John woke up in a cold sweat, reaching for a bottle beside his bed but someone kicked it away. He scowled, "You'd best have a damn good reason for that Branson."
"You told me, last night, that you wanted to stop drinking and I'm supposed to help you do that." Branson pushed at John's shoulders, heaving him out of the bed. "We're not going to impress our clients if you smell like a distillery… especially like the cheap ones here."
"Who says I want to impress them?"
"Our landlord and the grocer who keeps waving our unpaid bills at me." Branson lifted John upright, leading him to a bucket full of water with a layer of ice on it. "Sorry it'll be cold but-"
John's fist broke the top of the ice and he dunked his head under the water. The silence and the cold combine to tempt him with the desire to stay where he heard nothing but the distant thrum of his heartbeat in his ears while also forcing his body to demand immediate release. He raised his head, gasping for air, and wiped at his face as he leaned over the bucket.
"Who's our first client?"
"Special request. Offered me money up front." Branson pushed a chair toward John and he slumped in it, the cold water still leaking from his hair to soak his nightshirt.
"Did you take it?"
"Yes and I paid our rent so we're good until next month."
"Who was it?"
"Wore a fancy uniform, that's all I know." Branson went to walk away but John grabbed his arm.
"What kind of uniform?"
"British, why?"
John groaned, "No, no, no, NO!"
"What?"
"We don't take mercenary work for the British government. How many times-"
"A lot but it's fine to have standards like that when we're actually pulling in money but between your drinking and you're wife's gambling habit-"
"Ex-wife."
"Then how's she still swindling money from you?" Branson waited but John could only rake a hand through his sopping hair. "And why'd she follow you all the way to Peking anyway?"
"I don't know and I really don't care." John stood, "What's the job?"
"He said he'd come by today to discuss it with you personally." Branson sniffed and then coughed, "I think you should take a bath first. Something to get that smell off you."
"I haven't decided if you're the best assistant or the worst." John pulled the nightshirt over his head and then dipped into the bath, shivering. "It's freezing!"
"It would've been warm if you'd been up on time."
John immersed himself, scrubbing furiously to get as clean as he could without having to stay long in the water. By the time Branson returned John toweled himself over and nodded at the bathwater. "Dumping it in the street again?"
"Actually made a deal for fresh vegetables if we give them the bathwater for irrigation." Branson winked and held up John's suit. "I think it's the best we're going to get for you until we have enough for a tailor."
"What about Zhang? He was impeccable."
"He's still impeccable but he also likes the idea of being paid for his efforts." Branson hung the suit from the low arch. "When we have money to pay him, he'll repair and refit anything you have."
"I like his gratitude for the help we gave him with those thugs menacing his store."
"It's not an eternal debt, John." Branson rolled his eyes, cleaning up the room a bit before pushing the screen to the side to expose the office space on the other side. "It does eventually reach the point where it's not acceptable to continue using a line on the same favor."
"And at what point do you decide you're not going to continue to stay here as my aide."
"When you stop calling me your aide." Branson stopped, turning to the knock on the door. "Are you ready?"
John held out his arms, "What do you think?"
"I think we need more money so you can wear a new suit."
John sighed, walking out of the room and pulling the screen back to leave the office as all their guest could see. He walked to his desk, sorting through the papers there to make a larger pile for their bills and a smaller one for their interested and potential clients. Branson's voice brought John's head up and he piled the offers to the side before walking around the desk.
But when he saw the man Branson led into the room, John's knuckles tightened. "What do you want?"
"That's no way to treat someone hoping to hire you." Carlisle pointed to a chair in front of John's desk. 'Might I sit? I've a bit to discuss with you and I don't want to keep us both on our feet."
"I don't think-"
"Please," Branson pulled the chair back, glaring at John. "We're very curious as to what this offer is."
Carlisle took his seat and John forced his legs to bend so he could take his chair, keeping the desk between them. They stared one another down a moment before Carlisle cleared his throat. "I think there's a bit of confusion between the two of us."
"There's no confusion." John shook his head, "I know what you've done and I'm not very interested in joining that particular crusade."
"I'm not asking you to join the crusade." Carlisle paused, "Though I do horribly disagree with the idea that you believe there's a crusade."
"Are you saying you're not slaughtering innocents in the streets?"
Carlisle smiled at him, "Even if that was true, then just know I wouldn't tell you since you refused to take the uniform again."
"I don't want any part of the oppression and destruction of these people."
"Is that what you believe we're doing here?"
"It's what I've seen you doing here." John sighed, "What do you want from us since we're not part of your ambitious death squads?"
"I need a pair of investigators who aren't working under me to do a bit of scouting."
"We're not in that line of work."
"It's investigating isn't it?"
John narrowed his eyes, "No, it's not."
"Then what is it, Captain?"
"It's your ploy to put us as your advanced agents somewhere you plan to pillage and burn until they succumb to your demands."
Carlisle barked out his laugh, "You make us sound like the devil."
"He's a bit more subtle."
"And I'm sure he wouldn't offer you the small fortune you'll make working for me."
"Doing what?" Branson interrupted, shooting a look at John to stop his argument. "What kind of investigation do you need from us?"
"The kind where I need you to travel to the Shan dong province."
Branson frowned, "What's in Shan Dong?"
"There is a supposed gathering of warlords there and they threaten the peace and security of our relationships with the Chinese people."
John snorted, "What relationships?"
Carlisle ignored him, "We need those who could find these warlords for us and identify them by name."
"Do you want us to ask them to pose for pictures as well?" John put his forehead in his hand, massaging at his temples. "What does it matter who they are? You'll just kill them all anyway."
"I think you underestimate the desires of the government in China."
"I wonder if there's a purpose to the government being here." John finally faced Carlisle. "What do you need to know about these warlords that you couldn't find by bribing them or burning their villages to the ground?"
"Were looking for the 'why'."
"I thought that was obvious." John went to say more but Branson kicked the desk.
"When do you need this information and what are our parameters?"
"I think-"
"We're not taking this case." John stood up, "I know you think this is necessary but perhaps you'd be better off talking to these men instead of trying to gain military intelligence on them so you can destroy them."
"I think you're underestimating our ability to adapt and collaborate."
"That's not your style, Colonel." John held Carlisle's gaze as they faced one another across the desk. "You're the kind who appreciates the destruction you cause."
"I don't think you know me at all."
"I know you very well. I've served under men like you and you don't change."
Carlisle scowled at John, "Your government needs you."
"And my government can sod off." John pulled a wad of bills from his pocketbook. "Take back your money and get out."
Carlisle looked at the money and then sniffed. "Keep it, Captain. It's a gift from Her Majesty for her loyal soldiers."
"I don't need your blood money."
"Anymore, Captain." Carlisle pivoted and walked toward the door, "You don't need it anymore."
Branson gaped at John, hurrying to help Carlisle out of the office. John sat down hard, almost knocking his chair out from under him, and put his face in his hands. He did not even lift his head when Branson knocked against the desk. It was not until Branson's hand slapped against his head that John looked up.
"Excuse you."
"Excuse me?" Branson scoffed, "What did you just do? He was our best chance to escape the crushing debt we've got hanging over our heads and you insulted him before all but booting his ass out the door."
"Obviously this bothers you." John sat back, holding the armrest of his chair. "But it's not about money, Branson."
"It's all about money, John." Branson's arms flung out from his sides. "We need to eat to live and we need money to pay for the food we eat."
"But we also have to live with ourselves, Branson." John stood up so fast he kicked his chair out to clatter against the wall. "I couldn't live with myself if I helped that man continue to water the streets of this country with blood."
"Then I guess we won't have to worry about it since we're not going to live long now." Branson shook his head, "What has he done to align you so vehemently against him?"
"I served in India, when he was there, and I heard about what he did. I watched men like him leave towns as ash and orphans weeping for their parents as he 'pacified' the population." John swallowed, "I won't aid in that any longer. I won't go back to it."
"Then it's nothing to do with the fact that Colonel Carlisle's enjoying the nighttime pleasures of your wife?"
"Ex-wife and I hope they do make one another as happy as they can before one or both of them inevitably fall to a VD." John reached for his jacket, holding up one of the requests. "And we've got other interests. We'll build back from the bottom with these."
"Those aren't going to make us any more than a local constable."
"But I'll sleep better at night knowing I contributed to someone's life in a way that mattered." John tried to say something else but just let his chest fall, "It's my conscience, Branson, and I've already spent too much of my life letting it be trampled under necessity or desperation."
Branson did not respond, just went over to his own desk and pulled a stack of papers toward him so he could file them. John closed his eyes, body slumping in place as if the weight of it all finally rested on his shoulders. Without another word, he left the office.
The streets bustled with rickshaws, shouting vendors, children running between legs and underfoot, and the constant bawl of life. John wove through the crush, standing a head- and sometimes head and shoulders- above those about him. Children and the elderly stared up at him like they could not believe he was real while others just wandered out of his way. All of it screamed of life and struggle and a kind of fervor John wondered if he had for himself any longer.
Up the street, John bent to check the address on the paper in his hand. As he looked up a gaggle of soldiers approached him. John peeked over his shoulder and watched the crowd around him disperse quickly, chattering in Mandarin and their home dialects to warn others to steer clear.
John sighed, tucking the request away, and opened his hands toward the tallest of the bunch. The officer had cold blue eyes, perfectly coifed hair, and an uncomfortable twitch to his mouth as he smiled that fixed the expression as a permanent leer. Stopping just short of John, the man stared him up and down with a crinkle to his nose.
"So this is the legendary Captain Bates is it?"
"Not sure I've the pleasure of your name so I'll chose not to answer that particular question." John pointed over the man's shoulder, "And I've an appointment so I'm sure you'll understand if I politely decline whatever it is that's got you and those around here stopped."
"I'm Lieutenant Thomas Barrow and I heard stories about you from the Boer War."
John bristled, "I'm sure you did."
"And Colonel Carlisle mentioned your attitude in India… something about saving the population." Barrow shrugged, "I guess he's fond of you but I don't know why. A broken down old war hero, like yourself, given over to desperation and drink when he can't save a few savages."
"I'd watch what you say when you're surrounding yourself with those…" John frowned, "Never mind. I amend my statement to say this, do as you like. I've washed my hands of the Empire and all its petty difficulties."
"But the Empire's not washed its hands of you, Mr. Bates."
"I'd have thought three years of me refusing the offers of reenlistment or another commission would tell the Empire what I think of that plan."
"Colonel Carlisle is persistent."
"So was my ex-wife but I separated from her and I'm sure I can do the same with the Empire and our dear Queen." John went to walk past Barrow but the other man stepped in his way. "This conversation is over, Lieutenant, so step aside."
"It's not over." Barrow nodded and, before John could move, two of the men with Barrow clapped irons over his wrists. The wrench on his shoulders had John flailing slightly but the men held him down. "Colonel Carlisle was insistent that we bring you to the garrison. Whether by your own will or ours it didn't matter."
"You can sod off too."
"We'll see about that." Barrow nodded at his men, "Take him away."
