A/N: Thanks for the reviews, HD! (One works with the audience one has...:) and I suppose I never really expected many readers for this Kay-y, relatively fluffless fic, so it doesn't really matter) We get to see some pirates in this chapter :D. And a few more dead people.

'Name?'

My yellow eyes flickered fleetingly to one side as I quickly thought of a passable name.

'Erik...Erik Fléau-Delafrance.'

The uniformed gentleman looked up at me briefly, eyebrows raised. For one moment, I thought he was not going to accept my wry, freshly-invented surname - or worse still, make me remove the fabric still wrapped around my face - but as I kept my gaze neutral and calm, the moment passed and he scribbled the name down onto his piece of paper.

'Very well, monsieur. You may pass.'

I entered the town feeling a powerful sense of relief. I had not envisioned there being men stationed around the perimeters of Haiphong, writing down the names of who entered and who left -

'Oh, wait just a moment, monsieur!'

The relief vanished instantly, and I turned around.

'Yes?'

The French officer squinted at me. 'Do you happen to be from Metropolitan France?'

I decided to keep affairs simple by telling the truth for once. 'I am indeed.'

'Vous avez des papiers d'identification?' he asked.

Identification papers? The very idea! I never had any such thing in my life! Damn him, I had just wanted to look around the town, not go through lengthy formalities like this...

'Listen, monsieur l'officier...I recently got into a spot of trouble in a small town south of here, as I was unwillingly taken away from my former dwelling by some Annamite locals,' I explained, layering my voice and pitching it at exactly the right tone to subconsciously stimulate compassion in the unsuspecting officer's mind. 'I managed to escape with nothing but the clothes on my back and a small fraction of my savings.' I indicated the cloth bag still attached to my belt, which, unknown to the officer, was actually full of rare jewels rather than coins. The irresistible lull of my voice had taken its full, desired effect upon the man, and he nodded in understanding.

'Heathens, the lot of them,' agreed the officer gruffly. 'But I would still like you to uncover your face for a moment, if that would be possible -'

Stinging flashes of panic seared me, but I smothered them, instead keeping my mind cool and calm. Then, in a voice positively saturated with subtle hypnotic tones, I told him while staring directly into his eyes: 'It is unnecessary. I pose no threat to anyone here. Making me show my face would only lead to...complications. I was attacked, monsieur, and the wounds on my face must be covered, you see! You do not need to look for yourself.'

The officer blinked as if emerging from a dream; I could see in his eyes that he was completely dazzled by the soft beauty of my voice. 'Yes...yes, you're perfectly right,' he agreed vaguely, still under my influence. 'It is unnecessary. You may go on your way, monsieur. Bonne journée.'

'Good day to you too, officer,' I replied courteously, a dark, sinister smile of triumph curling my hidden lips as I turned and proceeded into the town of Haiphong.

Haiphong was the main commercial port of Tonkin, about thirty-two kilometers from the sea, as I found out, and was positioned at the convergence of the Song-Tom-Bac river, the Bonnal canal and the Cua-Cam branch of the Red River delta. Commerce was rich here; trading ships came up the rivers from the Gulf sea to bring their goods to this prosperring town. I myself found it refreshingly different from the clusters of Annamite houses I had seen in the smaller villages southwards from here; the French had already accomplished a lot of work on the town. Why, but for the intense heat, I could almost believe myself to be in any western-European town! As I sinuously slunk invisible and unnoticed through the shadows, I greedily feasted my eyes upon the magnificent colonial architecture that intermingled with the more traditional, tall Annamite houses. Freshly planted trees provided shade along the streets and boulevards, giving some respite from the burning sun. Everywhere I looked, I could see people, too...mostly I noticed Annamites, stationed at their stalls and shop-fronts, or carrying goods along the streets, their characteristic conical hats tied upon their heads to shelter them from the sun. I also noticed some Chinese walking about here and there, and - standing out most conspicuously from the Asian population - some Frenchmen, wearing their khaki, colonial uniforms and their typical bell-shaped helmets, most of them also sporting the fashionable moustache beneath it. I regarded these men with vague interest as here and there Annamites trundled them around in two-wheeled, cart-like contraptions that they pulled behind them. I watched a uniformed officer with his luxuriant moustache ride past in one, pulled along by a barefoot Annamite who was looking rather sour. It was well and truly obvious who held the reins here...

Although I would have liked to stay and peruse the buildings a little more, by and by I became aware of my shredded, threadbare garments attracting stares as I walked along. I decided that I may as well find something decent to wear while I was here...

A few hours later, I was in the Rue de la République (ah! how wonderful to hear such familiar-sounding street names!), making my way to the docks. I had seen many brand-new colonial houses in these streets, with exquisite masonry and characteristic green-painted shutters and doors. As architecture was a fond passion of mine, I had taken mental note of every single facet of those buildings, contrasting them with the local tube-houses. The original houses and shop-fronts of Haiphong, I noticed, were always very narrow, but very long out the back. I had seen this sort of crafty building technique in Russia; the owners of the houses and shops were taxed by the width of frontage on the street, so they merely moved all their required living space to the back. In Russia the people had built their upper floors overhanging the street slightly, because they were only taxed by the size of the floor that actually touched the ground. It was always interesting to see how people used the art of architecture to dodge heavier taxes...

I walked on under the shade of the trees, melting in with the crowd now. I had discarded my torn, well-soiled clothing, and had purchased instead a nondescript, long tunic worn by most Annamites I had seen. Some of the gems I had carried all the way over here had been traded for a vast amount of coins - a slightly vaster amount of coins, in fact, than those gems were really worth, for I really do pride myself for my skills of negotiation. I had hidden the gems and coins away deep inside the dull, drab folds of the tunic, padding the pouch and drawing it tightly shut so that the wealth inside would not make a merry jingle to attract any ill-wisher's attention. I did not particularly want to go through the bother of discreetly killing a thief, for I had better things to do at the moment...

I kept on going, head mostly down out of habit. I was wearing a shady, Annamite hat to complete my wardrobe; what was even better was that it had a large square of fabric with two corners attached to either side of the brim, and this square of fabric I had tied firmly to hide my face. Only my yellow eyes and my pale, blue-veined forehead showed above the material, but these were kept concealed anyway by the hat's brim. With this disguise, nobody saw me as different, and nobody even looked at me twice.

While at first I jubilated at this fact, I gradually began to feel uneasy. With nothing to put them on edge, the people came uncomfortably near to me, even brushing past me like anyone on the street! My hands began to feel clammy. Crowds always made me feel tense and ill at ease; I had had many bad experiences with them. There were people everywhere, and so near, too! Far too close for comfort...my breathing was uneven, as my eyes darted from side to side, and suddenly the thin cloth over my face didn't feel so light and free anymore. It became heavy and stifling, clinging closely to my perspiring skin. Wild panic began to flash through me as the awful, nasty crowd seemed to close around me, making me flinch every time a person brushed against me. What if one of them saw how curiously flat the fabric covering my face was in front, as if there was no nose there to create a ridge in it? What if they caught sight of my yellow eyes - my bony frame - my deathly skin - my cadaverous complexion? They would all turn on me as one, as they had to the poor, sad little Mort Vivant...they would all cry out, gasp, swear in shock and horror and disgust! They would lock me in a cage again! They would gawp at me behind bars! They would throw me underground with the dead again! They would destroy me, from the inside outwards!

I could not take any more! I began to run, ploughing my way through the crowd, desperate for solitude, safety...

I ran, I ran - I did not stop! Hands grabbed at me, people cried out in protest, but still I ran! I ran until I was far, far from them, far from the horrible crowd that brought back such frightful memories. Poor Erik...he had just come into the world and was already enduring what le Mort Vivant, Siyah Hayalet and Beliya Prizrak had, all together! Poor Erik, I thought, sinking against the wall of an alleyway and sliding to the floor where I sat panting. Oh, Erik hates crowds just as much as those before him did...

Gradually the phobic hysteria began to fade, my heart slowing to a more steady, even pace. As the frantic terror waned, it was replaced by dark bitterness. No, not poor Erik - foolish Erik, more like! Foolish to think he could walk through a crowd without being attacked by ghosts of the past! No, no - foolish to even be terrified! I scorned him. He was not the little defenceless child of long ago - he was not the Living Corpse who was held helpless behind bars all day to be stared at! He was a man, with all the murderous skills of the Silent Viper of India, with all the power of the Persian Angel of Doom! He knew how to kill people with as much ease as breathing, so he had nothing to fear! Simple mortals should never cause him such irrational fear - that was a weak, human thing! No, what he needed to guard himself against was his own mind, really...but self-control was always such a speciality of his...

I was Erik, and a skilful, powerful man like Erik needed a weapon of some sort. Maybe I would find one in a different place? I walked along the alleyway to the opening on the other side, irritably ducking under low washing-lines that dangled across the alley. What a chore, to be so tall, sometimes -

I froze in the act of lifting one so I could pass under. I moved my hand and felt it again. Yes...a distinct slip of thin wire, so familiar beneath my fingers...

Impatiently, I pushed the clothes from the line onto the ground. A metallic gleam met my golden gaze. Ah! yes! Just as I had surmised! The line was wire - wire of ideal thinness! I ripped it from the walls, the clothes upon it falling upon the floor in a disordered heap. I closed my eyes and ran my hands along the length of the wire, a dark smile curling the corners of my mouth as I felt the familiar, powerful feeling of metal slipping smoothly against my palms. Within seconds the knot was tied, the supple wire's length adjusted, and I had myself a lasso of the Punjab type coiled and ready in my hands. It was only a makeshift one, of a different sort of material, but it still had the potential to serve me well. I hid the new Punjab wire up my left sleeve, where it would wait until it was needed...

I smiled in the darkness of the alleyway. Erik felt very sure of himself now, very sure indeed...

I stalked the length of the quay silently, pale hands tucked away in the pockets of my tunic, eyes occasionally peering out from beneath the brim of my hat to look at the vessels tied to the thick mooring-posts. As I passed the large warehouses, I found myself gawping up at the larger ships that were anchored beside the port. I had quite forgotten how huge these things could be...

Smaller vessels were moored nearby, some being relieved of their goods by serious-looking workmen, and others being loaded with spices and other crates full of items for trade. I observed one of them in particular quite closely; it appeared to be a Chinese junk, which had come in from the sea, and was probably going to be on its way to Yunan with a fresh cargo of silks and other goods.

Melting into the shadows, I leant against a wall with my bony arms crossed, perusing the junk as it was being loaded. Yunan...I thought. I had only fleetingly passed through China once, and unless I was mistaken, Yunan was a Chinese town that could be reached by travelling up the Red River that ran straight through Tonkin. By what I could judge, the Red River was a lucrative trade route through the entire country, and I was beginning to contemplate a boat-ride all the way up the river to China...

A few short hours later, I was on that very junk, watching riverside houses go by as I thought about how ridiculously easy it had been to gain passage on this vessel. A man should have more control over his own mind, surely! It had only taken a small amount of persuasion with the powerful, influential tones of my voice to get the junk's captain to accept me as an impromptu passenger. Of course, I knew very well that the sheer strength of my willpower and the bewitching vibrance of the voice I used were infallible means of getting me what I desired, but sometimes it was downright disappointing how easily some people let themselves be conquered without facing me with even a slight challenge to make things more fun...

The junk had taken quite some time to get ready for its journey, but now I was well and truly on my way upriver, watching the more urbanised areas give way to sweeping, marshy rice paddies. Soon we were in the middle of the vast plains, far from the sight of Haiphong. The green-brown water lapped at the junk as it slowly made its way upstream.

I perched myself on the edge of the very back of the junk, where I was obscured from view by the crates of goods behind me, and I could see the rolling expanses of marshland in all their splendour. The sun was beginning to set in a watery manner, hazy through the mists that drifted over the Cua-Cam delta. It was curiously peaceful, to be drifting over the water in this bamboo contraption among the high reeds and completely deserted marshland...

I could see a large white bird somewhere in the distance, stalking through the inundated fields upon long legs. I regarded it for a moment or two, then slapped irritably at my arm - mosquitoes also seemed to find this a beautiful place to be. It was a wonder how they would still bite me, bloodless and dead though I appeared to be...

A quick exploration beneath the fabric covering my face led me to conclude that my wound was beginning to heal quite adequately; a small blessing. I swung my legs gently over the rippling water down below, revelling in the soft breeze and beginning to contemplate what I would do once in China. I very much liked the idea of taking a look at their quaint architecture there, and seeing if the wilderness of the mountains there could take me far enough away from the memories of the past for me to feel finally free...even now, I relished the feeling of sitting undisturbed upon this junk as it floated through the middle of nowhere. My only company was the captain of the junk, and a couple of his assistants, but they did not bother me, nor care much about my presence. They were simple beings, I had discovered, and the charm of my voice had put their uncomplicated minds at rest. I felt the first tiny flicker of freedom deep within the dark recesses of my sorry heart; there was nobody here to bother me - no tyrannical, cowardly, mistrustful Sultan to bother me with inventions for his own protection, no sadistic, wicked little khanum to press me for new methods of torture and execution, no meddlesome Daroga to suspiciously scrutinize my every move and try to stir my long-dead conscience -

A slight commotion at the front of the junk alerted my attention. What were the fools gibbering about now? I assumed one of the assistants had dropped something overboard, but when I came out from behind the crates, they were not looking over the side of the boat. Instead they were staring straight ahead, pointing and gesticulating wildly in obvious distress.

'What is it?' I asked them in their native language. They looked shocked to see me, as if they had completely forgotten my presence, but quickly their panic took over them again and they gabbled frantically:

'Nhin kia! O do! Tàu cuop biên! Tàu cuop biên!'

Given that I only had a loose understanding of the language, I had no idea what in the world they were talking about. They pointed wildly upriver, then began wringing their hands and tearing at their hair, sending up oaths to the heavens. I frowned over the junk's bow, and saw what it was that had gotten them into such a state. Up ahead, another vessel was making its way downriver, heading straight for us. Judging by the crew's reaction, this was most definitely not just another trading junk. There was something bad about this vessel.

I gritted my teeth. We were in definite danger; the malignant, bamboo junk was approaching with all speed, and the humble craft we were aboard was weighed down with goods and certainly not built for speed. We could not change course and flee, and the second boat was approaching fast. The captain and his loading assistants were weeping now; their shameful fear made me sick. Well, we would soon see whether the crew of the approaching junk were anything of a match for the Silent Viper of India, the Persian Angel of Doom, or the terrible Thày Phù Thuy! My hastily-made Punjab snare nestled comfortingly up my left sleeve, I slipped like a shadow behind the crates of merchandise as the second vessel finally drew level with ours.

A split second later, a wiry, dirty-faced young man wielding a knife leapt the gap between the two vessels, and was soon joined by four other equally unpleasant-looking companions, who boarded the junk with just as much agility. The two junks were quickly secured together to prevent them drifting apart, and the five men who had boarded went straight for the captain and his assistants.

The three hapless, unarmed traders fell to their knees and grovelled most pathetically, ingratiating themselves with no shred of honour at all. One of our "guests", a bony man wearing baggy, knee-length trousers and a brown tunic beneath a drab, soft coat with the collar turned up, gave the traders a look of contempt and shouted an order to the rest of his companions. There was a flash of metal, and within the space of a few seconds, the captain of the Chinese junk and his assistants were lying crumpled and lifeless on the deck, limbs twitching occasionally as a pool of scarlet blood spread steadily from them.

My eyes widened as I suddenly realised.

'Des pirates,' I whispered silently. Pirates!

Leaving the bodies without a second glance - what clean, unfeeling murder it had been! - the leader of the group of pirates issued another order, and the others began to break open crates to investigate the goods, then bring them over to their own junk. So, they were thieves as well as murderers, then! I had dealt with such types before, many, many times...

My yellow eyes fixed upon a scrawny man coming my way, obviously interested in the contents of the crate I happened to be hiding behind. Two more steps and he would be able to see me...it was better to conserve the element of surprise while I still had it. I would surely be able to take on all five pirates, and steer this junk onwards myself to Yunan; I was almost twice the height of these short Annamites, and would be able to dispatch them with ease. After all, I had killed men larger and stronger than myself on several occasions, and their numbers would count as nothing faced with my terrible skill...

I crouched low in the darkness behind the crate as the man drew nearer, watching him like a viper ready to strike. One step...two steps -

I sprang from my hiding place, the wire sliding from my sleeve and into its familiar place in the hollow of my left palm - the palm that bore a long, thin white scar from where the Punjab wire always cut into it whenever I pulled it taut. In a smooth, seamless movement I had practiced so often it was now instinctive, I widened the loop, threw it over the man's head, and swiftly snapped his neck before he could even make a sound. The body fell to the floor with a thump, its face still frozen in an expression of dumb surprise. Alerted by the sound, the other pirates immediately turned and saw me there - a toweringly tall, skeletal figure wearing a dark tunic and a wide hat that hid his face entirely, standing over the body of their recently-fallen crewmate. Before they could react, I came at them in one quick lunge.

Taking on four men at a time would be a refreshing challenge, and I was confident that I would be able to open, throw, close, and loosen the wire quick enough to deal with each of them, one after the other. If they stood close enough together, I might even be able to incapacitate two at once...

My right hand tugged open the loop, and then in a flash I had reajusted my left, throwing hand, before throwing the thin wire at the nearest man -

One thing I had unfortunately forgotten was that my Punjab snare was made from a piece of wire that had served as something to hang washing on for about ten years. With the supple catgut snares I was used to, the knot needed a fractionally harder tug to get the loop to widen sufficiently, whereas with this thicker line, the knot was weaker, thus causing the loop to widen a shade too much. This was enough to cause the wire to trap the man's shoulders instead of his neck, and the split second in which I faltered then tried to slide it up to his throat was long enough for the other pirates to close in around me and press the points of their daggers into my flesh.

'Release him!' commanded the leader in the Annamite tongue, poking me with the sharp blade to emphasise his point. I bared my teeth beneath the fabric covering my face, cursing myself bitterly. How could I be victim of such stupid, painfully human error? I, who fancied myself above all possible mistakes! My left hand, still gripping the traitorous wire, trembled. I noticed blood around my knuckles where the paper-thin skin had been split by the bone. This happened frequently, but the sight of my own blood - proof of my despicable weakness - and the feeling of the cage of daggers around me was almost enough to make me scream in frustration. Instead, though, I accepted that I was in a precarious position and dropped my end of the useless Punjab lasso, now entirely unarmed. My would-be victim struggled out of the wire, throwing it to the ground - something which had not happened in many, many years. I glared down at the pirates, detesting my state of weakness. To my further humiliation, my arms were wrenched back and my wrists quickly tied together. I wondered why the hell they had not slit my sorry throat yet...what could they be waiting for? They had lowered their blades, and, to my horror, the leader gave the order to take me over to their junk. I kicked and struggled, but the men were surprisingly strong, and did not hesitate to clout me half-senseless in order to bring me aboard their own vessel. I fought off the waves of unconsciousness, and gave my captors a burning look of loathing. The leader stared at me with a steely glint in his eye.

'I don't like the way he looks at me, and he should be slaughtered for what he did to Ly Cam, but there is something in his skill that has captured my awe...' he told the others. 'He appears to have great experience, and it would be something of a waste to end him like we ended the traders of the goods vessel. He would be a valuable asset to us aboard the Vinh Quyen, especially since the scum of the West is coming to deface our beloved country!'

'But Ngai, how are we to know that this wire-throwing murderer is not one of them?' another pirate interjected. He raised my bound arms roughly and pushed back the sleeve of my tunic, revealing my glaringly grey-white, unhealthy skin. 'Look, he is certainly pale enough!' The leader frowned, then looked at me calculatingly, before reaching out quickly and pulling the hat from my head, taking the concealing square of fabric with it and revealing my face in all of its loathsome glory. Several of the pirates actually cried out in horror and disgust, while those with more self-restraint looked severely ill. They spat contemptuously on the floor, as if my hideous looks were a curse. Ah, how observant!

I stood tall and straight, expression stony, eyes smouldering as I watched their appalled stares. Was it possible that a mere hour ago I had been revelling in unseen tranquility? The leader, Ngai, was the first to move, stepping forwards slowly, eyes still fixed on my horrendous features, mouth silently shaping a swearword.

I stared down at him with contempt, then Ngai glanced at the others.

'Have we stumbled upon a demon?' he asked softly, still appalled. 'Or is this creature indeed human? Let us find out for sure!'

Before I knew it, restraining arms were wrapped around me to hold me still, and three of the pirates - including Ngai himself - began to tear at my tunic. I cried out in alarm, struggling as they tugged at the thin fabric impatiently.

'Mais - que faites vous?' I choked out, unconsciously reverting to French as I demanded what they were doing. 'Let go of me, you mindless heathens!' My protestations fell on deaf ears; the pirates seemed to have a sole purpose that was so important that they didn't even notice the language I had used. Soon I was bare to the waist, my tunic in torn tatters about my bony shoulders. The three pirates seemed to have found what they were looking for.

Ngai prodded at my exposed navel with obvious surprise. He looked up at his fellow pirates. 'He has the face of a demon, yet he is born of a woman!' he declared. 'The evidence is here!'

The other men murmured in interest, taking a look at my oldest of scars themselves. I scowled in discomfort. The officer at Haiphong had been right: heathens, the lot of them.

The pirates began to look at me now with some kind of horrified awe and reverence. Superstitious like any other group of Annamites, they apparently were under the conviction that the face was the mirror of the soul; so, seeing as my face was the definition of hideousness, they came to the conclusion that my soul was blacker than any other man's could ever be, and I had committed such atrocities that my face plainly showed I was the embodiment of pure evil. But rather than killing me, they seemed to find that I would be useful to them in future.

Ngai addressed me for the first time.

'Ban tên gi?' he asked, wanting to know, just as the Annamite forest-dweller had, who I was.

I raised my head slowly, and fixed him with a burning, golden gaze.

'Thày Phù Thuy,' I replied.