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Authors: Raven Bond
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devils
were, if not outlaws themselves, were unconventional at best.
Once it was confirmed it was indeed a patron token, it was hotly
debated how best to use it to gain access to Madame Chang’s. Mr. McGuire
assured them that it would not be possible for him to create a duplicate or fake
copy. Finally, all had surrendered to the fact that only Abigail could present
the card to gain entrance. It was decided that the Captain would go as her
escort, and Saira would attend as her servant. She had been required to take
matters into her own hands however when she discovered how little they actually
knew of such places.
“How do you know we need masks,” Captain Hunting Owl had asked
plaintively. “And why do we need them?” She had merely gazed at him, reminded
again of how one so apparently intelligent could be so. . .naive.
“As I mentioned before on our previous journey Captain, I am a
Scholar, not a nun,” she said with great care. “This will not be my first
sojourn to such an establishment. As for why we need masks, many things are
indulged in that cannot be acknowledged by polite society. This is the reason
such establishments exist. The rules are much the same wherever the British
flag flies. If your 'World of Reeds and Air' has its own cultural rules, be
assured that British Upper Society does as well. Masks provide a polite fiction
that you are not really you. Trust me, you do not appear bare faced in such
circumstances, not if you wish to appear of the proper class that is. Speaking
of which,” she looked at Saira, “I am not even certain we have the time for us
to find the proper evening wear.”
“Well, there are the ships slop chests,” Saira volunteered.
“'Slop chests',” Abigail repeated, drawling as if drawing out
each syllable.
“Yes,” Saira continued, “They are full of clothes that the ship
has picked up from here and there. Also, some of the others have bright things
I am sure they would lend us.” Saira rose from her chair in the Captains day
cabin. “Let us be about it then!”
Despite her initial misgivings, they had managed to find enough
suitable items that Abigail felt confident they could appear acceptably, and
provocatively, attired.
Stepping into the warm evening air behind her 'mistress' as a
good servant should, Saira joined them as the steam car moved away. Like
Abigail she was wearing a long cloak that concealed what she was wearing, or
rather, not wearing. Whatever styles of clothing may be allowed inside, public
discretion outside the establishment was an absolute must. The building itself
was a large affair of three stories, decorated lavishly in what Abigail assumed
to be a Chinese style, with red, lacquered wooden beams, painted panels on the
walls, and slanted roof tiles. Many lanterns of different colors were hung
about, and the sound of people and music within was just audible when the doors
opened briefly to admit those with invitations. Given the mufti that those
around them wore, Abigail was even more confident that she had made the right
sartorial choices for the evening.
“Remember,” Will said. “We stick together until we get the lay
of the land. Trouble happens, get out best you can and make for the car.
Sebastian will know what to do next.” She nodded at this. Privately Abigail had
no intention of leaving while there was a remote chance that she could learn
more of her father's fate. The gang member, Guang, had left the ship while they
were planning; vowing to her that if her father was in Hong Kong he would find
him. She held little hope of his success.
“We should go in,” Abigail advised. “Lingering will only draw
attention. After all, we are supposed to be noble jades eager to celebrate.”
“All right then,” Will extended to her his arm. “Shall we go
see how the uppers do it?”
“They do it much as everyone else does, only more boringly,”
Saira remarked dryly.
“Hush,” Abigail hissed at her. “You're
were, if not outlaws themselves, were unconventional at best.
Once it was confirmed it was indeed a patron token, it was hotly
debated how best to use it to gain access to Madame Chang’s. Mr. McGuire
assured them that it would not be possible for him to create a duplicate or fake
copy. Finally, all had surrendered to the fact that only Abigail could present
the card to gain entrance. It was decided that the Captain would go as her
escort, and Saira would attend as her servant. She had been required to take
matters into her own hands however when she discovered how little they actually
knew of such places.
“How do you know we need masks,” Captain Hunting Owl had asked
plaintively. “And why do we need them?” She had merely gazed at him, reminded
again of how one so apparently intelligent could be so. . .naive.
“As I mentioned before on our previous journey Captain, I am a
Scholar, not a nun,” she said with great care. “This will not be my first
sojourn to such an establishment. As for why we need masks, many things are
indulged in that cannot be acknowledged by polite society. This is the reason
such establishments exist. The rules are much the same wherever the British
flag flies. If your 'World of Reeds and Air' has its own cultural rules, be
assured that British Upper Society does as well. Masks provide a polite fiction
that you are not really you. Trust me, you do not appear bare faced in such
circumstances, not if you wish to appear of the proper class that is. Speaking
of which,” she looked at Saira, “I am not even certain we have the time for us
to find the proper evening wear.”
“Well, there are the ships slop chests,” Saira volunteered.
“'Slop chests',” Abigail repeated, drawling as if drawing out
each syllable.
“Yes,” Saira continued, “They are full of clothes that the ship
has picked up from here and there. Also, some of the others have bright things
I am sure they would lend us.” Saira rose from her chair in the Captains day
cabin. “Let us be about it then!”
Despite her initial misgivings, they had managed to find enough
suitable items that Abigail felt confident they could appear acceptably, and
provocatively, attired.
Stepping into the warm evening air behind her 'mistress' as a
good servant should, Saira joined them as the steam car moved away. Like
Abigail she was wearing a long cloak that concealed what she was wearing, or
rather, not wearing. Whatever styles of clothing may be allowed inside, public
discretion outside the establishment was an absolute must. The building itself
was a large affair of three stories, decorated lavishly in what Abigail assumed
to be a Chinese style, with red, lacquered wooden beams, painted panels on the
walls, and slanted roof tiles. Many lanterns of different colors were hung
about, and the sound of people and music within was just audible when the doors
opened briefly to admit those with invitations. Given the mufti that those
around them wore, Abigail was even more confident that she had made the right
sartorial choices for the evening.
“Remember,” Will said. “We stick together until we get the lay
of the land. Trouble happens, get out best you can and make for the car.
Sebastian will know what to do next.” She nodded at this. Privately Abigail had
no intention of leaving while there was a remote chance that she could learn
more of her father's fate. The gang member, Guang, had left the ship while they
were planning; vowing to her that if her father was in Hong Kong he would find
him. She held little hope of his success.
“We should go in,” Abigail advised. “Lingering will only draw
attention. After all, we are supposed to be noble jades eager to celebrate.”
“All right then,” Will extended to her his arm. “Shall we go
see how the uppers do it?”
“They do it much as everyone else does, only more boringly,”
Saira remarked dryly.
“Hush,” Abigail hissed at her. “You're
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