Foul Lady Fortune

Cathay Hotel was a glimmering structure plopped right where Nanjing Road met the Bund, a double-building threat that stood tallest among the other uproar overlooking the Huangpu River, located right at the edge of the row. Its roof resembled a giantess’s weapon: copper-sheathed and pointed right at the stars, making the hotel appear even taller than it already was.

Rosalind craned her head up. A gust of wind blew hard around them, heightened by their proximity to the water. With her hand at Orion’s elbow, her fingers curled around the fabric of his suit jacket, seeking comfort in his proximity despite the tightrope they were both walking on. Familiar faces started to come into view, colleagues and higher-ups waving down from the hotel entrance.

“Phoebe, how are we doing on time?” Rosalind asked quietly.

“Reinforcements are set to arrive when the hour strikes ten,” Phoebe reported into her ear. Her voice was sugary even with the static disruptions. “It is a quarter to ten right now.”

Rosalind’s grip tightened. A few buildings over, the clock tower on the Custom House stood silent and ominous. It tolled every hour—a grand, sonorous sound that blanketed the Bund—which meant it would be tolling when the Nationalists rushed in, a final warning squirreling into every listening ear within the vicinity. She hadn’t decided what she was going to do when the arrests started happening. Give Orion up? Protect him?

Celia’s voice rang in her head, again and again. The warehouse is run by Nationalist soldiers.

One task at a time, Rosalind decided.

She tugged Orion forward.

They entered Cathay Hotel through the East Entrance Hall. The glamour reverberated from the building’s exterior, but it was even more potent upon stepping through the doors: lush carpeting under their feet that tried to swallow them whole; tall, arched ceilings that bowed with soaring elevation; a heavy chandelier dangling between two marble staircases, one on the left and one on the right to ascend into the main banquet room. There were sofas lining the golden walls, occupied by laughing women and drunk men, all of whom did not look familiar to Rosalind. She could only assume other patrons were out and about as well. The Sassoon House, which the Cathay Hotel was situated within, always had something going on.

“This way, darling,” Orion prompted. He nudged her toward the left as soon as they finished climbing the stairs, but he hardly sounded certain either. The atrium glowed tall and luxurious around and above; though Rosalind had attended events and dinners at the Cathay Hotel before, it seemed like some other world tonight with this many people present and mingling.

When they walked into the main banquet lounge, it was clear that they had found the beating heart of the function. Waiters hovered by either side of the two doors, balancing champagne on their silver trays, bowing each time someone lifted off a flute. Rosalind took one, then gave a cautionary sniff. It didn’t give any indication of being poisoned, but who could say?

“There’s Ambassador Deoka,” Rosalind said quietly. She leaned her chin onto Orion’s shoulder under the guise of affection—it afforded him a better view of the stage when he turned around and put his arms around her.

She wouldn’t lean into the touch. She wouldn’t relax under it.

She wouldn’t.

Deoka stood beside a floor vase, one that was almost as tall as he was and blooming with an array of flowers that extended in every direction. He was speaking with a group of men in suits, making introductions and shaking hands.

“Twelve others in the room,” Orion reported to Phoebe.

“Another car has arrived outside,” Phoebe returned through the line. “Your list has a total of sixteen.”

Rosalind surveyed the attendees around them. “It is thirteen in the room,” she corrected. “You missed Hasumi Misuzu in the corner.”

The Kuomintang would have the profiles of every person on the list that Orion and Rosalind had handed in. So long as they were present tonight, it would not be hard for the soldiers to match their faces to their pictures and make the necessary arrests.

“I can sweep through the remainder of this level if you want to do the smaller floors above,” Orion said. There were more attendees scattered past the other entranceway into the lounge, to the side of the stage where a jazz band was starting its set. The musicians counted down, and then the opening notes from a saxophone swirled through the room, drawing couples to dance on the cleared floor.

“Stay right here.” Rosalind unwound her arm. “I’ll do both sweeps.”

“Is everything all right?” Phoebe asked through the wire.

“Perfectly fine,” Rosalind replied easily. “We just need eyes on Deoka at all times. Right, Orion?”

He nodded stiffly. If he stayed surrounded by people, chances were that he wouldn’t do anything outrageous—whether consciously or unconsciously. Giving him a tense look, Rosalind turned to exit the banquet lounge. She followed the gilded hallways out, passing the mirrored decoration pieces. Once or twice she thought she heard whispering behind her, but when she turned around, there was no one there, only sound carrying strangely from the high ceilings.

There was an elevator to the side of the building, but Rosalind took the old-fashioned stairs, using the handrails to heave herself up the steep climb. The rooms she poked her head into were largely empty: whole suites that were themed around a particular country, filled with objects made to resemble elsewhere. They were open tonight for attendees to wander in and out of, but it seemed the majority of the party remained downstairs. Rosalind sighted none of the faces she was looking for. As she was turning out of the Indian Suite, she bumped into someone, apologizing before she registered their face.

“Alis—” Rosalind cut herself off before she could finish the exclamation, tearing her wire out. She clamped her hand over the ends, hoping that would muffle her voice from Phoebe.

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on your task, what else?” Alisa retorted. She was dressed in the uniform of a waitress, a tray balanced on her hand. “What’s going on? Why is Orion here?”

Rosalind grimaced, waving for Alisa to follow her along the hallway so they could check the rest of the rooms.

“He claims”—she peered into the French Suite, sighting only one businessman who was probably a hotel guest—“that he has no memory of what he has done.”

“Oh. I suppose that makes sense.”

“What?” Rosalind was so surprised that she released her wire for a short moment before holding down the ends again. They continued walking. “How did you accept that so easily?”

“Because he doesn’t have motive,” Alisa replied, opening the last door along the hallway before Rosalind could. “Orion Hong has no power if the Japanese come in. He won’t rise in rank; nor does he have men underneath him that he can turn into a battalion if he’s cooperating as hanjian. Unless he’s hiding some other life desire that you don’t know about?”

“He could be making the conscious decision to work for someone,” Rosalind countered. They both looked inside the last room. Empty.

“Then why investigate himself?”

“To mislead us.”

“Then why not mislead you from the very beginning? Why not pin the accusations on another company? Why not move your investigation away from the chemicals?”

Just as Rosalind was going to object against Alisa for thinking too well of him, someone bellowed, “Mrs. Mu!” from behind. Alisa ducked her head immediately, pretending to be following after Rosalind, making herself invisible to Yōko as she bounded over to Rosalind’s side.

“There’s supposed to be a speech at ten,” Yōko said. “You are heading down now?”

“Yes,” Rosalind replied. “After you.”

They descended the stairs at the end of the hallway, Alisa following a few paces behind. Yōko’s step halted when they returned around the main atrium, pausing to check her lipstick on the smooth gold surface of the wall.

Rosalind was going to excuse herself, finding no need to stick around Yōko for long given that she was not on their lists, when the girl said, “You know, I had a feeling you didn’t like me. But I think that of a lot of people. I know the entire world cannot possibly hate me, right?”

Rosalind jolted with surprise. The dagger at her thigh suddenly felt heavy. Like it had doubled in weight, dragging down on its sheath and preparing to detach from her leg and clutter to the floor.

“Where did you get an idea like that?” she asked.

Yōko shrugged, her bottom lip sticking out. The movement made her look young, far too young to be working for a place like Seagreen.

The girl didn’t know the difference between personal hatred and the burning resentment that Rosalind had for the empire that had sent Yōko here. Even if she wasn’t to blame, she would feel its heat all the same.

“I like you perfectly fine,” Rosalind said simply.

Yōko beamed, switching out of her dark mood in a blink. When they returned to the lounge, she waved her goodbye and went off to join Tarō in the corner. From behind, Alisa walked closer again and said, “You were far nicer than I would have been.”

“Why blind someone who is in the dark?” Rosalind said quietly. It reminded her of herself: the naïveté, the worry that was wholly internal. She thought it was her against the world once too. That being disliked meant it was something she had done rather than the circumstances splitting people into their positions on the city’s stage.

“On the chance that they might take to the light instead,” Alisa retorted. She paused, glancing down to see Rosalind still pinching her wire. “There’s one more thing: your handler is missing.”

Rosalind whirled around fast. “Missing?”

“He’s not in his hospital room. Whether he was taken or left of his own free will remains to be determined. The man we saved in the alley is also gone. Vanished into thin air.”

Dao Feng was missing. The Nationalists were shortly arriving at the hotel. Rosalind could barely hear her own thoughts past the blood rushing frantically in her ears. She shook her head, trying to clear the din.

“I’ll touch base on this after the arrests. Give me a moment.” Rosalind put the wire back into her ear.

“—that’s everyone in the building. Janie, for heaven’s sake, can you hear me yet?”

“I hear you,” Rosalind said. She spotted Orion standing by the table where she had left him. “What did I miss?”

“The point of having fancy technology is to use it! Why did you take me out? Ugh, whatever. Sixteen of sixteen are present. Keep your head down until reinforcements arrive.”

“Understood.”

Rosalind nodded to Alisa in farewell, then returned to Orion’s side. He pulled a pocket watch from his jacket as she approached, showing her the time. Five minutes until ten. From the stage, the jazz band switched sets, putting a woman in front of the microphone. The speakers screeched with feedback for a quick second, then cleared as the woman started to croon an American song. They used to sing it at the Scarlet burlesque club. Rosalind had almost built a routine to the jazzy tune before deciding the song was too long, more fitting for swaying and slower movements.

She watched the guests dancing near the stage. Watched them twirl under their partners’ arms and rest their heads down, eyes closed in peace.

“Dance with me?” Orion extended his hand.

Rosalind hesitated. “That’s not a good—”

“Dance, Janie!” Phoebe’s voice piped into her ear. “Don’t act suspicious.”

“I’m not acting suspicious,” Rosalind hissed, but she took Orion’s hand, nonetheless. Their fingers met with a shock.

The music fell quiet for a moment. Orion drew her close, arms around her waist. Rosalind held herself stiffly, keeping her face turned away.

“If you keep doing that,” he breathed, “people are going to take notice.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Rosalind said tightly.

“Exactly.”

She shot him a dirty look. He raised his arm and made her do a twirl.

“Answer this very seriously,” Rosalind said when she was facing him again, her hands landing on his chest. “Say I believe you. Say everything you told me is true. Who forced you into this? Who is giving you instructions and wiping your memory?”

“What is she talking about?” she heard Phoebe mutter over the wire. The hour was fast approaching. There was no time to fret about Phoebe knowing the situation.

“I must admit that I haven’t really been racking my brain yet,” Orion answered. “First I had to reel over acknowledging the matter and then try to walk through every empty blank I have….”

“Don’t stall, Orion.” Rosalind touched his cheek. She had meant for it to be threatening, to urge him to think, but she surprised herself when her hand was gentle, cupping against his face with the tenderness of a lover in agony. “Who could it be?”

He breathed out unhappily. “It has to be someone on our own side. Otherwise, I don’t see any opportunity. Otherwise, I don’t understand why the summoning call comes from headquarters.”

Rosalind glanced up at the stage. The microphone screeched once with feedback as the singer adjusted the stand, finishing her song and stepping aside for one of the foreign investors at Seagreen. He waved for the musicians to quiet down on their instruments, a bright grin on his face when he greeted the banquet lounge.

“Who do we trust now?” Rosalind whispered.

“Janie Mead, what are you talking about?” her earpiece said.

The investor was summoning Deoka up to the stage when a bell rang through the room. Deoka was raising his glass to a round of applause when the clock tower atop the Custom House boomed across the Bund, at last signaling the turning of the hour.

The Nationalists did not delay a single second. Rosalind heard the rumble of footsteps first. Then a shout of alarm—someone pushed over in the atrium outside—before the squeak of shoes echoed down the corridors and soldiers were rushing in, fanning into the lounge and lining the walls, rifles pointed to every person in the room.

“Attention, all.” It was Jiemin, leading the operation. He had changed into uniform, the army-green color stark against his pale skin, well tailored to his every movement as he raised a megaphone to his mouth. “No one is to leave this room until we have cleared it of suspects under arrest for inciting terror through the city.”

The room shrank back in fear. Most of them had nothing to be concerned about. Those who already knew themselves guilty tried to make for the exits, but there were soldiers waiting, pushing them back in as soon as they tried. Ambassador Deoka stood very still. He looked like an animal caught in bright lights, trying not to move and hoping that it meant he would not be spotted.

Another soldier, standing beside Jiemin, was scanning the room, a clipboard in his hands instead of a weapon. When his eyes stopped on Rosalind and Orion, he gave them both a nod, indicating that he had recognized them as the agents of this mission. He started to move through the room, flipping a page on his clipboard, comparing attendees against printed photographs of each person that they were after. When he got to Haidi, he signaled for two of the soldiers to shake out her bag.

Three green vials rolled out. Rosalind watched the scene with her breath held.

“Those aren’t dangerous,” Haidi shrieked. “They’re for me. I’ll die without them!”

Rosalind frowned. Orion’s hand tightened in hers. She’d die?

“Oh, I know.” Jiemin picked up one of the vials. From across the room, Rosalind’s concern was building steadily. What did he mean, he knew? “Ah Ming, grab the additional accused, would you?”

At his command, one of the soldiers strode for a far table, then hauled a waitress by her upper arm. She cried out indignantly, her hat falling and landing on the floor with a soft thud. Alisa. Why were they grabbing Alisa?

“Alisa Montagova,” Jiemin said. Now that a hush had settled over the banquet lounge, his voice carried a harsh echo. “You’re under arrest as an enemy of the state, in protection of the nation’s welfare.”

Whispers thrummed from corner to corner, the other witnesses barely able to keep up with the sequence of events. “Montagov” was muttered from mouth to mouth; the city had not heard that name in some time.

Rosalind pushed forward, goose bumps prickling at her arms. “Jiemin,” she said. “What are you doing? She has nothing to do with the mission.”

“I’m aware,” Jiemin replied. He had always had a calm and slow disposition, but now it presented in a frightening manner, each instruction coming out of his mouth utterly void of emotion. “But it is useful to conduct business at once, is it not? You’ve got perfect timing too.”

Rosalind blinked. “What?”

Jiemin signaled two soldiers beside him to proceed forward. He waved one toward her, then one toward Orion.

“Hong Liwen and Lang Shalin,” he said. “The two of you are under arrest for murder, conspiracy, and national treason. Who did you think you were fooling?”