“You needn’t let it concern you.” Mrs. Gold spoke kindly but firmly. “We’ll deal with this. Just help us speak to the practitioners here, and that will be all we ask of you.”
Janossi nodded reassuringly. Saint smirked. Stephen’s gaze skittered up to the ceiling.
“Thank you,” Crane said pleasantly. “Tell me, what makes you think this is a Chinese problem?”
“How do you mean?” asked Stephen.
“Why Limehouse, why shamans? Are you sure you’re in the right place?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” demanded Janossi.
“Someone’s coming,” said Esther Gold, and they all looked round as a fat, elderly Chinese man bustled in.
“Ah!” he shouted. “Bamboo!”
Chapter Six
Crane folded his arms and glared at Li Tang. He had known the man casually for many years in Shanghai, certainly well enough for Li to use the old nickname that had once been so appropriate for an extraordinarily tall and thin youth. He had met him frequently in the last few months. They had ongoing business dealings. There was no reason at all for Li Tang to be utterly, uncompromisingly unhelpful.
“Why are you being such a complete bastard, my friend?” he enquired in a low voice.
Li Tang didn’t respond to that. His face was stony.
“No shaman may be seen,” he repeated for about the thirtieth time.
“By us or by anyone?”
“No shaman may be seen.”
“Has Rackham been around?” Crane asked, drawing a bow at a venture.
Li Tang shrugged, apparently unmoved by the mention. “He wouldn’t make a difference. No shaman may be seen.”
“Since when are you a shaman’s apprentice?” Crane enquired. “Don’t you have other things to do than polish their rice bowls and make their appointments? Are you renouncing the world and your belly?”
“I speak with authority.” Li Tang glowered at him.
“You speak with authority for shamans?” Crane raised his voice for the benefit of their audience, which currently numbered about eight Chinese as well as the British practitioners. “You decide who gets to see a shaman?”
Li Tang looked daggers at that. “I speak with authority.”
“What are the names of your shamans?”
“That is not relevant.”
“Mr. Bo and Mr. Tsang, is it? What are their full names?”
“You may not see them.”
“I didn’t ask that. I asked you to say their names.” Crane dropped his voice low and saw the tiny twitch around Li’s eyes. “Why won’t you say their names?”
“My friend, this is not your business. So why don’t you fuck off?”
“I’m just a translator for the British shamans,” said Crane. “Why don’t you tell them to fuck off? I’ll watch. Even better, seeing as you and I are businessmen, why don’t we both go do some business and leave the shamans to their own devices?”
“Today we are both mouthpieces,” Li Tang countered. “And what my mouth is saying to you is that the shamans may not be seen. My advice, Bamboo, is that your ears should listen to what my mouth tells you.”
“I hear what you’re telling me, my fat friend,” said Crane. “I hear it very clearly indeed.”
He stalked back to the little group of justiciars.
“Well?” demanded Janossi.
“No play. Li Tang will be delighted to give you all possible assistance, short of a shaman, but I strongly suspect that assistance will be as much use as a glass hammer. They are not going to help.”
“Yeah?” said Saint. “Well, that’s their bloody problem, innit? Come on, we ain’t having that, are we?”
“Surely not.” Janossi looked to Esther and Stephen. “Let’s just go in. Follow the rats, find where they’re going and take it from there. Why the hell do we have to wait for permission in our own city?”
“We’ve spent years building a rapprochement with these people,” Stephen said. “You know what happened with Arbuthnot last summer. If we go in mob-handed now—”
“They’ll learn to cooperate next time!” Janossi interrupted, then wilted visibly under the look Stephen gave him.
Mrs. Gold was shaking her head. “I’m not seeing rapprochement here, Steph. And this problem is extending outside Limehouse, it’s not just about them.”
“Out of it, or into it?” asked Crane.
“What do you mean?”
“Are the rats coming from Limehouse, or emerging elsewhere and heading here?”
Esther Gold cocked her head to one side. “We don’t know where they’re coming from or going to. A number of them seemed to be coming here. We don’t know any more, because we haven’t managed to talk to any practitioners,” she added pointedly. “And I think we should now go and look, Steph. I’m sorry if they don’t like it, but this is British soil, not Chinese, people have died, and if they won’t let us consult them, they don’t get to be consulted.”
Stephen gave a slight shrug of reluctant agreement and opened his mouth, and Crane said, “Just a moment.”
“What?” Stephen asked. He frowned. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure,” said Crane. “Look, I wouldn’t presume to tell you your business—”
“Bloody hope not!”