added with bland self-satisfaction: “It must have been after three o’clock. Then I am in the club drinking gin cocktails every day until I go home to dinner. It is my custom. There is no man in Shanghai that does more business and drinks more gin cocktails, but I do not mix the two things. I am the wise guy, eh? What tonnage do you want to charter, and where to?”
“I am not quite ready to say,” replied O’Shea, who preferred to keep his affairs to himself even when offered the assistance of so capable an adviser as Charley Tong Sin.
“I beg your pardon. Come to my office when you have made up your mind, Captain O’Shea. For the sake of the jolly sprees I had in little old New York, I will see that you are not stung in Shanghai. What do you say to a drive on the Bubbling Well Road before you go back to your hotel? My carriage is waiting a little way from here. I came to the park to meet a friend but he has not arrived.”
The invitation was attractive and the acquaintance of the comprador worth cultivating. O’Shea accepted with thanks, and presently they climbed into a very shiny victoria with two Chinese grooms on the box. The spirited little horses, admirably matched, danced through the paved streets of the settlement and out into the wider spaces of the countryside. The shipmaster found pleasure in new places; with him sight-seeing had never lost its zest, and the Bubbling Well Road was one of the things that no voyager to the Orient ought to miss. To view it by night was rather unsatisfactory, but the air was deliciously sweet and cool, and the handsome embowered residences of merchants and diplomats and Chinese officials appeared quite magnificent when duskily discerned by the glimmer of the stars.
“You have seen the native city? No?” said Charley Tong Sin. “It is very dirty, but picturesque to beat the deuce. What you say? Tomorrow morning I go to have an appointment with His Excellency, the governor, at his yamen. It is on business. Perhaps you would like to meet me there and have an audience. It is rather good fun, much red-tape, a big bunch of officials, and plenty of kow-towing. Not many foreigners have admittance to him in this way.”
It occurred to Captain O’Shea that he should very much like to learn what the government of the native city, or the police department thereof, had discovered in connection with the murder of McDougal. And to gain an entrance in company with the influential comprador, himself a Chinese, was to make his inquiries under the most favorable circumstances.
“I will jump at the chance,” he exclaimed. “A man like me that may do business in China in a small way should make himself solid with the powers that be.”
“I am sorry that I cannot meet you at your hotel and take you to the yamen,” explained Charley Tong Sin, “but to-morrow I must be very early at my office to make up the accounts of a ship that will sail for Hankow, and then I will have to hurry into the native city like the very devil. If you tell your ’rickshaw man to carry you to the governor’s yamen I will be there and see you at eight o’clock.”
“I can find my way, and many thanks to you,” cordially returned O’Shea. “The native city is strange water, but no doubt the ’rickshaw pilot will know his course.”
It was drawing near to midnight when the shiny victoria left Captain O’Shea at the Astor House and the obliging Charley Tong Sin bade him adieu. The shipmaster went yawning to his room, agreeably refreshed by the outing and ready for bed. He was a tidy man by habit, having stowed himself and his belongings for much of his life in a space no larger than a respectable closet. Even in a hotel room he left nothing strewn about.
He had no more than pulled off his coat when he observed that things were not arranged exactly as he had left them. His eyes noted
one trifle, and this led him to look for others. The Chinese servant had been in to turn down the bed, leave fresh towels, and pick up burnt matches and scraps of paper, but something other than this routine handwork had been busy in the room. His things had been examined hastily, but with careful endeavor to leave them as they were. Opening one bureau drawer after another, he found confirmation of this suspicion. The articles therein had been not so much poked about in disorder as moved from their places by exploring hands.
If a thief had been in the room he found no booty for his pains, for there was neither money nor jewelry to be looted. Captain O’Shea thoughtfully picked up a leather hand-bag which was locked as he had left it. Inserting the key he looked inside. He had been careful to slip a box of revolver cartridges into a leather flap-pocket because the pasteboard covering was broken and they were apt to spill loose in the bottom of the bag. Evidently it had been ransacked, for the box of cartridges was not in the pocket, but lodged in a fold of a rain-coat which half filled the bag. O’Shea whistled softly and moved straightway to his trunk. This also was locked. Flinging back the lid, he instantly searched between the layers of clothing for the folded sheet of heavy paper on which he had drawn with a brush and stencilling ink the ominous Chinese character that was branded into the back of the red-haired sailor-man.
The paper was missing. Something had already told him that he should find it missing. He made no further search, but sat himself down on the edge of the bed and stared very hard at the blank wall. The night was as warm as before, but he felt curiously chilly.
“’Tis like as if some one had jammed an icicle into the small of me back,” he reflected. “I will not cry before I am hurt, but there’s more to this divertin’ adventure of mine than Johnny Kent and I ever dreamed of on the farm.”
Certain conclusions were boldly obvious. His real business in China had been discovered by the same agency which had tried to slay the red-haired sailor and which had murdered McDougal. The paper had been stolen because it was a clinching proof of his active
