The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman- Freedonia Page 2

  Harriet laughed. “Son, you can’t handle this. Besides, I’m old enough to be yo’ mama.”

  “Maybe that’s what I find so intriguing about you,” the constable replied.

  “Lawd!” Harriet shook her head, turned on her heels and then stepped through the Constabulary Station’s brass double doors.

  Harriet sauntered toward the lift. She reached into the breast pocket of her jacket and withdrew a copper key. She slipped the key into a hole in the lift’s door and turned it counter clockwise.

  The door slid open.

  Harriet hopped into the lift. The door slid shut behind her. She slipped the key into the hole on the interior side of the door and turned the key clockwise. A hissing sound followed and the lift began to rise, coming to a halt a minute later. The door slid open and Harriet stepped off and into a long corridor. Facing her was a door marked ‘Chief Constable’. Harriet pushed the door open and stepped inside of the capacious office.

  Chief Constable Magaska Hota sat before her. Sweat rolled down the furrows in his forehead and his reddish-brown skin had gone a bit pale.

  Harriet raised her right fingertips to the corner of her brow in salute.

  The Chief Constable returned the salute and then pointed toward a chair that sat in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Harriet.”

  Harriet lowered herself into the chair. “I got your message, Chief Constable. Is there a breach of The Gate?”

  “We don’t know,” the Chief Constable sighed. “But Shi Yan Bo was found dead this morning.”

  Harriet sat bolt upright, as if someone had struck her. “What? Since you called me in on this, it must be murder and the Governor Woods must think it’s related to the Green Lands.”

  “He was most definitely murdered,” Chief Constable Magaska Hota replied. “And the Council wants to cover all the bases. I mean, damn…a monk…the father of Aether Tech…murdered? Wakantanka, help us all…Kun-Lun District is going to be up in arms.”

  “When do you want me to go to Kun-Lun?”

  “Yesterday,” the Chief replied.

  Harriet rose from her seat. “I’m on it, Chief!”

  She pushed the door open and prepared to leave. “Gotta pick up a few things from my locker first.”

  “And, Harriet,” The Chief Constable called.

  “Yeah, Chief?” Harriet said, peering over her shoulder.

  “Try not to kill too many people or blow up too much stuff on this one.”

  “You’re asking a lot, Chief,” Harriet replied. “But, I’ll try.”

  She flashed the Chief a brilliant smile, waved and stepped into the lobby. Harriet turned to her left; just past the Chief Constable’s office was another door. She withdrew a small, silver key from her breast pocket and used it to unlock the door. She opened it and stepped into a room illuminated by aether light.

  The walls of the room were lined with large, bronze lockers, each six feet in height and four feet wide. On the face of each locker was a brass plate with six tiny, bronze levers protruding from it. Using the tip of her well-manicured index finger, Harriet pushed the first lever to her left down; she pushed the second one up; the third up; and so on, until she had completed the combination.

  A whirring noise came from inside the locker and then the door opened a crack.

  Harriet pushed the door open and stepped inside the locker. The door shut behind her and she found herself in a pristine white room that seemed to run on forever. Before her were endless rows of weapons, armor and strange looking devices.

  “Corset…shotgun…engram iconoscope,” she shouted.

  A few minutes later, something in the distance sped toward her. As the speeding object drew close, a shiny, silver table came into view. Atop the table was a silver cage and inside the cage were a few items.

  The table came to a smooth stop a yard from Harriet. Harriet approached the table and inspected the items in the cage. Satisfied, she removed them and the table sped off, disappearing into the alabaster distance.

  Harriet wrapped the crimson, leather corset around her torso. The corset tightened around her body and then molded itself to fit her frame. This marvel of technology had protected her from many a bullet, claw and stinger.

  She picked up the shotgun and admired it. The weapon – customized to her specifications – was as beautiful as it was deadly…like Harriet, which is why she named it “Junior”. The steam-powered, semi-automatic weapon was a masterwork of iron, bronze and brass – Baas Bello’s best weapon, yet. She slipped a bronze ammunition drum into the weapon and then slapped it to lock it into place.

  Harriet then picked up a copper box by its handle and walked toward the exit. The door flung open. She stepped out of the locker and the door slammed shut behind her.

  Harriet exited the locker room and walked back to the lift. After entering it, she slipped her key into the door and turned it clockwise.

  The lift rose higher. When it stopped, Harriet removed her key and the door slid open. Harriet stepped out onto the roof, where two dirigibles sat. One, with ‘Constabulary’ – in brass plating – embossed on the mahogany frame of its carriage; the other, smaller dirigible, with ‘Gatekeeper One’ engraved into its bronze-framed carriage.

  Sitting in a booth near the airships were a woman and two men. Their crisp, indigo uniforms and the trio of gold stripes on their sleeve cuffs informed their positions as airship pilots.

  One of the men approached Harriet, raising his hand in salute. “Good afternoon, Gatekeeper Tubman.”

  “I keep tellin’ y’all, I ain’t no Gatekeeper,” Harriet replied. “I’m only here as a favor to Baas Bello…and ‘cause the pay is good. Anyhow, I need to take the Bird up…heading to Kun-Lun.”

  “I can take you, but I don’t speak Mandarin and Constable Yip is off today.” The pilot said.

  “I speak enough Mandarin for the both of us, child,” Harriet replied. “Now, let’s get movin’.”

  “I’m Constable Haokah,” the pilot said as he unlocked the door to the airship’s carriage.

  “Wiyuskingyang wangchingyangke le,” Harriet said – “Pleased to meet you!”

  “Your Lakota is excellent!” Constable Haokah said.

  “Lila pilamalaye,” Harriet replied – “Thank you, very much.”

  Harriet hopped up into the airship. Constable Haokah followed her, locking the door behind him.

  “Have a seat and we’ll be on our way,” the pilot said.

  Harriet placed her weapon and the engram iconoscope on a mahogany bench and then plopped down on the bench in front of it. The oxblood leather felt cool, soft and relaxing. She leaned back, resting her head on the plush cushion and slipped into sleep as the airship took to the skies.

  ****

  “We will arrive in Kun-Lun in ten minutes, Gatekeeper…umm. Miss Tubman,” Constable Haokah shouted over the roar of the steam engine.

  Harriet stretched and then moved to the bench behind her to retrieve her belongings.

  “I will be landing atop the Kun-Lun District constabulary station,” the constable said. “From there, a rickshaw will take you to the crime scene. It will also bring you back when you’re done.”

  “Thank you,” Harriet replied with a nod.

  She peeked out of the portcullis and admired the view. Kun-Lun was a marvel of grand architecture. Residential towers, pagodas and watchtowers of crimson brick and black tiled roofs dotted the district. The imposing Elder House – the complex in which the two Elders from Kun-Lun, and their families, resided – sported roofs constructed of yellow tiles. Kun-Lun was a place of great beauty and many secrets.

  While the residents of Kun-Lun, of which ninety-nine percent of them were Chinese, were loyal to Oregon – after all, the unified African contingent, led by Baas Bello, that purchased the African slaves out of bondage in South America had also purchased the freedom of the Chinese from indentured servitude – they were still very close-knit and tight-lipped about the goings on in Kun-Lun.

  Cons
table Haokah landed the dirigible upon the roof of the constabulary station. He then walked to the door and slid it open. “See you soon,” he said, giving Harriet a crisp salute.

  Harriet returned the salute. “See you in a couple of hours, child.”

  She exited the airship and ran toward the elevator.

  She took the elevator down to street level and then exited the constabulary station into its parking lot, where a rickshaw awaited her.

  “Afternoon, Gatekeeper,” the rickshaw driver said, tilting his top-hat. His long, black hair fell over his youthful face.

  “Wuan, child,” Harriet replied, stepping up into the single passenger, cycle rickshaw. “Ni hao ma?” – “Good afternoon, child. How are you?”

  “Wo hen hao, ni ne?” – “I am fine, and you?” The teenager replied.

  “Wo hen hao, xie xie,” Harriet said – “I am fine, thank you.”

  The rickshaw driver’s powerful legs moved like pistons on the pedals of the rickshaw’s front wheel and the rickshaw went sailing through traffic, passing other rickshaws, penny-farthings and the occasional horse-drawn carriage on the road.

  A half hour later, the rickshaw passed through the red, wooden gates of the Lan Su Garden.

  Harriet had visited this beautiful garden many times, but never on such terrible terms.

  She had even shared tea at the Penjing exhibit with Shi Yan Bo once, when Baas Bello took her along on one of his many meetings with the monk. The encounter was peaceful…serene. And now, very surreal, for Shi Yan Bo was now dead in nearly the same spot where they shared Long Jing tea.

  The rickshaw driver stopped at the Penjing exhibit. “The world landscape in miniature”, Shi Yan Bo called it. And so it was – rocks, moss, plants, small figurines made of mud, boats, tiny rivers and miniscule buildings or a tiny forest – all in one clay pot.

  Lying face down among the tiny trees was Shi Yan Bo. His yellow, cotton robe was torn on the right side. Harriet inspected the area closer and found a large, black bruise on the monk’s right side. She pressed her fingers on the spot and the bruise sank in about an inch.

  “Broken ribs,” someone said from behind her. “Four of them.”

  Harriet peered over her shoulder. Standing behind her was a tall woman, dressed in a silk, royal blue tunic and matching trousers. Her skin was smooth and well-tanned and her straight, black hair was pulled back and braided in a single ponytail that fell to the middle of her back. A light breeze blew the woman’s clothes against her body, revealing a well-toned form.

  “You’re a Gatekeeper,” Harriet said.

  “Yes,” the woman replied. “My name is Pei-Pei Ming.”

  “You’re new,” Harriet said. “I’m Harriet Tubman.”

  “I know,” Pei said. “Your exploits are quite…celebrated.”

  “Welcome aboard, Gatekeeper,” Harriet said, standing and giving Pei a warm hug. “Hell of a first case you got, child.”

  “Indeed,” Pei said nodding.

  “Any witnesses?”

  “Four,” Pei answered. “I took the liberty of escorting them all to the teahouse.”

  “Good work,” Harriet said, slipping her shotgun into the sheath on her back with one hand, while grabbing the engram iconoscope with the other. “Lead the way!”

  Harriet followed Pei a short distance along a road that led to a stone bridge, which arched over a large pond filled with coy.

  The two women crossed the bridge. The spicy-sweet aroma of tea licked at Harriet’s nostrils.

  The teahouse – an edifice constructed of black brick, with a roof of red tile – stood just before them. Harriet sauntered inside, five people sat, sipping tea and chatting quietly.

  Upon spotting Harriet, the teahouse fell silent.

  “Ni hao,” Harriet said, in greeting, to the quintet of teahouse patrons.

  They returned the greeting – “Ni hao.” – “Hello.”

  “I am Harriet Tubman,” Harriet said, continuing to speak to them in Mandarin Chinese. “I knew Master Bo; my friend and teacher – Baas Bello – and Master Bo was friends. We done all suffered a great loss today and I will do my best to find the person who did this and bring them to justice.”

  “We already know who did it,” an elderly man spat. “One of your ‘blood brothers’.

  “You’re saying the perpetrator was a Negro?”

  “Of course,” the man replied. “Who, but a Negro would dress so…ridiculously gaudy?”

  The other witnesses nodded in agreement.

  Harriet closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. She concentrated on the beating of her heart – as Baas had taught her years ago – and slowed it down, calming herself. “I know y’all upset right now, but please, do not turn this into a racial issue. The Negro, Chinese and Indian done worked together for over twenty years here in Oregon and is now the wealthiest and most technologically advanced state in this country because of that unity.”

  The faces of the witnesses shifted from scowls to masks of frustration and sorrow.

  Harriet sat the engram iconoscope on a table and then pressed a small button in its handle. The device opened to reveal what looked like a large crystal ball with five silver nodes dotting its surface; on one side of this “ball”, protruded a crystal rod. At the end of the rod were four needles. Harriet removed four small canvas bags – each containing another set of needles – and handed them to Pei.

  “This is an engram iconoscope,” Harriet explained to the witnesses. “It records memories. Most people do not consciously recall all that they see, but the engram iconoscope will. All you gots to do is think about the event; concentrate on it; the iconoscope will do the rest.”

  Harriet pointed toward the needles at the tip of the rod. “I am gonna insert these needles into acupuncture points at the base of your neck and it will record exactly what you saw. Most of y’all are familiar with acupuncture, so you know this procedure will be painless. Do y’all have any questions?”

  “Can she do it?” A woman asked, nodding toward Gatekeeper Pei-Pei Ming.

  “I can,” Pei replied. “However, Miss Tubman has much more experience with such things. Respect her, please.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Harriet said, handing the engram iconoscope to Pei. “I want you all to be comfortable.”

  Pei nodded and then handed the packs of needles to Harriet. Pei then stepped behind the woman who requested that she do the procedure and slowly inserted the needles into the base of her neck.

  Images swirled within the engram iconoscope’s ball, bonding to the aether within it. Slowly, the images steadied and grew clear. Shi Yan Bo knelt before a miniature tree, pruning it. From the angle, it was obvious the woman stood on the bridge watching the monk.

  A moment later, a person seemed to fall from the sky, landing a yard or so from Master Bo. The person appeared to be a male approximately six feet tall and weighing between one hundred-eighty and two hundred pounds. He was dressed in a candy apple red, wool suit, red gloves and red leather boots. A huge brimmed, red boss-of-the-plains hat – with a peacock feather protruding from it – concealed his face.

  Startled, the monk leapt to his feet.

  The man in the red suit exploded forward, whipping his rear leg in a wide arc toward the monk’s torso.

  The man’s shin slammed into Shi Yan Bo’s ribcage. The monk’s robes shredded from the sheer power of the blow and he was sent tumbling sideways across the road.

  The old monk struggled to his feet as the man-in-the-red-suit sauntered toward him.

  Shi Yan Bo limped toward the bridge.

  His assailant leapt toward him, reaching out toward the monk with outstretched fingers.

  The man-in-the-red-suit thrust the fingers of one hand into Shi Yan Bo’s neck as his other hand grabbed a fistful of the monk’s long, white hair.

  The man shoved Shi Yan Bo’s head forward as he pulled the fingers buried in the monk’s neck toward the old man’s spine.

  A torrent of blood erupted from
the four deep gashes in Shi Yan Bo’s neck.

  The monk stumbled forward a few feet and then collapsed onto his face. He shuddered once and then lay still.

  The man-in-the-red-suit turned away from Shi Yan Bo’s lifeless body and calmly walked off, eventually disappearing among the fir trees.

  Each witness’ memory showed the same scene, but from different angles. However, none of them could see the killer’s face, so his identity – and ethnicity – remained a mystery.

  “Thank you all,” Harriet said, packing up the engram iconoscope. “Gatekeeper Ming will stay here with you until the constabulary arrives.

  “Actually, I am going with you,” Pei Ming said. “Orders from both of our Chief Constables; I received them while you were en route here.

  “Two of us working a murder?” Harriet said, shaking her head.”The Governor obviously want this case closed quick!”

  “It appears so,” Pei replied.

  “Once this gets out to the public, things between Kun-Lun and Songhai could get ugly,” Harriet said. “Let’s go!”

  Harriet and Pei exited the teahouse. Harriet placed her hand on Pei Ming’s shoulder. “Wait; we have to call you some transport; I’m in a single passenger rickshaw.”

  “No problem,” Pei Ming said. “Upon initiation, the Masters gifted me with a subdermal temporal-spatial displacement engine.”

  “Moving sideways through time, huh?”Harriet said. “Thought that was just a theory. You Chinese are making advances that would even impress Baas.”

  “You would be astounded,” Pei said. “We have even learned to eat with spoons and forks!”

  “Funny,” Harriet said, rolling her eyes. “Meet me on the roof of the constabulary station in forty-five minutes.”

  A luminous, purple gash in the air appeared before Gatekeeper Ming. She thrust her right leg into the tear in the world. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  Pei stepped sideways into the gash, disappearing from view as it closed.

  “Lawd…I gotta get me one of those things!” Harriet said, shaking her head.

  She sprinted to the rickshaw.