Friday, October 18, 2019

The Lung-Ma's Tests by Susan Macdonald

Editor's Introduction: This week Sirius Science Fiction brings you a young Teddy Roosevelt and the Emperor Norton an alternate San Francisco that includes airships and Chinese supernatural creatures. Enjoy and read about...

The Lung-ma’s Tests
by Susan Murrie Macdonald

            Theodore Roosevelt looked out the airship window and whistled.  “San Francisco.”
            “Beautiful city,” Sheriff James Wilmington agreed.  The city lay spread out beneath them, hills and houses, beaches and bays, roads and rooftops.
            “Pity cattle hate flying,” Roosevelt said.  “Think how much faster we could get them to market.” The rancher, a brown-haired man in his late twenties, gazed transfixed out the window, his pale blue eyes staring at the city below.
            “Sorry, Ted, you’ll just have to rely on good, old-fashioned cattle drives.”  Wilmington, a dark-haired man a few years older than Roosevelt, had participated in a few cattle drives in his younger days, before becoming first a Texas Ranger and then a small-town sheriff.  He and Roosevelt had met in the airship’s saloon, and quickly become friends over some shared Mexican beer.
            Roosevelt nodded.  It still amazed him that it had taken less time to fly from Denver to California than it had to get from his ranch in North Dakota to the air station in Denver.  First he’d ridden from Elk Horn Ranch to the town of Medora, then he’d taken the stagecoach to Bismarck, then taken the train to Denver, before boarding the airship to San Francisco.  Unfortunately, it would take his ranch hands far longer to drive his cattle to market.
            1885 was a wonderful time to be alive. With phlogiston-powered airships, he could go to New York City to visit his family or his publisher, and the trip only took a day and a half. He could even keep in touch with his political colleagues from his time as a state assemblyman.  Living in the Dakotas no longer meant exile from the civilized world.
            “Amazing view,” Roosevelt said as he looked down on the city.  He spied something.  “Good God, what is that?”
            Something red and shiny disappeared into the clouds.
            Wilmington swore softly. He rubbed his cookie-duster. “Looked like a flying horse.”
            “A pegasus?”  Roosevelt turned his head, trying to find the whatever-it-was.
            “Well, Elphame does have a consulate in San Francisco.  Anything’s possible where they’re concerned.” 
            Roosevelt nodded.  There was an Elphame retreat on Long Island, and those who dared to venture close reported seeing odd things.
            “Lots of scientists and engineers in San Francisco.  Could be somebody experimenting with a new invention,” Wilmington suggested.
            Roosevelt nodded again.  San Francisco had grown over the years, going from a sleepy colonial village with the obligatory Spanish mission to a gold rush town with a bad reputation for shanghai-ing, cardcheats, and robbery, to a modern city, the Athens of the West, as advanced as any city on the Atlantic Coast.
            #
            Lin Yu-wei sat in the garden of the Buddhist temple, his eyes closed in meditation.  He heard an odd noise, like the flapping of a bird’s wings, only a hundred times louder, like a flock of birds or an impossibly giant eagle.  He opened one eye to peek.  Then both eyes opened wide.
            He scrambled out of lotus position, amazingly quickly for a man approaching sixty winters, and bowed deeply.  “You are most welcome, Honored One.”
            Before him stood a lung-ma.  Its scales were red, the color of good fortune.  Each dragon scale was the size of a child’s hand, and as hard and shiny as the polished armor worn by the emperor’s bodyguard at the Forbidden City.  The lung-ma appeared in the shape of a winged horse.
            Lin Yu-wei bowed again.  The priest had no idea whether to offer it hay for the horse’s shape it bore, meat for its draconic nature, or even a dish of pearls.  Who knew what a creature of magic ate?  “You have travelled far, Honored One.  May I bring you water?  Wine?”
            “Water, with my thanks.”  The lung-ma spoke in a woman’s voice.
            If Lin Yu-wei was surprised that the lung-ma was a mare rather than a stallion, he said nothing.  He did not summon an acolyte, but hurried himself to fetch the water.  He waited until she had finished drinking before he dared to ask, “You have not come this far for me.  How may I serve you?”
            “I have come, but not for you.”  Lin Yu-wei could almost hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.  “There is one I must test.”
            The priest nodded.  Seeing a lung-ma was an omen of a sage-ruler, like Huang Ti or the Roman Marcus Aurelius.
            “I must see if he is truly worthy,” she said.
#
            “Not even New York City has these trains through the streets,” Roosevelt remarked.  “Are they powered by phlogiston or steam or what?”
            Wilmington shrugged.  “Don’t know.  Much faster than the cable cars they used to have, my sister says.”
“Clockwork,” one of the other passengers spoke up.  “With all the hills, the cable cars were hard on the horses.  Wore ‘em to death in just a few years, poor creatures.”
            Another passenger interrupted.  “Saved the emperor’s life, these clockwork trains did.”
            Several other passengers on the street-train nodded enthusiastically.
            “The emperor?” Roosevelt asked.
            “Four or five years ago, Emperor Norton collapsed in the middle of the street.  Likely would’ve died where he fell if he’d had to wait for a cable car or a taxi carriage.  He was rushed to the hospital – the engineer skipped all the other stops – and they were able to save him.”
            Roosevelt chuckled.  “Ah, I’ve read about your Emperor Norton.  The town lunatic.”
            “My sister says he eats in the best restaurants in town, and never pays a penny,” Wilmington said.
            “Show some respect when you speak of His Majesty,” an old lady warned.
            “Yes, ma’am.”  Wilmington touched his hat to her politely.  Then he whispered to his travelling companion, “He may be a lunatic, but he’s their lunatic.  Whole town loves the man.”
            Roosevelt discreetly changed the subject and chatted of other matters until the train stopped in front of his hotel.  He and Wilmington parted company cordially, Roosevelt to lodge in a hotel where a few night’s stay would have cost the sheriff a month’s wages, and Wilmington on to his sister’s.  They would not meet again for several years.
#
            Roosevelt strolled down the street, enjoying the sight of the Pacific Ocean, if not the smell of the fishing boats.  Between the ocean to the west and the hills of the city – far more than Rome’s mere seven – San Francisco was quite a picturesque city.
            “My wallet!  My wallet’s gone!” a passerby called out.  He looked around for the thief, then pointed to a brown-skinned boy of eight or ten.  “That Mexican boy!  He took it.”
            “No, no, señor.  I not steal,” the boy protested.
            “Lying Mex.  These Mexicans all steal, iffen they get the chance,” he retorted.
            “I have no idea who stole your wallet, sir, but this child is innocent,” Roosevelt spoke up.  “He has not been within twenty feet of you.”
            “Mind yer own business, mister.  He took it, and he’s gonna give it back.”  He stepped toward the frightened child.
            Roosevelt stepped in front of the boy to shield him.  “The lad was nowhere near you.  He couldn’t have taken your wallet; he never touched you.”
            “I’m gonna make him gimme back my money.”
            “Pick on someone your own size.”  Roosevelt raised his hands and assumed a boxing position, in the best Marquess of Queensberry fashion.
            The man hesitated.  Roosevelt was 5’10, easily three inches taller than he was, and riding the Dakota range had given him a wiry strength.
            A whistle blew.  A policeman hurried up to see what the commotion was.  As Roosevelt and the wallet-less man attempted to speak over each other, the Mexican boy took advantage of the distraction and ran off.  In the crowd, an old man in a tattered red coat nodded, giving the least little hint of a smile.
            “He could have minded his own business, a virtue amongst these Americans.  He could have said nothing.  He spoke up for one falsely accused.”  The old man in the red coat stepped into a nearby alley, away from all the commotion.  “He passes the test of honesty.” 
            The old man faded into transparency, and then invisibility.
#
            “Ladies and gentlemen, I am grateful and honored that you invited me here.”  Roosevelt told the audience at the Academy of Natural Sciences, “I am flattered that you wish to hear from my latest book.”
            The audience clapped politely, and Roosevelt began reading aloud.
             “Far different from the low-scudding, brush-loving white-tail, is the black-tail deer, the deer of the ravines and the rocky uplands. In general shape and form, both are much alike; but the black-tail is the larger of the two, with heavier antlers.”
            Roosevelt read excerpts from Hunting Trips of a Ranchman for forty minutes, reading about the difference between white-tail deer, black-tail deer, and pronghorn antelope, their habits and habitats, and the different techniques used to hunt them.  The floor was then opened to questions.
            An older man, queerly dressed, sat in the front row.  He wore an army officer’s coat, somewhat the worse for a few stains, but embellished with gold epaulets and a wilting rosebud tucked into the label.  A tall beaver hat sat on his lap, adorned with a white ostrich plume.  The feather must have been new, for it was the cleanest thing the man wore.  A cavalry saber hung from his hip.  “Mr. Roosevelt, you called the extermination of the buffalo a ‘veritable tragedy’ of the animal world. Do you truly think this beast, the ‘lordly buffalo,’ as you called it, is in danger of extinction?”
            “I do, sir.  Indeed, I regard it merely a question of time, and more likely to be measured in years than decades,” Roosevelt replied.
            “I must see to that,” the oddly dressed man said.  “I must issue a proclamation.”
            Roosevelt raised an eyebrow at that announcement.  Someone else asked a question about the bone hunters, who collected buffalo bones for the phosphate, and Roosevelt explained.  The man in the unusual garb asked several questions, all well-thought out, and showing he had paid close attention to the reading.
            Afterwards, Professor Jenkins introduced them.  “Your Majesty, by your leave, I should like to present Mr. Theodore Roosevelt of Elk Horn Ranch.  Mr. Roosevelt, His Majesty, Emperor Norton.”
            Roosevelt gave a half-bow, unsure of the correct protocol in addressing self-appointed royalty.
            “You are most welcome to Our capital city, Mr. Roosevelt,” Emperor Norton told him.
            Professor Jenkins winked.  “Emperor Norton is the Emperor of the United States and the Protector of Mexico.”
            “Jenkins, you have not honored Us with a game of chess recently.  We must play some afternoon.”  Emperor Norton glanced across the room.  “Excuse Us, We must go greet Mrs. Barkley.”
            “So that’s the infamous Emperor Norton,” Roosevelt said once he was out of earshot.  “I must admit he took me by surprise.  For a lunatic, he asked intelligent questions.”
            “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with his wits for ordinary matters,” Jenkins assured him.  “Before his bankruptcy he was considered one of the cleverest men in California.  It’s just this delusion that he’s the imperial master of North America.  He’s otherwise quite harmless, and very much the darling of the town.”
#         
            Roosevelt was surprised at the crowd at the Golden Palace Theater.  He hadn’t expected so many people to be interested in musical theater in California.  Certainly his ranch hands back in the Dakota badlands had no interest in Gilbert and Sullivan.  He was looking forward to seeing The Pirates of Penzance again, although he feared the local cast would not be up to the standards of the performance he had seen in New York a few years ago.          
            “Dogs and Chinese shouldn’t be allowed in public buildings,” a middle-aged woman complained to the man beside her.  Her dulcet voice bore traces of magnolia blossoms and mint julips, and she was neatly dressed in last year’s fashion.
            Next to the middle-aged white man and woman were two Chinese people.  The man was bald, and wore the saffron robes of a Buddhist priest.  The woman beside him was hardly more than a girl.  She wore a long crimson silk tunic, elaborately embroidered with flowers, over a yellow underskirt, also decorated with embroidery.
            “Bad enough to have them in the theater,” the white man sniffed, “but for this old heathen to bring his concubine out in public amongst decent people is going too far.”
            “I regret that our presence disturbs you, good sir,” the Buddhist priest said, “but I have paid for my tickets, just as you have, and my granddaughter and I have as much right to see the play as anyone else.”  
            The white woman harrumphed.  “Granddaughter, a likely story.”
            “I beg your pardon,” Roosevelt interrupted.  “I’ve taken a box for the evening, and I wonder if you would be my guests in the balcony?”
            “That is kind of you, suh, but I don’t believe we are acquainted,” the southern gentleman replied stiffly.
            “Excuse me, sir.  I was addressing this gentleman and his granddaughter.”  As the other couple frowned at the snub, he continued, “My name is Theodore Roosevelt, and it would give me great pleasure to be your host this evening.”
            “I am Lin Yu-wei.”  He bowed.  “This is my granddaughter, Lin Feng-ju.  We accept your kind offer with pleasure.”
            “Do you speak English, Miss Lin?” Roosevelt asked as they left the shocked couple behind.
            The beautiful maiden shook her head.  “Parlez-vous français, Monsieur Roosevelt?
            Mais oui, mademoiselle.”
            “Are you not the author of The Naval War of 1812?” she asked in fluent, if oddly accented French.
            “I am.  Have you read it?”
             They chatted congenially in French as he escorted her and her grandfather to the balcony.  The two of them enjoyed the play, conversing in French during the intermission, sitting silently during the performance.  Lin Yu-wei endured the play; he did not care for European music.
            Afterwards, Roosevelt insisted on walking them to the street-train, and offered to escort them back to Chinatown.
            “It is not necessary,” Lin Yu-wei politely informed him.  “We shall be perfectly safe on the way home.”
            “Good night to you then, sir.  Bonne nuit, Mademoiselle Lin.”
            Bonne nuit, Monsieur Roosevelt.”  She smiled at him.
            Lin Yu-wei and his “granddaughter” rode the street-train all the way back to Chinatown, as the novelty of the device amused her.  When they reached their destination, she announced, “He would not permit those people to be rude to us, and invited us to share his box, although we were strangers and not of his kind.  He passes the test of courtesy.”
#
The next morning was a busy one.  Roosevelt had business meetings with Californian cattle ranchers, and a high-stakes poker game at lunch.  That afternoon, he decided to go to Chinatown.  Meeting the Lins the night before had given him the idea of purchasing a doll dressed in Chinese robes for his daughter Alice.  Such a thing would amuse her.
It only took him a few shops to find what he was looking for, as well as a jade necklace for his sister Anna.
            When he stepped out of the shop, he saw twenty men heading down the road.  Some carried clubs.  Some carried torches, despite it being broad daylight.  A few held guns.  Roosevelt swore softly. 
            A mob had many arms, but no brain.
            “Burn their houses down.”
            “Smoke ‘em out.”
            “Chase ‘em out of San Francisco.”
            “Chase ‘em clear back to China.”
            Roosevelt took a deep breath and stepped into the middle of the street.  “What’s going on here?”
            “We’re gonna get these Chinee.”
            “You’re very brave in a bunch.  Are any of you brave enough to fight man to man?”
            “Got nothing against you, mister.  Get out of the way and you won’t get hurt.”
            “What have these people done to you?” Roosevelt demanded.
            “They stole and ate my dog,” the mob leader accused.
            “First they eat our dogs and cats, then they’ll eat our children next,” another man yelled.
            “But not if we stop ‘em first, the yellow blackguards,” shouted a third man.
            “What evidence have you that your dog was stolen and eaten?” Roosevelt asked.  “What makes you think these people had anything to do with it?”
            “They’re Chinee.  Can’t put anything past ‘em.”
            “Sam Shoemaker, you know perfectly well that the police shoot stray dogs,” a voice came from the left.
            Shoemaker turned to see who had called his name.
            “Like as not the police mistook your dog for a stray,” Emperor Norton walked into the street, a few feet away from Roosevelt.  “Or it might have simply run away.”
            “Emperor Norton.”
            “It’s the emperor.”
            The crowd began murmuring.  They were riled up, but not drunk enough to attack their city’s favorite citizen.
            “And I say them Chinee ate him!” Shoemaker insisted.  He stepped forward, a club in his hand.
            “If you dare lay a hand on a man old enough to be your father, Mr. Shoemaker, I shall make you regret it.”  Roosevelt balled his hands into fists.
            “White or yellow, we are all children of the Lord.”  Norton bowed his head.  “Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name.  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done –“
            Roosevelt lowered his fists.  He began reciting along with the emperor.  “ – on earth as it is in Heaven.  Give us this day our daily bread….”
            A few of the mob automatically began reciting along with them.  Some said “Forgive us our trespasses,” others said, “forgive us our debts.”  A few sheepishly backed away, unwilling to assault an old man praying. From the shop windows, the inhabitants of Chinatown peeked out, but did not dare face the mob in the street.
            When Emperor Norton said “Amen,” he did not hesitate, but began the prayer over again.  One by one, the mob drifted off.  By the time he and Roosevelt had recited the Lord’s Prayer four times, the mob was down to three people.
            “Go home, Sam,” Emperor Norton ordered.  “We doubt anyone here ate your dog.  And if they did, have a little Christian charity on those who are worse off than you are, that they needed to stoop to that level to survive.”
            Before Shoemaker could reply, a fog rolled in.  That was not unusual for San Francisco.  This fog was warm, not cool and clammy.  That was unusual.  Shoemaker and his friends looked around.  They screamed and ran.
            A red winged-horse trotted up to them, breathing smoke.  It had scales like a dragon, hard and red and shiny.  Excited chatter could be heard from the nearby shops and houses.  As Sam Shoemaker ran, and Roosevelt and Norton stared, the inhabitants of Chinatown rushed out to see the lung-ma.
The lung-ma bowed toward Norton and Roosevelt. “You have acted with courage and honor. It is easy to be brave with a sword or a pistol.  To face an angry mob armed with naught but prayer takes true courage.”  Too low to be heard, the mare whispered to herself, “He knows when not to fight.  He passes the tests of bravery, discretion, and discrimination.”
The people of Chinatown shouted and rejoiced at the honor paid to Emperor Norton by the lung-ma.  They loved the imperial lunatic as much an any other denizens of San Francisco.
#
            In 1901, when Vice-President Theodore Roosevelt succeeded the late President McKinley, only an elderly priest in San Francisco’s Chinatown remembered the stranger who had stood beside Emperor Norton years before.

The End 


About the Author: Susan Murrie Macdonald is a stroke survivor and a wordsmith. She is a staff writer for Krypton Radio, Sci-Fi for your Wi-fi.. She is also a freelance writer and proofreader, with over a dozen short stories published (mostly fantasy). Before her stroke she was a substitute teacher. She was a volunteer at the Mid-South Renaissance Faire for five years, and is the author of a children's book, R is for Renaissance Faire. She lives in western Tennessee with her husband and two teenagers. She is attempting to write a fantasy novel. Her stories can be found in Alternative Truths, The Caterpillar, Cat Tails: War Zone, Bumple, Wee Tales, Itty Bitty writing Space, Paper Butterfly, Medium, and Heroic Fantasy.
Photo Credit: Laura Murrie 

No comments:

Post a Comment