Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History (21 page)

Her hand on my arm as we walked along the river.

“Nothing, sir.”

“Is that so? You did
nothing
back home?”

My words turned to dust in my mouth.

“You did
nothing
and you think you’re in a position to make demands?” Veins in Benny’s neck and along his forehead throbbed. “I
crawled
to get where I am now. I
fought
to put myself above you
ingrates
so I didn’t have to shovel another damned thing. Who the hell are you, Xiao-Li? What
nothing
did you
do?
Were you a potter? A noble?” He put his face close to mine. “A
killer?
We don’t know, do we? You’ve never
said
,
ever
, and all you
do
here is rig dynamite and
eat
. So,
Mister Nothing
, what gives you
any
kind of authority
over
me?
”

A weak noise came from my throat.

Benny’s face gained a sinister sense of serenity. “Let me explain something, Wu Xiao-Li. So long as I am foreman,
you
do as
I
say.
I
tell you where the dynamite goes,
I
tell you what to eat and when,
and
–”

A cry from afar.

Halting, Benny and I heard men howling across the canyon. Without a moment’s hesitation, we ran, leaving the argument where it was. Benny took a horse from a white that had just dismounted it. He saddled up, jabbering at the man in English, and rode off. I followed, calling after him. No response. Not even a glance back as his steed scaled the slope.

Reason said to run back and find a cellar to hide in. However, faith said to push onward. Undoubtedly, something else had fled the cave: another evil escaping Diyu. Something only a man of my station could deal with. I remembered some banishment rites and hoped they would do, for the sake of both the dead and the living. I had to move.

A quick scan of the town found a man loading a six-shooter into his belt while setting his boot into a steed’s stirrup. I rushed to him. In broken English, I hurriedly begged him to take me. The white cast a glimpse at the chaos ahead and lifted himself onto his mount. Then, reaching down, he seized me and tossed my body over the backside of his horse as though I were a potato sack. We rode towards the screams.

I struggled to hold onto the rider’s saddle. Each bucking of the stallion made my injuries sing and threatened to cast me to the ground.

Men were panicking around me when we stopped. One poor soul had fainted around his fellows. Four fled downhill on foot. The rider dismounted and loosed his pistol. I dropped, aching all over as I staggered onward. Benny was shaking someone and screaming at him in English. Their conversation was too fast for me.

Men stood by the hell-ship’s pit. I went to them, approaching the edge. Hesitatingly, I looked down. Lantern light split the darkness below, revealing rocky floors and scattered tools. The photographer’s camera lay in shambles. One side of the ship had been pried open, as though giant hands had parted the steel.

Amid the stone was the distinct sheen of fresh blood.

News of the murders spread like fire. Men were found shredded, cleaved in two or pulled apart. A lone survivor, Bunting’s photographer, uttered something unintelligible before bleeding out. Witnesses around the hole claimed they saw a terrible shape bolt out of the dirigible at blinding speed and vanish into the woods. We were not safe. Wagons were loaded immediately, with most of the townsfolk swiftly evacuated to the next town over.

Olivia asked to see me before she was evacuated with Bunting’s peers. Head bandaged and hobbling, she took my hand and led me to her carriage. I saw the look Mister Bunting gave as we walked together. His shock at our friendliness was a welcome surprise.

“I do hope you’ll be alright, Mister Charlie.” Olivia pawed my shoulder. “This business with monsters and dirigibles is too much for anyone to bear, I fear.”

“Yes, miss.”

She smiled my way. “When this is over, do come with my uncle to Ottawa. I would have you help with my gardens.”

“Gardens?”

“Your hands, Mister Charlie.” She took one and examined it. “They’re too delicate for a man’s. Hard labour is not for you, I can tell.” Her grip was soft. The slimness of her fingers made me nostalgic.

I withdrew my hand slowly, bowing my head. “I do my best.”

One last smile.

I watched her leave. As the carriage rounded a bend, and as the grinding of its wheels grew distant, I prayed for her health.

Night fell. Half of us stayed behind to search for the killer. Benny oversaw the mission, bent on bringing the fiend to justice. Mister Bunting, furious at the death of his photographer, interrogated my colleagues for answers. Men patrolled the grounds with lanterns. Some whites bore pistols and rifles. My fellows were forced to arm themselves with shovels, sledgehammers, and hatchets. I saw Fat Leung pacing around with a meat cleaver. He looked like he knew how to use it.

I, meanwhile, sat by the pit. It was clear our attackers were more tortured souls come to haunt the living. Hands rubbing together, I hummed all of the necessary mantras. Among my prayers, I begged Yanluo Wang to send his wardens to protect us should our weapons fail.

“I never knew you were a praying man,” someone said. I turned to see Wing. He was bandaged tightly, white cloth wrapped around his neck, head, and leg.

Finishing my chant, I rose and made for him. We headed for the town slowly. A quartet of men were nearing the pit, passing us as we chatted. “In Buddha’s words are truth. Hopefully, mine will reach the right ears.”

Wing looked to the woods beside us. A thick patch of trees and shrubs choked a path over the hills. “Can you really keep faith here?”

“Life is suffering, Wing. The path to Nirvana frees us from it.”

“I’d sooner be free now,” he sighed. “What are we doing here, Xiao-Li? Why are we so far from home?”

“We came in search of work. We were promised a dollar a day and a chance to settle in the new world.”

“
We
were. What about you?”

I hesitated, “I had to leave China.”

“Are you a criminal?”

“Not really.”

“‘Not really’? You’re not filling me with confidence right now.”

“I broke a law.” I glanced at my hands idly. “Not one a policeman or dignitary would care about, but I had to be punished just the same.”

My friend shook his head. “You’re strange.”

“I just try not to focus on who I was. I’d rather work on who I want to be.”

“So you think suffering out here with us will help you on your way?”

“Wing, we are born to suffer.”

I looked to the lights about town, stared out at them and the way they danced like the stars overhead. “From our first meal to our last piss, we suffer. Not only because of the harshness of existence, but also because of what we do to ourselves. We are all so fragile and yet the walls we built around ourselves are so high. Look at Bunting and Benny. They put themselves above us while we writhe in the mud for their satisfaction. That is because they are taught that suffering is integral to progress. And it is, but only progress in the realm material.”

Wing raised an eyebrow, “So you follow Buddha to create progress for your soul.”

I remembered her breath against my face. “I try to. More than ever. In his words, I find peace. In peace, I find progress, and I hope that when my time comes, I will be put in a better place.”

A faint laugh. In Wing’s face, I saw the beginnings of a grin. “Xiao-Li. You truly–”

Then his head was gone.

A black shape swept through the air, snapped out of the trees and then back again. Blood specked my face. Wing’s headless body went limp and dropped.

Men screamed around me. Gunshots fired and bodies scrambled, weapons raised. I stared down at his corpse. At his blood. My thoughts fell away. Fear took hold. I stumbled backwards, words caught in my throat. Invisible weights gripped my legs. Lurching, numb, I made for the town. The world tilted with each step.

Fat fingers slapped my cheek. I snapped awake and re-entered the world. Cleaver in hand, Fat Leung gripped my shoulder, saying something. Men rushed past, hollering. In front, Bunting was panicking, pointing at the path leading out of town. Benny shouted orders at someone. His thugs paled at the sight of me. Thoughts returned to my mind. Sound came next.

“I said get to the goddamn wagons!” Bunting cried, scrambling my way. “Escort me! I’ll raise your pay, gladly!”

“We need to stand our ground!” Benny bellowed, loading a pistol.

Bunting kicked dirt in his direction. “
You
can stand your ground!” He clapped his hands in front of my face. “Charlie! Charlie, snap out of it! Help me get my bags!”

All at once, my blood boiled. Red mist came over me. Suddenly I began to hate the mere sight of him.

“Charlie!” Bunting lost patience. “Wake up, you
dolt
! Wakey-wakey! We
go!
We
go
, right, Charlie?!
Charlie!
”

I had enough. Teeth grating, I rushed at Bunting, growling and falling on him. My hands grabbed his throat. I shook and choked him with all my might. Amid my fellows’ shouts and Bunting’s gagging protests, I screamed, over and over again:

“XIAO-LI! I AM XIAO-LI! SAY IT!
SAY IT! XIAO! LI!
”

I meant to rip him apart. Bunting’s face grew wild with shock. Two sets of hands took my arms and pulled me from him. Like an animal, I thrashed in their grip.

Something flew out from the darkness. I awakened from my murder-trance and was dropped. I thought it was the same force that claimed Wing. I was wrong. The bloodied carcass of a horse flew past and struck one of the workers behind me. Great slash-marks lined its side. Its neck was twisted backwards.

A shape moved out of the corner of my eye, snapping forward. Veering, it encircled the camp. With it came a horrible screech. Shots rang. Benny opened fire as the shape shredded through the cliff’s edge. It sprang at us. Entering the lamplight, I saw a mass of black, dark orange, and pale yellow rip through the town centre. An unlucky marksman vanished under the mysterious missile as it fired into the surrounding darkness again. A horrible
crunch
followed.

Then, silence. The men formed a clumsy half-circle, facing the woods where the thing hid. Bunting propped himself on one of Benny’s thugs and got to his feet. He held his throat and stared at me hatefully.

A rustling. Rising, I looked round, trying to find its source. It seemed to come from everywhere. Suddenly, a voice:

“Hear me!” It came as a scratching, scraping cacophony, melding over what was very clearly Mandarin. “Which of you is patriarch here?! Speak! I have need of you!”

Confusion took my colleagues. “What’s he saying?!” Bunting wheezed.

Gun cocked, Benny put his hand out. “I’ll translate.”

“Christ!” a white yelped. “First moon-man we meet and he speaks goddamn Chinese!”

“Shut
up
,” Benny growled. Stepping forward, he switched to Mandarin. “Right, whoever this is–”

“We would know your name!” I called, cutting off Benny.

“Are you the patriarch?” hissed the voice.

I ignored my foreman’s stare and pressed on. “Please, we need to know who this is!”

“For what reason?”

“So I can help you!” I explained. “I know I have done wrong by Buddha! I know I strayed from the path, but please!” My arms went up. “Let me send you on, so your soul can be cleansed!”

A horrible trilling. “Soul! You think I am some
living dead
walking the land again? Oh, my sweet bumpkin. There are worlds so far beyond your star that your primate brains would shatter at the truth.”

“Then who is this?!” Benny knocked me aside and aimed the pistol at the dark. “
Tell us what the hell you are!
”

A thoughtful hiss: “Shurach Ul Urana of the Bendrax Cluster, Seventh Brother of Kalkak Ul Kraien. Does that mean anything to you?”

No colleague of mine went by any of those names. Mister Bunting shook his head. Benny continued with the translation. “Not at all.”

The thing’s horrible trilling sounded across the camp. “Wonderful,” said the creature. His voice had become serene, jovial. Just then, I realized that he had laughed.

“What are you?” Benny asked.

“Assassin,” he declared, almost giddily. “Hired blade of the Akarcza Hidden. The product of four long years of biomoulding. Reborn as the finest weapon you could imagine. A hundred lives claimed in my time before my capture. If not for you curious lot, I’d still be in that ship.”

Doing his best to translate, Benny explained to our supervisor and white fellows what was said. We watched their eyes bulge and their bodies shake. His words came as a mystery to me. I did not know what biomoulding was, but it sounded horrible. My foreman called out, “What do you want?!”

“I
need
you,” our hunter declared from his hiding spot, “to repair that ship. It was my prison vessel, collecting me from my trial and transporting me to the Cortze Nebula Penitentiary. The engines failed and my wardens put me in stasis, no doubt sounding some beacon before we crashed. I mean to leave here before reinforcements arrive. Now, bring your engineers–”

Benny made a sweeping gesture at the camp, “Men are
dead
because of you! You spent the night leaving us
terrorized!
If you need us so badly,
why are you killing
us?
”

Silence. Not even one of its hisses. It seemed to contemplate Benny’s words. Then, an answer: “I had been asleep for too long. I needed the exercise.”

All colour fled Benny’s face. I watched as he weakly translated our hunter’s words for the whites. Mister Bunting looked to us imploringly.

Benny declared in English: “We might want to run.”

Suddenly, a granary erupted. A force ripped through the back and out the front door. Splinters and flecks of grain covered the grass. Then, the front half and part of the roof burst.

From the wreckage came a horrible sight. A hunched, man-like body sat on a sextet of crab’s legs. Bloodied pincers pushed aside the remains of the door and a long, barbed tail snapped at the machinery behind it. A mouth sat in its chest; in it was my friend’s bloodied head. Wing’s lips and jaws flapped mindlessly as the devil’s torso-fangs pressed against his cheeks. On its broad, muscular shoulders sat a smooth head with dead black eyes. A set of mandibles twitched at us.