A sweet, spicy, thick, and wholly foreign scent was the first thing to return to Twist's senses out of the depthless emptiness of unconsciousness. He wrinkled his nose reflexively, and found his shallow breaths vastly insufficient to clear his lungs. He sat up quickly, coughing, as his head swam and struggled to identify his current situation. He was wrapped in soft, cool, silks, on a wide bed. Opening his eyes, Twist saw nothing but color.

  Vibrant red carpets lay over slate-gray wooden floors, while rich red paint covered every wall of the large, open room. Shining black bars created intricate, decorative designs in the large, circular windows in one wall. Deep green, blue, and pink light flooded through them from the bizarre mess of colors outside, below a black sky. Square, shiny-black, wooden furniture—a pair of chairs and a long couch around a low table—padded with gold-and-white cushions were clustered before the windows, while softly glowing paper lanterns hung from the ceiling. The four-poster bed he was in was low to the ground, with white, red, and black silks layered over him, as soft, translucent red curtains hung open around it, swaying gently in the cool, humid breeze that streamed in through the windows.

  Silver smoke wafted through the air from the smoldering ends of long, thin sticks set in a bowl of dry rice on the table near the window. What looked like a wardrobe of more shiny black wood etched in gold was placed against the wall across from the bed beside a closed black door. A few simple brush paintings of birds and leaves hung on the walls, while small vases sat in the corners of the room with a single twig of tiny pink flowers in each one.

  After taking a moment to give the scene time to reveal itself as a dream, Twist finally pushed himself to the edge of the bed. A pair of slippers waited for him there, so he slipped his bare feet into them. Standing up on stiff legs, Twist realized that he was wearing completely new clothing. His thin form was draped in bright-azure silks, in the general shape of loose pants and a long, collarless, buttoned shirt. The cuffs were trimmed in black brocade, and the same black stitching surrounded the buttons of his shirt in intricate designs.

  Stepping to the windows, Twist looked down from the third floor, onto a chaotic mess of strange wooden shops, tall Western looking buildings, and brightly colored signs on every story—hanging out over the street as numerous as leaves in a forest—all written with complex symbols that made no sense to him at all. More paper lanterns, each of a different, vibrant color, hung zigzagging over the street. Looking up over the curving tile rooftops of the obviously immense and crowded city around him, Twist couldn't see a single star in the black sky. For a long moment, he wondered if he was still on planet Earth at all.

  “Welcome to Hong Kong,” said a voice behind him.

  Twist spun quickly to see a man smiling at him widely as he closed the door behind himself. He was tall and obviously well built, judging from the smooth brown skin that showed through the loose tan shirt and emerald vest, that hung open to his stomach. He wore gray cotton slacks, but his feet were bare in roped sandals. The man was heavily decorated in jewelry—a collection of bracelets made of what looked like cloth, bone, and metal, a long string of silver hanging round his neck on which hung a number of small keys, rings by the handful on his fingers, and even a number of metal pieces pierced through his ears and one through his right nostril—but Twist was most highly distracted by the man's hair, which seemed to be made of bits of black rope and sat on his head like a ragged lion's mane.

  “What?” Twist managed.

  “Hong Kong,” the man said again, his dark eyes gleaming like a cat's in the low light. He stepped to a set of three long ropes that hung halfway down the wall beside the door. Each one seemed to be marked with a wooden tag bearing a different, complex symbol like those on the signs outside. “Would you like some tea?” he asked in what Twist now heard as a light, rolling, rich version of an American accent, as the man reached for one of the ropes.

  “Isn't Hong Kong the name of the British colony in China?” Twist asked, frowning.

  “You're a smart one, all right,” the man said, still smiling. He tugged at the rope, which responded with a little bounce and a soft jingle of tin bells, before he moved toward the long couch. “Have a seat, Mr. Twist,” he said as he sat. “I'm sure you have loads of questions you'd like to ask me. We can get started while we wait for the tea.”

  In the brighter light of the lantern near the table, Twist saw a number of thick black lines that wound an interesting pattern in the gently wrinkled skin around the man's left eye. Up close, he looked a bit older.

  “Who are you?” Twist asked instantly, not moving from the window.

  “My name is Adair Quay,” the man said pleasantly. “Next?”

  “You're the pirate who's been chasing me since Venice!” Twist said with an accusing finger and an alarmed expression.

  “My goodness,” Quay said with amusement. “This isn't going to take long at all, if you're always this quick.”

  “What do you want from me?” Twist demanded. “Where is Jonas? The rest of the Vimana crew? How did we get all the way to China? How long have I been asleep?”

  “Please, please,” Quay said, raising a hand. “One at a time, Mr. Twist. And you really should sit down. You have been unconscious for over two days now. Best to take it easy.”

  “Two days?” Twist breathed, falling onto the white cushion of one of the chairs. “What happened?”

  “You don't remember?” Quay asked. “One of my associates brought you to me after you had fallen out of consciousness. I was honestly hoping that you knew what had happened.”

  Twist looked up to him with a darker light in his steel-blue eyes. “You attacked us, didn't you?” he asked softly.

  “That's a matter of opinion.”

  “Well, it's my opinion that your associates were shooting at us in a mystical fog that one of you created, and that you sent your ship to attack ours in the air above the Caspian Sea, which resulted in me being thrown into that sea and then captured by oil pirates in a submersible.”

  Quay smiled, a deep, rich, warmth in his dark eyes. “You've had quite a trying experience, haven't you?”

  “I thought you were going to answer my questions,” Twist snapped.

  “I never said that,” Quay said evenly. “I merely acknowledged that you might have several. I will gladly answer any that will help you to understand your new situation, but I will not bow to pointed attacks from you without cause.”

  Twist stared at him silently while a cold certainty gripped his spirit. “Do you plan to kill me?” he asked, his voice calm.

  “Certainly not,” Quay said on the edge of a laugh.

  “Well, at least there's that,” Twist said with a sigh.

  At that moment, the door opened and a girl dressed in shining pink silk entered the room, holding a black wooden tray. Her round face was alarmingly pale against her gleaming black hair, which was bound up complexly on top of her head and adorned with an array of colorful pins, combs, and hanging beads. Twist stared at her first, though, for her eyes: the same shape as Zayle's and as black as the starless sky above the city outside.

  She walked silently to the table between Quay and Twist, and knelt down in her tightly wrapped silk dress to place the tray on it. There was a small white teapot and two perfectly round white cups with no handles on them.

  “You should have no fear for your safety, Mr. Twist,” Quay said pleasantly. “Your Sight is one of the rarest and most valuable I've ever heard of. Only a fool would try to do you harm. I myself, hope to be your friend.”

  Twist watched as the girl poured golden tea into the two cups and placed them down before Twist and Quay. She seemed to pay him no attention, until she was finished. Her dark eyes flitted to him only for an instant before she rose to her feet and left just as silently.

  “Mr. Twist?” Quay said.

  “What?” Twist asked, looking to him blankly.

  “I was saying, that I had hoped we could be friends,” Quay said, a knowing smile playing about his mouth. “I think we can help each other greatly.”

  “Can you give me back my friends and let me go home, then?” Twist asked, taking his cup of tea from the table.

  “You deserve so much more than those idealistic fools can offer you,” Quay said flippantly. “You should be properly appreciated for your talents, don't you think?”

  Twist nodded vaguely, sipping at his tea. “So you're going to make me very rich and famous, I'm sure,” he said with very little interest. “Oh, this tea is wonderful.”

  “It's the finest in China,” Quay said before taking a sip himself. “Only the finest for my newest ally, I should think.”

  “I haven't yet sold my soul, Beelzebub.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Quay laughed as if it were a joke. Twist didn't.

  “Where is Jonas?” Twist asked.

  “He's been asleep just as long as you have,” Quay said, sounding concerned. “He's staying in another room in this hotel. I just checked on him, though, and he was still sleeping. I'm sure, now that you're awake, he will return to us as well, very soon.”

  Twist looked into his tea, but he let his mind open itself to the air. He focused on the area at the base of his neck, where he could usually feel Jonas if he were close by. There was no feeling there now, probably because Jonas was too far away, but he pushed at it gently with his mind, searching for any sign of him. After a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible buzzing began to appear on the farthest horizon of his perception.

  “I'm surprised, though,” Quay said while Twist's mind was still elsewhere, “that you have yet to ask about the clockwork girl.”

  Twist's eyes shot to him: sharp, cold as ice, and just as blue.

  “You were clinging to a crystal when we found you,” Quay said with some satisfaction. “It's broken, but my associate says that it has the most curious signs of energy within it.”

  Twist clenched his jaw to keep himself from speaking, and slowed his own breathing as he held his body in perfect stillness, staring at Quay as unemotionally as he could. A flicker of discomfort flashed to light in Quay's eyes, but he blinked it away and looked to his tea.

  “I don't mean to steal her away from you,” he said evenly, “if you are afraid of that. I'm not sure what Davis and his crew might have told you,” he said, chancing a glance at Twist, who didn't move a muscle. “You've done a wonderful job of repairing her thus far,” Quay continued, looking away again. “I don't imagine it will take long at all to complete the work.”

  Twist took a sip of his tea.

  “Mr. Twist, can we discuss terms?” Quay asked gently.

  Twist looked back at him impassively. “Discuss all you like.”

  “Won't you join me?” he tried, a hopeful smile on his face now.

  “I'm not very social,” Twist said, looking to his tea again.

  “Clever as a lightning strike,” Quay breathed, admiringly. “That's what they say about you. I see now that they are quite right. I had hoped that the coldness they spoke of had been a lie, though.”

  “I want to see Jonas,” Twist said.

  “When he's awake, of course. But for the moment—”

  “Now,” Twist said, his voice even and impassive.

  “Perhaps—“ Quay began, but Twist stood up quickly and put his tea cup down.

  “Never mind. I'll find him myself,” he said, heading for the door.

  Twist got to the door and opened it before Quay could get near him. Hurrying his pace, Twist strode out into a red-and-black hallway, carpeted with dark pinks and gold on the same slate-gray wood, and lit by more white paper lanterns mounted on the walls. Twist pressed at the spot at the back of his neck again, and followed the buzz easily down the long hallway and around the first right turn while Quay came to follow him, speaking imploringly on various subjects that didn't matter to Twist in the least. Turning the corner, he found a figure sitting in a chair outside one of the many black doors.

  Coming closer, Twist realized that Jonas was certainly behind that door. The man in the chair looked up at Twist, as he approached, with large, almond eyes as black as shadows. Although his smooth, clear-featured, pale face appeared young and only slightly foreign to Twist, something in those deep black eyes was undeniably ancient, strange, and inhuman. His nose seemed a little too pointed, and his ears a little too long as well, in the fluffy cloud of short, thick black hair that stood up all over his head. He was dressed in a wide-sleeved, silver-trimmed, deep-purple tunic that crossed over his chest, a wide, gray, richly patterned belt around his waist, loose black trousers, and simple wooden sandals on his otherwise bare feet. It took Twist only an instant to recognize Jonas's black goggles sitting snugly on his brow.

  “Vane, block him,” Quay said around Twist.

  In an instant, the strange young man was on his feet, holding a long, single-edged, slightly curved, and gleaming silver blade before Twist, with his back to the door. In his rush, Twist managed to stop only a step away from the end of the sword.

  “Now please,” Quay said, stepping beside Twist. “Can we speak now?”

  “Call off your dog, and let me pass,” Twist hissed to him. A wide smile broke onto Vane's face and he laughed lightly under his breath.

  “You don't even know where Jonas is,” Quay said, sounding like he was near the end of his patience now.

  “He's in that room,” Twist said, pointing past the sword-bearing sentry. “I want to see him this instant.”

  “You need to understand something—” Quay said quickly.

  “Twist! In here!” Jonas yelled, his voice muffled by the wooden door.

  “Damn it all to hell!” Quay bellowed, all his pleasantness disappearing instantly.

  Vane glanced to the door for an instant, and Twist dove past him. He heard Quay yell Vane's name as he felt a concussion of sliced air fall over him. He leaped, throwing his body fully at the door. It burst open onto a room almost identical to the one in which Twist had woken up. Jonas was dressed in the same sort of silk clothing, though his was a bright lime green, as he stood beside his bed. His right wrist was securely chained to one of the bedposts by a set of silver handcuffs.

  “Wow!” he breathed, smiling widely in Twist's direction as he struggled to retain his footing. “I didn't know Vane was out there. Did you just take on a bloody samurai to save me?” he asked in delighted wonder. His naked eyes flitted quickly around the edges of the scene, while carefully keeping away from everyone else's eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Twist asked him, coming closer. Behind him, Vane and Quay simply watched from the doorway. Quay's face showed nothing but frustration.

  Jonas shook his chained wrist. “No. I'm tied to the bed. That's very rarely a good thing.”

  “Please, Twist, let me explain,” Quay was saying, while Twist carefully reached out to touch the cuffs. “Jonas and I have a history, you see,” Quay continued. “I'm not sure where his allegiances lie at the moment, and I don't want him running off until we've had time to talk.”

  “You just love to talk, don't you,” Jonas said acidly to Quay. Vane snickered again.

  Twist tapped at one point on the edge of cuffs with a knuckle while the others talked, and then pulled sharply at the bolt that held them closed on Jonas's wrist. The cuffs unlocked instantly with a bright little click.

  “Blimey,” Jonas said, rubbing at his newly freed wrist. “Twist, you're a good man to know,” he added seriously.

  “Do you know where the others are?” Twist asked back, careful not to look into Jonas's eyes.

  “No idea,” Jonas said. “But we're in Hong Kong. We don't need them to escape.”

  “We don't?” Twist asked.

  “I know half the city, personally,” Jonas said brightly. “All we need to do is get away from Quay.”

  “Now, just a minute!” Quay said, making sure that he was solidly in the way.

  “Vane, look!” Jonas said excitedly, pointing down the hallway, “A mouse! I just saw a mouse!” Vane's black eyes snapped to the floor, looking after Jonas's indication. “Now,” Jonas said to Twist, lunging forward at Quay.

  “Wait!” Quay yelled an instant before Jonas threw his shoulder at him, with his whole body weight behind the blow. Quay fell back against the other side of the hallway but hung onto Jonas's arm tightly as he struggled to catch his balance. “Jonas, knock it off!”

  “Let go!” Jonas snapped, jerking at his grip and kicking. Twist watched perplexed, utterly unsure about what needed doing.

  “Damn it, Vane, there is no mouse!” Quay yelled angrily as the samurai continued to focus on the floor despite the struggle. “Pay attention, will you?”

  Vane looked up in the exact instant that Jonas managed to free his arm. Jonas only had time to turn and take one step away before he came flying back into the room as a black shape—lightning fast and indistinct as a shadow—slammed him down against the floor, face down. The shadow solidified into the shape of Vane, holding his sword across Jonas's neck as he crouched over him, now wearing a wide grin. To Twist's renewed shock, there seemed to be a very fluffy, white-tipped, black fox tail hanging from under Vane's tunic.

  “Down, boy,” Jonas said soothingly, his arms struggling to gain some kind of leverage. “Let me go and I'll scratch your ears like you like...”

  “I'll let you go if you give me a mouse,” Vane said to his ear, his voice flavored with an accent that only seemed to affect his vowels and 'L's.

  “I don't usually walk around with a mouse in my pocket.”

  “Too bad,” Vane said, enjoying the phrase far too much. He changed his grip on the sword, readying it to strike. Twist froze, his heart racing and his mind swimming. He couldn't conceive of a single way to help, or to stop this attack.

  “Good boy, Vane,” Quay said, appearing in the doorway. “Don't hurt him, just keep a grip on him.” He looked to Twist, who still stood in place, thanks to his complete confusion. “I trust you're smart enough to know now that you can't escape.”

  Twist didn't respond, but he didn't protest either. He watched as Vane pulled Jonas up to kneel on the floor, still holding him securely from behind as Quay stood in front of Jonas. Quay stared at him with a sigh, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Did you seriously think that would work?” he asked flatly.

  “Oh, anything to get this close to Vane,” Jonas said with a purr and a luscious expression on his face, his eyes tightly closed now.

  “I thought you didn't like me,” Vane said quickly, though his grip loosened as he pulled away slightly to peer around at Jonas's face. Jonas used the instant of distance to throw his elbow back into Vane's ribs.

  “So get off me!” he yelled as Vane jerked to avoid the blow, but didn't release him.

  “Excuse me,” Twist asked softly, drawing Quay's attention. “Have I finally lost my mind, or does that man have a tail?”

  Quay nodded. “He's a fox.”

  “A fox?”

  “Yes, a fox,” Jonas answered as if it made some sort of sense.

  “Aren't foxes…you know, small woodland creatures?” Twist asked stiffly. Vane smiled over Jonas's shoulder at Twist, as if enjoying his confusion.

  “Not according to Japanese legends,” Quay said, as if it were a reasonable answer.

  Jonas's eyes opened wide with a sudden thought. “By the way, never say your own name in front of him,” he said, hooking a thumb back at Vane.

  “Don't tell him that!” Vane whined, slapping at Jonas's head from behind.

  Twist fell silent rather than spend any more time in such a ridiculous conversation.

  “Come on,” Quay said with a heavy breath. “Let's get ourselves back into some sort of civilized situation, shall we?” He glanced at Twist. “Then we can continue our conversation.”