Rise of the Dragon Read online

  “Killing Red Hand won’t stop the past from repeating itself,” Fang said. “Just like killing Boar didn’t end the Knives. They’re still out there, still doing the same foul business as before, but more people are dying while they fight it out for control. The same thing will happen with the Four Winds. My brothers aren’t going to give up just because Red Hand is dead. They won’t suddenly turn to honest lives. They’ve got families to feed, and this? This is the best way for a Docksider to manage.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Birch said. “I don’t accept it. Listen to you; you sound like you’ve bought in. That’s not what your honored father taught us.”

  Fang’s teeth clicked together as he stifled a curse. “Don’t talk to me about my father. If his teachings could’ve kept anyone alive, we wouldn’t be here now.”

  Birch slammed back a cup of wine and poured for them both from the flask. “So now you respect him less than your gang’s daddy?”

  “And if I do?” Fang asked. “What does it matter? I’ve already come this far. I can’t stop.”

  “When you say shit like that, I’m not sure what you mean — you can’t stop following the plan, or you can’t stop living like an enforcer?”

  Fang’s temples pounded from the sticky humid heat and the sticky sweet wine. “Why am I taking this from you?” he asked. “You’re worse than a shrill little wife. What would it take to shut you up?”

  “What will it take for you to listen? Do I have to fuck you? Is that what it takes? Because you’ve been listening to Orchid for years—”

  Before Fang’s temper could explode, pounding footsteps in the hall caught his ear. The last thing he needed was a godsforsaken trap. He held out a hand to silence Birch before he could utter one more damn word. Judging by the racket, there were at least half a dozen intruders in the hall, and they were organized. Barked orders, muffled by the walls, cut down on the noise.

  Fang pressed an eye against a crack between the boards of the outer wall. His view was only knee-high, but several men passed, likely stationing themselves outside of doors in preparation to bust in. Fang grabbed a chair and wedged it into the sliding door’s track. At least it wasn’t one of the traditional types with the fragile woodwork and paper.

  Birch stifled a noise behind him. Fang looked over his shoulder; Birch was starting to laugh, color risen in his face. “You’re drunk,” Fang hissed.

  Birch nodded frantically, hand clamped over his mouth. His eyes glittered.

  “Help me move this bed,” Fang whispered. Birch climbed to his feet and swayed worryingly. He managed to help, albeit one-handedly. The bed didn’t move. In a second, Fang realized the problem — it had been nailed to the floor. “What the hell kind of place is this?” he whispered furiously. “Get that wardrobe!”

  It turned out to be heavier than it looked. A door gaped open on Birch’s side and something rattled disturbingly. Fang looked; chains and straps that made his eyes bulge. Birch had to use both hands, loosing a near-squeak that threatened to turn into a full-blown guffaw.

  “Shut up shut up shut up!” Fang hissed. They wrestled the wardrobe against the door, but it slipped in Fang’s sweaty fingers at the last moment and scraped on the floor. Outside, someone yelled.

  “What was that? Open up if you’re in there!” a male voice commanded.

  “Fuck off!” Birch yelled back, and laughed. The door rattled, shaking the chair. Fang steadied it and looked around the room.

  From the noise, there were at least eight men in the hallway. There were likely more downstairs. They were shaking down the rooms — Fang heard startled shrieks and offended bellows, the beginning of indignant arguments, and the heavy sound of flesh on flesh as someone was struck and fell to the floor with a thud. They were sounds he was all too familiar with. Whatever group this was, they were organized enough.

  The pounding on their door redoubled. “Who’s in there? The harder you make this, the worse it’s gonna be!”

  Another voice in the hall pricked Fang’s ears. He heard his own name. They were looking for him, at the very least, and had tracked him down here. I must’ve been followed, he thought grimly. Birch leaned against the wardrobe, suddenly finding their situation less hilarious.

  Fang eyed the window. They might be able to squeeze through it, but it was going to be a tight fit. With them being on the second floor, and no rope — he rethought what he’d seen inside the wardrobe and amended that, there probably was rope, but it was a matter of whether it was long enough – a snapped leg wasn’t the kind of wound either man could afford.

  “Look for a rope,” he ordered Birch.

  “I’m not into that.”

  “Would you rather jump out of that window?”

  Birch’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. He quickly opened the wardrobe as Fang kept the chair wedged against their besiegers. Silken cords, leather straps, scarves, and other paraphernalia were rejected in short order for being too short or too weak. Finally, Birch pulled out a length of what looked to be iron chain — over twice as long as he was tall.

  He and Fang goggled at it for a moment until their unwanted guest started body-slamming the door, now that it had gotten through his thick head it wasn’t simply going to slide open. Fortunately, the solid wood wardrobe was heavy as hell. He and Fang tipped it back against the door to add more resistance.

  Birch found a hook by the window and looped a couple of links over it. Fang eyed it and wondered how well anchored it was. They didn’t have too many options — the chain wasn’t long enough to tie to the nailed-down bed.

  “I’ll hold it for you, you go down first,” Fang said.

  “If it’s the Knives, you’re fucked,” Birch said.

  “If it’s anyone, we’re both fucked,” Fang replied.

  “I’m serious — I’ll be fine, no one knows me,” Birch said.

  “Just go!”

  But Birch stubbornly crossed his arms.

  “Shit, fine, we don’t have time for this,” Fang said. The wardrobe rattled as if in agreement. They both cast worried looks at it — such a flimsy barricade couldn't endure abuse for much longer. Fang shoved his head through the narrow window and twisted his torso to squeeze through, but quickly found himself stuck no matter how hard he exhaled and how small he tried to make himself. There was no going forward. He couldn’t even get to his elbows without risking becoming truly stuck. He pushed himself back into the room.

  “The good news,” he gasped breathlessly, “is that there’s no one down there because they figured the windows are too small. The bad news is the window is too tight for me. You’re smaller, just go.”

  “You can’t face this many alone,” Birch said. “Not even you can, and especially not in your current shape.”

  “My odds are better if they don’t see the Four Winds and the Society meeting together,” Fang said quietly. “No matter what you want to think, people do know who you are on sight.”

  Birch’s mouth twisted like he didn’t want to accept it. Unexpectedly, he grabbed Fang’s shoulders and pulled him into a rough hug. Fang’s heart stuttered. “Be careful. Just try to escape,” Birch said. “I’ll bring help as fast as I can.”

  What kind of help? Fang wanted to ask as Birch withdrew, but before he could ask, Birch pushed him against the wall by the window, chain digging painfully into his shoulders, and kissed him, wet and open-mouthed, lips and tongue both sweet and sour from wine. Fang let him in without resistance, shocked and annoyed and aroused all at once. He started to lean in, but Birch pulled away, wild-eyed and mussed.

  “If I get stuck, don’t try any funny shit,” Birch said.

  Fang would’ve pulled back, but he was still half-pinned to the wall. “Like what?” he asked, bewildered. “Just get moving!” The wardrobe juddered forward on the floor and dust shuddered down from around the door frame. It probably would’ve taken the attackers less time if they’d just tried to come through the walls - they were only planks.

  Birch sque
ezed through the window. Fang smoothed down his damp, rumpled tunic, overly aware of how hard he’d become from a brief, sweaty kiss and the awful urgency of the situation. Birch cursed as his hips snagged in the window frame. Fang shoved. The chain slithered taut between the hook and frame, and Fang hoped Birch had a good grip as he finally slipped the rest of the way through. There was a moment of actual terror when Birch slipped down fast, but caught himself and was able to shimmy the rest of the way down the chain and make the final leap to the alley. Now he was free to escape through the Rose Maze.

  “Hold on!” Birch yelled up.

  Fang looked down and smirked. “Pray for them, not me!”

  Fang pulled the chain back up. If nothing else, it had the makings of a brutal weapon. He shrugged back into his wet overcoat. He wrapped part of the chain around his right hand and made a fist. Not as good as real knuckles, but it would put a hurt on someone or give some protection from a weapon. He leaned against the wall separating the blue room from the next and waited.

  He didn’t need to wait long. A strong smash knocked the wardrobe over. It fell awkwardly on one of its fallen open doors, spilled its contents, and collapsed. Another blow from outside splintered the door and it cracked inward. The assholes outside were using a chest as a battering ram. It wasn’t a bad idea. Fang started swinging the loose end of the chain, building momentum as axes came out to finish the job.

  The first arm that came too far into the room got lashed. The heavy chain whipped itself around and tangled. Fang yanked it and the links coiled and tightened for a moment. It wouldn’t last long; there was no hook at the end, nothing to grab and tear, but the man’s pained cry was the only proof he needed that it was successful. His victim dropped the axe and pulled back. The chain unraveled and Fang quickly whipped it around again. He had to be careful to not smack himself and get enmeshed in it.

  The other axeman took the opening and rushed in, but Fang had already recovered and whipped him full across the face. He reeled back but didn’t drop the axe. Fang whirled the chain faster until it sang, and the axeman blindly tried to ward him off with the axe held out in front and his free hand covering his wounded face. Fang easily evaded the man’s fumbling, kicked him into the ruined chair, and left him tangled there. With his chain-wrapped hand he grabbed the axe the earlier man had dropped and burst through the door.

  He brandished the axe at the dead-end side, scaring them back, but it was the right that was more concerning — there were the stairs, his only real escape route. The whirling chain kept the men at bay, but they’d gather their courage soon enough. They’d come armed, clearly ready for bloodshed and murder if necessary.

  They also had blue sashes. Moon Knives out for his head, just as he’d feared.

  “Broke-dick bastards,” he snarled. “Get out of my way and I won’t take one of your heads for every link in this chain.” The chain sang in his hand, higher and higher. The men closest edged back, pressing into the men behind them and tying up weapons as comrades tried not to accidentally stick each other.

  A scuffle from the dead end caught his attention. One of the two men tried to dart inside Fang’s guard. The axe was too unwieldy to block well, but the attacker’s reach was too short to do anything but cut a new hole in Fang’s overcoat. Fang made a backhanded swing and the man jumped back as the blade buried itself firmly in the wall. His rhythm faltered and the chain slackened; men lunged in from both sides as he jumped back into the blue room.

  The doorway was narrow enough that he could at least control the number of men he was fighting at once. He kicked the axeman from before to ensure he stayed down, earning a pained groan. He caught a slash from a long knife on the chain and kicked the man back through the door frame. His position was taken by the man with the short knife from before.

  The thug’s face was pinched with concentration. Fang laughed as he yanked the axe free from the wall. There was no size contest here. He didn’t want to completely wreck the Pearl by spilling blood and guts, though, and instead smashed the flat side of the axe against the man’s crown. He dropped and Fang spared hardly a thought about whether he’d accidentally spilled the man’s brains. The next tried to bull rush him; Fang caught him around the neck and spun with his momentum, then flung him against the far wall with the window Birch had escaped from.

  As he crashed into the window frame, more footsteps came up the stairs. Fang was ready for more. He grinned at the next bastard in the doorway, who looked at him uncertainly.

  “Stop this unholy racket at once!” the hostess’ voice rang out.

  The Knives’ eyes were unwillingly drawn toward the stairs. They clearly were split between trying to figure out who was the bigger threat — Fang, or the Pearl’s hostess. Fang’s grin grew. He was the bigger threat; he was always the biggest threat.

  “I said be silent! Who’s laughing?” Boot steps and shuffling and grumbling were evident as someone passed through the Knives.

  The hostess, flanked by two heavily made-up, extremely broad-shouldered men faced him from the other side of the door. She looked taken aback and appraised him, fan concealing her face below the eyes.

  Fang dripped sweat and his clothes were still rain-damp; now he sported a new, oozing cut across his nose. The laughter had stopped; with some shock, he’d realized he'd been its source. The well of madness this ambush had opened up was capped. For now. He had no way of knowing whether Birch was safe — the hostess probably wasn’t his style of backup, but maybe he’d sent Orchid.

  “Look at you,” she said with some distaste, then looked back toward the stairs. “Ah! Don’t try anything stupid.” One of her burly guards grabbed someone out of sight. Fang heard a crack and a strangled shriek. “All of you get out. If I see any of your faces in here again, I’ll talk to your bosses — all of them, yes, Lady Pearl does know them — and you’ll all wish you could be as pretty as my escorts when I’m done with you!”

  She looked back at Fang. “I deeply regret that your visit ended this way, but did you have to enjoy yourself quite so much?” She sighed heavily. “Thank your stars that Orchid showed up when she did.”

  Orchid. Fang tossed the axe and chain aside. Birch sent her? Or has she lurked nearby the whole time to see what would happen? The two made-up meatheads herded the Knives downstairs under Pearl’s watchful eye. After all these years, he hadn’t actually known that she was the place’s namesake. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but he didn’t know as much as he thought he did, apparently. Fang leaned against the doorframe and watched the gangsters’ orderly retreat. He’d never had a single encounter with Pearl’s escorts until now. He wondered if he could take one in a fight. Probably, he decided, but it’s not worth it.

  When the last head disappeared down the steps, Pearl crooked a finger. “We’re taking a more discreet exit.”

  She led him into the last room, the next door over from his ill-fated meeting. It hadn’t been torn up like the others he’d glimpsed. It was also much nicer than his room, with a newer, plusher rug and decor even he could recognize as more tasteful. There was even a full-length, polished brass mirror on the wall. Pearl stood before this and hooked her fingers behind the left side. It creaked open, revealing a narrow passage - not as narrow as the window, though.

  “Through there, down the steps, and don’t take offense, honored guest, but I don’t want to see you here again for a long time. I know your bosses, too.”

  Fang bowed his head, part acknowledgment, part apology. “Send the bill to headquarters, it’ll be paid,” he said. In the end, his presence had caused all the damage — lost patrons, ruined rooms, and all that cleaning. He slipped sideways into the passage and edged toward the back.

  Pearl closed the mirror behind him, leaving him in almost pitch darkness. The narrow gap between wooden walls didn’t leave much space to maneuver. For a moment he wondered if he’d allowed himself to be tricked and was now stuck in a little prison like a gift in a box for whoever would want a chunk out of his hide, but
he kept moving and eventually his foot met open air. Cautious exploration proved there were stairs as Pearl said. He descended carefully down the uneven steps, down into cooler darkness. The steps ended in a tight passage with a dirt floor, but there was some light at last — and a dank breeze suggesting the smells of the Rose Maze.

  Fang let himself out into the labyrinth and breathed the humid air. The rain still fell. He didn’t hear anyone else. He checked his clothes; dusty, but mostly presentable. The dark fabric hid blood well. The big rip from his near-shanking didn’t look good though. He’d have to get it fixed. He mopped the drying blood from his nose and walked out into the Maze.

  As he turned into an alley leading out, a scimitar whipped out to block his path.

  Fang looked up slowly and tucked the increasingly filthy handkerchief into his coat. “Wei,” he said evenly. It wasn’t the kind of surprise he wanted. “Did you need something I can help with?”

  “Yeah,” Big Wei said, “there’s something you can do for me.” He drew the scimitar back and fell into a swordsman’s stance, an odd one with the blade held behind him. Four of his subordinates fanned out behind him, looking grim.

  “Ah.” Fang shook out his fists. “I have to say I’m a little tired today, but I’m always willing to oblige one of my honorable elder brothers.” He squared his shoulders and reached for that same destructive glee as before, but it had drained away into resignation.

  “Just shut up, you sly little shit!” Big Wei whipped the blade forward, cutting through the mud and splashing it into Fang’s face even as he tried to split Fang from navel to neck.

  Fang twisted aside, escaping the cut but not the blinding. Mud burned in his eyes; he swiped at them once with a sleeve, but he couldn’t spare much time. He elbowed Big Wei heavily in the short ribs and shoved past him, straight into the thick of the other brothers.

  “Get him!” Big Wei roared.

  Fang wasn’t the only talented fighter in the Four Winds’ ranks. They hadn’t climbed up by only having a few killers. The sudden battle was furious and, unlike Big Wei, mostly silent but for the sounds of expelled breaths, grunts, and the sound of flesh on flesh. Fang ate body blows that knocked the wind out of him.