2: The
Man with Too Many Names
As
the airship pushed off from Jiu Cliff, he checked his pocket watch, which
beeped 14:56 back at him. More than half an hour behind schedule, and if the
retrofitted propellers and giant seams in the fabric of the main balloon were
any indication the damned thing wouldn’t exactly be making good time. A liberal
estimate would place their time over Kao Tze at just before 16:00. That would
give Wei at least a full hour to wait around with no sign of the airship in the
sky. 60 minutes to realize that he probably had better things to do than wait
around with a land vehicle in the hopes of collecting a paltry sum that was
easily less than five percent of the score’s actual value. All he could do was
hope that he’d picked a driver with the right blend of enthusiastic and stupid
to let him pull this off.
As
the man reclined in his seat he made a show of reading his periodical while
going over the details one more time. His name today was Nigel Ingstrom III,
scion of a fuel magnate and his air-headed wife who was looking to find a place
for himself in the family business. This airship ride represented the
culmination of a grand tour of the Eastern Lands, scouting out prospects for
fuel sales in the region. His last stop had been the mining city of Bei Lan,
and while he could have hopped a train on the Central Line from there back home
to Kingsholm, even first class accommodations would pale in comparison to the
luxury afforded by an airship. And why would a man of such alleged stature as Mr.
Ingstrom ever settle for less?
Precisely
fifteen minutes later he checked his watch. Time to head to the staff section
and get things underway. He rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle, and
took the opportunity as he was walking to mentally review the plan one last
time. Make for the lavatory and wait for an opening. Raise a stink about the
conditions of it to the guards and draw one over, then-
“My
my Thatcher, I never took you for being so forward!”
The
man calling himself Nigel froze as a portly woman, resplendent in an emerald
green dress, emerged from the lavatory and made her way down the aisle towards
him, trailed out the narrow door by a disheveled man in a vest who was
hurriedly refastening his bowtie. The two of them giggled as they brushed past
Nigel in a manner that acknowledged his existence only inasmuch as he was
blocking their way to the dining room on the other end of the seating
compartment, and the guard at the end of the aisle paid him no mind either as
he rolled his eyes at the debutantes. This was just as well since Nigel took
great pains to ensure he could be inconspicuous when the time was right. Such
as the opportunity to case a sparkling ruby festooning the necklace of a giddy
woman in a green dress.
His
pocket watch now read 15:13. Just over forty-five minutes until the pick-up
with Wei (assuming he was still there). The ruby could easily be a piece of red
glass polished to mirror sheen. Hells, if the woman was any indication she
might not even know herself if the thing was genuine. But if it was then that
could easily be double the value of the job he was being paid for now. Of
course that would also mean he’d have a fraction of the time to get over to the
staff quarters as originally planned, and this was assuming everything went
smoothly…
15:14.
He took a deep breath and strode the other way down the aisle. The sliding door
at the other end of the compartment opened into a lavish restaurant, fine
linens under gleaming silverware and crystal glasses. All of it illuminated by
a gigantic golden chandelier which gave off a dim glow due to the use of small
electro-bulbs rather than candles, but the picture windows lining the port side
of the room made it clear that the fixture was there to serve form rather than
function. The starboard side was paneled with rich mahogany and was occupied by
a row of men in crisp white tuxedoes manning the lavish spread arrayed in
silver trays before them. Fresh fruits, roasted jhonka, harbinger fowl au jus,
and bloatfish with bok choy for a touch of local flavor, and absolutely none of
it synthetic. “Mr. Ingstrom” tried not to salivate too much at the prospect of
tucking in to all that was on display and tried to stay focused. The ruby was
perched on the neck of the woman who was now sitting in the middle of the
dining compartment, sipping wine as the four other men at her table summoned
their best uproarious laughter in response to what was surely a cutting remark
for the ages. Nigel snaked his way over and managed to sidle into an open chair
just as the strained chuckles died down, and as she spoke again he adopted his
most endearing smile.
“So
right before we made our way into the ballroom proper Thatcher told me,“ - and
here she nodded at the man from earlier as she adopted a high-pitched voice –
“he told me ‘Agatha, you mustn’t be so forward with these Easterners. They’ll
think you’re practically begging for them to marry you!’ To which I replied
Thatcher my dear, perhaps you haven’t considered that was my plan all along?
And this got him very flustered you know, his voice was even higher than usual!
‘Why Agatha, whatever could you mean by that?’ And do you know what I told
him?” The men around the table obediently shook their heads as Nigel fought to
tamp down his revulsion at their piss-poor performances. “I told him that if
half the things I’ve heard about the mannerisms of the men of the East are true
and I could get one of them to steal me away from you, well then just call me
Ko Chiang!”
The other men
started in on their fake amusement as per usual but found themselves quickly
overtaken in volume by the newcomer who’d weaseled his way into a spot at the
table. Even after they fell silent he was still wheezing with laughter and
wiping a tear from his eye.
“Oh my dear yes,
quite the barb!” he managed in between fits of chortling. “Ko Chiang indeed,
eh?” He elbowed the ribs of the man next to him, a stocky fellow with a red
bowtie and a pair of glasses perched on his stubby nose.
“Erm, yes…” was
all he could think to say, clearly flummoxed by both the new man’s presence and
his remark. The new man regarded the suitor and blinked some of the tears back,
his guffawing finally dying down.
“You know, Ko
Chiang? One of the Four Beauties?” The suitor looked to his compatriots for
assistance but they were all clearly as bewildered as he was. Now the stranger
was the one to show confusion as he regarded all the men around the table,
Thatcher included.
“Well surely I’m
not the only one who understands the reference?” he pressed further only to be
met with a chorus of blank stares. “The Four Beauties from the Warring
Factions? Oh come now, don’t tell me you’re just going to let this erudite
young lady’s brilliance go totally unappreciated!” He turned to Agatha and
addressed her directly.
“Madame, I do apologize
for your being stuck in the company of these young brutes. Clearly they’re well
schooled in appearances but I’m afraid there’s just no substitute for true
learning.”
“While I
appreciate your…concern,” said Agatha, “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I in fact
was the one to invite these men to accompany me as my entourage on my tour of
the East, mister…”
“Ingstrom. Nigel
Ingstrom III, how do you do.”
“How do you do.
Mister Ingstrom if you’d be so kind, we were in the middle of a private
conversation-“
“Well it couldn’t
have been that private if I could hear it from all the way at the door. Now now
madame, only joking, just a joke, ha ha. I do apologize for the intrusion, I
was merely under the impression this was an open table and I was thinking, well
there looks to be a woman of some repute, and being as I am a businessman
finally concluding his own tour of prospects in a foreign territory I was
thinking that we might mutually benefit from a partner-“
“All right, that’s
quite enough friend.” Said the stocky suitor, pronouncing the final word with
an air of distinct finality. “I think the lady would prefer it if you returned
to your seat.” His tuxedoed friend behind Nigel seemed to agree, leaning
forward to grab the interloper’s suit sleeve.
“Excuse me, this
is a communal dining area. I can sit where I please,” retorted Nigel, making a
show of producing his ticket and brandishing it about.
“You think so,
eh?” The stocky suitor had clearly never been in a fight before, or if he had
it hadn’t been a real one. Nigel wasn’t exactly a martial artist himself, but
he’d been in enough scraps to recognize the familiar cocking back and swing of
an untrained haymaker directed at his face. In an instant his training took
over. While his face contorted itself into an unmistakable mixture of shock and
outrage, he ducked his head as his body moved to the side towards the table. As
the fist connected with the face of the man sitting behind Nigel, he shoved his
body into the table and plunged down, upending the entire thing and sending the
spread flying. Wine and food adorned the clothes of all present save for
Agatha, who had taken the first opportunity to stand and retreat behind her
chair with glass of wine still in hand.
There was a very
brief instant as the occupants of the dining compartment processed what had
just occurred. The offended suitors were unable to determine who exactly had
been responsible for ruining their expensive garments but they all had enough
wine in them to decide that regardless, someone had to pay. In lieu of any
leads they settled on the time-honored decision-making practice of striking
whoever was closest in an effort to seize any initiative they could, real or
otherwise. Those on the periphery of the dining room moved hurriedly away from
the fracas as the wait staff strategically positioned themselves behind the
buffet to soak up as much entertainment value as they could from this turn of
events.
Nigel for his part
was in his element. Using a combination of weaves and dodges he managed to
avoid or redirect any blows that might have been aimed at him. When he was in
range he made a show of tripping and stumbling forwards until his face came to
rest in Agatha’s ample cleavage. She made a noise of shock before yanking his
head back by the hair and delivering a slap to his cheek that he decided to use
as a way to send him reeling towards the exit back that led to the seating area,
his hands deftly pocketing the ruby in his suit jacket as he did so. He’d
nearly made it for the door when a rough hand gripped him by the collar.
“And where do you
think you’re going?” growled the stocky suitor. Nigel thought of making some
remark to the effect of urging him to make up his mind over whether he should
stay or leave, but thought better of it and opted instead for a quick elbow to
the suitor’s nose. The yelp that this produced was followed by a loosening of
his grip, and Nigel ducked through the door. He remembered just in time to
adopt the appropriate look of panic as the guard in front of the staff quarters
noticed him.
“Those brutes…”
panted Nigel as the guard made his way down the aisle. “Just wanted a nice
meal, but those animals couldn’t…” He quieted down as the guard pushed past him
towards the dining car, joined by a few curious passengers. Nigel took the
opportunity to stride towards the lavatory. He ducked inside and held the door
open just a crack, and sure enough not ten seconds later a pair of burly
security guards stormed towards the muffled crashes and screams emanating from
the other end of the airship.
Nigel slipped out
of the head, down the rest of the aisle, and through the door into the staff
quarters. To his relief they were practically deserted, with the crew all
manning their posts down below in the operations area and the security guards
indisposed as they were in dealing with his masterstroke. The layout had been
easy enough to memorize given the cramped conditions, and so it was with
considerable ease that he made his way to the first mate’s cabin. It was a sad
little closet of a space, with barely space enough for the bunk that occupied
most of it. Nigel gingerly lifted up the mattress and found that the
information was well worth the fee he’d paid the stevedore for it. The cargo
manifest rested there in a plain manila folder, ready to be sold to the highest
bidder in Kingsholm.
Nigel pocketed the
paper inside, foiling the criminal ambitions of a naïve but none-too-bright
crewman in one simple motion. He exited the cabin and searched the small
hallway separating the first-mate’s cabin from those of the rest of the crew
until he found it. A small hatch set into the deck leading down to the
propeller gantry. Just as he squatted down and placed a hand on the lever to
open it, he heard something that definitely wasn’t part of his plan, either the
original or improvised version.
“That’s him
officer! He’s the one!” Shit.
Nigel stood and
raised his hands as the security guard stood in the doorway, baton at the ready.
He caught a glimpse behind him of Agatha and her would-be stocky lover, his
nose askew but a smirk on his face nonetheless.
“Are you sure
Baxter?” Agatha asked Nigel’s impromptu nemesis. “I think what happened was
just an accident. I’m sure if we look again once they’ve cleaned up the mess-“
“And give him time
to run off with the goods? Not likely!” said Baxter. “The game is up you
cretin! Now give back Lady Agatha’s ruby!” Nigel opened his mouth, then closed
it and hung his head in shame.
“All right, you
‘ve found me out. Here you go.” He produced the ruby from his suit and slowly
walked down the aisle towards them, hand outstretched. “I apologize most
sincerely, you see business has been rather slow and I’m afraid in my desperate
state I-“ He paused, his eyes squinting at the object in his hand. Baxter began
tapping his foot.
“Yes yes, you can
tell all that to the judge. Now what is the hold up?”
“Sorry, it’s
just-hold on one second, please.” Everyone else remained speechless as the man
brought the ruby up to his eyes and gave it a thorough examination. Baxter
fumed at being told what to do, Agatha couldn’t wait to see where this went,
and the security guard stopped in his tracks, wracking his brain for the
portion of the manual that dealt with this exact situation and coming up empty.
Nigel gave his most theatrical gasp.
“This ruby is fake!”
Now it was Agatha’s turn to gasp as Baxter merely chuckled.
“Oh please! Surely
you can’t expect us to believe that? Guard, arrest this man already.”
“Baxter, did you
really sell me a fake ruby?” Baxter coughed as he turned to face Agatha.
“What? No no, of
course not. I told you, that was cut by one of the finest-“
“You WRETCH!”
“It was going to
be a gift but times are hard on the family business you know and-ow! OW!”
Baxter tried without much success to defend against Agatha’s handbag as it
slammed into his head. The security guard was now in familiar territory, and
when you got right down to it the other fellow hadn’t really done anything
wrong, had he? At least nothing worth wasting too much energy over. The guard
promptly changed his course. As he approached them he began to wave his
nightstick in the same noncommittal “break it up, break it up” gesture familiar
to keepers of the peace since time immemorial. Nigel sprang for the hatch as
the guard tried to separate Agatha from the now fetal Baxter, flinging it open
and ducking inside before closing it behind him.
The cheery tune
coming from the truck’s radio was undercut by the music from the other station
that was interfering with the signal. The result was a few brief seconds of a
woman’s voice singing of a bountiful harvest while accompanied by guitar
intercut with a mournful classical piece commemorating the fall of a stronghold
during the Period of Warring Factions and the death of all inside. This was how
Wei had passed his time for the past hour: a constant juxtaposition of cheery
nonsense with utter tragedy or at best representations of bittersweet victory.
He finished his sixth cigarette and threw it down so he could crush it with his
shoe for lack of anything better to do.
This was stupid. The thought had been
kicking around the back of Wei’s head for a while, but now it had finally risen
to the surface. This whole thing was really dumb. Some pok gai from out west promises five hundred coins just for waiting
in a truck next to some shithole town in the middle of nowhere? Of course it
was too good to be true. At first Wei had remained alert and behind the wheel
in case this was the set up for some kind of frame job, but all that tension
was getting him so worked up that if something did happen he’d be useless. So
he decided to hop out of the cab for a quick smoke, and while he was out there
he realized it was such a nice day that he might as well enjoy it if he was
going to be out there. At one point he tried turning on the radio to alleviate
the boredom, but the terrible signal strength just aggravated him further.
Wei had had it. He
hopped off the truck’s hood and was making his way to the door of the cab when
he saw it. The airship was coming in low, its prow angled downward in order to
snag the mail-bag hanging from the post alongside the dusty road he’d driven
down to get here. He watched its approach and as he did he could almost make
out a man-shaped figure dangling from the hook that was supposed to make the
grab. As it got closer he realized the straining shape wasn’t just an actual
person, but his employer. Wei stood transfixed as the ship lumbered over the
mail post and hooked the bag of letters while the man simultaneously dropped
and rolled onto the small hill beneath.
This was Wei’s cue
to spring into action. He scrambled back in the truck, hit the ignition, and
managed to reach his boss just as the man was staggering down the hill towards
the road. After brushing the last bit of dirt from his now severely rumpled
suit he climbed inside.
“Everything go all
right?” asked Wei.
“Fine,” he said.
“They were a bit behind schedule but I managed to go through with it anyway.
Your payment,” he said as he handed Wei a stack of five hundred-coin bills
before reaching back into his jacket. “And a bonus for sticking around.”
Wei palmed the
ruby and squinted at it, holding it up to the sun.
“Looks fake,” he
pronounced.
“I assure you,
it’s as real as they come. Now let’s go, I want to hit Station 47 to catch the
last train of the day. Make it in time and you’ll get a nice fat tip.”
“Whatever you say,
pok gai,” said Wei as he put the
truck in gear.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Sorry, bit of a
slip. That’s Eastern for ‘sir’”.
“Uh huh,” was all
Nigel replied before settling back in his seat for the ride. Maybe Wei’s tip
wouldn’t be quite so big after all.
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