March 28, 1582
Matsujun clung onto the edge of the windowsill and struggled to peer through the slightly dirtied crosshatch glass that separated the main deck of the San Martin from Dr. DeWitt’s room. The young boy could only make out the gentile figures of Antonio and Isabella as they leaned over the table with Jakob in the middle. All of their eyes were on objects doubly concealed from Matsujun by another layer of glass—perhaps jars. What he found odd was how those three were holding handkerchiefs onto their mouths and noses.
The interior of that room within the rocking ship of the San Martin was usually well lit with various candles and lamps hanging about the room. Despite it being Jakob’s, he seldom slept in that chamber despite the various beds pooled out along the edges of the room. Dedicated to his cause, he had converted that spacious abode designated for him into a makeshift operating room and lab—in case they would need such expertise in a fight. Jakob was a proven chemist—even a dangerous one, but his first passion was to heal and this room reflected that premise.
Although the beds dominated two of the four walls of the room, the greater portion of the middle and bottom and right sides of the chamber were dotted with various tables and stools—all wooden and all sporting various leather scrolls no doubt filled with Jakob’s myriad instruments, a fresh bowl of water and cloth, as well as jars of herbs chemicals medicines and the like. Thanks to Dr. Ginzo, fresh dried animals with potent pharmaceutological importance were hanged in different areas giving the whole chamber a kind of gingery smell.
“What do you suppose is going on in there, Sweet-san?” Matsujun had asked curiously to that Korean born, Chinese trained spy next to him. As usual, Sweet gave no response to him but simply stared through the glass similarly. Matsujun may have looked up towards his companion for an answer but instead he leaned in further against the glass hoping that he could detect some faint noises within.
“Dr. Ginzo and I have been running tests for the past few hours on the dried samples first,” Jakob began explaining to the other two as he pointed to different jars on the table.
“We found the powder we extracted from the dangerous samples killed these three specimens,” Jakob added pointing to the three dead rats in each jar.
The rats contained within those jars greeted the other two observers with morbid farewells; their legs and tail were contorted in such a way that it was like they were waving from beyond the animal grave.
“As far as I can tell, at least in these doses, the substance in that body was extremely toxic even when inhaled,” was further explanation from the muffled mouth of the good doctor.
“And its effects on the human body?” Isabella asked similarly from behind her cloth protection.
“It wasn’t a coincidence that I asked Dr. Ginzo to comment on it,” Jakob said to his companions as he turned around to a separate table near the rear, “I’ve seen this kind of poison before and I’m sure he had more expertise on it than I.”
As the two followed him, they came upon the rear table with various flasks and vessels ringed and held in place by metal loops which were in turn nailed or bolted to the very wood of the table to avoid spillage during those rancorous and sometimes stormy trips across sea. Jakob pointed to two containers in particular near the center of the table.
“We believe the poison came from that.”
For a moment, all three paused as Antonio and Isabella gazed liberally at the closed aqueous container and to the culprit within. The lamplight gave the surrounding water a strange glow neither sparkling nor shimmering but a diffused yellow coating that made it seem more akin to waste water.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before,” Isabella remarked as she watched the object suspended in that liquid.
“It’s only found around here I believe,” Antonio chimed while Jakob rounded the table to the opposite side.
“There’s more,” Jakob continued as he brought out from a drawer an object atop a platter. “I weighed the powdery substance we found in the sample pieces and then studied the proportion of the substance against the weight of the samples; I came up with a dosage that would be as large to a rat as a regular dosage might be to a human.”
On the silver platter lay a decrepit and sad creature formerly a cousin of those similarly dead ones found in the jars earlier. This particular rodent was, however, pinned down to the platter and spliced open down the middle.
“Before I dissected the animal, he did not die like the others, but he might as well have been dead,” Jakob said mysteriously.
“What are you talking about?” Antonio asked breaking his glance from the gutted animal to Jakob’s eyes.
“From what I can tell, its movements were severely hindered and it failed to respond to most feeling. Its eyesight was relatively poor but its sense of smell remained in tact. When I inspected the skull I found massive deterioration in the brain just like the other rats, but this one remained alive for a good long while before its internal organs finally gave way three hours later.”
There was a small silence again and the creaks of the swaying ship took over. Looking down at the precisely sliced animal, Isabella pressed her handkerchief tighter against her mouth and ruffled her brow disgustingly. Antonio mimicked her actions.
“From what I can tell, this would probably happen to a human as well which led me to believe there was another ingredient,” Jakob said taking another plate from underneath the table. This time it held strange green bulbs formed which resembled much like organic eyeballs with one side having a circular opening.
“I recognize those,” Antonio said suddenly, “From our trips to New Spain and Fars.”
“Apparently they also grow in the area of Champa and Dai Viet,” Jakob added as he put the plant next to the glowing gelatin like watery substance and said, “From what Dr. Ginzo has told me, the symptoms we would see if this plant is refined combined with the poison is what was inside the sample.”
Antonio gave a grim expression as he heard this news and looked first at the platter of the bulbous pods and then towards that object inside the water. It didn’t make sense to him, he thought. Naturally the plants could have come from the fields of Colombia and Peru via the markets of Mexico easily enough… but this deadly thing from the waters. How did it get all the way to California?
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After a week of patrolling, inspecting, and conversing within Chinatown, Renault finally was able to get his audience with the elusive and illustrious David Chopin. Despite his objections, both Amin and Carmen insisted on accompanying him to the meeting.
On that crisp afternoon, the sun waved a masterful hand and dispelled the morning mists a few hours earlier. It was in that subtle warmness that the palace of Little China greeted the three guests with a resplendent array of red wooden balconies and gold studded doorways. Statues of lions and Buddhas eagerly awaited them at the portals and the shingles of the rooftops crowned the structure with a scale like appearance making the front resemble the gaping maw of a pointy eye-browed dragon.
As the carriage that had brought them there slowly galloped away, Renault de Fronsac, Carmen, and Amin casually approached the structure’s main entryway.
“Please come in!” an attendant called out to them as he gave a simple bow to each one.
With guarded postures, the three guests entered the magnificent entryway and followed that servant down a main hallway which was only interrupted by several life sized statues of Buddhas both with jovial and angry faces. At the very end of that hall was another studded doorway which opened slowly upon their arrival.
The room it led into was a curious example of the finest porcelains from the East as well as marble or jade statues of everything from serpentine dragons to noble phoenixes. The servant had motioned for them to sit onto the beautifully carved chairs presented to them near the center of the room facing what seemed like a triptych painting on the far end.
The servant also brought along a teapot with porcelain cups in a flower like arrangement and placed it on a table in front of them before beginning to pour.
“The master will be with you shortly,” the man said jumbling his Spanish just a little bit. “The master wishes that you refresh yourselves with the specialty of the East, some green tea.”
At that Carmen seemed to perk at the notion—it had always been her dream to try some of that elixir from the East and she received the cup with much anticipation. Renault and Amin both looked at her curiously as they held their handle-less cups and watched Carmen eagerly taste the soothing hot mix. They too similarly tasted that specialty.
Giving their thanks to the joyous attendant, that man quickly exited from whence he arrived and shut the doors behind them. Aside from the statues atop varnished wooden tops, the walls themselves seemed to contain images of tigers and other creatures painting the strangely angled room into what reminded Renault as a twelve sided Zodiac gallery. All three had been looking around as soon as they entered the impressive chamber.
“Hello Mr. De Fronsac and company,” said a voice from behind the triptych painting in front of them. The ominous greeting was accompanied by a shadow sliding into the center of that painting from behind it before growing smaller and smaller as it approached the fabric of the wall.
Renault refused the impulse to stand. The voice that had caught their attention spoke Spanish with an intonation of a giddy old man. In between the high pitched accentuations of that welcome, he could hear the rasping deterioration of age in the voice.
“Good afternoon,” Renault responded as coolly as possible, “We’ve come to see Mr. Chopin.”
“And you have succeeded, Mr. De Fronsac,” replied the voice. At that point the shadow seemed to stop at the periphery of the taught paper wall ahead of them.
“Please show yourself, sir,” Carmen enjoined.
Before she could continue with her plea she saw the shadow’s top quickly jolt to the direction of her voice through the paper as if suddenly stabbing her with that obstructing view.
“Ahh, Madame Carmen,” came the jittery voice again, “It’s good of you to have come along with Mr. De Fronsac. And I sense the manservant is here as well,” he said quickly jolting that shadow-head once more to the other side of Renault casting a sudden heaviness onto the sitting Amin.
“We’ve come to talk to you about your business and some missing Mexican workers,” Renault said a bit loudly as if to cast the deleterious gaze from the shadow off of his companion. It worked in so far as that hidden silhouette straightened its look back towards the central Renault.
“So you have, Mr. De Fronsac,” was the slippery answer. “I’m sure you already spoke to my secretary earlier in the week, as you can see our records are quite… accounted for.”
The voice rose up and down as it talked but always with a forceful bitterness behind it.
“All the same we’d like to inspect your premises here, Mr. Chopin.”
There was a short silence as that man behind the wall seemed to burn a stare right across the paper barrier to meet the determined gaze of Renault.
“If you insist, Mr. De Fronsac then I’m afraid I have no other choice…”
At that, the triptych wall slowly slid apart revealing that wrinkling old man complete with a long flowing white beard. The sudden departure of the barrier seemed to shock the three of them as they were greeted by a grin sporting sticklike teeth intermittently cursed by bloody red gums. Their host had no hair on his crown with the exception of the trailing ghostly tendrils of once long hair along the edges of his head and around it.
Renault couldn’t help but stand up; Carmen and Amin similarly stood to the sudden entrance. The man they faced was clothed in the gregarious attire of an Eastern mandarin but none of the colourful embroideries could have distracted their eyes from the chaos of discolouration and veins on the man’s pasty skin.
“It is good to finally see you, Mr. De Fronsac,” came the raspy voice with a menacing edge.
“Forgive my surprise Mr. Chopin,” Renault started, “I wasn’t expecting you to be—”
“Chinese?” came the giddy almost exuberant voice before letting out a laugh between his teeth. “When I came to this country, Mr. De Fronsac, I had my name transliterated from Sio-pan to Chopin… to make business easier.”
“So you’re not really French…” was Carmen’s surprised remark.
“No, Madame Carmen… just like that wasn’t really tea.”
Renault’s eyelids rose quickly as he gazed down at the now drying vessels of which they had drunk that complimentary drink. He looked back towards their deceptive host and almost drew his espada when the mere action drove him to sudden nausea. He managed a glimpse to his comrades who were now leaning against the table and tumbling forward in their own plight. Before his eyes receded to darkness he could see a shadowy figure behind their host, a taller man accompanied by a shadow of what seemed like a shorter, younger individual.
“Ahh! Master Ming, Master Ginji,” Renault heard as if the voice of Sio-pan was being muffled behind a pillow. “Thank you for the recent delivery of fugu it will definitely help the powder stock!”
Renault was struggling to inch forward onto the triptych hallway that lead to those figures. His movements were already dumbing away and his hearing cut off the rest of the conversation of those three foreigners. As Mori Ranmaru and the shadowy diplomat from the empire of the Ming looked on to the pitiful sight, Renault’s eyes closed and he felt his heart breaking in his chest.
“Do we know where they’re going?” was the ambiguous voice coming from the central speaker platform at the end of that long desk.
“As far as we can tell, the jet they’re using registered first at Kansas City and then again in Denver,” someone responded from the table.
In that darkened room, the usually large windows around this chamber were covered almost hermetically by the thickest of blinds. The only light came from a single fluorescent strip hanging above the table behind a diffusing plastic barrier.
On that table was an array of papers and photos neatly segmented across the varnished surface before terminating at one end with the speakerphone.
“We’ll know when they signal for a landing where their final destination will be,” another voice intoned.
“I already know where they’re going,” came the neutral voice on the speakerphone, “and what about Father Francis and the Duke?”
“Still in Madrid after their trip from Mecca,” was a reply from another person down the long line of shadow veiled men. “We have an itinerary of their next trip but it looks like they won’t be leaving for another week.”
“And the Timepiece? Have you secured it?”
“As you requested,” the person at the other end of the table boomed out authoritatively, “the Timepiece we extracted from the Osaka lab is now safely in one of our facilities in Afghanistan. We will wait until it’s opportune to move the location but for now the local extremist activity in that region will provide enough cover for the base there to go unnoticed.”
“Excellent. Know this, gentlemen that your work is almost finished,” iterated the voice from the speaker. It was not static or anything strange that gave that authoritative voice its unfamiliar tone. There was something else odd about it.
“The Wolves stand with you, Master Councilman,” came the sturdy reply from the other end of the table.
“And remember, gentlemen, everything in this Room must remain Silent,” was the voice again.
At that, those around the table quickly folded their dossiers closed and stood up to exit the chamber. Only one man remained, the one sitting behind the speakerphone with his hand on the machine.
“Everything seems to be going our way, Marcus,” was the man’s voice into the speakerphone as soon as everyone left.
“Yes, and now Tom is being brought to us by Janus,” was the almost giddy response.
“I’ll be flying back to San Francisco tomorrow so I’ll be able to see you again,” the man by the phone said with a strange smile.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” was the response with almost a giggle before it clicked close.
With that, the strangeness of the voice was made clear. Despite the male name, it was a woman that had just received the briefing from the Wolves.
From her office in the pyramid like building of Schwarzschild Industries in San Francisco, Marcus Councilman had shut off the speakerphone with a tap of her finger against the machine. She was a pale woman, perhaps only five feet and a half tall at that and sported the latest suit and tie to come off the line of the various fashion studios she owned. She was formerly styled as Lillian Councilman, the daughter of a Seattle hippie who had protested the Great War with other like minded individuals regularly in the desert of Arizona. They even burned an image of a man every year to solidify their anarchic aims.
Unlike her delusional mother, Marcus Councilman did not content herself to seek chaos and ‘freedom’ simply through romps in the desert with other nude anarchists. No, she sought to bring chaos through order. That is to say, that she plans on using the very mechanisms of order to bring chaos to this world.
No, not even that, she thought. Through the course of her studies and success as a businesswoman, she had come to the conclusion that outright chaos would demand order. Yes, too much disorder would force people to band together, to form societies, to create laws.
No, this was unacceptable. Instead, she would settle for a more devious way of creating chaos. No more centralized government, no more world order, no more harmonious One True Faith. Indeed, chaos will reign in the veneer of order: a world where hundreds of independent sovereignties exist! Multitudes of religion and especially of Non-religion! She had learned well from other Anarchists that a frog slowly boiled will never feel his impending doom. So it will be with the world she wishes to create. No more progress that hindered the true freedoms of the body, of the mind, and—well she didn’t believe in a soul.
Looking out from her office, it was a clear day in San Francisco. This was to be her headquarters, she said. Half a world away from Madrid, this was the weakest point in the entire Empire and the most liberal city. From here, she would pull the strings of change—of reform—of a progress not of order and science, but of society. Nothing will be sacred anymore, nothing held absolute. Her chaos was philosophical.
Perhaps that’s why she needed Tom; that beautiful child of a genius historian. His vision of the alternate present was uncanny. His idea of a destitute Spain failing to reign in the progressive overturn of religion, social values, and order made her squirm at night ever since she heard the report from the assassins she sent to kill the journalist in Osaka. Tom was a kindred spirit, and he needed to be saved from his Catholic captors. Yes, she thought vividly as she grinned against the glass pane, she needed someone progressive like him to go with her. He was the only other person with the vision. Imagine, she commanded the window panes. Imagine a world where she and Tom could dictate freedom for all! Freedom to murder your children, freedom to marry who you wish… oh yes… she would marry Tom too even though she was a man—or at least that’s what she was convinced she was.
She giggled to herself as she creased her finger against the transparent surface of her office window. It was shaped into a broken heart and through the center of that broken organ, she could see through the glass the far off building of what was once the palace of Little China.
Chapter XXII: Curse of the Broken Heart (coming soon)