The Walled City Page 4

  This is Longwai: leader of the Brotherhood, god of knives and needles, king of this little hell.

  “This is the boy you brought to do the job?” The drug lord’s voice is like a junkyard dog’s. Throaty. Growling. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  I throw another glance at the kid. He’s all eyes, shoulders hunched and arms still crossed as he takes in the opium smokers. The crimson light of the brothel’s lanterns hollows out Jin’s face. Shows just how many meals he’s missed. One gust of wind could probably knock him flat.

  There’s a cramp in my stomach, but I push it down, ignore it. I don’t have the luxury of doubt and second guesses. It’s this or the chopping block.

  “He’s the best,” I tell the drug lord. “I give you my word.”

  “No need.” Longwai’s grin couldn’t be more like a dragon’s: predatory and sharp. Capped off with false golden teeth. “I’ll take your life instead.”

  The burn in my gut turns into a broil. But then I think of the boots that sit just down the hall. I look back at the dead-coal fierceness of the kid’s eyes.

  I should be okay.

  Longwai nods over to the far corner. A man dressed in a nice black suit appears at Longwai’s shoulder. He holds a bag of white powder wrapped in the shape of a brick.

  Longwai takes the package and weighs it in his hands. “Do you know where the night market is, boy?”

  “In City Beyond?” Jin manages to hide most of the shake in his voice, but it’s still in his shoulders.

  “Yes. Seng Ngoi.” He scowls at the kid’s slang. “Take the package to the last stall on the west corner. There’s an old man there selling jade carvings. Deliver this to him, take what he gives you, and return here. My man will be watching to make sure that the exchange occurs as planned. Your partner will stay here until your return. And if you don’t, then he’ll have a nice, long appointment with my knife.”

  The kid’s face goes a shade paler. My fingers start twitching again. They’re tapping a frenzied, double-time staccato while I watch Jin tuck the package into his tunic and sprint for the door.

  “Have a seat.” Longwai’s gold teeth flash again as he gestures to an empty couch.

  I suck in a deep breath and flop down on the sagging cushion.

  Time to get to work.

  JIN LING

  Runs into City Beyond are dangerous. The police don’t come into the Walled City. But they’re always outside. Waiting. More than a few vagrants have ended up in jail for doing outside runs.

  There are no police now as I jog through the wide, clean streets. Just flaring neon signs, the slick shine of cars, and an open sky, dark and pouring rain. All of me is soaked when I reach the night market—my clothes, my hair. The only thing that isn’t wet is the package. It lies snug between the bindings on my chest and my shirt.

  The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back to the brothel. Keep searching all those painted faces for the only one that matters.

  The man with the jade carvings makes a point not to stare when I scuttle toward his stall. He busies himself polishing a long line of tiny animal figurines.

  “Put it there,” the stall-keeper whispers, and nudges the basket by his feet. It lies under his table of merchandise, easily ignored.

  I look around. There aren’t many shoppers here in the far corner of the market. A young couple stands by the stall next to us, looking at jewelry while the vendor punches numbers into his calculator. The boy has his arm around the girl’s shoulder. They’re laughing. Together. It’s a strange, happy sound. Reminding me of how much I don’t have.

  My hand slips into my tunic and leaves the brick at the bottom of a shabby, splintering basket. I stay close to the table, close enough to grab the bundle back if I need to.

  “Where’s my package?” I ask.

  For the first time, the jade dealer actually glances at me. I realize how ratty I must look—thin like bamboo, dripping and streaked with mud. I don’t belong here. With these happy, laughing people—these crummy, overpriced statues and scarves.

  “Tell your… friend… that there’s been a slight delay. I’ll make up the payment in a few days. Tell him I’ll send a boy of my own.”

  I don’t move. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. I’m supposed to get the package… the money… to bring back. If I don’t do that, I don’t complete my mission. I fail and Dai dies.

  This last thought catches me. Sharper than a fisherman’s hook. Why am I worried about Dai? He’s not the reason I’m running and fighting. If he gets knifed, it’s his own fault. He knew exactly what he was getting into when he crossed the threshold of Longwai’s brothel.

  I tell myself this, but I can’t shake this feeling. The crush of this older boy’s life on my chest.

  “You look like a smart boy.” The stall-keeper smiles, flashing a row of crooked yellow teeth. “Your friend will understand, I’m sure. We go a long way back, him and me. My word’s good with him.”

  He’s right. I am smart. Smart enough to have rules. Smart enough to survive.

  Trust no one. The second rule flashes through my head, wailing and police-siren bright. Maybe this man is telling the truth, but there’s no way I’m going back to Longwai’s brothel empty-handed.

  “My friend will understand?” I ask. It’s a trick I learned early on in the streets—if you act stupid, people don’t pay attention. They don’t expect anything.

  “Oh, yes.” The man’s grin splits wider. “He knows where to find me. No?”

  “I guess so.…”

  When the moment is right, I lunge. Throw my body under the table with blind effort. The basket falls over in my rush; the brick spills out. I reach for it, only to have my hand caught by the stall-keeper’s fingers. He swears at me, trying to pull me out from under the table. The man’s grip is strong. His fingers dig into my wrist so hard that tears blur my eyes.

  My knife is under my tunic, easy to reach. I grab it and aim the blade straight into my captor’s arm.

  His scream is awful. He jerks back. Blood, red and thick, pours everywhere. I grab the brick and do what I do best. Run.

  DAI

  Longwai hasn’t paid much attention to me since the kid left. He’s slouched in his chair, taking long draws from his pipe. Opium smoke spills into the air like ink, making a ghost ring around his head. I watch it, trying to look listless while my mind is racing. From the corner of my eye, I see the guards, black-clad and hulking by the hall.

  What I need isn’t here in the lounge. Not like I actually expected it to be. Most men don’t keep their prized possession lying in the middle of an opium den.

  There are four entrances to the lounge. All of them are wide and arched, stretching into dark halls. Four possibilities. My eyes dart among them, trying to get glimpses into the shadows for any hints.

  But hints won’t help. Not if I can’t find a way off this couch.

  I look at Longwai. His eyes are closed, face slack like a cat in a patch of warm sun.

  “I need to piss.” I make my voice hard, matter-of-fact.

  He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even open his eyes. But I still know he heard me because of the way his lips thin and twitch.

  “You got a bathroom I can use?” I ask, this time louder.

  His eyes stay shut. I feel like a kid with a stick, poking not-so-tenderly at a snoozing dragon. It would be stupid to push harder, but today’s number burns in the back of my mind. Sixteen days.

  I think of it, swallow, and make one more prod. “You got anything? A can?”

  “Hold it,” he growls.

  “Can’t.” I poke back.

  One eye opens, dark and webbed with tiny red veins.

  “You’re awfully demanding for a vagrant.” His words all slur together when he says this. “Well-dressed, too.”

  My chest feels tight, like an empty cola can being crushed under someone’s knuckles. I try to breathe long and slow—the way my English tutor used to make me do whenever I pan
icked over my lessons—but there’s too much smoke in the air.

  I’ve never claimed to be a vagrant. It’s just an assumption people make. I always let them, because it’s better than explaining the truth. Who I am. What I’ve done. Facts that would change Longwai’s attitude toward me very quickly.

  “I get by.” I shrug.

  If he’s disappointed with my answer, then he doesn’t show it. He shuts his eye again and waves a hand toward the closest man in black. “Fung will show you where it is.”

  Fung, a surly man with a nasty red facial tattoo, doesn’t look too pleased with this task. He glares and shuffles down the west hall, always keeping me in arm’s reach. I walk slow, take in as much detail as I can. Every door we pass is shut, locks on the outside. There are placards in the center, names etched in red paint. These characters blend with the scarlet lanterns that hover over our heads. From some angles they’re invisible.

  “Here.” Fung throws his shoulder against a sliver of door. It’s barely wider than my chest, cracking open to reveal a dark, musty space. “Hurry your ass up.”

  I don’t waste time in the filth closet. The only thing I’ve accomplished on this venture is figuring out that what I’m looking for isn’t down this hall. Only girls’ rooms and a putrid, open sewer pipe.

  My hands shove deep into my hoodie’s pockets as I trail Fung back to the lounge. No more using the bathroom as an excuse to look around. I’ll have to find some other way. Build up trust and feign interest in the Brotherhood. Create some sort of diversion.

  Voices, sharp and sparring, like fencing swords, jerk me out of my plotting. They’re so loud they even make Fung stop. He hovers at the end of the hall with me behind him, listening.

  “No one else sees her, do they?” a man asks. Something about his voice is familiar, makes me twitchy. It has a foreign sound to it, like a knife chopping liver. The same way my mother speaks. His syllables stab me with homesickness.

  Longwai’s voice is easy to recognize. “Of course not. You bought out her time long ago. I’m a man of my word. I thought you knew that, Osamu.”

  My arm hair prickles. That voice. That name… Osamu. I do know him. I know how he gets drunk on bottles of imported sake and sweet-talks women at his fancy embassy parties. I remember his face perfectly.

  He probably won’t remember mine—it’s been a long time since I’ve been to any parties or embassies. But I can’t take the risk. Not here. I bring my hands out of my pockets and yank my hood up, in case Fung decides we can interrupt.

  “If I find out you’ve been cheating me…” the politician growls. “If I find out she’s been with others, I’ll—”

  “I’d think long and hard before making any threats, Osamu.” Longwai’s voice is unbending, set in stone. “You might have power in Seng Ngoi, but this is my territory. My rules. Your diplomatic immunity means shit here.”

  “You aren’t as untouchable as you think you are,” Osamu rumbles.

  No, he’s not. Not if I can find what I’m looking for and do what needs to be done.

  My heart claws even higher in my chest, up my throat. So many people, so many officials went to great lengths to keep “the day” shielded from Longwai’s wide infrastructure of knowledge. They rooted out moles with lie detectors and double agents. Kept all the details on the strictest security level and their one loophole: me.

  And now Osamu’s here running his mouth, threatening to expose it all.

  But Osamu wouldn’t know… would he? He’s a foreign diplomat, with no interest in Seng Ngoi’s city politics. I’m probably just reading into his words. Sliding my own fears between the syllables.

  Longwai laughs. “I’m glad we understand each other. Did you only drop in for a chat or were you planning to cash in on your interests?”

  “I was on my way to see her, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten my bouquet. The woman who usually sells them on the street wasn’t there this evening. I’ll have to find another vendor.”

  The drug lord’s laughter continues, gaining speed and volume like an avalanche. “You don’t need flowers to get bedded, Osamu. Your coin is good enough there.”

  “No, I don’t suppose a man like you would appreciate subtleties.” Osamu says this without fear. “I need the flowers. I’ll be back.”

  I hold my breath and listen, but all I hear are footsteps in the other direction. Osamu is gone. Good.

  When Fung leads me back in, the men are laid out on the couches, stoned and still, like nothing ever happened. Only Longwai is visibly awake, his normally lazy eyes bulging and agitated.

  “Can you believe it?” He seems to be talking to no one in particular, but his eyes are quick to find me. “Threatening me? Over something as trivial as that girl… Fool’s obsessed with her. He brings her flowers and gifts like an actual lover. He even paid for a whole extra month of services so I’d move her into the only room with a window.”

  Window. My mind snags on the word. If there’s a window, then there’s another way in.

  The shine of ranting slips out of Longwai’s black eyes. He studies me, intent, and I realize my hood is still up. “How old are you, boy?”

  For a brief moment I consider lying, but that would be unnecessary. Not to mention stupid. “Eighteen.”

  “And you haven’t joined any of those ragtag groups that fancy themselves gangs? Most boys your age were snatched up long ago. Unless you’ve been holding out for an invitation…”

  It’s not hard to guess what he’s hinting at—an invitation to be inducted into the Brotherhood. To officially join the ranks of murderers, thieves, and drug addicts. To organize my crimes. In a completely different life, I might’ve leaped at the invitation. If I were starving, living day to day like Jin or Kuen or so many of the other vagrants here, I would have screamed yes. Begged it.

  But Longwai’s not offering. And even if he were, I wouldn’t take it. While it would be a surefire way of gaining his trust, joining the Brotherhood as I am now—going through its elaborate, invasive rites of passage—will expose me. Get me knifed into little pieces and killed. My secrets would not keep if Longwai looks close enough.

  It’s not worth the risk. Not yet.

  “I prefer to be on my own. Fewer complications.” Because this is true, I have little trouble saying it.

  “What about the other boy? Jin?”

  Shit. The old man doesn’t miss much. I manage to keep my face straight. “You said this job took two, so I brought two. He’s disposable.”

  “And yet you’re the one facing the knife if he doesn’t come back with what I want.… The disposable one.” His last sentence hangs in the air like bait, begging me to bite, wrestle, fight.

  I stare down at my toes. They remind me of the freshwater eels in the tanks of the seafood restaurants, alive but cramped, stacked on top of one another until I don’t see how there’s any room for them to move at all.

  Don’t fight him. It’s not why you’re here.

  I look at my toes and think of the window. My next move in this intricate game of escape.

  “Kid’s back,” a guard calls from the front hall.

  “Is that so?” Longwai settles back in his chair, resumes his sleepy-cat-king position. “Well, boy, we’ll see if you made the right choice, trusting that kid.”

  Trust. The word buzzes funny in my head, like a hangover. I guess that is what I had to do. Trust him to come back. Trust him to spare me Longwai’s knife. We’ll see if I was right.

  Even though my hoodie is thick and almost too warm, I can’t help but shiver.

  JIN LING

  Longwai’s brothel is a lot warmer than my tarp camp. I’m shaking anyway. The stall-keeper’s blood is gone, washed clean by the downpour. But his screams cling to my ears. Grow louder with every step I take. Longwai’s man is behind me. He’s been there ever since I ran from the market.

  I hug the brick of drugs to my chest. The same way I hold Chma when the nights dip into cold. Shiver, shake, scream. The hallway stretches o
n and on. Door after door after door. But finally I reach the end: Longwai’s couch. The leader of the Brotherhood opens his bloodshot eyes. They narrow at the package in my arms. My failure.

  I never should’ve taken this job.

  Dai’s on the edge of his couch. The confident, smirking mask he wore in my alley is gone. There’s a green tinge to his face. Sprouting like moss. He looks as sick as I feel.

  I shouldn’t worry about him. I can’t. But the weight of his life keeps crushing. Pressing into my ribs and lungs. Reminds me that I still have a heart.

  I can stab a man, but I can’t let one die. Not on my watch.

  “Problem?” Longwai growls.

  My mouth is as dry as a field in a drought. It takes me a few tries to form the right words. “I-I wasn’t able to finish the trade, s-sir. I found the man who sold the jade carvings. I delivered the package, just like you told me to.”

  “And?” His question is severe. Chilling. It takes every piece of my courage to keep talking.

  “He didn’t want to give me the money. He said he would pay later. He told me you would understand.”

  “And you didn’t believe him?”

  I shake my head. What if the jade dealer really is one of Longwai’s close friends? The molding orange half I ate before I came twists in my stomach. All citrus and churn.

  Longwai points at the block in my damp hands. “So you took back the package? Just like that?”

  “He tried to stop me and I stabbed him. Then I ran.”

  Dai’s breath pulls fast into his body. A sharp noise. His left foot bounces on the floor. A nervous beat. Tapping at the same speed as my heart.

  “Is this true?” Longwai isn’t talking to me. Instead, his very dark eyes drift over me. Behind me.

  The man in black—my temporary shadow—shrugs. “He squealed like a stuck pig.”

  The leader of the Brotherhood laughs so hard his whole body shakes. The red dragon on his sleeve shivers, as if it’s about to burst into flame. He laughs and I know the stories are true. All of them.