Return to Fusang: An End to Dark Magic

Follows directly from here and here.

I opened my eyes again and saw the red warrior below me as though he were running into battle with Queen Boudicca against the Romans. In that moment I felt the Queen's anger rushing through me as though I were there with her invoking Andraste to assist her and her people in the uprising against the sassenachs so very long ago. Her elite guard touched by the gods of the ancients, sent into a firey rage giving them strength beyond anything known to man poured forth ahead of her chariot as the Roman line ran to their certain deaths.

Snapping myself out of this vision, I again turned my attention to the battle below. I saw the large gun that I heard only moments earlier. I allowed myself to take in the entire scene below my position on the balcony of the laboratory. There were hundreds of soldiers all milling about with no sense of purpose. I saw a man laying on the ground just behind (the thing that had been) Hotspur - and a large kilted man standing over him. It was Dr. Mason on the ground! Yes - I was certain it was him, and there appeared to be blood coming from wounds somewhere in his head. I could not see clearly from here.

Then IT came into my view as I followed Hotspur's run. A large dragon. A very angry dragon hissing and tearing at this son of Cúchulainn, which Hotspur had become. I watched as they battled.



The Dragon Who Waits was waiting no more. His full rage was focused solely on one man.

Hotspur attempted to seize the Dragon by the neck; however, it has already grown too large for him to have any real effect. Hotspur hacked at the raking claws with his sword.

One, twice, the sword bounced off the dragon scales.

The two yelled, cursed, and tore at each other for a long while before the Dragon felt the sting of the large sword as it found purchase deep in his front foot. He roared and fire shot upwards in my direction. I fell backwards onto the stones of the balcony with the force of his pain and anger. When I pulled myself up again and returned to the battlement to look at the scene once again I saw Hotspur standing there dumbly looking at a broken sword - hilt still in his hand. The blade was still in the Dragon's foot. I heard the rumbling angry voice of the Dragon - though not aloud. It was in my mind.

"You WILL join me and bend to my will."

I saw the fierce red warrior smirk as he growled,

"Titim gan éirí ort. You hold no sway over anyone now, Beast. Least of all me."

And then he leaped toward the great powerful beast. Lieng's Dragon form was enormously strong despite the black pearl lying broken on the ground nearby. Where was his power coming from?



Suddenly I heard both of them yelling fiercely and in a flash the Dragon had flung Hotspur against the wall of the great fortress. Those of us nearby were helpless at this point to do anything to help our friend. His great red bulk fell to the ground and in one fail swoop the Dragon was on top of him. The cavalry sword laying at his side was broken, smashed, utterly useless. Then I felt, more than saw, the Dragon crush Hotspur's left leg with one step. Just as in the tales of old, the red man seemed to feel no pain as he remained in his Berzerkgegang. He continued cursing his enemy and attempting to rise up.



Cúchulainn and Boudicca must have been standing nearby him - keeping the rage in his blood. But despite that, it was clear to me that the massive beast was ready to come in for the kill.

The Dragon leaned forward to rip the life out of him along with his heart. I summoned my grandmother's voice to me; my father's voice.

It was my father that I first heard.

"Pick my sword up, mo nighean - the sword of your forefathers. Claidheamh Flath forged by the ancient chieftain, Simon of Oliver, himself.... Forged of the star iron found in the fields around his home in Aberdeenshire....This sword has protected our family from attacks and dangers at many times in the history of our clan...both from physical, human enemies, and fae or demon intruders."

I raised myself up on the battlement above them and shouted,

"Caisg caraid! Cion-omhaill!"

He did not seem to hear me. Louder I shouted again,

"Cion-omhaill! Cion-omhaill! Caisg caraid!"



He recognized the ancient Gælic of his name and came out of his rage long enough to turn his burning eyes in my direction. I saw questions and confusion there. And then suddenly recognition. At that moment I threw Claidheamh Flath, the Sword of the Chief, to him. His great hand caught it and despite his injuries, he jumped onto the Dragon - onto Lieng - as the beast swung his awful toothed mouth toward Hotspur's chest.


Hotspur could feel the cold iron of the Frasers in his hands and he knew that this would be the end of The Dragon Who Waits. He lifted his arms over his head an cleaved the mighty beast's head from his neck as he yelled,



"Titim gan éirí ort!!" May you fall and never rise up!!

Both men fell viloently to the ground. Hotspur was right back up stopping only a moment to see that the head was in fact severed from the dragon's body.


As he lept around still in his rage, longing to take more lives....the blood thirst still on him, I watched as Lieng began the transformation back into his first form. The man. The man he must have been 20 years ago. Small. Younger, but certainly showing the signs of one who has used dark magic for so long that part of his soul and body have been withered. He did not move. He was dead.

Suddenly I heard howling. Lieng was dead. I was certain. Where? What?

Then a chorus of howls...coming from the hills behind us.

Fuzzball! It had to be. And it sounds as though he has brought help.

My eye caught movement again below me. The kilted man came forward to look at Lieng and then seemed to be trying to calm Hotspur who was moving about enraged - killing the dazed soldiers around him. I heard him speaking to Hotspur in Gælic, but to no avail.

Then I felt my grandmother's hand on my shoulder.

"Child, you must always remember the spell for calming and the song of recall. These will serve you in times of dire need."

In as clear and strong a voice as I could summon, I began the Latin song

"Totus super ira mos iam vado , ex penitus ut externus , planto is sic. Totus super ira mos iam vado , ex penitus ut externus , planto is sic. Totus super ira mos iam vado , ex penitus ut externus , planto is sic."

Hotspur turned his face up in my direction. The rage was ceasing. I saw him drop Claidheamh Flath to the ground, and the pain began to show on his face. Suddenly he looked smaller, more like my friend. He seemed to form a twisted smile at me as he collapsed onto the stones his broken leg and torn body finally giving way. In seconds several of his men were there beside him, and I then climbed down to the ground to help as I could.

"Lieng is dead. Your mission has been accomplished, mo caraid. Now don't you die on me, ye great Irish ninny!"

Return to Fusang: Ancient Magic and a Long Delayed Visit

Follows directly from this post

I've been fumbling with the sash for the last minute or so, we are losing time. The men had made up grey tunic for me, somehow, out of castoffs and with quick tailoring. And now the old green officer's sash (really just a rag, but it will suit). I laugh quietly.. Burgrevine would have flogged a trooper for looking this slovenly, but it looks reasonably well at a distance. Doctor Mason had offered me Western clothing, which I declined, as the men had made me this old raggedy version of an EVA officer's uniform-- if I'm to die today, it will be best to die wearing this, instead of the uniform of another Western interloper.

Striding out of the cabin, I yell for my gun belt.. Chen, as usual, has it loaded and ready. A Mauser, that newfangled German Automatic gun, a lovely little killing toy. As I walk out to where the men lay hiding, they all look up and recognition dawns on their faces. There is much nodding and grinning. The uniform is a very Chinese gesture, and I can see they appreciate it. I refrain from the turban; only my batman could tie it right over my giant head, so I just wear a green headband to accentuate command.

With a finger to my lips, I motion to the attack force to stay concealed and quiet behind the deck squalor and return to the bridge. I can already see the dark, brooding heights of the Fusang Palace over the bend in the river, and we will have only one chance at this deception. The men look very nervous, and why should they not? Counting noses, I have about 120 men with me here, about to stage a coup against.. what? Will there be an army to greet us at Fusang?

The quality of decision is like the well-timed swoop of a falcon which enables it to strike and destroy its victim.

"Thank you, Sun Tzu", I breath, as I climb up to the Texas deck and walk in on a very frightened former captain of the Iron River Dragon. As ever, the resourceful Sergeant Chen has him covered. I flamboyantly take out the newfangled German automatic pistol and press it into his back.

"Captain, I am not in the least interested in taking your life. But I will do it, without a qualm, if you don't stay on script. Do you understand?"

He is sweating. "Y-y-y-esssir!" Poor chap. Considering what the price of failure is in the Fusang Military, I rather understand the fix he's in.

I crouch behind him, keeping him covered all the while. All over the ship, the men are behind bulwarks, hidden behind deck litter, in hatchways, ready to spring. I confess it, my hands are shaking. What will we be walking in to?

Silently, the River Dragon chuffs into the port.. I hear harsh words in Mandarin, inquiring of the Captain... Chen, in a Fusang Marine hat, stands next to the captain, and speaks out of the side of his mouth to me.

"The harbor master is yelling at the Captain, wondering why he is back early, and inquiring why he has left his duty station guarding the bridge"

I whisper: "Stay on script, Captain, and this will all be over soon"

The Captain rises to the occasion... and harangues with the Harbor master like a fish wife..

"Oh woe! We have engine troubles! We cannot hold station! We need to put in for repair!"

Not bad, Captain, not bad... You should take up stagecraft..

The Dragon comes to a stop. I hear the hustle and bustle as lines are cast off (from Progressives wearing dead crewman's uniforms, of course)

The boat shudders to a stop. Again, I hear the imperious sounds of the Fusang Harbormaster.

"Sir, it's no good, he's sending a runner to the Palace to check on this." says Chen, worriedly.

Blast it, we can't let that happen.

"Call it Chen! Up and at 'em, it's ON!"

Chen leans outside the pilot house, pulls out his signaling bugle and gives the agreed three rising-and-falling blasts that is the signal for the attack.

"ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOARRRRRRR!!!!"

The men have been instructed to scream like devils as they pour off the boat. the Chinese have a higher pitch than Westerners, usually, but this catches me by surprise.. a deep, throaty almost growl of rage as they pour out of their hiding places and leap ashore onto the wharf.

I zip down the stairs to the main deck, sliding down the railing without actually cracking my skull, on a sprint, I run to the gangplank to supervise the men filing off.

"Long Nose!"

I look up at Yao. His bandits are taking positions on the gun mounts, ready to cover our advance in the city.

'Yao! Success to you, my friend!"

"And to thee, Colonel O'Toole of the EVA! May fortune grant you victory!"

And he tosses something heavy at me. It's a long, straight and heavy , weighted on the forward edge, like a Western sword. I look up, quizzically. It is a Prussian style cavalry sword. Not exactly a beauty, this blade, but functional, and strong.

"Got it off a dead German! It's more your style than mine!"

I nod, grinning up at him. He's right.. this chopper will come in handy.

"Can you keep start shelling the walls of the Palace when we get up to the Gates? We'll send up a flare when we are in position."

"Aye Long Nose, we'll sweep the ramparts for you.. Just break through!"

"For God's sake, Yao, Hold this Spot. D'ye hear? If this goes to Hell in a hand basket, you're our only way home!"

He looks solemn. "Oh, aye, we will. We'll rake yonder square with bullets if the citizenry get too brave for their own good"

I salute him and charge up to the quayside.

The portside is a scene of mass confusion. We have arrived on market day, it would seem, and the peasants are all running and screaming as their carts are turned over, pigs and chickens running hither and yon... I laugh at the sorry spectacle. Where's the army? There's the harbormaster, a tall, cadaverous fellow whose normal dignified mien is somewhat spoilt by being held two feet in the air by Angus Glitterach. His knees are knocking so loud, I can hear them from six feet away.

"Angus, did you intercept the courier?"

"Och, Aye, you mean this fellow?" He motions to a body pincushioned with arrows at the edge of the square.

I grimace. That would be the one, yes.

I walk to the head of the column, where the two pom-poms are being dragged by mules. Doctor Mason is standing there, quietly, all pale and trembling.

"Are you ready, Doctor?"

"Yes, Hotspur, I am ready as I'll ever be " He looks somewhat downcast.

"You do recall how to work a field piece, sir? Has it been so long?"

"No, no, it's not that. I'm worried about Fuzz.. and.. the other thing-- the Song."

I speak to him quietly, so the others might not hear.

"Listen, Doctor.. if you don't think it advisable to use the Song of Osiris, don't take the chance. We may fight it through yet."

He looks up, brightening a bit. "Let's get into that castle first"

"Right!" I turn to the men, forming into a giant wedge formation.

"Form UP! ANGUS!!!! Will you take the point on this, please?"

Angus grins and whirls a pike over his head like a child's toy. The group of a dozen soldiers he had been training form up in a wedge in front of our company.

"FORWARD!!!!"

Our column marches out of the square and up the hill on the way to castle. Angus' men wield their pikes in an efficient pike drill, shoving anyone who would block our progress out of the way, where they get hacked at by the men in the main column. Directly behind Angus are the Doctor and myself, moving the small gun teams forward, then the rest of the company, in an ad-hoc box formation.

I can see the top of the Castle from here, a dull, black edged pagoda, painted the characteristic green of Fusang. Shots are starting to be fired from the high wall around the castle.

Forward, forward....

I'm a bit mystified.. if I were trying to stop a coup, the first thing I would do would be stage blocking forces in the narrow streets here.. but the opposition, such as it is, hasn't heard of this.. we encounter small forces of Fusang soldiers, forming mechanically in line, not taking advantage of any cover, and easily dispersed with pike-charges before they can even present arms to fire.

The rifle fire from the heights of the walls is increasing. We need to speed this up. Hsieh Lieng must know we are here, now.

Pulling the German blade out of its sheath, I wave it over my head.

"Men, on the quickstep, HARCH!!!!"

The pace doubles as we all lurch into a dog-trot, now the rifle first is a regular fusilade, joined in by the first shot from a cannon. Now we are two streets away from the gates.. Now one. I flourish my sword again..

"Men, CHARGE!!! CHARGE!!!"

Screaming like banshees, we enter the courtyard in front of the castle gates. In front of us is a hastily forming force of Fusang soldiers. Something isn't right. They aren't panicking. I don't expect them to run away, but I expect them to at least waver a bit. ALL armies will take a second against a charging foe, to mentally set themselves and brace against the charge. And yes, some run away. These troops aren't doing that. With blank expressions on their face, they are forming a battle line, maybe 300 strong, half that in width and two men deep. As they form up in sections, I could see them going through the rifle drill of reaching for cartridge, loading... Think fast, O'Toole!

"Into them! Into them, NOW! Before they can deliver a volley fire! CHARGE!"

Editorial note: See Darien Mason's Journal Return to Fusang: Crescendo to be read in parallel with this entry from about this point

Angus screams defiance and charges forward, I follow with the giant cleaver in my hand. The rest of the Progressives charge after, again with a satisfying ROOOAR of defiance... alas, we have no bayonets fixed, but we can't take the time to accomplish that. The gunfire from the walls ceases, then takes up again. I start to see Progressives and Fusang troops fall indiscriminately. The firing troops hardly care who they are hitting. Our line crashes into theirs.. and for the first second or two, things become even more odd. They continue trying to perform the arms drill of loading and firing, and then slowly adjust to attacking in melee.. it's as if they are being manipulated by a puppeteer who keeps missing his cues! I knock the rifle of one soldier aside with a right slash, then bring the blade down on his head, chopping his ear off and catching the blade in his jaw hinge.. I wretch it free and he falls to the ground, silently. What the devil? That was a painful wound, damn it all! He should be screaming his lungs out now! The second rank seems to be catching on to melee more than the first did, they are bringing their rifles up and trying to parry our polyglot attack of pikes, rifle butts, swords, parangs, and other melee weapons. Slow, too bloody SLOW.. who trained these men to fight in a melee? This is slaughter, not fighting!

And just as simple as it is to say it, we have fought our way to the other side of the line. Casualties are somewhat minimal.. only 7 dead and 10 wounded, mostly from the fire from the wall. We are now somewhat sheltered from the snipers, as we are under the wall over hang. Doctor Mason brings up the mule teams, a grin on his face and a bloody gurkha knife in his hand.

"now, Doctor, no experimenting until we're done here, no?"

He smiles back, somewhat wistfully. The shakes he had earlier appear to be gone.

"I think I have discovered something of interest... these men are showing every sign of not behaving under their own free will. They were far too easy to kill."

"I noticed that.. I attributed it to poor training at first, but now I'm not too sure. Any rat will fight when cornered. These lads have hardly any fight at all."

"No, Colonel, far from that.. I suspect this group is being ensorceled by a wide-area spell of control of some sort.. my word, imagine the concentration this would take!"

"That would explain why they act like automatons, instead of real soldiers.. they didn't even fix bayonets!"

"It must be quite a feat to even get them all to do the same thing at once, much less use any decent tactics.. it's a poor way to run an Army, Colonel".

"And I can just bet who is behind this, Doctor. Lien Bao, you may rely on it."

"Hmmm, perhaps. Or someone far greater."

I set up the first pom-pom gun as we keep up the fire on the ramparts. The troops up there, at least, appear busy and animated running hither and yon to try to find a good shot, and occasionally falling back when wounded.. Sergeant Chen and a few other soldiers are detailed to find another entrance if possible. Dr. Mason is still assembling his pom pom gun and cursing a blue streak at his own mistakes when the first shell slides into place on my piece.

Already I have my doubts. The main gate is sheathed in lead, it appears, and quite thick. I pull the gun team back and run the lanyard out. Mason is just finishing his piece. He flashes the ready sign.

LOAD!
TAKE AIM!
FIRE!!!

POM!

KRUMPF!


The gates shake a bit, but nothing happens. One shell had glanced off; the other was buried about three inches deep into the wood.

Switch to Quick FIRE!

Then, the "ratch-clack" of the quickfire mechanism engaging as the magazine

POM, POM, POM, POM, POM, POM POM POM POM POM

With each hit, we chew more decorative lead sheathing off of the gate, but this is going to slow. We can't give them time to think, and we are losing precious time.

Sergeant Chen comes running up at this moment, tugging my sleeve.

"Colonel! This way! I have found the way in!"

Dodging bullets, we run alongside the wall. This will go bad soon. We just don't have the artillery. I notice the Doctor at my side, puffing and huffing.

And there it is...

A Postern gate. Of course. They wouldn't want to go to all the trouble of opening the big gate constantly, for mundane tasks like grocery delivery, messengers and routine comings and goings. They would have built this for the daily errands.

I motion to the a crowd of Progressives hiding under the wall overhang, and yell in Mandarin: "Come along, fellows, shift these guns with me! Why are you cowering?" They spring forward help us push the guns into position aiming at the postern.

LOAD!
TAKE AIM!
FIRE!!!

POM!

A large hole appears in the center of the gate. I shout over to Darien.

"That's it, Doctor! Quick Fire now! We're in!"

POM POM POM POM POM POM POM POM

The smaller gate bursts off its hinges and falls to the ground. I peer inside at a gaggle of shocked Fusang soldiers. Immediately, they run out with their hands up. No charm here, these lads are acting naturally enough. There is a lull in the firing and all the Progressives stare at the gate for several seconds. I pull out a flare and shoot it into the sky. The light goes up, up, up and bursts red over the castle.

"Don't stand there gawking, let's GO!!!!!"

The entire command surges forward as the first shells from the Iron River Dragon start to land, just beyond the wall and into the unseen inner courtyard beyond the gate. I run into the dark maw of the tunnel leading into the castle, hoping this isn't a dead end. I spill out into inner courtyard to see a sight that stops me dead in my tracks. Rank after Rank of men in the black pajama outfits of the Dark Ocean Society, all staring blankly ahead. As I walk out into the courtyard, I see a shell land in their midst. They neither flinch nor run, they just fall over when shot. Beyond them midway up the stairs to the main palace, is a small platform for addressing troops. On the platform, his arms raised, is a familiar and impressive figure.

I stand blinking in the sunlight, gazing up at the Hsieh Lieng, Lord of Fusang for the first time in twenty years.

I suppose I should feel something more than wonder at a moment like this. Should I leap forward with a manly "ha HA! There you are, villain! Have at you!?" That is what the penny dreadfuls would have the gentle reader think happens at a moment like this.

All I can think of is: "Good lord, I'm two years OLDER then him, do I look that wretched?"

I'm staring hard, and I can't see the face of the youthful student leader I had crossed swords with, all those years ago. The scar is there, to be sure, malforming his rather puffy face from the hinge of the jaw line to his cheek. Otherwise, his flesh is rather droopy, as if it does not fit the person within.. and he has a sickly, greenish cast to his features. Gone is the youthful slenderness, speed and agility.. instead, a rather jowly middle aged (although still heavily muscled) man confronts me, a sardonic smile on his face. His raiment is splendid, however, and the odd black pearl ornament on his neck, looking something like a black jade officer's gorget, is striking. He fingers it nervously as he strides down the stairs.

I walk out into the courtyard, and the rest of the Strike Force trails in behind me in a straggly line, attempting to form up into formation. Aside from one of its members occasionally dropping from shell fragments coming from the bombardment of the walls (courtesy of the Iron River Dragon), the Dark Ocean society silently stands in formation ranks, awaiting the pleasure of the Lord of Fusang. We are outnumbered here, by a factor of three to one. I should have known he would have this ace up his sleeve, but who could have predicted it? Lieng is no wizard! What is the source of his power?

I decide to take the initiative. It will buy us time.

"Hsieh Lieng, Lord of Fusang, styled the Dragon who Waits in these lands, I am Lieutenant Colonel Hotspur O'Toole, First Caledon Lancers, and I have come to you at last. You have waged war against me and mine, and you have many deaths to answer for, in this life and the next. Will you treat with me?"

Lieng smiles, half-charming, half-snarl. Is he actually trying to negotiate? What in the world for? We both know he has the upper hand here.

"Colonel O'Toole, I will observe the ancient forms and treat with you in the language of nobility, although you have no claim to any such elevation, unlike your former master, Ward"

(he spits, twice, which is a stylized insult-- many Warlords were outraged when the Imperial Court approved Ward's elevation to Mandarin, fourth class).

I continue.

"My personal list of grievances is long: the death of my friend and manservant, my own kidnapping from the Western Lands, the condition of my travels to your lands, attempted murder, many times over, torture, and the death of many companions-- your wound, honorably received in combat, hardly serves as justification for vendetta. I will forgo any claim to revenge for myself, but you needs must be brought to answer for the crimes against your own people."

Lieng laughs.. pleasantly at first, then with rising sibilants, Chinese style.. so his laughter ends as a sort of reptilian hissss

"Colonel O'Toole, did you think I had the Honorable Lien Bao bring you here for petty revenge, for THIS, alone?" He gestures to the scar on his cheek, still livid after all these years.

I reply: "You have tried to lure me here once, and the second time by I arrived by force. I rather doubt you brought me halfway around the world to exchange pleasantries. Now, if you mean to attempt to kill me, I am at your disposal, but I warn you, I will NOT go easily..."

Looking round, I gesture at the ranks of the Dark Ocean Society.

"you appear to have brought enough men for the job. Let us commence, then."

I'm trying to goad him; he knows it, so do I. I was expecting ANYTHING but more laughter.

"Colonel, Colonel, Colonel.. you of the enormous ego! You really thought this was all about you, didn't you?? You do make me laugh!"

He laughs more, this time with a spiteful edge to it.

"No, no, sir.." he wheezes.. giggling, his belly shaking. "I brought you all the way from the ends of the earth to offer you a JOB."

My father, bless his memory, used to tell me to keep my mouth shut when I'm surprised.. or I would let the flies in. This must have been one of those times.

"A job? ME? What in God's green earth?"

"Look around Fusang, Colonel. Everything is changing. We are harnessing the power of coal and steam. Our railroad through the mountains will soon be completed. We are building factories, forges, telegraphs.. Soon we will be able to hold our head up high against the arrogant lords of the West that pollute the Celestial Kingdom so. Our friends the Kaiser and the Tsar have their own interests in removing the arrogant English, Americans and even smaller nations such as yours from any influence over trade with the Celestial Kingdom. That is all very well; I will accept their guns and steam tanks and river monitors and other weapons of war, in return for an objective I was pursuing myself. We can use each other, you see."

"Where do I fit in all this?"

Hsien Lieng fidgeted with that odd black pearl neck ornament again, his face darkening..

"You must have noticed, Colonel. You see the Fusang Field Force.. the men of the Dark Ocean society. They can be led, forcibly, but they are no match for the Ever Victorious Army of old. I seek to recreate the discipline and spirit of that older army with the weapons of a modern industrial kingdom, MY kingdom. You are the last officer of the EVA Headquarters staff left alive, sir. In the absence of Frederick Ward or Charles Gordon, you, my dear Colonel, will achieve my aims for me. YOU will be the new Generalissimo of the Modern Armed Forces of The Kingdom of Fusang.. and perhaps, some day, of all of China. What say you to that, Field Marshall O'Toole?"

I stare at him blankly.. trying to keep a straight face. I can't help it.. the big belly laugh comes up out of nowhere and convulses me.

"ME? Work for YOU?" His face looks dangerously purple now. "Oh, Lieng.. oh my.. No, that isn't high on my list of stable employment opportunities. I don't think so."

Lieng blinks twice, fury growing in his face.

"You misunderstand me, Colonel O'Toole. I do not "ask" barbarians to do the bidding of Fusang. I command them!"

He gestures, wildly and presses the black pearl breastplate again.

"THUS! You will bend to my will, as the willow bends to the tempest. NOW!"

And with that.. a sickly green nimbus grows around his head and shoulders, seemingly emanating from the breastplate. I take a quick step forward, blustering a bit in anger. and.. I can scarcely describe what happens next.

A queer lassitude grips my limbs... they feel rubbery..

My vision fades and the visage of Lieng grows large in my eyes.. he chants. It is like Mandarin, but not.. older, more guttural. Professor Nicholas would have a field day with this dialect.. pops into my mind. I shake my head staring, and the voice of Lieng penetrates the fog in my brain, again.. this time in clear, modern English.

"So, O'Toole..." he hisses. "You will learn the way of the servant, and justice will be done for the indignity you visited upon me years ago. I cannot take away this (he points to his scar), but I can take away that Devil's pride you bear. YOU will be my Field Marshal, the Generalissimo of all my Armies in Fusang.. you will swear fealty and devotion unto me, and your children, and children's children, until the stars fade...."

the voice drones on..

I feel my sense of reality.. of 'being here' start to slip suddenly. as if the courtyard is at the end of a long dark tunnel, with that cursed Chinese Doggerel going on and on and on.. my sense of, of.. SELF fades... and again, in Mandarin.

"NOW, Colonel.. NOW.. Kow Tow before your new master!"

As if my feet are not obeying me.. slowly I walk forward. Step by reluctant step.. I am confused... it will be so easy to do this. To knock my head on the floor.. to rest.. no more confusion, no more doubt.. no more worry.

Yet, a tickle in the back of my brain begins to annoy my sense of lassitude. I somehow know that if I performed the kowtow, that would be it for my free will, forever. The tickle is getting louder.. spiraling upward. It is the meory of Ward again, crouched next to me, having coffee by the fire. "Repeat this after me, young O'Toole. It will bring that help which is needed. No, you young idiot, didn't the Brothers teach you the genitive case? REPEAT! LEARN! .. what was this again.. and suddenly the vision comes to me, and a voice, that I can almost hear..

"Imperiequeritis, tria pendent corpora ramis dis meus et gestas in media et divina potestas dimeas clanator sed jetas as astra levarut"

Again and again, I hear this bit of bastardized Latin.. chanted. in the voice of the Lady Bellambi? I speak the words in tempo with the voice in my head. First as a croak, then louder.. then louder.. and I find myself returning to this world.. an odd, white light seems to be coming from within my chest as a sharp clarity comes back to me-- the green glow almost appears to be in abeyance, pushed back by the white light of ancient magick.

The white glow, itself, appears to move expand out from me, encompassing those men around me.

I catch myself descending to one knee.. I had almost done it.

I roar out "What the devil? NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, OR THE NEXT!" and straighten up quickly. Hsieh Lieng leaps backwards as if struck, falling to the ground. He is not used to such bald-faced rejection, I think.

I turn to face the rest of the strike force. With the exception of the men in the cone of the white light with me, they are all staring ahead blankly, as are the doubly glassy eyed unfortunates in the Dark Ocean Society. Focus is coming back.

He can't control them all! He can't! I see it! He needs natural leaders because he can only extend this hell-power so far. I was right all along! Lieng is no sorcerer, any more than I am. Whatever he is wielding, it's a toy.. a trinket.. he has stolen this power to ensorcle the unwitting. It has to be that breastplate ornament he keeps fingering so obsessively.

And this tool he uses, it is finite. Which suggests.. that it can be destroyed. I turn towards Darien. He is stumbling from the blanket effects of the jade charm, but recovering. He had been close to me when the old Ward defensive spell had gone off. I grab him and shake him.

Lieng starts to rise, shaking his head in anger, cursing gutturally in Mandarin. There's something.. WRONG about his features.. as if he is swelling.. adapting an even greener coutnenance..

"Doctor Mason. It's now, or never. Do you see the black pearl in his breastplate?"

"Whaaaaaa???.. Pearl? What?"

He shakes his head, clearing. He nods.

"There" he whispers.

"DOCTOR!! The Song of Osiris! Now! Now or we're all doomed!"

I fear I may be handling him a bit roughly, but I manage to rattle sense in his head. Already I see the white nimbus from Warding spell dissipate; the green glow will seep back in again, and then it will be all up. I sense, I do not KNOW, that I cannot pull the same trick of counterspell twice. This thing had been buried in me for twenty years.

Once released, I cannot put it back. I'm no wizard.

Darien has regained his wits.

"Right! ALL OF YOU!! EARPLUGS! NOW!"

Darien begins to intone the Song of Osiris.. I cannot relate what happens next in any detail.. a sound more than a vision.. as if every voice in a doomed choir released a wail of anguish at the same time. The men who are rousing from the spell gasp and fall to their knees, myself included.

Darien arches backward, the Song arching out like a bolt of black thunderbolt of pain, arcing around crazily.. going out of control, dangerously, then Darien wrests control of it and flings it into the face of Hsieh Lieng. The black bolt of ... sound... smashes into Lieng, now just getting on to his feet. His face is contorted with fury, then absolute terror.

Lieng crumples, as if punched with a giant fist, and there is a rending, tearing sound. The breastplate is cracked in two. The ranks of the Dark Ocean Society collapse in a tumbled heap, released from control.

Darien is barely standing, grey in the face, blood seeping from his nose and ears.

"You did it! Well done, Doctor!"

He nods, smiling weakly, and proceeds to retch repeatedly. I look away, to give him his privacy.

All throughout the courtyard, there is a mass of unconscious, semi-conscious and reeling humanity, either the Dark Ocean society or the Progressives, recovering from the effects of the mass hypnosis effect of Lieng's breastplate.

I see that Lieng is on his feet again, incredibly.. swelling even larger, his skin starting to grow greenish in color.

There's something wrong with his skin.. scales! Suddenly I understand the real meaning of the phrase "The Dragon who waits".

Lieng grows larger, cursing and hurling imprecations in my direction.. all of them quite colorful and sadly unprintable-- the least profane of which suggesting I would spend an eternity in the Seven Hells being sodomized by demons.

An angry opponent is an opponent off-base, O'Toole, my fencing instructor used to tell me.

If I were facing a normal man, I'd be gloating inwardly, for an angry man is certainly easy to tempt into mistakes. But Lieng is no normal man, now... he is rapidly changing into something else. His mandarin robes grow tight, then split at the seams.. his skin is getting scalier, his eyes glowing red, his face elongating... a pity he wasn't a normal, angry man with a sword right now, I think.

Wait. Anger.

I turn to Darien again.

"HIT ME!"

Darien stares at me, blankly, panting from his exertions. , eyes wide with shock at the horrific transformation in the center of the courtyard, confuse.

"What... in the world.. are you talking about?"

"HIT ME, damn you.. as hard as you can!"

He tries. In his weakened state, it's hardly a slap. It just won't do.

"Harder, dammit!" I groan, and punch myself in the face. It's not working.

Suddenly a giant hand grabs my shoulder spins me around and a fist the size of a
cantaloupe doubles me over, then an uppercut sends me flying against the courtyard wall. ANGUS! I had forgotten him. Good Gael that he is, I think he has some faint inkling of what will happen next.

I roll on the ground, out of breath.. nodding. yep, that's going to do it.. I'm angry...

I leap up, snarling.

INCREDIBLY angry, as it turns out.. I feel the old THING rise up out of nowhere.. the fire of rage in my veins.. and for the first time in my life, I don't seek to contain it any more, but let myself become a sacred vessel for it.. to fill me up with the bright rage, the red, killing anger, to be truly touched by the Gods.... I also feel my self changing.. my clothes tighter.. taller.. nails growing out..

I am here in this courtyard of death, and not here at the same time... I am back in another time, when I and my red brothers came across the sea to serve the Grim Unsmiling Queen who had raised her standard in revolt against the small men of the south. She rides on her chariot into battle, and her red bodyguard flies before her, leaping over the solid line of metalskins with their pilae and rectangular shields, to land behind them, to rip and rend and tear and kill and kill and kill and until called back by the Song of Recall.. I scream with pleasure as another Roman's head leaps from its shoulders in a shower of blood, its face a contorted mask of surprise and anger. And then...

I am back in the courtyard of Fusang... my skin is reddening, I am grown to a foot taller than normal.. my clothes are in rags... I feel the last tickle of consciousness as I raise my heavy German sword and charge the large green beast that is my enemy. I scream in the ancient tongue of my forefathers, so much older than Gaelic. Why? Why had I denied myself .. THIS.. all my life? I sing as I run foward. I would taste his blood this day, or he mine... and the last thing I remember as I closed with the green beast is the sound of wolves baying.. Wolf howls and screaming... and coming closer..

In two more bounds, I am across the courtyard, and I reach for the hated lizard-thing, to smash, to kill, and the element of me who can remember, and record.. flies away for a while.

Editorial note: Eva Bellambi's Cold Iron of the Chief intersects at about this point in the narrative. Fuzzball Ortega's Journey to Fusang part 29 also intersects almost exactly at the tail end of this post, and will continue in part 32, after Eva's next post.

Return to Fusang: The Cold Iron of the Chief

Follows directly from HERE

What in God's name just happened?

I looked around my new surroundings. Lien Bao was no more. All that remained of the 400 year old wu-jen were still smoking ashes. I am in Fusang...in his laboratory in what seems to be his palace. Quickly I grabbed Claidheamh Ghaidhealtaehd Flath (or Claidheamh Flath as it is generally called), the sword given me by my father upon his death, for I was not certain when the guards of the palace would be upon me.

It seemed oddly quiet to me. I could hear the hum of a busy palace, but could not hear any evidence that anyone was aware of my presence or the death of the old wizard.

I walked over to the window and tried to carefully get my bearings. And I started trying to piece together the events of the last half hour or so.

How had I traveled here? Lien Bao had been working his way through the rift that Amber had created with her incantations and there was no way that I could let that happen even if it meant my death. He would have killed Amber, who was there only at my request. And I certainly could not let his evil loose in Caledon.


I felt Claidheamh Flath in the snow at my side. I had trained with the Sword of the Highland Chief as soon as I was strong enough to wield it. James, my father and chieftain, insisted that I use his ancestral sword - passed down from the ancient chiefs of the Fraser line. Raising the sword I yelled out to Lien Bao to leave Amber alone - and then I struck him.

Pick my sword up, mo nighean - the sword of your forefathers. Claidheamh Flath forged by the ancient chieftain, Simon of Oliver, himself. It is the sword he carried to victory at the Battle of Roslin after Wallace's death. Forged of the star iron found in the fields around his home in Aberdeenshire. Many years before he had it made a star fell from the skies - large pieces of iron were uncovered in the fields as he built his keep. I picked the sword up from the sand practice field and held it with two hands as my father had shown me. Good stance, tè bheag. This sword has protected our family from attacks and dangers at many times in the history of our clan...both from physical, human enemies, and fae or demon intruders.

At my puzzled look he reminded me that the cold iron is especially effective against fairy folk...binding them, and even capable of killing them. This cold iron...the enchanted iron from the heavens holds power over the fairy folk and demons alike, Eva. Never forget that as you wield this weapon, nor as you hang the cold iron horse's shoe over your door.

That must have been it! Claidheamh Flath carried with it the ancient powers of my family and the stars, and it had carried me to Fusang along with Lien Bao. And it had killed the ancient wu-jen.

We fell through the rift into the laboratory in Lien Bao's palace.

The sword stayed true.

As we fell out of the realm of the spirits and into the real, I lost my grip on Claidheamh Flath.

I was thrown backwards by the closing of the portal and Lien Bao fell to the floor.

The Ancient began to transform before me.

OK - this is good, I thought to myself, now I just need to get myself out of this lab and find Dau and LaFevre so we can extract Hotspur and get home. As I started out the door, I heard the noise of artillery coming from outside. I ran out to the balcony to see smoke rising from the river. I decided to watch from this location until I could determine who was attacking and what was going on. The firing kept up and suddenly I heard shouts emanating from just below me. Chinese, English, Gaelic.

Gaelic?!?

Ancient Gaelic....shouted in a deep, resonant voice. Strange, but somehow familiar. Who? I leaned over the railing of the balcony to get a better look.

Och! Is that Hotspur shouting in our ancient tongue? Whoever it is looks like Hotspur, but much taller and with claws at the ends of extremely long fingers. Sharp, jagged teeth. Red bristling, unkempt hair, and even redder skin.

I closed my eyes and looked again. I knew.

My God! What next?

This post follows directly

Return To Fusang: Making Connections

Meanwhile... | Meanwhile...

Personal Journal Entry - Head MI-5:


It has been three days since the last dispatch from Shea. Either he has fallen or is in deep cover work and is not able to get any word to me. Blast it, where are the others? The Celestial Kingdom is almost silent to me at the moment, and I REALLY hate that.

The snow was falling steadily outside my offices as I sat down to write to Shea and Dau. I could feel my frown drawn down as it always does during periods of intense concentration or worry. Just then there was a tap on my office door. It was one of the junior offices of the Lancers. Apparently they had just escorted a foreign guest to the manse. When he handed me her calling card, I asked that he please send the young lady to my offices in the keep. I would meet her here

Angelica Ortegavich ascended the steps of my office. Tall – nearly 6 feet, blonde, and blue eyed. While she looked very little like her brother, Fuzzball, she has his same expressive face and intense eyes.


Smiling I offered her a seat, and told her that I assumed she was visiting Caledon – and specifically me – for business purposes rather than pleasure, since she had offered me a card with the Pinkerton emblem and motto.

We talked for some time about what we knew and didn't know. Angelica being very close to her brother had some personal interest in what was transpiring, and I was happy to have confirmation about his whereabouts along with those of Dr. Mason, and Dogg. I had whispers coming my way, but had not been able to confirm anything. However, Angelica is also senior enough in the Agency that she had been officially assigned to this case – keeping an eye on the situation for the Americans. She has been authorized to talk to me of their concerns particularly surrounding the actions and inactions of the British governmental agencies. Of prime concern to the US is the intelligence that has been coming in regarding Nayland Smith's "backup plan" to eliminate American interference in the region. I believe that she has rightly concluded that he means to kill Fuzzball, Glitterach, and Darien. Certainly the British envoy who visited me indicated that they did not appreciate Caledon's part in this. I suspect that Shea, Dau, and O'Toole are on that list as well.

We talked long into the evening and made agreement to keep in close contact via our secure channels. Daily status updates and coordination. It is an agreement that I feel entirely comfortable with.

I walked the loch, thinking. I could feel the junior Lancer following me several steps behind. Good man. Somme and O'Toole would feel proud of him: keeping watch per orders, but maintaining a distance.


What do we know about the British? I asked myself.

• We know that England wants no more EVAs; they regard them as popular movements, which are too hard for them to control.
• We know that after Gordon was put in charge about 18 years ago the EVA disbanded after a year, and the Warlord "system" started with England in a very predominant place.
• We know that Nayland Smith is "British establishment". Most agree that he felt Ward was an amateur and never appreciated his management of the EVA years ago.
• We HEAR that there is a resurgence of nationals in the Kingdom who think that Ward has come back from the dead. This must be related to the appearance of Hotspur and possibly others from the old EVA days back into the Fusang regions.

Still not enough information. I need to have first hand accounts from the front lines, as it were. LaFevre! Where are you?


The Following Day


I should not have even been thinking about this, but I knew that the only way that I would quickly be able to learn what was going on in Fusang was to contact Lady Amber. God bless her, she had at one point been able to make a direct psychic connection with Hotspur, though that experience nearly brought Lien Bao through the rift. It has taken many months for her to get over the trauma of that connection.

I was not even sure she would help me but I sent the message to her last night with some little hope. She just arrived in Loch Avie as I was at my weapons practice. She said that she was extremely fearful of taking on this evil again, and that she did not want to do it. Her hands were shaking and she trembled, but I could see her resolve. She felt this was her duty. Somehow she found the strength (and this time without the laudanum that had plagued her since the last encounter) and asked that I find a location on my property of "intense energy" for me.

Lady Eva – your energy should help me connect to Hotspur once more time, and should hopefully also protect me.

I chose the area near the base of the waterfall and she began her preparations.

She asked me to quiet my mind of all thoughts or concerns (a rather large order if you ask me, but I did my best to comply) and to sit in the circle as she began her incantations. The soft murmurs she made actually did make it easier for me to relax and clear my mind.

She spoke clearly. I see Hotspur. Oh Lady Eva he is in a battle and there is water, and some monstrous steam gun boat. OH! OH! The image is gone.

Suddenly I could see something - a palace. I started to speak, but could sense that Amber knew I was seeing what she was seeing. I kept quiet and watched the scene unfold. It was as if we were flying through the castle – up and down corridors and stairs. The gilt and stone sparkling around us, I could feel the wind against my face and flowing through my loosened hair. Then I heard something. I was not sure what, but the spirit guiding us obviously also heard it, for we seemed to move in the direction of the sound.

Lien Bao! He found us in the rift. No. He did not see me. He was completely focused on Amber.

I heard him taunt her as he laughed, "Small child, why do you try to hide from me again? You cannot find him. He is mine."

Amber wavered slightly, but just as quickly as the fear came, it was replaced by anger and strength. "I will find him despite your power. Get out of my way or I shall move you."


The laughter deepened and, as if only to spite her, Lien Bao made himself appear larger and began to weave his way through the rift. He was going to step through! My eyes were open I could see my home around me, but could also see into his palace. Suddenly the fog moved from around Lien Bao and his image became clearer. A foot, a hand. He reached for Amber as she began to slump over her table.

"No! No you will not harm her!" I heard myself yelling at him as I stood and drew my Claymore back.

He had not seen me.

I felt the cold, hard steel of my Claymore slice into his abdomen as his eyes found mine for the first time. He was utterly surprised and began his retreat back across the rift.

Suddenly there was a flash of light and I could feel myself falling. Still holding my Claymore which was deep in the flesh of the old wu-jen, I too was falling through space.

Impact!

We both hit the stone floor. In his palace in Fusang. In what appeared to be a small, austere laboratory. There was smoke all around us, much of it emanating from Lien Bao himself at the point where my sword entered his body.

Quickly, I pulled the claymore out of his body certain that I would need it to defend against the arrival of his soldiers. He moaned loudly, cursing me in Chinese. I was in battle crouch, ready for what might come my way (or hoping that I was), when the old sorcerer began rapidly transforming in front of me. He wounds were deep. I was certain they would have killed any other man nearly instantly, but he was not going to die easily, if at all.


A large raptor, a black bear, a fox demon, a dragon, a zhenmushou

With the last transformation the smoke rising from his wound intensified and he burst into flames. I shielded my eyes the fire was so bright. Shrieking as if from a hundred souls swirled around me, and then quiet. Complete and utter stillness.


Lien Bao was gone – diminished to the small pile of ash on the floor of his palace.

Return to Fusang: In Which The March of Progress Shows its Flaw

STEELHEAD ADVENTURES/RETURN TO FUSANG

ENTRY POINT | Meanwhile... | Meanwhile...

I shake my head in disbelief. Here are three old Ever Victorious Army comrades-in-arms from almost twenty years ago. Have I gone back in time, then? Pu Ying, in particular, had been a banner leader (roughly equivalent to a Western Captain, with two companies under his command). Small Shang had never risen above what we would call a "Top Sergeant" but he was a demon for drilling. The Filipino.. the name finally came to me.. "Kasukalan Tauhan" had always been a mouthful. I recall him being a demon in a fight, disdaining musketry and charging into a brawl with his Malay Chopper out, screaming in Tagalog, chopping away. All of them were wearing what appeared to be the dull green field uniform of the Fusang Infantry these days, with strange insignia on the sleeves. Behind them is a man I don't know, clearly a high officer in the Fusang Field Force.

"What brings you here, bannerman Ying?" I ask, respectfully.

Ying's eyes widens, and his eyes goggle in theatrical fury. I am not expecting a backhand slap that rattles my teeth in my head.

"The Prisoner will not speak! The Prisoner will ONLY LISTEN!" he barks, mechanically. Small Shang and Kasuk keep their eyes lowered in deference.

"It pains me to converse with you, foreign long-nose devil," he continues. "The pollution of the Western Ways will not be undone in a day or a night, as our glorious Dragon who Waits reminds us. My Superior Officer, Colonel Po, has no knowledge of your tongue, so he instructs us, who knew you once and know your language, to communicate details of your fate. Listen, for this will be so. Tomorrow, you will be escorted Northward along the rail line to Fusang. A seat on the Land Dragon is being prepared for you, as well as an escort fitting for your station. Until then, we will make every effort to avoid foreign devils and their devil's lies! "

I splutter a bit at that last. "Devil's Lies? Pu Ying, you were a Bannerman in the Devil Soldier's Army, commanding the respect of the corps, how is this lies?"

He raises his fist, threateningly. I gaze up, placidly. I can take this... he's not hitting very hard for some reason.

"Oh Princes of the West! You make a grand noise of modernization, and bettering the lot of the peasants, and ending repression, and you gave us the knowledge of walking in straight lines and shooting many times prodigiously, and the rifle that fires many bullets... but in the end, as always happens, where were you when your moneyed masters called you home? Where was the Celestial Kingdom? A mere afterthought. The Dragon who Waits means to be a strong leader.. to stride boldly on the world stage, and to treat with you foreign devils as the inferior beings you are!"



I shake my head up at him, pulling at my chains.

"Nonsense, Ying. This Dragon Who Waits is a Slave commanding an army of Slaves. He has no notion of true Power, which derives from the people-- he can only feel the corruption of force. Lieng wishes to set himself above all other men. I spit on this tyrant's chair-- I would not wipe my arse on the throne of Fusang! At least in Ward's Army you held you heads up as free men! Look at you now! Fighting for money, then? Can you truly call yourselves anything but slaves any longer?"

That last statement probably is a mistake. Yes, definitely. The results are predictable, graphic, and quite visual. I have only myself to blame. "O'Toole, ye great brawling lout!" the Duchess said to me repeatedly during training. "False heroics are the enemy of good analysis! Shut that mouth of yours and open your eyes and EARS!"

Yet, somehow, it was not as severe nor damaging a pummeling as the clumsy beating administered on shipboard. When they are finished, the officer with them hisses a command, and they walk out sullenly. The officer, whom I assume to be Colonel Po, walks over to examine me. I am still sitting up, hands behind back. He leans in close, letting out a tuneless, sibilant hissss between his teeth... "He's examining for damage" I think to myself. What in the world are they so spun up about? Why is it so important to deliver undamaged goods, as it were? As he examines me, I become aware of an object in my lap, which hadn't been there before. I hide this by keeping my knees together. Apparently, he is satisfied that my face is not too badly bruised, and abruptly leaves without having uttered a word. I look down in my lap. There, in the folds of my peasant's jacket, is a clasp-knife with a black handle and 7 inch blade. One of my comrades in arms had dropped it there. They have not lost faith after all! Sure, they had worked me over, but I have to commend them for playing it smart. And the knife was fast thinking. It will come in handy. For now, I will hide it in my boot.. if I limp, well, that can be explained away easily enough..

That night, the lady entrusted with my care comes to me again with a simple meal of fish, rice buns and tea. I eat greedily. Afterward, she cleans my much abused face with a hot towel, and applies some herbal concoction that quickly coagulates the surface cuts and alleviates the swelling to a prodigious degree. "A healer," I think, "probably the village healer.. and a damned fine one. The Duchess would be interested in this herbal concoction" I try to speak to her in Mandarin, but she shakes her head and refuses to be drawn out. I ask her for the name of the herb, and she readily tells me. I mentally make a note..

"What is the Land Dragon, little Miss?" I ask. Her eyes are wide with fear. "It shakes the earth! You will see it soon enough!"

I realize there probably aren't words to describe the Land Dragon in her experience, so gratefully take a straw mattress and go to sleep. Again, I am no seer, not given to prophecy and certainly not a far-seer like the Baroness. Yet my dreams, which were so vague before, grow increasingly sharp and fraught with meaning and portent. I see the Sheriff, a large flamboyantly dressed man wearing a kilt, and Doc Mason in a small enclosed space, firing wildly out of a porthole at a group of smaller, black airships that are attacking them in... an airship of their own! What could this mean? The scene is quite vivid.. I sense this is not potential, but real. As the vision fades, it is replaced with a scene of a complete stranger.. a man of my own age, stocky and well-muscled, with the steady hand of a soldier and man of action, asking questions in the stalls and dives of Kowloon. "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! I'M UP HEEERE!" I shout at him in my dream.. but he does not appear to hear me.

I am awakened the next day by shaking. The little go-down's walls are shaking, rumbling and rattling as a I hear a distantly approaching roar. The healing lady runs in.. she gestures wildly in the direction of the noise. "Land Dragon!" she says again and again, urgently. Shortly thereafter, Fusang soldiers enter the room, unshackle the chain from the hasp in the wall, and unceremoniously drag me to my feet, and out into the sunlight. Once again, I blink.. as an apparition enters the remains of the town square of Hangxian. Later generations will not be shocked and amazed by them, but in my time.. these beasts are only whispered about in military circles.. the amazing Landships that are just now coming out of Woolwich, Edinburgh, Pittsburgh and Cinncinati. So my jaw drops about as low as many of those of the soldiers present, who are showing a disconcerting desire to break ranks and run as far from this beast as possible. This is impossible!! They are only in prototype! Yet, here is one, chugging up to me flying the flag of Fusang. The beast is escorted by a small troop of gaudily dressed Mongol cavalry, spearpoints and carbines at high port. It rumbles to a stop in front of the Go-Down, and emits a hugh hissing sigh. A small metal door on the top of the beast opens, and small man of European origin hops up and stands on the roof, staring down at me, his hands on his waist in a jaunty and confident manner.

"I say, old man" I venture, convivially enough "Are you my pre-arranged transportation? I shan't be a second to pack my valise."



He grins, and says "Я думаю, возможно, Вы должны быть тихими и позволить мне делать разговор." Which is "If I were you, I'd shut up and let ME do the talking", in flawless Russian.

My consternation can only be imagined.