“Barns is going to be ticked when he sees somebody’s been messing with his stuff.”
The Cog didn’t even seem to hear him. “This second string represents a new entity. Which for the intents of this discussion I shall label the Enemy. Normally I prefer not to use language which predisposes an adversarial nature, but I’ve come to see the point of your usage of the term.” Fuller took the second lace, looped it around the cord stretched between Sullivan’s hands. He tied a basic knot on his side. Fuller’s loop slipped back and forth on the original shoelace. “The multiomnidirectional layering was not some new evolution in the connection between the host and the symbiot at all. There was no knot in our connection, only extra materials.”
“It was a hijacking.”
“A fine word in this case. The Enemy, to use your rough term, has entered the equation. The connection now extends into another dimension.” Fuller pulled harder on the lace and Sullivan could feel the tension, so he held on tighter to keep from losing it. “It is hijacking the flow of magic. Now what happens when biological functions cease?”
Sullivan let go of one end. Fuller pulled it toward himself and snagged the first shoelace before it pulled through his loop. Now it was pulled tight between them.
“Your hand representing the Power being is still making an effort to hold the string. The symbiote must decide. It is tethered to the Enemy now. It will be dragged toward the Enemy. Notice, I do not drop the other end which I have hijacked from you. Why? This host’s lifecycle has ended.”
Sullivan figured this must be like what college was like. “They ain’t really dead. Like the skinless man.”
“Correct. They are now biological tools, implements of this Enemy. They are anchors.” Fuller tugged hard on the shoelace, so Sullivan had to pull back harder. “And worse, especially because I lack a sufficient number of hands and extra shoes with which to demonstrate this principle, these hijacked anchors will now go on to loop around and entrap other host-bond connections! The process will increase at an exponential rate. When enough of these hosts become anchors, what will the symbiote do?”
Sullivan let the shoelace fall.
“Exactly. Deprived of enough vital energy, and being pulled inexorably toward its predator, it will cut the connections and flee.”
Now Fuller had all of the shoelaces, but Sullivan still had no ideas. “Thanks for the lesson, but I’d already sort of figured that. How’s that help us all not get hijacked like you hijacked Barns’ boots?”
Fuller sorted out the shoelaces until he held up the loop he’d tied. “This.”
Sullivan sighed. “You got me there, doc.”
“This is what the Chairman’s magnificent globe was designed to track. I was so distracted by the arrival of a biological specimen which still retained some measure of magical connection that I neglected to compare my notes to the design of the detector. Over the last few days, I have finally been able to layer the two together. This looping, this hijacking, that is what is displayed on that magnificent spherical device, an interruption in the normal cycle of magic. Now that I have seen the actual target, and not a mere representation of the target I can replicate—”
“You can build your own Enemy detector . . .”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, but better. The Imperium Cog’s spellbinding was brilliant, but it lacked creativity. It lacked true artistry.”
Sullivan had thought the big globe thing had been rather pretty, but he didn’t want to derail Fuller’s chain of thought. It wasn’t like the Cog was seeing things the same way as a regular man did, anyway. “That’s good news.”
“Far better than you realize, Mr. Sullivan. With your permission, I will require the skills of all the UBF employees, Southunder’s more mechanically capable crew members, and especially the Fixer Mr. Schirmer. I will need supplies procured once we land; I will provide a full list, and I will need a sufficient portion of the cargo hold for workspace. ”
“You get this thing built fast, and I’ll have dancing girls bring you breakfast in bed.”
Fuller smiled. “As you are well aware, the idea of harming any life here on spaceship Earth fills me with a most profound dread. There are rumors aboard this ship of what you intend to do, and I am fully aware of the dire consequences these actions will have against the people of Shanghai. It does not take a fool to know that my entreaties to search for a peaceful resolution will fall on deaf ears, nor am I deluded enough after seeing the Axel Heiberg specimen to think that such a resolution would be achievable in a time frame sufficient to not prevent the extinction of all life on spaceship Earth . . . Still, every act of violence diminishes us.”
“I figured we’d keep you hidden on the Traveler.”
“Obviously! That is not my point. I am aware that you wish to expose the Chairman as a charlatan, and by doing such a thing in an expedient manner, prevent as much killingry as possible.”
I don’t know about that. Sullivan figured there’d be plenty of killingry to go around. “I’ll try.”
“My point is that I will not simply spellbind you a device which will serve as an Enemy detectlocator. I intend to build you an Enemy detectlocateexposer. The loops will become visible to the naked eye. The truth will be laid bare for all to see!”
“An Enemy-exposer? You’re a genius.”
Fuller blushed. “I’m not a genius. I’m just a tremendous bundle of experience.”
That made Sullivan think of Wells’ alienist profile of Dosan Saito . . . And one more piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
Chapter 12
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 ha
nging 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.