Chasing moonflowers, p.14
Chasing Moonflowers, page 14
The receipt was indisputable. Ling had no explanation. It would explain the large sum of money sitting in the apartment safe. Still, she refused to jump to conclusions, even as her heart tensed. Dabak was hiding something, but was it greed? “We must inquire. Dabak deserves at least that.”
Ling thumbed through the stack of papers. Was Beatrix telling the truth? Maybe her mother hadn’t asked the right questions. She spotted the name of an estate in the Guianas. Her father had signed a contract to teach sailing in the West. She frowned. Wasn’t the Guianas near the Caribbean? Did the place have anything to do with the man who had brought over the cure for Aunt Marcella? Of course, this didn’t excuse the theft.
Ahma swallowed hard. “I am concerned for our future, which is why I sought Wupo.” She smoothed out the front of her dress.
“For what?” Ling’s attention stayed on the forms. There was still more potential information about her father. She didn’t see the sailing manifest or logs here. There was no death certificate for Shiu Chi Xie among the papers. She was relieved.
Ahma sighed. “Mei, her apprentice is gone. Missing or ran away, no one is sure. Supposedly, Mei was a jittery thing. Always spilling herbs and confusing prescriptions. Misfortunes can be opportunities too.”
Ling looked up at her mother with her mouth agape. There was something wrong about Ahma’s desperation. “But you never believed in mystics.” Once, a soothsayer aboard her father’s ship had predicted that he would have a long life. Yet where was he now? Ling didn’t believe in prophecies from people for hire either.
Ahma bowed her head slightly. “While medicine is your path, Wupo’s work is very lucrative. She actually wants you as an apprentice. With your father gone and Dabak incapacitated, I have begun to reconsider a new offer from Wupo.”
Ling couldn’t decide if Ahma was being open-minded or opportunistic. What had happened to Mei? Why would she evaporate without a trace? The girl had been with Wupo at least fifteen years. “Ahma, possibilities are well and good. But I….”
“This is too big for you.” Ahma scrunched her face. “The point is, you have an unnurtured gift. When you were young… you had dreams. They were so vivid. You always knew the tides and weather. Do you know, if it hadn’t been for you, we would’ve perished in the Indian Ocean.” She choked up.
“You’re rejecting what you have not even heard? An idle woman cannot do anything for us.” Ling crossed her arms.
“You should be grateful. Wupo said my children have great destinies.”
“Dreams do not save people,” Ling mumbled under her breath.
“Do not think for one second you could have stopped your father,” Ahma said severely. “Your father was your biggest advocate, but he was overtaken by hubris when he boarded the last voyage. He would not even stay for the birth of the twins.” Ahma started to walk away.
Ling pursed her lips, watching her mother recede in the distance. She hadn’t heard that story, where her dreams had saved the ship from disaster. Doubt was the only thing people had ever shown her. After deciding not to transport teas to the colonies, her father had written about growing despondent. Why hadn’t Ahma shared these events with her before? It would’ve saved her a lot of heartache.
Thinking about Wupo caused an ache to throb in her stomach. She had a vague recollection of meeting the old woman with her father. There had been an argument, and Ling never saw the oracle again. Well, even if her mother didn’t trust her, Ling’s plan to free Dabak didn’t involve groveling or begging. She had other ideas.
Twenty-Three
January 1924
The Guianas
Xie snuck aboard a clipper ship, slipping through the commotion of people loading and unloading cargo. The vessel’s shape was strangely familiar. He somehow knew the location of all the doors, even the hidden ones.
He crept into the accommodations of the first mate, who would be busy directing the loads of sugar and tea. Inside the cabin, he wiped the dirt from his face, cleaned under his nails, and brushed the yellow from his teeth. Then he donned a fresh set of western clothes: slacks and a starched shirt.
Back ashore again, he waited for more ships to flow through the docks before introducing himself as a healer from an unknown land.
“Where are your papers?” a hotel clerk curled his upper lip.
Xie had collected a variety of bills, treasures, and weapons. One document called him Wai. The name was unimportant; all that mattered was that the identification said he was a free man. The manager brushed back his long hair and sniffed at Xie. Three days ago, the manager might have kicked him out for smelling wild, but Xie had cleaned up enough, and had spritzed a gentleman’s musky cologne.
“Do not get many free Chinamen. What is your business?” The manager extended a smug smirk. It wasn’t enough that Xie was free; he also had to matter.
“I practice traditional medicine. I’ve arrived to cure the malady plaguing your island.” Xie spoke with confidence bestowed by a wind spirit. The divine had spoken to him.
The whites of the manager’s eyes widened. “You do not say….” He waved over a boy from the back. “Please help this guest to the room with the view. I will phone Señor Da Silva. He will be interested in what you’re selling.” Turning back to Xie, the hotel manager smiled pleasantly, no trace of the smirk left. “Señor Da Silva is the man you want to meet.”
Xie had seen the Da Silva name stamped on boxes leaving the island. On a contract on the ship, Frederick Da Silva had been named the recipient of thirty laborers who had disembarked the clipper ship.
Xie waited for days at the hotel. Da Silva wanted to meet with him after the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, a holiday which celebrated Mary and Joseph presenting the infant Jesus to the church. During these days, Xie slept in a soft bed and walked among the alleyways in the evenings. He bought new clothes and browsed the toys available for sale. He knew he had children, but could not remember them. How old were they? What toys would they like? In his mind, he picked out a doll, a wooden horse, and illustrated story books.
Strange voices followed him. In the town, they called him to feast.
Human flesh will make you stronger. They are not unclean. Untainted blood will nourish you.
He continued to refuse the call, finding sufficient comfort with cow’s blood and replenishing his energy with handpicked herbs. With his new, distinguished demeanor, he asked questions. Answers always came. When he inquired about the health of the island, some shopkeepers lied while others overflowed with strange hypotheses. An elderly woman who he met in a tavern told him an old tale.
“This island used to be a haven. Far enough from land to evade greed for hundreds of years. But then the master’s wealth expanded, acquiring ships to collect more gold and souls. This humble island does not provide treasures. The sun is bountiful. Medicine man, you should know what I have heard. The wind says you will shepherd us from suffering.” She poured him a clear liquid from the pitcher at the table.
“What did nature reveal to you?” The earthy smell of the liquor knocked him back.
“I know the spirit from the lands. It is unhappy with the situation. We did not grow sugar cane before the masters arrived, you know. They changed the terrain and chained hands to work on foreign crops.
“How do I assist?” He tasted the potent drink and cringed inwardly.
“What do you do with vermin?” The woman swallowed the remainder of her own cloudy beverage. Her face puckered. “Mercy to rats means allowing disease. Mercy to corrupted minds dooms future generations. Mercy is for people with no miseries.”
It was cloudy on the day when Xie was invited to the big house. A carriage drove him straight to the iron gates. The house was windowless on the lower floors. Only a thick wooden door reinforced with metal allowed entry to the home. This was not the home of a master who trusted in the affections of his people.
A darker-skinned man with a shaved head greeted Xie. His linen shirt draped off his broad shoulders. In precarious silence, he guided Xie through a dim hallway to a library that opened up to cavernously high ceilings. Skylights filled the space with light. Jewels and minerals lined the inlaid shelves filled with leatherbound books and atlases.
“Master Da Silva will be with you soon. Please feel free to browse.”
On a table in the center of the room, miniature ships marked locations on a map overlaid with the constellations. Xie smiled faintly. The stars were his friends. They had brought him comfort as he slept outside. Xie oriented himself to his exact location on the Atlantic Ocean. He remembered other points, moving his finger to a location called Hong Kong with latitude 22 degrees north and longitude 114 degrees east.
Detached thoughts lurked at the fringes of his consciousness. A tangle of names seeded his mind. But before he was able to investigate them, footsteps echoed in the hall.
“Como estas? Navega?” An unfamiliar accent flooded the room.
Xie wanted to answer yes. “I don’t sail. I am a medicine man.”
At the edge of the map, he noticed a nautical compass pointed in the wrong direction. He struggled to control himself, keep his hands away from the table. Yet, a jolt ran through his veins. He reached out and turned it to face north. A symbol made of repeated numbers was etched into the device’s side.
Da Silva raised an eyebrow. “I am Manuel Da Silva. I own the farms on this island and my laborers are getting sick. I lose hundreds every year. But you know that somehow.”
Xie did know about the deaths in the harvesting fields. He remembered mothers grieving their children. Husbands mourning their wives. He shook off images of the hellish landscape, responding with a smile. “The innkeeper must have told you about me. I am here to help.”
“Who says I need an outsider?” Da Silva studied Xie from the opposite side of the table, as if sizing up an opponent. He stroked one side of his thin mustache.
Xie glanced at the compass again. The symbol jumped out at him. He couldn’t remember his birthplace, or the name given to him by his parents. Yet, he recognized the intertwined figure eights. The symbol had been on the ship that had brought him here. Clear as a bell the name came to him. “Captain Wright.”
Da Silva narrowed his gaze. “Curious. Let me check something….” He mumbled in another language and left the room, leaving Xie waiting to guess Da Silva’s next move.
Xie’s attention shifted to a nearby woven basket. The container was filled with green stones. Most of them were smooth with a hole at the center. He flipped the polished circles in his hand. These stones were meant to hang on chains. Each one embodied qi, a life force. Bringing the article to his heart, his mind drifted to happier places. Had he previously owned a similar pendant?
“Please have one.” Da Silva had snuck back into the room. “I have no use for them. They belonged to those who have perished.”
“You do not send them home?” Xie asked without thinking. That would be the correct thing, the respectful course of action.
“Most of the men did not have families.” Da Silva brushed dust from his sleeve. His expression was uninterested.
Xie knew this was a lie. The women and men who died on this island were burned with the rubbish. It was then that a surge of anger forced a memory back into his mind. Of the voyage here. He had wanted to reach the new world. “How many ships get detoured to this little island?”
Da Silva’s eyebrow twitched. “What are you insinuating?”
“The laborers do not leave,” Xie said. On the voyage here, Captain Wright had blamed the weather for veering off course. But all along Wright and Da Silva had planned to route thirty men here to work the sugar cane fields. Free and unencumbered labor. Xie had fought when he became aware of the detour and had almost been thrown overboard for mutiny.
“Sir, I hate to repeat myself.” Da Silver frowned. “A sickness takes the laborers before contracts are fulfilled. Really so sad and terrible. I am of course happy to pay for services rendered.”
“Their last service to you is their blood.” Xie circled around the table, maintaining his distance from Da Silva. “It is quite smart. You never have to pay out.”
Da Silva stopped and leaned over the table. “Who is your informant?”
Xie stepped toward the door. “The wind.”
“Regardless,” Da Silva’s hands disappeared under the table. He flashed a pair of sharp teeth. “What happens here remains here. How do you know about my island? There is no way. Unless you are from here. So, from which swamp did you crawl out?”
Shoosh. The table shook. Xie jumped left.
As he launched himself, heat sliced into his leg. He glanced over his shoulder at the arrow stuck in the wall. Blood dripped down his calf as Da Silva pounced from the table with a knife lifted over his head.
Da Silvia landed on top of Xie, stabbing at his chest and face.
Xie pushed up against his wrists. He shoved his knee into Da Silva’s breast bone, eliciting a grunt. They bounced across the tiles. Then Xie punched Da Silva in the nose. There was a satisfying crack before Da Silva fell to his side, holding his face.
Grabbing the heavy compass and a model ship, Xie charged at his opponent. Their bodies collided. Xie swung and crushed the paper weight into Da Silva’s temple. His other hand speared a mast of a tiny ship into Da Silva’s neck. The host went limp, his face vacant. Leaning over an unmoving body, Xie picked up the knife and made sure the monster would never divert another ship to this island again.
Twenty-Four
Ling slipped into her morning class, avoiding the glances of the girls with perfect hair in the front row. She licked her chapped lips and tried not to scratch her scalp. Finally, she’d had a night of sleep, albeit one full of visions. At least, she’d woken up rested and was better able to mull over Dabak’s arrest. She tried to focus on the assignments piled high on her chair instead of what she would say when Captain Steward called.
Flipping through yesterday’s missed lessons in math, several unread chapters of a Dickens novel, and some Bible verses, anxiety hit her. A surge of exhaustion threatened to fog her mind again. Then a note from Miss James broke through the pessimism. On the botany syllabus, her teacher had scribbled: Classroom 204 in the morning?
Ling’s heart fluttered. Had Miss James discovered information about the petals? Or was this about an assignment? She had already theorized the petals’ medical efficacy as an ingredient to extract toxicity. Based on the color that the blue flora stained the soup, first pink and then a red deeper than dates or jujubes, she had concluded that they helped the blood.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. Ling flinched.
“I was waving at you, but your mind is elsewhere.” Emma stood in front of her and held out a strawberry candy. “Is your aunt well?”
Ling gratefully plucked the sweet from Emma’s palm. “Just fine.” So much had happened since they’d last spoken, Ling didn’t know where to begin. Discussing her uncle at school would only stir unflattering speculations. “What did I miss in botany?”
“Shrubs are on this week’s curriculum. I thought they would be boring, but Miss James started lecturing on the flowering varieties. Roses and lilacs. They smelled so lovely. I never thought of roses as shrubs, did you?”
The twinkle in Emma’s eyes showed that she shared Ling’s excitement for plants. Multicolored roses were in bloom at the Blake Gardens. Her passion wasn’t only a novelty. She understood the abilities of flora to strengthen and heal the human condition. Plant medicine could even distract from the condition of womanhood. It was an outrageous idea that she kept to herself. But if nourishing yin energy made women more feminine, then an herb must exist to achieve the alternative.
“So, I heard you had a gentleman caller.” Emma leaned toward Ling. She breathed the sugared question, tapping shiny pink fingernails on the wooden desk.
“What?” Ling’s response was sharp.
Emma shifted her attention back to the assignments. “Is it true?”
Ling curled her lips. “Do not believe everything you hear.”
“I take it that is a no. The boy who used to come around…what was his name?”
Ling’s ears got hot. She knew Emma meant Enlai. “Who else has heard this? The label is only for convenience.”
Emma didn’t know Enlai had stolen from Ling. Her father’s compass was a precious treasure she would never get back.
“My mistake. Someone mentioned the Red Society men, so I remembered him. They have an honorable cause.”
“But one that does not fit into the church’s agenda.” Ling’s mood was darkening. She was filled with fury at a boy who wasn’t even here. Even the sweet candy didn’t soothe the discomfort crawling under Ling’s skin. Was Enlai trying to ruin her life? No. Enlai was just sending a message. It wasn’t Emma’s fault; her friend was attempting kindness. Ling managed to crack a half-smile, trying to salvage the moment.
“I apologize if I upset you,” Emma said. Her eyebrows knit together. “I think he really likes you, but of course he made some bad choices.” She picked up an assignment list. “I can give you my notes on the reading if you wish. Dickens is horribly bland.”
Ling relaxed. “It is all right. I’d much rather hear it from you. Enlai was never…” He was a lost cause. They could never be together, but she admitted that perhaps his position in the underground society could be useful. “You have to promise me. Do not trust him.”
Emma nodded slowly as she remembered something important. “Yesterday, I asked other students some questions pretending that I was working on a heritage project. I gathered facts about their extended families in this region. This is it.” Emma turned to a list in her notebook. Down the page were the names of students and surnames, some that weren’t their own. “Most people are no more than twice-removed from aristocratic lineages. I mean even you’re related to a Lord.”
