A Forty Grain Weight of Nephrite

Steven Philip Jones

I. Who

Kymani Jones gazed through the scissor gate covering a French window overlooking San Francisco at night, captivated by the sparkling parcels of house lights and streetlamps tumbling down to the bay where the water was as black and flat as a display cloth. Spanning the horizon was a nearly flawless cluster of shimmering stars momentarily marred by twin streaks of one meteor chasing another’s tail across the moonless sky.

“Beautiful sight,” a man said from behind.

Kymani turned.

The watchman who had been acting as their chaperone was gone, replaced by a comfortable-looking, keen-eyed, ruddy-cheeked gentleman. “A Nob Hill view still gives me a thrill. Maybe it’s because I’m not allowed in places like this too often.” He extended a hand to Kymani. “I’m Barlow Pointer, the adjuster assigned to the Xiamen Bi theft. The owner will be along in a moment. Lieutenant Justin Beahm from Robbery Division wanted to meet you, too, but he’s out on a call right now.”

Kymani smiled and shook Pointer’s hand, determined to make a good impression. “I appreciate Professor Vayner agreeing to see me. I hope I didn’t step on anyone’s toes writing to him, but I thought he should know an attempt might be made on the Bi.”

“And you were right. All that matters right now is the Bi is a priceless insured object and Professor Vayner is one of Hellman’s most important clients.” Pointer lowered his voice. “And Hellman isn’t anxious to pay out on a large claim like this unless they have to, but right now the police and I are stymied.” Speaking normally he continued, “Besides, it’s not like Hellman has a liability consultant on the payroll who happens to be a leading authority on security and objets de art, although we would gladly remedy that if you ever want to give up the independent life.”

Kymani could not have felt more complimented. Hell­man Occidental was one of the country’s most respected insurance companies and Pointer its most respected claims adjuster.

“Thank you, but for now it’s best I remain my own boss. Besides, there is plenty of action elsewhere to keep me busy.” Kymani did not mention this action included preventing powerful magical objects known as Keys from falling into the wrong hands, be they human, unearthly or somewhere in between, nor that they believed the stolen Bi was a Key.

“Is this your first time in San Francisco?”

“It is, but I read up on it during my train journey.” Kymani always learned as much as possible about any new place they went to, especially those where they were working. It did not pay for someone in their professions to be a stranger in a strange land, and Kymani – a cosmopolitan who had traveled everywhere from the Abu Simbel temples to the ruins of Wat Phra Sri Samphet – was finding San Francisco to be a beguiling amalgam of frontier America and urbane New England. Pointing out the window they asked, “That is Russian Hill and Fisherman’s Wharf, correct?”

“You got it. Think of it as a topographical sliding scale from high society to seafaring proletariat.”

“Sounds a little like the East End of London, although this looks far more inviting. Over there are Union Square, Civic Center and the Tenderloin? Basically parks, government and downtown?”

“Yes, and then there’s the Financial District – the name pretty much tells the story – and of course there’s Chinatown. You can’t come to San Francisco without visiting Chinatown. You have a flat near Boston, don’t you? It has a Chinatown, doesn’t it?”

“I do and it does. I’d be glad to show you around it if you ever get out that way.”

“Thanks. I suspect San Francisco’s is more veritable. I think that’s the right word. We’re close enough to China that our Chinatown tends to be quite the gateway between the two countries.”

A third person interrupted: “And what does that have to do with what happened to the Bi?”

Kymani watched a tall, eagle-nosed, white-haired Caucasian man in his sixties with a waxed moustache and carefully pointed beard stride into the room. Keeping pace a step behind him was a clean-shaven Asian man of average appearance, height and weight who could have been thirty or fifty or any age in between.

Pointer said, “Kymani Jones, this is Professor Aron Vayner.”

“It’s a genuine honor, sir.” Kymani hoped they did not to sound too wonderstruck by the renowned archaeologist and explorer.

Vayner looked Kymani up and down with the practiced eye of someone with a lifetime of experience appraising people. “So you’re the art historian who predicted the Bi would be stolen?”

“I was very careful to say it ‘might’ be stolen.”

“Would you mind telling me how you came to suspect this might happen?”

“I’m also a security expert.”

Pointer interjected, “Jones has been enlisted by insurance companies, art dealers and law enforcement agencies around the world to locate and recover stolen and looted works of art.”

“Yes, yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

Kymani said, “The three star symbols engraved in the Bi tipped me off to the possibility.”

Vayner looked somewhat discouraged. “It’s purely conjecture that those symbols represent anything astrological.”

“Academically, yes, but not to the thief.” Kymani cleared their throat, feeling the same way they had during their dissertation defense. “You are probably aware that one of the symbols is believed to represent the Celestial Wine Cup, part of the Chinese constellation known as the Well, and a second symbol is believed to represent the June Böotids of Comet Pons-Winnecke. What the third and last symbol represents has been a bone of contention for centuries, but there is a growing theory – supported by work taking place at Lowell Observatory – that it represents the relative position of an unverified celestial body orbiting the edge of our solar system to the ecliptic. The late astronomer Percival Lowell named this celestial body Planet X. If that theory is correct, then the alignment of the star symbols on the Bi now matches the current alignment of the Wine Cup, the Böotids and Planet X, which only occurs every two million years.”

“But why should that prompt someone to steal the Bi?”

“If someone believed there is a significance to this rare alignment that that person might gain by, then they could be motivated to steal the Bi.”

Vayner shook his head. “It all sounds like H. Rider Haggard to me.”

“Nevertheless, the Bi is missing,” Pointer said.

“Yes.” Vayner turned to his manservant. “You may return to your duties, Shibing. I’ll ring if you’re needed.”

A valuable and revealing skill in Kymani’s work was observing people and things, so they paid attention to Shibing as he departed. The man’s carriage was blanketed under the classic cut of his black buttoned-down suit, but his skilled manner of walking and lightness of step suggested that he was as much minder as manservant to the professor, which suggested to Kymani that Shibing was someone who warranted future attention.

Vayner looked at Kymani. “Pardon my effrontery, but you seem rather young to have carved out your reputation.”

“No offense taken, sir, but you weren’t much older when you led your first expedition to Fujian Province, which was a highlight of my senior year Asian Art classes.”

“They’re teaching that in school now? Where did you study?”

“I was an undergraduate at Straight College and studied for my doctorate at the École du Louvre.”

“I was unaware Straight offered an Art degree. Where did you learn about security matters?”

“Mostly from a patron who supported me after my father died.”

“I see.” Vayner kept his own counsel for several seconds and then asked, “Do you think you can recover the Bi?”

“I’ll do everything I can to return it where it belongs.”

“Recover it and you can name your fee. What do you need to begin?”

“I actually started before I left Arkham, and I took the liberty of examining this room while I was waiting.” For Kymani it was a grand room, and not because it was thirty feet by twenty feet with a twelve foot ceiling or because it had Italian painted and parcel gilt Chinoiserie boiserie wall panels. Its furnishings, dragon fur curtains, hanging scrolls, silk art, pottery, ritual bronzes and Buddhist sculptures were an inspiration to the glories of the Yangtze. “I noticed that all the windows have both scissor gates and solid steel shields that can slide out from the wall. I presume the shields are always closed at night.”

“Yes, from ten to six, during which time a watchman is also posted here.”

“How long has the guard that was on duty last Saturday been with you?”

“Two years. I can vouch for his trustworthiness if you’re thinking he assisted the robbery in any way.”

“Thank you.” Making a mental note to ask Pointer later if he had independently checked the guard’s background yet, Kymani said, “During my train ride I read everything I could find about the history of this mansion, including how you donated it to the Rovers Club last year.”

“Except for this wing,” Vayner corrected. “Most of the house was going unlived in since I retired. I never married and have no living relatives. I was spending most of my days at the club anyway, so I offered to donate it on condition I continue to reside and store my collection here.”

“I see.” Kymani felt a little sorry for Vayner. They could sympathize with having no one close in their life.

“That doesn’t mean the club has access to this area. It does not nor will it until I die.”

“All right. Now this mansion is the only house on Nob Hill to have survived the earthquake and fire in 1906?”

“It is.” Vayner’s puzzled expression suggested he found this an odd question. “Our neighbors built timber mansions that resembled stone, but my father insisted on the real thing.”

“However, the interior was gutted. Who reconstructed it?”

Vayner started to answer but faltered. Clearing his throat he deflected, “I fail to see what that has to do with what happened to the Bi.”

Kymani was not surprised Vayner appeared unable to answer the question. The only records about the reconstruction Kymani had been able to locate before leaving for San Francisco were in the athenaeum, safeguarded by a furtive government agency called the Foundation that helped from time to time with locating Keys. Not even the elite design firm of Bachelard and Corner that performed the reconstruction had any recollection or receipts of the job.

Instead of pressing this question Kymani said, “I have a theory about that. At least about how it was stolen. But I will need to see where you kept the Bi.”

“That is no problem.” Vayner removed a key from a vest pocket and walked towards one of the wall panels. He pressed a spot on the panel and a jib door sprang lightly open to reveal an inset 1912 Rosengrens heavy valuables cabinet.

Kymani requested, “I know the police have examined the vault door, but I’d like to give it my own onceover.”

“Go ahead.”

Kymani moved within an inch of the vault and after about a half minute commented, “You could not have selected a better safe. It’s crackerjack.” The front of the door was a one hundred millimeter sheet of steel while the whole surface in front of the Sjölander mutator lock was secured and the keyway shafts were reinforced with grains of carborundum. After verifying that the casing trim was undisturbed, Kymani said, “There are definitely no unusual scratch marks to indicate any sort of pick was used to enter the safe. That makes sense. The best yeggman I know would need an uninterrupted hour to crack this box.” Kymani thought it prudent not to mention that they were this yeggman. “Would you please open the vault now, professor?”

Vayner unlocked and pulled open the safe door.

Kymani leaned into the vault.

The treasure chest was an airtight compartment fashioned from polished steel and large enough to hold two average adult men. Drawers lined its rear wall and the bottom half of its side walls, while shelves monopolized the top half. Its contents included over two hundred ancient cloisonné, ornaments and jewelry, including half a dozen Lungshanoid jade animal pendants.

Kymani pointed to an empty spot on one shelf. “Is that where the Bi was the last time you saw it, professor?”

“It is.”

“May I step in and look around?”

“As you wish.”

As Kymani entered the vault compartment, they heard Pointer mutter how he would give a week’s pay to know how the thief was able to grab the Bi. “If my theory pans out, I might take you up on that. I could use the money.” Kymani searched for any welding marks to indicate a forced entry, but as they expected there were none. “All right, professor, would you shut the door and lock it?”

This request did not sit well with either man as Vayner said, “I’m not about to entomb you in there!”

“You have the key. Wait five minutes, then open the door. There’s enough air in here for that long.”

“But there’s no light. You won’t be able to see.”

Kymani pulled a baby flashlight from a jacket pocket and thumbed it on to show that it worked. “I promise I’ll be fine.”

A perplexed Vayner did as asked. “But I shall not be held responsible if anything goes awry.”

Kymani took a deep breath as the door shut and the tumblers locked into place. Being trapped in a sepulcher or a facsimile thereof was nothing new, but that did not mean they liked it.

“I hope I’m right about this.”

•••

One minute passed.

Then two.

Three.

Four.

A few seconds later Shibing entered the grand room and announced, “Kymani Jones.”

Kymani entered the room as Shibing exited, the two exchanging side glances as they passed while Pointer practically shouted, “How did you do that?”

Vayner somewhat stuttered, “Was I sold a safe or a magician’s cabinet?”

Kymani, feeling rather pleased to have flabbergasted two such accomplished men, told Vayner, “You’re on the right track. Open the safe and I’ll show you.”

Vayner unlocked the door but to his horror there was no vault compartment. “Everything is gone!”

“Look over to the right.”

Vayner did and gasped. “There it is!” And more than that, “There’s a tunnel in here!”

“Which leads outside the mansion to a spot between the buckeye tree and the surrounding wall. You might want to have someone trim that tree or maybe you should just cut it down.”

“How in Heaven’s name did the thief accomplish all this?”

Kymani sidestepped the question by saying, “I’m still working on that.”

Pointer said, “I’ll notify Beahm. After the police hear about this, I’m afraid they will insist on talking to you.”

Kymani’s expression softened with resignation as they thought, if I had a penny for every time I heard that.

II. What

Two hours later Kymani and Pointer were grabbing a late supper at Coffee Dan’s on Mason Street, an all-night ham-and-egg emporium as well as a favorite Tenderloin speakeasy.

Kymani was enjoying a chicken salad sandwich, Postum, and listening to the pianist and MC Tiny Epperson perform “Hesitation Blues” while Pointer broodily consumed a grilled cheese with bacon and glass of buttermilk, when a good-looking lanky man in his thirties entered the eatery and zeroed in on them.

He snatched a chair from an empty table and patted Pointer on the shoulders. “My condolences, pal. Looks like Hellman might have to pay through the nose on this claim.”

“Don’t go blowing taps just yet. Maybe the law is giving up on recovering the Bi, but not us.” Pointer told Kymani, “This is Beahm from Robbery.”

Kymani shook Beahm’s hand. “Thanks for talking with me here instead of the Hall of Justice. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Hey, I like to get out as much as the next guy.” Beahm’s eyes lingered on Kymani a second longer than necessary before he told Pointer, “And who said we’re throwing in the sponge? But you know the recovery rate on these cases is around ten percent, so even if we’re hitting on all eight we’re going to need to get lucky, too.” Looking at Kymani, “Which brings me to my first question for you. How did you know someone was going to pinch the Xiamen Bi?”

“‘Might’ pinch the Bi,” Pointer corrected.

“Whatever.” Beahm listened to Kymani repeat what they had told Vayner and Pointer about the Bi’s star symbols and then asked, “You really spend your time studying that stuff?”

“Someone has to. Besides, there’s more where that came from.”

“Like what?”

Kymani swallowed the last bite of their sandwich and crossed their arms. “Like, for instance, a thirteen hundred year-old anecdote believed to have been excised from China’s Book of Documents that talks about ‘a sky disc of forbidden colors’. All ancient bi can be considered sky discs because they were buried with the dead as a symbol of the afterlife or ‘sky’, but because the Xiamen Bi is blacker than any other jade known on Earth, there is a theory the gemstone it was carved from came from a meteor or sky stone. In any case, starting with this anecdote, nearly every possible ancient and historical account of the Xiamen Bi includes some mention of it bringing dismay and destruction wherever it’s taken. Examples include the Great Flood of Gun-Ya during the third millennium BC, the fire that destroyed the city of Jiankang during the Northern and Southern dynasties, a great famine that started in 875 AD and the San Francisco earthquake.”

Beahm was caught off guard by the last disaster. “Excuse me?”

“Vayner brought the Bi home with him from Fujian Province on April 17 1906, the day before the earthquake.”

“You can’t believe some piece of jewelry was responsible for that.”

Kymani thought it very likely, but told Beahm, “It doesn’t matter what I believe. It only matters what the thief believes.”

Pointer asked, “But why would anyone who believed that want any part of the Bi?”

“Because that anecdote goes on to describe the sky disc as not only having star symbols like the ones I’ve already mentioned, but also strange hieroglyphs representing ‘unknown yauoguai from beyond the Way’ who predate the Three August Ones. The inference seems to be that these unknown beings imbued the sky disc with its cataclysmic power, creating a volatile talisman that is best left alone… except when the stars represented by the symbols match the alignment on the sky disc. During that time anyone possessing it can harness and control its power.”

“Do you really think the thief believes the Xiamen Bi is this sky disc?”

“Why not? It is engraved with what may be star symbols as well as with pictographs that correlate with no known writing system. If it’s not the sky disc, it sure could be.”

There was more Kymani could have told the men. Doing so would have been less frustrating than dancing around the truth, but Kymani doubted Pointer and Beahm would believe them. How could Kymani convince the men that the Bi might be a Key? And even if Kymani had been permitted to talk about the Foundation, how could they explain the agency’s mission included collecting Keys to use in the defense of humanity against entities known as the Outsiders, beings that preyed on humans and reality by ingurgitating the actual existence of their victims? Or that the Foundation suspected the Outsiders were gearing up for something big, that might involve Keys like the Bi, and had asked Kymani to forewarn Professor Vayner someone might try to steal it.

Kymani had agreed even though they did not completely trust the Foundation. Actually Kymani did not completely trust anybody. To complicate matters further, according to the Foundation there was another organization known as the Red Coterie that also ostensibly collected Keys to use in defense of humanity against the Outsiders, but some of its members were not above using Keys for their own benefit.

Beahm asked Kymani, “How did you figure out Vayner’s box had a back door?”

“That wasn’t difficult. Just a logical process of eliminating everything that was impossible.” Kymani leaned forward out of habit and did not mind when Beahm reciprocated. “The safe hadn’t been accessed from the front; ergo it had to have been opened from the top, bottom or posterior. I found no cutting scars anywhere inside the vault, so there had to be a way to detach the compartment from the front of the safe. To do that there had to be a way to reach the vault compartment through the mansion’s wall cavity.”

“Oh, come on. There had to be more to it than that.”

Kymani smirked. “Nope.”

Pointer snapped his fingers. “That’s why you asked Vayner about the reconstruction of the mansion’s interior. You think that’s when the tunnel was built.”

“It would have been the perfect opportunity.”

Beahm disagreed. “Any reconstruction must have been completed in 1907 or 1908. Why wait over a decade to pull off the heist?”

“Because back then the Bi was volatile since the stars were not aligned. Again, it doesn’t matter what is or isn’t real about the Bi, but what the thief thinks is real.”

“You keep saying thief, but a gang must have worked this job. There had to be one or more persons in on it at Rosengrens and ditto the interior design company. By the way, did either of you ask Vayner what contractor he hired?”

“Kymani did but Vayner never answered,” Pointer said. “I got the feeling he couldn’t recall.”

“Really? You’d think he’d remember about a big job like that. I’ll ask him tomorrow and if he still doesn’t recall I’ll see if the morgues at the Chronicle and Examiner can dig up an article that lists the company.”

“If you do, would you pass it on?” Kymani knew no one would find or remember anything, but it looked better to ask. “In the meantime, I wouldn’t mind hearing what you two know about the professor’s valet.”

“Shibing? You think maybe he was in on this, too?”

“Just dotting my t’s and crossing my i’s.”

Pointer pulled out a pad. Imprinted in tiny gold letters in the lower right corner of its black leather cover was Hellman Occidental Insurance Company. Pointer flipped pages until he located his notes on Shibing. “He has been working for Vayner since September 1905. According to the professor he was one of several laborers hired during the excavation in Xiamen where the Bi was found. One night their camp was set upon by bandits and in the conflict Vayner’s batman, Arthur Charpentier, was killed and Shibing saved Vayner from joining him.”

“So the professor hired Shibing out of gratitude?”

“He seems like a handy guy to have around.”

Which further validated Kymani’s earlier suspicions that Shibing’s skills extended beyond butlering. “What did he do before Vayner hired him?”

“No records about him exist before then. That is not out of the ordinary in China, but Vayner must have greased some wheels at the Bureau of Naturalization to wrangle Shibing a visa in spite of the Chinese Exclusion Act.”

Kymani did some ruminating. “Was Shibing hired after the Bi was discovered?”

“Yes. Are you blaming the Bi for what happened to Charpentier?”

Kymani shrugged. “Not exactly.” Considering how things played out it seemed more likely to Kymani that human agents were responsible for the bandit attack.

Epperson finished “Tonight You Belong to Me” as Beahm glanced at the watch on his wrist. “This has been dandy, but I think I’ll call it a day.” To Kymani, “If you need a guide to your hotel, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Kymani did not mind the offer, but had learned the hard way not to mix pleasure with business. “Thanks, but I know how to flag down a hack.”

“Another time maybe?”

Kymani smiled with their eyes. “No harm asking.”

III. When

It was almost midnight when Kymani returned to the Hotel Sutter. Almost instantly they realized their room had been searched and by someone who knew how. A suspect leapt to mind and the next morning this presumption was upgraded to an educated guess after Kymani checked in with Pointer.

“I can’t shake the feeling that someone has been in my office and went through my files on the Vayner case,” Pointer said. Soon after this the educated guess graduated into near certainty thanks to Coil Biaggi, the eponymous owner of a dive on Pacific Street where Chinatown fringed into San Francisco’s Latin Quarter.

Kymani had no contacts in the San Francisco underworld, but a connection of theirs in the New England Mob suggested that Kymani talk with Biaggi if they needed information. Biaggi was unpretentious though, so Kymani did not mince words. “I need a lead on who stole the Xiamen Bi. Can you help me?”

Biaggi asked, “Who was it again gave you my name?”

“Dart Viczko in Eastie. He says you mind your own business, but if you told me anything it would more than likely be right.”

Biaggi might have nodded. “Viczko told me you might come here. He also mentioned you find things but don’t always give them back after you find them.”

“Are you sure Dart didn’t say that I return what I find to its original owner?”

“He might have put it that way.”

Biaggi might have nodded again. “All right. Viczko is the Real McCoy, so I figure you’re on the square, even if someone flashing an international cop’s badge is asking around about you.”

Kymani thought, I knew it! Then asked, “A tall man with a crewcut? Red hair and round glasses?”

“That’s the Joe. So who is he?”

“His name is Cyrus Fletcher and he is an agent with the International Criminal Police Commission.” Fletcher was also associated with the Red Coterie, but it was unclear if he was a member or just helped them the same way Kymani assisted the Foundation. “The ICPC can’t prove I do what I do with the things that I find, but they suspect it and don’t approve.” Even so, Fletcher seemed almost obsessed with exposing Kymani’s activities.

Why? So far Kymani had been unable to find out, but Fletcher’s presence in San Francisco strongly suggested the Red Coterie had a hand in the theft. Even if they hadn’t, Fletcher would certainly try to catch Kymani in the act of returning the Bi to China.

Biaggi silently sized things up. He was in no hurry. Finally, “No guarantees. I only pass along what I’ve heard. And only if it goes no further.”

“Dart told me that, too.”

“Okay. There’s a new bunch in Chinatown. Very nasty types. They took your bauble.”

“Who are they?”

“No one knows. No one wants anything to do with them. That includes the Chinatown Squad. Nobody will even say where they hole up, except it’s somewhere in Chinatown. The only thing I can tell you for sure is you best be careful if you stir up this hornet’s nest.”

Biaggi had nothing more to add so Kymani headed to Chinatown, keeping one eye peeled for Fletcher all the way. The agent was more than a nuisance, he was becoming a Javert. But Fletcher was good, so if Kymani was going to avoid apprehension they needed to be doubly careful.

San Francisco’s Chinatown turned out to be more populated but less diverse than its Boston counterpart, encompassing an area six blocks in latitude and two blocks in longitude. Its prime meridian was Grant Avenue, a safe haven that bedazzled tourists with dragon streetlamps, xieshan roofs and sprightly painted shops and chop suey houses. American jazz was more the order of the day here than the Chinese flute, so Kymani ventured into the aromatic side streets and alleys where residents, store owners and associations comingled with highbinders and gambling houses, which seemed a more preferable locale for the cabal that Biaggi described. It was also more preferable to Kymani, who was most contented when searching the dark corners of the world for interesting things average people might not like.

On Waverly Place Kymani was passing a temple where some boys were playing marbles in the street when they noticed a truck up ahead making a delivery of green vegetables to a grocery. To Kymani’s surprise the carriage of the man stacking the crates seemed familiar even though it was blanketed under a dark blue tang suit shirt and black pants.

Kymani cautiously approached and greeted Shibing, “Xiàw»h«o.”

Shibing casually replied, “Hāi.”

“So are you moonlighting or were you waiting for me?”

Shibing continued in Southern Min: “Neither, but since you are here I think we should speak. Preferably in private. There is an arts store around the corner with stairs leading to a cellar. If you like you can descend a few steps until you are out of sight from the street. I will join you soon.”

“That sounds like a fine way to get waylaid or worse.”

“I suspect you can take care of yourself, but what you do is up to you.” Shibing went on unpacking.

Kymani had accepted worse invitations, but their instincts tingled like exposed nerve ends while they waited for Shibing and did not subside even after he arrived a few minutes later and told them, “Thank you for your patience and your trust.”

“I wouldn’t be reading too much of the latter into this.”

“Then what should I read into an art historian who was raised by the finest art thief in Paris?”

For the second time Shibing surprised them. The identity of the patron who brought up Kymani after their father died was known to an extremely select few. Although taken aback, Kymani nonchalantly said, “Sounds like a well-rounded person to me.”

Shibing bowed his head slightly as if to say this made perfect sense. “If I was so well-rounded and I located the Bi, I might not be inclined to return it to Professor Vayner.”

Kymani decided to return serve. “And if I was a valet who walks like someone adept at shinobi stealth techniques and I didn’t consider myself well-rounded, I think I would be doing myself a disservice.”

Shibing’s face was a tabula rasa. “Perhaps it is time that we be frank.”

“Okay. You first.”

Shibing bowed his head slightly again. “You are familiar with the Bi’s history?”

“Yes.”

“Including the calamitous legends surrounding it?”

“Yes.”

“I am pledged to a secret Fujian order that knows many untold things, such as who might have raised a particular art historian or that the legends about the Bi are true. Our order arose centuries ago in opposition to a cabal that is determined to possess the Bi. They will do anything to acquire it, and to protect civilization we will do anything to forestall them.”

“Like murdering Arthur Charpentier?”

Shibing appeared unaffected by the accusation. “Would you prefer we had killed everyone in the camp? We knew the Bi would be safe with Vayner. He is admirable… in spite of himself… and there were advantages to hiding the Bi in the open, so long as one of our order remained close by as a vigilant guardian. Except I turned out to be neither.” For the first time Shibing showed emotion as he glared into himself. “There is a doctrine in war not to assume your enemy is going to come, but to always be ready to meet him. I failed to see the cabal’s machinations, which permitted them to obtain the Bi.”

Kymani appraised Shibing as he spoke and decided he was being honest. Kymani could also sympathize with Shibing’s contrition, but advised him, “Maybe you should hold off on the sackcloth and ashes.” Without revealing their source Kymani repeated the information they got from Biaggi. “So is this bunch your cabal? You’re here looking for them to get back the Bi, right?”

“Things are more complicated than that. In recent years the cabal has fallen under the sway of a mysterious and dangerous woman. Somehow she manipulated the mansion’s reconstruction and the safe’s alterations without anyone in our order being aware and erased all evidence of it. Then when the stars were nearly aligned with the Bi she dispatched acolytes here from Shanghai to steal it.”

“Any idea who this woman is and how she muscled in?”

“No. All we know about her is that she is never seen without a red parasol.”

The blood drained to Kymani’s feet. “Isn’t that just swell?”

“You know this woman?”

“It’s more like I know of her.” Kymani almost sighed. It was against their better judgment but after everything Shibing had confided it seemed as if the time had come to finally tell someone the whole truth. “Have you ever heard of the Red Coterie?”

“Yes. And the Foundation, the Outsiders and Keys.”

Kymani felt like they had been ambushed. “Oh. Okay.” Paused. “You really do know a lot of untold things, don’t you?”

Shibing said nothing, his face a blank slate again.

“Well, in case you don’t know this, Coterie members wear a red piece of clothing or own a red object that connects them with one or more Keys, which in turn provide them with supernatural powers. That would explain how this woman subjugated the cabal, but some Coterie members may be in league with the Outsiders, which would explain how all evidence and maybe even memories of the reconstruction and safe’s alteration were eliminated.”

“And I have been notified that the woman with the red parasol will be arriving soon from Shanghai to claim the Bi.”

“Great.”

“Whatever powers this woman has, I intend to retrieve the Bi.”

“And return it to Vayner?”

“No. I shall return it to Fujian and a place where it can harm no one.”

Kymani was all for returning the Bi to China, but was not sold on the idea of Shibing being the one to take it there. Keeping this to themself for now, Kymani warned, “If the Coterie wants the Bi they’ll track you down.”

“Let them try. Fujian is the realm of the Bi and only a son of the province may return the sky disc to its cradle. It is a perilous journey. The valley I go to has its demons and no man who goes there has ever returned.”

Kymani had not heard this legend before so could not vouch for its authenticity, but just told Shibing, “A one-way ticket sounds drastic.”

“It is a fitting penance. I should have protected the Bi in this world. I shall see that it is protected forever in another.” A steely gaze settled in Shibing’s eyes.

It was obvious that Shibing was not going to be dissuaded, so instead of arguing Kymani told him, “Good intentions aren’t going to get the Bi back, so how about this? We call a temporary truce and search Chinatown together but separately. You take the west side of Grant Avenue and I’ll take the east side, and if one of us finds the hideout we come get the other so we can go in together. Defendit numerus. Tóngyì?”

“Tóngyì. May I also propose that if you fail to find the lair in two hours that you come to the Grand Chinese Theatre? If I do not meet you under the building’s left bay then presume you will have to continue the search alone. I shall presume the same if you fail to arrive.”

Kymani felt sure Shibing did not trust them any more than they trusted him, but the suggestion made practical sense, so Kymani agreed and the pair of them split up.

Waverly ended a half block further on. Kymani turned north onto Washington, walking casually while discreetly keeping both eyes peeled, and did not walk far before they caught a reflection in a barber shop window of a tall man with cropped red hair and high-set round frame glasses adroitly following across the street.

IV. Where

Kymani turned at the nearest corner and entered Ross Alley, where they stepped up the pace once safely out of Fletcher’s line of sight.

Abutting buildings lined the street like the walls of a gorge, and after a pawn shop, two gambling houses and a general store the row on Kymani’s side abruptly set back six feet further from the road. Parking behind the protracted section of wall that adjoined the general store with a row house, Kymani glanced at the residence, then took a second glance and thought, “Eureka!” Kymani then waited to see if Fletcher would get wise that he had been made and break off the chase or if he continued down Ross Alley.

Seconds passed.

A few more.

Too many.

“Are you playing cat and mouse with me?” Kymani peeked around the wall, but instead of seeing Fletcher they found Shibing standing in front of the general store, his right cheek bruised and a cut over his left eyebrow.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were being shadowed?” Shibing asked.

Confounded, Kymani snatched one of Shibing’s wrists and tugged him around the wall. “What happened to you taking the west side?”

“Would you prefer I did nothing after noticing a stranger following you? Now why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew everything. Are you all right?”

“I am unharmed.”

“Where’s Fletcher?”

“You know his name?”

“Did you kill him?” For a moment Kymani was unsure if they would prefer to hear yes or no.

Shibing presented Fletcher’s ICPC identification. “No. He is merely indisposed. Are there more like him I should be on the lookout for?”

“Not that I know about.” Kymani slipped the ID into a pocket.

“Does he belong to the Red Coterie? He was wearing a red tie.”

“He might but I’m not certain. In any case, I think I just hit paydirt.” Kymani jerked a thumb at the row house. “Look at those red painted steps and front door. They could be signposts for the Coterie.”

“Perhaps.” Shibing gazed at the shabby two-story structure, its windows securely boarded over with thick planking. “But such decorations are not uncommon in Chinatown.”

“But how common are purely residential buildings like this? This is the first row house I’ve spotted in Chinatown that doesn’t have a business on the street level floor.”

Shibing gazed at the structure again. “You are most observant.”

“Just a tool of the trade.”

“If this is the cabal’s hideout, they must have watchmen posted. If so, they know we are here.”

“Maybe they do. Maybe they don’t. Wait here a minute.” Kymani visually examined the steps and saw nothing untoward beyond their color, but it was a different story with the front door. “Whoever lives here is protecting their privacy. Come up here and see, but try to act like we’re checking the house number.”

Shibing joined Kymani.

“There’s a rubber insulated wire tucked around the door frame and blended into the paint. It looks like opening the door will close an electrical circuit that will set off an alarm somewhere inside. The wire also extends into the wall behind the entablature. There’s probably a switch spring up there that keeps the alarm going off after the door is closed and the circuit is broken.”

“So we must find another way to gain entry.”

“Patience, please.” Kymani loudly commented they had a rock in their shoe and lowered themself to one knee. “Stand in front of me and look concerned. We don’t need passersby watching what I’m doing, although I wonder if anybody in this part of Chinatown would care.”

As Shibing moved in front of Kymani he said, “Ross Alley might surprise you. More than anywhere else in San Francisco the souls of the dead can most easily visit the living here, as evil spirits are forbidden to exercise their powers.”

“I sincerely hope you’re right.” Kymani grasped the heel of their left shoe and twisted it, exposing a hollow center packed with burglary implements the size of doll house tools. “My proctor called this his ‘ever ready buster.’” Kymani unfolded a pair of scissors. “Electricity is the Achilles heel to these electromagnetic alarms. Eliminate its source and the circuit can’t be completed.” Kymani cut the wire where it came up through the steps near the sill, then exchanged the scissors for a pick to unlock the door. “However, if it’s hooked to a backup battery we’re going to be jimmy-jacked. You can move out of the way now.” Kymani replaced the pick and then the heel, stood up and opened the door. “But what’s life without a little risk?”

“You sound like you enjoy this.”

Kymani had not been brought up just to survive. Most people were content with that, but Kymani wanted more and taking the occasional risk was one of the sweetest ways to feel alive. Smirking, they said, “‘Enter freely and of your own will’.”

On the other side of the door the pair found a dim front room sparsely decorated with pieces of cheap and battered furniture. A stairway led to the second floor and Kymani found alarms fitted to the second and third steps and the handrail. “I can avoid these. You search the first floor. I’ll scrounge up here.”

“What if there is a cellar?”

“Oh, there’s always a cellar. How about we search that together after we finish with the upstairs?”

Both wanted to locate some proof that they had discovered the cabal’s lair, but on the second floor Kymani found only an empty bathroom and three bedrooms with more of the cheap and battered furniture, while on the first floor Shibing uncovered nothing helpful in the front room, its coat closet, the adjoining sitting room or the kitchen at the rear of the house. If not for the alarms there would have been no evidence that anyone was using the house.

Kymani returned to the first floor feeling frustrated as Shibing pointed to a narrow door in the cramped hallway between the kitchen and the front room. “I think that leads to the cellar. Perhaps better fortune awaits us there.”

That would be a first, Kymani thought, but said, “Lead on, Macduff.”

Shibing opened the cellar door, but instead of serendipity they found seven cabal acolytes brandishing jian swords.

Not good! Kymani thought, as Shibing yelled, “Get back!” But Kymani had already retreated a few steps to the somewhat more spacious confines of the front room and pulled a silk bandana from one pocket. One corner was weighted with three square bullets from a 1718 Puckle gun and Kymani wrapped it around one hand, wrapped another corner around the other hand and girded their mind for battle.

Kymani also watched Shibing withdraw a dao knife concealed under his tang shirt just in time to parry a thrust to his heart. A follow through nearly decapitated Shibing’s opponent, but during the riposte an acolyte slipped past Shibing to charge Kymani.

Too bad for him.

Kymani took a breath to calm themself and in one smooth motion snared the jian in the slack between their hands, spun, twisted the sword from their opponent’s grasp and used the man’s own momentum to hurl him into the nearest wall.

The acolyte crumpled.

Kymani took another breath as they sensed a subtle buckling in the wooden floor slats.

Another acolyte was coming from behind.

Releasing the jian, Kymani twirled the weighted corner of the bandana overhead. A half pirouette and Kymani whipped the advancing acolyte’s face but missed the target, cracking his skull crown and dazing the man instead of breaking the bridge of his nose to incapacitate him. A swift second swing remedied the error.

Suddenly a rumpus and a death wail erupted under the house and Kymani dashed to lend Shibing a hand.

They needn’t have bothered.

The top of the stairs turned out to be a ringside seat to a one-sided skirmish. Shibing was surrounded front and side by the three surviving acolytes, but to Kymani’s amazement Shibing’s dao and a commandeered jian whirled like the blades of an oscillating fan as he sliced his adversaries down to two, one and then none. Tossing the jian into a corner he asked, “Are you still enjoying yourself?”

Killing was something rarely to be relished, but in light of what Shibing had just gone through Kymani let the comment pass. “Are you okay?”

“I am unharmed.”

“So what was that you said about evil spirits?”

“Evil or not, these minions are not spirits. They bleed.”

“So I see,” Kymani said as they descended the stairs.

“You eliminated the two who evaded me?”

“They’re tucked in for long winter naps.” Kymani curiously perused the four bodies. “Why do you think they waited here to jump us?”

“It makes no sense. The upstairs provides many advantages, but this basement only obstacles.”

Kymani surveyed the low-ceilinged cellar. The fusty earthen floor was churned like a plowed field and muddy with gore but otherwise appeared normal. Not so the walls, particularly the rear wall. Something within the organization of its graywacke stones suggested a curious artifice. Kymani inched closer until – bit by bit – the hint of an archway materialized. “Now I get it. These minions weren’t hiding down here so they could ambush us. They were passing through here to meet us and when they heard us approaching the cellar, they did their best under the circumstances.”

“If that is so, where did they come from?”

Kymani pointed. “Through there.”

Shibing stared at the assemblage of stones splotched with niter and moss. “I see nothing.” He tried tapping the wall and listening until there was a change in pitch. “There! This might lead us to where they took the Bi.”

“Let’s hope so.” Kymani felt along the perimeter of the archway for any interstice that would give away the presence of a latch, but the door fit too exactly. “When did you say that lady from Shanghai is arriving again?”

“Very shortly, if she is not already here.”

“Terrific.” Kymani slapped the wall. Failure was not something they ever accepted gracefully. “Whoever built the pyramids must have worked on this wall. If there is a bolt or a spring that opens this door it’s going to take me more time than we have to find it. It’d be faster to dig under the door.”

Shibing gave these words some consideration, then knelt down and with the blade of his dao started scraping away dirt.

“Hey, I was being facetious.”

“You underestimate yourself as a teacher.”

“And how’s that?”

“What is the strength of this door? Concealment.”

“That and unparalleled craftsmanship.”

“Then unearthing the door should be its Achilles heel. Would anyone even consider excavating here unless they knew about it?”

Shibing made an excellent point. How often did workmen in Arkham, Boston and other New England burgs dismiss the bricked-up arches and wells leading to nowhere that they frequently found while demolishing old houses and buildings? Kymani retrieved the jian from the corner and told Shibing to “Move over.”

The pair did not need long to reach the bottom of the footing beneath the wall and from there burrow like moles until they were in a passage on the other side of the secreted door.

The pathway was dark, so Kymani turned on the flashlight to check out their surroundings, which offered all the charm of a grave. The passage was maybe seven feet high and certainly no more than three feet wide with a hard­packed dirt floor that kept the air musty. “I don’t see any traps.”

“We can’t rule out an ambush, although I see no nooks or crannies for an attacker to hide.”

The pair brushed off dirt and wiped off loam from their clothes, skin and weapons and then moved on. To mark their trail Kymani used their pocket watch to track the passing of time while Shibing carved notches in the shoring at regular intervals. The tomblike atmosphere improved not quite imperceptibly when the floor inexplicably changed to cement, and soon after that they came to a flight of unhewn timber steps that descended to another passage with its own assortment of left turns, right turns and forks that led to another set of stairs. This pattern was repeated again and again with some variations but always one frustrating and increasingly claustrophobic constant: the tunnel always headed downward.

“If we were Beowulf and Wiglaf hunting the Worm of Eeananæs,” Kymani whispered, “I’d say we might be heading in the right direction, but since we’re not, your guess is as good as mine.”

Eventually their trek reached a lengthy, narrow, ill-lit hallway. Standing close together on either side was a series of heavy, brass-laden, dun-colored doors, and waiting at the far end was a soapstone Chinese moon gate framing a red door. Kymani put away the flashlight as Shibing took point, and as they neared the gate an inscription became legible in its tiles: “With red we are bound. Through red we are one”.

Shibing asked, “What does that mean?”

“Probably something like ‘Abandon all hope. Sincerely, The Red Coterie’.” Flippancy could usually lighten Kymani’s spirits but not this time. The hallway was as inviting as a rabbit gum and Kymani doubted the Coterie’s warning was mere window dressing.

Reaching the gate, Shibing took the jian from Kymani to watch the way they had come as Kymani crossed their arms and scrutinized the door. Broad and tall with no handles or hinges, it appeared to be cobbled together from twelve wooden blocks all painted the exact same sanguine color. “This is different. I’d call it a puzzle door.”

“Which is what?”

“You know what a puzzle box is?” Kymani asked. At first the blocks looked to be wooden and featureless, but upon extremely close examination four different intaglios became noticeable: a tortoise, a dragon, a phoenix and a tiger. In China these represented the guardians of the cardinal directions.

“Yes. Professor Vayner was given one when he was a student in England. He keeps it in a drawer with his socks.”

“This door is like a puzzle box. You move blocks into a certain position and if you solve the puzzle you unlock the door,” Kymani said.

Further examination revealed that each guardian appeared on three blocks, but the blocks with the dragon intaglio were not wooden but slatestone. Kymani grinned, remembering that the dragon is associated with the element of wood. Thinking this was not meant just to be ironic but a clue, Kymani shifted the dragon blocks around until they were in the same positions within the door frame as the star symbols were on the Bi.

Almost instantly all twelve blocks clattered to the floor to reveal an ashlar dungeon barely big enough to hold one person. “End of the road.”

Shibing glanced over a shoulder. “Do you see the Bi?”

“I’m going to have to search.” But as Kymani started inspecting the cramped chamber the hallway’s faint illumination dimmed further. Kymani turned to see the hallway’s ingress being swathed by a preternatural gloom as a woman’s calm and taunting voice saturated the air.

“Looking for something? Lose your way, perhaps?”

A subtle laugh that dropped the temperature ten degrees gave way to an abhorrent growl that emanated from the gloom.

“‘Abandon all hope’,” Kymani mumbled. Rattled by the voice and revulsed by whatever might be prowling in the darkness, they asked Shibing, “What was that again about evil spirits?”

Shibing raised his swords and shouted to Kymani to keep searching the dungeon as he bolted down the hallway into the gloom.

At first nothing happened, then came savage sounds of fighting.

Kymani never liked being told what to do, but finding the Bi was the only way they knew that might help Shibing. Finishing the inspection and turning up nothing, Kymani desperately withdrew into the corridor to perceive the dungeon from a different perspective.

“Think. You were taught by the best. What would Mörkrets do?”

But a terrible thought shivered Kymani’s soul. What if something like this had happened to their proctor when he disappeared?

Kymani felt on the verge of panicking.

Taking a breath, they focused on the dungeon.

From this angle it struck Kymani that they had seen bigger caskets, and then they realized the ashlar chamber’s dimensions were its primary safeguard, since most people were repelled by such compact spaces. Ignoring the vicious sounds as best they could, Kymani carefully reexamined the dungeon, disregarding its confines as they ran their fingers over every crack, crevice and surface until they discerned an etching on only one floor slate. It was a qilin, the guardian of the Earth.

Anxiety transfigured to expectation as Kymani pulled out their Swiss soldier knife, unfolded a reamer and pried up the slate. Beneath it was a deep safehold and inside the safehold was the Xiamen Bi.

Kymani grabbed the black sky disc and a luxurious tingle instantly radiated throughout their purpose and being. Twice the size of a Brasher Doubloon, the disc nestled sumptuously in their palm and in spite of its Stygian color glistened like a pearl, the gleams highlighting the intricate otherworldly ideograms ringing the hollow nucleus. Giving this beauty up was not going to be easy, but Kymani forced themself to jump up, tamp down their fears and sprint into the gloom.

They were enveloped at once by a darkness that expanded in all directions, permeated by a viler reek than the bowels of the Cloaca Maxima. Kymani also sensed the essence of something abysmal that was more powerful than the churning plunge pool of Angel Falls. The glistening of the Bi intensified even as it seemed like the gloom constricted, as if the sky disc was consuming the blackness and transforming it. The stars were aligned and the Bi was reacting to Kymani’s desire to rescue Shibing from this netherworld.

Kymani spotted Shibing and saw he was stunned by the shadow-shrouded sight of what he had been fighting, an ill-formed and gargantuan something slurping and shifting amongst the gloom. Kymani ran to Shibing and as they grabbed him heard a familiar voice in the collapsing murk. A voice once warm and caring, but now clammy and ravenous as it pleaded for Kymani to come save him.

“Mörkrets?”

Kymani heard the subtle laugh again, and shrieking with grief and rage they wished the Bi would finish the job.

There was a woman’s wail, and a moment later Kymani and Shibing found themselves in the hallway as a paradimensional eruption rattled the ground like an earthquake. Ignoring their traumas the pair hurriedly followed Shibing’s notches through the quaking pathways back to the cellar and once they were back in the house the pair rushed to the front door. Kymani was about to open the door when the shaking ceased. Using the reprieve to think, Kymani decided to crack the door and peek outside first.

Sure enough, glaring at them from across the street was a beautiful Asian woman clutching the handle of a red parasol.

“She’s here.”

Horrified at first, Kymani realized the woman looked pale and poorly, and recalling the wail surmised the Bi’s blast must have sideswiped her. Spying a trickle of hope, Kymani tamped down their predisposition against trusting anyone completely and placed the Bi in Shibing’s hand. “Go out the back. You’re on your own if you run into any minions. I am going to stall the woman as long as I can, but I’m counting on you returning the Bi where it belongs like you said.”

Shibing vigorously shook his head. “No. We will both try escaping out the back.”

“That won’t work. The Coterie knows me and can always find me if they think I have the Bi. It’s possible they don’t know you, so you have the better chance of returning the Bi.” Shibing started to argue again but Kymani shouted, “Good luck,” and sprinted outside.

Across the street, the woman was gone.

V. Why

Later that evening Kymani answered a knock on their hotel door.

“Lieutenant Beahm. Good to see you again.”

“You too.” Accompanying Beahm was Fletcher, who was sporting a black eye, some contusions and skinned knuckles.

“I see you brought along a friend.”

“I thought he was your friend. Mind if we come in?”

“Please.” As Fletcher entered Kymani commented, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Then, indulging a guilty pleasure, Kymani retrieved the ICPC identification. “Here, Agent Fletcher. I think you lost this.”

Fletcher took his ID without comment.

Beahm asked, “Where did you find that?”

“In Chinatown. Agent Fletcher and I must have almost crossed paths there this afternoon.”

Beahm pointed to Kymani’s suitcases, which were packed and beside the door. “You weren’t going to check out without saying goodbye?”

“My job’s finished. Time to return to Arkham.”

“You found the Bi?”

“No,” Kymani lied.

“Do you know who took it?”

“The only solid suspect I have is Shibing, but he’s disappeared.”

“Lieutenant,” Fletcher said, “wouldn’t it be prudent to search Jones and their luggage?”

Beahm gave Kymani a reticent look. “We really should. Agent Fletcher says he spotted you and Shibing conspiring on Waverly this afternoon.”

“Did he?” Kymani smiled coyly at Fletcher. “Go ahead. I’m not hiding anything.” Being frisked by Beahm was hardly the worst part of Kymani’s day and watching Fletcher come a cropper with their luggage was well worth the repacking Kymani would have to do. “I’ve talked with Professor Vayner already, but I have a typed compte rendu for Hellman Occidental that you’re welcome to read.” Kymani pointed to a file folder on the nightstand.

“Thanks.” Beahm scanned the report. “This says how you suspected Shibing and followed him to Chinatown, where you decided to confront him. Shibing told you he was there helping a relative and you couldn’t break his story.”

Fletcher asked, “So why did you two go the art store’s stairs to talk in private?”

Kymani replied, “That was Shibing’s idea. He said it is considered suspicious if occidentals who aren’t part of a tour group are seen talking very long with locals.”

“But apparently,” Beahm said, “Shibing didn’t consider you a threat, unlike Fletcher.”

“Is that what happened? Did he jump you, Agent Fletcher?” Kymani did not even try to sound surprised or concerned.

Fletcher sneered and walked to a window overlooking Kearny Street, his back to Kymani and the detective, while Beahm asked, “Any idea where Shibing is?”

“No.” That was true. Kymani could only assume the Bi’s blast had incapacitated the woman enough to force her to retreat and fight another day. They had no idea if Shibing had gotten away or where he was now.

Beahm handed the file to Kymani. “Here you go.”

“Thanks. I need to drop this off to Pointer on my way out of town.”

“Who’s Pointer?”

Kymani did not comprehend Beahm’s question at first, then answered, “Barton Pointer. You know. The claims adjuster Hellman assigned to the theft.”

Beahm shrugged. “I’m afraid I don’t know him.”

Kymani’s heart seized. Not again, they thought as they glanced at Fletcher.

The agent’s posture had been ramrod straight with irritation, but now it was relaxed and the man appeared almost gleeful.

Kymani walked beside Fletcher and spoke in a low enough voice that Beahm could not hear. “She sent you, didn’t she?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Fletcher asked coyly.

“The woman with the red parasol. She wants to be sure I know about Pointer.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Fletcher told Beahm, “I’m satisfied here.” Then, “Until next time, Kymani Jones.”

Furious and mournful, Kymani soberly promised, “Be seeing you, Agent Fletcher.”