“Thank you.” She folded her arms and gave him a little bow, then turned to leave.
“One thing, that little paper frog you made me, I doubt it made it through punching an iceberg and taking a swim. Sorry about that. It was nice.”
Pausing in the doorway, she gave him a genuinely pleased smile. “It was to bring good fortune. You must have used it up. I will make you another,” she said as she left the room.
“I’d like that,” Sullivan said to himself.
The Grimnoir knights and Marauder volunteers who had snuck into Shanghai over the last few days were staying in several different safe houses across the city. It wasn’t smart to have all of their eggs in one basket, and should any one group of them get rolled up by the secret police, the rest still needed to be able to complete the mission. Only Pirate Bob knew most of the locations, and he was back at the Traveler.
In fact, since they were nominally in charge of this little shindig, Heinrich, Lance, and Sullivan were supposed to be staying in different places, but because of their detour through the river, this hideout had been the closest. It had once been an apartment building for dockworkers, but one of the Japanese artillery shells from a few years before had hit a nearby sea wall, and the building’s foundation and first floor had been flooded ever since. It was now rotten to the core, and would probably fall over soon on its own. Heinrich and a small group of knights had already been here for a few days.
“It ain’t much.” Sullivan leaned on the balcony railing, but when it groaned and rust began to fall into the water below, he thought better of it and stepped away. His clothes weren’t quite dry from the last swim yet.
“Compared to where I grew up, this is a rather nice neighborhood,” Heinrich answered. “At least it is defensible.”
“True.” The only approaches were bridges fashioned from discarded lumber and old sheet metal, so it would be difficult for anyone short of a Traveler to sneak up on them unseen. There were enough of the makeshift bridges attached to other nearby buildings that it would be very difficult to surround and cut off all their escape routes. Plus, he’d been told there were a couple other escape routes available, provided you didn’t mind holding your breath. “Zhao picked it?”
“Yes. He knows this city like the back of his hand. The young man shows some tactical aptitude.”
“Strongest Icebox I’ve ever heard of, too. I once took on an Icebox, one of the most wanted fugitives in the country, and he didn’t hold a candle to Zhao. Provided we survive this, the kid’s got a future.”
“I would say send him away, but I sincerely doubt he would go.” Heinrich shook his head. “In fact, I know he would not. He reminds me of myself at that age, and no matter how lost a cause it may be, your home is still your home.”
“Even you left Dead City eventually.”
Heinrich shrugged. “And a lost cause is lost. Sometimes it simply takes longer for some of us to realize it. I come from a very obstinate people.”
“I know.” Sullivan chuckled. He had gained a lot of respect for Heinrich since he had met the Grimnoir. The German simply did not know how to quit. “I fought in a war against your bunch. Working with you has reminded me of why it was so damn hard to win, you stubborn Kraut.”
“Why thank you, Jake.” Heinrich took out a pack of smokes and a book of matches and offered them to Sullivan. His had been soaked in the river, so he was glad to see that someone had thought ahead to stash vital supplies. “Speaking of lost causes, Shanghai has suffered greatly under the Imperium’s boot. I have tried to prepare these knights for the presence of our Iron Guard.” There was a sudden crash from inside the bowels of the rotting building, followed immediately by some agitated shouting in Chinese. “And there he is now.”
“So Toru’s met the Shanghai Grimnoir.” Sullivan sighed as he struck a match and lit up. The hot smoke felt good in the lungs, and as a bonus, Jane the Healer was back in America, so she couldn’t yell at him about emphysema or cancers. “Let’s go keep them from murdering each other.”
The central area had once been several individual rooms, but someone had torn out many of the interior walls to burn the wood to stay warm. The walls were covered in trophies taken from the Imperium military, broken weapons, uniforms, torn flags, all the sorts of things that a resistance found motivating. In one corner was some of the equipment smuggled there from the Traveler. In the other corner was what passed as their kitchen area, and in it was Toru, standing there all surly, with his arms folded, while some of the local Grimnoir yelled at him. One of them was really agitated, and had picked up a meat cleaver and was pointing it at Toru’s face.
“Easy there,” Sullivan warned, because Toru would more than likely just take that cleaver away and bury it in the man’s skull. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. It was confusing. Zhao introduced everyone, but everyone in Shanghai seems to have three names each, and I can’t tell which is first, last, or a nickname.”
“Hey, Meat Cleaver!” Sullivan raised his voice, and since he still had his “sergeant’s voice” when he spoke from the chest, it made the entire building vibrate. “Knock it off.” Either he spoke enough English, or that got through in any language, but it worked, and he lowered the weapon. “What’s the problem in here?”
“This peasant fool does not realize what he has.” Toru gestured roughly toward one of the captured trophies. “That helmet is incredibly valuable.”
Helmet? It looked like some weird, stylized, oriental art piece, until Sullivan realized it was upside down. It had big horns, either for decoration or a real nasty head-butt, only the horns had been pounded into the floor, and the interior of the helmet had been used as an ashtray. “Damn it, Toru, I can’t take you anywhere. Let the man have his ashtray.”
“You do not understand. This is part of an extremely valuable weapon system.” Toru reached for the ashtray, but Meat Cleaver, who was a chunky, red-faced, angry sort, started jabbering again. Toru paused. “Out of respect for our mission, do not make me gut this imbecile.”
There were a bunch of people staying at the safe house, and every one of them who wasn’t on guard duty had come in to see what the commotion was about. Luckily, Zhao was one of them. The kid looked haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, which was to be expected, because expending that much Power at one time was physically exhausting. Zhao barked an order, and Meat Cleaver, though he was probably twice Zhao’s age, immediately complied, dropped his weapon on the floor and took two steps back. He did not, however, stop arguing.
“What’s he saying?”
Zhao looked at Toru with barely concealed hostility. “I would prefer not to translate. It may upset our guest.”
“He’s my responsibility,” Sullivan said.
“I am taking this helmet. I do not care what this wretched pig-dog has to say—”
“Shut it, Toru.”
The Iron Guard clamped his mouth so tight that if he hadn’t had Brute-hard teeth they probably would’ve shattered. It was either that or let out a response that would’ve surely started a gun fight. After a few seconds his jaw muscles unclenched enough for him to mutter, “Fine.”
“Pang says he killed an Iron Guard in a fierce battle, and he was wearing this armor.”
Toru snorted. “It is more likely they murdered him in his sleep and stole his helmet. This tub of fat could not best an Iron Guard in fierce battle, especially one wearing Nishimura Combat Armor. The only thing he might be able to defeat an Iron Guard in would be a dumpling-eating contest.”