Warbound (The Grimnoir Chronicles Book 3)

See beautiful Shanghai, Pearl of the Orient. Experience the mysteries of exotic Asia. Enjoy the amenities of the Paramount Ballroom, catch a show featuring big stars at the legendary Grand Theater, shop at Sincere to find the rarest of gifts, or experience the luxury of Sir Victor Sassoon’s Cathay Hotel. Gamble in the French Concession or tour the ultramodern architecture of the Imperium Section, whatever you choose, Shanghai is the intersection of the cutting edge and the traditional. Any unpleasantness you may have heard about is in the past, and was exaggerated to boot, but your friends don’t know that and the ladies will look at you as an international man of adventure upon your safe return! A new era of peace and prosperity has been achieved in beautiful Shanghai. The Free City of Shanghai has never been safer or more affordable to visit. Book your trip with Pinnacle Tours today!

—Magazine Advertisement, 1931

Free City of Shanghai

“Good evening, Mr. Smith,” the Chinese policeman said. His English was decent, and his accent suggested he’d learned it from an actual Englishman. That wasn’t a surprise, considering just how many tens of thousands of Westerners ripe for a shakedown were already in the city. There were multiple coppers at each checkpoint, and odds were one of them probably spoke French, and another, German. Shanghai was supposed to be cosmopolitan like that. The English speaker looked over the traveling papers. “Is this your first time in Shanghai?”

“It is,” Sullivan answered. According to the Free City government documents, he was a successful tool and die maker from Detroit named Fred Smith, looking for an adventurous vacation in exotic Shanghai. Well, the forgeries probably said something to that effect, but he couldn’t read Chinese either. “Been here a couple of days is all.”

“Yes. This says you arrived on the Laughing Carp out of San Francisco.” The policeman was taking his time with those papers, trying to do a thorough job, but they looked nice and official, probably as good a forgery as anything he’d ever seen in Detroit or Chicago, but then again, he couldn’t read all the weird squares and lines that passed for writing around here, so he was just taking Captain Southunder’s word for it. Sullivan glanced up and down the quiet marketplace. If it turned out the papers didn’t look official enough, there was always violence, but he didn’t relish the idea of smacking around some cops and then trying to run and hide when he was a foot taller than anybody else on the street. “I hope it was a pleasant journey.”

“Sure was. Always wanted to take a nice cruise.”

“Of course,” the policeman said absently as he held the papers up toward the Sun to check for the proper watermarks. The other three men looked bored, smoking cigarettes and leaning on their rifles. “What do you think of our city so far?”

I think that if God don’t burn Shanghai down, then he owes Sodom and Gomorrah an apology. But Sullivan didn’t dare share his real feelings, so instead he played like most of the Westerners that wound up here. “It seems like a real nice place. Always heard stories about the Pearl of the Orient, and it’s nice as they say.” The policeman nodded as Sullivan spoke. “Pearl of the Orient” was the polite title. It was usually just “Whore of the Orient.”

“The casinos are the best I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you won much yet?” the policeman asked with a sly look.

Why? You gonna shake me down for a bribe? But Sullivan just smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Not with my luck. Maybe that’ll change tonight, though.” He needed to get through here and fast. It was obvious why he’d been pulled out of line for a random check. The main street through this district was the place with all of the pleasures and temptations for westerners with too much cash, but Westerners stuck out on this side road. He was an anomaly, and anomalies got pulled out of line. Didn’t matter if you were in a foreign land, policemen were the same everywhere.

“Why are you in this district?”

Sullivan knew if somebody caught you looking guilty, the fastest way to get rid of them was to let them think they were right. “I’m a little embarrassed, but I’ve got to ask for some directions. See, I heard about this place called the Golden Flower House, I think it is, but I got turned around . . .”

“Ah, of course. It is for clientele with special tastes.” The policeman smirked, thinking to himself that he’d called it as to why the big, white round-eye was wandering around the wrong part of town. Sullivan didn’t even know what kind of weird business went on at the Golden Flower House, but the Marauders who had briefed him on the city had said that it catered to things that wouldn’t fly with the madams of the more respectable pleasure houses on the main thoroughfares. The policeman was giving him a look that said pervert.

“I’m on vacation.”

The policeman handed the forged documents back over. “Turn left at the end of this street and walk one more block. It is the one with the golden tiles on the roof.”

“Thanks, buddy. Seems a little weird asking for directions to a whorehouse from a lawman, but I got to remember that sort of thing is okay here.”

“In this district allowances are made.” Which was code for it was illegal as hell in the rest of the city, but it was okay in this part because the mobsters made big buckets of money off of it. It was said you could buy anything in Shanghai. “Enjoy your visit, Mr. Smith.”

Sullivan pocketed the papers and strolled through the checkpoint. He tried to remember what it had been like the first time he’d ever visited a big city, and tried to ape that. So he took his time, making sure to gape stupidly at anything that looked odd or foreign, which was damn near everything. The district he’d entered through had worn the mask of a Western city, and if it hadn’t been for all the Chinamen, could’ve passed for San Francisco, all neat and modern, with tall, clean buildings. Even the signs there had been in English or French. This district was a whole different world.

It was busy, busier than any place he’d ever been, positively packed with human bodies, and they were all moving fast. There weren’t as many cars in this district, but the ones there were kept on honking and revving their engines to warn the pedestrians out of their way. The buildings weren’t as tall, but every floor of them bustled with activity and noise, except, of course, for the blackened, empty hulls that had been shelled by the Japanese not too long ago. Every inch of sidewalk had been taken up with street vendors, which meant the people walked in the streets around them, which meant the cars honked more. The market stalls were a buzz of activity, and merchants shouted at him continuously in Chinese, showing him everything from odd jewelry to children’s toys to weird Oriental items which were probably crap to them, but might make a pretty souvenir for a tourist. From all of the yelling, folks really seemed to like to haggle in these parts.

Once he was far out of sight of the police checkpoint, Heinrich appeared at Sullivan’s side. It was hard to tell it was him, since he was dressed like a local, walked like a local, and was wearing a big straw hat that kept his blond hair and most of his face hidden from observers. “Very good, my friend. Just keep walking.”

Sullivan checked his watch and spoke to the air like he was talking to himself. “Must be handy to just walk through the fence and avoid all those checkpoints.”

“Yes. It is. It also helps to not be a giant. I am a tall man in this country. You are a sideshow exhibit. It should come as no surprise you are being followed by some Japanese secret police.”

“Great.” Sullivan didn’t turn to look. Odds were he wouldn’t be able to pick them out anyway. He could usually make a tail, but that was when he was operating in familiar territory, and there was nothing familiar about Shanghai. “Right on time.”

“Turn right at the noodle stand.”

It wasn’t like he could read the advertising. “Narrow it down for me.”

A sigh emanated from beneath the great straw hat. “The green and yellow stand just ahead with the noodles.” And then Heinrich kept on walking, disappearing into the crowd within seconds.

Sullivan had to admit he was a little jealous. Sticking out like a sore thumb got a little old, but he’d gotten used to it over the years and had learned to work around it. In Asia, he was an extra-sore thumb. In America he was several inches taller than average. In China he was a giant.

However, sticking out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when you were trying to send a message. He turned left at the noodle stand where hungry customers were slurping from bowls. It smelled remarkably good. Southunder had warned him that it wasn’t considered odd to eat cats and dogs here, but he’d grown up poor and had eaten worse. It was all meat. Cat couldn’t be any worse than opossum or squirrel, and it sure as hell had to be better than Rockville’s mess.

Shanghai was supposed to be one of the most populated cities in the world, and after seeing it firsthand, he didn’t doubt that one bit. It wasn’t as tall as New York or Detroit, but there were a lot of high rises, and many more under construction. He’d already passed through the ultra-modern, spotlessly clean new district. It was the place for the Imperium to keep up the masquerade that Shanghai was a free city and not just a conquered place that was handy for conducting business and laundering money. This side road was even older, rougher, and seedier, built for working folks and not for show, so despite not speaking the lingo, he already felt more at home. The locals were giving him suspicious looks, but it wasn’t too odd to have a Westerner in the market.

He passed a meat shop. A butcher was hacking up a quarter of a pig on a big wooden chopping block with a meat cleaver. Behind him were cages filled live chickens. One of the chickens spoke to Sullivan with Lance’s voice. “There’s a tailor at the end of this row. Go in there. Hurry.”

The butcher turned and looked at his chickens suspiciously. The birds just sat there, stupidly clucking away, but certainly not speaking English. Perplexed, he scratched his head with one bloody hand, and then went back to cutting up his pig, mumbling something that Sullivan couldn’t understand, but that he was fairly sure would translate into something about how he was working too damn hard and could really use a drink.

Crowds parted around him. He didn’t need to manipulate gravity to push his way through people half his size. There was a sudden commotion back in the market. He didn’t know what it was, but had no doubt the knights had just caused some sort of ruckus to distract the Imperium goons for a second. Most of the people stopped to look, but Sullivan just put his head down and pushed on. There were suits hanging in the window of the shop to the side, so that had to be the place. A bell rang as he opened the door. A Chinese shopkeeper was waiting inside. He didn’t say a thing, but walked right to the door, locked it, and then turned the sign in the window. He took Sullivan by the sleeve and pulled him around a corner and out of sight of the window.

The little old man looked up, way up. Sullivan tipped his hat in greeting. “Got anything my size?” The shopkeeper reached under his long silk shirt and removed a revolver. For a second Sullivan wasn’t sure if he was going to point it at him or hand it over, but luckily it was a present. The piece was a bulldog version of a British Webley with a snub barrel and a cut-down grip. Sullivan took the gun. “Better than harsh language.” He broke it open, confirmed the cylinder was loaded, and then placed it inside his coat. The shopkeeper gave him a handful of loose .455 rounds and Sullivan stowed those in other pockets. Magic was nice in a fight, especially his, but it never hurt to back it up with bullets. He missed his enchanted Browning automatic and its fat magazines packed with lots of extra firepower, but he couldn’t risk getting patted down at one of the checkpoints on the way in. “Thanks.”

The old man gestured toward the back, waving him on. There was a wooden door partially hidden behind a bunch of hanging shirts. Sullivan opened it a crack and saw that it led to an alley. The old man took off his tailor’s coat, tossed it on the counter, and walked out a different side door without so much as waving goodbye. Odds were it wasn’t even his shop, and whoever owned the place would never even know it had been temporarily borrowed.

With no other directions, Sullivan set out down the dark alley. “Alley” was a bit of an overstatement, since it was really more of a garbage-strewn rut between two rotting, slightly leaning tenement buildings. He looked up, almost expecting to catch a loose brick in the face. He couldn’t even see the Sun through all of the many clotheslines and dangling laundry. It never ceased to amaze him just how oddly quiet a place like this could be only a tiny distance from so much noise. Half a block later he found Heinrich, Lance, and a third man waiting for him next to some stinking trash cans.

Unlike Heinrich, Lance wasn’t even trying to be in disguise. Though shorter, their Beastie was so thick through the chest and arms that it would’ve been impossible to try to hide among the local populace, and that was before taking the lumberjack beard, which he refused to shave off, into consideration. Lance was dressed normally and had probably been smuggled in like Sullivan had. Pirate Bob had so many connections that getting forty Grimnoir into the city was a piece of cake. Lance was looking distracted, surely watching their tail through the eyes of some convenient animal. “They’ve lost Jake and they look mad.” His eyes seemed to refocus as he came back one hundred percent. “They’re searching and I think one went for help.”

“Killing them now would simplify matters,” Heinrich suggested.

“Only briefly,” said the stranger. He was a young Chinese man, dressed in one of those big silk shirts with the extra buttons that reminded Sullivan of pajamas. “If they sound the general alarm, the secret police will turn over this entire district looking for the perpetrators.”

“Of course. Save the alarms for later. We will need to snatch a few of them for questioning eventually.” Heinrich’s smile was the only thing visible beneath the shadows of the hat. “Forgive me . . . Sullivan, this is Zhao, one of the few Grimnoir still in Shanghai.”

The young man had a warm, friendly smile, but he possessed the hard eyes of someone who’d seen a lot. “I will serve as your guide while you are in Shanghai. It is a very dangerous place.”

“That’s Joe?”

“Zhao,” he corrected. The top of his head was barely even with Sullivan’s chest. He was either still a teenager or one of those baby-faced fellows who would look like a kid forever. “My name is Zhao.”

“Sorry. Good pronunciation ain’t exactly my strong suit.”

“My apologies, Mr. Sullivan. I struggle with it as well.”

“You seem to do okay.”

“In a city such as Shanghai, it is vital for the knights to be able to understand many languages. No one expects an errand boy to be able to listen in to their private conversations. I also speak Japanese, French, and a bit of Russian and German.”

Heinrich’s enormous hat tilted to the side and, always suspicious, he asked something complicated in German. To his credit, the kid only had to think about it for a second before rattling something off back to him. Heinrich responded, sounding pleased.

“English is my best though. An American knight lived with our family for a time while he was spying on the Imperium. I first learned English from him. Later, I relearned to speak it when I got work in the British section.”

“Relearn?”

“The American knight who taught me was from your state of South Louisiana.”

“There are forty-eight states, and I’m pretty sure South Louisiana isn’t one of them,” Lance said.

“I lived in New Orleans for a bit. South Louisiana’s a state of mind.” Sullivan chuckled. “How old are you?”

“I am nearly sixteen.” Zhao said, but he didn’t seem offended. He was probably used to that reaction from folks. “Do not be concerned. I know Shanghai better than anyone. I have lived here my entire life. I was a courier for the English bank, so there is no section of the city I cannot get you into. I set up this meeting as you requested, and I will provide whatever assistance you need while you are in the city.”

Sullivan had only been a few years older than that when he’d slogged through the blood and hell of Second Somme. When times were tough, you didn’t get to be a child for long. Hell, look at what Faye had accomplished before she’d gotten killed . . . “I’m sure you’ll do.”

“I do not know what has brought you to Shanghai, but I have heard rumors about Pershing’s knights and the things you have done, such as killing Iron Guard Madi and fighting the Chairman on his own ship. Madi murdered many of my friends. It is an honor to meet you.” Sullivan thought it looked like Zhao wanted to bow, but he resisted the urge and instead held out his hand to shake. Apparently the kid hadn’t quite grasped the idea behind an American-style handshake, because it felt like a wet fish, but the kid seemed enthusiastic. “We must hurry.”

“Lead the way,” Heinrich suggested. It was a perfectly reasonable idea, since none of the rest of them knew where the hell they were going, but more than likely it was because Heinrich was so paranoid that he didn’t want someone he’d just met walking behind him.

“We must cross through some of the buildings which were abandoned during the Japanese invasion. The only reason they have not been torn down is because it benefits the gangs to have places to hide things. Do not speak for a time. Voices echo for long distances in the empty places.” Zhao took them a bit further down the alley, through a broken doorway, and down a long flight of stairs. They hurried along a tunnel that had to go under the street, and then up a ladder and through the basement of what felt like an abandoned apartment building. There were rats scurrying along the corners, but right on the other side of the boarded-up windows could be heard the bustle and clamor of the market.

There were bullet holes in the walls. Bits and pieces of building materials were strewn about, which Sullivan recognized as the telltale leftovers of fragmentation from shelling. It had been a few years since the free city had last gotten uppity against their Japanese guests. The Imperium had bombed the hell out of the troublemakers. The parts of the city that had been badly damaged had been abandoned and left to decay. He spotted the occasional signs of human habitation, but whoever the squatters were, they avoided contact. It didn’t matter how close these buildings were to falling down, if you were poor enough, at least it was still a roof overhead. It was fascinating how the neighborhoods that were for show were as modern and beautiful as any city in the world, but right next door was a wreck like this.

Fifteen more minutes of crossing back alleys and run-down buildings took them into another basement. “We should be able to speak freely now.” Zhao moved aside a rotting bookshelf to reveal what looked to be a mining tunnel. “The meeting place is not much farther.”

Sullivan poked his head inside. The air was hot and damp in his lungs. It hadn’t been carved for someone his size. This wasn’t going to be fun.

“You got a city, you’ve got smugglers,” Lance said as he admired the tunnel’s workmanship.

“And the Whangpoo River is right on the other side of the wall. Du keeps pumps running constantly. Should these tunnels be discovered, then the gangs can simply flood them for a time. Shanghai makes crime into an art form.” There was an electric hand torch just inside the entrance. Zhao had to thump the battery a few times before it engaged. “If we’re lucky, the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu will merely think they lost their suspicious American to one of the brothels.”

“A brothel? Now that would’ve been a much better place for a conspiracy to meet!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Talon. Every brothel in Shanghai that allows westerners is watched by the Imperium. They take many useful blackmail photographs that way.”

“I was only kidding, Zhao. Not that I’d mind having my picture taken with the lovely ladies, as long as I got one of them to frame for myself. Hang it right on the trophy wall. On that happy thought . . .” Lance clapped Sullivan on the back. “How was your trip in?”

“Long.” After the Traveler had been hidden a few hours to the south in a small village friendly to Pirate Bob’s marauders, they had started secretly ferrying knights and equipment into the city. Sullivan, because he tended to stick out in a crowd, had been towards the end of the list, and his particular trip had included a midnight rowboat ride and climbing up a rope onto a freighter. “So, Zhao, what’s this toku koko thing?”

“They are the Imperium-controlled special police force. They are a plague. Shanghai is a free city in name only. Nearly all of China has been conquered by the Japanese, but supposedly we remain neutral here with an independent government and many international observers. It is all a lie so that the Imperium has a place to conduct business with the west. To most, Shanghai is a city of pleasure and leisure, but the Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu are always watching, murdering those of us they call insurgents, and gathering information to blackmail visiting businessmen and fools.” Zhao sounded resigned. “There are pretenses made about Shanghai being free, but we all know the instant we go against the wishes of the real masters, we are crushed.”

“Sounds like the Imperium way.” It wasn’t too different from the Chicago way, when you thought about it.

“They are merciless. They allow the city’s gangs to operate, but only as long as they continue to provide useful intelligence, and sometimes, when necessary, enforcers. The men you will be speaking with are sympathetic to our cause, but are not to be trusted. The gangster known as Big Eared Du is the most powerful crime boss in Shanghai. He is my cousin, and he hates the Japanese, but he will only help us if it benefits him.”

“Cousin? Really?” Lance answered.

“Yes, but I barely know him,” Zhao insisted. Sullivan didn’t have room to judge, since his brother had been an Iron Guard. “Du only cares about what benefits him most. Nothing ever changes here. I really do not know what you expect to accomplish with this meeting, my brothers.”

Sullivan was forced to crouch. The walls were slick. Humidity collected on the ceiling to speckle them with a constant drizzle. “Okubo Tokugawa is coming to Shanghai for a visit, and when he gets here, we aim to kill him.”

“That is a good one.” Zhao’s laughed. The others didn’t. “Wait . . .” The hand torch turned back to face them. “You are serious?”

“Of course,” Heinrich said, “and we will require the assistance of every knight in Shanghai to do it.”

The young knight was looking rather glum. “There are not very many of us left. The Tokubetsu Koto Keisatsu has been very effective against the Society. We were infiltrated by a spy and our identities exposed. Most of us were taken from our homes during a single night, never to be seen again. The rest have been living under false names and moving constantly. We know of Tokugawa’s upcoming visit, but any attempt against his life in the past has been a complete failure, even with overwhelming force. There is nothing we can accomplish now.”

“We brought three dozen Grimnoir with us,” Lance said.

“That should occupy the first few Iron Guards’ time. What do you intend to do with the other hundred?”

“That’s part of the plan. We want Iron Guard there.” Sullivan said. “The more the better.”

“We will be slaughtered!” Zhao snapped. “I do not think you Americans realize how—”

“Listen, Zhao. You’re not talking to tourists.” Lance’s voice was level and calm. “I know your people have gotten bled, and believe me, I feel for you. We’ve all dealt with them before, and we’ve got a plan. I’ll fill you in on the whole thing once it’s safe. We pull it off, and we will rock the Imperium to its foundations.”

“You know perfectly well how fearsome a single Iron Guard can be in battle, but you have never seen the depravities which occur when they engage in total war. I have. You are in their home territory now. They will not be discreet here. In America, they sneak in the dark and put a knife in your back. In Shanghai, they drag us from our homes during the day and execute us in the strets for all to see!” Zhao was getting worked up. “They will crush their attackers and glory in every moment as an example to the populace that they should cower. Our bodies are drug through the streets and hung from the bridges, and then every man, woman, and child they suspect of having conspired with us is purged. The fortunate, beheaded on the spot, and the rest sent to the schools to be experimented on!”

“Then you must understand how dire our mission is when I say that an end such as that sounds like an acceptable risk,” Heinrich said. “And all of it is preferable to our fate should we fail. I’m afraid we bring very bad news.”

“That is the only sort of news I know . . .” Zhao just shook his head and started walking down the tunnel. “We must continue on or we will be late. We do not wish to keep the criminals waiting. Another attempt on Lord Tokugawa, the few Grimnoir that remain here will have no choice but to flee. We will not survive another crackdown.”

“Then it is time to move elsewhere, for we must do this.”

“Move? This is my home. I have fought for it my entire life. I will continue to do so, but I wish to understand what you are hoping to accomplish by committing suicide.”

Sullivan thought Zhao seemed like an earnest young soldier, but the Grimnoir in Asia were practically cut off from the rest of the world. They’d suffered so much already at the hands of the Imperium, it would be almost impossible to convince them that the Enemy was actually the greater threat. “Get me to this meeting, let me speak with your leader, and I’ll make him understand.”

Zhao’s shoulders sagged. “I do not think you realize how dire our situation is here in Shanghai, Mr. Sullivan . . . I am the leader.”

It didn’t matter that Sullivan couldn’t speak a lick of Chinese. Gangsters were the same everywhere, and Big Eared Du had a better stranglehold on Shanghai than Al Capone had on Chicago. His manner, the look on his face, the way he sat there, looking smug because he had something that somebody else needed and that gave him leverage, it was always the same with men like this. Du was a king, and the dark side of Shanghai was his kingdom. He ran the Yuesheng Greens, a criminal army nearly twenty thousand strong, and nothing big went down in this city without him having a piece of it.

The king’s table was the only thing illuminated in the vast space of the warehouse. There was a single powerful work lamp dangling over them. The smoke from Du’s cigar floated in the yellow light. He was skinny and oily, living up to his nickname with some stupidly big ears. And when he smiled, Sullivan counted three gold teeth.

The Grimnoir knights sat at one end of the table. The mobster and his lieutenants sat at the other. The rest of the warehouse was supposedly empty, but Sullivan didn’t even need to use his Power to know that there were men watching from the shadowed catwalks above and that there were probably rifles trained on their hearts the whole time. Somebody like Du didn’t take any chances. Sullivan wasn’t big on chances himself, so he used his Power just a bit in order to inspect the world around him, breaking everything down into its components, bits of mass, density, and forces . . .

Twenty men, all bearing long bars of steel and wood. No less than six of those were pointed at the Grimnoir, braced against the railing of the catwalk above. One of them was particularly heavy, suggesting a machine gun. Even the two pretty ladies who kept on pouring them liquor and bringing odd oriental snacks had small guns hidden inside their skimpy dresses. Sullivan didn’t drink the booze or taste the little cakes. Gravity couldn’t sense poison. The small army of bodyguards was far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to overhear the conversation. Which was wise, considering that the subject of their meeting would be considered treasonous, even by crime-lord standards.

Poor Zhao was translating. The burdens of responsibility were heavy. He may have been young, but it was doubtful if he’d ever actually been a kid. Sullivan could see that now. He’d listened to the American’s plan, gotten the pertinent details, and hadn’t hesitated to make a call. He’d picked a direction and run. Keep him alive long enough to gain some experience, and he’d probably go on to accomplish great things. Problem was, with what they were up to, the odds of staying alive that long ranged from slim to none.

The leader of the Shanghai Grimnoir had, as far as Sullivan could tell, told Big Eared Du exactly what they needed him to. They didn’t need the big picture. They just needed to do their part. “I am afraid what you are asking is very dangerous.” Zhao scowled, listening as Du’s right hand man spat out a bunch of complaints. “Dangerous and very expensive.”

Lance looked over at Heinrich and nodded. Their Fade reached into one sleeve, untied a knot, and pulled out a long cloth bundle, which had been wrapped around his forearm. He tossed it onto the table. The left-hand man snatched it up, dragged it over, and unwrapped it. There were a whole lot of Grover Clevelands in there. Left-Hand Man started counting. He said something to his boss, which Zhao quickly translated. “The new American gold certificates. These are all a thousand dollars each.”

“Yeah, President Roosevelt is confiscating all our gold and giving us paper instead,” Lance explained. “But those are legit.” Zhao went ahead and translated that.

Du laughed and muttered something to Left-Hand Man. Zhao seemed puzzled. “He says that taking real money and giving you their paper money, which is only as good as they say it is, maybe your government and ours aren’t so different after all.”

“They’re all about the same thing,” Lance muttered. “Bossing folks around.”

Left-Hand Man finished his count and seemed pleased. Paper money still spent, and it was easier to move through Du’s gambling parlors, whorehouses, opium dens, and racetracks than sacks of gold. Left-Hand Man held up the money, and one of the serving girls snatched it up and disappeared back into the dark. Francis would never miss that much money, but on general principles, if Du sold them out, Heinrich could always walk through the walls of his safe house and get it all back.

This whole time, Sullivan could feel a gentle prickling in the side of his head. Sure enough, a man with Du’s kind of pull was bound to have a Reader on staff. They were subtle, but not good enough. They’d discussed this before, so Sullivan had made sure to concentrate on the big, obvious stuff. It would simply corroborate everything they said. Sure, if Du’s Reader wanted to push hard, he could come up with the rest, but that would tip their hand, and gangsters never liked to tip their hand when this kind of money was on the table.

Right-Hand Man had something to say. “Lots of pointless, polite thank-you about the money,” Zhao, knowing how relatively impatient Americans could be, skipped to the good stuff. “But . . . here it comes, the sort of distraction being asked for will cause a significant disruption in the city. Disruptions are bad for business and very costly to Mr. Du’s organization.”

“That’s half up front. The other half on the seventeenth, delivered once your diversion starts.” Sullivan waited for Zhao to catch up. “The diversion doesn’t start, we walk away and you don’t get paid.”

Right-Hand Man must have been the nuts-and-bolts guy of the operation. “And if this disruption spreads, there will be chaos. What happens if the rebels see it as an opportunity to strike against the occupiers? Shanghai could be in pandemonium for many days. Many days when nobody bets on the horses! If it is as bad as what happened in thirty-one, then the Japanese Navy could even shell the city again. If it is bad enough to get in the western newspapers, then the tourists will not come for the whores and opium anymore.”

Mobsters were all the same. Du wouldn’t have agreed to the meeting if he already didn’t have an angle on how their request benefited him. “And if it does get that bad, then I’m sure somebody as smart as Mr. Du will be able to come up with a list of things he’d love to accomplish while the police and army were too busy to watch him.” Lance said. “In fact, I’m sure many of his rivals might even have unfortunate accidents during a time of turmoil like that. And, of course, anything bad that happens was all the fault of some magical extremists.”

Du spoke for a time, forcefully and earnestly. Zhao snapped back a response without bothering to translate. Lance looked to Zhao, questioningly. Zhao sighed. “He said that his mother insists he get me a real job now that I am an orphan. I politely refused.”

It hadn’t sounded particularly polite. “Tell Du that family is very important to us as well, and once things are in motion, I’ll see to it that you, and anyone else he gives a damn about, has a ticket out of town and a good job in America waiting for them,” Lance said. “Tell Mr. Du that the Chairman killed my entire family, so I understand how Imperium retribution works. I’ll get your people out. It’s the least I can do.”

Zhao didn’t like it, but Sullivan’s gut instinct told him the kid translated it truthfully.

Du grinned, and it was an evil grin, not helped by the fact that his ears really were far too big for his narrow face, so he reminded Sullivan of a bat. “He says he has no love for the Chairman, may his unspeakable foulness rot in hell, and wishes you great success in your endeavors. The Chairman is bad for business and he is tired of the Japanese bossing everyone around and kidnapping his best-looking girls to be their pleasure women. Of course, he’s saying this with an inflection that suggests he expects we will fail miserably and die. He says that he has helped the Grimnoir before, and it is always a fair relationship. Of everyone he has worked with, at least we know how to keep a secret.”