Heart and Soul (33 page)

After which, he would say he was making his way back to London and his parents’ home and, hopefully, it would not take more than a very few days before he could, in fact, do so. Two weeks at most, he told himself, though a nagging voice at the back of his head told him it would very likely be more.

Part of him, too, had no wish at all to go home. He wished he could live, like John Malmsey, an entirely British life at the edge of the exotic. He looked at his parents’ friend—a graying gentleman with a happy look about him and a wife at least twenty years his junior—and smiled. “Yes, yes. I have had not a chance to see anything of the land, and you must know that all my life I’ve longed to have adventures and to see exotic lands.”

This got him a surprised expression, followed by an amused smile. “No, really? I would have thought that was Carew’s province, but I’m glad of it. Only, don’t eat anything in the native quarters. Although here in Hong Kong you’re fairly safe from eating rat or dog unawares, their cooking uses spices we do not, and sometimes it has an effect on the European digestive system that is quite unlike anything European food might manage. Even French food.”

With that, he waved cheerily at Nigel, who set out in the cool morning sunlight, walking amid manicured lawns tended by natives, slowly edging his way toward the native quarters of town.

He knew that not so long ago, Hong Kong had been a wasteland. Most of the work that had gone into making it the current paradise was doubtlessly native, though the direction was, just as unmistakably, British. In between the two, Hong Kong seemed like a city out of dreams, and a perfect embodiment of what Nigel wished for. Both familiar and foreign. A land where anything at all could happen.

MISS’S REGRETS

What have I done?
Hettie thought, as soon as she had
read the two notes that Captain Corridon had left on the table.
What have I done?

More important, of course, was what she could do now to remedy her fatal mistake in trusting this man whom she thought might very well prove to be a rake or worse. And then she reproached herself, because he was not, in fact, anything he hadn’t told her he was—an agent working on behalf of Her Majesty.

The problem, of course, was with Mama and Papa and what they might have been doing. Hettie was not such a great fool that she couldn’t read between the lines of those notes, on which she had so carefully lifted the sealing wafer that it took no more than the warmth of her hands to reseal them again.

Unless she missed her guess, the carpetship flight magician had indeed been a hero, as Papa had said. And perhaps that was why Papa felt obligated to house him. What Hettie could not understand was why Papa had also felt that he must hide that ruby—if the queen wanted it—much less let that man leave the house with the ruby in his possession. She also could not understand what the Chinese dragons had to do with it all.

But it was clear that Captain Corridon had gone out of his way to avoid mentioning her parents, and that this at least meant he was protecting them in some measure. She wondered if he would still not have mentioned them had she not agreed to leave with him. However, it was also quite clear to her, from his saying that he was in possession of something that would allow him to make the conspirators reveal all, that his having obtained, as it were, possession of her, meant that he was hoping to blackmail whoever the conspirators against the queen were and get them to confess all—or at least to give him the ruby.

She looked around the small cramped studio. A part of her, irrationally, wanted to take the notes and her suitcase and run, as fast as she could, out of Captain Corridon’s power. But the other part of her was more rational. First, taking the notes would do nothing because Corridon could very well write the notes again. Oh, it might help her prove to Papa where she’d been and what she’d found out, but she rather thought that the moment she mentioned the magical rubies, Papa would believe her.

But worse, given her desire to run back and throw herself in Papa’s safe arms, was the certainty that there was nothing she could do that would be more fatal to Mama’s and Papa’s chances at escaping.

If Captain Corridon was the prime mover of the investigation that might end up with Hettie’s parents in jail, or worse, for suspected treason, then Captain Corridon must not, under any circumstances, be left to his own devices. He must, in fact, have Hettie cleave to him as though she were, in fact, attempting to elope with him.

The other part of this was that Hettie hadn’t used her own magical power on him. Glamoury wasn’t a very good magical power to have, and particularly when it was as strong as Hettie’s; it wasn’t considered something suitable for well-brought-up misses to use. But in this case, she would bet she could keep poor Corridon confused enough that he wouldn’t know if he was on his feet or on his head until she could find a better plan to keep him away from her parents.

In the same way, she was quite sure, given the time it had taken him to return, that he had not conveyed her note to her parents, which meant she must find a way to do it herself.

In it she would explain—carefully—that she was safe, that she was using her power to stay so, and that she would be home before anything terrible could happen to her.

At that moment, Captain Corridon came into his study, and Hettie smiled at him, trying to make it as fond a smile as she could, while throwing all the power of her glamoury at him.

A PAPER CAGE

“I don’t suppose these bars will be any easier to break
because they are made out of paper?” Third Lady asked her husband.

Wen, still immaterial and transparent, had been trying without success to bend the bars of the cage. The cage they’d been put in was so clearly a construction made out of colored paper that it seemed infuriating that they could not simply break out of it.

“It is not so easy,” Wen said. “You see, first of all, while the cage is made out of paper, it is far more solid and real than a body composed of mind and will and, in my case, no soul.” He looked at Third Lady with eyes filled with some form of tragic hurt. “How can you love me, Precious Lotus? Was I already soulless when we met?”

She sighed. “According to the information the oracle gave me, your soul has been held captive and subjected to frivolous lawsuits by Zhang and his relatives since you were maybe twelve. Their suits weren’t very strong, and they couldn’t have held, if he’d not been careful to get you addicted to opium. He was trying, you see, to…” She floundered, then took a deep breath and got her courage. “He was trying to ensure you did not have descendants. He…thought the opium would eventually kill you and then he would…”

“Inherit,” Wen said.

Third Lady nodded. “But then he heard of the Jewels of Power, and I think he was growing impatient and…” She stopped. Wen wasn’t listening to her.

“Twelve,” Wen said, and the word had a finality, as though he couldn’t quite believe the number he’d pronounced. “That long. You’d think one would notice. You’d think one’s soul could not simply leave one’s body one morning with us never the wiser.”

Third Lady shook her head. “I don’t think that is how it works, my lord,” she said. “I think you quite mistake it. You’re not without a soul, as such. In fact, I don’t believe it is possible to be alive and function without a soul. I think you have a soul, right enough, only it is held in the underworld and linked to you only through a tether. This means it still animates you, it’s just not as…substantial as it should be. And this leaves you incapable of withstanding manipulation…and the temptations of opium. But it doesn’t mean I can’t see that soul in you, and I can’t see, through your weakened form, what you would be should your soul be restored to you.” She spread her hands wide. “My lord, the truth is, I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and I do not even know why. The only explanation I can find is in the legend that the gods link together the souls and bodies of those who are supposed to marry, and that I was linked to you when we were born.”

“I wonder,” Wen said, heavily, “whether my soul is held captive nearby and whether it will, in fact, be possible to find it and set it free.”

Third Lady, who had been thinking approximately that, frowned. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea, my lord. What I’ve seen of the underworld appears to run almost too legalistically. I have sent ahead documents and proof against any frivolous lawsuit Zhang might have brought, based on your ancestry and your right to inherit. And besides, Judge Bao is known to be fast and to have very little patience for this sort of lawsuit. And I’m sure if needed we can call Yu the Great to your defense, and with a witness like that, who can fail?”

“If we can ever make it to his court,” Wen said as he once more, desultorily, tried to pull at the painted-black bars of their prison, which reacted not at all to his touch. “Those paper guards are still out there, and frankly, they didn’t sound to me like they cared at all if we should ever come to judgment or not.”

“Well, they probably do not,” Third Lady said, and frowned because this was not something that she cared to admit.

“Didn’t you tell Yu that you had burned paper figures of our own, to accompany us and serve us?” Wen asked. “In fact, I know that you have. I remember standing around the cave, in immaterial form, as you did so. And I remember watching the figures zoom by me, also in spirit form and animated. Where are they? Didn’t Grandfather Yu tell you that all you had to do was call them?”

“I think what he means is that I need to demand them—to demand them loudly and make it clear to Feng Du’s laws and our jailors that I know my rights. The problem with that—”