Camera Obscura (12 page)

Authors: Lavie Tidhar

BOOK: Camera Obscura

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He engineered a meeting with the man. He knew he had to go outside sometime, if only for his foul rolling tobacco. He bumped into him by chance, and Yong Li was delighted to see him.

"He did not enjoy being cooped up in that place," Henri said. "He said the women were not clean. That Europeans were filthy and did not wash, and their smell was bad. He was quite rude, really, but I guess you have to make allowances. I think he was just in a bad humour, from being held there all this time. He was very glad to see me."

"So what did you do?"

Henri looked surprised. "We got drunk," he said, as if the answer was obvious.

"Oh."

"And then I painted him."

"I see."

"He wouldn't discuss it with me," Henri said. "But I think he was glad because I could see what he saw. I think it was very hard for him. He would touch his stomach and grimace, as if he were in pain. But it was not a physical pain. It was the pain of seeing that you did not wish to see."

But Henri wished to see. He found that by touching the man's naked stomach the visions in his mind became clearer. He became obsessed with trying to capture more clearly what he was seeing. He sensed a great presence there, and a great danger too, beyond the wall of mist. They met in secret, he and Yong Li, when the two women were away. Once he came up to the apartment, but Yong Li did not like that. So they met in a bar, and talked, and drank – "He didn't like the opium. Alcohol helped him not see, but opium had the opposite effect –" and Henri drew.

"Then he told me his time was near, and he could unburden himself and go home. And then he told me we could not see each other again – it was becoming too dangerous. I was disconsolate!"

"Disconsolate," she said.

"Yes! I did not know what to do. I was mad! But I promised him I will stay away."

"Did you kill him?" she said. The artist opened wide, shocked eyes. "Kill him? How could I kill him?"

She thought of the body ripped open, as if someone had reached inside… "To open the door he was keeping locked," she said.

"Never!" He looked flustered and she knew she had something.

"You thought about it, didn't you?" she said.

"I… that is not… I would never!"

"What did you do?"

"I waited. I stood outside all night, but he never came down. I came here and took much opium, but my link was fading, it was becoming harder to see."

She waited. "The Clockwork Room," she said.

Yes. There came a night when he saw Yong Li go out. He was accompanied by the younger L'Espanaye woman.

"So I followed them," he said, shrugging. "What else could I do?"

"You followed them to the Clockwork Room?"

He used to be a regular there, he explained. He loved the place, the smell of oil, the hum of the machinery. There was something about it, he realised later, that was a little bit close to the other world he could – almost – see. He couldn't quite say what it was… When he saw that was their destination he went ahead, came inside through the back entrance, and was already at the bar when they came in. If Yong Li noticed him he gave no sign. But he knew that he did.

"What was he doing there?"

He described the evening – the girl looking overwhelmed by the place – Yong Li at the bar – the girl going upstairs to the private rooms. He watched Yong Li all the while, waiting for the man to come to him, but he never did.

And now she sat forward, waiting, for this witness, this drug-addled, short-legged artist who could fill in for her the missing time at the Clockwork Room.

"Tell me," she said.

TWENTY-FOUR

Taken

They were waiting for her when she left the Speckled Band. Dark-clad shapes moving in the street outside, ringing her – onlookers studiously
not
looking.

They were Asian, and that came as no surprise. They stood in their semi-circle and regarded her. She looked at their faces. Only a couple were unscarred. She said, "Black never goes out of fashion."

One of the men, older than the others, stepped forward. "You are to come with us, please," he said.

"Or else?" she said.

For a moment, the man looked confused. "Or else what?" he said.

"You're supposed to say or else," she said, "and then tell me what you'll do if I don't come with you."

"Oh," he said, nodding. "Thank you, yes. Come with us or else we'll kill you and throw your body into the river, please," he said.

"Well, since you put it so nicely," she said. She looked back at the door of the Speckled Band. It was shut.

"I can't say I'm that surprised to see you," she said, speaking to the one who seemed to be their leader. "Whoever you are."

He smiled, only a little. "You have been busy," he said.

"Work," she said. "You know how it is."

He nodded, without a smile now. There was something in him that she responded to, a similarity to herself. A professional, she thought. She said, "Shall we?" and the man said, "Follow me, please."

It was the most polite kidnapping she had ever experienced. Walking in the midst of the black-clad men she had the surreal feeling she was going to a funeral. She hoped it was not her own.

There were people everywhere in the street, most of them Asian, all assiduously looking away when they passed. For all purposes she and her little group were invisible. The smells of cooking engulfed her as before.

She noticed they did not appear concerned about her gun. They led the way through narrow side-streets and she saw a building rising in the distance, a façade decorated with lizardine gargoyles, enormous chimneys rising above it, belching smoke and steam. She knew what it was.

The Gobelin factory.

They came to a door and it opened from inside. They went into the building. The corridor was long and brightly lit and smelled of cleaning material. They followed it for a while and came to an elevator. It opened and she was motioned inside. She went in and was followed by the leader and two of his men. The other remained outside. The leader pressed a button and the elevator ascended slowly.

She knew about the factory. Viktor had worked there for a while, he had told her that once. It was once owned by the Gobelin family. Now she wasn't sure who owned it. They used to make garments there – one of the first places to use the Daguerre looms, machines that automated production… It had been a natural step for the factory to–

The elevator doors opened. They all filed out. Another white, clean corridor. They walked down it and came to a door. The door opened onto an antechamber. There was a sofa and a small table and the leader said, "Would you like some tea?"

"Do you have any coffee?"

"Please," he said, looking pained. "It is not good for you."

Apart from the two items of furniture the room was bare. The walls were very white. It was very clean. There was a set of doors at the back of the room. They were closed. She sat and waited and the leader waited with her, standing, while one of his men went and fetched a pot of tea. Then there were just the two of them there.

She poured some tea into a small china cup and sipped it. "Jasmine?" she said. He nodded with seeming approval. "Very beneficial for both spirit and body," he said.

She said, "Do you have a name?"

"I am Colonel Xing of the Imperial Secret Service," he said.

She said, "It's not secret if you tell me about it."

For a moment she almost thought he would smile. It passed.

"Do you not serve your Council in a similar capacity?" he said.

"A lot of people seem to know a lot about me, all of a sudden…" she said.

"You are an interesting woman," he said, and this time he
did
smile. "It is only natural…"

She tilted her head, looking at him. "There are no secrets between the likes of us," he said.

"Right."

They smiled at each other.

"What are we waiting for?" she said.

He didn't answer that one. She sipped her tea. They waited.

The doors opened at the back of the room almost without her noticing.

It was impossible to miss the woman standing there, though.

She was very old, and half her face was metal.

"Milady de Winter?" she said. "I am Fei Linlin. Please, come inside."

TWENTY-FIVE

The Empress-Dowager's Emissary

"Madame Linlin–"

They were standing in a room overlooking the city. They were high up in the Gobelin factory. Below the streets of Chinatown snaked, covered in lights. Beyond was the Seine and the whole of the city. Just outside the window were two enormous gargoyles, lizard-shaped, split tongues out, reptilian mouths open as if to catch the rain.

"I hope my men were not rude–"

"Colonel Xing was
very
polite."

"That is good."

Madame Linlin lit a cigarette. It was inserted inside an ivorycoloured holder. She took a deep breath and exhaled smoke. She was very old and looked a little like a dragon. Her eyes were large and bright. One eye was set in a human, wrinkled face. The other was in a half-globe of smooth metal. Milady noted that, and wondered. The woman knew she was looking and didn't seem to mind.

She was small, and now she went and sat behind a large desk, her back to the windows, and looked even smaller.

And strangely powerful.

She had the feel about her of a woman used to wielding

power. Her eyes examined Milady and there was nothing personal about it: it was the way a merchant might study his wares, deciding how much they were worth and what best use to put them to. "Please, sit down."

Milady remained standing. She looked out of the window at the city, returned her gaze back to the old woman.

"Who are you?" she said.

"I told you my name."

Milady inched her head in reply and the woman smiled. "But you want to know, of course,
what
I am."

"Yes."

"I am the representative of the Empress-Dowager Cixi," the woman said, equally simply. "Of the Empire of Chung Kuo."

"China."

"Yes."

"I thought–" She did not know much about that far-off, mysterious place. "I thought you had an emperor."

"We do."

"Ah."

"Sometimes it is best to – how shall I put it," Madame Linlin said, "to help matters from
behind
the throne, as it were. An emperor, after all, is an important soul, a ruler with many tasks. He must be seen. He must be worshipped. He should not be burdened with–"

"More practical matters?"

"Exactly."

When the woman smiled it was with only one half of her face. The metal side never moved at all.

"What happened to you?"

The woman shrugged, not taking offence. "I was injured in service," she said. "Our scientists are not without knowledge."

"I did not know you had–"

"And we try to keep it that way," Madame Linlin said, a little sharply. "Oh, the lizards tried to invade us, not once but twice. They were repelled. I suspect that, sooner or later, they will try again. The lizards and their humans, those English on their tiny island. Do they really think they can take
us
? No, my dear. We know much that we do not tell, and learned much beyond that. Just as we know how to deal with this great Republic of France, should your metal-minds ever think to make the same mistake."

"You are being very forthright."

"I am not a diplomat," Madame Linlin said, and again she smiled that half-smile. "We work behind the scenes, you and I, do we not?"

Milady let it pass. "What is it you want?" she said.

"Won't you sit down?"

"No, thank you."

"As you wish."

She blew smoke into the air. Its smell was sweet, and a little cloying.

"I want the same thing you want," she said. "I want the thing that was hidden inside a dead man's stomach."

Milady glanced at her. Fei Linlin smiled back at her. The cigarette-holder was clamped between the teeth of her human half-face. "You know who he was?"

"His real name was Captain James Wong Li," she said. "Also known as Iron Kick, also known as Yong Li, Li Fong, and half a dozen other aliases. Born in Hong Kong, which is a small island given to the lizards in concession –" her half of a face expressed disgust, but the expression quickly disappeared – "hence the English first name. A Tong member, a bandit, later captain in the Imperial Guard."

"Everyone said he was such a nice man," Milady said, and Madame Linlin shrugged. When she did, there was the barely audible sound of gears.

"I have no doubt he was. He was also ruthless when he needed to be, and very loyal, until–"

"Yes?"

But Madame Linlin did not seem eager to pursue that line of conversation. "I am being very open with you," she said, "because I want you to understand what is at stake. Our goals are similar, or we wouldn't be talking. The missing object is dangerous. To Chung Kuo
and
to France."

She thought about the killer in the alleyway, the inhuman face – thought about Henri's drawings, remembered Madame L'Espanaye's last words–

"Door," the woman had said. The single word a whispered puff of
air. "Door. K… key."

She had said, "Where?"

And the woman, dying, said: "Every… where."

"What is this object?"

No answer, and she said, throwing it to the older woman – "A key."

Madame Linlin looked taken aback. "Yes…" she said.

"Why was Yong Li here?" She thought about it for a moment. "Did you send him? You said he was a captain in your–"

"No."

There was a moment of silence, stretching between them. "No," Madame Linlin said at last. "He… Some time ago he changed his allegiance. He defected – to serve the Man on the Mekong."

"Who?"

"An enemy."

They regarded each other. Milady waited. The strange old woman watched her too, her eyes uncertain. At last she said, "The man who sent him here."

Interesting… And now Tom Thumb's mysterious contact in the East was gaining a little more of a shape. "Why was he sent here?"

But she thought she already knew.

She said, "Les Lézards."

And Madame Linlin, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette, said, "Yes."