Editing Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue

<br>

''Monday, May 18th, 1868''<br>
''East India Docks, Lambethside''<br>
''0030hrs, local time''<br><br>

It was late spring, the weather balmy, but after nightfall the fog had returned, rising off the river along with its perpetual stink. By the time Josephine arrived on foot at the East India Company Docks, the fog had crept over the banks and had taken possession of the Thames-side streets by a wide margin. Not quite a pea souper yet thick enough to hide cutthroats and thieves from the unwary. Josephine, of course, was far from unwary and far from unarmed. She had her knives, pistol, and sword on her. She was dressed for combat in her jodhpurs and boots, with a cotton work shirt under her harness for ease of movement. And as on the day she'd first encountered Evie, Josephine concealed everything under her leather greatcoat and wide-brimmed leather hat. She'd braided her hair up to keep it out of the way and thanks to her attire, the silhouette she presented under the gas lamps was that of a slender man. One would have to get quite close to ascertain her sex and Josephine had no intention of letting anyone get that far. <br><br>

No, the orders from the Colonel were quite clear: ''Observe. Do not engage''. She'd been given the assignment just that afternoon, pertaining to a follow-up detail from the Lupin case. She'd mentioned the dock manager in her incident reports and things had failed to improve over the intervening months. Now there were indications of arms smuggling going on directly from the docks. Given her familiarity with the warehouse and the dockyards, Josephine was the logical choice to verify the allegations. The midnight train out of Waterloo screamed, heard but unseen in the fog as Josephine found a spot atop a high stack of shipping crates from which to observe. A stakeout, she mused, was largely an exercise in staying alert despite the boredom of waiting for something to happen. For the moment she would simply study the nocturnal activities of this tiny stretch of dock and gather data. <br><br> 

The dock lay quiescent below her, feebly lit by the guttering gas lamps mounted to the building.  The fog slithered and shifted like a live thing and not for the first time Josephine wondered if perhaps the fog was a conjured thing as opposed to a natural one. Over the past year and a half, she'd seen things she'd scarce thought possible. Spelling up a fog to conceal one's movements would be child's play to a Thaumaturge. She eyed the fog sourly. A breeze off the river kept the fog from completely swallowing the area but visibility was less than 100 feet. Identifying arrivals would be difficult. <br><br>

Josephine eased a small collapsing telescope from her coat and scanned the surrounding buildings as best as she could. No lights shone from within. Nothing stood silhouetted against the nighttime sky. ''Fool's errand? Perhaps. Keep looking''. Turning carefully, she scanned the river and the banks as far as the fog would allow. What was likely a River Police launch patrolled upstream, the sparks thrown by its stack visible through the fog. The lights of the city glowed through the fog, echoing the faint stars above. Josephine put away her glass, closed her eyes, and listened to the environment as she lay flat on the crates. <br><br>

Water lapped against the pilings. Rats scurried in the trash of the alleys. A cat growled, followed by a slither and a crash. A sharp squeal announced the fate of the rat it hunted. A cab rattled down the street a block away. Hooves beat a steady staccato in time with the complaint of the carriage springs, the cobbles rumbling under its wheels. Raucous laughter and piano music rose and fell from a nearby pub as its door opened and closed. An argument carried clearly from an upper floor flat across the way. It ended abpruptly with a ringing slap, a stunned silence, and then hushed endearments punctuated by soft sobs. A dog barked. A colicky baby cried. Someone coughed and swore. Big Ben struck one, sending its sonorous voice over the sleepless city, and Josephine subtly stretched her muscles without moving from her perch.  She would have to change position soon, but remained still for yet a little more.<br><br>

As Big Ben tolled the quarter hour, Josephine caught the rise and fall of a conversation. The details rose from the fog as the speakers drew nearer. ''Main speaker's from the East End'', she judged. ''Cockney. Someone else speaking English with a distinct accent. Northern German. More likely Dutch''. The figures were still indistinct, perhaps a dozen men split into two rough groups, but the conversation was clear:<br><br>

"Look, it’s top notch stuff. Never fired," said the Cockney.  "Replaced with that new Enfield piece 'fore they could be shipped. 20 crates, 10 shooters per crate, just like you said."<br><br>  

"Peercushion caps?" asked the Dutchman.<br><br>

"If you got money I can get 'em," the East Ender replied. "'Ell if you want I’ll even throw in a Congreve or two jus' for fun. That’ll scare the fuzzies."<br><br>

Josephine's eyes narrowed as her focus sharpened, ears straining to catch every last syllable. ''200 rifles. Need percussion caps. Meaning they're either the Pattern 1853 model or Brunswicks. Oh, that's really sharp. Calling them new when they're already years obsolete''. More than that she didn't have time to consider, for the men drew closer, still talking.  They stopped in the light thrown by the warehouse lamps a mere twenty yards away, allowing her to hear every word. <br><br>

"[[Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue#HOW TO SPEAK DUTCH|Hoe zit het met de soldaten?]]" asked a third. ''What about the soldiers?''<br><br>

"Aye, woot about the Guards?" iterated the leader of the Dutch.<br><br>

"Don't ye be worryin 'bout the guards," was the Cockney's answer. "The right ones, been bribed, the rest'll be distracted, if you get me meanin'. You got your boat?"<br><br>
 
"Aye, de boot is hier," came the affirmation. ''Aye, the boat is here.''<br><br>

"Good then. Get yer lads to step lively with that money and we'll get your goods."<br><br>

The slap of oars in the water drew near, heralding the arrival of the boat, and Josephine remained where she was to verify it.  And there it is. I've seen enough. Time to go. She waited until the men on the dock started hustling with the first crate in anticipation of loading it so as to use the noise to cover her retreat.<br><br> 

And that was when things went awry.<br><br>

The first indication that things weren't as they seemed was when one of the Dutch said, [[Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue#HOW TO SPEAK DUTCH|"Wie ben jij? He, waar is Henri?]]" ''Who are you? Hey, where is Henry?''<br><br>
 
The response was in a language Josephine had never heard before:[[Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue#HOW TO SPEAK CHINESE|"Tāmen dōu shā guāng."]]<br><br>

That made her freeze on top of the crates. ''What the hell—?''<br><br>

"Oy! Wot's dis?!" yelled the Cockney next. "You ain't no part o' th' deal!"<br><br>

Gunfire lit the fogbound night as the strangers in the rowboat and the men on the dock fought for ownership of the rifles. Curses and screams in three different languages, the sharp crack of rifles and ricochets, the thuds of bodies hitting the planks, all came clearly from the other side of the crates. ''If you needed a distraction to cover your retreat, Jo, that one would be it. Move!'' Quick as a cat, she rolled off her perch, landed lightly on her feet, and spun right into a liveried guard of the East India Company. <br><br>

"Cor'! 'Ands up, you!" he yelled from behind his rifle, two steps away.<br><br>

Josephine made a show of raising her hands. When they were at shoulder height, she slapped the barrel of the rifle aside, stepped inside his guard, and punched him square in the nose, then kicked out his knee. His head hit the cobbles with an audible crack. Out like a snuffed lamp. She checked his pulse. <br><br>

''Still alive. Good''.<br><br> 

Josephine didn't care for murder, even when the job demanded it. Grit rasped underfoot behind her and she spun on her knee, her knife already in her hand but knowing she was too late—the guard's partner had her dead in his sights.  Shots and screams still rang from the other side of the crates in earnest. Enough gaslight pierced the gloom to clearly see the guard's expression: Ugly and determined to shoot her where she crouched. Down the street, a mere block away, she heard the shrill tweet of the Bobbies' whistles and Josephine took a chance on the remaining guard.<br><br>

"No need for shootin', luv," she wheedled with a smile and tipped her chin to the side. "Got enough'a tha' a'ready, yair? Jus' lemme go an' we'll preten' nuffink 'appened." Josephine could see the guard wasn't going to be taken in and with her insides sinking, she turned the knife in her fingers to throw it.<br><br>

She saw the red erupt between his eyes as her ears heard the shot that killed him. Drawing her pistol as she spun around, she scanned the area and caught a glimpse of movement above the fog ... someone on the roof across the street. Then the police arrived, a full dozen of them, and there was no running. <br><br>

"Drop it!" <br><br> 

Bullseye lanterns blinded her. Rough hands grabbed her and pushed her face down to the cobbles. The other police got to work subduing the smugglers and their foes as she was dragged up and thrown into the Black Mariah.<br><br>


''Monday, May 18th''<br>
''Southwark Police Station''<br>
''London''<br><br>

Sergeant Nellings sighed at the paperwork in front of him. ''Bloody mess''. <br><br> 

''Why did a bunch of damned Eastender lowlifes selling God knows what right off the East India docks get themselves killed on my watch? Their would-be customers dead too, by all accounts. At least a dozen corpses in all and for what? A fewTea chests? Opium?<br><br>
  
It’ll take hours to get everything processed. Only two survivors in holding. Worthless scum. Streets're safer without that lot. Cockneys might as well be wogs. Could stand to have less of them, too''.<br><br> 

His reverie was interrupted when Inspector Hargreaves dropped the small pile of loose paper that constituted his “report” on Sergeant Nellings desk.  Hargreaves looked tired and ill-kept. The only inspector in the office who worked nights, he’d been assigned Lambethside as a punishment for politically inopportune investigations and since then his work had become somewhat lackadaisical.<br><br> 

Nellings picked up the report with a vague look of disgust, as if the papers were soiled, which they were. “What can you tell me about the survivors?”<br><br>

Hargreaves paused to roll and light a cigarette. “It’s all in the report. Two of ‘em. One’s an Ogre. Sez he’s French, but all I can tell you is the one thing he speaks worse than English is French. Kept going on about demons or spirits attacking everyone.” He took a long draw on his smoke. “The other one, she’s quite a piece of work.”<br><br>

“She?”<br><br>

“Yeah”, came the answer. "Caught up with her right after she put a bullet through the forehead of one of the East India Company guards.  Had a dozen sharps on her as well as a sword, a revolver, a stolen pocket watch, and this."  The inspector held up a flat fold of leather. "Warrant Card. Said it was hers. Said she was there on official business and ain’t killed nobody.  The story’s complete malarkey and the card's an obvious forgery. Based on her accent, she ain't even from London."<br><br>  

“How deucedly odd.”<br><br>

“Take a look" He handed it over. “I'll grant it’s good work but someone forgot to tell the forger that the last time John Fielding signed a Warrant Card our little killer wasn’t even a glimmer in her daddy’s eye.”<br><br> 

At the mention of Fielding’s name, Nellings's stomach clenched. "Bloody ''hell''," he hissed with feeling. He fingered his signet ring absently, engraved with a lantern held in hand, as he curtly waved a messenger over. "Thank you. Leave the woman’s effects with me," he said somewhat nervously. Once the inspector had walked away, he put the woman's paperwork aside, and began penning a note.<br><br>


''Monday, May 18th''<br>
''Some hours later''<br><br>

Josephine leaned against the stone wall of the holding cell and shifted her weight to her other foot. Divested of her weapons and Warrant Card and hat, Josephine suspected she looked every inch as she felt: roughly searched and sorely abused. The police let her keep her clothes and coat but they sported rips, dirt, and blood—not all of it hers. She sniffed, her nose tender but unbroken, and her right eye was completely swollen shut. Her forearm ached where a nightstick had come down on it but flexing her fingers she knew she'd escaped a fracture. She licked her split lip and shifted to find a position that didn't hurt as much.<br><br>

''I'll have to tape my ribs. Think the bastards cracked one''.<br><br> 

Inside the wide lapels of her coat were lock picks the police had missed in their search. Even with one eye shut, Josephine knew getting past the lock on the holding cell door would be easy. There were no guards standing outside the bars and no one in the cell who would object if she engineered their collective escape. ''No, the trouble starts after you walk out, Jo. There's only one door out and on the other side of it are thugs wearing the police uniform. Getting past them would involve hurting them. And there's no telling how many they'd take with them before they went down''. In the cell with her were prostitutes and drunkards, a few Cross Traders sloppy enough to get caught, and a few of the destitute waiting to be taken to the workhouse.  Of course, she'd settled the matter of pecking order within seconds of being thrust inside and the one she'd laid out occupied a corner of the cell. Everyone else avoided meeting her eye. None of them had the skill to fight, which would certainly come to them if she staged a jailbreak, and Josephine was reluctant to deliver them to harm.<br><br>

''No. They'll sort us out in the morning and by then, someone will have run down my Card. They'll send someone for me''.<br><br>

It just rankled to no end that she had to submit to the tender mercies of the Metropolitan Police, to say and do nothing that would implicate the Colonel or the Diogenes Club, and suffer her person to be searched and her belongings taken. Of them all, losing her father's watch hurt the worst. Scrapes, cuts, and bruises would heal. Clothing could be repaired. Weapons could be replaced and with practice, once again be an extension of her hand. The watch, however, was irreplaceable. If she were lucky, she'd get the watch back when she was released. If not … Josephine spent the next little while running the scenarios through her head, an exercise in sanguinary wish-fulfillment. It helped pass the time and enabled her to ignore her injuries, the stink, and her fellow cellmates. The Trinity Church bell rang six when the cell door opened and a bewigged gnomish barrister stepped up to her.<br><br> 

"Rolland Burrell," he said. "I'm your barrister."<br><br>

"Josephine Arceneaux." Josephine noted his accent. ''Hmm. Prosperous. Upper Class. West End. A bit posh for pro bono work''. Not that she was going to refuse it. She couldn't report to the Colonel from a jail cell, after all. She shoved off the wall, tugged her jacket straight, and stuck out her hand.  "I'm pleased to meet you."<br><br>

“Yes, well I would have been pleased to be in bed by now, but ‘England expects’ and all that.” He pulled his watch from its pocket and opened it. Clearly visible on the inside of the cover of the watch was an engraving of a six-sided lantern. He gave her a significant look. “Time to leave, yes?”<br><br>

"Yes." Josephine gave him a nod and preceded him out of the cell.<br><br>

Rolland began walking swiftly back out of the cell block. “Did you bring in any effects that ''Uncle'' should be concerned about?”<br><br>

"My watch." Josephine kept her voice low and her eyes alert for trouble as they walked. "Everything else can be replaced if necessary, though I daresay I would rather be spared the bother."<br><br>

"Is the watch a memento or a ''concern?''" <br><br>

"Both." Not strictly the truth and not completely a lie, Josephine would be damned if she left the station without it. It was all she had left of her father. When he was alive, it never left his person. Finding it amongst her things was her first clue that he might not return and it made a compelling argument for covert significance. Despite the years she'd had it in her possession she was not entirely convinced that he hadn't secreted something vital inside it somehow. Yet she had no proof. She had only a gut feeling that might be important, even though she acknowledged that only sentiment might be driving that conviction home.<br><br>

The barrister provided Josephine with a frown of the sort that would have terrified her as a child, but now seemed churlish on an individual so short. “Things that are mementos and concerns should be left locked up at home.”<br><br>

Josephine didn't dignify the statement with a reply. The barrister continued to frown as they made their way to Sgt. Nellings’ desk. The sergeant, still staring at half finished paper work, didn’t look up until Rolland used the edge walking stick to pull down the pages. “My good man,” the barrister said. “I need one of the possessions taken from Madame Arceneaux. A certain watch. It is the personal possession of my employer and unrelated to the case at hand.”<br><br>

Josephine kept her mouth shut. On no account did she dare ruin whatever Burrell had in mind. Besides, any charity she might have had with the police had been quite used up when they searched her. They had not been gentle and she had not been gentle in return.<br><br>

"It's evidence," Nellings replied.<br><br>

With a slightly annoyed sniff, Rolland opened his watch and checked the time again. "My employer would expect your discretion in this matter."<br><br>

Nellings stiffened for a moment then slid the watch out of a drawer and onto the desktop, then pulled up the reports. For his part the barrister swept the watch off the desk with dexterity of a prestidigitator.<br><br>

They left the police station without further impediment.<br><br>

Outside the sky had already brightened past dawn and it was the work of a mere moment to flag a cab down. The barrister handed Josephine into the hansom and slipped her the watch on the sly before paying the cabbie her fare. Josephine thanked him for his assistance and settled back as he stepped smartly away on the pavement, his work done. Overhead the roof hatch opened and Josephine gave the driver the address. The traffic was growing heavy with the rising sun and it took the better part of an hour before the cab came to a stop at the Diogenes Club. Highly aware of the figure she presented—bloodied, beaten, her head bared to the world—she nevertheless kept her chin up and knocked at a discreet service entrance. She was escorted to a small room over the tea shop next door where the Colonel joined her less than ten minutes later.<br><br>

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" the Colonel demanded before she could say a word. "You were sent to observe, not to intervene."<br><br>

"Been talking to London's Metropolitan Police, I see." Josephine raised a brow. She understood the Colonel's opening gambit and simply had no patience to deal with it. "Would you care to hear my observations, sir? Or should I just sit here and bleed some more?"<br><br>

"Bleed on your own time. We've got a dozen corpses on the East India Docks in need of explanation."<br><br>

"Very well," Josephine said. "I'll explain." It took two minutes. The Colonel poured his tea and listened.<br><br>

"Yes, yes, yes," the Colonel interjected. "We have Dutchmen smuggling weapons off the East India Dock. That's why you were sent. To verify it."<br><br>

"Yes. And that's when the boat of interlopers showed up to take possession. They spoke in a different language. Nothing I've heard before."<br><br>

"What did it sound like?"<br><br>

"Like this," she said and closed her eyes and repeated the phrase from memory, the syllables feeling strange on her tongue. [[Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue#HOW TO SPEAK CHINESE|"''Tāmen dōu shā guāng'']]."  She opened her eyes. "Does that mean anything to you, sir?"<br><br>

"Repeat it."<br><br>

"[[Black Dragon, White Death: Prologue#HOW TO SPEAK CHINESE|''Tāmen dōu shā guāng'']]."<br><br>

"Again."<br><br>

Josephine repeated it several times more and the Colonel parroted the phrase in turn, going through different dialects until she recognized the match.<br><br>

"Southern Cantonese," the Colonel said, frowning. "Sanshui. Interesting. Well, then. A trip to Limehouse is in order. Go visit Carstairs and clean up. Then I believe, Ms. Arceneaux, you need to have a delightful luncheon at the Golden Dragon. When you get there, you need to speak to the proprietor. Tell him that there is too much ginseng in his red bean rolls. Then speak to him over this matter."<br><br>

The Colonel sipped long from his tea cup which had since run dry. "So," he said. "One last thing. Was there any reason you felt it necessary to shoot a member of the Honorable Company."<br><br>

"I didn't, sir. Someone else did."<br><br>

"Any idea who?" <br><br>

"Not yet."<br><br>

"Is it relevant?"<br><br>

"Not sure. Saved my life when he didn't have to."<br><br>

"Then pursue the other matter first."<br><br>

"Yes, sir."<br><br>

The debriefing concluded, Josephine rose and took herself off to the healer on duty.<br><br>



Continue to '''''[[Black Dragon, White Death: Part One]]'''''<br>


==HOW TO SPEAK DUTCH==
'''Hoe zit het met de soldaten?''' = '''Hoo''' zit het met deh sol-'''dah'''-ten? = What about the soldiers? [http://translate.google.com/?hl=en#nl/en/Hoe%20zit%20het%20met%20de%20soldaten%3F Sound clip]<br> 

'''Wie ben jij? He, waar is Henry?''' = '''Wee''' bin yay? Hee, '''whar''' ees '''Hen'''-ree? = Who are you? Hey, where is Henry?[http://translate.google.com/?hl=en#en/nl/Who%20are%20you%3F%20Hey%2C%20where%20is%20Henry%3F Sound clip] <br><br>


==HOW TO SPEAK CHINESE==
Tāmen dōu shā guāng =他們都殺光 = '''Tah''' men doh '''shah''' gwong = Kill them all. [http://translate.google.com/?hl=en&tab=wT#auto/en/%E4%BB%96%E5%80%91%E9%83%BD%E6%AE%BA%E5%85%89 Sound clip]<br><br> 


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