The Girl with Ghost Eyes (15 page)

I shook my head.

“His name was Li Zhenren,” he said.

My eyes widened. “Li Zhenren, the founder of the Maoshan lineage?”

“Yes,” he said. “The founder of my lineage. Li Zhenren defeated the Kulou-Yuanling. When the Nuzhens came again, he gave up Golden Shrine for Contemplation of Spirit, and fled to the south of China, with the Song Dynasty. There he founded the Maoshan lineage, dedicated to fighting spirits and suppressing yao shu.”

He lay quiet, and I thought about what he’d just told me. All of it. For seven centuries, our lineage had been fighting monsters. We guarded the Ghost Gate, we appeased spirits or exorcised them, we fought monsters and sometimes we died fighting them. And this, all of this, eighty generations and more, all of it, was the result of one man trying to undo the harm he’d done. Li Zhenren raised a Kulou-Yuanling. He violated a hundred corpses to craft a monster.

Thinking of the corpses, thinking of a hundred dead men, gave me a sick feeling. I touched my stomach, and felt where Liu Qiang had cut me. The cuts still stung. Anger still coursed through me. I still wanted vengeance for what he had done to me, but somehow, that seemed small now. The cuts were small.

I wondered what Tom Wong would want with a Kulou-Yuanling. He was going to kill Bok Choy, that much was obvious. But a simpler spell could do that. A spell that didn’t require a hundred corpses.

Then I remembered something Tom had said to me. “Power is the new way,” he told me. Power. That’s what Tom was after. He had watched my husband die and then he started thinking about power. Craving it. My husband’s death taught him that guns are more powerful than martial arts. And Tom wanted something more powerful than guns.

I knew what he was planning. Tom Wong wanted to go to war, and he wanted to have the better weapon this time. The Kulou-Yuanling would be his weapon. He’d start small. He’d kill Bok Choy and slaughter that side of Chinatown. The tongs would line up behind him, terrified to do otherwise.

Constables would come. They’d bring muskets and pistols. Fire Medicine had failed before. The Kulou-Yuanling would slaughter the constables.

The army would bring cannons. They would face a giant monster, and whatever evil spirits Liu Qiang could summon. Cannons are slow to load. Iron might have no effect against a Kulou-Yuanling. It would be a massacre.

Tom wanted to teach the world a lesson. He wanted to punish the world for Rocket’s death.

Something went whirring past me. I looked to the door to see what had caused the sound. When I turned back, Father was clutching his chest in pain. There were three spirit darts buried in his chest.

15

My father writhed, and a small moan escaped his mouth. Then I saw him exert self-control. His eye became clear and focused. Between gritted teeth, Father said, “It’s just an itch. No more than that.”

It was worse than an itch, I knew. Spirit darts are not a major affliction, but they are more than a nuisance, more than an itch. My father was in agony.

I should have seen them coming. I should have protected him. I had failed him once again.

“Father, it’s—” I began, and then cut myself off. I looked at him on the infirmary cot. He was half-blind, swaddled in bandages, with his neck immobilized in a plaster brace. What would he do if I told him about the spirit darts? He’d probably storm to the temple and try a counterspell. The last time he’d left the infirmary, a monstrous dog had mauled him. I didn’t want my father to charge out again. I decided not to let him know about the spirit darts in his chest.

Darts, not arrows. That was puzzling. A sorcerer looking to harm someone would fire spirit arrows. The darts cause pain, but they do no real damage. Three of them would cause a lot of pain, but no number would be sufficient to kill.

Father was under attack, but his attacker meant only to torment him, not to do him any real harm. It was strange.

And then I realized something else. The spirit darts had somehow been fired through the talismans outside Dr. Wei’s infirmary. That shouldn’t have been possible; they were my father’s talismans, and they were nearly impenetrable. Something must be wrong with them, and if spirit darts could get through, so could other forms of attack. Spirit arrows. Quanshen. Liu Qiang’s arm.

The image came to mind of the spirit-arm snaking out at Hong Xiaohao, chomping down on him with its rows of needle-sharp teeth. Its pale white, fleshy scales. The cruel intellect in its three eyes. The sense that it knew me, knew me and hated me.

The infirmary’s defenses had to be reinforced before some terrible attack took place.

Father rubbed at his chest with a scowl. I stood and bowed. “I will go and get Dr. Wei, Father,” I said.

His gaze met mine, acknowledging.

I needed to find out how the spirit darts had made it through my father’s defenses, so I went downstairs to the infirmary’s front door. Outside the sun was shining. Street vendors lined up along Dupont Street, selling their wares. A man called out to all in range, offering to repair metal knives, forks, plates, bowls, and cups.

I examined the string of talismans outside the infirmary’s entrance. They were triangular pennants, made of yellow cloth. There were three check marks at the top. The white hare of the moon, the three-legged raven of the sun, and the names of the Five Ghosts—Father’s orthodox spirit-generals—warped into ghostscript, in vermilion ink. The Seven Stars of the Northern Bushel, the names of gods, the bagua, Father’s seal. Everything was complete. Everything was flawless. Of course it was: my father had made it.

Nothing from the spirit world could have crossed it. Not yaoguai, not ghosts, and definitely not spirit darts.

I went back in through the front door. Inside, on a wall facing the door, was a bagua mirror—a round mirror in an octagonal wooden frame, its eight sides etched with the trigrams of the Yi Jing. It had been positioned impeccably. If something had somehow made it past the row of talismans, the bagua mirror should have deflected any spirit attack back out the door.

I found Dr. Wei in an inner room. He was leaning over a big book of herbal recipes, following their instructions to measure herbal powders into remedies. His wife was with him, and she eyed me with a suspicious look. Her jaw was square, her lips pursed, and big bamboo earrings dangled from her lobes. Her ears had been pierced, several times.

“I trust your father is comfortable, Li-lin?” asked Dr. Wei, adjusting his spectacles.

“He has an itch,” I said. “It seems severe. Dr. Wei, is there a rear entrance to the infirmary?”

He gave me a long, analytical look, and then he removed his spectacles. And then he smiled.

“Why Xian Li-lin, it sounds like there’s a young man out front you’d rather avoid,” he said, grinning.

I blinked at his response. Then I blinked some more. “Yes, Dr. Wei,” I lied, “that’s it exactly.”

“You should come here early in the morning sometime,” he said with a smile, wiping his lenses with a cloth. “There’s one of my apprentices you might find appealing.”

I said nothing. This was not where I wanted the discussion
to go.

“You don’t intend to remain a chaste widow, do you, Li-lin?” he said, and I winced.

“I intend to honor my husband’s memory.”

“Rocket was a fine man, Li-lin, but he was never the kind of person who would want anyone to be unhappy for his sake. You are in your twenty-second year?”

“My twenty-third.”

He shook his head. “A girl your age really ought to remarry, Li-lin. We are living in a new world now, and there’s no reason for you to live by old rules. You are young and beautiful. Chinatown is full of men who would appreciate a wife like you, even one with your temper.”

“My temper?” I said. “Would you like to see it, Dr. Wei?”

He smiled. “No need, I’ve seen it before. You’re practically my niece, Li-lin, you’ll behave.”

I glared at him, hating the truth of it. He was someone I held in high esteem, and I would not be harsh with him, especially with his wife there.

“Don’t you want the opportunity to give a man sons?” he said.

“I wanted to give Rocket sons, Dr. Wei, because the world needs more men like him. But he was gone before that happened. Now please tell me, Dr. Wei, where is there a rear entrance?”

With a disappointed look, he put his spectacles back on his face. “Yes, yes, right through there,” he said, and gestured toward a hall.

I bowed, then raced down the hall and out the back door. It opened onto an alley. Hanging over the door was another string of my father’s talismans. I studied them; the ink was not so fresh as the talismans at the front, but their power was intact. Nothing short of a deity should have been able to get through.

I stepped inside the door and saw another bagua mirror, perfectly positioned.

I chewed my lip and thought. If nothing could have gotten in, then it could mean only one thing: the spirit darts had been fired from inside the infirmary. The person who fired them would have need of magical tools. The patients had nothing with them but infirmary clothes. The apprentices would not have enough privacy to perform a ritual. That left only Dr. Wei and—

I sped down the hall, making sure my equipment was ready. My peachwood sword, my rope dart, my bagua mirror, my paper talismans, and some matches. I drew power into myself, what little power I could draw, and steeled myself for a confrontation. I was nervous, on edge. I had no idea what she could do.

I burst back into the room. “Dr. Wei, I need to speak with your wife. Now.”

My eyes locked onto hers. She suppressed a flinch.

“Whatever for?” he asked, and before I could reply he said, “Oho, female matters.”

“That’s right, Dr. Wei,” I said. “I need to ask your wife some questions about those female matters.”

He stood and closed the book of herbal recipes. “I should check on your father’s itch now anyway,” he said, and pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Swift as an arrow I crossed the room and shoved Dr. Wei’s wife against the wall. Her back slapped against the boards. She looked terrified. “What did you do?” I demanded. “What did you do to him?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Don’t lie to me, woman. I’ll tell your husband if I need to. He’ll search your things. What do you think he’ll do to you when he finds your yao shu tools?”

The look on her face slipped from fear to outrage. She said, “It’s not yao shu,” and spit the last words.

“Tell me what I need to know,” I said.

“I will tell you nothing,” she said, “you Hanzu witch.”

I stared at her. “People have cursed me for a witch before, but it was never a witch who made the accusation.”

“I am no witch,” she said.

I hesitated. I had focused on the wrong word. “You called me Hanzu,” I said. Most of the Chinese people in Gold Mountain were Hanzu.

Hate seemed to steam from her eyes. “Hanzu! Always shitting on the rest of us. No ways matter but your own.”

I looked at Mrs. Wei, pinned against the wall. I looked at her ears. The big bamboo earrings, the rows of piercings, the knots in her hair. “You come from one of the tribes,” I said.

Her eyes squinted. “You think that makes me less than you, child? You think that makes me a savage, a witch?”

“No,” I said, holding her in place. “Attacking my father makes you a witch.”

“Your father,” she said, and there was venom in her tone. “The Daoshi deserved it.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “Father protects Chinatown from evil spirits. His talismans hang over this infirmary’s doors, keeping you safe.”

“Pfaugh,” she spat. “I heard him. I heard him talking about the Nuzhens. Filthy savages, he called them. Just like the Hanzu said about my people.”

I kept my eyes on her and thought. Mrs. Wei had acted from old hostility. She brought hurt and anger here from another country, and all the old resentments sparked into a flame when she heard my father express his scorn for an entire people. If she was telling me the truth, she had attacked in response to hearing what he said a few minutes ago.

If she was telling me the truth, she wasn’t part of Liu Qiang’s broader plans.

I released her and took a few wary steps back, remaining in an alert posture. I watched her hands for stupefying powder, for magic gestures.

She crossed her arms, regaining her composure. “The Hanzu came to my tribe and said, ‘You are Chinese now.’ They made us pay taxes to the Emperor. And the Hanzu brought the Daoshi with them, and the Daoshi said no one was to do Wushi anymore.”

“Wushi?” I asked, surprised. “You practiced wild magic?”

“My mother was our tribe’s Wushi woman,” she said, her voice husky and intense, “like her mother before her. She taught me to be a Wushi woman as well.”

“Wushi rituals are unorthodox,” I said. “They invite chaos. Wushi practitioners call demons, ghosts, and goblins into their bodies. They dance all night, screaming and howling like feral animals.”

Hearing my words, she looked at me with pain. “That’s not how it was, child. My family’s spirit servants protected our tribe for hundreds of years, but the Daoshi said they were strange monsters. The Daoshi killed the spirits who protected my people.”

I took a breath. Mrs. Wei wasn’t working with Liu Qiang. I believed her. I even felt sorry for her.

“Mrs. Wei, what you did to my father was unacceptable. A man came here for healing, and you sent spirit darts to afflict him. You bring shame upon your husband. You bring shame upon this infirmary, and you bring shame upon your ancestors.”

Then she did something I never would have expected. She burst into tears, and then she prostrated herself on the floor. “It’s true!” she said, knocking her head against the floorboards. “It’s true. I have chosen a path of disgrace.” She hit her head on the floor again.

I crouched down beside her, embarrassed. “Stop that,” I said, and took her by the shoulders. “Stop hitting your head, Mrs. Wei.”

“How can I make things right, Li-lin? How can I recover from such a loss of face?” The woman was sobbing now. I felt uncomfortable.

“Just,” I said, “just break the spell. Remove the darts. And never do this again.”