Chasing Moonflowers, page 10
The woman lumbered back into view, dragging the body of a human. As the white cloud dissipated, the body’s head rolled from side to side, revealing the features of a girl with the symbol for “oracle” branded on her forehead. This must be an apprentice. No young person bore this mark without initiation. It wasn’t a symbol to trifle with. The girl’s eyes fluttered as the older woman hoisted her flaccid body into the chair and secured her with a rope.
The jagged reflection of the woman’s blackened smile made Ling think of Lady Tun. With an eyeless face under the moonlight, choking on a mouthful of petals. Was this the living version of Lady Tun?
With one knobby-fingered hand, the woman pulled back the girl’s head. She read from an illustrated book. Red symbols on its cover showed a set of interlocking eights. It was the sigil tattooed on the outpost officer’s leg.
Wake up, Ling wanted to scream at the girl. Spots dotted her vision. She wanted nothing more than to fall from the beam and disrupt what was going on below.
The woman inched a blade toward the unconscious girl’s eye, piercing the soft flesh like gelatin. The cuts were precise. Blood spilled down the young girl’s cheek, gathering in pools on the hay-covered floor.
The splotches obstructing Ling’s view expanded. The world shook. Her vision went black.
Ling put her hand to her chest. She was back, whole again. The girl in the vision had a soft face and seemed close in age to Kit and Gou. This communication from the eyes puzzled her. Did they know the dead girl? The eyes weighed heavier in her skirt.
She walked under the rocky roof and examined the salt-eaten walls. Was she looking for something specific, a path or a rope? Wind and water from the tunnel began to churn more loudly. Ling panicked. Did she have enough time before the tide rolled in? She stared into the horizon. The water had risen since her arrival, but luckily, low tide should last for a few more hours.
She surveyed the entrance. The darkness went deeper than the light extended. The tunnel narrowed quickly to a hole no bigger than her body. She crouched. A draft blew from the entrance, telling her the other side was close. What could be hidden down the way? The eyes shone brightly, cheering her onwards.
Limping a short distance before getting down on her knees, she secured the eyes in her bag. Soon, the narrowing walls forced her to start crawling on her forearms. She pulled herself over the barnacled rocks. Her front was soaked. Sharp edges nipped at her skin. Ling ignored the burning in her wounds from the salted water. Small critters brushed against her face. She endured them as best she could until a spider skittered across her forehead. She screamed at the unwanted sensation.
About ten body-lengths later, nearly a lifetime, the lantern went out. A final glow flashed, like the fire was taking one last breath. She struggled to dig through her bag and pulled out the eyes again. Their glow wasn’t enough. Tears gathered in her eyes. She had a choice: move forward or go back. Hesitation would be fatal, with the rising tide.
Going backward would take longer. She pushed up hard. Exhaustion overwhelmed her. Never in her life had she felt so beaten. The eyes pushed against her, coaxing Ling to continue on.
Finally, a breeze hit her face. Her eyes sprang open. A strong scent of grass lured her forward. Moonlight spurred her forward to the edge of the passageway. Here in the middle of the cave, the moonlight pooled on the floor. Water trickled from above. It was a relief.
Tucking her legs, Ling swung around to stand. She sighed. A buoyancy circulated the cave, like she was submerged in a thick liquid. Wooden crates were stacked around the edges of the room. Nothing was marked; there were no drawings or writings to indicate any information about her find. Her thoughts turned to Lady Tun’s treasure.
Each box was nailed firmly shut. The blade of her pocketknife wasn’t strong enough to pry open the tops. She concluded that she needed a crowbar, and another person to move the assumed valuables inside. Emma would’ve never made it through the tunnel. Enlai would agree. But could she trust him around these found fortunes?
She scrutinized the walls and found a boarded up doorframe hidden behind the heavy containers. The ground sloped downward with the edges rising up high, keeping most of the crates out of the water. On another wall, some stone had been chipped away. She pressed into the attached boards. The nails had rusted, and the wood bent easily under her fingers. She punched into the waterlogged panels. As the planks crumbled, multicolored lights seeped out from the fractures. Ling grinned. With a few more blows, a shelf of miraculous items emerged.
The sight struck her dumb. It was a whole collection of eyes. There were eight or so pairs, floating in decorated jars. She inspected a red set, running her fingers over stone vines wrapping around the thick glass. Ling’s heart sank. Most of the eyes were even smaller than the ones that followed her. Every colored iris represented a family that had lost the whereabouts of a loved one.
“Who are your friends?” Ling’s question echoed as she exchanged the fiery eyes for a saffron pair. None of the eyes responded to her proximity except for a pair of jade ones. She picked up the jar and inspected the bottom, finding the initials WML underneath.
“Where is the vessel for you?” Ling searched the cave for the purple eyes. She spotted them on a nearby ledge. Also on the shelf, she noticed a bundle of letters wrapped in waterproof oilcloth. She pulled the package out from behind the jars. Water was rising steadily at the lowest point of the cave. She realized that she had to make a quick choice: leave at once or stay here for the rest of the morning.
“I’ll be back,” she promised the suspended orbs. Relighting the flame in the lantern, she started the journey back to the other side, the package tucked in her tunic. There was much more work to decipher clues from the eyes and their vision. The letters from the cave could be the key to unlocking the details of Lady Tun’s murder.
Sixteen
Ling knocked on her own front door. She was wet and cold. Her hands were cut from climbing back up the jagged rocks. Thinking about morning congee, she rapped again. No one answered. There was also no smell of tea or rice. That was odd.
She tried the door. It was open. Ahma had already removed the padlocks and left with her brothers, leaving a message for Ling:
Please see Aunt Marcella. She needs her medicine. I went to seek advice.
Wish me luck,
Your mother.
Help in Kowloon came in two ways: the temple Hau Wang Miu or an oracle. Ling had a sick feeling about the choice her mother would’ve made. Ahma didn’t believe in prayer. She described fortune tellers as sneaky salesmen. Monsters were fantasy. Requests to the walled-city oracle required great sacrifices. She hoped her mother wouldn’t do anything rash.
Aunt Marcella had been alone since Dabak’s arrest. She had assumed Dabak and her aunt had hired help for their extra needs. Marcella was, after all, related to the family’s long-time friend, Lord Charles Langley.
Ling scribbled a reply. I’ll be back by eight.
While packing books and herbs for the trip across the bay, she belatedly remembered her promise to meet Emma in the school library. If she hurried, she could stop by the library and still make the morning ferry to the island.
The third-floor library had a side entrance into the school. It had been converted from the personal chambers of Father Superior to the only English dedicated library in Kowloon. Ling slipped through the unassuming door. Luckily, Sister Winters was not in the rocking chair. However, a tea pot was steeping near her desk, so she could not be far.
Inside, two stories were encircled by a high ceiling rotunda. It was a grand room that Ling couldn’t imagine had once been the personal space for a priest. A winding staircase cut into the ceiling of the languages classroom below, so naturally, students came and went before and after Sister Maggie’s discussion on the portrayal of morality and British society in modern writings. Dickens, Hardy, and Stevenson books populated the large table on the bottom floor. It was empty now, before the first school bells rang.
Ling found Emma huddled in the row next to the rare books section. A “No Admittance” sign hung across two rows. Looking over the balcony, Ling had a clear vantage point of the empty rocking chair. Even though the sister could see everything, she couldn’t monitor everything all at once. When she was distracted by other students, one could rearrange the books or hide away a dirty comic for others to find without her noticing.
Emma leapt to her feet. “I thought you were indisposed!”
Ling didn’t admit to nearly forgetting their meeting. “I’m visiting the island after this. My aunt is ill.”
“I pray she gets well soon.” The side of Emma’s face sloped downward. “Can I go with you?”
“Not this time. She’s been sick and is getting worse.” Ling touched the spines of the biology and botany texts in the aisle.
Emma knit her brow. “Then why do you have to go during school? Cannot a servant visit her?”
“Helpers might not understand how to prepare the medicine she needs. Normally, my….” Ling stopped herself, hoping Emma wouldn’t ask about the arrest.
“What is it?” Emma always caught Ling’s hesitations.
Ling looked down at the door, confirming Sister Winters hadn’t returned, then whispered, “My uncle was arrested last night.”
Emma sucked in a breath. “What for?” Her brow wrinkled with concern.
Ling licked her lips. How did she want to describe what had happened? Murder was a harsh term reserved for criminals and thugs. “A misunderstanding.”
Emma tilted her head. “Come on now. If your uncle is innocent, then why did they arrest him? The police would not arrest a gentleman over a misunderstanding.”
Ling knew that they certainly would, which was the main difference between her life and that of her best friend. In Emma’s world, everything happened for a reason, for a benefit, while inexplicable tragedy had set Ling back over and over again. The world had tested Ling’s resolve and ability to turn sour hawthorns into medicines. Ling didn’t want to explain the tense relationship between the Royal Police and local residents. Emma must not know about the strikes either.
“The authorities said he murdered someone. But he did not.” She was far more guilty than her uncle, but that wasn’t an idea to share. Anyone could overhear and go to the teachers.
Emma’s posture shot up. “What? Who?”
“He did not do it.” Ling bit her lip.
Her friend’s eye grew wide. “How do you know?”
“I… cannot say.” Her confession dangled from the tip of her tongue.
Emma leaned closer. “Miss Ling Tang. You must.”
Ling sank into the wooden floor. “I have not told anyone.”
“I am not anyone.” Emma touched Ling’s wrist.
“Fine. I witnessed Lady Tun’s… death by….”
Emma blinked. “Who’s Lady Tun?”
“I do not know her real name. She lived on the peninsula.” Ling looked down at her hands, afraid of what truths Emma might glean from her expression.
“When did you go all the way out there?” Emma lived up in a gorgeous house with a view of the ocean, from which she wasn’t allowed to venture far. Kowloon was too wild for a genteel woman.
“On the full moon. Two nights ago,” Ling continued.
“Why? Never mind. Annie is related to her. The girl in the other class with the Portuguese accent. Lady Tun, as you call her, is in fact a Lady from England. I think she said the relationship was estranged.” Emma’s voice perked up.
Ling was startled. Where on Earth did Emma hear such things? She seemed to gather up details in every conversation. She had insight into different sides of arguments. Ling didn’t want to be another piece for her friend to collect. “I will not say more. I don’t want people to know about my family problems.”
This wasn’t a problem to be solved. Did Ling really want to know Lady Tun’s real identity? Would it stoke more chaos?
“They will not hear it from me.” Arrogance seeped into Emma’s voice.
“This is not a game. There are consequences to taking the wrong steps.” She hated to be reprimanding Emma. Ling clenched her jaw.
Emma noticed Ling’s concern. “I am so sorry. I will not do anything unless you want me to.” She hung her head.
“I am not frustrated at you. I visited my uncle at the police outpost. The police are up to something. My uncle made it clear something bad is going to happen to those involved in the labor strikes.”
“You went to the police station?” Emma asked.
“Not the one in town. He’s being held at the outpost up the mountain.” Ling was reluctant to share more. Emma already knew too much.
“Do not worry. My father is a lawyer…” Emma put a finger to her mouth. “Wait, then who killed Lady Tun?”
The mysterious figure flashed in Ling’s mind. How could she accurately describe its ashen face and bald head. “It wore a jacket. Kind of like….” She scratched her chin, struggling with how to describe it.
“Draw it.” Emma pulled her notebook out of her bag and flipped open to a blank page. “Here.”
Ling sketched a form in long coat with golden studs. She took a deep breath. Sharing her secret felt better. Saying the words out loud relieved a heaviness in her chest. The situation seemed less hopeless somehow. Enlai was right; everyone needed assistance from time to time. She kept moving the pencil, trying to match the images inside her head to the page.
“I have seen that somewhere… keep drawing.” Emma scooted out of the row and turned left in the direction of the rare books. Returning as quickly as she had left, she bumped a manuscript against Ling’s arm. The text had a fine leather cover decorated with floral gilt. “This is an instruction manual from the Order of Leopold, a remote monastery in Romania.”
Ling touched the grooves in the leather. Her eyebrows knotted in confusion. “Where did you get this?”
Emma smirked. “Out of bounds, in the no admittance section. But I swear the sisters set this whole thing up to entice students to read otherwise uninteresting books. I study them more than I should.”
“This whole school is a kind of mad experiment.”
Emma exploded in laughter before catching herself. “Oh, sorry. Sister Winters probably heard that.”
Ling flipped through the handwritten words on pages of linen. She stopped at a picture.
“This coat”—Emma pointed to the opened page— “is similar to your drawing. It’s a uniform for the hunters of the undead.”
“A priest’s uniform?” Ling hadn’t seen one single holy man at mass wear anything militant. In Latin, the book described the long coat as a special type of armor. The leather was stretched and made with dyes blessed by the Pope. Each of the studs were copper, deadly for monsters listed on the following page: demons, werewolves, necromancers. Other peculiarities of the attire were encoded in mystery.
“No, a monster hunter. The book orients newcomers to the monastery, which has a mandate to eliminate supernatural beings.”
According to this book, monsters did exist. This meant Ling’s sanity was still intact.
“Who is up there?” Sister Winters had somehow climbed up from the classroom without the girls hearing. With one hand on her desk and the other gripping the cross on her necklace, she wheezed after her rapid ascent. “The hour for lessons is fast approaching.”
Emma tapped the book. “Take it with you,” she said in a sneaky undertone. “The school will not notice someone borrowed it. The books in the restricted section are gathering dust. I can distract the Sister, and you sneak out the side door at my signal.” She pecked Ling on the cheek. “Listen for the word countryside.’” Emma hurried away before the nun could notice Ling.
Ling’s face warmed as she squeezed the delicate cover. The information it held seemed enormously important, but she couldn’t bear to remove it without permission. The book didn’t belong to her, so she wasn’t entitled to its contents.
“It is I, Emma. Good morning, Sister.”
Sister Winters didn’t look up, pouring tea into a mug.
Leaning over the wrought-iron railing, Emma asked in her loudest voice, “Sister, where can I find Lives of the Saints?”
She referenced a compendium of stories meant to inspire a pure and moral life.
Sister Winters nodded as Ling crouched down, waiting for the right words.
“Emma, I did not know it was you,” Sister Winters replied. “The volumes are over here. I cannot tell you what a joy it is to hear you asking for it. You are the exact student I knew would enjoy those stories. Now, which one?”
Emma smiled up at Ling and disappeared under the stairs. “Which one do you recommend? I quite enjoyed your reading about the Bulgarian Empire. I love the countryside references.” Emma proclaimed the last words in a loud, clear voice.
Ling hustled down the stairs and out the side door, taking a quick glance at Sister Winters and Emma. Her friend, ever so slightly, winked. Emma could fend for herself well in a conversation about martyrs and the path to sainthood.
A trip to Hong Kong was exactly what Ling needed to clear her mind. She hadn’t seen her aunt in a very long time. Boarding the 9:30 a.m. British Canton commuter line, she pondered the idea of monster hunters. How could she contact them for help? The ship would traverse the bay in less than hour, stopping at several locations before arriving at her destination, Connaught Road. She had a lot to read, and this would be ample time to gather her thoughts.
As the boat pulled away from the docks, her long skirt swayed. The air weighed heavy. She could see the shops from the boat, and she half-expected her uncle to open the tarp to the store and smile at her. Ling waved anyway to the thought of him.
Sitting down, Ling shuffled through the papers from the cave. Their wrappings hadn’t protected them well. Moisture had destroyed most of the correspondence, which was between Lady Tun and someone named Lord Eggers. Out of nearly thirty letters, Ling could only read three. She tried hard to decipher the smeared and faded words, squinting and angling the paper in the light. It gave her a headache.
