Chapter Text
Qixi
(The Seventh Night of the Seventh Moon)
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1
Joe’s stomach rumbled. That wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t eaten much at supper; he’d been more tired than hungry then. Now he was more hungry than tired. And the smell of bacon was wafting enticingly up the stairs.
Maybe he ought to beat his family to the breakfast table for a change. And maybe Hop Sing would even reward him with a slice of fresh-out-of-the-oven buttermilk bread before breakfast was actually served.
Growing more anxious by the second, Joe dressed quickly. His mouth watered as he imagined slathering butter over a thick slice of that warm bread. He was still slipping into his shirt when he opened his bedroom door, and didn’t even start with the buttons until he reached the stairs. That’s when a banging noise from the kitchen stopped him short.
If Hop Sing had dropped something, he would be angry; but if he’d banged something on purpose, he was already angry.
Sighing, Joe started moving again. One way or the other, Hop Sing was clearly going to be in a foul mood, but Joe was too hungry to let that realization worry him. Maybe he could still sweet-talk the cook into letting him have a slice of bread.
Giving in to a massive yawn as he took the final step, Joe shuffled sleepily forward until he reached the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Hop—”
The flashing image of a shadow twisted and kicked out at him—the heel of its foot slammed into Joe’s forehead. He flew backwards until the base of his skull collided with the unforgiving, wooden edge of the dining room table.
An instant later, Joe was on the floor, dazed, wondering how he’d gotten there and trying to blink away a spatter of black spots…
…And hearing fragments of a strange conversation. Two people were talking quietly—the shadow that had attacked him and someone else…another shadow, perhaps, somewhere in the kitchen. And their words were strange because…because they were speaking Cantonese.
Joe was about to call out to Hop Sing when a dark-clothed figure grabbed his collar, yanking him upward. Suddenly he found himself looking into the eyes of a Chinese man he’d never seen before. Leaner than Hop Sing, this man wore a long, narrow mustache that somehow added power to the anger in his eyes. Also unlike Hop Sing, Joe could see that this man’s anger was real. Deadly real.
When a fist cocked back to land another blow, Joe managed to squirm away from it. His shirt ripped as the collar remained in the man’s grip. That shouldn’t have slowed Joe down much, but it did. He was weaker than he should be, thanks to the throbbing in his head. He didn’t get far.
For a timeless moment, Joe tried to collect his thoughts and his breath by focusing on the sounds around him: the light tap of a button skittering across the floor; the sizzle of bacon on the stove…. Then Joe heard something else. He could swear it was the sound of a sword slipping free of its scabbard.
His heart pumping erratically, Joe was pushing himself back to his feet when a hand clamped down onto his shoulder from behind. Reacting more than thinking, Joe rolled out from under it and scrambled forward on hands and knees. By the time his thoughts caught up with him, he realized he’d trapped himself in the kitchen with the stove at his back and two scowling Chinese men standing over him.
And Hop Sing wasn’t there at all.
“My humble apologies,” the older of the two men said as Joe slowly rose. “Our fight was not with you.”
Joe looked from that man to his attacker. He figured the eldest, the speaker, to be in charge. “Who was it with then?” he asked. “Where’s Hop Sing?”
The man gave his head one quick shake. “You have seen too much already. It is better for you to make your journey free of such knowledge.”
“What journey? Who are you?”
The elder addressing him bowed and backed away, giving room for the younger one…a man wielding a long, curved sword, to step closer. When Joe saw that sword beginning to rise, it was clear what the younger man meant to do with it. Joe had to think fast or he would be dead in a matter of seconds.
Time froze. A pot of fresh coffee was rumbling in a low boil on the stove behind him. Bacon sizzled. And Joe knew of only one thing he could do. He reached backward, jerking away on instinct when his finger touched the handle of the hot cast iron skillet. Then the sword started its downward plunge.
Bracing himself, Joe wrapped his fingers around the blistering handle of the skillet. He couldn’t help but shout out in agony. Dimly wondering if the sizzling sound he heard was still the bacon or his own flesh, he threw the skillet forward, splashing bacon and hot grease into the face of his attacker.
The skillet clattered to the floor. Joe dropped to his knees. And a chaotic kaleidoscope sparkled around him, adding flames to the searing, dizzying fire in his hand. A distant part of him heard another man wailing in agony. There were other shouts then, too, familiar voices that allowed him to believe the worst was passed, even as he knew it wasn’t over at all: his hand was still burning, sizzling like bacon on the stove.
“Joseph!” his pa called to him.
But Joe couldn’t unclamp his teeth enough to respond.
“Joe!” Pa’s hand was on his shoulder. Another was grasping his wrist.
“He’s gone, Pa,” Adam said from the outer doorway. He sounded out of breath. “We’ll need to wait for sunrise. We’ll never find him out there now.”
“This one’s passed out,” Hoss said, kneeling beside the swordsman.
Finally taking a deep breath, Joe was grateful to realize the kaleidoscope was beginning to fade. That’s when he took a good, long look at his attacker. The man’s face was as raw as sizzling bacon. The agony that man would feel when he returned to consciousness made Joe suddenly nauseous.
“What happened, Joe?” Adam asked. “Where’s Hop Sing?”
“I don’t know,” Joe answered, surprised to find his voice low and raspy. “I only saw these two.”
“I’ll get the butter,” Hoss said.
“No,” Pa answered. “It’s too severe for that. Brandy. Get the brandy.”
“Brandy?” Hoss asked.
Yes, Brandy! Joe shouted inside himself. Just a few minutes ago, coffee would have been the thing, but suddenly brandy sounded awfully good.
“We’ll soak a cloth,” Pa answered, “wrap his hand in it. The alcohol should help stave off infec—”
“Butter, Hoss!” Joe shouted for real then. “Get the butter!”
“No!” Pa said. “The butter could make it worse.”
“Alcohol will make it worse!”
“I’ll get Doctor Martin,” Adam interjected before the argument could continue. “And Sheriff Coffee.”
“Thank you, Adam,” Pa said, keeping his eyes on Joe’s.
“I suppose I should take this one with me,” Adam added.
“Leave him,” Pa argued. “I don’t want to delay Paul getting out here. From the looks of that man’s burns…. Well, Paul would have to treat him first.”
Adam sighed. “I imagine so. That was one helluva weapon, Joe.”
“I didn’t have much choice.” Joe’s gaze wandered to the dropped sword. “He was going to kill me.”
“Why?” Adam asked. “What they were doing here?”
Joe shook his head. “The other one gave me his humble apology.” He took a long breath in through his teeth as the pain in his hand flared again…and then Pa squeezed his shoulder, somehow fueling Joe’s determination to push past it. “He…he said their fight wasn’t with me. But…they were going to kill me, anyway.”
Adam’s brows knitted together. “I think I’ll poke around the Chinese part of town for a while after I send Paul and Roy out here.”
Joe didn’t like the sound of that at all. “No, Adam! They’ll kill you!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why!” Joe shouted angrily. “But if they were going to kill me here, they’re sure not going to hesitate in their own community!”
“Joe’s right, Adam,” Pa said. “Let Roy handle it. Please. Just…come home as soon as you can.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Adam answered. “Worry about this one’s friend, instead. Something tells me he’s not finished here.”
The swordsman started moaning and Joe couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. “You might want to give him the brandy instead, Pa. But…let him swallow a good dose of it first.”
“My humble apologies,” that first man had said. “Our fight was not with you.”
Then who was it with? Joe found himself wondering. Sure couldn’t be Hop Sing. Could it?
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