Iron Jaw and Hummingbird (34 page)

Huang nodded and let out another ragged sigh. “It's only a matter of time before Ouyang and his cronies are ousted.” He paused, and then quickly added, “If, of course, we weren't planning to . . . you know . . .” He trailed off and lowered his gaze.

“Huang?” It was the first time she'd called him anything but Hummingbird in some long while. “What do you think happens to us? When we die?”

Huang looked up and met her eyes. “I . . . I'm not sure, Gamine. Sometimes I think there may be something afterward, but usually I think that things just . . . end.” He paused thoughtfully. “I think that life is just life, without anything before it and without anything to follow. This is existence”—he waved his arm in a wide arc, indicating the room around them, the city beyond, the planet beyond that—“all of this, and it's existence that matters. It matters what we do in life, and it matters how we live, not where we might go after we die. The only important things are how we treat one another, what kind of people we are, and what we do.”

Gamine looked at him in silence for a moment, her eyes glistening. “I . . . I want to believe that Wei was right, and that a reward awaits us, but I still can't escape the doubt.” She chewed her lip. “What if this
is
all that there is. Does it make any sense to throw our lives away?”

Huang pressed his lips together. “Killing a man whose effectiveness is at an end, and who is bound to stand for his crimes before the emperor, regardless of what we do? Is that what you mean?”

Gamine was still for a moment but nodded. “We wanted to help people. But what we've done already has spurred others to help them instead. First the people, now the Council of Deliberative Officials.”

“So what's to be gained from all of us dying, when life is all that matters?”

The two looked at each other in silence.

Then the stillness was broken by a crash from the doorway, and they turned to see Temujin standing there, his face a red ruin, his belly covered with the blood his hands could not staunch.

 

“D-Diggers ... P-Parley,” Temujin croaked as Gamine and Huang helped him up onto the table and eased him into a prone position. “T-Thompson . . . Mary . . .”

Huang looked to Gamine for answers, and she nodded, her expression dark. “Thompson Mary was part of the Diggers Parley. We ran afoul of her and her gang in Fuchuan before we headed north onto the plains and met Wei.”

Temujin reached up a bloody hand and grabbed hold of Gamine's upper arm. “Tavern . . . I was in . . . the tavern.”

Gamine nodded and put her hand over his, mindless of the still-warm blood. “What happened, Temujin?”

Huang did his best to staunch the flow of blood from the old man's wounds, but they were too deep, and too many. It was only a matter of time.

“D-Diggers,” he said, his voice raspy and harsh. “Found me. Thompson Mary . . . came . . . said she'd seen me . . . on the street. Recognized me . . . Remembered . . . me. From Fuchuan. S-said ... said she owed me ... for her arrest.”

Gamine squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, but the tears flowed down her cheeks unbidden. “Oh, you tiresome old man.” Her voice cracked, and she squeezed his bloody hand on her arm.

“Gamine,” Huang said, in a voice barely above a whisper, “there's nothing we can do for him.”

Gamine nodded.

The old man's cheeks and forehead were now blanched, almost as pale as ivory, drained and bloodless.

“Sorry, hop . . . hop-o'-my-thumb . . .” Temujin coughed, and pink foam flecked in his mustache. “D-Didn't mean . . . to queer . . . your plans. . . .”

Gamine reached out her free hand and brushed it against the old man's forehead, which already felt clammy and cold. “You always said a grifter's got to know when the con's run its course and it's time to leave, didn't you, old man? Well, I think maybe it's time to pack up and move on.”

Temujin looked up at her, his eyes watery and weak, and a faint smile tugged up the corners of his mouth. “Do . . . Do you mean it . . . sprite? No more . . . of this . . . flimflam?” He sputtered, racked with painful coughs. “Ooohh . . . to get back on the road . . . and to work the old gaffs . . . again.” His smile broadened, and his gaze rolled from Gamine to Huang standing next to her. “Bring your man along . . . why don't you? He . . . He's a right enough cove . . . for all . . . of that. . . .”

Then he coughed once more, but it was a death rattle. His eyes rolled up in his head, and his body went limp.

Gamine stood holding his lifeless hand for a long, long time, silent and unmoving.

Finally, when she was at last ready to let go, she and Huang had a long talk.

 

When the others returned to the lodging, ready to load into the red crawler and head to the Hall of Rare Treasures, Gamine and Huang were there at the entrance to greet them.

“What's all this?” Ruan said, pointing with his chin at the sheet-wrapped bundle on the table. Mama Noh didn't have to ask; her hand flying to her mouth and her horrified expression made clear that she knew precisely what, and who, it was.

“Temujin's past caught up to him,” Gamine said, her voice hoarse but her eyes dry and clear. “There were costs he still had to pay.” She glanced over at the bundle on the table, and then back to the others. “It's nothing to do with our mission. But everything to do with what we'll do next.”

The others exchanged confused glances.

“That's what waits for all of us—today, tomorrow, or a hundred years from now.” Huang pointed a finger at the body on the table. “Now, I can't speak for the rest of you, but as for me, I'd rather tomorrow than today, and a hundred years from now instead of tomorrow.”

Gamine took a step forward and raised her chin. “We came to the city and now find that the man that we intended to kill is virtually dead already, his power lost, his influence all spent. The people are against him, but worse than that, the bureaucracy is, as well. Right now he controls only the military, but to turn that against the people or the government would only anger the emperor, and with the emperor's support withdrawn the military will be lost to him, as well.”

“Our plan was to kill Ouyang,” said Huang. “To kill him to benefit our friends and family, to make for them a better world. But it would cost our lives to do so. We all know that. If that better world is already approaching through the efforts of others, is it worth even one unnecessary death?” He looked from one face to another. “Besides, if we let matters take their course, Ouyang's policies will be reversed, including his offensive against the Fists. But if we kill Ouyang, who is to say that his successor will not decide that Ouyang had been right all along, and press even harder for our complete extermination?”

The others began muttering to one another behind their hands.

“So what are you saying, Hummingbird?” Ruan crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you expect us to do?”

Huang smiled, and glanced at Gamine before answering.

“We expect you to
live
.”

 

In the end, only a handful of those who had come aboard the red crawler returned to the box-canyon camp, to convey the last orders of Iron Jaw and Hummingbird. Mama Noh and the other players, along with one of the laborers who requested to join their company, loaded up and left Fanchuan by the eastern gate, heading toward Shachuan, where they hoped new engagements awaited them.

Ruan carried back word to the Fists. They were instructed to break the camp, divide their supplies and resources as fairly and evenly as possible, and disperse back to their homes, or to fresh lands if they preferred. The only injunction on them was that they were to lay down their arms and not engage the military. The soldiers, so Ruan was to tell them, would soon enough be busy elsewhere.

As for Iron Jaw and Hummingbird? Gamine and Huang, once they saw to the funeral rites for Temujin, said a quiet farewell to each other and then faded off into the city, going their separate ways.

And with that, the Harmonious Fists were no more, and their uprising was over.

HUANG FEI ARRIVED AT THE HOUSE OF THE ETERNAL Blue Sky as the sun was beginning to set, the last rays peeking around the rooftops of the Green Stone District. It was full summer, and the day had been warm, but as the daylight faded a slight chill could be felt in the air.

The doors to the house were open, and already the happy rumblings of the crowd gathering inside could be heard. All of the leading lights of Fanchuan had been invited—not only bureaucrats and merchants, but artists, musicians, and writers—and the benefit promised to be the social event of the season. All the proceeds were to go to the House of the Eternal Blue Sky, Fanchuan's leading home for orphans and wayward children, but Huang could not help but suppose that some of the funds might end up redirected to the other enterprises of the House's founder.

The matriarch of the House was a tireless advocate for poor children, and in addition to looking after her charges who were residents at the house—attempting to find homes for them where possible, and training them for productive and happy lives once they grew to adulthood—she was constantly lobbying the authorities to provide greater protections for the poor, in the city and in the outer provinces alike. It had been years since Huang had seen her, but the news of the day was full of stories of her efforts and of her recent successes in convincing the Council of Deliberative Officials to petition the new governor-general to enact more stringent penalties for those who abused and misused the children who had no home but the streets and back alleys of Fanchuan.

When Huang had received an invitation to the benefit, he'd reacted with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He was excited to see her, apprehensive about how their reunion might play out.

As he crossed the threshold into the House of the Eternal Blue Sky and saw the smile on the face of the house matriarch greeting him, that apprehension melted like ice tossed into a fire.

“Huang!”

“Madam Borjigin,” Huang said with a formal bow, but before he'd straightened she'd knocked the wind from him, wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him in a vice grip with her ear pressed against his chest, her eyes shut tight.

“It's been a long time, Huang,” Gamine said, lingering for a long moment before opening her eyes, still holding him tightly. Then her eyes opened and she pushed away, holding him at arms' length. “You look good!”

Huang smiled and ran a finger down the softening line of his jaw. “My wife insists that I don't eat enough, but I think she suspects I just don't like her cooking.” He gave her an appraising look. “And you? You scarcely look a day older than when last I saw you. . . . What? Ten years ago?”

Gamine pursed her lips and shook her head. “Something like that.” She threaded her arm through his and steered him further into the house, through the milling crowd. “Come, we've just got time to get cups of wine before the performance begins.”

Huang let himself be led across the floor to a table at the side of the hall, where small porcelain cups had been carefully arranged before delicate carafes of rice wine. Gamine picked up two, handed him one, and they clinked their cups together before taking sips.

“So how is your family, Huang? Are your parents well?”

Huang gave a slight shrug. “Father is alive, but in his dotage, I'm afraid. He remembers little these days, and often thinks he's a boy again and that I am his father. Mother handles it well enough. To be honest, I think she's a little relieved. He was never happy that I had sold off all the business's assets after poor health forced him to retire. At least now we don't have to hear endless lectures about how an employee-owned mining collective is no kind of proper business. Nor complaints about the years I let them believe I was dead. I think Mother harbors suspicions about where I was all that time but keeps them to herself.”

Gamine nodded in sympathy, a ghost of a smile tugging the corners of her mouth. She took a sip of wine. “To be honest, I was surprised that you were able to accept the invitation. I'd have thought you would be in the north, busy overseeing the mine.”

Huang shook his head. “I leave that to Ruan most often these days. He's found his true calling as a foreman, it seems. The miners and loaders all love him in their off-hours, in the taverns, but when they're on shift, they find him terrifying. So he can motivate with love and with fear alike.” He sipped his wine. “Anyway, I'm needed here in the city to see to the finances, and to make sure any of us actually see a profit from our work and investments.”

“And to harass the authorities, I understand.” Gamine raised a bemused eyebrow. “With considerable success, I might add.”

“Well . . .” Huang blushed, averting his eyes. “It doesn't hurt that my brother holds a high position in the cabinet of the new governor-general.”

“False modesty doesn't suit you, Huang,” Gamine said with a grin, playfully punching his shoulder. “You've managed to get all manner of safety and salary protection legislation approved, and I doubt there's a miner, farmer, or laborer in all the north who doesn't know who they have to thank for it.” She became more serious for a moment. “And you shouldn't think that I don't know how often you've interceded on my behalf with your brother, too. I thank you, and the city's poor thank you.”

Huang opened his mouth, awkwardly searching for the appropriate response. “I didn't think you knew . . .”

He was saved when Gamine's attention was diverted by a new arrival at the entrance to the hall. Gamine painted an appropriately professional expression on her face and gave a curt wave at the old woman now being helped down the steps, and then turned back to Huang with a sly grin.