Exclusive – Thirteen Orphans by Jane Lindskold (Excerpt)

Books, Excerpt | Jay Tomio | December 7, 2008 at 3:43 am

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Thirteen Orphans by Jane Lindskold

    

“Kidnapping someone could cause lots of problems,” Brenda went on. “Remember how I wanted you to call the police when we found Albert Yu’s office all messed up? Try and pull off twelve kidnappings without the FBI finding connections between the people involved.”

     “In many cases,” Brenda’s father said, “the connections would be obvious. Auntie Pearl is a friend of our family. She has been something of a professional mentor to the current Rooster. I do business with both the Dragon and the Pig.”

     “The same restrictions would apply for murder, but the consequences would be even worse. I mean, murder gets the law interested, especially when famous people like Auntie Pearl are involved.”

     “Or Albert Yu,” Dad said almost grudgingly. “And several of the rest of us at least qualify as pillars of our communities.”

     “Fatal accidents might work,” Brenda said, “but twelve accidents that don’t get taken for something else… That would be tough. Tougher given that even if the law was fooled, that doesn’t mean the other members of the Twelve would be. And you keep track of each other, or at least some of you do of some of you.”

     Auntie Pearl raised a hand in almost regal interjection.

     “Murder or fatal accidents would offer another problem,” she said, “one you touched on before. Inheritance. Murder would not eliminate the member of the Twelve. It would simply pass their abilities to their heir apparent.”

     She glanced at the face of the slim diamond and emerald wristwatch that adorned one wrist. “It’s getting on to dinnertime here, which means that I can still make a call to the Rooster. Des lives in Santa Fe. I’ll warn him to be careful of strangers.”

     “How would Des know the difference there in Santa Fe?” Dad said. “They’re all strange there.”

     He grinned as he made the joke, but the expression was forced. “More seriously, doesn’t Des work in retail? It’s going to be hard for him to avoid strangers completely.”

     “Why don’t you use the phone in the bedroom?” Dad said. “I’ll get on my cell out here and call Deborah Van Bergerstein and Shen Kung. Those are the Pig and the Dragon,” he added to Brenda. “I’ll ask a few questions, see how they respond.”

     Auntie Pearl nodded. “Good. We should also look to getting someone out to Denver. That’s where, according to my last report, the Dog lives. I’ll call my travel agent after I talk to Des.”

     Brenda bit her lip to keep from asking any of the thousand questions this strange exchange evoked.

     “Dad, I’ll step out in the hall, call Mom and let her know we got here safely.”

     “Good,” Gaheris said, his own phone already in hand. “I’ll call her later when we know better what we’re doing.”

     When Brenda came back from making her call, she found Auntie Pearl and her dad in deep discussion. They stopped the minute she came in, but not, she felt, because they were trying to close her out.

     Dad turned to her. “Breni, we’re going to Denver tomorrow, you and me. Auntie Pearl is going to make some further inquiries into the well-being of the other members of the Twelve.”

*

     Pearl Bright’s eyes were shut, but her mind was racing. The results of the phone calls she and Gaheris had made between them had been disturbing. Des had taken her warning seriously, but several of the others had shown evidence of that same peculiar amnesia that she had witnessed in Albert Yu.

     They had remembered whatever ostensible reason they had for knowing her, but of the deeper mysteries that bound them they had remembered nothing at all.

     All of these were people Pearl had known all their lives. She was among the oldest of the Twelve, the only surviving first generation descendant of one of the original Orphans. The Tiger had been the youngest of the Orphans.

     Are you laughing, Old Tiger? she thought. Your challenge was that your allies considered you too young. Here I am, wondering if I am too old.

     Pearl looked down at her hands. The once elegant fingers now showed swelling around the joints. She’d let the hair whose blue-black highlights had been her private pride go silver. She’d resisted the urge to get “just a little bit” of plastic surgery.

     I’ve let myself grow old outside. Have I grown old inside as well? Can I still lead my people into battle?

     Pearl moved restlessly, feeling all the aches of joint and muscle that were her daily companions. Then she smiled.

     Of course, I can, even if only to spite you, Old Tiger.

*

     Seated in another rental car, speeding along the open Colorado highway from the airport into Denver proper, Brenda stared down at the photo Auntie Pearl had given her and Dad earlier that morning before they had left the hotel for the airport. Charles Adolphus was black—well, dark brown, with that soft, fuzzy-looking hair black people had.

     “This is the Dog,” the old woman had said. “Charles Adolphus, nicknamed Riprap. He was born on a military base in Germany, and in the best tradition of the ‘army brat’ has lived all over the country, occassionally overseas. Charles was recruited to play professional baseball while he was still in college. He even made it up into the majors for a short time before a shoulder injury put him out of professional sports for good. After that, Charles served a hitch in the Army. He got out a few years ago, and has held various odd jobs.

     “To the best of my knowledge, Charles knows nothing at all about the peculiar heritage he shares with us. His father was not antagonistic to his role as the Dog, but as far as we know, he had not told his son anything before his death. The inheritance passed rather oddly, so it is possible that Charles Senior didn’t know much – but we did confirm that he owned the Dog mah-jong set, and that it’s likely Charles Junior owns it now.”

     With a nickname like “Riprap,” this Charles Adolphus sounded like he might be into gang stuff. Suddenly, Brenda felt not only very young, but very provincial. Semi-rural, mostly really suburban, South Carolina was not much preparation for meeting a big city guy, especially one who was called “Riprap.”

     Brenda looked at the picture again. Auntie Pearl had said it was a few years old, taken when Charles had been discharged from the military.

     “Dad,” she asked, “what are you going to say to this guy when we find him?”

     Gaheris said, “I did a bit of research while we were waiting for our plane, and apparently Charles Adolphus is seriously involved in sports. My company sells some nice novelty items, nothing tacky.”

     Brenda nodded, reserving her opinion on the tacky. Those bobble-headed cheerleader dolls in her high school colors had been the source of lots of teasing, especially when someone had joked that parts other than the heads should be bouncing.

     “And if Mr. Adolphus says ‘no thanks,’ and starts to close the door?”

     Dad didn’t pause. “Then I go from there to saying that his name sounds familiar, and was his father such and so, and didn’t I know the family from this and that. Might work.”

     “Might.” Brenda shrugged. “I guess I keep thinking that if all we had to tell him was the genealogy stuff, then that would be okay. Weird, but okay, but all this other stuff, magic mah-jong boards, exiled emperors, renegade wizards… I mean, that’s just too weird.”

     “We don’t need to tell him that weird stuff,” Dad said, “at least not all at once.”

*

     They planned to go looking for Charles Adolphus later that evening. After they’d arrived at their hotel and checked in, Dad had gotten on-line, then on his cellphone. He’d confirmed that Charles was working at a nightclub somewhere in a part of downtown Denver that the locals referred to as LoDo.

     “But, Dad, I’m not packed for going to a nightclub.” Brenda looked at the contents of her open suitcase and frowned. “I’m not really packed for Denver. I’m packed for northern California.”

     “Your mother said the same thing when I talked to her,” Dad said with a grin, “about Denver, that is, not about nightclubs. Why don’t you take the rental car and go shopping? You’ll need a jacket at night here. The West is pretty informal, so you can probably get by at the club with one of your new pairs of jeans, but if you really need something else… just keep the spending reasonable, okay?”

     “Do you need a jacket or anything?”

     “I have a couple of blazers that should pass. In any case, I’m hoping we won’t need to stay at the club very long. We’re just using it to make first contact. We’ll go from there.”

     For a cowardly moment, Brenda thought about asking if she could just stay behind, but she banished the temptation. How often had she protested being treated like a kid still, even though she was in college? Now Dad was treating her like an adult, and she was trying to weasel.

     At a nearby mall, Brenda found a lined jacket on such a good sale that she didn’t think even Dad would mind if she splurged on a new shirt to dress up her jeans. The fabric was one of those brocade prints that said “Chinese,” even if she had no idea why. The rich reds and golds went really well with her coloring.

     Brenda enjoyed herself so much, she had to hurry to get back and meet Dad for dinner. They took their time eating, and then Brenda put on her new top and did her hair.

     “You look good,” Dad said when she emerged from the bathroom. “I feel a little strange taking you out after the time I used to be trying to get you to go to bed, but things change. Always remember that Breni. Things change.”

     Again Brenda heard that note in his voice, the funny one that seemed to tell her he was saying more than he’d say right out. She had noticed that the box that held the Rat’s mah-jong set had been out when she got back, and wondered if her dad had been messing with the tiles.

     And what he’d seen if he had been…

     They drove to the area where Fatal Boots, the club where Charles Adolphus worked, was located. Parking nearby was impossible, even though the area looked like one that invited walking. Dad finally slipped the car into a multi-level parking garage, despite the fact that to Brenda the facility looked closed.

     “Then no one will mind us parking here,” Dad said, but Brenda noticed he was more careful about checking the locks than usual.

     If the music pouring out the door onto the street was any indication, Fatal Boots specialized in electrified country. Although she’d gone clubbing at school, Brenda felt self-conscious about walking up to the door with her father. A man seated on a stool near the door checked their IDs.

     “No minors in the bar area,” he said. “Dance floor is fine. Any sign she’s drinking, even a sip from your glass, mister, and we toss you both out. Lady over there will take your cover. Have a good night.”

     Gaheris paid the cover charge for both of them, and the lady at the register had Brenda stick out her wrist. She slipped a plastic strap printed with the words “Fatal Boots,” on it and zipped it snug but not tight.

     “Have fun,” she said cheerfully. “Band should be on again in just a few minutes.”

     Perhaps because of the break, they didn’t have any trouble finding a table. Gaheris ordered two iced teas and a mixed snack tray from a waitress wearing a red bandana print skirt that swirled out just below her knees and an artistically faded denim shirt. A matching bandana was fastened around her neck with a slide closure in the shape of a cowboy boot.

     Brenda shrugged out of her jacket, and saw her Chinese top attract a few glances that she thought were admiring rather than otherwise. The club was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and from where they were sitting the music was muted enough to permit conversation.

     When the waitress returned, Dad asked, “Is Charles Adolphus working tonight?”

     The waitress shook her head.

     “Riprap?” Brenda interjected. “How about Riprap?”

     The waitress grinned. “He’s here, be back when the band starts up. Want me to tell him you’re here?”

     Dad scribbled a note on a napkin.

     “Sure.”

     The band came back before Brenda had done more than sip her tea. They hadn’t yet completed their first number, “Big Girls, Big Hair,” when a tall, broad-shouldered black man loomed over their table.

     He wasn’t at all what Brenda had imagined. He wore no gaudy jewelry, not even an earring. His hair wasn’t much longer than it had been in the military discharge photo. His western style shirt was two-tone denim, trimmed with a narrow border of red bandana fabric.

     “Are you the couple who were asking for Riprap?” he said politely.

     His voice had no trace of the accent Brenda had mentally filed under “black.” If it had any accent at all, it was a touch of a western twang.

     “That’s right,” Dad said, getting to his feet and putting out his hand. “I’m Gaheris Morris, and this is my daughter, Brenda. I was wondering if you had time to talk.”

     “I’m working,” Riprap replied politely, shaking Dad’s hand, then Brenda’s. His fingers were dry and she could feel callouses. “I get off when the club closes, but that’s not so late during the week, usually about eleven.”

     Dad nodded, and Brenda could almost see him deciding he had to put his cards on the table. Knowing Dad, he’d have chosen which ones with care.

     “Mr. Adolphus,” Dad said, “this is going to sound ridiculous and melodramatic, but I was wondering if you would do me the favor of making sure you don’t go anywhere alone until I have a chance to speak with you. I’ve come all the way from California for the express purpose of doing so.”

     Riprap’s calm expression flickered, incredulity showing for a moment. Then he became almost too polite.

     “And might I ask why?”

     “I have reason to know you may be in danger,” Dad said, and Brenda could practically feel him pouring all the force of his personality behind the statement. “I came here to warn you, and to explain, but I understand you need to finish your night’s work. Brenda and I will wait, and, if you will permit, we will speak with you after closing.”

     This time Riprap grinned, a broad, friendly grin that balanced disbelief and amusement.

     “Well, if you’ve come all this way to warn me, least I can do is listen. I’ll meet you out front a bit after eleven.”

     To Brenda’s surprise – she was sitting there with her dad after all – she got several offers to dance. While she was laughing and joking with her various partners, working her way into the unfamiliar dance steps, she took the opportunity to observe Riprap going about his job.

     He seemed to be a bouncer, but a bouncer like none Brenda had ever seen before. He broke up one fight just by looking at the two men, and managed to walk one particularly obnoxious drunk out in such a way that Brenda bet that the man thought leaving was his own idea.

     The end result was that when the band finished playing and the club started clearing out, Brenda found herself anticipating rather than dreading talking to Mr. Charles “Riprap” Adolphus.

     He met them in front of the club at about a quarter after eleven.

     “There’s lots of places that will still be open,” he said, “if you want to grab a cup of coffee and tell me what this is about.”

     “Sounds good,” Gaheris said. “Lead on.”

     Brenda’s nerves were already jangling from too much coffee, so when they got to the all-night diner she ordered a milkshake instead. It came in a tall glass and was topped with melting whipped cream that started running down the side of the glass even before the waitress put the tray on the table. Dad ordered a slice of cherry pie and coffee. Riprap ordered a towering burger, fries, and a side salad.

     “Don’t get to eat much after about seven,” he explained, starting in on the salad, “at least not on busy nights. Usually grab something while the kitchen staff is cleaning up. Now, Mr. Morris, what is this danger you want to tell me about? Why do I need to watch my back?”

     Brenda had wondered what clever angle her father had decided to use to answer that question. He’d carried a briefcase with him, and had sat with it between his feet in the nightclub. She figured Dad had his laptop with him, although the case seemed rather bulky for that, but when he rummaged inside, what he pulled out was the box containing the Rat mah-jong set.

     He set it on the table with a dull thump, his gaze fixed on Riprap’s face. He opened it to show the contents, then closed it again.

     “Have you ever seen one of these?”

     Brenda thought there was something guarded in Riprap’s expression.

     “A mah-jong set? Sure. Guess the game’s not so popular as Scrabble, but people still play it.”

     Dad shoved the heavy box across the table. “I meant a set like this one. Take a look. It’s an antique, but it’s seen lots of use. Those pieces were made for handling.”

     Riprap opened the lid of the box with one broad thumb against the edge. He examined the pieces inside without touching them. His expression remained neutral. Too neutral, Brenda decided. Either he should be asking questions or he should be thinking Dad was crazy and making excuses to get away. Instead, his demeanor had settled into something like guarded watchfulness.

     “Nice,” he commented at last, when neither Brenda nor Gaheris broke the silence. He picked up one piece – a three of characters – at random. “You’re right. It’s old. Bone and bamboo pieces, not plastic like most of the ones I’ve seen. Even those sets can run over a hundred dollars. This set must be a lot more expensive.”

     “Priceless,” Dad said. “It’s one of only thirteen such sets ever made. I had word that you might own one of the others, Mr. Adolphus.”

     Riprap looked at him, “And owning an antique mah-jong set is going to put me in danger… how?”

     Gaheris said, “I’d like to say that I let my fondness for the melodramatic get away with me, that by ‘danger’ I meant getting robbed by an unscrupulous antiques dealer or some such, but I only spoke the truth.”

     Riprap ate a bite of his burger. Brenda, impatient to get things moving, but not knowing exactly what she’d say if she did speak, sucked on her shake. It was good. Real ice-cream, not powdered whatever like fast food milkshakes.

     “I mentioned that only thirteen of these mah-jong sets were made,” Gaheris went on. “I should be more precise. Each set is unique, but the thirteen sets were related, made for a group of thirteen friends. My grandfather was one of those. Your great-grandfather was another.”

     “This set is Chinese work,” Riprap commented, gesturing toward the still open box with a French fry before dipping it in ketchup, “made for the Chinese, or possibly the Japanese market. You can tell because there are no Arabic numbers on the tiles. Sets made for issue in Europe and the United States had Arabic numbers printed on them, and sometimes letters printed on the ‘wind’ tiles. Chinese and Japanese sets didn’t need those indicators because they could read the tiles.”

     Riprap ate the french fry, then he went on, “You don’t look Chinese. Your daughter… Maybe she does a little if I stretch my imagination. And me, I don’t look at all Chinese, yet you’re saying my great-grandfather was Chinese?”

     “I’m saying your great-grandfather had a mah-jong set made specifically for him,” Gaheris countered. “And, yes, his heritage was more Chinese than otherwise.”

     “Go on. You were talking about danger, back before you started talking about mah-jong.”

     “Are you familiar with generational feuds?”

     “Sure.”

     “Well, being the descendent of your great-grandfather has set you up to be targeted by one such feud.”

     “Me? What about my sisters? My cousins? My grandfather wasn’t an only child, you know. Neither was my father. There are lots of Adolphus kin out there.”

     “That’s why I asked you about the mah-jong set,” Dad said. “Did you inherit the mah-jong set?”

     “Do you want it?”

     “No! I just want to know if you have it.”

     Brenda looked at Riprap, watching his expression so intensely that she didn’t realize that she’d emptied her milkshake until a rude sucking noise broke the waiting silence. She jumped, and felt her cheeks get hot, but neither of the men looked at her. Their gazes were locked, and she could feel the tension between them as if it were something physical.

     At last, Riprap spoke very softly. “Tell me what would be on the lid of the box holding my great-grandfather’s set.”

     Brenda heard herself answering, “A Dog. The Dog.”

     “And yours has a Rat. The Rat. I’ve got the set. The lid’s the match to yours, but it shows a dog on it. Big dog, sort of like a chow, but meaner looking than most chows I’ve seen. Tiles inside are a lot like yours. Now, what of it?”

     Dad countered, “What do you know about why these sets were made?”

     Riprap seemed to relent all at once. “I know more than you think I do, that’s clear enough. My dad left letters for me, along with the box. He knew a soldier couldn’t count on coming home. I know why those mah-jong sets were made is something we shouldn’t discuss here, not if I want these nice people who run the diner to think I’m sane, and I do because I like how they cook. I also know that there hasn’t been a wink or whimper of trouble for several generations. Why should there be now?”

     “I don’t know,” Dad admitted, matching frankness with frankness. “If you would come to our hotel, I could show you what alarmed me enough to end my holiday in California and come here to warn you. Or I could send you off with a warning and tell you to check for yourself. All I ask is that you take us seriously.”

     “Where are you parked?”

     “In a garage a few blocks over,” Gaheris said.

     “Right. Let me walk you to your car. Then you can drive me over to mine, and I’ll drive straight home with the car doors locked.”

     “You want to confirm what I’ve told you,” Gaheris said. “I have no problem with that.”

     He picked the check up off the edge of the table, took out his credit card, and waved for the waitress.

     “Here’s my phone number and the number of the hotel,” he went on, sliding one of his business cards and one of the hotel’s across the table. “Can I have a phone number for you?”

     Riprap wrote neatly on a paper napkin. “Sure. Cell and home. I check my messages.”

     “When can we call you?”

     “I’ll call you around noon. I want at least eight hours sleep.”

     They made the walk to the parking garage in a near silence that felt like a screamed argument. The night was distinctly cold, and Brenda pulled her jacket closer around her. The garage was dark, lit mostly by a few security lights and the red glow of exit signs.

     “Should be okay,” Riprap said, but Brenda was aware that he was looking side to side, checking the shadows. His gaze was alert, and Brenda had the feeling that if he really were a dog, his hackles would be up.

     The rental car sat alone in a pool of pale yellowish white light near a concrete pillar. Almost alone. As they advanced toward it, their three pairs of shoes sounding sharply against the pavement as they unconsciously sped up to get to the safety of the car, someone stepped out from behind the pillar.

     Even in the poor light, there was no doubt he was Chinese. He wore long robes of dark green fabric. They were embroidered with elaborate designs and possessed voluminous sleeves. His hair was sleeked back, nearly hidden beneath a round cap with a button on top. He was clean-shaven, but that was all Brenda could make out of his features, for his face was averted. The stranger’s hands were crossed in front of him, hidden within the wide bells of his sleeves.

     Brenda stopped mid-step in astonishment and fear, aware that on either side of her, her Dad and Riprap had stopped as well. For a long moment, no one moved, then the stranger whipped his hands free of the concealing sleeves and made a throwing motion.

     Something long and yellow snapped through the air toward them.

     “Brenda, down!” Dad yelled.

*

     At her father’s command, Brenda dove for the pavement. Her hands caught on the concrete, but most of the impact went into the sleeves of her new jacket. She rolled to one side, putting one of the concrete support pillars between her and the strange man by the car.

     Neither Dad nor Riprap had followed her down, instead splitting wide. She could hear the soles of their shoes against the bare concrete as they ran for cover. She realized she was listening for something else, the report of a gun, the clatter of a knife. There was nothing.

     She peered cautiously around her pillar. She couldn’t see either Dad or Riprap, so she figured they’d gotten to cover. The Chinese man was just standing there, his hands back within his sleeves, his back against the driver’s side of the car. His posture was the embodiment of watchful patience, and something about it chilled her to the bone.

     It’s like he’s got all night, she thought. All night and all day, like no one is going to come in here and interrupt this standoff. Like we won’t just pick up and leave.

     “Dad!” she called. “Let’s get out of here!”

     There was no answer. Brenda’s words echoed for a moment in the empty space, then left the parking garage emptier than before. Brenda pulled herself up a little higher, trying to see where her dad and Riprap had gotten to. They couldn’t be too far.

     Then she spotted her dad. He was down at ground level, crouched so low that he was almost on all fours. He was moving from shadow to shadow, each step taking him a bit closer to the man by the car.

     Brenda’s vision blurred, and she rubbed her eyes against her torn jacket sleeve, but when she looked again the blurring was still there. It surrounded Gaheris Morris, a grey mist denser than the surrounding shadow. It took form as she stared at it; her father seemed swallowed by the mist, leaving only a grey rat creeping across the pavement.

     Brenda stifled a scream. She forced herself to look, and when she did, she could see her father again. He was there, inside the rat, or he was the rat, or he wasn’t really a rat, not changed into one, but he’d worked things so that he was no more noticeable than a rat would be.

     Dad isn’t running she thought. Why isn’t he getting out of here?

     With a flash of insight, Brenda understood. Her dad wanted to capture the Chinese man, wanted to talk to him. They already knew something bad was going on, but they had no idea why or what. If they ran, their enemy would be free to stalk them again, with them none the wiser. But if they could get hold of the stranger, learn something from him…

     Go for it, Dad, Brenda thought. And you’re not going to do it alone. I don’t know where that Dog went, but I’m here…

     She rose to her feet and walked out from behind the concrete pillar. Somehow she felt completely confident that whatever the strange man wanted, she was relatively safe. After all, she wasn’t one of the Thirteen; she was only the daughter of the Rat.

     And he didn’t hurt Albert Yu, at least not physically. So I’ll just provide a distraction for Dad.

     Brenda shot a quick glance over at her father and thought the man within the rat was trying to warn her back.

     Don’t worry, Dad. I’m fine. Just do your thing.

     “Wow,” Brenda said, weaving a little. “Is there an after-hours costume party going on around here? You look just marvelous. Maybe you need a date? I’ve got a Chinese top. I mean, it’s sort of Chinese. I got it at a department store, but would it do?”

     She was unzipping her jacket as she moved, acting a little drunk. The Chinese man reacted for the first time, turning his head to look in her direction. He was younger than she had thought, and drop dead gorgeous. His eyes were dark and mysterious, and he had the most sensuous mouth she’d ever seen. Suddenly, it wasn’t at all hard to act unsteady on her feet.

     “My dad was here, and his friend, but you look like a lot more fun. I wonder where they went?”

     Brenda let her voice go a bit high, like she was musing aloud, and moved a few steps closer. The Chinese man removed his hands from his sleeves. His right hand held what looked like a long strip of very heavy paper, or maybe lightweight cardboard, ornamented with Chinese writing, green ink against black paper. The writing seemed to glow, the last glimmer of thought against a night dark sky.

     “You can see me? How can you see me?”

     The young man spoke perfect English, but with a music Brenda had never heard before.

     “I can see you, honey,” she said. “No problem.”

     “You should not be able to see me.” He started moving away from her, sliding alongside the car. “That cannot be. Only thirteen should be able to see me, and you are not one of them.”

     “I can see you,” Brenda repeated, wondering where her dad was and what had happened to Riprap.

     The Chinese man had reached the front of the car and was pivoting, apparently getting ready to run. As he turned, Gaheris Morris stepped out from behind a pillar. The mist was gone, but Brenda thought she could see traces of it clinging to him.

     “Hold on, young man,” Gaheris said. “I want to talk to you.”

     “Me, too,” came Riprap’s voice. He stepped out and blocked the young man’s forward escape route. “I’m wondering where you got those threads. They’re cool.”

     The young man’s expression changed. All traces of nervousness left him. He went from stillness to motion without a hint of transition, charging directly toward Gaheris Morris. He flung out his right hand and the piece of paper flew from his fingers, cutting through the air like a knife blade.

     Brenda screamed as it wrapped itself around her dad’s face, covering his left eye, the bridge of his nose, sealing one corner of his mouth.

     The Chinese man continued moving forward and Brenda thought she saw him touch her dad with something small and round, but she couldn’t be sure. Too much was happening. She kept expecting her dad to reach up and rip the paper off his face, but he just stood there. Then the paper started melting into the flesh of Gaheris Morris’s face.

     Brenda stifled another scream with her clenched fist and ran forward, not knowing whether to grab the Chinese man or pull out whatever it was that was burying itself in her father’s face. She managed to do neither. Although she crossed the intervening space with the speed born from pure panic, the black paper was vanishing like frost on a windowpane with the first touch of sun.

     The Chinese man was vanishing too. She caught a glimpse of his features as he faded away, as if his very existence had been tied to the paper he had thrown. Her only comfort was that his expression held raw confusion. Clearly, events had not gone according to plan.

     “Dad!” Brenda said, keeping herself from screaming with an effort, reaching up and touching his face. “Dad! Are you all right?”

     “I’m fine,” he said. “Are the muggers gone? Are you alright? I’m sorry I pushed you down, but I thought one of them had a gun.”

     “There was only one,” she said, beginning to understand with a horrible certainly what must have happened. “A young man, maybe a bit older than me.”

     “That may be all you saw, Breni,” Dad said, patting her arm. “I saw more. I’m certainly glad Mr. Adolphus decided to walk us back to the car. Denver is a lot more dangerous than I realized.”

     Riprap was staring at them both. Then he bent and picked up something from the pavement near the car. It was another of those strips of paper, the yellow one the young man had thrown first. It seemed to decide something for Riprap.

     “We’d better get out of here, Mr. Morris, in case the muggers come back. I’ll tell you where I’m parked.”

     “Good idea,” Dad said. He looked at Brenda again. “Sorry you ripped your jacket. Breni. I’ll get you a new one.”

     “No problem, Dad,” she said weakly.

     During the short drive to where Riprap had parked his car, Brenda asked a few questions, neither mention of mah-jong or the number thirteen brought any hint that her father remembered them as significant.

     Finally, in desperation she said, “But, Dad, what about the Thirteen Orphans?”

     “Isn’t it a little late to go to a movie, Breni? In any case, you know my feelings about first run theaters. They’re really too expensive.”

     Brenda wanted to cry. The only thing that kept her from feeling she was going crazy was the look Riprap gave her when he got out of the car. The look said, “I remember. You’re not nuts.”

     What Riprap said aloud was, “I’ll call you in the morning, Mr. Morris, so we can discuss that business offer.”

     “I’ll look to hear from you about noon,” Dad replied cheerfully.

     Brenda hid a shiver. That reference to “noon” showed how selective whatever had happened to Dad’s memory was. He remembered that Riprap had said he’d call around noon the next day, but not why the other man was going to call.

     “Or earlier,” Riprap said, getting into his car. “Maybe much earlier.”

     Then he slammed the door. Brenda heard the locks snap shut before he started the engine.

     Gaheris Morris headed for the hotel, but for all his cheerful chatter along the way about the tourist sights they might hunt out and what souvenirs they should buy for her mother and brothers, Brenda couldn’t help but feel that a complete stranger was driving the car.

_{Copyright © 2008 by Jane Lindskold. All rights reserved. Used by permission of the publisher.}

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_{Thirteen Orphans was published in November 2008 by Tor. Jane M. Lindskold is an American writer of fantasy and science fiction short stories and novels. Lindskold grew up in Washington, D.C. and Chesapeake Bay. She studied at Fordham, where she received a Ph. D. in English, concentrating on Medieval, Renaissance, and Modern British Literature. Mentored by her friend, Roger Zelazny, she started publishing stories in 1992, and she published her first novel, Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls in December, 1994.}

She currently lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico with her husband, anthropologist Jim Moore.

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