C. C. Phillips
C. C. Phillips
Sifu Chiang and Preston Diamond emerged from the underground to find that night had fallen on Washington. For Preston, most of this day had passed down in the tunnels where, in the dim yellow light of kerosene lanterns, he and the master had awaited news of Ravenelle and his Apaches; now the darkness continued for the city was wrapped in an eerie glow as pale street lamps half-heartedly fought encroaching fog. The dull and deadened plodding of draft horses hooves, low mutterings of drivers, squeaks and rumbles of carriages, cabs and freight wagons travelling along the avenues issued from the heavy stillness as ghostly vehicles moved in the mist. Pedestrians were few.
A Chinese man stepped into line as Sifu led Preston into an alley. Diamond recognized the fellow, armed with sword and dagger, as one of Chiang's Shanghai fighters; soon two more joined the procession; after feeling their way through the fog for several more blocks, Sifu and Preston had seven men following in their wake.
Nine silent fighters marching to battle.
The Master held up a hand; his men slowed, then halted. Rapid footsteps slapped on the boardwalk and soon another Chinese materialized in the mist. A lady. She spoke in hurried Mandarin to Sifu who paused a moment before replying. When he spoke, his tone indicated to Preston that he was passing along instructions. The lady, accompanied by one knight, stepped off the walk and disappeared into the gloom. Sifu turned to Preston. “Dominique lives. Two Apaches move her now.”
All this frustrating day, Preston had held his temper in check as he shared his lady's terror, sometimes wondering if she was even alive. Torturing himself, he had agonized over the myriad possibilities. Had she been beaten as had the chambermaid named Lisa Downs? Had she suffered… even more? Now, relieved to hear she had not been murdered, he no longer struggled to control his seething rage; he encouraged it; relished the surging, swelling burst of anger growing within him. He saw, again, his slain mother lying white and still on the frosty ground of the Diamond farm yard. A primeval lust to fight, to kill, to wreak murderous revenge on the evil bastards who would mistreat women overwhelmed him. A bestial cry for blood rose in his throat but he throttled it to a silent gasp that terminated in whispered deadly menace. “Let's find them, Sifu. Let's find them now.”
At the next corner, Xi-Ping cut diagonally across the intersection, turned down the perpendicular avenue and halted the group in an unlit alley. Fog saturated blackness swallowed light like liquid tar. Preston strained to see his comrades; he concentrated as Sifu had taught him. Gradually, gray images of the stoic Chinese and the near surroundings filtered through the inky night. Sifu spoke, first in Mandarin, then in English. The fighters had arrived at the building where Les Apaches planned to take Dominique Ravenelle. According to what the Chinese lady had reported, Serge Ravenelle, Henri L'Heureux and the remainder of his army planned to rendezvous here. Sifu believed they had arrived between the first and second groups.
Preston edged toward the building. It seemed an enormous edifice; however, the fog and night belied all images. “Is Dominique in there now, Sifu?” he asked.
In the esoteric light, Chiang's face looked old and grim. Preston saw the curt nod of his head. “We wait. Too many fight, lady get hurt.”
Diamond paused a moment to interpret Xi-Ping's broken sentences. He guessed that Sifu intended to intercept the second group of Ravenelle's men; settle the final account right here in this back lane; then rescue Dominique from the two Apaches who were on the inside. Sifu did not dare to risk breaking the girl out and then meeting up with the French army. Preston's preference would be to slip inside, deal with the captors and escape with his girlfriend but he would not second guess Sifu Chiang.
However, he had no time to ponder alternatives for, at that moment, a unit of heavily armed men, dimly illuminated by a pair of coal oil lanterns, turned into the alley. Diamond recognized the giant Henri L'Heureux, striding at the head of a loose phalanx. The French regiment were not necessarily expecting trouble but they were always in a state of readiness; the unusual pattern of their assembly attested to that. Preston could not identify Serge Ravenelle among the dozen or so men in the group. He must be there; the remainder of the entire French force, including several American recruits, were in this unit.
Sifu's men spread out. Sword steel hissed silently as Shanghai soldiers filled their hands. Preston's right hand went to his Colt but Sifu Chiang leaned close and whispered, “No shoot.”
For the second time, Preston interpreted this command as holding fire until the enemy had resorted to guns. If no shots were fired, so much the better. Having no desire to invite the DC constabulary and have them asking questions of the Chinese, Sifu preferred a silent battle. He and his men would vanish, taking their dead and wounded with them as soon as the battle ended. Preston hoped they could maintain the silence long enough to free Dominique.
As the commandant led his French fighters deeper into the lane, Sifu's warriors backed up on either side against the walls of the adjacent buildings and stood motionless in the thick fog. Ravenelle's soldiers were at a disadvantage because they were depending on the lanterns to guide them; this action limited their vision to a small circle of light penetrating no further than a few feet. Preston and Sifu stood side by side directly in their path. The phalanx marched past the first, then the second pair of Shanghai fighters. The Chinese held their swords at the ready but did not move. As the column moved past, the knights drifted into position behind them. Unaware of the Asian net that now encircled his company, Henri L'Heureux, still several yards from Chiang and Diamond, stopped his men and peered into the impenetrable gloom. In his native language, he spoke in a low voice, “Monsieur Ravenelle, we are near enough. I do not think anyone has reached here ahead of us. Perhaps you and I shall go in while the men wait out here? We can bring your niece out this way and take her with us.”
There was movement within the pack and Serge Ravenelle emerged at the head. He stood beside his henchman. Turning the suggestion into an order, he said, “Wait here; there is no need for all of us to go in. Commandant L'Heureux and I shall bring out the girl and our men who are holding her. I'm not expecting any trouble but be ready to come inside if we sound an alarm.”
Diamond tried to relax, to loosen tense muscles in the damp cold of the night. How long he had anticipated sending Serge Ravenelle into the hereafter. His trigger finger twitched. It would be so easy now….
Sifu Chiang clutched at Preston's sleeve and pulled him to the far side of the alley. Diamond watched in bitter dismay as the crime boss and his right hand man strode past carrying one of the lanterns. The pair stopped as the dull glow of the lamp partially illuminated a large doorway; probably a freight entrance. Diamond still had no idea what manner of building it was. L'Heureux stepped ahead of Serge and rapped what must have been a code knock on the solid door. After a few seconds, the panel swung open and lantern light spilled out into the mist. Preston saw only one Apache; he glimpsed no sign of Dominique in the brief moment the door stood open to admit Ravenelle and his commandant.
Instant darkness closed in around the frame and now the only light in the alley issued faintly from the second lantern which the waiting Apaches had placed on the ground. Beyond the circle, Diamond could make out shadow forms of Shanghai fighters. They were not looking toward the master for instructions but, as one, without announcement, they stepped into the crowd of French soldiers. At the same instant, Sifu released Preston's sleeve and hissed. “We fight!”
At first, the combat in the gloom seemed painfully unreal; slowed and slurred, like the slumberous nightmare of a drug induced sleep; a sleep from which many would not awake. Preston's head filled with sounds of battle: Steel, so sharp it sang, thrust through unresisting ribs and flesh; grunts, coughs, moans of wounded and dying men were absorbed without echo in the soupy fog; the silent shiver of stabbing, spearing swords graduated to a ringing, clanging, slicing fury as the attacking Shanghai knights shifted from attack to slashing, hacking defence.
In comparison to the audible impact, the visual effect was delayed and laboured: Diamond witnessed himself stepping ahead; lashing out with a forward kick to an Apache's hand as the thug extracted a pistol from inside his coat; he saw the weapon, ripped from broken fingers, slowly arcing upward to vanish in the mist; his next kick seemed blurred and sluggish, though it could not have been a shaved second behind the first; the soft leather boot caught the Frenchman under the chin snapping his head back so hard, he was lifted off his feet. Gently, the airborne body curved, floated backward colliding with another falling Apache, then settled in an grotesque crumpled heap on the bloodied grit and cinders of the alley.
In the muffled scuffle, the roar of a revolver rent the mist and wrenched Diamond back to reality. Even as Preston watched one Shanghai warrior fall dead, the gun spoke again and a second Chinese defender collapsed to the ground. Preston's Colt filled his hand. Twice the .45 barked and the Apache pistoleer was hurled backward as the hot slugs ripped through his chest. The blast of a third gun filled the closed space. Preston shifted to see a pistol falling and the slack-jawed shootist dropping to his knees, clutching at the hilt of Sifu's throwing knife buried in his brisket. Diamond sought more targets but only Sifu's fighters remained standing. He swept the fallen men —they were beyond moving— then shifted round, training the Colt on the doorway where Ravenelle had disappeared.
No light showed and nothing moved in that direction.
Diamond inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. He extracted fresh bullets from his cartridge belt and thumbed them into the cylinder. In less time than it was taking to reload his revolver, the battle had played itself out. A dozen dead —three of them Chinese— littered the blood-soaked alley.
The master hissed urgent orders; Shanghai soldiers quickly collected comrades who had fought their last fight and, lugging them away, were instantly swallowed up in the oily blackness. In half a minute, the back lane was deserted except for the dead soldiers of the French underground.
Sifu Chiang led Preston Diamond out of the alley and down the street. The muted sounds of police whistles, shouts and running feet pushed sluggishly through the mist. If possible, the fog seemed even thicker now; the pale street lights spluttered like dampened Lucifers. Preston halted and called to Xi-Ping. “Sifu, we have to find Dominique. We must take her away. Wasn't she in that big building where Ravenelle and L'Heureux went?”
“Come.”
Diamond followed the master down the street to the next intersection. Here, Sifu stepped into an alcove at the front of a store. A light burned inside and, when Sifu knocked, an older Chinese woman arrived at the entrance to let them in. She acknowledged Preston and spoke to Xi-Ping Chiang. The master offered no translation but followed the woman as she threaded a path through the aisles of merchandise to the rear of the building. The lady found a small lamp, lit it and passed it to Sifu. She then pulled back a corner of a drugget to reveal a trap door. Sifu raised the lid, then stepped down through the hole with Preston Diamond close behind. Once on the level, Preston glanced around: they were in a narrow tunnel. With a soft thud, the door closed above and the tiny space grew tighter.
Chiang lit the way as he and Preston wound along the underground passage. Several branches led off but Sifu kept to the main run and soon came to a door at a right angle turn. He cautiously opened the panel, motioned for Diamond to follow and they stepped into a small, brick lined chamber. A set of steps led up to another trap door. Sifu crossed the room, listened attentively, then extinguished the lamp. In the darkness, Preston heard him raising the lid. A dim light glowed from far away as master and student emerged in a small dark room. A faint smell of moth balls teased his nostrils. Both Sifu and Preston strained their ears for sound. On the very edge, just once, Diamond thought or imagined he heard a sob. Sifu must have concluded someone was in the building for he motioned Preston forward.
As he passed through, Diamond realized that the confined area was a cloak room. He followed Sifu through an opened door leading into a broad hallway. He recognized a sense of familiarity though he did not immediately place his whereabouts. To his right, a wide flight of stairs led down to a pair of locked double doors: the main street entrance. To his left, and farther away, the hall opened onto another wide but shallow flight that swept down several steps to a vast open area. Keeping to the deeper shadow, Sifu and Preston glided along the hall to the landing. In the luminescence cast through the open door of a room across the floor, Diamond could discern two massive, gold trimmed, crystal chandeliers hanging dark and mute. Now he knew what building they had come to.
They were in the ballroom where Preston had first met, and danced with, Dominique Ravenelle.
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