Strong Mystery: Murder, Mystery and Magic Books 1-3 (Steampunk Magica) (19 page)

Chapter 1

“I am so glad that you can help, Owen
.
When I’d heard that you had moved to this corner of the world, I couldn’t
believe my good fortune.” Owen smiled at this. James Findley had always had a
strong sense of the dramatic, ever since they had been at Peakhurst Boarding
school together. They were in Owens’s front parlor sipping brandy and enjoying a
warm fire. It seemed that it was unusually cold for this time of year in Hong
Kong. The comforts of an aromatic brandy and a crackling fire had driven away
the fingers of cold from the chilly fog outside.

“Yes,” Owen said mildly around his snifter, “I am sorry, but I
must have missed that before. How did you learn where I was?” he asked mildly.

“Oh we had your brother and Sandra over for dinner. He let it
slip as it were.” James took a rather large swig of from his own snifter, and
smiled sheepishly. “He didn’t mean to, I’m sure. I wouldn’t dream of invading
your privacy except the circumstances are so dire.”

It seemed that James’s father had been indiscreet in money
affairs. It wasn’t that the British peerage wasn’t normally indiscreet; it was
that his father had the bad sense to give his personal note to cover the
affair, which was very indiscreet by Britain Society rules. Now the note had
been bought by an unscrupulous paper broker who demanded twice as much as the face
value of the note, or he would expose the entire thing to Society at large,
which would ruin the Findley name for at least a generation.

The paper merchant made Hong Kong his home, as did many of his
kind. The laws were looser here. When his father had been stricken with a
sudden illness, James had made his way to Owen’s door.

“I’ve heard of this Liu Fong,” Owen said. “Really, you can take
this to the police. I know an inspector on the local constabulary who would
help. Even in Hong Kong such acts as blackmail are illegal.”

“But we can’t,” James cried, sitting upright. “The note might
leak out no matter how discreet you say they are. It would be best simply to
pay the man and be done with it.”

“That is why I’ve come to you, Owen. I need someone to watch my
back in this heathen country.” He looked at Owen with sad brown eyes, which
caused Owen to sigh.

“Don’t let my roommate hear you call the Han ‘heathen’. To them
we’re the heathen ones. Their culture is at least as old as ours you know.”

“Ah,” James looked around. “Is she your leman?”

“My lover you mean?” Owen chuckled, “No Jinhao is not that,
she’s well, she is herself. I fear that you won’t be able to meet her though.
She’s away for a few days.” James seemed to relax at hearing this.

“Ah,” James said in response. “Then there is no reason for you
not to accompany me tonight.” Owen regarded his old chum in the flickering
firelight. Being a sorcerer, Owen could have had the glow-globes in their
overhead housings blazing, without worrying about the cost of recharging them.
However, he preferred the softer light. He felt that it revealed character not
readily visible otherwise. Those brown eyes, Owen thought to himself. He never
could refuse them.

“I most certainly shall,” Owen looked at the time-piece on the
wall. “You say he wished to meet you at eleven? That gives us plenty of time to
have dinner. Mrs. Han is a splendid cook. You must stay for dinner and then we
shall be fortified for when we go to recover your father’s note.”

“Really,” James protested “I did not dream of imposing on you
this much.”

“Nonsense!” Owen said. He raised his snifter in a toast. “Play
up school!”

“Play up school!” James replied. The two old friends laughed as
their glasses touched with a clink.

~ ~ ~

Later when they had arrived at the address Findley
supplied, Owen stopped him from climbing out of the enclosed coach
.
Holding the man’s arm tightly, Owen looked James Findley in the face.

“Listen,” Owen said gravely, “this may not go as you think it
will.” Findley’s Adams apple bobbed.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he said shakily.

“This is hardly the way business is done here, James,” Owen
explained. “You may believe that this will be a simple exchange. I assure you
nothing is ever simple with these people, especially when they wish to meet in
deserted areas at night.”

An aether pistol suddenly appeared in Owen’s hand, the clear
charge tube at the rear of it glowing a baleful red in the shadows of the
coach. Firing bursts of alchemical created elemental energy, aether pistols where
very lethal and very illegal.

“Good Antlered Lord,” Findlay exclaimed, looking at the pistol
as if it were a snake.

“Violence, James,” Owen said bleakly. “These people work on
violence. You should remember that in the future.” Owen extended the pistol to
him. “I trust you still know how to shoot?” Reluctantly, Findley took it from
him.

“Yes, but what about you?” He asked, hefting the weapon.

Owen held up his cane which faintly glowed the bright red of
electrum, with a blue stone inset at the handle. The red stone held a bright
sheen. This was a sorcerer’s focus, one that allowed Owen to direct the bound
powers of the elemental tattoos on his body. The cane was far more formidable
than any gun.

“I doubt that I will have any trouble,” Owen said. His eyes
searched his friends face. “Are you ready for this, James?”

Wordlessly James Findley nodded. They disembarked from the
carriage and began walking, with Owen leading and James following. Owen looked
out at the abandoned buildings that surrounded them, the fog already beginning
to penetrate his wool cloak.

“I say old dear,” Owen said sardonically to James. “This does
not look like a legitimate business place to me, does it to you?”

“Well, I don’t know what to say,” James Findley stammered, “I’m
sure this is the right address.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Owen turned to face him. “I said
it wasn’t legitimate business. Much like you are not, James. Legitimate that
is.” Findley startled at this.

“What do you mean by that Owen?” he questioned. “Why are you
looking at me that way?”

“Oh you can drop the act now James,” Owen said tiredly. “Did
you think that I would let you lead me into being surrounded by them? Really,
it is all so depressingly simple. You lead me into a building, we met the
mysterious Liu Fong, and meanwhile I’m being targeted by snipers if he is
smart, or simple thugs if he is not. They spring out to either kill me or
capture me.” Owen cocked his head to his old school chum. “Which is it James?
Or do you even know?” Findley raised the aether pistol that Owen had given him,
pointing it shakily at Owen.

“You always were too clever for your own good Owen,” he said
hoarsely. “They only wish to take you back to Britain. That is all I know. It
was supposed to be as simple as you said, but now you’ve gone and mucked it
up.”

“Whatever hold they have on you James, I can help,” Owen said
gently. “It is still not too late.” Findley laughed, a dead rattling sound.

“There really is a money note floating around, Owen. Only it
doesn’t belong to Father, but to me. They said that after they had ruined me
they would see to Heather and the baby.” Findley began crying. “They scare me
Owen. All I have to do is give them you, and it all goes away.” Owen sighed,
leaning on his cane.

“If you follow through with this James,” he said wearily, “it
will never go away.”

“Don’t move,” Findley said, holding the pistol more upright. He
raised his voice, “We’re over here! He’s gotten wise to us! Over here!

“Oh James.” Owen shook his head. “Get down and hide!” he urged.
“I can’t protect you at the same time as I’m fighting them.” Owen began to move
towards the crates that were littered around.

“I will shoot, Owen!” James warned.

“No you won’t, James,” Owen replied sadly. “You really do not
think that I would give a working weapon to someone leading me into an ambush,
do you? Now hide!” Owen dropped into the tangle of crates and vanished. Findley
tried to pull the trigger only nothing happened. He tried again, and then
tossed the pistol away.

“He’s over here!” Findley yelled again. A big hand came down on
his shoulders.

“Softly, Mr. Findley, softly,” The voice belonged to a dapperly
dressed European with slicked back black hair and a handlebar mustache. The
hand belonged to a giant of a man who had seemed, to Findley, to be the
speaker’s henchman or something.

“We wouldn’t want the Bobbies to come snooping around now,
would we,” The short man said rhetorically, while absent-mindedly twirling a
cane. He looked about lazily. “Now where did you say he went?”

Findley pointed to the tumble of crates. The cane-wielding man
nodded and then silently gestured towards the crates. A number of shapes
appeared out of the gloom like rats, each hunched over, and bearing long,
wicked knives. Noiselessly they padded into the tumble of crates.

Owen crouched down awaiting them. Waterside toughs, he thought.
More is the pity for them. The first one came around the corner, knife held out
before him. Owen popped out the tip of his cane, briefly touching the man’s
chest, much as a fencer would score a hit. The man let out a short scream as
the spot Owen had touched burst into flame and fell over dead. Outside the
jungle of crates, the dapper European stalked back and forth listening to the
cries of his thugs as they fell.

“This is untenable,” The dapper man muttered, “Completely
untenable.” He turned to the giant man who was holding up James Findley like a
rag-doll, his legs dangling. “And you’re sure you didn’t warn him Mr. Findley?”
the air was cut by another death scream. Findley wiggled in the huge man’s
grasp.

“No Mr. Victor, No I swear,” Findley gasped. “Owen Strong has always
been too smart for his own good”! Another short scream rent the night,
signaling the death of another one of the hired thugs.

“Completely untenable,” the man known as Mr. Victor said again.
“Do you not agree Mr. Percy?” The huge man grunted his agreement. “That is what
comes of hiring out these days.” The dapper man raised his voice. “Strong!
Listen to me! My name is Victor, Mr. Victor, which is what I shall be this
night, have no doubts of it! I have your childhood friend here. You have
angered a number of very important people with your meddling and poking about.
They want you dead, and I intend to fulfill their desire. But there’s no need
for others to suffer from your stubbornness, like young Findley here. Throw
down your cane and surrender! I promise your end will be quick!” Mr. Victor
raised his cane, the electrum bands around it glowing a bright red, and pointed
it slowly at James Findley.

“Otherwise, your Findley is dead first,” Mr. Victor said.

 “I am so sorry James,” Owen called out.

“Owen! Owen!” Findley cried, “You have to help me!”

“Oh do be quiet,” Mr. Victor snarled, a bolt of lightning
coming from the tip of his cane, aimed at Findley. It was intercepted by a
lightning bolt from the crate jungle. Mr. Victor whirled, sending a sheet of
fire towards where Owen hid.

“Hah! I have you now,” Victor cried out. The sheet of fire
burst among the crates causing the crates and everything in the path of the
fire to catch ablaze. Several cries came from the mass of crates. It appeared
that Mr. Victor didn’t care if he killed his own henchmen or not. A vague man-like
shape appeared in the flames, writhing in agony.

“Oh yes, you feel that do you?” Victor said savagely. As he
slammed his cane into the ground, the shock wave of his strike rippled through
the ground, tearing up the foundation, and exposing the waters underneath.

Burning crates and figures began to fall into the dark fathoms
below, much to Mr. Victor’s surprise. The warehouse section they were standing
on had been built out over the bay itself, it seemed, and his earth-slamming
spell had disrupted the very decking below his quarry.

Owen struggled to keep his footing as the warehouse began
collapsing beneath him. He had protected himself from Mr. Victor’s fire-strike
with ease, only to be taken by surprise by the earth-slamming spell. A crate
hit the back of his head, making him swoon. He felt himself falling as the
darkness engulfed him.

“No!” Mr. Victor screamed in dismay, sending another bolt of
lightning into the burning mess. The two villains and Findley watched as the
wreckage sank into the black depths.

“Owen,” sobbed James Findley, “Oh my Lord of the Woods! Owen!”

“Shut him up, Mr. Percy,” Victor said watching the waters. The
giant turned Findley’s neck as easily as he would wring the neck of a chicken.
There was a snap and James Findley became limp in his large hands.

“Toss him in there with his friend,” he commanded. Mr. Victor
continued to watch the water for a long time. When neither body floated up, he
waited some more. Finally, he sighed and turned to the giant he had called Mr.
Percy.

“It would have been nice to get the bonus of bringing in his
head, but I do not feel like swimming tonight. There must be a powerful
undertow beneath here.” He stared at the water.

“There is something about this that does not feel right though.
It was too easy.” Victor shook his head. “We’ll keep an eye on his house and
that Chinese girlfriend of his for a few days. No one could have been able to
survive that.” He looked up from the dark waters of the hole in the wharf. He
shook his head as if clearing it. “But something still feels odd about this.
Luckily, we have the expenses purse.” The giant shuffled his feet, wordlessly.

“I know you want to go, and so do I,” Mr. Victor snarled. “I
would love to be somewhere where the only thing they doesn’t eat is rice.” He
raised his cane threateningly. “But we will do it anyway. Now move along!” The
giant cowered in fright from his companion’s threat, and began to move towards
the road.