Page 18 of A Case of Possession
“Look for flagpoles, Miss Saint,” Crane told her. “Maybe one, possibly more. Standing proud of any nearby chimneys or walls, positioned to be visible. They may have several flags, they will definitely have long slender red pennants, and—can I borrow a pencil? Thanks. You may also see this symbol here on square red flags. When I say ‘this symbol’,” Crane added, with eight months’ painful experience, “I mean one exactly like that, rather than one which is also made up of some lines.”
Saint gave him a malevolent look, but took the paper on which he’d sketched the character and slouched off down a nearby alley. The rest of them moved to the street corner, out of the way of walkers and shufflers. Janossi glared at a beggar till he went away. Esther Gold looked after Saint, turned back to Crane with arms folded, and said, as one at the limits of her patience, “And may we know what flagpoles have to do with the serious problem that we’re supposed to be dealing with at this moment?”
Crane glanced round. “I’d rather this wasn’t overheard.”
Stephen made a quick twitch of his fingers. The noise of the street was abruptly muted. “It won’t be. Go on.”
“The flagpoles she’s looking for are ghost poles.” Crane settled his shoulders back against a sun-warmed brick wall which was nevertheless still slightly clammy with long damp. “It’s a very old shamanic practice. The idea is that when you die, while your body is prepared for burial, there is a chance that your soul will go wandering. If it can’t find its way back to your body, it might become a hungry ghost or even take over someone else’s body and become achiang-shih, a vampire. So the ghost pole is put up where the body rests, to help your spirit find its way back.”
“And whose perturbed spirit is in danger of getting lost?” asked Stephen.
Crane gave him a swift smile. “That’s the thing. You see, ghost poles aren’t usual these days, even in China. I doubt many people around here get the standard funerary rituals, let alone the ancient trappings. But there is one class of person for whom you would be insane not to erect a ghost pole. Even if you wanted their death an absolute secret, even if you were modern and enlightened, even if you barely believed in spirits at all, you would put up a ghost pole for them.”
Esther was frowning slightly. “And they are?”
“Shamans,” said Crane. “Practitioners. The lost souls of shamans make vampire ghosts of appalling evil and depravity. No offence.”
There was a silence.
Janossi spoke first. “Are you pulling our legs?”
“No, he’s not,” Stephen said.
“You think the shamans are dead.” Esther unfolded her arms. “That’s why they wouldn’t let us see them?”
“Li Tang wouldn’t speak their names aloud, no matter how I pushed him, which is suggestive—it would attract the wandering soul’s attention to name them while they’re still unburied. And it is not Li Tang’s, or anyone else’s, place to control access to shamans. Shamans see whoever they want to. They don’t hide away. Everything about the conversation I just had was wrong—unless he was trying to conceal that the men we were discussing were dead.” Crane raised his hands. “I don’t know. This is guesswork. I might be mistaken. But in my view, if that business had been intended simply as a snub, it would have been delivered in a way that left no room for other interpretation. My gut feeling is that you couldn’t see the shamans because they aren’t there to see.”
“How recently would this have happened?” asked Esther.
Crane shrugged. “If the ghost poles are up, they’ll have died within the last three days. That’s all I can say. But, bear in mind, Li Tang wasn’t just trying to bluff me, he was speaking to be heard by the people around him. I suspect he’s under orders to keep it quiet. Are there other Chinese shamans here?”
“Not ones we’ve been permitted to meet. They don’t deign to mix with us, apparently, but it’s hard to say. Rackham was our only point of contact and he”—Stephen clearly changed what he was going to say—“he’s not available for discussion.”
“Here’s Saint,” said Esther.
The girl came sauntering round the corner a moment later, with a cocky little sneer, which evaporated as everyone turned to her simultaneously and Esther demanded, “Well? Flagpoles?”
Saint nodded. “Two of ’em, looking like he said. What’s this about?”
“Well, well,well.” Stephen’s eyes met Crane’s for a second, glowing warm, and flicked away again. “Nicely done, my lord. And what do we suppose they died of?”
“Rats,” said Janossi.
“Or a knife in the ribs,” Crane suggested.
Esther’s dark brows contracted. “Why?”
“It’s why I wonder if you’re looking in the right place. Look, will you all come back to my office? There’s something else that you may need to know, and it might take a little while to explain. And I think we could use Merrick, my man, at this time.”
“My man?” muttered Janossi.
“Be quiet, Joss,” said Esther. “Lord Crane, if Saint identifies the addresses marked by the flagpoles, might we—you—be able to find out from the Chinese about the deaths, if they are practitioners, and what killed them?”
“I can try.”
“Good. Saint, get back up there and find the flagpoles, and then meet us at Lord Crane’s office. Do not even think about trying to act alone. Lead on, your lordship.”
Chapter Seven
