Chapter 29

Annabeth had a rental car. She still wouldn’t let Chun sit in the back seat, so he sat in the passenger seat, and Halloway sat in back.

“They stopped by The Atrium again,” Annabeth said. “They went inside empty-handed, and they left with two big suitcases. I followed them due south out of the city, where I lost them.”

“Take us to where you lost them,” Halloway said.

She drove southeast, passing from the wealthy homes in the heights around Bianchi’s into tracts of broken-down hovels and dismal apartments. After that they passed through a homeless camp, where people with improvised tents and bundles of dirty clothing and blankets watched them pass.

“No wonder there’s no traffic on this road,” Halloway said. “Anyone who drives through here on a regular basis is likely to run into some kind of trouble.”

A small river ran alongside the homeless camp for about two miles, and then they met a T-intersection and crossed the river on a one-lane bridge. Annabeth drove another five miles to a three-way fork in the road.

“This is where I lost them. I thought it would be stupid to keep bumbling around alone out here, so I headed back.”

“That was the right thing to do,” Halloway said. “Chun, do you have any way to tell which way they went?”

Chun got out and stretched his breath out. He searched for a hundred yards in every direction, but could not sense Heyerdahl, let alone Archibald. There was a stink of darkness down the center road in the fork.

“I don’t sense Archibald or Heyerdahl, but you don’t have to get very far away for that to happen. I do sense occult power. Someone has traveled up and down this center road several times, and their presence is burned into the road.”

Annabeth and Halloway got out and joined him. “What do you mean, burned?” Halloway looked down at the road.

Chun pointed to a small weed in a crack in the road. It was brown and wilted. Others like it were spread down the sides of the road.

“It is subtle because it is on pavement, but something has killed everything here. There are no plants, worms, or bugs. The trail is barely wider than the road, and the worst damage is in the middle.”

“I see what you mean now,” Annabeth said. “What happens if it gets close to us?”

Chun squatted and poked the dead weed with his fingertip. “I do not know enough to say.”

“You think Archibald found his weapon?” Halloway fidgeted as he looked around.

“Perhaps. These signs and his search for such a thing seem likely to be more than coincidence,” Chun said.

Halloway turned between Annabeth and Chun. “Recommendations?”

“Go back to town and find a map so we have some idea what’s farther down the road,” Annabeth said.

“I agree,” Chun said. “A map will help us figure out the best way to scout this area and tell us where we can run without cornering ourselves, should that become necessary.”

* * *

They went to their rooms, but Annabeth came through the connecting door after half a minute. “Did you get a gift from management?” there was a slight edge to her voice.

Chun washed his hands and stepped out of the bathroom. “I don’t know.”

“You mean this?” Halloway asked, holding up a bottle of brilliantly colored yellow-orange liquor.

“I think you should put that down,” Annabeth said.

Halloway frowned but set the bottle on a nearby lamp table. Chun walked over and smelled the bottle, then one of Halloway’s hands.

“You’re fine.” He picked the bottle up and opened it, then wafted some of the aroma toward his nose. “Good instincts, Annabeth. This has kerana in it.” He recapped the bottle. “What did you get?”

“I’m still going to wash my hands,” Halloway said, and headed for the bathroom.

Annabeth led him to the table in the kitchen portion of her suite. A bottle of bright-green liquor sat in the middle of the table. It had a bow tied around the bottle’s neck, and a card on it.

“Compliments of management,” Chun read out loud. “What made you suspicious?”

“I smell a strange man in here. Our cleaning service has been provided by women so far.”

Chun picked the bottle up and opened it. “I can’t smell anything this time. Just the licorice they flavored it with.”

Halloway walked in, drying his hands on a hand towel. “What’s that?”

Chun sniffed it again, then tipped his head back and poured some into his mouth. He swished it around and breathed through it to intensify the odors, then he spit it into the sink.

“At the moment my theory is that there’s nothing wrong with Annabeth’s bottle. We’ll see if I have any kind of reaction from having it in my mouth. If that goes well, I’ll try swallowing some of it,” Chun said.

“That doesn’t sound safe,” Halloway said.

Chun held the bottle up and watched the way the light played through the liquid. “Nothing is perfectly safe. If they have a poison in here, I would like to identify it.”

Halloway pressed his lips. “How about if we take it home and let Abraham do some lab tests on it?”

“That is a good idea,” Chun said. “I am accustomed to making do in the field.”

“Why would they poison yours and not mine?” Annabeth narrowed her eyes.

Chun shrugged. “Who knows. Perhaps they like you better. Or they think we will share.”

Annabeth cocked her head. “Why don’t you think I did it?”

Chun closed the bottle and set it down. “If you did it, then you made some careless mistakes. I don’t associate careless mistakes with you.”

“But not because you are beginning to trust me?”

“No.”

“You called me your friend at Bianchi’s.”

Halloway chuckled. “Always present a united front to outsiders. That’s why I didn’t throw a fit when Chun tried to make a ten-million-dollar bet.”

“How close were you to losing that fight?” Annabeth smirked again. It seemed to be a defensive mechanism for her.

Chun snorted. “The level of skill Janson displayed would not be enough to gain him entrance at a good school in Fu Tan.”

Halloway frowned. “According to the buzz around the crowd, he’s a five-time world champion.”

Chun laughed. “Why is a five-time world champion working as a maître d’? If his sport cannot even pay for his groceries, then the number of people in that sport will be limited to the few who are obsessed with it, and those who are wealthy enough to ignore the financial aspects.

“In Fu Tan the winner of the emperor’s tournament was given a prestigious position on the emperor’s personal guard. There was a large prize of gold, land, or a combination of the two--winner’s choice. The tournament was a legitimate way for a poor family to become landowners, and even nobles. Or for a wealthy family to cement their position.

“The best swords in the empire fought in the tournament. In rare cases the emperor even allowed foreign contestants.”

Annabeth walked into her bedroom. “Keep talking, I can hear you. Did you ever fight in this tournament?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Halloway said. “How many times?”

“Fifty-four. I lost the first year, and then won the next fifty-three years.”

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Annabeth walked back into the kitchen while she finished buttoning a new blouse. Halloway promptly turned his back. Chun considered turning away, but still wasn’t ready to let her walk up behind him.

“You won the premier sporting event in your country fifty-three years in a row?” Annabeth asked.

“My mother was commander of the emperor’s guard. My father was a general. Both of them were previous winners, as was our chief steward. I had the best possible instruction, and there are few things I enjoy more than practicing.”

“Fifty-three seems like a lot,” Halloway said.

Chun smiled. “The preparation is--was--intense. I had a special diet, and a rigorous training regimen. The year following a win, a champion is the emperor’s sword--you represent him in matters of honor. I fought over two hundred duels over those years.”

“No wonder you’re so scarred up,” Halloway said.

Chun shook his head. “Only a handful of my scars are from dueling. Duels are usually for points or first blood. A few are fought to the death. I won eight of those.”

“Okay, you were never in any danger from Janson,” Annabeth said. “You’ve changed our status here. Our presence is no longer secret. The timing of this poisoned liquor suggests they knew about us before today, but even if that is not the case, news of Chun’s duel will travel.”

Halloway went to the telephone. “I’m going to call Jhon and let him know we’ve been spotted. I’ll ask for a charter flight that will just wait at the airport. That way we’ll have a way to make a hasty retreat if need be.”

Annabeth turned toward the door. “Three men coming.”

“Armed?” Halloway moved his hand from the phone to his holster.

She looked at Chun and raised her eyebrows.

“Yes, holstered.”

Halloway drew his sidearm and pointed it at the floor. Annabeth produced a pistol of her own. Chun went to the door. Three children would pose no challenge if it came to a fight. He opened the door as one of the men raised his fist to knock.

“Gentlemen, please come in.”

Two of them were in their thirties, one blonde, the other black haired, fit and trying to project an aura of threat. The third was sixty, dressed in a perfectly cut gray suit with white shirt and black tie to match his hair.

“Thank you, I am Daral Montague. This is Rake,” he gestured toward the black-haired younger man, “and this is Dinklage.”

Halloway holstered his pistol and stepped forward to shake hands. “Jacob Halloway. This is Annabeth Toy, and Chun Fan. What brought you to us?”

Montague smiled. “I know you are all employees of the Solomon Bureau of Antiquities. You are here because of Lotar Heyerdahl. To gather information, arrest him, perhaps assassinate him, or even rob him?”

Halloway gestured toward the seating near the balcony. “Please, let’s sit and chat for a minute or two.”

“I would like that,” Montague said.

“We would offer you a drink, but I’m afraid this isn’t a good vintage,” Halloway said, motioning to the bottle of poisoned liquor.

“Indeed,” Montague said. “My favorite food taster died after sampling a similar bottle.”

“Do you know who sent it?” Chun didn’t trust this man, he was akin to the pimps Chun loved robbing.

Montague shook his head. “I fear not, though Heyerdahl or Gratian Buchanan seem like the best candidates.”

Halloway settled into a chair, and Montague took the end of a long sofa, leaving room for his associates. Chun picked a chair near Halloway. Annabeth put her sidearm away and walked out to stand behind Chun.

He clenched his jaw. It wouldn’t do to get up and move with company watching, but he did not like having her there.

“Gratian Buchanan of the Solomon crime family?” Halloway crossed a leg over the other.

“Precisely,” Montague said. “They have been trying to build influence on my island for the last few years. This time he is finding some success. I hoped we could help each other.”

Halloway nodded, “What’s the ask?”

“Help me get Heyerdahl and Buchanan off of my island. Whether that is in a box or in chains makes no difference to me.”

“What’s the give?”

“To begin, information. Ultimately, whatever I need to do to succeed.”

He is accustomed to giving orders. Not forming partnerships.

“You are the most powerful man on the island,” Chun said. “Why do you need help?”

Montague looked Chun in the eyes. “Buchanan has put me in a position where I have to accept his presence or declare war. I would like to avoid war with them. I have much to lose, and nothing to gain.

“Heyerdahl is worse. We have not been able to infiltrate his organization, or even scout his property. My men simply disappear. I try to take good care of my employees, Mr. Chun. Having them vanish is bad for me, for my organization, and for the morale of the survivors.”

Annabeth spoke from behind Chun. “Why come to us?”

Montague pointed at her. “That is the question. The three of you went into Bianchi’s. There you had some sort of disagreement, and Mr. Chun defeated Layle Janson at fencing. Decisively, I’m told. I’m also told that Mr. Chun looks more like a brawler than a precision instrument. Seeing you in person makes it clear that the rumor was an understatement.

“Can you kill Heyerdahl, Mr. Chun?”

Chun shook his head. “He is stronger and faster than I am. It would be much better to maneuver him into a trap.”

Montague leaned forward. “Does your association with the Bureau of Antiquities mean that you understand Heyerdahl’s almost supernatural strength?”

“It does,” Halloway said. “I am the Director of Operations. Annabeth is our most proficient field agent, and Mr. Chun is a new employee, but I brought him here to deal with Heyerdahl.”

“If we cannot fight him, then what?” Montague gave a polite smile, but there was a tension in his cheeks.

Chun steepled his fingers. “The normal things. Blow him up, shoot him. We might burn or freeze him, but it would take far more time than it does for a human. Poisoning will work if we can somehow give him many times the normal dose. The real problem is getting around his suspicions. Drawing him into a trap will be difficult.”

Rake spoke for the first time. “Objections aside, if you were to fight him, what would you need?”

“Armor. A good warhorse. A legion of archers would be nice.”

“You misunderstand me, Mr. Chun,” Rake said. “I organize fights. The only time I put Heyerdahl in the ring he crushed his opponent. It was fast, effortless, and gruesome. But you are a superb fencer--”

Chun shook his head with vigor. “I have never seen a foil before. I am a master swordsman, but an amateur fencer.”

The three of them shared a wide-eyed look. “Do you think you could defeat Heyerdahl in a sword duel?” Rake’s voice was small and mousey.

Chun studied his feet. “With my old armor and weapons, perhaps. With weapons and armor we can find quickly, almost certainly not.”

“Nevertheless,” Montague said, “I would like to invite the three of you to dinner. Is this evening too much of an imposition?”

Halloway smiled. “This evening would be perfect. What can we bring?”

“Nonsense,” Montague said. “You are my guests. Bring your appetites.”