Page 63 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
"That's all I know." Without even a goodbye, the mist drifted off.
"Well, that was rude," I said, finally pushing myself to my feet. Except my feet wouldn't obey and I fell back onto the bed once more. I tried, and failed, again. I yawned and closed my heavy eyelids. "I might rest here a few moments."
"Not yet," Gordon said. "I got you, Miss Charlie." He scooped me into his arms and turned toward the door. I opened my eyes when he didn't move.
The Chinamen still barred the doorway, but he now shook from head to toe, his eyes huge as he stared at Gordon. Mr. Lee stood beside him, a gun in hand. He seemed more composed, or perhaps he thought the cadaver advancing on him was merely an opium-fueled illusion. Either way, he was unperturbed. He lowered his gun, bowed, and backed out through the doorway.
Gordon went to follow, but the young Chinaman wasn't quite so calm. Sweat dripped from his temples and beaded on his bare top lip. The hand that held the pistol shook as he raised it.
"Put it down." If I'd had any doubts that Gordon had been in the army, his command would have banished them. "Let us pass."
The Chinaman said something in his native tongue, shook his head, and fired.
CHAPTER 11
The sound of shattering glass set off a sequence of seemingly disconnected events. The room went dark—or perhaps I'd closed my eyes. I spun around and around, like I was on an out of control carousel. But wasn't Gordon holding me? My head swam. My stomach lurched. I fell.
I landed on something soft, much to my aching head's appreciation. I passed a hand over my stinging eyes—they were definitely open—and felt around me.
I touched something. An arm, a shoulder, a face and hair. The corpse on the bed. I screamed, but it was lost in the din of noise that had exploded in the room. Voices blended together like an out of tune orchestra, some shouting, others groaning. I heard my name, but I couldn't be certain who'd called it.
I stopped screaming. I pushed myself up into a sitting position. The gunshot! I checked myself over, but I was unharmed.
A fight had broken out near the door where some light filtered through from the main room. Gordon wrestled with a man who seemed to be a match for him. But how could that be? The dead possessed superior strength when raised. No mere human could dodge his rapid-fire punches then get in pounding blows of their own that had Gordon stumbling backward. Gordon reacted by kicking out, but his opponent anticipated that too and jumped out of the way. A kick to the back of Gordon's knees unbalanced him, and in the blink of an eye, my bodyguard was pinned to the floor beneath—
"Lincoln? Is that you?" I squinted into the dimness then got off the bed, only to find my legs wouldn't obey me. I collapsed back onto the mattress.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his breathing a little faster than usual.
"Yes. But why did you attack Gordon?"
Gordon grunted into the floorboards. "A good question."
Lincoln leaned closer to Gordon's face then got off him. "I didn't know it was him." He came to the bed and knelt in front of me. At least, I thought he was directly in front of me. It was difficult to tell. My eyes seemed to be playing tricks on me, and at times he appeared to be several feet away. "We need to leave. Can you stand?"
"Not very well."
He glanced over his shoulder and said a few unintelligible words to the young Oriental man standing near the curtained doorway. He held the gun loosely at his side, but his wide eyes stared at Gordon as my bodyguard stood up. Gordon took a step forward and the Oriental inched back, muttering something under his breath. Mr. Lee was nowhere to be seen.
Lincoln picked me up and I snuggled into him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Thank you," I murmured.
Gordon held the curtain back and we passed through. Mr. Lee was once more sitting on his cushion, a pipe plugged into his mouth. Some of the other smokers were sitting up, their droopy-lidded eyes following our progress as Lincoln picked his way through the collection of bodies sprawled on the floor.
"Thank you, Mr. Lee," I said to the ancient Chinaman. "Please notify us again if the captain returns."
He made no acknowledgement, simply dragged on his pipe and blew out a long chain of smoke. Gordon, my jacket in his hand, went first down the stairs, and Lincoln and I followed behind. Outside, the blissfully cool air soothed my eyes and hot skin. I never thought London's air could smell so sweet, but after the thick fumes of the opium, it was the freshest air in the world.
The young Chinaman had followed us down. He said something to Lincoln in his own tongue, pointed at Gordon, and slammed the door shut.
"I don't think he likes me," Gordon said cheerfully.
"The Chinese don't like spirits of the dead walking through their homes," Lincoln told him. "They believe it brings bad luck."
"That's not very nice." I closed my eyes and breathed deeply again. "They ought to get to know the spirits individually rather than make a blanket ruling against them."
Gordon chuckled. "Your fairness knows no bounds, Miss Charlie." We walked a few paces and then he spoke again, the good humor absent from his voice. "Are you hurt?"
Lincoln's arms tightened around me. When he didn't answer, I realized Gordon was asking me.
