Rising In The East by Rob Kidd Page B

caped figures strode through the winding gray streets, keeping their faces hidden. But if they intended to conceal their identities, they were not succeeding. Almost any citizen of Hong Kong could recognize the pure white woolen cloak of the figure on the left, or the shimmering emerald satin of the one on the right.
    The green hood shifted as the woman underneath it glanced down a dark alley, then turned back to her husband.
    “I thought I saw someone running away down that alley,” Barbara Huntington whispered, pointing a bloodred fingernail. “What if it was a pirate? A dirty, slithering—”
    “No pirate would dare walk these streets now,” Benedict Huntington answered, pulling his ermine hood down further. Despite the humid Hong Kong heat, he was covered head to toe, and he seemed determined to hide his face from the sun even more than from the people around him. “My agents patrol every inch of this city day and night. They have strict orders to run any pirate through, without warning if necessary. There is no mercy for pirates here.”
    “Splendid,” Barbara said breathily. “But how will they know who the pirates are?”
    “I have trained all the Company agents impeccably,” Benedict answered. “They can spot a pirate on sight. It’s not difficult, my dear. As you say, the smell is often the first sign.”
    The couple rounded a corner and came face to face with a troop of seven East India Trading Company agents, who were wearing the dark blue uniforms Benedict had assigned to them and marching in single file down the street.
    “You see?” Benedict said to his wife. “My agents are everywhere. No pirate would dare try to sneak past them! Report, soldier,” he said to the leader of the troop.
    “Sir!” the man said, snapping to attention with a salute that wasn’t quite as polished as Benedict would have liked. But he didn’t want to criticize the men in front of his wife, after he’d spent so much time praising them to her. So he decided to overlook the sloppiness—for now. At least the polished gold buttons on the man’s tunic gleamed the way they should. He peered at the agent.
    “What on earth do you have wrapped around your face?” he asked. The agent’s eyes peered out between a traditional three-cornered Company hat and a strange sort of bandanna wrapped around the lower half of his face. “That’s not regulation issue, is it?”
    “Very sorry, sir,” the agent said with an apologetic bow. “You see, I’m quite ill—really quite horribly ill—and I didn’t want to spread it to the other agents. Precautions seemed wise, sav—um, if you can comprehend that.”
    “It doesn’t look at all proper,” Benedict said, reaching toward the man’s face. “I think we can risk a little contagion for the sake of order. What do you have, exactly?”
    “Er—” the man said, leaning away from Benedict’s fingers. “Leprosy! Yes, most definitely leprosy. Bits of me falling off all over the place. Quite disgusting, really.”
    Benedict recoiled. “Don’t we have distant, quarantined islands where we stash our lepers?” he asked in disgust.
    “Yes, sir. On my way there right now, sir,” the agent said, nodding agreeably.
    “We’re escorting him,” said another of the agents in an oddly high voice. And—surely that wasn’t a Spanish accent?
    “And keeping an eye out for pirates on the way!” said another, pushing back his hat so some of his red hair escaped. “We won’t let any of that scurrilous sea scum get by us, no sir!” He clicked his tall black boots together.
    “Long live that spirit!” Benedict said with vicious delight. “Just as I was saying to Barbara, as long as you boys are on the case, I am sure there’s not a pirate anywhere in the city of Hong Kong. We’ll gut any blackguard who dares set foot in our town. As I promised: nothing for you to worry about, dear,” he said, patting his wife on the shoulder.
    “Hmmm,” she said, her green eyes glittering